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.
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