Kitabı oku: «The Wee Scotch Piper», sayfa 2
CHAPTER II
SANDY'S FIRST VISIT
Aberfoyle is the center of the "Rob Roy country." Rob Roy MacGregor was, as every child knows, a great Scotch warrior and represented one of the oldest Highland clans.
In Aberfoyle, where Ian Craig lived, stands the old house in which Sir Walter Scott wrote his famous story "Rob Roy." To-day it houses the village minister.
Near by is a tumble-down thatched cottage known as "Jean McAlpin's Inn," where Rob Roy was wont to rest.
A landmark in the village is the old "Rob Roy Brig." Here on the old brig (which means "bridge" in Scotch) Ian would sit when school was out and his chores at home were finished.
Something usually happened when he sat here, and many of his experiences had started from this bridge. Often, while he waited for adventure, Ian fished from the bridge. He brought home fine, fat morsels, for the river Forth, which flows beneath the bridge, is rich in fish.
But Ian's dearest memory was of Sandy. The Sandy adventure had taken place almost a year before, but it was as vivid in Ian's mind as though it had all occurred the day before.
It happened while Ian was fishing from the brig. He heard the sound of bagpipes – a sound that is nothing unusual to hear in Scotland. Still it always made Ian joyous and sad at once. And now he turned to listen.
This playing was the loveliest he had ever heard. Jamie Robinson played almost every night in front of the old hotel, and Ian loved the music. But this playing was different. He had always thought Jamie's playing good, but he now wondered how he could ever have thought so.
This tune was from far away, but it carried across the meadow and along the road. And then he saw Sandy! Sandy was standing still in the middle of the road while he played.
By his side was a handcart, and Ian knew at once what it meant. Sandy was a wandering piper, a man who has no home, a gypsy. He piped for his living and camped on the road.
Many pipers passed through Aberfoyle, some with large families. In fact, Jamie was one of them, only Jamie did not travel. He lived in the woods near Aberfoyle in a tent with his wife and babies.
But no one had ever played like this before. Ian ran up the road. As he approached the newcomer, he could see that the piper was a little old man. He had a kindly, wrinkled face, and twinkling eyes which winked at Ian as the boy came closer. Then suddenly he changed his tune.
"Bonny laddie, Highland laddie," shrieked the pipes.
Ian stopped in front of the piper and thought he should cry. The music ceased.
A hand was laid on Ian's shoulder, and a voice asked, "And why, laddie, do you stand and look with eyes so big and sad?"
Ian then realized that he had been staring as if in a trance. He brought himself back to earth, smiled, and put out his hand.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was only admiring your bonny piping!"
"Ach!" laughed the piper. "And I was only admiring the bonny laddie! What's your name?"
"Ian Craig."
"And mine's Sandy. You may call me Sandy, though my name's really Evert Robert MacKeith MacGregor, and my great-grandfather was a cousin to the great Rob Roy."
With these words, Sandy MacGregor put his pipes into his cart. Then, slinging the rope over his shoulders, he started to pull his load along, while Ian kept step with him.
"And a fine village this is – the scene of my ancestor's home! Do you live here, my lad?"
"Ay, Sandy, and not far from old Rob Roy Brig."
"Well, well," sighed Sandy. "And could we bide a wee on the old brig of my ancestor while Sandy rests?"
"Ay, could we," said Ian with great delight, "and I can pull your cart for you, Sandy, until we get there."
Gratefully the old man allowed the boy to pull his load, while he stretched his tired arms. He breathed in the sweet-smelling air of the village of his ancestor.
When they came to the bridge, Ian put down the cart. He invited Sandy to sit beside him on the wall, his usual perch. The old man jumped up to the boy's side, as spry as the boy himself, and looked around.
"Well, well," he said, "and to think 'tis Sandy's first visit to the home of his ancestor – Sandy who has been nigh all over the land!"
At these words Ian's heart gave a bound, and he said, "Have you seen nigh all of bonny Scotland, Sandy?"
"Ay, that have I, lad, and traveled on my own two feet through it all."
"Sandy," said Ian wistfully, "would you be telling me about it?"
"Ach, ay, laddie," smiled the old wanderer. "That would I, for 'tis many a fine sight these old eyes have seen."
Sandy talked, and the boy listened. The sun grew lower and lower in the heavens. Ian Craig thought that never before had he known an afternoon to slip by so quickly.
Sandy told Ian about the time he had visited Edinburgh, Scotland's capital, and one of the most attractive cities in the world.
He told of Princes Street, with its sunken gardens on one side, and its wonderful view of historic Edinburgh Castle, its pretty shops and stately monuments. It is considered by many to be the most beautiful street in all the world.
