The Magic Flutes/The Plum
THE PLUM
A tree stands on a hillock in a wide field. It is almost bare. At its top there sways—of all things—a single plum.
It was bought by Grand-dad Marmot! It made him Lord of the Hillock! He guards that plum, sitting by it, sunning himself through the autumn days.
In secret, though, he does something quite different. He creeps stealthily to the field. He crumbles the ripe grain from the ears. He makes a big pile, then hauls the load to his burrow by the boundary!
Today he went out on perhaps his last thieving expedition for the year. If he threshes all he has stolen, he’ll have grain up to his ceilings!
When he reached the field, Grand-dad turned his eyes about. Down the slope, chipmunks and little mice run out from their nests, The Weasel chases a rabbit through the grass. Even good Hedgehog is there, trying to warm his hard old bristles in the sunshine.
Grand-dad gazed at the scene and growled aloud. He cursed to himself: “I want to store away all my wheat for the winter, but if I begin to shuck it, this rabble will notice me. They’ll tell on me: good gracious, the result will be a barrel of water in my burrow! Whatever can I do? I know; I’ll go to the rabble and scare them away with my stories!“
So Marmot ran to the gathering, crying loudly: “Oh, my dear good creatures, it’s just terrible what happens here at nightfall! A fiery dog makes the rounds—a thing of horror! His teeth are like augers, his claws like iron! One lick—and the Chipmunk’s brother or the Mouse's sister is in his stomach! If I did not have to guard that plum of mine on the hill, I’d go at once into the valley!“
Marmot had scarcely finished his tale, before a timid Mouse tweeted: “At midnight I caught sight of a red foot by the den!“
A second Mouse at once thought she remembered: “A whole pack of hounds were seen! On the first, a black form rode until dawn!“
Further off, from the dusk of a Chipmunk’s hole, a nose with whiskers peeped out to squeak: “If demons hold meeting here, we must move away! Let’s tie our bundles right up!“
All were instantly ready to leave, as quickly as if water had been poured into their homes! Only the level-headed Hedgehog stood up on his heels to protest: “Come; come, Marmot, we know very well who it is that breaks off the wheat in the field; alas, what our poor children suffer from your robberies! 
As for bugbears and demons, I’ll just watch your place tonight! I expect to see something quite different from bad spirits with flaming eyes!“
Grand-dad sputtered with anger. He had a wicked idea. He ran to the Judge. “No one knows,“ he exclaimed, „what hardships I endure to guard that plum! As you know, Hedgehogs were born to plunder. Is it any wonder that this very day, Hedgehog has robbed me of my plum!
Experience made the Judge add: “Whoever steals a plum steals the pit, too.“ Without further questioning, he sentenced the unfortunate Hedgehog. “Put his neck under an axe!“
Amid a storm of voices, the Hedgehog was led along to execution. “He must die! all shout. “He stole the plum! He stole the plum!“
A musician was piping his flute beside the road. He was young; no one in the crowd knew him. Perhaps he hoped to earn a penny.
But no. As the throng pushed past, he stept before them all. He raised his flute. It was the seventh Mouse son! Listen! He is speaking:
“Let this flute of mine lose its 
“Try it!“ called out voices among the crowd. “Try your flute, since you are so sure! If it sings for you, we’ll know that justice speaks and Hedgehog is not guilty!“
The Mouse son put his flute to his lips. Sounds came from it. The notes wept and wailed, so that all who heard, shuddered at what they were about to do. “Free him! Free him!“ they cried together. “Free the Hedgehog!“
Marmot alone hissed: “The axe! The axe! Of with his head!“
The Mouse son again gave forth a challenge: “The plum itself can tell the truth! I went by the tree only a moment ago: the plum hangs on its twig!“
Hearing this, the crowd rushed pell-mell to the hillock. But Grand-dad loitered behind. All the others stared in amazement; at the top of the plum tree, swinging back and forth, was that old plum!
Grand-dad no longer sputtered. He bowed his head. Anyone would think him repentant of his sins “I deserve punishment,“ he said humbly. “Although I starve, I will imprison myself in my hole.“
He walked gravely to his hummock. Then in a flash, he was in his burrow. Hardly was he safe inside, than his gloom was gone, his repentance forgotten. He patted the grain. “Ho! Ho!“ the wicked fellow laughed. “It’s better here than out-of-doors! Hopsa! Heysa! I may be jailed but I’ll not starve!
