After talking for some time to no purpose, he again heard his friend's
voice, crying, "Take care of it for me! The money dances out of my
pocket." And therewith the fiddler's purse was hurled to his feet,
where it fell with a heavy chinking of gold within.
He picked it up, and renewed his warnings and entreaties, but in vain;
and, after waiting for a long time, he made the best of his way home
alone, hoping that the fiddler would follow, and come to reclaim his
property.
The fiddler never came. And when at last there was a fuss about his
disappearance, the farmer's son, who had but a poor spirit, began to
be afraid to tell the truth of the matter. "Who knows but they may
accuse me of theft?" said he. So he hid the cloak, and the bundle,
and the money-bag in the garden.
But when three months passed, and still the fiddler did not return, it
was whispered that the farmer's son had been his last companion; and
the place was searched, and they found the cloak, and the bundle, and
the money-bag and the lad was taken to prison.
Now, when it was too late, he plucked up a spirit, and told the truth;
but no one believed him, and it was said that he had murdered the
fiddler for the sake of his money and goods. And he was taken before
the judge, found guilty, and sentenced to death.
Fortunately, his old mother was a Wise Woman. And when she heard that
he was condemned, she said, "Only follow my directions, and we may
save you yet; for I guess how it is.
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