robert falconer- 第37部分

was　just　what　he　wanted。



The　economy　of　Dooble　Sanny's　abode　was　this：　the　outer　door　was

always　left　on　the　latch　at　night；　because　several　families　lived　in

the　house；　the　soutar's　workshop　opened　from　the　passage；　close　to

the　outer　door；　therefore　its　door　was　locked；　but　the　key　hung　on　a

nail　just　inside　the　soutar's　bedroom。　　All　this　Robert　knew。



Arrived　at　the　house；　he　lifted　the　latch；　closed　the　door　behind

him；　took　off　his　shoes　once　more；　like　a　housebreaker；　as　indeed　he

was；　although　a　righteous　one；　and　felt　his　way　to　and　up　the　stair

to　the　bedroom。　　There　was　a　sound　of　snoring　within。　　The　door　was

a　little　ajar。　　He　reached　the　key　and　descended；　his　heart　beating

more　and　more　wildly　as　he　approached　the　realization　of　his　hopes。

Gently　as　he　could　he　turned　it　in　the　lock。　　In　a　moment　more　he

had　his　hands　on　the　spot　where　the　shoemaker　always　laid　his

violin。　　But　his　heart　sank　within　him：　there　was　no　violin　there。

A　blank　of　dismay　held　him　both　motionless　and　thoughtless；　nor　had

he　recovered　his　senses　before　he　heard　footsteps；　which　he　well

knew；　approaching　in　the　street。　　He　slunk　at　once　into　a　corner。

Elshender　entered；　feeling　his　way　carefully；　and　muttering　at　his

wife。　　He　was　tipsy；　most　likely；　but　that　had　never　yet　interfered

with　the　safety　of　his　fiddle：　Robert　heard　its　faint　echo　as　he

laid　it　gently　down。　　Nor　was　he　too　tipsy　to　lock　the　door　behind

him；　leaving　Robert　incarcerated　amongst　the　old　boots　and　leather

and　rosin。



For　one　moment　only　did　the　boy's　heart　fail　him。　　The　next　he　was

in　action；　for　a　happy　thought　had　already　struck　him。　　Hastily；

that　he　might　forestall　sleep　in　the　brain　of　the　soutar；　he　undid

his　parcel；　and　after　carefully　enveloping　his　own　violin　in　the

paper；　took　the　old　wife　of　the　soutar；　and　proceeded　to　perform

upon　her　a　trick　which　in　a　merry　moment　his　master　had　taught　him；

and　which；　not　without　some　feeling　of　irreverence；　he　had

occasionally　practised　upon　his　own　bonny　lady。



The　shoemaker's　room　was　overhead；　its　thin　floor　of　planks　was　the

ceiling　of　the　workshop。　　Ere　Dooble　Sanny　was　well　laid　by　the　side

of　his　sleeping　wife；　he　heard　a　frightful　sound　from　below；　as　of

some　one　tearing　his　beloved　violin　to　pieces。　　No　sound　of　rending

coffin…planks　or　rising　dead　would　have　been　so　horrible　in　the　ears

of　the　soutar。　　He　sprang　from　his　bed　with　a　haste　that　shook　the

crazy　tenement　to　its　foundation。



The　moment　Robert　heard　that；　he　put　the　violin　in　its　place；　and

took　his　station　by　the　door…cheek。　　The　soutar　came　tumbling　down

the　stair；　and　rushed　at　the　door；　but　found　that　he　had　to　go　back

for　the　key。　　When；　with　uncertain　hand；　he　had　opened　at　length；　he

went　straight　to　the　nest　of　his　treasure；　and　Robert　slipping　out

noiselessly；　was　in　the　next　street　before　Dooble　Sanny；　having

found　the　fiddle　uninjured；　and　not　discovering　the　substitution；

had　finished　concluding　that　the　whisky　and　his　imagination　had

