le the bow. That was something to hear--ance
in a body's life. Ye wad hae jist thoucht the strings had been drawn
frae his ain inside, he kent them sae weel, and han'led them sae fine.
He jist fan' (felt) them like wi' 's fingers throu' the bow an' the
horsehair an' a', an' a' the time he was drawin' the soun' like the sowl
frae them, an' they jist did onything 'at he likit. Eh! to hear him play
the Flooers o' the Forest wad hae garred ye greit.'

'Cud my father play?' asked Robert.

'Ay, weel eneuch for him. He could do onything he likit to try, better
nor middlin'. I never saw sic a man. He played upo' the bagpipes, an'
the flute, an' the bugle, an' I kenna what a'; but a'thegither they cam'
na within sicht o' his father upo' the auld fiddle. Lat's hae a luik at
her.'

He took the instrument in his hands reverently, turned it over and over,
and said,

'Ay, ay; it's the same auld mill, an' I wat it grun' (ground) bonny
meal.--That sma' crater noo 'ill be worth a hunner poun', I s' warran','
he added, as he restored it carefully into Robert's hands, to whom it
was honey and spice to hear his bonny lady paid her due honours. 'Can ye
play the Flooers o' the Forest, no?' he added yet again.

'Ay can I,' answered Robert, with some pride, and laid the bow on the
violin, and played the air through without blundering a single note.

'Weel, that's verra weel,' said Mr. Lammie. 'But it's nae mair like as
yer gran'father played it, than gin there war twa sawyers at it, ane at
ilka lug o' the bow, wi' the fiddle atween them in a saw-pit.'

Robert's heart sank within him; but Mr. Lammie went on:

'To hear the bow croudin' (cooing), and wailin', an' greitin' ower the
strings, wad hae jist garred ye see the lands o' braid Scotlan' wi' a'
the lasses greitin' for the lads that lay upo' reid Flodden side; lasses
to cut, and lasses to gether, and lasses to bin', and lasses to stook,
and lasses to lead, and no a lad amo' them a'. It's just the murnin' o'
women, doin' men's wark as weel 's their ain, for the men that suld
hae been there to du 't; and I s' warran' ye, no a word to the orra
(exceptional, over-all) lad that didna gang wi' the lave (rest).'

Robert had not hitherto understood it--this wail of a pastoral and
ploughing people over those who had left their side to return no
more from the field of battle. But Mr. Lammie's description of his
grandfather's rendering laid hold of his heart.

'I wad raither be grutten for n