PIPERS AND TROUBLES
At the beginning of that same summer, Jamie Robinson, Aberfoyle's
piper, became restless. Jamie was not a steady man. He had never been a
good provider. His poor wife and babies were often hungry and cold in
the stormy winter months.
Jamie Robinson earned his living by his piping. He marched back and
forth through the village street, playing his bagpipes. He hoped that
the noisy, celebrating crowds, which arrived from Glasgow, would like
his music and throw him pennies.
When the people were generous, his family might have a good dinner. But
often Jamie Robinson did not bring the money home to his family.
Unfortunately Jamie, who was a weak man, was often led by some of the
village men into public houses. Here men gamble and drink.
Sometimes poor Mrs. Robinson waited until very late for her husband to
come home. When at last he arrived, he came penniless.
But now Jamie was buoyed up by the balmy weather. He felt a longing for
the open road.
"Come away, wife," he pleaded. "'Tis no living for a man here."
But Mrs. Robinson only shook her head and reminded him of their large
family and of the hardships of a wandering life. After all, they were
comfortable here, when Jamie brought home the pennies.
They had a little corner on a bright meadow beside a brook. Besides,
the people of Aberfoyle were kind. Mrs. Robinson tried to keep her four
wee children clean and happy. But this task was not always easy. What
would it be on the open road?
"No, Jamie," she said. "'Tis afraid I am to go traveling with the wee
bairns." (Children are called bairns in Scotland.)
But Jamie insisted and promised that she would not regret it. He
promised that he would make money and provide for them better than
before.
And so, one day the village of Aberfoyle said good-bye to Piper
Robinson. The little caravan then moved on to what they hoped would be
a better life.
They made a queer picture as they trudged along. There was Jamie
pulling the cart, with Mrs. Robinson beside him. Her entire kitchen was
strung upon her back--teakettle, sauce pan, and soup ladle.
Then came the oldest child, followed by the scrawny dog. Behind him
dragged a freckled boy of five years. In the handcart, on top of the
sticks and the tent, sat the two babies. One of them was three and the
other barely two years old.
For some time Jamie Robinson was happy. In each little village where he
played, he made enough to feed his family. He tried to please his wife
and brought home all the money that was thrown him.
But the weeks wore on, and the family moved farther and farther from
the big cities. Then it seemed that there became less and less money
for pipers.
One night Jamie came back to his little brood with empty pockets. The
rain had been falling all day. The family of Jamie Robinson had been
huddled together in their tent like lost sheep. When Jamie entered the
tent, the baby was crying. Jamie knew she was hungry.
While Sandy MacGregor traveled, he usually sang or whistled. Sandy was
always happy. He was getting old, and his stride was not what it had
been. Still he gloried in his happy-go-lucky life.
Since leaving Aberfoyle, Sandy had thought often of the little boy in
whose charge he had left the baby lamb. Old Sandy chuckled to himself
when he thought about his return and Ian's joy upon receiving the
bagpipes.
"If I could only stay and teach the laddie to play!" mused the old
piper.
Sandy was a good piper and had once served in the army. Jamie Robinson
had only picked up a few tunes. Ian had recognized Sandy's clever
playing at once on the day he had first come to Aberfoyle.
Now, wet from the showers and hungry, Sandy stopped in a town. Taking
out his pipes, he began to play. It was the same town where Jamie
Robinson had played that night and the night before. The people were
poor.
The rain had been falling in steady showers, so that few persons were
about the streets. Sandy puffed on his pipes, and the sweet melody
echoed through the village and beyond to the hills. But not a soul
came to pay the piper.
"Ach, well," sighed Sandy. He wiped the dripping water from his brow
and put back the pipes. He covered them carefully with his plaid. Then
pulling his cart, the old man moved on through the wet streets of the
village. Soon he was on the open road.
His experienced eyes fell upon a camping spot. He decided to rest the
night there. He neared the little clump of trees by the side of the
road. Then he saw that he was not the only traveler who had chosen this
spot. Here was the tent of Jamie Robinson.
