GREYFRIARS BOBBY

By Eleanor Atkinson

I. 

When the time-gun boomed from Edinburgh Castle, Bobby gave a startledyelp. He was only a little country dog--the very youngest and smallestand shaggiest of Skye terriers--bred on a heathery slope of the Pentlandhills, where the loudest sound was the bark of a collie or the tinkleof a sheep-bell. That morning he had come to the weekly market with AuldJock, a farm laborer, and the Grassmarket of the Scottish capital lay inthe narrow valley at the southern base of Castle Crag. Two hundredfeet above it the time-gun was mounted in the half-moon battery on anoverhanging, crescent-shaped ledge of rock. In any part of the citythe report of the one-o'clock gun was sufficiently alarming, but inthe Grassmarket it was an earth-rending explosion directly overhead. It needed to be heard but once there to be registered on even a littledog's brain. Bobby had heard it many times, and he never failed to yelpa sharp protest at the outrage to his ears; but, as the gunshot wasalways followed by a certain happy event, it started in his activelittle mind a train of pleasant associations. 

In Bobby's day of youth, and that was in 1858, when Queen Victoria was ahappy wife and mother, with all her bairns about her knees in Windsoror Balmoral, the Grassmarket of Edinburgh was still a bit of the MiddleAges, as picturesquely decaying and Gothic as German Nuremberg. Besidethe classic corn exchange, it had no modern buildings. North and south, along its greatest length, the sunken quadrangle was faced by tall, old, timber-fronted houses of stone, plastered like swallows' nests to therocky slopes behind them. 

Across the eastern end, where the valley suddenly narrowed to theravine-like street of the Cowgate, the market was spanned by thelofty, crowded arches of George IV Bridge. This high-hung, viaductthoroughfare, that carried a double line of buildings within itsparapet, leaped the gorge, from the tall, old, Gothic rookeries on HighStreet ridge, just below the Castle esplanade. It cleared the roofsof the tallest, oldest houses that swarmed up the steep banks from theCowgate, and ran on, by easy descent, to the main gateway of Greyfriarskirkyard at the lower top of the southern rise. 

Greyfriars' two kirks formed together, under one continuous roof, along, low, buttressed building without tower or spire. The new kirk wasof Queen Anne's day, but the old kirk was built before ever the Pilgrimsset sail for America. It had been but one of several sacred buildings, set in a monastery garden that sloped pleasantly to the open valley ofthe Grassmarket, and looked up the Castle heights unhindered. In Bobby'sday this garden had shrunk to a long, narrow, high-piled burying-ground, that extended from the rear of the line of buildings that fronted on themarket, up the slope, across the hilltop, and to where the land beganto fall away again, down the Burghmuir. From the Grassmarket, kirk andkirkyard lay hidden behind and above the crumbling grandeur of noblehalls and mansions that had fallen to the grimiest tenements ofEdinburgh's slums. From the end of the bridge approach there was aglimpse of massive walls, of pointed windows, and of monumental tombsthrough a double-leafed gate of wrought iron, that was alcoved andwedged in between the ancient guildhall of the candlemakers and a row ofprosperous little shops in Greyfriars Place. 

A rock-rimmed quarry pit, in the very heart of Old Edinburgh, theGrassmarket was a place of historic echoes. The yelp of a little dogthere would scarce seem worthy of record. More in harmony with itsstirring history was the report of the time-gun. At one o'clock everyday, there was a puff of smoke high up in the blue or gray or squallysky, then a deafening crash and a back fire fusillade of echoes. Theoldest frequenter of the market never got used to it. On Wednesday, asthe shot broke across the babel of shrill bargaining, every man inthe place jumped, and not one was quicker of recovery than wee Bobby. Instantly ashamed, as an intelligent little dog who knew the importof the gun should be, Bobby denied his alarm in a tiny pink yawn ofboredom. Then he went briskly about his urgent business of finding AuldJock. 

The market was closed. In five minutes the great open space was as emptyof living men as Greyfriars kirkyard on a week-day. Drovers and hostlersdisappeared at once into the cheap and noisy entertainment of the WhiteHart Inn that fronted the market and set its squalid back against CastleRock. Farmers rapidly deserted it for the clean country. Dwellers in thetenements darted up wynds and blind closes, climbed twisting turnpikestairs to windy roosts under the gables, or they scuttled through nobledoors into foul courts and hallways. Beggars and pickpockets swarmedunder the arches of the bridge, to swell the evil smelling human riverthat flowed at the dark and slimy bottom of the Cowgate. 

A chill November wind tore at the creaking iron cross of the Knights ofSt. John, on the highest gable of the Temple tenements, that turned itsdecaying back on the kirkyard of the Greyfriars. Low clouds were tangledand torn on the Castle battlements. A few horses stood about, munchingoats from feed-boxes. Flocks of sparrows fluttered down from timberedgalleries and rocky ledges to feast on scattered grain. Swallows wheeledin wide, descending spirals from mud villages under the cornices tocatch flies. Rats scurried out of holes and gleaned in the deserted cornexchange. And 'round and 'round the empty market-place raced the franticlittle terrier in search of Auld Jock. 

Bobby knew, as well as any man, that it was the dinner hour. With thetime-gun it was Auld Jock's custom to go up to a snug little restaurant;that was patronized chiefly by the decent poor small shopkeepers, clerks, tenant farmers, and medical students living in cheaplodgings--in Greyfriars Place. There, in Ye Olde GreyfriarsDining-Rooms, owned by Mr. John Traill, and four doors beyond thekirkyard gate, was a cozy little inglenook that Auld Jock and Bobbyhad come to look upon as their own. At its back, above a recessed oakensettle and a table, a tiny paned window looked up and over a retainingwall into the ancient place of the dead. 

The view of the heaped-up and crowded mounds and thickets of old slabsand throughstones, girt all about by time-stained monuments and vaults, and shut in on the north and east by the backs of shops and loftyslum tenements, could not be said to be cheerful. It suited Auld Jock, however, for what mind he had was of a melancholy turn. From his placeon the floor, between his master's hob-nailed boots, Bobby could not seethe kirkyard, but it would not, in any case, have depressed his spirits. He did not know the face of death and, a merry little ruffian of aterrier, he was ready for any adventure. 

On the stone gate pillar was a notice in plain English that no dogs werepermitted in Greyfriars. As well as if he could read, Bobby knewthat the kirkyard was forbidden ground. He had learned that by bitterexperience. Once, when the little wicket gate that held the two tallleaves ajar by day, chanced to be open, he had joyously chased a catacross the graves and over the western wall onto the broad green lawn ofHeriot's Hospital. 

There the little dog's escapade bred other mischief, for Heriot'sHospital was not a hospital at all, in the modern English sense of beinga refuge for the sick. Built and christened in a day when a Stuart kingreigned in Holyrood Palace, and French was spoken in the Scottishcourt, Heriot's was a splendid pile of a charity school, all towersand battlements, and cheerful color, and countless beautiful windows. Endowed by a beruffed and doubleted goldsmith, "Jinglin' Geordie"Heriot, who had "nae brave laddie o' his ain, " it was devoted to thecare and education of "puir orphan an' faderless boys. " There ithad stood for more than two centuries, in a spacious park, like thecountry-seat of a Lowland laird, but hemmed in by sordid markets andswarming slums. The region round about furnished an unfailing supplyof "puir orphan an' faderless boys" who were as light-hearted andirresponsible as Bobby. 

