The friendship of Robert had gained Shargar the favourable notice of
others of the school-public. These were chiefly of those who came from
the country, ready to follow an example set them by a town boy. When his
desertion was known, moved both by their compassion for him, and their
respect for Robert, they began to give him some portion of the dinner
they brought with them; and never in his life had Shargar fared so well
as for the first week after he had been cast upon the world. But in
proportion as their interest faded with the novelty, so their appetites
reasserted former claims of use and wont, and Shargar began once more
to feel the pangs of hunger. For all that Robert could manage to procure
for him without attracting the attention he was so anxious to avoid,
was little more than sufficient to keep his hunger alive, Shargar
being gifted with a great appetite, and Robert having no allowance of
pocket-money from his grandmother. The threepence he had been able to
spend on him were what remained of sixpence Mr. Innes had given him
for an exercise which he wrote in blank verse instead of in prose--an
achievement of which the school-master was proud, both from his
reverence for Milton, and from his inability to compose a metrical line
himself. And how and when he should ever possess another penny was even
unimaginable. Shargar's shilling was likewise spent. So Robert could but
go on pocketing instead of eating all that he dared, watching anxiously
for opportunity of evading the eyes of his grandmother. On her dimness
of sight, however, he depended too confidently after all; for either she
was not so blind as he thought she was, or she made up for the defect of
her vision by the keenness of her observation. She saw enough to cause
her considerable annoyance, though it suggested nothing inconsistent
with rectitude on the part of the boy, further than that there was
something underhand going on. One supposition after another arose in
the old lady's brain, and one after another was dismissed as improbable.
First, she tried to persuade herself that he wanted to take the
provisions to school with him, and eat them there--a proceeding of which
she certainly did not approve, but for the reproof of which she was
unwilling to betray the loopholes of her eyes. Next she concluded, for
half a day, that he must have a pair of rabbits hidden away in some nook
or other--possibly in the little strip of garden belonging to the house.
And so conjecture followed conjecture for a whole week, during which,
strange to say, not even Betty knew that Shargar slept in the house. For
so careful and watchful were the two boys, that although she could not
help suspecting something from the expression and behaviour of Robert,
what that something might be she could not imagine; nor had she and her
mistress as yet exchanged confidences on the subject. Her observation
coincided with that of her mistress as to the disappearance of odds and
ends of eatables--potatoes, cold porridge, bits of oat-cake; and even,
on one occasion, when Shargar happened to be especially ravenous, a
yellow, or cured and half-dried, haddock, which the lad devoured raw,
vanished from her domain. He went to school in the morning smelling so
strong in consequence, that they told him he must have been passing the
night in Scroggie's cart, and not on his horse's back this time.
The boys kept their secret well.
One evening, towards the end of the week, Robert, after seeing Shargar
disposed of for the night, proceeded to carry out a project which
had grown in his brain within the last two days in consequence of an
occurrence with which his relation to Shargar had had something to do.
It was this:
The housing of Shargar in the garret had led Robert to make a close
acquaintance with the place. He was familiar with all the outs and
ins of the little room which he considered his own, for that was a
civilized, being a plastered, ceiled, and comparatively well-lighted
little room, but not with the other, which was three times its size,
very badly lighted, and showing the naked couples from roof-tree to
floor. Besides, it contained no end of dark corners, with which his
childish imagination had associated undefined horrors, assuming now one
shape, now another. Also there were several closets in it, constructed
in the angles of the place, and several chests--two of which he had
ventured to peep into. But although he had found them filled, not with
bones, as he had expected, but one with papers, and one with garments,
he had yet dared to carry his researches no further. One evening,
however, when Betty was out, and he had got hold of her candle, and gone
up to keep Shargar company for a few minutes, a sudden impulse seized
him to have a peep into all the closets. One of them he knew a little
about, as containing, amongst other things, his father's coat with
the gilt buttons, and his great-grandfather's kilt, as well as other
garments useful to Shargar: now he would see what was in the rest. He
did not find anything very interesting, however, till he arrived at
the last. Out of it he drew a long queer-shaped box into the light of
Betty's dip.
