it  was  Maister  Claud  Halcro's  fiddle,  whilk,  I  am
apt  to  think,  wad  skirl  at  his  father's  deathbed,  or
at  his  ain,  sae  lang  as  his  fingers  could  pinch  the
thairm.  And  it  was  nae  sma'  aggravation  to  my
misfortune  to  have  him  bumming  a'  sorts  of  springs,
—  Norse  and  Scots,  Highland  and  Lawland,  Eng-
lish and  Italian,  in  my  lug,  as  if  nothing  had  hap-
pened that  was  amiss,  and  we  all  in  such  stress  and
perplexity."

"  Why,  I  told  you  sorrow  would  never  right  the
boat,  Factor,"  said  the  thoughtless  minstrel,  "  and
I  did  my  best  to  make  you  merry  ;  if  I  failed,  it  was
neither  my  fault  nor  my  fiddle's.  I  have  drawn  the
bow  across  it  before  glorious  John  Dryden  himself."

"  I  will  hear  no  stories  about  glorious  John  Dry-
den," answered  the  Udaller,  who  dreaded  Halcro's
narratives  as  much  as  Triptolemus  did  his  music, —
"  I  will  hear  nought  of  him,  but  one  story  to  every
three  bowls  of  punch,  —  it  is  our  old  paction,  you
know.  But  tell  me,  instead,  what  said  Noma  to
you  about  your  errand  ? "

"  Ay,  there  was  anither  fine  upshot,"  said  Master
Yellowley.  "  She  wadna  look  at  us,  or  listen  to  us ;
only  she  bothered  our  acquaintance.  Master  Halcro
here,  who  thought  he  could  have  sae  much  to  say
wi'  her,  with  about  a  score  of  questions  about  your
family  and  household  estate.  Master  Magnus  Troil ;
and  when  she  had  gotten  a'  she  wanted  out  of  him,
I  thought  she  wad  hae  dung  him  ower  the  craig,  like
an  empty  peacod."

"  And  for  yourself  ? "  said  the  Udaller.