Hundreds of the Heriot laddies were out in the noon recess, playingcricket and leap-frog, when Bobby chased that unlucky cat over thekirkyard wall. He could go no farther himself, but the laddies took upthe pursuit, yelling like Highland clans of old in a foray across theborder. The unholy din disturbed the sacred peace of the kirkyard. Bobby dashed back, barking furiously, in pure exuberance of spirits. Hetumbled gaily over grassy hummocks, frisked saucily around terrifyingold mausoleums, wriggled under the most enticing of low-set table tombsand sprawled, exhausted, but still happy and noisy, at Auld Jock's feet. 

It was a scandalous thing to happen in any kirkyard! The angry caretakerwas instantly out of his little stone lodge by the gate and taking AuldJock sharply to task for Bobby's misbehavior. The pious old shepherd, shocked himself and publicly disgraced, stood, bonnet in hand, humblyapologetic. Seeing that his master was getting the worst of it, Bobbyrushed into the fray, an animated little muff of pluck and fury, andnipped the caretaker's shins. There was a howl of pain, and a "maistmichty" word that made the ancient tombs stand aghast. Master and dogwere hustled outside the gate and into a rabble of jeering slum gamin. 

What a to-do about a miserable cat! To Bobby there was no logic at allin the denouement to this swift, exciting drama. But he understood AuldJock's shame and displeasure perfectly. Good-tempered as he was gay andclever, the little dog took his punishment meekly, and he rememberedit. Thereafter, he passed the kirk yard gate decorously. If he saw a catthat needed harrying he merely licked his little red chops--the outwardsign of a desperate self-control. And, a true sport, he bore no malicetoward the caretaker. 

During that first summer of his life Bobby learned many things. Helearned that he might chase rabbits, squirrels and moor-fowl, andsea-gulls and whaups that came up to feed in plowed fields. Rats andmice around byre and dairy were legitimate prey; but he learned that hemust not annoy sheep and sheep-dogs, nor cattle, horses and chickens. And he discovered that, unless he hung close to Auld Jock's heels, hisfreedom was in danger from a wee lassie who adored him. He was no lady'slap-dog. From the bairnie's soft cosseting he aye fled to Auld Jockand the rough hospitality of the sheep fold. Being exact opposites intemperaments, but alike in tastes, Bobby and Auld Jock were inseparable. In the quiet corner of Mr. Traill's crowded dining-room they spent theone idle hour of the week together, happily. Bobby had the leavings of aherring or haddie, for a rough little Skye will eat anything from smokedfish to moor-fowl eggs, and he had the tidbit of a farthing bone toworry at his leisure. Auld Jock smoked his cutty pipe, gazed at the fireor into the kirk-yard, and meditated on nothing in particular. 

In some strange way that no dog could understand, Bobby had beenseparated from Auld Jock that November morning. The tenant of Cauldbraefarm had driven the cart in, himself, and that was unusual. Immediatelyhe had driven out again, leaving Auld Jock behind, and that was quiteoutside Bobby's brief experience of life. Beguiled to the lofty andcoveted driver's seat where, with lolling tongue, he could view thisinteresting world between the horse's ears, Bobby had been spirited outof the city and carried all the way down and up to the hilltop toll-barof Fairmilehead. It could not occur to his loyal little heart that thistreachery was planned nor, stanch little democrat that he was, thatthe farmer was really his owner, and that he could not follow a humblermaster of his own choosing. He might have been carried to the distantfarm, and shut safely in the byre with the cows for the night, but foran incautious remark of the farmer. With the first scent of the nativeheather the horse quickened his pace, and, at sight of the purple slopesof the Pentlands looming homeward, a fond thought at the back of theman's mind very naturally took shape in speech. 

"Eh, Bobby; the wee lassie wull be at the tap o' the brae to race yehame. "

Bobby pricked his drop ears. Within a narrow limit, and concerningfamiliar things, the understanding of human speech by these intelligentlittle terriers is very truly remarkable. At mention of the wee lassiehe looked behind for his rough old friend and unfailing refuge. AuldJock's absence discovered, Bobby promptly dropped from the seat of honorand from the cart tail, sniffed the smoke of Edinboro' town and facedright about. To the farmer's peremptory call he returned the spicyrepartee of a cheerful bark. It was as much as to say:

"Dinna fash yersel'! I ken what I'm aboot. "

After an hour's hard run back over the dipping and rising country roadand a long quarter circuit of the city, Bobby found the high-walled, winding way into the west end of the Grassmarket. To a human beingafoot there was a shorter cut, but the little dog could only retracethe familiar route of the farm carts. It was a notable feat for a smallcreature whose tufted legs were not more than six inches in length, whose thatch of long hair almost swept the roadway and caught at everyburr and bramble, and who was still so young that his nose could not besaid to be educated. 

In the market-place he ran here and there through the crowd, hopefullyinvestigating narrow closes that were mere rifts in precipices ofbuildings; nosing outside stairs, doorways, stables, bridge arches, standing carts, and even hob-nailed boots. He yelped at the crash of thegun, but it was another matter altogether that set his little heart topalpitating with alarm. It was the dinner-hour, and where was Auld Jock?

Ah! A happy thought: his master had gone to dinner!

A human friend would have resented the idea of such base desertionand sulked. But in a little dog's heart of trust there is no room forsuspicion. The thought simply lent wings to Bobby's tired feet. Asthe market-place emptied he chased at the heels of laggards, up thecrescent-shaped rise of Candlemakers Row, and straight on to thefamiliar dining-rooms. Through the forest of table and chair and humanlegs he made his way to the back, to find a soldier from the Castle, insmart red coat and polished boots, lounging in Auld Jock's inglenook. 

Bobby stood stock still for a shocked instant. Then he howleddismally and bolted for the door. Mr. John Traill, the smooth-shaven, hatchet-faced proprietor, standing midway in shirtsleeves and whiteapron, caught the flying terrier between his legs and gave him afriendly clap on the side. 

"Did you come by your ainsel' with a farthing in your silky-purse ear tobuy a bone, Bobby? Whaur's Auld Jock?"

A fear may be crowded back into the mind and stoutly denied so long asit is not named. At the good landlord's very natural question "Whaur'sAuld Jock?" there was the shape of the little dog's fear that he hadlost his master. With a whimpering cry he struggled free. Out of thedoor he went, like a shot. He tumbled down the steep curve and doubledon his tracks around the market-place. 

At his onslaught, the sparrows rose like brown leaves on a gust of wind, and drifted down again. A cold mist veiled the Castle heights. Fromthe stone crown of the ancient Cathedral of St. Giles, on High Street, floated the melody of "The Bluebells of Scotland. " No day was too bleakfor bell-ringer McLeod to climb the shaking ladder in the windy towerand play the music bells during the hour that Edinburgh dined. Bobbyforgot to dine that day, first in his distracted search, and then in hisjoy of finding his master. 

For, all at once, in the very strangest place, in the very strangestway, Bobby came upon Auld Jock. A rat scurrying out from a foul andnarrow passage that gave to the rear of the White Hart Inn, pointed thelittle dog to a nook hitherto undiscovered by his curious nose. Hiddenaway between the noisy tavern and the grim, island crag was the oldcock-fighting pit of a ruder day. There, in a broken-down carrier'scart, abandoned among the nameless abominations of publichouse refuse, Auld Jock lay huddled in his greatcoat of hodden gray and his shepherd'splaid. On a bundle of clothing tied in a tartan kerchief for a pillow, he lay very still and breathing heavily. 

