OuR OLD TOWS lies right in the middle of Germany, on the

road between Nowhere and Somewhere. It is surrounded

by green hills, and through it run gaily the arms of the swift

little river which turn the wheels of our mills. To a trav-

eler passing through, our town probably doesn t look very

different from a hundred other medieval German towns. It

has its crooked streets and a marketplace, several churches,

a few cloisters, and a proud town hall with a beautiful old

fountain in front of it. The name of our town is Vogelsang,

which means Birdsong. It has that pretty name because for

hundreds of years the singing birds have come in great flocks

to make their nests in our orchards and have sung more

sweetly than anywhere else.

In one way, though, our town is rather distinctive. It has

a famous ancient gothic cathedral which sits high on a hill,

towering above the net of narrow streets. We are proud of

our cathedral. On the other hand we know that it is the

reason why odd and spooky things are apt to happen in

Vogelsang. But since we are used to such goings on we

don t make much of a fuss about them as long as they don t

get out of hand.