“This is perfectly wonderful,” he said. “There must surely be some glamour about this instrument.” He thanked the lady, and was about to take his departure, when she stopped him with— “Stop a minute. There is a condition attached to the gift. This day seven years, at the very same hour in the evening, you must meet me by moonlight at the Well of Sysa. Swear by its enchanted spring that you will do so.” Peter was elated over his new acquisition, and rashly swore as she desired. Then he went home to his father’s farm, the “Windy Ha’.” With an air of triumph he produced his pipes, which excited much curiosity, and were greatly admired. But when he told how he came by them, the old people were fearful. “It’s no canny, Peter,” said his father, shaking his head, “and I would advise you to have nothing to do with it.” “The Best protect us!” exclaimed his mother, “my bairn is lost. He must have got it from none other than the Queen of the Fairies.” “Nonsense,” said Peter; “it was not the Queen of the Fairies, but a real lady—and a kind and beautiful lady she was—that gave me the pipes.” “But of what use can they be to you,” said his father, “when you canna play them?” “I’ll let you see that,” Peter replied, and, putting the wind pipe to his mouth, he played the “Fairy Dance” in a style that electrified the household. The whole family, including the grandmother, ninety years of age, started to their feet, and danced heartily, overturning stools and scattering the fire, which was in the middle of the floor, with their fantastic movements. The piper played as if he would never stop. At length his father, panting for breath and with the perspiration running down his cheeks, cried out, “For mercy’s sake, Peter, gie ower, or you’ll be the death o’ me and yer mither, as well as poor old grannie.” “I think,” said Peter, laying aside his pipes, “I think you’ll no longer say that I cannot play,” and from that time his fame as a piper spread rapidly, and he was sent for to perform at weddings and merrymakings all over the country, till he realised a small fortune. But the seven years soon rolled away, and the afternoon arrived when he must keep his appointment with the donor of the pipes. Rover, the house dog, attempted to follow him, and when he was sent back he gazed after his master as far as he could see him, and then howled long and piteously. The evening was just such another as that seven years before, and the hillock of Sysa seemed, in the yellow radiance of the setting sun, to glow with unearthly splendour. Peter went, but he never returned, and the general belief was that he was carried away to Fairyland. At any rate, he was never again seen at Windy Ha’.