And Robert played--not so well as he had hoped. I dare say it was a humble enough performance, but he gave something at least of the expression Mr. Lammie desired. For, the moment the tune was over, he exclaimed, 'Weel dune, Robert man! ye'll be a fiddler some day yet!' And Robert was well satisfied with the praise. 'I wish yer mother had been alive,' the farmer went on. 'She wad hae been rael prood to hear ye play like that. Eh! she likit the fiddle weel. And she culd play bonny upo' the piana hersel'. It was something to hear the twa o' them playing thegither, him on the fiddle--that verra fiddle o' 's father's 'at ye hae i' yer han'--and her on the piana. Eh! but she was a bonnie wuman as ever I saw, an' that quaiet! It's my belief she never thocht aboot her ain beowty frae week's en' to week's en', and that's no sayin' little--is 't, Aggy?' 'I never preten't ony richt to think aboot sic,' returned Miss Lammie, with a mild indignation. 'That's richt, lass. Od, ye're aye i' the richt--though I say 't 'at sudna.' Miss Lammie must indeed have been good-natured, to answer only with a genuine laugh. Shargar looked explosive with anger. But Robert would fain hear more of his mother. 'What was my mother like, Mr. Lammie?' he asked. 'Eh, my man! ye suld hae seen her upon a bonnie bay mere that yer father gae her. Faith! she sat as straught as a rash, wi' jist a hing i' the heid o' her, like the heid o' a halm o' wild aits.' 'My father wasna that ill till her than?' suggested Robert. 'Wha ever daured say sic a thing?' returned Mr. Lammie, but in a tone so far from satisfactory to Robert, that he inquired no more in that direction. I need hardly say that from that night Robert was more than ever diligent with his violin. CHAPTER XXI. THE DRAGON. Next day, his foot was so much better that he sent Shargar to Rothieden to buy the string, taking with him Robert's school-bag, in which to carry off his Sunday shoes; for as to those left at Dooble Sanny's, they judged it unsafe to go in quest of them: the soutar could hardly be in a humour fit to be intruded upon. Having procured the string, Shargar went to Mrs. Falconer's. Anxious not to encounter her, but, if possible, to bag the boots quietly, he opened the door, peeped in, and seeing no one, made his way towards the kitchen. He was arrested, however, as he crossed the passage by the voice of Mrs. Falconer calling, 'Wha's that?' There she was at the parlour door. It paralyzed him. His first impulse was to make a rush and escape. But the boots--he could not go without at least an attempt upon them. So he turned and faced her with inward trembling. 'Wha's that?' repeated the old lady, regarding him fixedly. 'Ow, it's you! What duv ye want? Ye camna to see me, I'm thinkin'! What hae ye i' that bag?' 'I cam to coff (buy) twine for the draigon,' answered Shargar. 'Ye had twine eneuch afore!' 'It bruik. It wasna strang eneuch.' 'Whaur got ye the siller to buy mair? Lat's see 't?'