Bobby barked as if he would burst his lungs. He barked so long, so loud, and so furiously, running 'round and 'round the cart and under it andyelping at every turn, that a slatternly scullery maid opened a door andangrily bade him "no' to deave folk wi' 'is blatterin'. " Auld Jock shedid not see at all in the murky pit or, if she saw him, thought him somedrunken foreign sailor from Leith harbor. When she went in, she slammedthe door and lighted the gas. 

Whether from some instinct of protection of his helpless master in thatfoul and hostile place, or because barking had proved to be of no useBobby sat back on his haunches and considered this strange, disquietingthing. It was not like Auld Jock to sleep in the daytime, or so soundly, at any time, that barking would not awaken him. A clever and resourcefuldog, Bobby crouched back against the farthest wall, took a running leapto the top of the low boots, dug his claws into the stout, home knittedstockings, and scrambled up over Auld Jock's legs into the cart. In aninstant he poked his little black mop of a wet muzzle into his master'sface and barked once, sharply, in his ear. 

To Bobby's delight Auld Jock sat up and blinked his eyes. The old eyeswere brighter, the grizzled face redder than was natural, but suchmatters were quite outside of the little dog's ken. It was a dazedmoment before the man remembered that Bobby should not be there. He frowned down at the excited little creature, who was waggingsatisfaction from his nose-tip to the end of his crested tail, in apuzzled effort to remember why. 

"Eh, Bobby!" His tone was one of vague reproof. "Nae doot ye're fairsatisfied wi' yer ainsel'. "

Bobby's feathered tail drooped, but it still quivered, all ready to wagagain at the slightest encouragement. Auld Jock stared at him stupidly, his dizzy head in his hands. A very tired, very draggled little dog, Bobby dropped beside his master, panting, subdued by the reproach, buthappy. His soft eyes, veiled by the silvery fringe that fell from hishigh forehead, were deep brown pools of affection. Auld Jock forgot, byand by, that Bobby should not be there, and felt only the comfort of hiscompanionship. 

"Weel, Bobby, " he began again, uncertainly. And then, because hisScotch peasant reticence had been quite broken down by Bobby's shamelessdevotion, so that he told the little dog many things that he cannilyconcealed from human kind, he confided the strange weakness anddizziness in the head that had overtaken him: "Auld Jock is juist fairsilly the day, bonny wee laddie. "

Down came a shaking, hot old hand in a rough caress, and up a gallantyoung tail to wave like a banner. All was right with the little dog'sworld again. But it was plain, even to Bobby, that something had gonewrong with Auld Jock. It was the man who wore the air of a culprit. AScotch laborer does not lightly confess to feeling "fair silly, " norsleep away the busy hours of daylight. The old man was puzzled andhumiliated by this discreditable thing. A human friend would haveunderstood his plight, led the fevered man out of that bleak and fetidcul-de-sac, tucked him into a warm bed, comforted him with a hot drink, and then gone swiftly for skilled help. Bobby knew only that his masterhad unusual need of love. 

Very, very early a dog learns that life is not as simple a matter to hismaster as it is to himself. There are times when he reads trouble, thathe cannot help or understand, in the man's eye and voice. Then hecan only look his love and loyalty, wistfully, as if he felt his ownshortcoming in the matter of speech. And if the trouble is so great thatthe master forgets to eat his dinner; forgets, also, the needs of hisfaithful little friend, it is the dog's dear privilege to bear neglectand hunger without complaint. Therefore, when Auld Jock lay down againand sank, almost at once, into sodden sleep, Bobby snuggled in thehollow of his master's arm and nuzzled his nose in his master's neck. 

II. 

While the bells played "There Grows a Bonny Briarbush in Our Kale Yard, "Auld Jock and Bobby slept. They slept while the tavern emptied itselfof noisy guests and clattering crockery was washed at the dingy, gas-lighted windows that overlooked the cockpit. They slept while thecold fell with the falling day and the mist was whipped into drivingrain. Almost a cave, between shelving rock and house wall, a gust ofwind still found its way in now and then. At a splash of rain Auld Jockstirred uneasily in his sleep. Bobby merely sniffed the freshened airwith pleasure and curled himself up for another nap. 

No rain could wet Bobby. Under his rough outer coat, that was partedalong the back as neatly as the thatch along a cottage ridge-pole, wasa dense, woolly fleece that defied wind and rain, snow and sleet topenetrate. He could not know that nature had not been as generous inprotecting his master against the weather. Although of a subarcticbreed, fitted to live shelterless if need be, and to earn his living bynative wit, Bobby had the beauty, the grace, and the charming manners ofa lady's pet. In a litter of prick-eared, wire-haired puppies Bobby wasa "sport. "

It is said that some of the ships of the Spanish Armada, with Frenchpoodles in the officers' cabins, were blown far north and west, andbroken up on the icy coasts of The Hebrides and Skye. Some such crossingof his far-away ancestry, it would seem, had given a greater lengthand a crisp wave to Bobby's outer coat, dropped and silkily fringed hisears, and powdered his useful, slate-gray color with silver frost. Buthe had the hardiness and intelligence of the sturdier breed, and theinstinct of devotion to the working master. So he had turned from asoft-hearted bit lassie of a mistress, and the cozy chimney corner ofthe farm-house kitchen, and linked his fortunes with this forlorn oldlaborer. 

A grizzled, gnarled little man was Auld Jock, of tough fiber, butworn out at last by fifty winters as a shepherd on the bleak hillsof Midlothian and Fife, and a dozen more in the low stables andstorm-buffeted garrets of Edinburgh. He had come into the world unnotedin a shepherd's lonely cot. With little wit of mind or skill of hand hehad been a common tool, used by this master and that for the roughesttasks, when needed, put aside, passed on, and dropped out of mind. Nothing ever belonged to the man but his scant earnings. Wifeless, cotless, bairnless, he had slept, since early boyhood, under strangeroofs, eaten the bread of the hireling, and sat dumb at other men'sfiresides. If he had another name it had been forgotten. In youth he wasJock; in age, Auld Jock. 

In his sixty-third summer there was a belated blooming in Auld Jock'ssoul. Out of some miraculous caprice Bobby lavished on him a riotousaffection. Then up out of the man's subconscious memory came wordslearned from the lips of a long-forgotten mother. They were words notmeant for little dogs at all, but for sweetheart, wife and bairn. AuldJock used them cautiously, fearing to be overheard, for the matter wasa subject of wonder and rough jest at the farm. He used them when Bobbyfollowed him at the plow-tail or scampered over the heather with himbehind the flocks. He used them on the market-day journeyings, and onsummer nights, when the sea wind came sweetly from the broad Firth andthe two slept, like vagabonds, on a haycock under the stars. The purestpleasure Auld Jock ever knew was the taking of a bright farthing fromhis pocket to pay for Bobby's delectable bone in Mr. Traill's place. 

Given what was due him that morning and dismissed for the season tofind such work as he could in the city, Auld Jock did not question thefarmer's right to take Bobby "back hame. " Besides, what could he do withthe noisy little rascal in an Edinburgh lodging? But, duller of wit thanusual, feeling very old and lonely, and shaky on his legs, and dizzy inhis head, Auld Jock parted with Bobby and with his courage, together. With the instinct of the dumb animal that suffers, he stumbled intothe foul nook and fell, almost at once, into a heavy sleep. Out of thatBobby roused him but briefly. 

