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Young
Jefferson
only
learnt
to
play
one
tune
on
those
bagpipes
;
but
I
never
heard
any
complaints
about
the
insufficiency
of
his
repertoire
--
none
whatever
.
This
tune
was
"
The
Campbells
are
Coming
,
Hooray
--
Hooray
!
"
so
he
said
,
though
his
father
always
held
that
it
was
"
The
Blue
Bells
of
Scotland
.
"
Nobody
seemed
quite
sure
what
it
was
exactly
,
but
they
all
agreed
that
it
sounded
Scotch
.
Strangers
were
allowed
three
guesses
,
and
most
of
them
guessed
a
different
tune
each
time
.
Harris
was
disagreeable
after
supper
,
--
I
think
it
must
have
been
the
stew
that
had
upset
him
:
he
is
not
used
to
high
living
,
--
so
George
and
I
left
him
in
the
boat
,
and
settled
to
go
for
a
mouch
round
Henley
.
He
said
he
should
have
a
glass
of
whisky
and
a
pipe
,
and
fix
things
up
for
the
night
.
We
were
to
shout
when
we
returned
,
and
he
would
row
over
from
the
island
and
fetch
us
.
"
Do
n't
go
to
sleep
,
old
man
,
"
we
said
as
we
started
.
"
Not
much
fear
of
that
while
this
stew
's
on
,
"
he
grunted
,
as
he
pulled
back
to
the
island
.
Henley
was
getting
ready
for
the
regatta
,
and
was
full
of
bustle
.
We
met
a
goodish
number
of
men
we
knew
about
the
town
,
and
in
their
pleasant
company
the
time
slipped
by
somewhat
quickly
;
so
that
it
was
nearly
eleven
o'clock
before
we
set
off
on
our
four-mile
walk
home
--
as
we
had
learned
to
call
our
little
craft
by
this
time
.
It
was
a
dismal
night
,
coldish
,
with
a
thin
rain
falling
;
and
as
we
trudged
through
the
dark
,
silent
fields
,
talking
low
to
each
other
,
and
wondering
if
we
were
going
right
or
not
,
we
thought
of
the
cosy
boat
,
with
the
bright
light
streaming
through
the
tight-drawn
canvas
;
of
Harris
and
Montmorency
,
and
the
whisky
,
and
wished
that
we
were
there
.
We
conjured
up
the
picture
of
ourselves
inside
,
tired
and
a
little
hungry
;
of
the
gloomy
river
and
the
shapeless
trees
;
and
,
like
a
giant
glow-worm
underneath
them
,
our
dear
old
boat
,
so
snug
and
warm
and
cheerful
.
We
could
see
ourselves
at
supper
there
,
pecking
away
at
cold
meat
,
and
passing
each
other
chunks
of
bread
;
we
could
hear
the
cheery
clatter
of
our
knives
,
the
laughing
voices
,
filling
all
the
space
,
and
overflowing
through
the
opening
out
into
the
night
.
And
we
hurried
on
to
realise
the
vision
.
We
struck
the
tow-path
at
length
,
and
that
made
us
happy
;
because
prior
to
this
we
had
not
been
sure
whether
we
were
walking
towards
the
river
or
away
from
it
,
and
when
you
are
tired
and
want
to
go
to
bed
uncertainties
like
that
worry
you
.
We
passed
Skiplake
as
the
clock
was
striking
the
quarter
to
twelve
;
and
then
George
said
,
thoughtfully
:
