Since leaving Aberfoyle, Sandy had thought often of the little boy in whose charge he had left the baby lamb. Old Sandy chuckled to himself when he thought about his return and Ian's joy upon receiving the bagpipes.
"If I could only stay and teach the laddie to play!" mused the old piper.
Sandy was a good piper and had once served in the army. Jamie Robinson had only picked up a few tunes. Ian had recognized Sandy's clever playing at once on the day he had first come to Aberfoyle.
Now, wet from the showers and hungry, Sandy stopped in a town. Taking out his pipes, he began to play. It was the same town where Jamie Robinson had played that night and the night before. The people were poor.
The rain had been falling in steady showers, so that few persons were about the streets. Sandy puffed on his pipes, and the sweet melody echoed through the village and beyond to the hills. But not a soul came to pay the piper.
"Ach, well," sighed Sandy. He wiped the dripping water from his brow and put back the pipes. He covered them carefully with his plaid. Then pulling his cart, the old man moved on through the wet streets of the village. Soon he was on the open road.
His experienced eyes fell upon a camping spot. He decided to rest the night there. He neared the little clump of trees by the side of the road. Then he saw that he was not the only traveler who had chosen this spot. Here was the tent of Jamie Robinson.
As Sandy drew closer, he heard a baby crying. Sandy called out, and Jamie put his face out of his tent. A sullen, angry face it was.
"And what is it you want?" he bellowed.