There was a shout of laughter which covered poor Mandy with wrathful confusion.
“Good for you, Mandy,” cried Perkins with a great guffaw. “You want some music now, don't you? So do I. Come on, Danny.”
“No, I don't,” snapped Mandy, who could understand neither the previous laugh nor that which greeted Perkins' sally.
“Allan,” she said, sticking a little over the name, “is tired out, and besides it's time we were going home.”
“That's right, take him home, Mandy, and put the little dear to bed,” said Perkins.
“You needn't be so smart, Joe Perkins,” said Mandy angrily. “Anyway I'm going home. I've got to be up early.”
“Me too, Mandy,” said Cameron, packing up his pipes, for his sympathy had been roused for the girl who was championing him so bravely. “I have had a great night and I have played you all to death; but you will forgive me. I was lonely for the chanter. I have not touched it since I left home.”
There was a universal cry of protest as they gathered about him.
“Indeed, Mr. Cameron, you have given us all a rare treat,” cried Isa, coming close to him, “and I only wish you could pipe and dance at the same time.”
“That's so!” cried Mack, “but what's the matter with the fiddle, Isa? Come, Danny, strike up. Let them have a reel together.”