ttering eyes. On the table
were piles of gold, and a jug from which each one drank in his turn.

"Brothers," said the black man, "I bring you friend Swanda, whom you
have long known by reputation. I thought to please you on this
feast-day by giving you a little music."

"A good idea!" said one of the players. Then, taking the jug, he
handed it to Swanda, saying, "Here, piper, drink and play."

Swanda had some scruples; but, after all, it is impossible to have
charcoal without putting your finger into the ashes. The wine, though
rather warm, was not bad. He replaced the jug on the table, and
raising his hat, said, "Good luck, brother!" as he had been advised.

He began to play, and never had his music produced such an effect.
Each note made the players leap for joy. Their eyes shot forth flames;
they moved about uneasily in their chairs; they staked the ducats by
handfuls; they shouted and burst into loud fits of laughter without
stirring a muscle of their pallid faces. The jug passed from hand to
hand, always full, though replenished by no one.

As soon as Swanda finished an air they handed him the jug, from which
he never failed to drink deeply, and threw handfuls of gold into his
hat. "Good luck, brother!" he repeated, astounded at his
fortune--"good luck!"

The feast lasted a long time. At last, the piper having struck up a
polka, the black men, in a transport of mirth, quitted the table and
danced and waltzed with an ardor and frenzy which ill accorded with
their icy faces. One of the dancers gathered up all the gold that was
heaped on the table, and, pouring it into Swanda's hat, "Here," said
he, "take this for the pleasure that you have given us."

"God bless you, my good lords!" said the dazzled piper. Scarcely had
he spoken when men, room, and cards vanished.

In the morning a peasant on his way to the fields heard the sound of a
pipe as he approached the cross-road. "It is Swanda," said he. But
where was the piper? Seated on a corner of the gallows, he was blowing
with all his might, while the corpses of the robbers danced in the
wind to his music.

"Halloo, comrade!" cried the peasant. "How long have you been playing
the cuckoo up there?"

Swanda started, dropped his pipe, opened his eyes, and glided,
bewildered, down the gallows. His first thought, however, was for his
ducats. He rummaged his pockets and turned his hat inside out, but all
in vain; there was not even a kreutzer!

"My friend," sai