"A piper!" echoed Cameron. "Is there much pipe playing in this country?"
"Indeed, you may say that!" said Mack, "and good pipers they are too, they tell me. Piper Sutherland, I think, was of the old Forty-twa. Are you a piper, perhaps?" continued Mack.
"Oh, I play a little," said Cameron. "I have a set in the house."
"God bless my soul!" cried Mack, "and we never knew it. Tell Danny where they are and he will fetch them out. Go, Danny!"
"Never mind, I will get them myself," said Cameron, trying to conceal his eagerness, for he had long been itching for a chance to play and his fingers were now tingling for the chanter.
It was an occasion of great delight, not only to big Mack and his brother Danny and the others, but to Cameron himself. Up and down the floor he marched, making the rafters of the big barn ring with the ancient martial airs of Scotland and then, dropping into a lighter strain, he set their feet a-rapping with reels and strathspeys.
"Man, yon's great playing!" cried Mack with fervent enthusiasm to the company who had gathered to the summons of the pipes from the house and from the high road, "and think of him keeping them in his chest all this time! And what else can you do?" went on Mack, with the enthusiasm of a discoverer. "You have been in the big games, too, I warrant you."
Cameron confessed to some experience of these thrilling events.
"Bless my soul! We will put you against the big folk from the city. Come and show us the hammer," said Mack, leading the way out of the barn, for the rain had ceased, with a big mason's hammer in his hand. It needed but a single throw to make it quite clear to Cameron that Mack was greatly in need of coaching. As he said himself he "just took up the thing and gave it a fling." A mighty fling, too, it proved to be.
"Twenty-eight paces!" cried Cameron, and then, to make sure, stepped it back again. "Yes," he said, "twenty-eight paces, nearly twenty-nine. Great Caesar! Mack, if you only had the Braemar swing you would be a famous thrower."
"Och, now, you are just joking me!" said Mack modestly.
"You can add twenty feet easily to your throw if you get the swing," asserted Cameron. "Look here, now, get this swing," and Cameron demonstrated in his best style the famous Braemar swing.
"Thirty-two paces!" said Mack in amazement after he had measured the throw. "Man alive! you can beat McGee, let alone myself."
"Now, Mack, get the throw," said Cameron, with enthusiasm. "You will be a great thrower." But try though he might Mack failed to get the swing.
"Man, come over to-night and bring your pipes. Danny will fetch out his fiddle and we will have a bit of a frolic, and," he added, as if in an afterthought, "I have a big hammer yonder, the regulation size. We might have a throw or so."
"Thanks, I will be sure to come," said Cameron eagerly.
"Come, all of you," said Mack, "and you too, Mandy. We will clear out the barn floor and have a regular hoe-down."
"Oh, pshaw!" giggled Mandy, tossing her head. "I can't dance."
"Oh, come along and watch me, then," said Mack, in good humour, who, with all his two hundred pounds, was lightfooted as a girl.
The Murrays' new big bank barn was considered the finest in the country and the new floor was still quite smooth and eminently suited to a "hoe-down." Before the darkness had fallen, however, Mack drew Cameron, with Danny, Perkins, and a few of the neighbours who had dropped in, out to the lane and, giving him a big hammer, "Try that," he said, with some doubt in his tone.
Cameron took the hammer.
"This is the right thing. The weight of it will make more difference to me, however, than to you, Mack."
"Oh, I'm not so sure," said Mack. "Show us how you do it."
The first throw Cameron took easily.
"Twenty-nine paces!" cried Mack, after stepping it off. "Man! that's a great throw, and you do it easy."
"Not much of a throw," laughed Cameron. "Try it yourself."
Ignoring the swing, Mack tried the throw in his own style and hurled the hammer two paces beyond Cameron's throw.
"You did that with your arms only," said Cameron. "Now you must put legs and shoulders into it."
"Let's see you beat that throw yourself," laughed Perkins, who was by no means pleased with the sudden distinction that had come to the "Scotty."
Cameron took the hammer and, with the easy slow grace of the Braemar swing, made his throw.
"Hooray!" yelled Danny, who was doing the measuring. "You got it yon time for sure. Three paces to the good. You'll have to put your back into it, Mack, I guess."
Once more Mack seized the hammer. Then Cameron took Mack in hand and, over and over again, coached him in the poise and swing.
"Now try it, and think of your legs and back. Let the hammer take care of itself. Now, nice and easy and slow, not far this time."
Again and again Mack practised the swing.
"You're getting it!" cried Cameron enthusiastically, "but you are trying too hard. Forget the distance this time and think only of the easy slow swing. Let your muscles go slack." So he coached his pupil.
At length, after many attempts, Mack succeeded in delivering his hammer according to instructions.
"Man! you are right!" he exclaimed. "That's the trick of it and it is as smooth as oil."
"Keep it up, Mack," said Cameron, "and always easy."
Over and over again he put the big man through the swing till he began to catch the notion of the rhythmic, harmonious cooperation of the various muscles in legs and shoulders and arms so necessary to the highest result.
"You've got the swing, Mack," at length said Cameron. "Now then, this time let yourself go. Don't try your best, but let yourself out. Easy, now, easy. Get it first in your mind."
For a moment Mack stood pondering. He was "getting it in his mind." Then, with a long swing, easy and slow, he gave the great hammer a mighty heave. With a shout the company crowded about.
"Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven!
Hooray! bully for you, Mack. You are the lad!"
