The Wee Scotch Piper

"Come up here, you wee devil!" repeated Ian furiously.

Up came the culprit. Ian had to join in her laughter, though he shook his finger at her the while. She sat down beside him happily.

"Ian, do you believe in the devil?" she asked.

"Ay, do I," he answered. "'Tis yerself."

"No." Elsie shook her head seriously. "Do you know, I believe 'tis like Santa Claus. 'Tis your own father!"

"Ach, Elsie," laughed Ian, at the child's idea. "You know that Santa Claus brings you dolls and toy bears and – "

Ian did not go on to complete the list, for just then he heard a sound that made his heart beat faster. Jumping down from the wall, he looked up the road. Coming toward him was Sandy!

How Elsie ever disappeared Ian never knew. Disappear she did quickly. Afterwards, when Ian thought it over, it seemed that fairies had snatched her away.

Whatever happened, she was not there when Sandy and Ian greeted each other. It was probably her woman's instinct, which bade her leave these two to their men's affairs!

How happy was Ian as his kind old friend seated himself by Ian's side with the same boyish leap!

"Well, Ian, lad," said Sandy, "the same bonny Aberfoyle, the same bonny laddie! And do you have the same bonny dreams?"

"Ach, Sandy, more than ever before. And have you traveled far since last I saw you?"

"Ay, that have I, and many's the tale I'll tell you this day. But first I must show you something."

Beckoning Ian to his cart, Sandy pointed to a bundle wrapped up in his coat.

Tenderly unwrapping it, the old piper pulled out a young lamb, dirty, thin, and bleating.

"'Tis a poor hurt beastie, Ian," he said. "I found it on the road. Its mother is dead, and it was left to die, too. I picked it up and now cannot care for it, as I'm wandering and have no place to keep it."

"Ach, Sandy, couldn't I keep the wee beastie for you?" asked Ian eagerly.

Sandy stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"You could, laddie. But 't would be a while till I return – maybe not till next spring. And a lamb with no mother is a care."

"Ach, Sandy," cried the boy, "let me do it for you. I could feed it with my wee sister's nursing bottle."

"Ach, ay, laddie! Your mother would like that fine!" laughed Sandy. "But," he continued soberly, "if you would keep the wee creature, I could give you something for your trouble."

"No, Sandy. I would keep it for you, and gladly."

Sandy was still dubious. He was worried for fear the boy's father would object to a charge of this kind. The lamb would need tender nursing and careful watching.

Sometimes small boys grow careless, although their intentions are of the best. Then the task falls to Father or Mother.

As Sandy was revolving these thoughts in his mind, he suddenly had a plan.

"Ian," he said, "do you remember the story I told you of the pipers at Dunblane?"

"I've thought of little else, Sandy," replied Ian, as he stroked the lamb. The little creature was nestling down comfortably in Sandy's arms.

"Well, lad, uncover the plaid on my cart and see what I have there."

Ian turned back the bit of plaid covering the cart. Sandy used it to protect his personal belongings.

"Two sets o' pipes, Sandy!" exclaimed Ian.

"Ay! One was given me by a man for a service. It is not so bonny as mine but might do for a laddie learning to play!"

"Sandy, do you mean – ?" Ian cried.

"Ay, lad. In the spring when I return, if this wee beastie is fine, and you have done your duty like a true shepherd, then you shall have the pipes!"

"Sandy, Sandy, is it true? May I be a piper and play the pipes like the laddies in Dunblane? Ach, Sandy!"

Ian was almost mad with joy. For a moment he forgot what service he was to render in return for this great reward. But remembering his charge, he carefully lifted the little lamb out of Sandy's arms.

He held it tenderly in his own, and said, "You'll find the wee beastie well and fat when you return in the spring, Sandy."

CHAPTER V

THROUGH SCOTLAND WITH SANDY

The warm air of spring was pleasant. The Craig family's supper was spread out before the door of their cottage. They ate outdoors so that they could enjoy the beauties of the evening.

It would not be dark here until very late. Ian's father could sit before his cottage door, reading his paper by daylight until almost eleven o'clock.

Now it was only seven. Mrs. Craig was ringing a bell, which echoed through the hills.

This was the way she called her husband and son to the evening meal.

