Robert handed him the case. Shargar undid the hooks in a moment,
and revealed the creature lying in its shell like a boiled bivalve.

'I tellt ye sae!' he exclaimed triumphantly. 'Maybe ye'll lippen to
me (trust me) neist time.'

'An' I tellt you,' retorted Robert, with an equivocation altogether
unworthy of his growing honesty. 'I was cocksure that cudna be a
fiddle. There's the fiddle i' the hert o' 't! Losh! I min' noo.
It maun be my grandfather's fiddle 'at I hae heard tell o'.'

'No to ken a fiddle-case!' reflected Shargar, with as much of
contempt as it was possible for him to show.

'I tell ye what, Shargar,' returned Robert, indignantly; 'ye may ken
the box o' a fiddle better nor I do, but de'il hae me gin I dinna
ken the fiddle itsel' raither better nor ye do in a fortnicht frae
this time. I s' tak' it to Dooble Sanny; he can play the fiddle
fine. An' I'll play 't too, or the de'il s' be in't.'

'Eh, man, that 'll be gran'!' cried Shargar, incapable of jealousy.
'We can gang to a' the markets thegither and gaither baubees
(halfpence).'

To this anticipation Robert returned no reply, for, hearing Betty
come in, he judged it time to restore the violin to its case, and
Betty's candle to the kitchen, lest she should invade the upper
regions in search of it. But that very night he managed to have an
interview with Dooble Sanny, the shoemaker, and it was arranged
between them that Robert should bring his violin on the evening at