“I mind o’d perfectly,” said the old man. “It was the fiddle that we fund on the road gaun to market. The maister was on ae cairt and me on the tither; and it was quite dark at the time, but there was a heavy rime on the grund, and the fiddle was in a black case, and I noticed it as we drave by, and stoppit my cairt to pick it up. The maister stoppit his too, and then when he had lookit at the fiddle, and tried hoo the strings soonded, he said, ‘Them ’at finds keeps, Sandy. I’ll gi’e ye five shillings to yoursel’, an we’ll say naething aboot this to naebody.’ So we shoved it in alow the strae, and there it lay till we got back frae Em’bro’. The maister played on it, and likit it better nor his ain; but on the Saturday after he cam’ to my hoose late at nicht, wi’ the case and fiddle in his hand, and said, kind o’ excited like, ‘Sandy, in case onybody should ask after this fiddle I think we’d better pit it ooten sicht for a wee. Get your shuill, and dig a hole ony place where it’s no likely to be disturbed.’” “And you did it?” “Deed did I. I dug a hole, and the fiddle and case lay there for mair nor a year. But it was never claimed, and we got it oot, and he played on it for a while, but the damp ground had spoiled it in some way, and he never likit it sae weel as at first. Then it gaed in twa ae day in his hands, and was put awa in a bag till the day o’ the sale.” “And what became of the case?” I asked, with great eagerness. “Ou, the maister used it for a long time to haud ane o’ his ain fiddles, and it went wi’ it at the sale to Thompson o’ the Mains.” “Was there not a brass plate on it bearing a name?” “A brass plate? I raither think there was a brass plate on it when we fund it, but I never saw it after. Maybe the maister had ta’en it aff.” “Not unlikely,” I dryly observed. “Did you never hear of the fiddle being advertised for?” “No me; I didna fash muckle wi’ papers at that time.” “You must have known that you were as good as stealing the fiddle?—that it must have had an owner?” I sternly pursued. “I said that at the time, and advised the maister to adverteese it in the papers, but he only laughed, and said he would tak’ a’ the risk.” “Can this Mr Thompson who bought the case be found now?” “Naething easier, sir,” the man readily returned. “The farm’s no a mile off.” I began to see the end of my task now, and, with the old ploughman to lead the way, at once drove to the Mains and was introduced to Mr Thompson. The fiddle case was at once produced, and then I smiled as I discovered on the top of the lid a square indentation and two rivet holes, which had evidently at one time contained a brass name-plate. With little difficulty I got the fiddle case away with me, and drove back to Edinburgh, where it was identified by the widow at a glance as that of her husband’s lost instrument.