nt him an old one,
though Andrew knew no more of music than the Cerne Giant; and armed with
the instrument he walked up to the squire's house with the others of us
at the time appointed, and went in boldly, his fiddle under his arm. He
made himself as natural as he could in opening the music-books and moving
the candles to the best points for throwing light upon the notes; and all
went well till we had played and sung "While shepherds watch," and "Star,
arise," and "Hark the glad sound." Then the squire's mother, a tall
gruff old lady, who was much interested in church-music, said quite
unexpectedly to Andrew: "My man, I see you don't play your instrument
with the rest. How is that?"

'Every one of the choir was ready to sink into the earth with concern at
the fix Andrew was in. We could see that he had fallen into a cold
sweat, and how he would get out of it we did not know.

'"I've had a misfortune, mem," he says, bowing as meek as a child.
"Coming along the road I fell down and broke my bow."

'"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," says she. "Can't it be mended?"

'"Oh no, mem," says Andrew. "'Twas broke all to splinters."

'"I'll see what I can do for you," says she.

'And then it seemed all over, and we played "Rejoice, ye drowsy mortals
all," in D and two sharps. But no sooner had we got through it than she
says to Andrew,

'"I've sent up into the attic, where we have some old musical
instruments, and found a bow for you." And she hands the bow to poor
wretched Andrew, who didn't even know which end to take hold of. "Now we
shall have the full accompaniment," says she.

'Andrew's face looked as if it were made of rotten apple as he stood in
the circle of players in front of his book; for if there was one person
in the parish that everybody was afraid of, 'twas this hook-nosed old
lady. However, by keeping a little behind the next man he managed to
make pretence of beginning, sawing away with his bow without letting it
touch the strings, so that it looked as if he were driving into the tune
with heart and soul. 'Tis a question if he wouldn't have got through all
right if one of the squire's visitors (no other than the archdeacon)
hadn't noticed that he held the fiddle upside down, the nut under his
chin, and the tail-piece in his hand; and they began to crowd round him,
thinking 'twas some new way of performing.

'This revealed everything; the squire's mother had Andrew turned out of
the house as a vi