Oh, that weary fiddle!" she said with an impatient shake of her head.
But in a few moments the impatience in her face passed into tender pity.
"Ah, well, well," she sighed, "poor man, it is the kind heart he has,
whateffer."

She passed down the bank into the house, then through the large
living-room, speckless in its thrifty order, into a longer room that
joined house to mill. She glanced at the tall clock that stood beside
the door. "Mercy me!" she cried, "it's time my own work was done. But
I'll just step in and see--" She opened the door leading to the mill and
stood silent. A neat little man with cheery, rosy face, clean-shaven,
and with a mass of curly hair tinged with grey hanging about his
forehead, was seated upon a chair tipped back against the wall, playing
a violin with great vigour and unmistakable delight.

"The mill's a-workin', mother," he cried without stopping his flying
fingers, "and I'm keepin' my eye upon her."

She shook her head reproachfully at her husband. "Ay, the mill is
workin' indeed, but it's not of the mill you're thinking."

"Of what then?" he cried cheerily, still playing.

"It is of that raising and of the dancing, I'll be bound you."

"Wrong, mother," replied the little man exultant. "Sure you're wrong.
Listen to this. What is it now?"

"Nonsense," cried the woman, "how do I know?"

"But listen, Elsie, darlin'," he cried, dropping into his Irish brogue.
"Don't you mind--" and on he played for a few minutes. "Now you mind,
don't you?"

"Of course, I mind, 'The Lass o' Gowrie.' But what of it?" she cried,
heroically struggling to maintain her stern appearance.

But even as she spoke her face, so amazing in its power of swiftly
changing expression, took on a softer look.

"Ah, there you are," cried the little man in triumph, "now I know you
remember. And it's twenty-four years to-morrow, Elsie, darlin', since--"
He suddenly dropped his violin on some meal bags at his side and sprang
toward her.

"Go away with you." She closed the door quickly behind her. "Whisht now!
Be quate now, I'm sayin'. You're just as foolish as ever you were."

"Foolish? No mother, not foolish, but wise yon time, although it's
foolish enough I've been often since. And," he added with a sigh,
"it's not much luck I've brought you, except for the boys. They'll do,
perhaps, what I've not done."

"Whisht now, lad," said his wife, patting his shoulder gently, for a
great tenderness flowed over her eloque