On the top of a winding hill is Edinburgh Castle. Here, in the courtyard of the old castle is Half-Moon Battery, where is kept the one-o'clock gun.
This gun fires every day at the hour of one. It is attached by electric wire to the time ball on the top of Nelson's Monument on Carlton Hill opposite. This ball falls, in turn, at a signal from Greenwich Observatory, near London, where is set the time for the whole world.
In another part of the castle grounds can be found a pathetic little plot of ground known as "The Dogs' Cemetery." Here are buried the pets of the soldiers who fought in the World War.
Many of these little beasts were gallant heroes and were buried with great reverence. Lovely flowers decorate their graves, and inscriptions tell of each one's valor.
But to one little dog in particular was a fountain erected. It stands in one of the streets of Edinburgh. This fountain represents "Greyfriars' Bobby," as the little dog was called.
He was given this name because it was to the old Greyfriars Churchyard that he went, day after day, to seek his master, who was buried there. The caretakers of the cemetery tried to keep him out.
Still day after day he came. He always lay upon the grave of his master and grieved, until one day they found him dead. And now the fountain is there to remind the people of this faithful little creature.
CHAPTER III
PIPERS
"Do you think my dog would grieve if I should die?" asked Ian, as he brushed away a tear with his sleeve and tried to distract Sandy's attention from his action.
"Ay, if you treat him kindly, lad," answered the old man. "Beasties are faithful to us when they know we love them."
"Ay," said Ian. "Roy is faithful, and a smart sheep dog, too."
"Do you like fine to herd the sheep, laddie?" asked Sandy.
Ian hung his head.
"No, Sandy. I like finer to go about and have adventures and make up that I am – " He hesitated.
"What, lad? Speak. Do not be afraid of Sandy for he knows the hearts of laddies well."
"If I could play the pipes, Sandy, I would go away and be a piper in the band some day," confessed Ian.
This was, indeed, a dream so near to his heart that he had never before spoken it aloud. After the admission, Ian turned his head away and did not look at Sandy. But the old man's voice was very soft and his tone caressing, as he said, "And a fine dream it is, Ian lad, for to be a piper is a great and honored calling."
"Ay," answered Ian huskily, "but 'tis not for me, Sandy."
Sandy turned the boy around then and looked him squarely in the eye.
"Ian, lad, do not speak so, for nothing is too hard to get when you want it."
Ian's eyes lighted up for a moment. Then the same forlorn look came into them as he let his head droop.
"No, Sandy. The pipes are too dear, and it takes many months to learn to play."
"And you study hard at school, lad?" asked the piper.
"Ay, do I," spoke the boy.
"Then some day, you'll be liking to hear of the fine military school I saw."
"Ach, Sandy, tell me about it. Have you really seen it?" Ian was at once alert.
"Ay, that have I, and only three weeks ago when I was passing by Dunblane."
As the poor little village lad drank in his words, Sandy talked on about the wonderful school in Dunblane. This school is called the Queen Victoria School. Here lads between the ages of nine and fifteen are trained as soldiers.
They are sons of military men, some of whom fell in the World War. These boys are reared and taught free of charge. It is a great and good school for a boy to attend.
To see and hear these sons of Scotland's heroes is an experience never to be forgotten. They present a fine appearance in their bright-colored kilts and military trappings, as they march and play upon their pipes.
Sandy saw and heard, and carried away with him a memory of the loveliest sight and sound imaginable. Coming toward him were boys. Children they were, with their kilts making a vivid pattern.
Their bare knees moved in perfect unison as they stepped to the tunes of Scotland's patriotic melodies. They played in a way unsurpassed by pipers older and more experienced than they.
First came a waltz, gracefully played and gracefully stepped. Then came a march, loud, fast, but always in perfect harmony. The sound might have come from a single organ played, perhaps, by Scottish cherubim.
The drum major wore a plumed helmet and carried a baton. He was only fourteen years old, but he twirled his stick and marched like a veteran of many wars.
The little twelve-year-old drummer swung his drumsticks into the air and caught them again. He never missed a beat on his drum. The rest, pipers all, marched and played. Their cheeks puffed in and out, while their fingers moved and made melodies.
Throughout the hills echoed the sound. It was the same as echoed during the Battle of Bannockburn, when Scottish history was made. To these tunes, in this same rugged country marched, years ago, these lads' ancestors.
And Sandy carried his memories of Queen Victoria School back to Ian Craig. Ian's longing to become a piper grew greater as he listened. In his heart he uttered a silent prayer.