Long before his master awoke, Bobby finished his series of refreshinglittle naps, sat up, yawned, stretched his short, shaggy legs, sniffedat Auld Jock experimentally, and trotted around the bed of the cart ona tour of investigation. This proving to be of small interest and noprofit, he lay down again beside his master, nose on paws, and waitedAuld Jock's pleasure patiently. A sweep of drenching rain brought theold man suddenly to his feet and stumbling into the market place. Thealert little dog tumbled about him, barking ecstatically. The fever wasgone and Auld Jock's head quite clear; but in its place was a weakness, an aching of the limbs, a weight on the chest, and a great shivering. 

Although the bell of St. Giles was just striking the hour of five, itwas already entirely dark. A lamp-lighter, with ladder and torch, wassetting a double line of gas jets to flaring along the lofty parapetsof the bridge. If the Grassmarket was a quarry pit by day, on a nightof storm it was the bottom of a reservoir. The height of the walls wasmarked by a luminous crown from many lights above the Castle head, andby a student's dim candle, here and there, at a garret window. The hugebulk of the bridge cast a shadow, velvet black, across the eastern halfof the market. 

Had not Bobby gone before and barked, and run back, again and again, and jumped up on Auld Jock's legs, the man might never have won his wayacross the drowned place, in the inky blackness and against the slantedblast of icy rain. When he gained the foot of Candlemakers Row, acrescent of tall, old houses that curved upward around the lower endof Greyfriars kirkyard, water poured upon him from the heavy timberedgallery of the Cunzie Neuk, once the royal mint. The carting office thatoccupied the street floor was closed, or Auld Jock would have soughtshelter there. He struggled up the rise, made slippery by rain andgrime. Then, as the street turned southward in its easy curve, there wassome shelter from the house walls. But Auld Jock was quite exhaustedand incapable of caring for himself. In the ancient guildhall of thecandlemakers, at the top of the Row, was another carting office andHarrow Inn, a resort of country carriers. The man would have gone inthere where he was quite unknown or, indeed, he might even have laindown in the bleak court that gave access to the tenements above, but forBobby's persistent and cheerful barking, begging and nipping. 

"Maister, maister!" he said, as plainly as a little dog could speak, "dinna bide here. It's juist a stap or two to food an' fire in' the cozyauld ingleneuk. "

And then, the level roadway won at last, there was the railing of thebridge-approach to cling to, on the one hand, and the upright bars ofthe kirkyard gate on the other. By the help of these and the urging ofwee Bobby, Auld Jock came the short, steep way up out of the market, tothe row of lighted shops in Greyfriars Place. 

With the wind at the back and above the housetops, Mr. Traill stoodbare-headed in a dry haven of peace in his doorway, firelight behindhim, and welcome in his shrewd gray eyes. If Auld Jock had shown anyintention of going by, it is not impossible that the landlord of Ye OldeGreyfriars Dining-Rooms might have dragged him in bodily. The storm haddriven all his customers home. For an hour there had not been a soul inthe place to speak to, and it was so entirely necessary for John Traillto hear his own voice that he had been known, in such straits, to talkto himself. Auld Jock was not an inspiring auditor, but a deal betterthan naething; and, if he proved hopeless, entertainment was to be foundin Bobby. So Mr. Traill bustled in before his guests, poked the openfire into leaping flames, and heaped it up skillfully at the back withfresh coals. The good landlord turned from his hospitable task to findAuld Jock streaming and shaking on the hearth. 

"Man, but you're wet!" he exclaimed. He hustled the old shepherd out ofhis dripping plaid and greatcoat and spread them to the blaze. Auld Jockfound a dry, knitted Tam-o'-Shanter bonnet in his little bundle and setit on his head. It was a moment or two before he could speak without thehumiliating betrayal of chattering teeth. 

"Ay, it's a misty nicht, " he admitted, with caution. 

"Misty! Man, it's raining like all the seven deils were abroad. " Havingdelivered himself of this violent opinion, Mr. Traill fell into hisusual philosophic vein. "I have sma' patience with the Scotch way ofmaking little of everything. If Noah had been a Lowland Scot he'd 'a'said the deluge was juist fair wet. "'

He laughed at his own wit, his thin-featured face and keen gray eyeslighting up to a kindliness that his brusque speech denied in vain. He had a fluency of good English at command that he would have thoughtostentatious to use in speaking with a simple country body. 

Auld Jock stared at Mr. Traill and pondered the matter. By and by heasked: "Wasna the deluge fair wet?"

The landlord sighed but, brought to book like that, admitted thatit was. Conversation flagged, however, while he busied himself withtoasting a smoked herring, and dragging roasted potatoes from the littleiron oven that was fitted into the brickwork of the fireplace beside thegrate. 

Bobby was attending to his own entertainment. The familiar place wore anew and enchanting aspect, and needed instant exploration. By day it wasfitted with tables, picketed by chairs and all manner of boots. Noisyand crowded, a little dog that wandered about there was liable to betrodden upon. On that night of storm it was a vast, bright place, sosilent one could hear the ticking of the wag-at-the-wa' clock, the crispcrackling of the flames, and the snapping of the coals. The uncovereddeal tables were set back in a double line along one wall, with thechairs piled on top, leaving a wide passage of freshly scrubbed andsanded oaken floor from the door to the fireplace. Firelight danced onthe dark old wainscoting and high, carved overmantel, winked on rows ofdrinking mugs and metal covers over cold meats on the buffet, and evenpicked out the gilt titles on the backs of a shelf of books in Mr. Traill's private corner behind the bar. 

Bobby shook himself on the hearth to free his rain-coat of surpluswater. To the landlord's dry "We're no' needing a shower in the house. Lie down, Bobby, " he wagged his tail politely, as a sign that he heard. But, as Auld Jock did not repeat the order, he ignored it and scamperedbusily about the room, leaving little trails of wet behind him. 

This grill-room of Traill's place was more like the parlor of a countryinn, or a farm-house kitchen if there had been a built-in bed or two, than a restaurant in the city. There, a humble man might see his herringtoasted, his bannocks baked on the oven-top, or his tea brewed to hisliking. On such a night as this the landlord would pull the settle outof the inglenook to the set before the solitary guest a small table, andkeep the kettle on the hob. 

"Spread yoursel' on both sides o' the fire, man. There'll be nane tokeep us company, I'm thinking. Ilka man that has a roof o' his ain willbe wearing it for a bonnet the nicht. "

As there was no answer to this, the skilled conversational anglerdropped a bit of bait that the wariest man must rise to. 

"That's a vera intelligent bit dog, Auld Jock. He was here with thetime-gun spiering for you. When he didna find you he greeted like abairn. "

Auld Jock, huddled in the corner of the settle, so near the fire thathis jacket smoked, took so long a time to find an answer that Mr. Trailllooked at him keenly as he set the wooden plate and pewter mug on thetable. 

"Man, you're vera ill, " he cried, sharply. In truth he was shocked andself-accusing because he had not observed Auld Jock's condition before. 

"I'm no' so awfu' ill, " came back in irritated denial, as if he had beenaccused of some misbehavior. 

