And one night, fiddler Joost was coming home alone from a wedding. Was his step a bit unsteady? Oh, Joost had been celebrating along with the bride and groom and all the party, he had, and now, as he staggered along, he saw the trees and the rocks and the fence posts swaying before him, while overhead, the stars were dancing.

“Dancing with no music? Poor stars, poor stars, I’ll give them some music.”

So Joost took out his fiddle then and there in the dead of night, and began to play a tune for the stars.  Then nothing would do but that he must play a tune for the rocks and the trees as well.  But as he played—eh, what was that sound?  A bell?  The cool iron bell of the church tower?  Joost counted the peals as he fiddled … ten, eleven, twelve. … Twelve!  It was no longer Saturday!  Now it was Sunday, and here he was, fiddling on the Sabbath.

“But if I’ve started this tune on a Sabbath, I’m just as much a sinner whether I finish it or not.  So I’ll just finish it.”

But what was this?  He wasn’t alone.  Oh, no, a tall stranger stood in shadow beside him, and that tall stranger held a fiddle, too, and matched Joost note for note.  They played that tune out to the end.  And Joost cried out:

“Well played, stranger!”

“And do you know the name of that tune?”  The stranger’s voice was dark and rich.  “That was ‘The Devil’s Delight.’ ”

“It was no such thing!” cried Joost.  “How could it have a name when I just now made the thing up out of my own head?”

“Did you, now?  Then how could I match you, note for note?”

Joost considered that.  He shrugged.  “Oh, you’re a good fiddler, man, a fine fiddler.  Maybe the … second best fiddler in New Amsterdam.”

“Only the second best, Joost?”

“Hey now, how’s it you know my name?”