Toward her came Ian, and some one was with him. Mrs. Craig strained her eyes to see, but she could not make out the stranger's figure.

As they came closer, Ian ran toward his mother, calling, "Mother, I've brought Sandy to tea!"

The old piper politely removed his cap and stood before Ian's mother.

"Your son has brought home an old traveler, mistress," he said.

Mrs. Craig smiled and, shaking Sandy's hand, said, "And glad I am, for a friend of Ian's is welcome to the house of his mother. Sit down, sir."

Ian told his mother the story of the lamb.

He explained how, if he performed his task, he would by next spring be the owner of bagpipes.

Mrs. Craig smiled at Sandy and said, "You trust the laddie, sir?"

Sandy MacGregor replied, "Ay; for will he not be a piper in the band one fine day?"

Alan Craig and Roy soon returned, and Sandy was introduced to them.

After the little repast, Ian beckoned Sandy to him. Nodding his head toward the hills, he said, "Come away and tell now about your travels through Scotland, Sandy."

The two sat on the hill and watched the smoke curling up from the cottage chimney. And while Sandy smoked his pipe he told Ian once more of his wondrous adventures.

Traveling through Scotland is like going through many different countries. For Scotland's beauties are varied. Here in the hollow is a lovely, quaint village. Its thatched roofs and white walled cottages make a picture sweet to behold.

As you go along, soon you pass the peaceful, hilly country and come to rocky, steep, and rugged land. You might be in the mountains, for it is wild and desolate except for the sheep, which are everywhere.

Around a corner, another village looms into space. This one is cold and bleak. You pass through it without sight or sound of human beings. Its buildings are tall, stony, and gray. In the center is a pump, where the people come to draw their water, but no one is about.

With a shiver you pass on. As you gradually leave the village behind, you find yourself again in pastoral land. Thatched cottages come into view. Bluebells begin to dot the road. How sweet is the smell of hay and cows and clover!

Once more a village, and now you wonder whether this can be the same country. For in the narrow streets are children, dogs, women, peasants, bicyclists, and more children.

Little girls walk along knitting. Everyone is walking in the middle of the cobbled street. Sandy has difficulty in going through the crowd with his cart.

This is Kurrimuir, better known as Thrums. It is the scene of many of J. M. Barrie's delightful stories. Here on the corner is the dear little cottage made famous by Barrie's "A Window in Thrums."

Passing a field, Sandy stops to watch some boys playing cricket. This game is very popular in Scotland. All the boys play it, just as American boys play baseball.

Doune Castle! Sandy climbs over the fence and starts up toward the towering mass of rock. He thinks of the many battles fought around this ancient stronghold. It was here that King Robert Bruce made some of Scotland's history.

Stirling Castle! Another massive stone memorial of the days of Scotland's stormy wars.

Sandy passes on until he comes to the city of Perth. Here he stops before the old, old house in which lived "The Fair Maid of Perth," made famous by Sir Walter Scott.

In St. Andrews is the oldest golf links in the world. From everywhere people come to play the royal and ancient game. It is said that no course is at all like the old course at St. Andrews.

As you perhaps know, golf originated in Scotland. St. Andrews is the place where it started. Some say that it was first begun by the shepherds. It is thought that they used to knock small stones with their crooks as they strolled behind their sheep.

On went Sandy to Melrose. He passed the Eildon Hills where King Arthur and his knights are supposed to be buried. This is the spot where, 'tis said, Sir Walter Scott used to stop his horses every day.

He paused here because he loved to look at the glorious view behind. His horses knew the spot so well that they would stop here of their own accord. On the day of Sir Walter's funeral, when they were taking his body to the Abbey, the horses stopped once more.

In Alloway is the house where the great Scotch poet, Robert Burns, lived. Every day it is shown to hundreds of visitors, who pay to go in and look at the curious old place.

Its quaint furniture and interesting manuscripts and pictures are all connected with the beloved poet. In the gardens are statues representing many of the characters in Burns' poems. "Poosie Nancy," "Tam O' Shanter," and many others are there.

Another town made famous by a Scottish character is Maxwelltown, or Maxwelton, where Annie Laurie lived.

