For hours the habitants gathered under his window and cheered him.
Parpon sat long in gloomy silence by his side, but, raising his voice, he began to sing softly a lament for the gross-figured body, lying alone in a shed near the deserted smithy: "Children, the house is empty, The house behind the tall hill; Lonely and still is the empty house.
There is no face in the doorway, There is no fire in the chimney.
Come and gather beside the gate, Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills.
"Where has the wild dog vanished?
Where has the swift foot gone?
Where is the hand that found the good fruit, That made a garret of wholesome herbs?
Where is the voice that awoke the morn, The tongue that defied the terrible beasts?
Come and listen beside the door, Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills." The pathos of the chant almost made his listener shrink, so immediate and searching was it.

When the lament ceased, there was a long silence, broken by Valmond.
"He was your brother, Parpon--how?
Tell me about it." The dwarf's eyes looked into the distance.
"It was in the far-off country," he said, "in the hills where the Little Good Folk come.

My mother married an outlaw.

Ah, he was cruel, and an animal! My brother Gabriel was born--he was a giant, his brain all fumbling and wild.

Then I was born, so small, a head as a tub, and long arms like a gorilla.