Aye so he did, but there's a strange story wi' that thing you're lookin' at. There was a tramp come here one day I was out, and when I come back, I found him playin' away on that thing, and the house in an uproar. TAYLOR. Aye? He left it here then? MRS. GRANAHAN. No, wait till I tell ye. I packed him out o' this, and the next thing I heerd about him was when a wheen o' weeks ago he was got half dead wi' wet and could in the Flough Moss. John McKillop was down for cutting turf, and foun' him in a peat hole, wi' his hands on the brew, and the ould fiddle beside him. ELLEN. Yes. The poor soul died the next day, and just before he died he asked McKillop to bring over his fiddle to give to Robbie John. Robbie had been kind to him sometime or other, and the poor bein' never forgot it. TAYLOR. Ach aye. I do remember hearin' somethin' about it. They said he had been a big man in his day I think. MRS. GRANAHAN. Aye. He was blatherin the day he was here about bein' the leader of an ould band or somethin' like, now that I call to mind. But indeed I paid no heed till him, for he was part drunk. TAYLOR. [Curiously.] You didn't get Robbie to burn this one I see. MRS. GRANAHAN. Well you see, Samuel James said it was a very valuable one and worth fifty poun' or more may be. There's an inscription on it somewhere if you look. TAYLOR. [Taking down fiddle and examining it.] Aye so I see. "To Nicholas Werner as a token of esteem from his orchestra. Vienna, 1878." ELLEN. Yes poor soul. He was tellin' the truth and no one believin'. TAYLOR. And does Robbie never play it? ELLEN. Not since he promised that I know of. But all the same it must tempt him for I see his eyes fixed on it often enough when he thinks no one's lookin'. TAYLOR. [He looks over at Mrs. Granahan who appears to be engrossed in her writing. He is just slipping his arm round Ellen when Mrs. Granahan looks up. He instantly drops his arm.] MRS. GRANAHAN. Ha'e you that stamp Mr. Taylor? TAYLOR. Its usual Mrs. Granahan for whoever signs the receipt to supply the stamp, however, there you are. [Mrs. Granahan licks the stamp, and signs the receipt.] The writin' doesn't come easy to you, ma'am. MRS. GRANAHAN. Now its not very courteous makin' fun o' poor old weemin', Mr. Taylor. I thought better o' you nor that. TAYLOR. Ould weemin'? Talk sense, Mrs. Granahan. I only wish my ould woman, if ever I have one, looks as well as you do. MRS. GRANAHAN. There, there, none o' your fool nonsense. You don't go blarneyin' me, like you do the likes of Ellen there. ELLEN. Ach mother! MRS. GRANAHAN.