"Weel, it's no' a dry herrin' ye'll hae in my shop the nicht. It's a hotmutton broo wi' porridge in it, an' bits o' meat to tak' the cauld ooto' yer auld banes. "

And there, the plate was whisked away, and the cover lifted from abubbling pot, and the kettle was over the fire for the brewing of tea. At a peremptory order the soaked boots and stockings were off, and drysocks found in the kerchief bundle. Auld Jock was used to taking ordersfrom his superiors, and offered no resistance to being hustled afterthis manner into warmth and good cheer. Besides, who could havewithstood that flood of homely speech on which the good landlord cameright down to the old shepherd's humble level? Such warm feeling wasestablished that Mr. Traill quite forgot his usual caution and certainwell-known prejudices of old country bodies. 

"Noo, " he said cheerfully, as he set the hot broth on the table, "yemaun juist hae a doctor. "

A doctor is the last resort of the unlettered poor. The very threat ofone to the Scotch peasant of a half-century ago was a sentence of death. Auld Jock blanched, and he shook so that he dropped his spoon. Mr. Traill hastened to undo the mischief. 

"It's no' a doctor ye'll be needing, ava, but a bit dose o' physic an' abed in the infirmary a day or twa. "

"I wullna gang to the infairmary. It's juist for puir toon bodies thatare aye ailin' an' deein'. " Fright and resentment lent the silent oldman an astonishing eloquence for the moment. "Ye wadna gang to theinfairmary yer ainsel', an' tak' charity. "

"Would I no'? I would go if I so much as cut my sma' finger; and I wouldlet a student laddie bind it up for me. "

"Weel, ye're a saft ane, " said Auld Jock. 

It was a terrible word--"saft!" John Traill flushed darkly, and relapsedinto discouraged silence. Deep down in his heart he knew that a regimentof soldiers from the Castle could not take him alive, a free patient, into the infirmary. 

But what was one to do but "lee, " right heartily, for the good of thisvery sick, very poor, homeless old man on a night of pitiless storm?That he had "lee'd" to no purpose and got a "saft" name for it was ablow to his pride. 

Hearing the clatter of fork and spoon, Bobby trotted from behind the barand saved the day of discomfiture. Time for dinner, indeed! Up he cameon his hind legs and politely begged his master for food. It was theprettiest thing he could do, and the landlord delighted in him. 

"Gie 'im a penny plate o' the gude broo, " said Auld Jock, and he tookthe copper coin from his pocket to pay for it. He forgot his own mealin watching the hungry little creature eat. Warmed and softened by Mr. Traill's kindness, and by the heartening food, Auld Jock betrayed athought that had rankled in the depths of his mind all day. 

"Bobby isna ma ain dog. " His voice was dull and unhappy. 

Ah, here was misery deeper than any physical ill! The penny was his, asenseless thing; but, poor, old, sick, hameless and kinless, the littledog that loved and followed him "wasna his ain. " To hide the huskinessin his own voice Mr. Traill relapsed into broad, burry Scotch. 

"Dinna fash yersel', man. The wee beastie is maist michty fond o' ye, an' ilka dog aye chooses 'is ain maister. "

Auld Jock shook his head and gave a brief account of Bobby's perversity. On the very next market-day the little dog must be restored to thetenant of Cauldbrae farm and, if necessary, tied in the cart. It wasunlikely, young as he was, that he would try to find his way back, allthe way from near the top of the Pentlands. In a day or two he wouldforget Auld Jock. 

"I canna say it wullna be sair partin'--" And then, seeing the sympathyin the landlord's eye and fearing a disgraceful breakdown, Auld Jockchecked his self betrayal. During the talk Bobby stood listening. At theabrupt ending, he put his shagged paws up on Auld Jock's knee, wistfullyinquiring about this emotional matter. Then he dropped soberly, andslunk away under his master's chair. 

"Ay, he kens we're talkin' aboot 'im. "

"He's a knowing bit dog. Have you attended to his sairous education, man?"

"Nae, he's ower young. "

"Young is aye the time to teach a dog or a bairn that life is no' allplay. Man, you should put a sma' terrier at the vermin an' mak' himusefu'. "

"It's eneugh, gin he's gude company for the wee lassie wha's fair fondo' 'im, " Auld Jock answered, briefly. This was a strange sentiment fromthe work-broken old man who, for himself, would have held ornamentalidleness sinful. He finished his supper in brooding silence. At last hebroke out in a peevish irritation that only made his grief at partingwith Bobby more apparent to an understanding man like Mr. Traill. 

"I dinna ken what to do wi' 'im i' an Edinburgh lodgin' the nicht. The auld wifie I lodge wi' is dour by the ordinar', an' wadna bide 'isblatterin'. I couldna get 'im past 'er auld een, an' thae terriers areaye barkin' aboot naethin' ava. "

Mr. Traill's eyes sparkled at recollection of an apt literary storyto which Dr. John Brown had given currency. Like many Edinburghshopkeepers, Mr. Traill was a man of superior education and anomnivorous reader. And he had many customers from the near-by Universityto give him a fund of stories of Scotch writers and other worthies. 

"You have a double plaid, man?"

"Ay. Ilka shepherd's got a twa-fold plaidie. " It seemed a foolishquestion to Auld Jock, but Mr. Traill went on blithely. 

"There's a pocket in the plaid--ane end left open at the side to mak' apouch? Nae doubt you've carried mony a thing in that pouch?"

"Nae, no' so mony. Juist the new-born lambs. "

"Weel, Sir Walter had a shepherd's plaid, and there was a bit lassie hewas vera fond of Syne, when he had been at the writing a' the day, andwas aff his heid like, with too mony thoughts, he'd go across the townand fetch the bairnie to keep him company. She was a weel-born lassie, sax or seven years auld, and sma' of her age, but no' half as sma' asBobby, I'm thinking. " He stopped to let this significant comparison sinkinto Auld Jock's mind. "The lassie had nae liking for the unmannerlywind and snaw of Edinburgh. So Sir Walter just happed her in the pouchof his plaid, and tumbled her out, snug as a lamb and nane the wiser, inthe big room wha's walls were lined with books. "

Auld Jock betrayed not a glimmer of intelligence as to the personalbearing of the story, but he showed polite interest. "I ken naethin'aboot Sir Walter or ony o' the grand folk. " Mr. Traill sighed, clearedthe table in silence, and mended the fire. It was ill having no one totalk to but a simple old body who couldn't put two and two together andmake four. 

The landlord lighted his pipe meditatively, and he lighted his cruiseylamp for reading. Auld Jock was dry and warm again; oh, very, very warm, so that he presently fell into a doze. The dining-room was so compassedon all sides but the front by neighboring house and kirkyard wall and bythe floors above, that only a murmur of the storm penetrated it. It wasso quiet, indeed, that a tiny, scratching sound in a distant corner washeard distinctly. A streak of dark silver, as of animated mercury, Bobbyflashed past. A scuffle, a squeak, and he was back again, dropping a bigrat at the landlord's feet and, wagging his tail with pride. 

"Weel done, Bobby! There's a bite and a bone for you here ony timeo' day you call for it. Ay, a sensible bit dog will attend to his aineducation and mak' himsel' usefu'. "

Mr. Traill felt a sudden access of warm liking for the attractive littlescrap of knowingness and pluck. He patted the tousled head, but Bobbybacked away. He had no mind to be caressed by any man beside hismaster. After a moment the landlord took "Guy Mannering" down from thebook-shelf. Knowing his "Waverley" by heart, he turned at once to thepassages about Dandie Dinmont and his terriers--Mustard and Pepper andother spicy wee rascals. 

