“But someone there must be,” cried Hulda, beginning to cry, “who can tell me what to do, and which way to go. For I am sure that the old man was a fairy, and if so, no living man can help Othmar, but only he who did the mischief can undo it.”
The old priest looked at her sadly and shook his head. “My child,” he said, “this is a foolish talk about fairies and sorcerers, I know nothing of such things. It is only untaught folk and fools who give heed to such matters.”
“To untaught folk and fools then I must go, for surely they can help me more than the wise,” she cried. So she left the schoolhouse, and started again through the little village street. The first person she met was a baker going home after taking round his bread, and she stopped him and asked him who was the most ignorant and foolish person in those parts.
The baker stood and stared at her, and seemed to be half angry. At last he said, “I am sure I don’t know anything about fools. You had better go on to the cake-maker, who lives a mile up the hill. He is, to my mind, the biggest fool in these parts.” And tossing his basket about and seeming to be much offended, he went his way. Hulda went on for a mile up the hill, and there she found a little group of cottages, and in their midst was a shop with an open oven, and she could see its owner busy making cakes and sweets. Hulda went in and bought a cake, and as she sat and ate it, she asked the man timidly if he knew many of the people in that neighbourhood, and if any were very ignorant and foolish.
“Indeed,” cried the man, “you may well ask that. Why, a more silly, ignorant set of folk I never knew, quite different from the people in my native town, but that is miles away.”
“And who do you think the silliest then?” asked Hulda.
“Why, for sure ’tis hard to say,” said the man, scratching his head. “They’re such a poor silly lot, right away from the Mayor down to Tommy the fool.”
“And who is Tommy the fool?” asked Hulda eagerly.
“ ’Tis a poor natural-born idiot who lives with his mother in the little cabin on the side of the common. He spends all his time trying to catch a bird, and he never has caught one, and never will.”
“Thank you for telling me about him,” said Hulda, rising to go away. “Maybe if he is really a fool he could answer my questions as they say,” and she went on again with a lighter heart. At last she came to the common on which the fool lived with his mother. When she approached the little cabin, she saw someone dancing about in front of an oak, dressed up with the feathers of birds and fowls, which looked as if they had been picked up from the ground. He was a young man of about eighteen, and he had a cheerful face, but anyone looking at him could see at once he was an idiot. He was dancing round the tree and pointing up to the birds, and calling them to come down to him. Hulda came up and stood quite close and watched him, as he ran round smiling and giggling. Then she said, “Please can you tell me where I shall find a little man, a dwarf who drives a donkey covered with pipes and fiddles?”
The fool looked at her very gravely, but he said nothing; so then she went on to tell him how the little man had come to their village, and how he had stolen Othmar’s voice, and how she had come out to seek it. Just as she finished speaking, there rose from the ground a raven, and soared above their heads. When he saw it the fool pointed to it, and cried out, “The raven, the raven, follow the raven,” and as the raven flew, he ran after him with Hulda following in turn. They ran for a long way, the fool leaping and bounding, and pointing with his finger and crying, “The raven, the raven, do what the raven does.” Then suddenly he turned, giving a wild laugh, and began to run home again, but as he went he nodded and called to Hulda, “Follow the raven, follow it, do what the raven does.”
Hulda felt inclined to burst into tears with disappointment, but still she ran meekly after the bird, murmuring to herself, “He said follow the raven, but what good can that do me?” But when the fool had turned back, the raven slackened his pace, and cawed and lighted on a tree, and Hulda, panting for breath, sat down under it, and looked up at it.
“Poor Hulda!” it croaked, but she couldn’t understand it; “poor Hulda, come with me, and I will show you where the dwarf is.” Then it began to fly slowly on again.
“What shall I do?” sobbed Hulda. “He was only an idiot, he knew nothing; still he told me to follow the raven, and no one else has told me anything;” so on she went, and this time the raven flew quite slowly, so that Hulda
