Between Ira and a sore back, Robin was in a mood and now was sore with me too.

The clear notes of a flute sounded out in the yard, followed by pipe and fiddle. A few squeaks and squeals later, they got each other’s measure and fell into a rhythm.

Robin brightened; music always did that. “I’m going outside. Are you coming?”

I said, “You go on. I’ll fetch my lute.”

Then I spotted a chance to earn myself some credit. “I’...