The Wee Scotch Piper Part 3

These boys are reared and taught free of charge. It is a great and good school for a boy to attend.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DRUM MAJOR]

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 unsurpa.s.sed 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DRUMMER BOY]

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.

CHAPTER IV

SANDY RETURNS

Though his meeting with Sandy had happened many months before, neither the memory of Sandy nor of the pipers had dimmed in Ian's mind. Through his hours of work and play his thoughts turned to marching Highland laddies and shrieking pipes.

He would often imagine himself as one of their number. Indeed, often on his walks to school he would "make believe," as so many children call it. People would turn to see why the little boy in kilts marched so straight and puffed his cheeks out.

Ian wore kilts, though his father did not. Many of the children went to school in their kilts. Yet many could not afford to do this and wore them only on Sundays.

Ian, however, had a school kilt and a Sunday kilt and was very proud of his wardrobe. One of the main reasons for his pride lay in the fact that in kilts he could better imagine himself a piper.

Marching alone one morning, he met Elsie. Elsie was only a wee la.s.s, far younger than Ian. But she liked the tall boy who always smiled at her and who walked so straight.

Ian liked Elsie better than the other la.s.sies, who did not understand, as Elsie did, the importance and grandeur of pipers. Besides, the others were either too freckled, or their cheeks too red.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IAN'S SCHOOL]

Some Scotch children have the complexions of bright sunsets. Ian liked Elsie's bonny face, with the few little freckles on her nose, and her sunny smile.

This morning Elsie overtook him as he was marching to his own silent drone of pipes.

"Do not march so, Ian. The children will be laughing at you when you reach the school. I heard them saying you're daft about pipers, and I thought I'd tell you," she said.

Ian looked down into the little maiden's blue eyes. She, too, was dressed in a kilt. She wore over it a red jersey.

Unlike Ian, she did not have the sporran. That is what the Scotch call the piece of fur hanging down in front of the kilt. Each child's kilt was, however, pinned on the side with a large safety pin--which is the style in wearing kilts.

[Ill.u.s.tration: KILTED SCHOOL CHILDREN]

Elsie's hair was done in two braids, which hung down her back. Though he resented what she told him, Ian thought she was very sweet. For she looked at him in a way that made his resentment soon fade.

Smiling, he said, "Thanks, Elsie. I'll not march now."

Silently they walked together. Ian was very near telling his little friend about his dreams.

But while he was weighing the probable outcome of such a move, the school bell rang. It was half past nine, the time that school in Scotland starts in the springtime. Ian and Elsie ran.

At one o'clock, Ian went home to his lunch. Elsie stayed, for her home was far away. She brought her "piece," which is what the Scotch children call their lunch. No doubt the word refers to their piece of bread, which, with an apple, is sometimes all they get.

At home, Ian's mother always had waiting for him a plate of Scotch broth, potatoes, and sometimes an apple tart. After school Ian was drawn to the bridge.

The work at home was not pressing to-day. Father was away with the sheep. Mother did not need Ian. His heart was light as he started off for the old brig. He walked along with the hope of adventure, while in his ears the imaginary sound of pipes played.

"Ian, wait," called Elsie, and ran after him.

Ian stopped and remembered that he had almost told her. How could a wee la.s.s like that understand? No. He would not speak. What was more, he would not let her come along, for he knew that was what she wanted to do.

"Are you going fishing from the brig?" asked Elsie blithely.

"Ay," answered Ian sulkily, as he stepped ahead of her.

"May I go with you, Ian?" queried the small girl.

"No, Elsie. You're too wee for fishing, and you scare the fish."

Elsie's lip quivered. Ian feared she would cry right out on the road.

Then what would he do?

"Ach, don't cry, la.s.s. Run home to your mother, for 'tis late for you to be out, and she'll be worried."

It was all said kindly but much too eagerly. Elsie, who was keen, did not doubt for a moment that she was not wanted.

She ran off, while Ian, with a sigh--sad to say, of relief--ran to his home. He kissed his mother, took down his fishing rod, and was off for fish and dreams.

At the bridge, adventure indeed awaited him, had he but known. He settled himself in his favorite place and threw his line down into the river. Little did he suspect what was to happen.

Singing to himself, he waited. A tug on his line! So soon? Ah, the fish were biting well to-day. Mother would be pleased. What a big fish and how it pulled! Ian struggled for several minutes, and then up came his prize.

But what sort of fish was this? It looked like a fuzzy ball of brown fur. As it came up closer, Ian saw that it was a bear--a toy bear. It was undoubtedly the property of a certain Elsie Campbell!

"Out, you wee devil, out!" cried Ian, standing up and looking down under the bridge for his tormentor.