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"A fiddle!" exclai scorn, and

still addressing the fire "Ye can juist tell hi tae

the de'il wi' his fiddle"

"Music is, I take it, the expression of one's ht, a

dreahtfully, "therefore--"

"Hae ye ever heard the pipes?"

"Why, yes, but long ago"

"Then," said Donald, "ye shall juist hear 'e,

he wiped hisit

Then, all at once, from drones and chanter there rushed forth

such a flood of melody as seemed to sweep me away upon its tide

First I seelens, a

waters; yet softly, softly

there rises above the flood of sound a little ripplingever sweeter with

repetition And now the roar of wind is changed to the swing of

and free; and lo! they are singing, as they ain and again, beneath the song,

beneath the rhyth feet, the melody rises, very sweet

but infinitely sad, like a silver pipe or an angel's voice