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time Nature kept for her own quiet； and having once put her children
to bedhidden them away with the world wiped out of themenclosed
them in her ebony box； as George Herbert saysshe did not expect to
have her hours of undress and meditation intruded upon by a
venturesome school…boy。 Yet she let him pass。 He put on his shoes
and hurried to the road。 He heard a horse stamp in the stable； and
saw a cat dart across the corn…yard as he went through。 Those were
all the signs of life about the place。
It was a cloudy night and still。 Nothing was to be heard but his
own footsteps。 The cattle in the fields were all asleep。 The larch
and spruce trees on the top of the hill by the foot of which his
road wound were still as clouds。 He could just see the sky through
their stems。 It was washed with the faintest of light； for the
moon； far below； was yet climbing towards the horizon。 A star or
two sparkled where the clouds broke； but so little light was there；
that； until he had passed the moorland on the hill； he could not get
the horror of moss…holes； and deep springs covered with treacherous
green； out of his head。 But he never thought of turning。 When the
fears of the way at length fell back and allowed his own thoughts to
rise； the sense of a presence； or of something that might grow to a
presence； was the first to awake in him。 The stillness seemed to be
thinking all around his head。 But the way grew so dark； where it
lay through a corner of the pine…wood； that he had to feel the edge
of the road with his foot to make sure that he was keeping upon it；
and the sense of the silence vanished。 Then he passed a farm； and
the motions of horses came through the dark； and a doubtful crow
from a young inexperienced cock； who did not yet know the moon from
the sun。 Then a sleepy low in his ear startled him； and made him
quicken his pace involuntarily。
By the time he reached Rothieden all the lights were out； and this
was just what he wanted。
The economy of Dooble Sanny's abode was this： the outer door was
always left on the latch at night； because several families lived in
the house； the soutar's workshop opened from the passage； close to
the outer door； therefore its door was locked； but the key hung on a
nail just inside the soutar's bedroom。 All this Robert knew。
Arrived at the house； he lifted the latch； closed the door behind
him； took off his shoes once more； like a housebreaker； as indeed he
was； although a righteous one； and felt his way to and up the stair
to the bedroom。 There was a sound of snoring within。 The door was
a little ajar。 He reached the key and descended； his heart beating
more and more wildly as he approached the realization of his hopes。
Gently as he could he turned it in the lock。 In a moment more he
had his hands on the spot where the shoemaker always laid his
violin。 But his heart sank within him： there was no violin there。
A blank of dismay held him both motionless and thoughtless； nor had
he recovered his senses before he heard footsteps； which he well
knew； approaching in the street。 He slunk at once into a corner。
Elshender entered； feeling his way carefully； and muttering at his
wife。 He was tipsy； most likely； but that had never yet interfered
with the safety of his fiddle： Robert heard its faint echo as he
laid it gently down。 Nor was he too tipsy to lock the door behind
him； leaving Robert incarcerated amongst the old boots and leather
and rosin。
For one moment only did the boy's heart fail him。 The next he was
in action； for a happy thought had already struck him。 Hastily；
that he might forestall sleep in the brain of the soutar； he undid
his parcel； and after carefully enveloping his own violin in the
paper； took the old wife of the soutar； and proceeded to perform
upon her a trick which in a merry moment his master had taught him；
and which； not without some feeling of irreverence； he had
occasionally practised upon his own bonny lady。
The shoemaker's room was overhead； its thin floor of planks was the
ceiling of the workshop。 Ere Dooble Sanny was well laid by the side
of his sleeping wife； he heard a frightful sound from below； as of
some one tearing his beloved violin to pieces。 No sound of rending
coffin…planks or rising dead would have been so horrible in the ears
of the soutar。 He sprang from his bed with a haste that shook the
crazy tenement to its foundation。
The moment Robert heard that； he put the violin in its place； and
took his station by the door…cheek。 The soutar came tumbling down
the stair； and rushed at the door； but found that he had to go back
for the key。 When； with uncertain hand； he had opened at length； he
went straight to the nest of his treasure； and Robert slipping out
noiselessly； was in the next street before Dooble Sanny； having
found the fiddle uninjured； and not discovering the substitution；
had finished concluding that the whisky and his imagination had
played him a very discourteous trick between them； and retired once
more to bed。 And not till Robert had cut his foot badly with a
piece of glass； did he discover that he had left his shoes behind
him。 He tied it up with his handkerchief； and limped home the three
miles； too happy to think of consequences。
Before he had gone far； the moon floated up on the horizon； large；
and shaped like the broadside of a barrel。 She stared at him in
amazement to see him out at such a time of the night。 But he
grasped his violin and went on。 He had no fear now； even when he
passed again over the desolate moss； although he saw the stagnant
pools glimmering about him in the moonlight。 And ever after this he
had a fancy for roaming at night。 He reached home in safety； found
the door as he had left it； and ascended to his bed； triumphant in
his fiddle。
In the morning bloody prints were discovered on the stair； and
traced to the door of his room。 Miss Lammie entered in some alarm；
and found him fast asleep on his bed； still dressed； with a
brown…paper parcel in his arms； and one of his feet evidently enough
the source of the frightful stain。 She was too kind to wake him；
and inquiry was postponed till they met at breakfast； to which he
descended bare…footed； save for a handkerchief on the injured foot。
'Robert； my lad；' said Mr。 Lammie； kindly； 'hoo cam ye by that
bluidy fut？'
Robert began the story； and； guided by a few questions from his
host； at length told the tale of the violin from beginning to end；
omitting only his adventure in the factory。 Many a guffaw from Mr。
Lammie greeted its progress； and Miss Lammie laughed till the tears
rolled unheeded down her cheeks； especially when Shargar； emboldened
by the admiration Robert had awakened； imparted his private share in
the comedy； namely； the entombment of Boston in a fifth…fold state；
for the Lammies were none of the unco guid to be censorious upon
such exploits。 The whole business advanced t