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fiddle for her。 An' ye maunna touch this ane； grannie； for though
ye way think it richt to burn fiddles； ither fowk disna； and this
has to do wi' ither fowk； grannie； it's no atween you an' me； ye
ken；' Robert went on； fearful lest she might consider herself
divinely commissioned to extirpate the whole race of stringed
instruments；'for I maun sell 't for her。'
'Tak it oot o' my sicht；' said Mrs。 Falconer； and said no more。
He carried the instrument up to his room； laid it on his bed； locked
his door； put the key in his pocket； and descended to the parlour。
'He's deid； is he？' said his grandmother； as he re…entered。
'Ay is he； grannie；' answered Robert。 'He deid a repentant man。'
'An' a believin'？' asked Mrs。 Falconer。
'Weel； grannie； I canna say 'at he believed a' thing 'at ever was；
for a body michtna ken a' thing。'
'Toots； laddie！ Was 't savin' faith？'
'I dinna richtly ken what ye mean by that； but I'm thinkin' it was
muckle the same kin' o' faith 'at the prodigal had； for they baith
rase an' gaed hame。'
''Deed； maybe ye're richt； laddie；' returned Mrs。 Falconer； after a
moment's thought。 'We'll houp the best。'
All the remainder of the evening she sat motionless； with her eyes
fixed on the rug before her； thinking； no doubt； of the repentance
and salvation of the fiddler； and what hope there might yet be for
her own lost son。
The next day being Saturday； Robert set out for Bodyfauld； taking
the violin with him。 He went alone； for he was in no mood for
Shargar's company。 It was a fine spring day； the woods were
budding； and the fragrance of the larches floated across his way。
There was a lovely sadness in the sky； and in the motions of the
air； and in the scent of the earthas if they all knew that fine
things were at hand which never could be so beautiful as those that
had gone away。 And Robert wondered how it was that everything
should look so different。 Even Bodyfauld seemed to have lost its
enchantment； though his friends were as kind as ever。 Mr。 Lammie
went into a rage at the story of the lost violin； and Miss Lammie
cried from sympathy with Robert's distress at the fate of his bonny
leddy。 Then he came to the occasion of his visit； which was to beg
Mr。 Lammie； when next he went to Aberdeen； to take the soutar's
fiddle； and get what he could for it； to help his widow。
'Poor Sanny！' said Robert； 'it never cam' intil 's heid to sell her；
nae mair nor gin she had been the auld wife 'at he ca'd her。'
Mr。 Lammie undertook the commission； and the next time he saw
Robert； handed him ten pounds as the result of the negotiation。 It
was all Robert could do； however； to get the poor woman to take the
money。 She looked at it with repugnance； almost as if it had been
the price of blood。 But Robert having succeeded in overcoming her
scruples； she did take it； and therewith provide a store of
sweeties； and reels of cotton； and tobacco； for sale in Sanny's
workshop。 She certainly did not make money by her merchandise； for
her anxiety to be honest rose to the absurd； but she contrived to
live without being reduced to prey upon her own gingerbread and
rock。
CHAPTER IV。
THE ABERDEEN GARRET。
Miss St。 John had long since returned from her visit； but having
heard how much Robert was taken up with his dying friend； she judged
it better to leave her intended proposal of renewing her lessons
alone for the present。 Meeting him； however； soon after Alexander's
death； she introduced the subject； and Robert was enraptured at the
prospect of the re…opening of the gates of his paradise。 If he did
not inform his grandmother of the fact； neither did he attempt to
conceal it； but she took no notice； thinking probably that the whole
affair would be effectually disposed of by his departure。 Till that
period arrived； he had a lesson almost every evening； and Miss St。
John was surprised to find how the boy had grown since the door was
built up。 Robert's gratitude grew into a kind of worship。
The evening before his departure for Bodyfauldwhence his
grandmother had arranged that he should start for Aberdeen； in order
that he might have the company of Mr。 Lammie； whom business drew
thither about the same timeas he was having his last lesson； Mrs。
Forsyth left the room。 Thereupon Robert； who had been dejected all
day at the thought of the separation from Miss St。 John； found his
