ll six-footer in his stockings, stretched out
a huge, hairy hand.

"Give her to me, Pete," he said. "Once I could play a little, and
maybe a few of the old tunes'll float back again. I use to manage a
few jigs," he continued, as he tightened up the strings, "such as 'The
Fisher's Hornpipe,' and 'Auld Lang Syne,' but I'm afraid I'm all out of
practice."

Then began such a sawing and scraping as the little cabin had never
before heard. Had the violin been animate it would have shivered
itself to pieces in a short time. A choir master, or an orchestra
leader would have been driven almost insane at such an exhibition. But
Tim's companions never winced. On the contrary, they seemed to enjoy
it thoroughly, and tapped the floor with their great rough boots as the
various jigs were reeled off.

At length the musician stopped; his supply was exhausted, and he laid
the violin upon the table.

"It's all I know," he remarked, reaching for his pipe.

"Give them to us again," said Alec. "You've done fine."

"Don't ye know a leetle Christmas song, Tim?" asked Pete, with a
disappointed look in his face.

"I'm afraid not. They're all I know."

"What! not one? not one leetle song, jist fer old times' sake?"

Tim ran his fingers through his hair in an abstracted manner. "There
is one," he said, "I used to know, but it's so long since I've heard
it, that I've clean forgotten the tune. It's something about 'Angels
singing,' and 'New-born King,' but I guess----"

"I know it! I know it!" broke in Pete eagerly. "I'll whistle the air,
fer I've sung it out on the hills, to cheer me up a bit. It goes this
way, see?"

Tim listened, began to hum the tune softly to himself, and then reached
for the violin.

"No, ye ain't got it yit, Tim; try agin," and Pete whistled it over
once more.

After several efforts Tim finally rasped out the air of "Hark, the
Angels Sing."

"That's her," exclaimed Pete with delight. "Now ye've got her, go
ahead."

Once more Tim steered his way through the piece, and was about to begin
the third time, when a peculiar noise sounded outside.

"Hark! what's that?" cried one of the men.

"Wind," replied another. "It's a bad night."

"That's no wund, I tell ye that," said Alec, and, suiting the action to
the word, he arose, crossed the room, and threw open the door.

A whirling gust immediately swept into the building, and threatened to
extinguish the three candles which were performing no