'Luik here, Shargar!' he said under his breath, for they never dared to
speak aloud in these precincts--'luik here! What can there be in this
box? Is't a bairnie's coffin, duv ye think? Luik at it.'
In this case Shargar, having roamed the country a good deal more than
Robert, and having been present at some merry-makings with his mother,
of which there were comparatively few in that country-side, was better
informed than his friend.
'Eh! Bob, duvna ye ken what that is? I thocht ye kent a' thing. That's a
fiddle.'
'That's buff an' styte (stuff and nonsense), Shargar. Do ye think I
dinna ken a fiddle whan I see ane, wi' its guts ootside o' 'ts wame, an'
the thoomacks to screw them up wi' an' gar't skirl?'
'Buff an' styte yersel'!' cried Shargar, in indignation, from the bed.
'Gie's a haud o' 't.'
Robert handed him the case. Shargar undid the hooks in a moment, and
revealed the creature lying in its shell like a boiled bivalve.
'I tellt ye sae!' he exclaimed triumphantly. 'Maybe ye'll lippen to me
(trust me) neist time.'
'An' I tellt you,' retorted Robert, with an equivocation altogether
unworthy of his growing honesty. 'I was cocksure that cudna be a fiddle.
There's the fiddle i' the hert o' 't! Losh! I min' noo. It maun be my
grandfather's fiddle 'at I hae heard tell o'.'
'No to ken a fiddle-case!' reflected Shargar, with as much of contempt
as it was possible for him to show.
'I tell ye what, Shargar,' returned Robert, indignantly; 'ye may ken the
box o' a fiddle better nor I do, but de'il hae me gin I dinna ken the
fiddle itsel' raither better nor ye do in a fortnicht frae this time. I
s' tak' it to Dooble Sanny; he can play the fiddle fine. An' I'll play
't too, or the de'il s' be in't.'
'Eh, man, that 'll be gran'!' cried Shargar, incapable of jealousy. 'We
can gang to a' the markets thegither and gaither baubees (halfpence).'
To this anticipation Robert returned no reply, for, hearing Betty come
in, he judged it time to restore the violin to its case, and Betty's
candle to the kitchen, lest she should invade the upper regions in
search of it. But that very night he managed to have an interview with
Dooble Sanny, the shoemaker, and it was arranged between them that
Robert should bring his violin on the evening at which my story has now
arrived.
Whatever motive he had for seeking to commence the study of music, it
holds even in more important matters that, if the thing pursued be
good, there is a hope of the pursuit purifying the motive. And Robert no
sooner heard the fiddle utter a few mournful sounds in the hands of the
soutar, who was no contemptible performer, than he longed to establish
such a relation between himself and the strange instrument, that, dumb
and deaf as it had been to him hitherto, it would respond to his touch
also, and tell him the secrets of its queerly-twisted skull, full of
sweet sounds instead of brains. From that moment he would be a musician
for music's own sake, and forgot utterly what had appeared to
him, though I doubt if it was, the sole motive of his desire to
learn--namely, the necessity of retaining his superiority over Shargar.
What added considerably to the excitement of his feelings on the
occasion, was the expression of reverence, almost of awe, with which
the shoemaker took the instrument from its case, and the tenderness with
which he handled it. The fact was that he had not had a violin in his
hands for nearly a year, having been compelled to pawn his own in order
to alleviate the sickness brought on his wife by his own ill-treatment
of her, once that he came home drunk from a wedding. It was strange to
think that such dirty hands should be able to bring such sounds out of
the instrument the moment he got it safely cuddled under his cheek. So
dirty were they, that it was said Dooble Sanny never required to carry
any rosin with him for fiddler's need, his own fingers having always
enough upon them for one bow at least. Yet the points of those fingers
never lost the delicacy of their touch. Some people thought this was
in virtue of their being washed only once a week--a custom Alexander
justified on the ground that, in a trade like his, it was of no use to
wash oftener, for he would be just as dirty again before night.
