“Nae doot, nae doot, sae’s seen on your playin,” replied the latter. “How do you fend wi’ yer fiddle? Do ye mak onything o’ a guid leevin o’t?”
“No that ill ava,” said the stranger. “I play for the auld leddy at the castle—Castle Gowan, ye ken; indeed, I’m sometimes ca’d the leddy’s fiddler, and she’s uncommon guid to me. I neither want bite nor sowp when I gang there.”
“That’s sae far weel,” replied Willie. “She’s a guid judge o’ music that Leddy Gowan, as I hear them say; and I’m tauld her son, Sir John, plays a capital bow.”
“No amiss, I believe,” said the stranger; “but the leddy, as ye say, is an excellent judge o’ music, although whiles, I think, rather ower fond o’t, for she maks me play for hours thegither, when I wad far rather be wi’ Tam Yule, her butler, a sonsy, guid-natured chiel, that’s no sweer o’ the cap. But, speaking o’ that, I’ll tell ye what, frien,” he continued, “if ye’ll come up to Castle Gowan ony day, I’ll be blithe to see you, for I’m there at least ance every day, and I’ll warrant ye—for ye see I can use every liberty there—in a guid het dinner, an’ a jug o’ hetter toddy to wash it ower wi’.”
“A bargain be’t,” quoth Willie; “will the morn do?”
“Perfectly,” said the stranger; “the sooner the better.”
This settled, Willie proceeded to a subject which had been for some time near his heart, but which he felt some delicacy in broaching. This feeling, however, having gradually given way before the influence of the toddy, and of his friend’s frank and jovial manner, he at length ventured, though cautiously, to step on the ice.
“That’s an uncommon guid instrument o’ yours, frien,” he said.
“Very good,” replied his companion, briefly.
“But ye’ll hae mair than that ane, nae doot?” rejoined the other.