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me。 Rin hame； mem； or he'll see ye！'
'Who will see me？'
Robert stared more wildly； put his hand to his head； and made no
reply。 She half led； half supported him down the stair； as far as
the first landing； when he cried out in a tone of anguish；
'My bonny leddy！'
'What is it？' asked Miss St。 John； thinking he meant her。
'My fiddle！ my fiddle！ She 'll be a' in bits；' he answered； and
turned to go up again。
'Sit down here；' said Miss St。 John； 'and I'll fetch it。'
Though not without some tremor； she darted back to the room。 Then
she turned faint for the first time； but determinedly supporting
herself； she looked about； saw a brown…paper parcel on a shelf； took
it； and hurried out with a shudder。
Robert stood leaning against the wall。 He stretched out his hands
eagerly。
'Gie me her。 Gie me her。'
'You had better let me carry it。 You are not able。'
'Na； na； mem。 Ye dinna ken hoo easy she is to hurt。'
'Oh； yes； I do！' returned Miss St。 John； smiling； and Robert could
not withstand the smile。
'Weel； tak care o' her； as ye wad o' yer ain sel'； mem；' he said；
yielding。
He was now much better； and before he had been two minutes in the
open air； insisted that he was quite well。 When they reached
Captain Forsyth's garden he again held out his hands for his violin。
'No； no；' said his new friend。 'You wouldn't have Betty see you like
that； would you？'
'No； mem； but I'll put in the fiddle at my ain window； and she sanna
hae a chance o' seein' 't；' answered Robert； not understanding her；
for though he felt a good deal of pain； he had no idea what a
dreadful appearance he presented。
'Don't you know that you have a wound on your head？' asked Miss St。
John。
'Na！ hev I？' said Robert； putting up his hand。 'But I maun
gangthere's nae help for 't；' he added。'Gin I cud only win to my
ain room ohn Betty seen me！Eh！ mem； I hae blaudit （spoiled） a' yer
bonny goon。 That's a sair vex。'
'Never mind it；' returned Miss St。 John； smiling。 'It is of no
consequence。 But you must come with me。 I must see what I can do
for your head。 Poor boy！'
'Eh； mem！ but ye are kin'！ Gin ye speik like that ye'll gar me
greit。 Naebody ever spak' to me like that afore。 Maybe ye kent my
mamma。 Ye're sae like her。'
This word mamma was the only remnant of her that lingered in his
speech。 Had she lived he would have spoken very differently。 They
were now walking towards the house。
'No； I did not know your mamma。 Is she dead？'
'Lang syne； mem。 And sae they tell me is yours。'
'Yes； and my father too。 Your father is alive； I hope？'
Robert made no answer。 Miss St。 John turned。
The boy had a strange look； and seemed struggling with something in
his throat。 She thought he was going to faint again； and hurried
him into the drawing…room。 Her aunt had not yet left her room； and
her uncle was out。
'Sit down；' she saidso kindlyand Robert sat down on the edge of
a chair。 Then she left the room； but presently returned with a
little brandy。 'There；' she said； offering the glass； 'that will do
you good。'
'What is 't； mem？'
'Brandy。 There's water in it； of course。'
'I daurna touch 't。 Grannie cudna bide me to touch 't；'
So determined was he； that Miss St。 John was forced to yield。
Perhaps she wondered that the boy who would deceive his grandmother
about a violin should be so immovable in regarding her pleasure in
the matter of a needful medicine。 But in this fact I begin to see
the very Falconer of my manhood's worship。
'Eh； mem！ gin ye wad play something upo' her；' he resumed； pointing
to the piano； which； although he had never seen one before； he at
once recognized； by some hidden mental operation； as the source of
the sweet sounds heard at the window； 'it wad du me mair guid than a
haill bottle o' brandy； or whusky either。'
'How do you know that？' asked Miss St。 John； proceeding to sponge
the wound。
''Cause mony's the time I hae stud oot there i' the street；
hearkenin'。 Dooble Sanny says 'at ye play jist as gin ye war my
gran'father's fiddle hersel'； turned into the bonniest cratur ever
God made。'
'How did you get such a terrible cut？'
She had removed the hair； and found that the injury was severe。
The boy was silent。 She glanced round in his face。 He was staring
as if he saw nothing； heard nothing。 She would try again。
'Did you fall？ Or how did you cut your head？'
'Yes； yes； mem； I fell；' he answered； hastily； with an air of
relief； and possibly with some tone of gratitude for the suggestion
of a true answer。
'What made you fall？'
Utter silence again。 She felt a kind of turnI do not know another
word to express what I mean： the boy must have fits； and either
could not tell； or was ashamed to tell； what had befallen him。
Thereafter she too was silent； and Robert thought she was offended。
Possibly he felt a change in the touch of her fingers。
'Mem； I wad like to tell ye；' he said； 'but I daurna。'
'Oh！ never mind；' she returned kindly。
'Wad ye promise nae to tell naebody？'
'I don't want to know；' she answered； confirmed in her suspicion；
and at the same time ashamed of the alteration of feeling which the
discovery had occasioned。
An uncomfortable silence followed； broken by Robert。
'Gin ye binna pleased wi' me； mem；' he said； 'I canna bide ye to
gang on wi' siccan a job 's that。'
How Miss St。 John could have understood him； I cannot think； but she
did。
'Oh！ very well；' she answered； smiling。 'Just as you please。
Perhaps you had better take this piece of plaster to Betty； and ask
her to finish the dressing for you。'
Robert took the plaster mechanically； and； sick at heart and
speechless； rose to go； forgetting even his bonny leddy in his
grief。
'You had better take your violin with you；' said Miss St。 John；
urged to the cruel experiment by a strong desire to see what the
strange boy would do。
He turned。 The tears were streaming down his odd face。 They went
to her heart； and she was bitterly ashamed of herself。
'Come along。 Do sit down again。 I only wanted to see what you
would do。 I am very sorry；' she said； in a tone of kindness such as
Robert had never imagined。
He sat down instantly； saying；
'Eh； mem！ it's sair to bide；' meaning； no doubt； the conflict
between his inclination to tell her all； and his duty to be silent。
The dressing was soon finished； his hair combed down over it； and
Robert looking once more respectable。
'Now； I think that will do；' said his nurse。
'Eh； thank ye； mem！' answered Robert； rising。 'Whan I'm able to play
upo' the fiddle as weel 's ye play upo' the piana； I'll come and
play at yer window ilka nicht； as lang 's ye like to hearken。'
She smiled； and he was satisfied。 He did not dare again ask her to
play to him。 But she said