From Drink Down The Moon, by Charles DeLint-
"Lend him your fiddle," Tuir said to Johnny.
"He can't," Jemi said. "He'll need that for where we're going.
"I can't play one anyway," Henk said. "My instrument's the concertina."
"Anglo or English? " Loireag asked.
Henk blinked. "Uh, English. "
Loireag sent word up and down the line of the sidhe until a small hob
trotted up on his pony and handed Henk an instrument.
It was a beautiful old Wheatstone, it's silver gleaming, it's wood dark,
it's leather bellows worn but still strong.
"It was my father's, "the hob said. "Play the Moon fierce in it."
