took the violin from the case, tenderly as if it had been a hurt
child.

One touch of the bow, drawing out a goul of grief, satisfied him
that she was uninjured. Next a hurried inspection showed him that
there was enough of the catgut twisted round the peg to make up for
the part that was broken off. In a moment he had fastened it to the
tail-piece, tightened and tuned it. Forthwith he took the bow from
the case-lid, and in jubilant guise he expatiated upon the wrong he
had done his bonny leddy, till the doors and windows around were
crowded with heads peering through the dark to see whence the sounds
came, and a little child toddled across from one of the lowliest
houses with a ha'penny for the fiddler. Gladly would Robert have
restored it with interest, but, alas! there was no interest in his
bank, for not a ha'penny had he in the world. The incident recalled
Sandy to Rothieden and its cares. He restored the violin to its
case, and while Robert was fearing he would take it under his arm
and walk away with it, handed it back with a humble sigh and a
'Praise be thankit;' then, without another word, turned and went to
his lonely stool and home 'untreasured of its mistress.' Robert
went home too, and stole like a thief to his room.

The next day was a Saturday, which, indeed, was the real old
Sabbath, or at least the half of it, to the schoolboys of Rothieden.
Even Robert's grannie was Jew enough, or rather Christian enough,
to respect this remnant of the fourth commandment--divine antidote
to the rest of the godless money-making and soul-saving week--and he
had the half-day to himself. So as soon as he had had his dinner,
he managed to give Shargar the slip, left him to the inroads of a
desolate despondency, and stole away to the old factory-garden. The