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From: mmar@sphinx.UChicago.UUCP (Mitchell Marks)
Newsgroups: net.jokes
Subject: Father Goose
Message-ID: <727@sphinx.UChicago.UUCP>
Date: Mon, 24-Jun-85 17:21:41 EDT
Article-I.D.: sphinx.727
Posted: Mon Jun 24 17:21:41 1985
Date-Received: Tue, 25-Jun-85 03:42:50 EDT
Organization: U. Chicago - Computation Center
Lines: 60

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Late in the previous century, the well-known folklorist
Vivian McNabb was collecting ballads and tales in the
Scottish Highlands, and found a previously unknown musical instrument,
something in the lyre-lute-dulcimer range.  Itwas sitting unused
as a family heirloom, and the family who owned it no longer
knew exactly how it should be tuned or played, nor did anyone
else in the region.  McNabb purchased it, and showed it
in every village he passed through.  Nobody could give him completely
accurate information, and nobody could tune it or play it, but some
clues began to fall in place.  Several people mentioned Seamus
O'Pernokkety, who lived in Ireland, as a great authority on stringed
instruments.  McNabb determined to go over and consult Seamus.

[Insert shaggy description of McNabb's difficult travels, and the
frustrating search for Seamus O'Pernokkety.]

     Finally, weak and confused, McNabb stumbled up to the door of the
cabin at the top of the steep hill.  Success at last!  Seamus recognized
the instrument, and agreed to tune it and teach McNabb how to play, but
only if McNabb would serve as his apprentice for a full year.

[Insert description of McNabb's arduous year of servitude at the feet
of his musical guru.]

When the year was up, Seamus took the instrument out of the cupboard,
spent the rest of the day tuning it up, and played all night and all
the next day.  It was the most remarkable, beautiful tone McNabb had
ever heard.  He stayed on another month, until he too had some proficiency
at playing.  At last they parted.

McNabb skipped and jumped down the hill, exulting in his newfound
skill in playing the instrument, and in the precious object itself.
So unbridled was he in his joyous carriage, that he tripped and fell,
and went tumbling arse-over-teacup down into a ravine.  A large boulder
finally broke his fall, and also his leg.  The instrument, however,
did not seem to be damaged.  But when he tried to play it, it proved
to be badly out of tune, and he could wring from it nothing but harsh
discords.  There was no help for it: he painfully crawled all the
way back up the terrible hill, arriving at Seamus's cottage late that
evening.

"Oh, Seamus, the most terrible thing has happened!" he gasped out, and
explained about his accident.  "Please, maestro, help me in my despair.
Retune the instrument!  And perhaps do something about my leg, if you
can."
   "Certainly, McNabb, I can set your leg, and you're welcome to
food and lodging while it mends.  But I hope you realize I can't work
on that instrument again."
   "But why not?  Please, you must."
   "No, I cannot.  I thought it was well known:
O'Pernokkety tunes but once."



            -- Mitch Marks
               @ UChicago (linguistics)
               ihnp4!gargoyle!sphinx!mmar