played　him　a　very　discourteous　trick　between　them；　and　retired　once

more　to　bed。　　And　not　till　Robert　had　cut　his　foot　badly　with　a

piece　of　glass；　did　he　discover　that　he　had　left　his　shoes　behind

him。　　He　tied　it　up　with　his　handkerchief；　and　limped　home　the　three

miles；　too　happy　to　think　of　consequences。



Before　he　had　gone　far；　the　moon　floated　up　on　the　horizon；　large；

and　shaped　like　the　broadside　of　a　barrel。　　She　stared　at　him　in

amazement　to　see　him　out　at　such　a　time　of　the　night。　　But　he

grasped　his　violin　and　went　on。　　He　had　no　fear　now；　even　when　he

passed　again　over　the　desolate　moss；　although　he　saw　the　stagnant

pools　glimmering　about　him　in　the　moonlight。　　And　ever　after　this　he

had　a　fancy　for　roaming　at　night。　　He　reached　home　in　safety；　found

the　door　as　he　had　left　it；　and　ascended　to　his　bed；　triumphant　in

his　fiddle。



In　the　morning　bloody　prints　were　discovered　on　the　stair；　and

traced　to　the　door　of　his　room。　　Miss　Lammie　entered　in　some　alarm；

and　found　him　fast　asleep　on　his　bed；　still　dressed；　with　a

brown…paper　parcel　in　his　arms；　and　one　of　his　feet　evidently　enough

the　source　of　the　frightful　stain。　　She　was　too　kind　to　wake　him；

and　inquiry　was　postponed　till　they　met　at　breakfast；　to　which　he

descended　bare…footed；　save　for　a　handkerchief　on　the　injured　foot。



'Robert；　my　lad；'　said　Mr。　Lammie；　kindly；　'hoo　cam　ye　by　that

bluidy　fut？'



Robert　began　the　story；　and；　guided　by　a　few　questions　from　his

host；　at　length　told　the　tale　of　the　violin　from　beginning　to　end；

omitting　only　his　adventure　in　the　factory。　　Many　a　guffaw　from　Mr。

Lammie　greeted　its　progress；　and　Miss　Lammie　laughed　till　the　tears

rolled　unheeded　down　her　cheeks；　especially　when　Shargar；　emboldened

by　the　admiration　Robert　had　awakened；　imparted　his　private　share　in

the　comedy；　namely；　the　entombment　of　Boston　in　a　fifth…fold　state；

for　the　Lammies　were　none　of　the　unco　guid　to　be　censorious　upon

such　exploits。　　The　whole　business　advanced　the　boys　in　favour　at

Bodyfauld；　and　the　entreaties　of　Robert　that　nothing；　should　reach

his　grandmother's　ears　were　entirely　unnecessary。



After　breakfast　Miss　Lammie　dressed　the　wounded　foot。　　But　what　was

to　be　done　for　shoes；　for　Robert's　Sunday　pair　had　been　left　at

home？　　Under　ordinary　circumstances　it　would　have　been　no　great

hardship　to　him　to　go　barefoot　for　the　rest　of　the　autumn；　but　the

cut　was　rather　a　serious　one。　　So　his　feet　were　cased　in　a　pair　of

Mr。　Lammie's　Sunday　boots；　which；　from　their　size；　made　it　so

difficult　for　him　to　get　along；　that　he　did　not　go　far　from　the

doors；　but　revelled　in　the　company　of　his　violin　in　the　corn…yard

amongst　last　year's　ricks；　in　the　barn；　and　in　the　hayloft；　playing

all　the　tunes　he　knew；　and　trying　over　one　or　two　more　from　a　very

dirty　old　book　of　Scotch　airs；　which　his　teacher　had　lent　him。



In　the　evening；　as　they　sat　together　after　supper；　Mr。　Lammie　said；



'Weel；　Robert；　hoo's　the　fiddle？'



'Fine；　I　thank　ye；　sir；'　answered　Robert。



'Lat's　hear　what　ye　can　do　wi'　't。'