The moment he began to play, the face of the soutar grew ecstatic. He
stopped at the very first note, notwithstanding, let fall his arms, the
one with the bow, the other with the violin, at his sides, and said,
with a deep-drawn respiration and lengthened utterance:
'Eh!'
Then after a pause, during which he stood motionless:
'The crater maun be a Cry Moany! Hear till her!' he added, drawing
another long note.
Then, after another pause:
'She's a Straddle Vawrious at least! Hear till her. I never had sic a
combination o' timmer and catgut atween my cleuks (claws) afore.'
As to its being a Stradivarius, or even a Cremona at all, the testimony
of Dooble Sanny was not worth much on the point. But the shoemaker's
admiration roused in the boy's mind a reverence for the individual
instrument which he never lost.
From that day the two were friends.
Suddenly the soutar started off at full speed in a strathspey, which was
soon lost in the wail of a Highland psalm-tune, giving place in its turn
to 'Sic a wife as Willie had!' And on he went without pause, till Robert
dared not stop any longer. The fiddle had bewitched the fiddler.
'Come as aften 's ye like, Robert, gin ye fess this leddy wi' ye,' said
the soutar.
And he stroked the back of the violin tenderly with his open palm.
'But wad ye hae ony objection to lat it lie aside ye, and lat me come
whan I can?'
'Objection, laddie? I wad as sune objeck to lattin' my ain wife lie
aside me.'
'Ay,' said Robert, seized with some anxiety about the violin as he
remembered the fate of the wife, 'but ye ken Elspet comes aff a' the
waur sometimes.'
Softened by the proximity of the wonderful violin, and stung afresh by
the boy's words as his conscience had often stung him before, for he
loved his wife dearly save when the demon of drink possessed him,
the tears rose in Elshender's eyes. He held out the violin to Robert,
saying, with unsteady voice:
'Hae, tak her awa'. I dinna deserve to hae sic a thing i' my hoose. But
hear me, Robert, and lat hearin' be believin'. I never was sae drunk but
I cud tune my fiddle. Mair by token, ance they fand me lyin' o' my back
i' the Corrie, an' the watter, they say, was ower a' but the mou' o'
me; but I was haudin' my fiddle up abune my heid, and de'il a spark o'
watter was upo' her.'
'It's a pity yer wife wasna yer fiddle, than, Sanny,' said Robert, with
more presumption than wit.
''Deed ye're i' the richt, there, Robert. Hae, tak' yer fiddle.'
''Deed no,' returned Robert. 'I maun jist lippen (trust) to ye, Sanders.
I canna bide langer the nicht; but maybe ye'll tell me hoo to haud her
the neist time 'at I come--will ye?'
'That I wull, Robert, come whan ye like. An' gin ye come o' ane 'at
cud play this fiddle as this fiddle deserves to be playt, ye'll do me
credit.'
'Ye min' what that sumph Lumley said to me the ither nicht, Sanders,
aboot my grandfather?'
'Ay, weel eneuch. A dish o' drucken havers!'
'It was true eneuch aboot my great-grandfather, though.'
'No! Was't railly?'
'Ay. He was the best piper in 's regiment at Culloden. Gin they had a'
fouchten as he pipit, there wad hae been anither tale to tell. And he
was toon-piper forby, jist like you, Sanders, efter they took frae him
a' 'at he had.'
'Na! heard ye ever the like o' that! Weel, wha wad hae thocht it? Faith!
we maun hae you fiddle as weel as yer lucky-daiddy pipit.--But here's
the King o' Bashan comin' efter his butes, an' them no half dune yet!'
exclaimed Dooble Sanny, settling in haste to his awl and his lingel (Fr.
ligneul). 'He'll be roarin' mair like a bull o' the country than the
king o' 't.'
As Robert departed, Peter Ogg came in, and as he passed the window, he
heard the shoemaker averring:
'I haena risen frae my stule sin' ane o'clock; but there's a sicht to be
dune to them, Mr. Ogg.'
Indeed, Alexander ab Alexandro, as Mr. Innes facetiously styled him, was
in more ways than one worthy of the name of Dooble. There seemed to be
two natures in the man, which all his music had not yet been able to
blend.