Passing an ancient graveyard, Sandy stops to marvel at some huge slabs of iron. These are still kept to show how, in the seventeenth century, the dead were held down in their graves.

These heavy slabs were put on top of the dead. This was done to keep them from being dug up by robbers. The thieves would steal and sell them to doctors and medical students.

The signing of the Covenant was to Scotland what the signing of the Declaration of Independence was to America. It was the beginning of freedom!

James VI of Scotland tried to force the people into his own religious beliefs. They refused to be led. On the first day of March, 1768, in the Old Greyfriars Churchyard, the Covenant was signed.

The signing was done on a flat gravestone, which is there to this day. And so, just as America has a Liberty Bell, Scotland has a Liberty Stone.

As Sandy's old handcart rattles through each little Scottish town, he is impressed with the many bookshops he sees in his country. The Scotch are enthusiastic readers. Their love and desire for education are national traits.

Often Sandy passes young boys or young girls sitting by the roadside, absorbed in their books. The colleges and schools of Scotland are fine indeed.

When Sandy asks a direction, he is sure to receive a courteous reply. The children who come to his side are polite and kind and anxious to help. They will gladly do what they can for a stranger and do not ask any pay in return.

Over many stores and buildings Sandy reads names which start with "Mac," such as MacNiel and MacKenzie. He smiles as he thinks about these names. He knows that these people, like himself, are the descendants of the old clan leaders.

They gave the name "Mac," which means "son of," to their children. So, if a clan leader was named Gregor, the children of his clan would be MacGregor. In the olden days, the word "clan," which comes from an old Gaelic word meaning "children," was like a great family. Their chief was like a father, whom they all obeyed.

To-day, you no doubt know people named MacDonald, MacRae, etc. These are the descendants of the "clansmen," as they were called.

Each clan has a tartan of its own. A tartan is what you would probably call plaid. It is the heathery mixture of many colors and designs.

Each tartan is different from every other. To-day in Scotland you will see the children wearing kilts or ties or tams made of their own family tartan.

The town of Paisley is famous for its Paisley shawls. These are very much admired by all the world and worn by ladies of fashion.

The Shetland shawls, also famous, are dear to old ladies, because they are soft and warm. The Shetland ponies are dear to children, for they are so little that they are more like large dogs than like horses. Both come from the Shetland Islands, which are north of Scotland and are ruggedly wild.

Through all of Sandy's travels he never saw the thistle, which is supposed to grow so thickly in Scotland. The thistle, as you perhaps know, is used on Scottish crests and banners. No doubt it existed, long ago, but to-day it is nowhere to be found.

Here is Loch Drunkie, a queer name with a queer history. It was on the shores of this lake that men made whisky – which was against the law.

One day the men saw officers of the law coming toward them. They knew that they would be arrested if they were found out. To avoid arrest, they emptied their whisky into the lake. People say that the waters have remained half whisky from that day to this.

Sandy jogs along toward Aberfoyle. It is the day he delivers his injured lamb to the mercies of his young friend. During this time, he passes another "loch," the well known and much beloved "Loch Lomond."

Sandy stops on the shore. He gazes below on the shining blue waters, upon which ply the tiny white steamers. He shoulders his bagpipes and plays the melody known in every clime, "On the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond." Here the fairies were wont to dwell. A tale is told of fairy dyers, who worked for the clans of Loch Lomond in the days of yore.

A joke was once played upon the wee elfin folk by a boy. The lad asked to have the fleece of a black sheep dyed white. Angered by this request, the fairies overturned their pots of dye into the lake and never more returned.

But the color from their dye turned the lake an unearthly shade of blue. This color is different from that of all other lakes, and thus it has remained.

Again Sandy pipes:

"For me and ma true love will never meet againOn the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond."

CHAPTER VI

IAN'S BETTY

For many weeks after Sandy's departure from Aberfoyle, Ian tended the lamb carefully. He fed it from a baby's bottle. The young creature grew strong and fat. It would follow the boy around as though it knew him to be its nurse.

It was a loving little animal, and Ian became very fond of it. He would take it with him when he sat with his father upon the hill where Roy guarded the other sheep.

It did not mingle with the others, for it was an orphan. It knew that it did not belong with the flock. Sheep are not like people. Human beings, seeing a motherless child, would strive to protect it with their own young ones.