As Sandy drew closer, he heard a baby crying. Sandy called out, and
Jamie put his face out of his tent. A sullen, angry face it was.
"And what is it you want?" he bellowed.
Sandy walked up to the man and smiled.
"Ach, don't be angry," he said. "I'll not be harming you. I'm an old
piper and would rest the night here beside you, if you have no
objection."
Jamie looked at the cart and again at Sandy's happy red face.
Then, softening his tone, he said, "Then welcome. And have you piped to
yon village?"
"Ay," answered Sandy, "but they have not cared for my music!"
He laughed as he said this, and started to pitch his tent.
Jamie came out and helped him. It was not long before he had told Sandy
all of his troubles. Sandy's brows wrinkled. A sadness came over his
face as he listened to Jamie's tale of woe.
The family had been stranded here for three days. The rain had kept
them from moving. Then the wee baby was ill, and the others were hungry
and cold. Not a penny had been made in the town. Jamie had played
several times each day. He had even trudged along to the next town with
no better results.
Sandy was shocked. The thought of hungry children tormented him.
Telling Jamie that he wished to try his luck in the town once more, he
hastened thither, his pipes under his arm.
Sandy had never been a rich man. He always had enough to buy his meals,
and that was all. A piper cannot make a great deal. Sandy's music
usually brought him ample money for his needs. But he was a generous
soul and gave away half of what he earned.
To-night he had in his pocket just enough to buy his dinner. Into the
town he went. It was not long before he returned to the suffering
family with bread and milk. To Mrs. Robinson, Sandy appeared as a good
fairy that night.
The next day broke fair. Early Sandy was in the market square of the
town. He played the finest tunes he knew, strutting up and down.
The villagers liked his music, and the children followed him. They
would have liked to shower Sandy with gold, for the joy that their
country's melodies brought them. But their purses were thin. They could
only smile sadly and shake their heads at the puffing old man.
There was nothing for the Robinsons to do but to move on. It was a
difficult task for Mrs. Robinson. But with Sandy's help, she managed
to pilot her little tribe along the muddy road to the next village.
For many days Sandy and the Robinsons traveled together. Sandy piped
and gave them all he made, which was little enough. Often he himself
would go hungry to bed.
It grew so bad that poor Sandy began to wonder what would happen to
them. Not for worlds would he have left them. Never did such a thought
enter his mind.
He worried more over the sick baby than did Jamie Robinson. Jamie was,
in fact, to Sandy, another child. Sandy felt as though he had to
protect the irresponsible piper along with his family.
These were terrible days for Sandy. He sold nearly everything he had to
provide for the Robinsons and keep them from going hungry.
One day the baby became desperately ill. It needed a doctor. Sandy
rushed to the nearest village. The doctor was brought and pronounced
the baby in a serious condition. He said it must be given fresh milk
and nourishing food. But to provide these things was too difficult for
the little family.
One thought had been at the back of Sandy's mind all along. But he had
not allowed himself to consider it seriously until now. This crisis,
however, forced him to carry out a plan.
The bagpipes he had promised Ian were the only valuable possession in
his little cart. They would bring enough money to save the baby's life.
Sandy pulled them out. He polished the silver and rubbed the chanter
carefully to remove the dust. Meanwhile, his thoughts flew to Ian. In
his heart he was used to calling Ian "the wee Scotch piper," for he
hoped to see the boy realize his dream some day.
Now the pipes would have to go. He would have to return to the lad
empty-handed and with his promise broken. Still, it was the only thing
he could do. So poor Sandy sold the pipes.
Sandy returned from the village, with his pockets bulging. He seemed
to see Ian in front of him, the wee lamb in his arms. Ian seemed to be
looking expectantly and questioningly at his old friend.
And Sandy heard himself saying, "No, laddie. Sandy has disappointed you
and has not brought you the pipes!"
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