Part 36 (1/2)

With the courtesy of a true gentleman, Danny led off with his fiddle till they had all got thoroughly into the spirit and swing of the frolic, and then, putting his instrument back into its bag, he declared that they were all tired of it and were waiting for the pipes.

”Not a bit of it!” cried Isa. ”But we will give you a rest, Danny, and besides I want to dance a reel with you myself--though Mr. Cameron is not bad,” she added, with a little bow to Cameron, with whom she had just finished a reel.

Readily enough Cameron tuned his pipes, for he was aching to get at them and only too glad to furnish music for the gay company of kindly hearted folk who were giving him his first evening's pleasure since he had left the Cuagh Oir.

From reel to schottische and from schottische to reel, foursome and eightsome, they kept him playing, ever asking for more, till the gloaming pa.s.sed into moonlight and still they were not done. The respite came through Mandy, who, solid in weight and heavy of foot, had laboured through the reels as often as she could get a partner, and at other times had sat gazing in rapt devotion upon the piper.

”Whoop her up again, Scotty!” cried Perkins, when Cameron paused at the end of a reel.

”Don't you do it!” said Mandy sharply, her deep voice booming through the barn. ”He's just tired of it, and I'm tired looking at him.”

There was a shout of laughter which covered poor Mandy with wrathful confusion.

”Good for you, Mandy,” cried Perkins with a great guffaw. ”You want some music now, don't you? So do I. Come on, Danny.”

”No, I don't,” snapped Mandy, who could understand neither the previous laugh nor that which greeted Perkins' sally.

”Allan,” she said, sticking a little over the name, ”is tired out, and besides it's time we were going home.”

”That's right, take him home, Mandy, and put the little dear to bed,”

said Perkins.

”You needn't be so smart, Joe Perkins,” said Mandy angrily. ”Anyway I'm going home. I've got to be up early.”

”Me too, Mandy,” said Cameron, packing up his pipes, for his sympathy had been roused for the girl who was championing him so bravely. ”I have had a great night and I have played you all to death; but you will forgive me. I was lonely for the chanter. I have not touched it since I left home.”

There was a universal cry of protest as they gathered about him.

”Indeed, Mr. Cameron, you have given us all a rare treat,” cried Isa, coming close to him, ”and I only wish you could pipe and dance at the same time.”

”That's so!” cried Mack, ”but what's the matter with the fiddle, Isa?

Come, Danny, strike up. Let them have a reel together.”

Cameron glanced at Mandy, who was standing impatiently waiting. Perkins caught the glance.

”Oh, please let him stay, Mandy,” he pleaded.

”He can stay if he likes,” sniffed Mandy scornfully. ”I got no string on him; but I'm goin' home. Good-night, everybody.”

”Good-night, Mandy,” called Perkins. ”Tell them we're comin'.”

”Just a moment, Mandy!” said Cameron, ”and I'm with you. Another time I hope to do a reel with you, Miss MacKenzie,” he said, bidding her good-night, ”and I hope it will be soon.”

”Remember, then,” cried Isa, warmly shaking hands with him. ”I will keep you to your promise at the picnic.”

”Fine!” said Cameron, and with easy grace he made his farewells and set off after Mandy, who by this time was some distance down the lane.

”You needn't come for me,” she said, throwing her voice at him over her shoulder.

”What a splendid night we have had!” said Cameron, ignoring her wrath.