As he grew better, the stimulants given him in the form of medicine
at length ceased. In their place Robert substituted other
restoratives, which prevented him from missing the stimulants so
much, and at length got his system into a tolerably healthy
condition, though at his age, and after so long indulgence, it could
hardly be expected ever to recover its tone.
He did all he could to provide him with healthy amusement--played
backgammon, draughts, and cribbage with him, brought him Sir
Walter's and other novels to read, and often played on his violin,
to which he listened with great delight. At times of depression,
which of course were frequent, the Flowers of the Forest made the
old man weep. Falconer put yet more soul into the sounds than he
had ever put into them before. He tried to make the old man talk of
his childhood, asking him about the place of his birth, the kind of
country, how he had been brought up, his family, and many questions
of the sort. His answers were vague, and often contradictory.
Indeed, the moment the subject was approached, he looked suspicious
and cunning. He said his name was John Mackinnon, and Robert,
although his belief was strengthened by a hundred little
circumstances, had as yet received no proof that he was Andrew
Falconer. Remembering the pawn-ticket, and finding that he could
play on the flute, he brought him a beautiful instrument--in fact a
silver one--the sight of which made the old man's eyes sparkle.
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