He took them in and he fed them, nor asked their names nor calling, but when they had eaten well he said to Rory, “You have skill of the pipes; I know by the drum of your fingers on the horn spoon.”
“I have tried them,” said Rory, with a laugh, “a bit—a bit. My friend here is a player.”
“You have the art?” asked Coll.
“Well, not what yoo might call the whole art,” said Gilian, “but I can play—oh yes!I can play two or three ports.”
“You can that!” said Rory.
“No better than yourself, Rory.”
“Well, maybe not, but—anyway, not all tunes; I allow you do 'Mackay's Banner' in a pretty style.”
“Pipers,” said Coll, with a quick eye to a coming quarrel, “I will take you to one of your own trade in this place—Paruig Dali, who is namely for music.”
“It's a name that's new to me,” said Rory, short and sharp, but up they rose and followed Big Coll.
He took them to a bothy behind the Half Town, a place with turf walls and never a window, where a blind man sat winding pirns for the weaver-folks.