Father Mouse stroked his whiskers, then he raised his hand: “Come, Mother, don’t cry over the rascals. I’ll teach them to be musicians. That’ll bring them food in a jiffy! I have flutes of maplewood such as even the King doesn’t own. Listen, Mother! These flutes possess a strange power. If you hear their music, all your worries at once disappear, all your griefs vanish away. No sooner does a tune come from them, than every soul that is sad finds its sadness gone.
“Here, you little gymnasts, my sons, take them. Run to carry comfort to those who grieve. Spread happiness with your playing everywhere, and some will also come your way, and bread to eat as well.“
As soon as the youths heard this they eagerly seized on the flutes. They swallowed the five-grain porridge and slipped their knapsacks over their shoulders. At the threshold they nodded a last adieu, and behold: they were off into the world to seek their fortunes!