"Ay, terriers are sonsie, leal dogs. Auld Jock will have ane truemourner at his funeral. I would no' mind if--"

On impulse he got up and dropped a couple of hard Scotch buns, very gooddog-biscuit, indeed, into the pocket of Auld Jock's greatcoat for Bobby. The old man might not be able to be out the morn. With the thought inhis mind that some one should keep a friendly eye on the man, he mendedthe fire with such an unnecessary clattering of the tongs that Auld Jockstarted from his sleep with a cry. 

"Whaur is it you have your lodging, Jock?" the landlord asked, sharply, for the man looked so dazed that his understanding was not to be reachedeasily. He got the indefinite information that it was at the top of oneof the tall, old tenements "juist aff the Coogate. "

"A lang climb for an auld man, " John Traill said, compassionately; then, optimistic as usual, "but it's a lang climb or a foul smell, in the poorquarters of Edinburgh. "

"Ay. It's weel aboon the fou' smell. " With some comforting thought thathe did not confide to Mr. Traill but that ironed lines out of his oldface, Auld Jock went to sleep again. Well, the landlord reflected, hecould remain there by the fire until the closing hour or later, if needbe, and by that time the storm might ease a bit, so that he could get tohis lodging without another wetting. 

For an hour the place was silent, except for the falling clinkers fromthe grate, the rustling of book-leaves, and the plumping of rain on thewindows, when the wind shifted a point. Lost in the romance, Mr. Trailltook no note of the passing time or of his quiet guests until he felt alittle tug at his trouser-leg. 

"Eh, laddie?" he questioned. Up the little dog rose in the beggingattitude. Then, with a sharp bark, he dashed back to his master. 

Something was very wrong, indeed. Auld Jock had sunk down in his seat. His arms hung helplessly over the end and back of the settle, and hislegs were sprawled limply before him. The bonnet that he always wore, outdoors and in, had fallen from his scant, gray locks, and his head haddropped forward on his chest. His breathing was labored, and he mutteredin his sleep. 

In a moment Mr. Traill was inside his own greatcoat, storm boots andbonnet. At the door he turned back. The shop was unguarded. AlthoughGreyfriars Place lay on the hilltop, with the sanctuary of the kirkyardbehind it, and the University at no great distance in front, it was buta step up from the thief-infested gorge of the Cowgate. The landlordlocked his moneydrawer, pushed his easy-chair against it, and rousedAuld Jock so far as to move him over from the settle. The chiefresponsibility he laid on the anxious little dog, that watched his everymovement. 

"Lie down, Bobby, and mind Auld Jock. And you're no' a gude dog if youcanna bark to waken the dead in the kirkyard, if ony strange body comesabout. "

"Whaur are ye gangin'?" cried Auld Jock. He was wide awake, withburning, suspicious eyes fixed on his host. 

"Sit you down, man, with your back to my siller. I'm going for adoctor. " The noise of the storm, as he opened the door, prevented hishearing the frightened protest:

"Dinna ging!"

The rain had turned to sleet, and Mr. Traill had trouble in keeping hisfeet. He looked first into the famous Book Hunter's Stall next door, onthe chance of finding a medical student. The place was open, but it hadno customers. He went on to the bridge, but there the sheriff's court, the Martyr's church, the society halls and all the smart shops wereclosed, their dark fronts lighted fitfully by flaring gas-lamps. Thebitter night had driven all Edinburgh to private cover. 

From the rear came a clear whistle. Some Heriot laddie who, being notentirely a "puir orphan, " but only "faderless" and, therefore, livingoutside the school with his mother, had been kept after nightfallbecause of ill-prepared lessons or misbehavior. Mr. Traill turned, passed his own door, and went on southward into Forest Road, thatskirted the long arm of the kirkyard. 

From the Burghmuir, all the way to the Grassmarket and the Cowgate, wasdownhill. So, with arms winged, and stout legs spread wide and braced, Geordie Ross was sliding gaily homeward, his knitted tippet a gallantpennant behind. Here was a Mercury for an urgent errand. 

"Laddie, do you know whaur's a doctor who can be had for a shulling ortwo for a poor auld country body in my shop?"

"Is he so awfu' ill?" Geordie asked with the morbid curiosity of lustyboyhood. 

"He's a' that. He's aff his heid. Run, laddie, and dinna be standingthere wagging your fule tongue for naething. "

Geordie was off with speed across the bridge to High Street. Mr. Traillstruggled back to his shop, against wind and treacherous ice, thinkingwhat kind of a bed might be contrived for the sick man for the night. Inthe morning the daft auld body could be hurried, willy-nilly, to a bedin the infirmary. As for wee Bobby he wouldn't mind if--

And there he ran into his own wide-flung door. A gale blew through thehastily deserted place. Ashes were scattered about the hearth, and thecruisey lamp flared in the gusts. Auld Jock and Bobby were gone. 

III. 

Although dismayed and self-accusing for having frightened Auld Jock intotaking flight by his incautious talk of a doctor, not for an instant didthe landlord of Greyfriars Dining-Rooms entertain the idea of followinghim. The old man had only to cross the street and drop down the inclinebetween the bridge approach and the ancient Chapel of St. Magdalen tobe lost in the deepest, most densely peopled, and blackest gorge inChristendom. 

Well knowing that he was safe from pursuit, Auld Jock chuckled as hegained the last low level. Fever lent him a brief strength, and the colddamp was grateful to his hot skin. None were abroad in the Cowgate; andthat was lucky for, in this black hole of Edinburgh, even so old andpoor a man was liable to be set upon by thieves, on the chance of a fewshillings or pence. 

Used as he was to following flocks up treacherous braes and throughdrifted glens, and surefooted as a collie, Auld Jock had to pick his waycarefully over the slimy, ice-glazed cobble stones of the Cowgate. Hecould see nothing. The scattered gas-lamps, blurred by the wet, onlymade a timbered gallery or stone stairs stand out here and there orlighted up a Gothic gargoyle to a fantastic grin. The street lay so deepand narrow that sleet and wind wasted little time in finding it out, but roared and rattled among the gables, dormers and chimney-stacksoverhead. Happy in finding his master himself again, and sniffing freshadventure, Bobby tumbled noisily about Auld Jock's feet until reproved. And here was strange going. Ancient and warring smells confused andinsulted the little country dog's nose. After a few inquiring andprotesting barks Bobby fell into a subdued trot at Auld Jock's heels. 

To this shepherd in exile the romance of Old Edinburgh was a sealedbook. It was, indeed, difficult for the most imaginative to believethat the Cowgate was once a lovely, wooded ravine, with a rustic burnbabbling over pebbles at its bottom, and along the brook a stragglingpath worn smooth by cattle on their driven way to the Grassmarket. Then, when the Scottish nobility was crowded out of the piled-up mansions, onthe sloping ridge of High Street that ran the mile from the Castle toHolyrood Palace, splendor camped in the Cowgate, in villas set in fairgardens, and separated by hedge-rows in which birds nested. 

In time this ravine, too, became overbuilt. Houses tumbled down bothslopes to the winding cattle path, and the burn was arched over to makea thoroughfare. Laterally, the buildings were crowded together, untilthe upper floors were pushed out on timber brackets for light and air. Galleries, stairs and jutting windows were added to outer walls, and themansions climbed, story above story, until the Cowgate was an undercutcanon, such as is worn through rock by the rivers of western America. Lairds and leddies, powdered, jeweled and satin-shod, were borne insedan chairs down ten flights of stone stairs and through torch-litcourts and tunnel streets, to routs in Castle or Palace and to tourneysin the Grassmarket. 

