Says he to the child, “I’m thinking there’s not above a score of fiddlers in all Ireland having better knowledge of music nor yourself. Sure that is a great wonder and you but an innocent little thing.”
“Maybe it’s not that innocent I am,” says the child. “And let me tell you there isn’t one fiddler itself to be my equal in the land.”
“You’re boasting, you bold wee coley,” says the man.
The child sat up in a great rage, pulled the fiddle from under the pillow and began for to play a tune was grander nor the lot he gave first.
The man went out to herself.
“Are you satisfied now?” he asks.
“My heart beats time to his reels,” says she. “Run down to the field and send the master to this place that he may hear him too.”
The man of the house came up in a terrible temper.
“If it’s lies you are telling me, I’ll brain the pair of you with the loy,” says he, when he heard the news of the fiddle.
“Put your ear to the window it’s soft he is playing now,” says his wife.