“I am sorry now, man, for that,” said Willie, sympathisingly. “I doot ye’ll be disappointed, for I hae been engaged for’t this fortnight past. But I’ll tell ye what: if ye’re onything guid o’ the fiddle, ye may remain, jist to relieve me now an’ then, an’ I’ll mind ye when a’s ower; an’ at ony rate ye’ll aye pick up a mouthfu’ o’ guid meat and drink—an’ that ye ken’s no to be fand at every dyke-side.”
“A bargain be’t,” said the stranger, “an’ much obliged to you, frien. I maun just tak pat-luck and be thankfu. But isna your waddin folks lang o’ comin?” he added.
“They’ll be here belyve,” replied Willie, and added, “Ye’ll no be blin, frien?”
“Ou, no,” said the stranger; “thank goodness I hae my sight; but I am otherwise in such a bad state o’ health, that I canna work, and am obliged to tak the fiddle for a subsistence.”
While this conversation was going on, the wedding folks were seen dropping out of the manse in twos and threes, and making straight for the scene of the evening’s festivities, where they all very soon after assembled. Ample justice having been done to all the good things that were now set before the merry party, and Willie and his colleague having had their share, and being thus put in excellent trim for entering on their labours, the place was cleared of all encumbrances, and a fair and open field left for the dancers. At this stage of the proceedings, Willie was led by his colleague to his station, and helped up to the elevated chair which had been provided for him, when the latter handed him his instrument, while he himself took up his position, fiddle in hand, on his principal’s left, but standing on the ground, as there was no room for him on the platform.
Everything being now ready, and the expectant couples ranged in their respective places on the floor, Willie was called upon to begin, an order which he instantly obeyed by opening in great style.
On the conclusion of the first reel, in the musical department of which the strange fiddler had not interfered, the latter whispered to his coadjutor, that if he liked he would relieve him for the next.
“Weel,” replied the latter, “if ye think ye can gae through wi’t onything decently, ye may try your hand.”
“I’ll no promise much,” said the stranger, now for the first time drawing his fiddle out of its bag; “but, for the credit o’ the craft, I’ll do the best I can.”
Having said this, Willie’s colleague drew his bow across the strings of his fiddle, with a preparatory flourish, when instantly every face in the apartment was turned towards him with an expression of delight and surprise. The tones of the fiddle were so immeasurably superior to those of poor Willie’s salt-box, that the dullest and most indiscriminating ear amongst the revellers readily distinguished the amazing difference. But infinitely greater still was their surprise and delight when the stranger began to play. Nothing could exceed the energy, accuracy, and beauty of his performances. He was, in short, evidently a perfect master of the instrument, and this was instantly perceived and acknowledged by all, including Willie himself, who declared, with great candour and goodwill, that he had never heard a better fiddler in his life.