So the task of protector and nurse fell to Ian. He loved to feel the wee one's soft fur against his cheek as it lay on the hill with him. He liked to feed it from its bottle and hear the soft, gurgling noises it made.

It amused him to see its tail waggled so rapidly after each mouthful of milk. This is the way it showed Ian how well it liked its dinner. And as Ian felt the lamb, warm and soft in his arms, he seemed to feel there something else – his beloved bagpipes!

Much to the amusement of his parents, Ian called the lamb Betty, his baby sister's name. He felt that it was as helpless and young as she.

Very often they both sucked from their nursing bottles at the same time. While they were doing this, they looked at each other with big, wondering eyes. Ian often sat and admired the pair and laughingly said to his mother, "Your baby and my baby, Mother."

So the days flew by, and the summer wore on. Soon the school bell began to ring out again. It told the children that another term was beginning.

Ian was loth to leave his happy pastimes in field and on hill. However, he, like all Scotch children, was anxious to learn. So one morning, he strapped his book bag on his back and started off to school.

That was a lonely day for the lamb Betty. She was lonely because her young guardian had hardly ever left her side. The lamb was clearly worried and bleated unmercifully until Ian returned from school.

When, the next day, the same thing happened, Ian's pet could stand it no longer and started out to find him.

Every child in the world knows the song about "Mary's little lamb." That day, as Betty marched herself up the steps of Ian's schoolhouse, a chorus of childish voices sang out:

"Ian had a wee, wee lamb;It followed him to school!"

There was much merriment as Ian hurriedly packed Betty off to her home. Like the teacher in the song, this teacher had difficulty in restoring order.

It was also a flushed and embarrassed Ian who returned to his classroom. That evening he lectured Betty upon behavior for lambs!

However, Betty was either disobedient or else too young to understand Ian's lecture. The next day she tried to repeat her performance. She started off on a gallop to find her young master. I say, "tried," for alas, this time poor Betty could not find Ian's school!

For many hours she wandered about. She went farther and farther, not only from school but from home. Evening fell, and Betty was bleating alone in a dense forest – lost!

At last Ian returned from school. For several moments, he could not understand why Betty did not come to meet him. He stood and gazed about. Then a terrible thought came to him.

Rushing to his father on the hillside, he asked excitedly for his pet. Alan Craig shook his head sadly.

"I've sent Roy again, laddie, but he's returned once alone. I fear the beastie is lost."

Lost! Ian's world fell about him. The sound of distant bagpipes seemed to resound dully in his ears. The words of Sandy came to him through the dim: "In the spring, if this beastie is fine, and you have done your duty – "

His duty! And poor Betty! Where could she be? A little lonely creature, more baby than animal, tended so carefully, and unused to the thorns and sharp rocks of the hills – alone and lost!

"Father!" was all that Ian could gasp. Just then he saw Roy coming toward them, his tail between his legs. An expression of failure was in his shepherd eyes.

"Roy, lad, can you not find her?" asked Ian.

Ian threw his school books off his back. Kneeling, he put his arms around the neck of Roy. Roy answered in his own way. It was as clear to Ian as though the dog had cried out to him, "No, laddie, she's lost, lost!"

And if a sheep was lost to Roy, it was indeed a lost sheep! For the clever dog would smell a sheep for many miles. He would, in fact, encounter any danger to bring a straggler back to the fold.

Still, thought Ian, Betty was not really one of the fold. It was possible that Roy's experience did not fit him to scent out tame pets.

"I'm going to look, Father," shouted the heartbroken boy.

Calling Roy, he started off on a run. The father shook his head and felt a great pity for his little son.

CHAPTER VII

ALAN CRAIG TELLS A STORY

The word "Betty" resounded in the hills many times that evening. The lights in the village were already lighted when a tired, heartsick boy, followed by a sympathetic sheep dog, returned to the Craig cottage.

There they were awaited by Alan Craig. The lad stumbled blindly into the house.

He found his father with a candle in his hand, waiting to lead the disappointed boy to his bed.

Ian cried himself to sleep that night. Roy, the dog, sat beside him and mourned for the lost member of the little household.

