“I grant all three,” said the judge.  But when he learned that the criminal had chosen a certain hill on the downs for the place of execution, and an hour before midnight for the time, he sent to beg the sheriff to bear him company on this important occasion.

The sheriff placed himself at the judge’s disposal, but he commanded the attendance of the gaoler as some sort of protection; and the gaoler, for his part, implored his reverence the chaplain to be of the party, as the hill was not in good spiritual repute.  So, when the time came, the four started together, and the hangman and the farmer’s son went before them to the foot of the gallows.

Just as the rope was being prepared, the farmer’a son called to the judge, and said, “If your Honour will walk twenty paces down the hill, to where you will see a bit of paper, you will learn the fate of the fiddler.”

“That is, no doubt, a copy of the poor man’s last confession,” thought the judge.

“Murder will out, Mr. Sheriff,” said he; and in the interests of truth and justice he hastened to pick up the paper.

But the farmer’s son had dropped it as he came along, by his mother’s direction, in such a place that the judge could not pick it up without putting his foot on the edge of the fairy ring.  No sooner had he done so than he perceived an innumerable company of little people dressed in green cloaks and hoods, who were dancing round in a circle as wide as the ring itself.

They were all about two feet high, and had aged faces, brown and withered, like the knots on gnarled trees in hedge bottoms, and they squinted horribly; but, in spite of their seeming age, they flew round and round like children.

“Mr. Sheriff!  Mr. Sheriff!” cried the judge, “come and see the dancing.  And hear the music, too, which is so lively that it makes the soles of my feet tickle.”

“There is no music, my Lord Judge,” said the sheriff, running down the hill.  “It is the wind whistling over the grass that your lordship hears.”

But when the sheriff had put his foot by the judge’s foot, he saw and heard the same, and he cried out, “Quick, Gaoler, and come down!  I should like you to be witness to this matter.  And you may take my arm, Gaoler, for the music makes me feel unsteady.”

“There is no music, sir,” said the gaoler; “but your worship doubtless hears the creaking of the gallows.”

But no sooner had the gaoler’s feet touched the fairy ring, than he saw and heard like the rest, and he called lustily to the chaplain to come and stop the unhallowed measure.

“It is a delusion of the Evil One,” said the parson; “there is not a sound in the air but the distant croaking of some frogs.”  But when he too touched the ring, he perceived his mistake.

At this moment the moon shone out, and in the middle of the ring they saw Limping Tim the fiddler, playing till great drops stood out on his forehead, and dancing as madly as he played.