ghbouring farm to polish off the remains of a sheep; and as bear was
the only sort of local game which Cospatric considered worth powder and
ball, I thought I'd knock him up for the chance of a shot. So I went
out, and tramped down to the shore opposite to where the ugly cutter
was riding. But I did not hail. I stood there and listened--listened
with some wonder and some delight--I believe I gaped. The strings of
the "upright grand" were in motion, but they were giving vent to
neither ballad tune nor comic jig. And chiming in with them were the
notes of a violin, played tunefully, accurately, boldly. That last, I
knew, must be Cospatric's. I had not seen the instrument here as yet,
but I remembered he was supposed to be rather good on it up at
Cambridge.

After a bit I pulled myself together and hailed. The music ceased
abruptly. Cospatric's head appeared through the hatch, and Cospatric's
voice inquired with a good deal of impatience what I wanted.

I told him about the bear, and then added a few words in praise of the
music. "Why ever didn't you let me hear your concert before?" I asked.
"Did you think it was a case of pearls and pigs?"

"That's exactly the reason! I didn't know you cared for anything more
advanced than those ballad affairs. However, if that's a wrong idea,
I'm very glad. We'll have some tunes together after this, and perhaps
Haigh and I may knock out an item or two that's fresh to you. But for
the present, as you suggest--_bjorn_. I'll be with you on the sand
there in nine seconds."

As for the bear, of course he didn't turn up, and we three and Se spent
a particularly cold night in the open, with absolutely nothing to show
far it. In this there was nothing surprising. It was quite in the
ordinary way of business. Only Cospatric, who is at heart no sportsman,
murmured, "Small potatoes."

It was not till a couple of days afterwards that we got on the subject
of music again. We came at it this way: the cutter was going to work
south and west again, and it was proposed that I should join her.
"Don't go down in one of those beastly coasting steamers," said
Cospatric. "They'll give you five sorts of cheese for breakfast, and
poison you at all other meals. You'll live in an atmosphere of dried
fish and engine-room oil, and you'll be driven half-mad by children who
squall, and other children who rattle the saloon domino-box all through
the watches. You'd much better come with me. I'll drop you at a
st