“No,” said Donal; “there is not a mark of smoke about it. If it had been meant for that, it would hardly have been put half-way from the top! I can’t make it out! A hole like that in any chimney must surely interfere with the draught! I must get a ladder!”
“Let me climb on your shoulders, Mr. Grant,” said Davie.
“Come then; up you go!” said Donal.
And up went Davie, and peeped into the horizontal slit.
“It looks very like a chimney,” he said, turning his head and thrusting it in sideways. “It goes right down to somewhere,” he added, bringing his head out again, “but there is something across it a little way down—to prevent the jackdaws from tumbling in, I suppose.”
“What is it?” asked Donal.
“Something like a grating,” answered Davie; “—no, not a grating exactly; it is what you might call a grating, but it seems made of wires. I don’t think it would keep a strong bird out if he wanted to get in.”
“Aha!” said Donal to himself; “what if those wires be tuned! Did you ever see an aeolian harp, my lady?” he asked: “I never did.”
“Yes,” answered lady Arctura, “—once, when I was a little girl. And now you suggest it, I think the sounds we hear are not unlike those of an aeolian harp! The strings are all the same length, if I remember. But I do not understand the principle. They seem all to play together, and make the strangest, wildest harmonies, when the wind blows across them in a particular way.”
“I fancy then we have found the nest of our music-bird!” said Donal. “The wires Davie speaks of may be the strings of an aeolian harp! I wonder if there could be a draught across them! I must get up and see! I must go and get a ladder!”