. "Ye see--they be hardly
needin' ony music, wi' muckle o' their ain. 'Tis for the children--the
children i' horspitals--a bonny song for them to sleepit on." He
marked the rhythm a moment with his foot, and hummed it through once to
be sure he had it. Then he broke out clearly into the old Jacobite
air--with words of his own making:

"Ye weave a bonny primrose ring;
Ye hear the River callin';
Ye ken the Land whaur faeries sing--
Whaur starlicht beams are fallin'.
'Tis there the pipers play things true;
'Tis there ye'll gae--my dearie--
The bonny Land 'at waits for you,
Whaur ye'll be nae mair weary.

"A wee man by a blackthorn-tree
Maun stitchit shoes for dancin',
An' there's a pair for ye an' me--
To set our feet a-prancin'.
'Tis muckle gladness 'at ye'll find
In Tir-na-n'Og, my dearie;
The bonny Land 'at's aye sae kind,
Whaur ye'll be nae mair weary.

"Ye'll ken the birdeen's blithie song,
Ye'll hark till flo'ers lauchen;
An' see the faeries trippit long
By brook an' brae an' bracken.
Sae doon your heid--an' shut your een;
Gien ye'd be away, my dearie--
An' the bonny sauncy faery queen
Wull keep ye--nae mair weary."

You may think it uncommonly strange that Sandy could make a song like
this, by himself; but, you see, he was not entirely alone--there were
the baby faeries. They helped a lot; as fast as ever he thought out
the words they rhymed them for him--this being a part of the A B C of
faery education.

When the song was finished Sandy turned to the queen again.
"Aighe--wull it do?"

"If the faeries like it, and think it good enough to send down to the
children, they will have it all learned by heart and will sing it back
to you in a minute. Listen! Can you hear anything?"

For a moment only the rustle of the trees could be heard. Sandy
strained his ears until he caught a low, sobbing sound coming through
the hazel-leaves.

"'Tis but the wind--greetin'," he said, wistfully.

"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 whau