The pipers played until there were no more memories left and everything had come true; and the queen came back to her throne to find Sandy waiting, eager-eyed, for her. "A have a bonny song made for ye. Wull ye tak it frae me noo?" "Take what?" "The hump. Ye tuk it frae the ither loonie gien he made ye some guid music; an' a ha' fetched ye mair--here." And he tapped his head to signify that it was not written down. "Is the song ready, now?" Sandy nodded. "Then turn about and sing it loud enough for all to hear; they must be the judges if the song is worth the price of a hump." And the queen smiled very tenderly. Sandy did as he was bid; he clasped his hands tightly in front of him. "'Tis no for the faeries," he explained. "Ye see--they be hardly needin' ony music, wi' muckle o' their ain. 'Tis for the children--the children i' horspitals--a bonny song for them to sleepit on." He marked the rhythm a moment with his foot, and hummed it through once to be sure he had it. Then he broke out clearly into the old Jacobite air--with words of his own making: "Ye weave a bonny primrose ring; Ye hear the River callin'; Ye ken the Land whaur faeries sing-- Whaur starlicht beams are fallin'. 'Tis there the pipers play things true; 'Tis there ye'll gae--my dearie-- The bonny Land 'at waits for you, Whaur ye'll be nae mair weary. "A wee man by a blackthorn-tree Maun stitchit shoes for dancin', An' there's a pair for ye an' me-- To set our feet a-prancin'. 'Tis muckle gladness 'at ye'll find In Tir-na-n'Og, my dearie; The bonny Land 'at's aye sae kind, Whaur ye'll be nae mair weary. "Ye'll ken the birdeen's blithie song, Ye'll hark till flo'ers lauchen; An' see the faeries trippit long By brook an' brae an' bracken. Sae doon your heid--an' shut your een; Gien ye'd be away, my dearie-- An' the bonny sauncy faery queen Wull keep ye--nae mair weary." You may think it uncommonly strange that Sandy could make a song like this, by himself; but, you see, he was not entirely alone--there were the baby faeries. They helped a lot; as fast as ever he thought out the words they rhymed them for him--this being a part of the A B C of faery education. When the song was finished Sandy turned to the queen again. "Aighe--wull it do?" "If the faeries like it, and think it good enough to send down to the children, they will have it all learned by heart and will sing it back to you in a minute. Listen! Can you hear anything?" For a moment only the rustle of the trees could be heard. Sandy strained his ears until he caught a low, sobbing sound coming through the hazel-leaves. "'Tis but the wind--greetin'," he said, wistfully. "Listen again!" The sound grew, breaking into a cadence and a counter-cadence, and thence into a harmony. "'Tis verra ilk the grand pipe-organ i' the kirk, hame in Aberdeen." "Listen again!"