From that day the two were friends.
Suddenly the soutar started off at full speed in a strathspey, which was soon lost in the wail of a Highland psalm-tune, giving place in its turn to 'Sic a wife as Willie had!' And on he went without pause, till Robert dared not stop any longer. The fiddle had bewitched the fiddler.
'Come as aften 's ye like, Robert, gin ye fess this leddy wi' ye,' said the soutar.
And he stroked the back of the violin tenderly with his open palm.
'But wad ye hae ony objection to lat it lie aside ye, and lat me come whan I can?'
'Objection, laddie? I wad as sune objeck to lattin' my ain wife lie aside me.'
'Ay,' said Robert, seized with some anxiety about the violin as he remembered the fate of the wife, 'but ye ken Elspet comes aff a' the waur sometimes.'
Softened by the proximity of the wonderful violin, and stung afresh by the boy's words as his conscience had often stung him before, for he loved his wife dearly save when the demon of drink possessed him, the tears rose in Elshender's eyes. He held out the violin to Robert, saying, with unsteady voice:
'Hae, tak her awa'. I dinna deserve to hae sic a thing i' my hoose. But hear me, Robert, and lat hearin' be believin'. I never was sae drunk but I cud tune my fiddle. Mair by token, ance they fand me lyin' o' my back i' the Corrie, an' the watter, they say, was ower a' but the mou' o' me; but I was haudin' my fiddle up abune my heid, and de'il a spark o' watter was upo' her.'
'It's a pity yer wife wasna yer fiddle, than, Sanny,' said Robert, with more presumption than wit.