From its low situation the Cowgate came in the course of time to smellto heaven, and out of it was a sudden exodus of grand folk to thenorthern hills. The lowest level was given over at once to the poor andto small trade. The wynds and closes that climbed the southern slopewere eagerly possessed by divines, lawyers and literary men because oftheir nearness to the University. Long before Bobby's day the well-to-dohad fled from the Cowgate wynds to the hilltop streets and open squaresabout the colleges. A few decent working-men remained in the decayinghouses, some of which were at least three centuries old. But thereswarmed in upon, and submerged them, thousands of criminals, beggars, and the miserably poor and degraded of many nationalities. Businessesthat fatten on misfortune--the saloon, pawn, old clothes and cheap foodshops-lined the squalid Cowgate. Palaces were cut up into honeycombs oftall tenements. Every stair was a crowded highway; every passage aplace of deposit for filth; almost every room sheltered a half famishedfamily, in darkness and ancient dirt. Grand and great, pious and wise, decent, wretched and terrible folk, of every sort, had preceded AuldJock to his lodging in a steep and narrow wynd, and nine gusty flightsup under a beautiful, old Gothic gable. 

A wrought-iron lantern hanging in an arched opening, lighted theentrance to the wynd. With a hand outstretched to either wall, Auld Jockfelt his way up. Another lantern marked a sculptured doorway that gaveto the foul court of the tenement. No sky could be seen above the openwell of the court, and the carved, oaken banister of the stairs hadto be felt for and clung to by one so short of breath. On the seventhlanding, from the exertion of the long climb, Auld Jock was shakeninto helplessness, and his heart set to pounding, by a violent fit ofcoughing. Overhead a shutter was slammed back, and an angry voice badehim stop "deaving folk. "

The last two flights ascended within the walls. The old man stumbledinto the pitch-black, stifling passage and sat down on the lowest stepto rest. On the landing above he must encounter the auld wifie of alandlady, rousing her, it might be, and none too good-tempered, fromsleep. Unaware that he added to his master's difficulties, Bobby leapedupon him and licked the beloved face that he could not see. 

"Eh, laddie, I dinna ken what to do wi' ye. We maun juist hae to sleepoot. " It did not occur to Auld Jock that he could abandon the littledog. And then there drifted across his memory a bit of Mr. Traill's talkthat, at the time, had seemed to no purpose: "Sir Walter happed thewee lassie in the pocket of his plaid--" He slapped his knee in silenttriumph. In the dark he found the broad, open end of the plaid, and therough, excited head of the little dog. 

"A hap, an' a stap, an' a loup, an' in ye gang. Loup in, laddie. "

Bobby jumped into the pocket and turned 'round and 'round. His littlemuzzle opened for a delighted bark at this original play, but Auld Jockchecked him. 

"Cuddle doon noo, an' lie canny as pussy. " With a deft turn he broughtthe weighted end of the plaid up under his arm so there would be nobetraying drag. "We'll pu' the wool ower the auld wifie's een, " hechuckled. 

He mounted the stairs almost blithely, and knocked on one of the threenarrow doors that opened on the two-by-eight landing. It was opened afew inches, on a chain, and a sordid old face, framed in stragglinggray locks and a dirty mutch cap, peered suspiciously at him through thecrevice. 

Auld Jock had his money in hand--a shilling and a sixpence--to pay for aweek's lodging. He had slept in this place for several winters, and theold woman knew him well, but she held his coins to the candle and bitthem with her teeth to test them. Without a word of greeting she shovedthe key to the sleeping-closet he had always fancied, through the crackin the door, and pointed to a jug of water at the foot of the atticstairs. On the proffer of a halfpenny she gave him a tallow candle, lighted it at her own and fitted it into the neck of a beer bottle. 

"Ye hae a cauld. " she said at last, with some hostility. "Gin ye waukenyer neebors yell juist hae to fecht it oot wi' 'em. "

"Ay, I ken a' that, " Auld Jock answered. He smothered a cough in hischest with such effort that it threw him into a perspiration. In someway, with the jug of water and the lighted candle in his hands and thehidden terrier under one arm, the old man mounted the eighteen-inchwide, walled-in attic stairs and unlocked the first of a number ofnarrow doors on the passage at the top. 

"Weel aboon the fou' smell, " indeed; "weel worth the lang climb!" Aroundthe loose frames of two wee southward-looking dormer windows, thatjutted from the slope of the gable, came a gush of rain-washed air. AuldJock tumbled Bobby, warm and happy and "nane the wiser, " out into thecold cell of a room that was oh, so very, very different from the high, warm, richly colored library of Sir Walter! This garret closet in theslums of Edinburgh was all of cut stone, except for the worn, oakenfloor, a flimsy, modern door, and a thin, board partition on one sidethrough which a "neebor" could be heard snoring. Filling all of theouter wall between the peephole, leaded windows and running-up to theslope of the ceiling, was a great fireplace of native white freestone, carved into fluted columns, foliated capitals, and a flat pediment ofpurest classic lines. The ballroom of a noble of Queen Mary's dayhad been cut up into numerous small sleeping closets, many of themwindowless, and were let to the chance lodger at threepence the night. Here, where generations of dancing toes had been warmed, the chimneyvent was bricked up, and a boxed-in shelf fitted, to serve for a bed, a seat and a table, for such as had neither time nor heart for dancing. For the romantic history and the beauty of it, Auld Jock had no mind atall. But, ah! he had other joy often missed by the more fortunate. 

"Be canny, Bobby, " he cautioned again. 

The sagacious little dog understood, and pattered about the placesilently. Exhausting it in a moment, and very plainly puzzled and bored, he sat on his haunches, yawned wide, and looked up inquiringly to hismaster. Auld Jock set the jug and the candle on the floor and slippedoff his boots. He had no wish to "wauken 'is neebors. " With nervoushaste he threw back one of the windows on its hinges, reached acrossthe wide stone ledge and brought in-wonder of wonders, in such a place atiny earthen pot of heather!

"Is it no' a bonny posie?" he whispered to Bobby. With this cherishedbit of the country that he had left behind him the April before in hishands, he sat down in the fireplace bed and lifted Bobby beside him. He sniffed at the red tuft of purple bloom fondly, and his old faceblossomed into smiles. It was the secret thought of this, and of thehillward outlook from the little windows, that had ironed the linesfrom his face in Mr. Traill's dining-room. Bobby sniffed at the starvedplant, too, and wagged his tail with pleasure, for a dog's keenestmemories are recorded by the nose. 

Overhead, loose tiles and finials rattled in the wind, that was dyingaway in fitful gusts; but Auld Jock heard nothing. In fancy he was awayon the braes, in the shy sun and wild wet of April weather. Shepherdswere shouting, sheepdogs barking, ewes bleating, and a wee puppy, stillunnamed, scampering at his heels in the swift, dramatic days of lambingtime. And so, presently, when the forlorn hope of the little pot hadbeen restored to the ledge, master and dog were in tune with the opencountry, and began a romp such as they often had indulged in behind thebyre on a quiet, Sabbath afternoon. 

They had learned to play there like two well-brought-up children, inpantomime, so as not to scandalize pious countryfolk. Now, in obedienceto a gesture, a nod, a lifted eyebrow, Bobby went through all his prettytricks, and showed how far his serious education had progressed. . Herolled over and over, begged, vaulted the low hurdle of his master'sarm, and played "deid. " He scampered madly over imaginary pastures;ran, straight as a string, along a stone wall; scrambled under a thornyhedge; chased rabbits, and dug foxes out of holes; swam a burn, flushedfeeding curlews, and "froze" beside a rat-hole. When the excitement wasat its height and the little dog was bursting with exuberance, AuldJock forgot his caution. Holding his bonnet just out of reach, he criedaloud:

"Loup, Bobby!"

