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"As I set fiddlin' on a tree The devil shot his gun at me. He missed my soul an' hit a limb, An' I don't give a damn for him." He slapped his leg to emphasise the "damn." At this moment Roy came in with the two stone pitchers, handed one to Ump and put the other down by the boisterous Parson. Peppers turned to him. "Got a fiddle?" he asked. "I think there's an old stager about," said Roy.
'Weel, it's a queer instructor o' yowth, 'at says an' onsays i' the same breith. 'Never ye min'. I haena contradickit mysel' yet; for I hae said naething. But, Robert, my man, ye maun pit mair sowl into yer fiddlin'. Ye canna play the fiddle till ye can gar 't greit.
It'd be kind o' fiddlin' work, gettin' up and makin' omelets every mornin'." "You're an artist," said the young man. "Mebbe. Don't you think you've licked that plat about clean?" Uncle William looked at it approvingly. "It ain't much work to wash dishes for you." At intervals during the day the artist demanded his clothes, each time a little more vigorously. Uncle William put him off.
"I thought I see her fiddlin' about the gun, when the chase was made after the Yankee, although I didn't think to say nothing about it, when you axed Tom Fluke about Sal's apron." Whatever conjecture might have arisen with others, there was no time to think of, much less to discuss it the boats were already within a few yards of the vessel.
And, "Oh, you know," Calliope Marsh admitted to me later, "Mis' Sykes is rilly a great society woman. They isn't anybody's funeral that she don't get to ride to the cemet'ry." Mrs. Ricker and Kitton accepted the situation with fine philosophy. "Of course," she said, "the whole town can dance to the Sykeses' fiddlin' if they want.
The tune, if it could be so called, was scaleless, and these were the words: "Monday mornin' I married me a wife, Thinkin' to lead a more contented life; Fiddlin' an' dancin' the' was played, To see how unhappy poor I was made. "Tuesday mornin', 'bout break o' day, While my head on the piller did lay, She tuned up her clack, an' scolded more Than I ever heard before."
"What have you got to do with fiddlin', for goodness' sakes?" "Nothin', of course. I don't mean a real fiddle. I mean I shan't never be my own mistress any more. I've been layin' awake thinkin' about it and shiverin', 'twas so damp and chilly up in my room. There's a loose shingle right over a knot hole that's abreast a crack in my bedroom wall, and it lets in the dampness like a sieve.
There was a party at Moody's one night, and Bull Corey had come down from the Upper Lake and filled himself up with whiskey. Bull was an ugly-tempered fellow. The more he drank, up to a certain point, the steadier he got on his legs, and the more necessary it seemed for him to fight somebody. The tide of his pugnacity that night took a straight set toward Fiddlin' Jack.
Lyddy Ann was pretty miserable, an' she'd been dosin' with thoroughwort an' what all when anybody told her to; but I al'ays thought she never cared a mite whether she lived to see another spring. The day I'm comin' to, she was standin' over the fire fryin' fish, an' 'Mandy was sort o' fiddlin' round, settin' the table, an' not doin' much of anything arter all.
'And what aboot the fiddlin', grannie? he added, half playfully, hoping for some kind concession therein as well. But he had gone too far. She vouchsafed no reply, and her face grew stern with offence. It was one thing to give bread to eat, another to give music and gladness.
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