heart beating so violently that he could hardly breathe。 Probably
she saw his emotion； for she put her hand on the keys； as if to
cover it by showing him how some movement was to be better effected。
He seized her hand and lifted it to his lips。 But when he found
that instead of snatching it away； she yielded it； nay gently
pressed it to his face； he burst into tears； and dropped on his
knees； as if before a goddess。
'Hush； Robert！ Don't be foolish；' she said； quietly and tenderly。
'Here is my aunt coming。'
The same moment he was at the piano again； playing My Bonny Lady
Ann； so as to astonish Miss St。 John； and himself as well。 Then he
rose； bade her a hasty good…night； and hurried away。
A strange conflict arose in his mind at the prospect of leaving the
old place； on every house of whose streets； on every swell of whose
surrounding hills he left the clinging shadows of thought and
feeling。 A faintly purpled mist arose； and enwrapped all the past；
changing even his grayest troubles into tales of fairyland； and his
deepest griefs into songs of a sad music。 Then he thought of
Shargar； and what was to become of him after he was gone。 The lad
was paler and his eyes were redder than ever； for he had been
weeping in secret。 He went to his grandmother and begged that
Shargar might accompany him to Bodyfauld。
'He maun bide at hame an' min' his beuks；' she answered； 'for he
winna hae them that muckle langer。 He maun be doin' something for
himsel'。'
So the next morning the boys partedShargar to school； and Robert
to BodyfauldShargar left behind with his desolation； his sun gone
down in a west that was not even stormy； only gray and hopeless； and
Robert moving towards an east which reflected； like a faint
prophecy； the west behind him tinged with love； death； and music；
but mingled the colours with its own saffron of coming dawn。
When he reached Bodyfauld he marvelled to find that all its glory
had returned。 He found Miss Lammie busy among the rich yellow pools
in her dairy； and went out into the garden； now in the height of its
summer。 Great cabbage roses hung heavy…headed splendours towards
purple…black heartseases； and thin…filmed silvery pods of honesty；
tall white lilies mingled with the blossoms of currant bushes； and
at their feet the narcissi of old classic legend pressed their
warm…hearted paleness into the plebeian thicket of the many…striped
gardener's garters。 It was a lovely type of a commonwealth indeed；
of the garden and kingdom of God。 His whole mind was flooded with a
sense of sunny wealth。 The farmer's neglected garden blossomed into
higher glory in his soul。 The bloom and the richness and the use
were all there； but instead of each flower was a delicate ethereal
sense or feeling about that flower。 Of these how gladly would he
have gathered a posy to offer Miss St。 John！ but； alas！ he was no
poet； or rather he had but the half of the poet's inheritancehe
could see： he could not say。 But even if he had been full of poetic
speech； he would yet have found that the half of his posy remained
ungathered； for although we have speech enough now to be 'cousin to
the deed；' as Chaucer says it must always be； we have not yet enough
speech to cousin the tenth part of our feelings。 Let him who doubts
recall one of his own vain attempts to convey that which made the
oddest of dreams entrancing in lovelinessto convey that aroma of
thought； the conscious absence of which made him a fool in his own
eyes when he spoke such silly words as alone presented themselves
for the service。 I can no more describe the emotion aroused in my
mind by a gray cloud parting over a gray stone； by the smell of a
sweetpea； by the sight of one of those long upright pennons of
striped grass with the homely name； than I can tell what the glory
of God is who made these things。 The man whose poetry is like
nature in this； that it produces individual； incommunicable moods
and conditions of minda sense of elevated； tender； marvellous； and
evanescent existence； must be a poet indeed。 Every dawn of such a
feeling is a light…brushed bubble rendering visible for a moment the
dark unknown sea of our being which lies beyond the lights of our
consciousness； and is the stuff and region of our eternal growth。
But think what language must become before it will tell
dreams！before it will convey the delicate shades of fancy that
come and go in the brain of a child！before it will let a man know