"Listen again!"
The sound grew, breaking into a cadence and a counter-cadence, and thence into a harmony. "'Tis verra ilk the grand pipe-organ i' the kirk, hame in Aberdeen."
"Listen again!"
Mellow and sweet came the notes of the Jacobite air—a bar of it; and then the faeries began to sing, sending the song back to Sandy like a belated echo:
"Ye weave a bonny primrose ring;
Ye hear the River callin';
Ye ken the Land whaur faeries sing—
Whaur starlicht beams are fallin'."
"For the love o' Mike!" laughed Sandy. "A'm unco glad—a am." He dropped to his knees beside the queen and nestled his cheek in the hand that was resting in her lap. "'Tis aricht noo." And he sighed contentedly.
And it was. The queen leaned over and lifted off the hump as easily as you might take the cover from a box. Sandy stretched himself and yawned—after the fashion of any one who has been sleeping a long time in a cramped position; and without being in the least conscious of it, he sidled up to the arm of the throne and rubbed his back up and down—to test the perfect straightness of it.
"'Tis gone—guid! Wull it nae mair coom back?" And he eyed the queen gravely.
"Never to be burdensome, little lad. Others may think they see it there, but for you the back will be straight and strong."
Rosita came back—empty-handed; she was so busy holding tight to Bridget's hand and getting ready to be afraid that she forgot everything else. As for Michael, he gave his patch into Bridget's keeping; which brings us to what Bridget remembered.