Every day afterwards, when evening fell, Nigel took his violin, and went out into the lanes and the dark-swept villages, and played for the children to dance. They grew to expect him, and to clamour for old tunes. "Give us the jiggy one," they would cry, and he would play "O Caro Nome." "Give us the twirly one," and he would play "I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls." But sometimes he would not give them what they wanted--he would play what he chose, strange things that came into his head and would not leave it till he had sent them wailing into the dusk. One day he played a duet with some long grass that rustled and sighed behind him; another day it was with a wood, brown and naked, but full of palpitating mysteries; another time he played an accompaniment to the stars as they crept timidly one by one into the deserts of the sky. He knew the constellations, and gave gentle, bird-like notes to the dim Pleiades, and low, sonorous tones to Orion, and heavy quavers to the Wain; there was a sudden scale for Casseopeia, and harmonics for the Ram. By the time he had finished all the children had gone, and he was alone in the breeze and darkness, in a great, grief-stricken silence, which, he realised painfully, greeted the stars far more fitly than any strivings of his. It was impossible for this new life to be hidden from the brother and sister at Sparrow Hall. One evening Leonard burst into the kitchen where Janey was sitting. "What do you think Nigel's up to now?" "What?" "Playing the fiddle outside pubs for kids to dance to." Janey gasped. "Are you sure, Len?" "Absolutely pos. Old Pilcher was telling me--the lad was fiddling away for an hour outside the Sweepers at Blindley Heath, and all the brats were on their hind legs, kicking up no end. Janet, do you think he's all there?" "I--I don't know--I've been wondering." "There's no doubt that he's been strange ever since he came out of quod. Poor old Nigel--life's hit him hard, and bruised him a lot." "He was funny about kids from the first. He took a tremendous fancy to that odious little Ivy Batt who comes for the milk." "I expect this is part of the same game." "I expect it is--but it hurts me to think of it." She turned to the fire, and a sigh shook her breast--life had a habit of hitting hard all round. A few minutes later Nigel came in. He set down his violin, and went over to the hearth, kneeling beside Janey. She put her arms round him, and drew his head to her shoulder. "Old man ... is it really true that you go about the villages fiddling to kids?" "Yes--I like to see 'em dance." "Are you fond of them?" "Only when they dance." "What a funny old man you are." "Ain't I, Janey!" CHAPTER XIII KEEPING CHRISTMAS