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whilst poor Siegfrid sought till his feet were blistered, and cut, and he was so weary that he could go no farther.

No one, who had known it in its old days, would have recognized the little village again. Instead of the villagers looking healthy, and happy, and rosy, they were worn, and sad, and pale, whilst the women’s eyes were red with crying for the lost children. The houses were tumbling down, and none of the people seemed to have strength or care to build them up again.

Over all the place hung a hot thick mist, and each day the fever grew worse, and more were ill.

The second evening after Handa had disappeared, Siegfrid wandered into the forest to cry by himself. Even that was changed; no birds sang sweetly in the branches as of yore. The leaves on the trees were turning brown, and falling before their time, and the animals darted away at the sound of footsteps, afraid lest they might be caught and killed.

As Siegfrid walked along he kicked something with his foot, and found it was a trap in which a