Robert　fetched　the　instrument　and　complied。



'That's　no　that　ill；'　remarked　the　farmer。　'But　eh！　man；　ye　suld　hae

heard　yer　gran'father　han'le　the　bow。　　That　was　something　to

hearance　in　a　body's　life。　　Ye　wad　hae　jist　thoucht　the　strings

had　been　drawn　frae　his　ain　inside；　he　kent　them　sae　weel；　and

han'led　them　sae　fine。　　He　jist　fan'　（felt）　them　like　wi'　's　fingers

throu'　the　bow　an'　the　horsehair　an'　a'；　an'　a'　the　time　he　was

drawin'　the　soun'　like　the　sowl　frae　them；　an'　they　jist　did

onything　'at　he　likit。　　Eh！　to　hear　him　play　the　Flooers　o'　the

Forest　wad　hae　garred　ye　greit。'



'Cud　my　father　play？'　asked　Robert。



'Ay；　weel　eneuch　for　him。　　He　could　do　onything　he　likit　to　try；

better　nor　middlin'。　　I　never　saw　sic　a　man。　　He　played　upo'　the

bagpipes；　an'　the　flute；　an'　the　bugle；　an'　I　kenna　what　a'；　but

a'thegither　they　cam'　na　within　sicht　o'　his　father　upo'　the　auld

fiddle。　　Lat's　hae　a　luik　at　her。'



He　took　the　instrument　in　his　hands　reverently；　turned　it　over　and

over；　and　said；



'Ay；　ay；　it's　the　same　auld　mill；　an'　I　wat　it　grun'　（ground）　bonny

meal。That　sma'　crater　noo　'ill　be　worth　a　hunner　poun'；　I　s'

warran'；'　he　added；　as　he　restored　it　carefully　into　Robert's　hands；

to　whom　it　was　honey　and　spice　to　hear　his　bonny　lady　paid　her　due

honours。　'Can　ye　play　the　Flooers　o'　the　Forest；　no？'　he　added　yet

again。



'Ay　can　I；'　answered　Robert；　with　some　pride；　and　laid　the　bow　on

the　violin；　and　played　the　air　through　without　blundering　a　single

note。



'Weel；　that's　verra　weel；'　said　Mr。　Lammie。　'But　it's　nae　mair　like

as　yer　gran'father　played　it；　than　gin　there　war　twa　sawyers　at　it；

ane　at　ilka　lug　o'　the　bow；　wi'　the　fiddle　atween　them　in　a

saw…pit。'



Robert's　heart　sank　within　him；　but　Mr。　Lammie　went　on：



'To　hear　the　bow　croudin'　（cooing）；　and　wailin'；　an'　greitin'　ower

the　strings；　wad　hae　jist　garred　ye　see　the　lands　o'　braid　Scotlan'

wi'　a'　the　lasses　greitin'　for　the　lads　that　lay　upo'　reid　Flodden

side；　lasses　to　cut；　and　lasses　to　gether；　and　lasses　to　bin'；　and

lasses　to　stook；　and　lasses　to　lead；　and　no　a　lad　amo'　them　a'。

It's　just　the　murnin'　o'　women；　doin'　men's　wark　as　weel　's　their

ain；　for　the　men　that　suld　hae　been　there　to　du　't；　and　I　s'　warran'

ye；　no　a　word　to　the　orra　（exceptional；　over…all）　lad　that　didna

gang　wi'　the　lave　（rest）。'



Robert　had　not　hitherto　understood　itthis　wail　of　a　pastoral　and

ploughing　people　over　those　who　had　left　their　side　to　return　no

more　from　the　field　of　battle。　　But　Mr。　Lammie's　description　of　his

grandfather's　rendering　laid　hold　of　his　heart。



'I　wad　raither　be　grutten　for　nor　kissed；'　said　he；　simply。



'Haud　ye　to　that；　my　lad；'　returned　Mr。　Lammie。　'Lat　the　lasses

greit　for　ye　gin　they　like；　but　haud　oot　ower　frae　the　kissin'。　　I

wadna　mell　wi'　't。'



'Hoot；　father；