The man sat listening, and he was all put through other, thinking the child was no right thing.
After a time the little lad quit playing, he put back the fiddle where he took it from and began at his old whimpering again. Herself came in at the door with a bucket of water in her hand. Well the man walked out and he called her after him.
“That is a strange child you have, mistress,” says he.
“A strange child, surely, and a sorrowful,” she makes answer. “It is tormented with his roaring you are, no person could be enduring it continually.”
“Did ever he play on the fiddle in your hearing?” asks the man.
“Is it raving you are?” says she.
“I am not, mistress,” he answers. “He is after giving me the best of entertainment with reels and marches and jigs.”
“Let you quit funning me!” says she, getting vexed.
“I see you are doubting my words,” he replies. “Do you stand here without where he’ll not be looking on you at all. I’ll go into the kitchen, and maybe he’ll bring out the fiddle again.”
With that he went in, leaving herself posted convenient to the window.