The next day and the next were spent in searching the hills, the fields, and the forest. Fortunately for Ian, they were Saturday and Sunday, and he did not have to go to school.

He arose before the dawn and did not return until evening. But it was always the same. Betty was nowhere to be found. Though Ian and Roy hunted in every conceivable place, the lamb had disappeared.

On Monday, Ian was forced to relinquish his hunt and go to school. Immediately after school he called to Roy and was off again.

"The lad hardly eats his meals, he's so troubled!" said Mrs. Craig to her husband, as she shook her head.

Alan bit his pipe in silence, while his heart bled for Ian.

Alan had been training a new dog for the sheep. He was using this dog instead of Roy, who was allowed to stay with Ian and help him in his search.

But this meant added work for Alan, who had to be on the watch. He could not leave his charges completely in the care of this new helper, as he had done with Roy. Many times the new dog frightened the sheep. They soon became panicky and ran in all directions.

Then the dog forgot all of Alan's training and ran after them wildly. Alan always had to come himself to restore order.

One day he tramped miles to recover a terrified mother and her baby. After this long walk, Alan sat on the hillside.

Meanwhile the new dog looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and dropped his tail because he was ashamed.

As the shepherd sat smoking, he saw his son coming toward him, followed by Roy. Ian threw himself down beside his father. Letting his head sink upon the shepherd's knee, he gave up the search.

"'Tis weary I am, Father," he sighed. "The search is over, and my wee lamb is gone."

"And your pipes, Ian? Are they to be lost, too?" queried the shepherd.

"Ay," answered his son, "for Sandy said, 'If you tend the wee creature well till spring!' Now Sandy will return in the spring, and there'll be no creature."

For a few moments Alan Craig smoothed Ian's curly black hair. The boy tried hard to hold back his sobs, which were nearly choking him.

Then Alan Craig spoke. "Ian, lad, have you not heard the story of Bruce and the spider?"

"Ay, Father," replied Ian. "'Tis in my history book."

"Then mind well while I repeat it to you. For King Robert Bruce was a great man, and he never gave up!"

Ian listened intently while his father recounted the well-known tale. He told how, many, many years ago, King Robert Bruce had fought with the English and lost numerous battles. One night, he was lying despondent on a rude couch in his tent on the battlefield.

His heart was heavy with the memory of his lost battles and of the suffering throughout his country. Just then his eye fell upon a spider in the corner of the tent. The industrious little creature was trying to fix its web to the top pole of the tent. It had already made six attempts, but each time it had fallen.

King Bruce bethought him of his lost battles. Six! He and the spider had failed six times. And now he, King Bruce, was about to give up! Would the spider also be downed, or would it, perhaps, persevere once more?

King Bruce made a vow to himself. He decided that, should the wee creature try again to fix its web and be successful, then he, Robert Bruce, would profit by the spider's lesson and fight another battle!

The spider made another attempt. Slowly it raised its shadowy body until, quivering in the air, it balanced itself for the final plunge. The King raised himself on his elbow and watched. A nation awaited that spider's success or failure!

Again it plunged, caught at the pole, and fixed its web! King Robert Bruce jumped to his feet. He threw his plaid about him and began his preparations for the greatest battle in Scottish history, the Battle of Bannockburn.

As everyone knows, he routed the English at this famous battle. Never afterward would the great King give up!

"So should we all feel, Ian," said Alan Craig as he finished his tale.

"From the King to the spider!" Though Ian had heard the story often before, it now held a new meaning for him. He looked up at his father.

Then he stood erect and called to his dog, "Come, Roy; we'll try again!"

He was soon off through the hills once more.

CHAPTER VIII

PIPERS AND TROUBLES

At the beginning of that same summer, Jamie Robinson, Aberfoyle's piper, became restless. Jamie was not a steady man. He had never been a good provider. His poor wife and babies were often hungry and cold in the stormy winter months.

Jamie Robinson earned his living by his piping. He marched back and forth through the village street, playing his bagpipes. He hoped that the noisy, celebrating crowds, which arrived from Glasgow, would like his music and throw him pennies.

When the people were generous, his family might have a good dinner. But often Jamie Robinson did not bring the money home to his family. Unfortunately Jamie, who was a weak man, was often led by some of the village men into public houses. Here men gamble and drink.