Bobby jumped for the bonnet, missed it, jumped again and barked-thehigh-pitched, penetrating yelp of the terrier. 

Instantly their little house of joy tumbled about their ears. There wasa pounding on the thin partition wall, an oath and a shout "Whaur'sthe deil o' a dog?" Bobby flew at the insulting clamor, but Auld Jockdragged him back roughly. In a voice made harsh by fear for his littlepet, he commanded:

"Haud yer gab or they'll hae ye oot. "

Bobby dropped like a shot, cringing at Auld Jock's feet. The mostsensitive of four-footed creatures in the world, the Skye terrier isutterly abased by a rebuke from his master. The whole garret was soon inan uproar of vile accusation and shrill denial that spread from cell tocell. 

Auld Jock glowered down at Bobby with frightened eyes. In the winters hehad lodged there he had lived unmolested only because he had managed toescape notice. Timid old country body that he was, he could not "fechtit oot" with the thieves and beggars and drunkards of the Cowgate. Byand by the brawling died down. In the double row of little dens this onealone was silent, and the offending dog was not located. 

But when the danger was past, Auld Jock's heart was pounding in hischest. His legs gave way under him, when he got up to fetch the candlefrom near the door and set it on a projecting brick in the fireplace. By its light he began to read in a small pocket Bible the Psalm that hadalways fascinated him because he had never been able to understand it. 

"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. "

So far it was plain and comforting. "He maketh me to lie down in greenpastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. "

Nae, the pastures were brown, or purple and yellow with heather andgorse. Rocks cropped out everywhere, and the peaty tarps were mostlybleak and frozen. The broad Firth was ever ebbing and flowing with therestless sea, and the burns bickering down the glens. The minister ofthe little hill kirk had said once that in England the pastures weregreen and the lakes still and bright; but that was a fey, foreigncountry to which Auld Jock had no desire to go. He wondered, wistfully, if he would feel at home in God's heaven, and if there would be roomin that lush silence for a noisy little dog, as there was on the roughPentland braes. And there his thoughts came back to this cold prisoncell in which he could not defend the right of his one faithful littlefriend to live. He stooped and lifted Bobby into the bed. Humble, andeager to be forgiven for an offense he could not understand, theloving little creature leaped to Auld Jock's arms and lavished franticendearments upon him. 

Lying so together in the dark, man and dog fell into a sleep that wasbroken by Auld Jock's fitful coughing and the abuse of his neighbors. It was not until the wind had long died to a muffled murmur at thecasements, and every other lodger was out, that Auld Jock slept soundly. He awoke late to find Bobby waiting patiently on the floor and thebare cell flooded with white glory. That could mean but one thing. Hestumbled dizzily to his feet and threw a sash aback. Over the huddle ofhigh housetops, the University towers and the scattered suburbs beyond, he looked away to the snow-clad slopes of the Pentlands, running up toheaven and shining under the pale winter sunshine. 

"The snaw! Eh, Bobby, but it's a bonny sicht to auld een!" he cried, with the simple delight of a child. He stooped to lift Bobby to thewonder of it, when the world suddenly went black and roaring around inhis head. Staggering back he crumpled up in a pitiful heap on the floor. 

Bobby licked his master's face and hands, and then sat quietly downbeside him. So many strange, uncanny things had happened within thelast twenty-four hours that the little dog was rapidly outgrowing hisirresponsible puppyhood. After a long time Auld Jock opened his eyes andsat up. Bobby put his paws on his master's knees in anxious sympathy. Before the man had got his wits about him the time-gun boomed from theCastle. Panic-stricken that he should have slept in his bed so late, andthen lain senseless on the floor for he knew not how long, Auld Jock gotup and struggled into his greatcoat, bonnet and plaid. In feeling forhis woolen mittens he discovered the buns that Mr. Trail had droppedinto his pocket for Bobby. 

The old man stared and stared at them in piteous dismay. Mr. Traill hadbelieved him to be so ill that he "wouldna be oot the morn. " It was astaggering thought. 

The bells of St. Giles broke into "Over the Hills and Far Away. " Themelody came to Auld Jock clearly, unbroken by echoes, for the garret wason a level with the cathedral's crown on High Street. It brought to himagain a vision of the Midlothian slopes, but it reminded Bobby that itwas dinner-time. He told Auld Jock so by running to the door and backand begging him, by every pretty wile at his command, to go. The old mangot to his feet and then fell back, pale and shaken, his heart hammeringagain. Bobby ate the bun soberly and then sat up against Auld Jock'sfeet, that dangled helplessly from the bed. The bells died away fromthe man's ears before they had ceased playing. Both the church and theUniversity bells struck the hour of two then three then four. Daylighthad begun to fail when Auld Jock stirred, sat up, and did a strangething: taking from his pocket a leather bag-purse that was closed by adraw-string, he counted the few crowns and shillings in it and the manysmaller silver and copper coins. 

"There's eneugh, " he said. There was enough, by careful spending, to payfor food and lodging for a few weeks, to save himself from the charityof the infirmary. By this act he admitted the humiliating and fearfulfact that he was very ill. The precious little hoard must be hidden fromthe chance prowler. He looked for a loose brick in the fireplace, butbefore he found one, he forgot all about it, and absent-mindedly heapedthe coins in a little pile on the open Bible at the back of the bed. 

For a long time Auld Jock sat there with his head in his hands beforehe again slipped back to his pillow. Darkness stole into the quiet room. The lodgers returned to their dens one after one, tramping or slippingor hobbling up the stairs and along the passage. Bobby bristled andfroze, on guard, when a stealthy hand tried the latch. Then therewere sounds of fighting, of crying women, and the long, low wailingof-wretched children. The evening drum and bugle were heard from theCastle, and hour after hour was struck from the clock of St. Giles whileBobby watched beside his master. 

All night Auld Jock was "aff 'is heid. " When he muttered in his sleep orcried out in the delirium of fever, the little dog put his paws upon thebed-rail. He scratched on it and begged to be lifted to where he couldcomfort his master, for the shelf was set too high for him to climb intothe bed. Unable to get his master's attention, he licked the hot handthat hung over the side. Auld Jock lay still at last, not coughing anymore, but breathing rapid, shallow breaths. Just at dawn he turned hishead and gazed in bewilderment at the alert and troubled little creaturethat was instantly upon the rail. After a long time he recognized thedog and patted the shaggy little head. Feeling around the bed, he foundthe other bun and dropped it on the floor. Presently he said, betweenstrangled breaths:

"Puir--Bobby! Gang--awa'--hame--laddie. "

After that it was suddenly very still in the brightening room. Bobbygazed and gazed at his master--one long, heartbroken look, then droppedto all fours and stood trembling. Without another look he stretchedhimself upon the hearthstone below the bed. 

Morning and evening footsteps went down and came up on the stairs. Throughout the day--the babel of crowded tenement strife; the crying offishwives and fagot-venders in the court; the striking of the hours; theboom of the time gun and sweet clamor of music bells; the failing of thelight and the soaring note of the bugle--he watched motionless besidehis master. 

Very late at night shuffling footsteps came up the stairs. The "auldwifie" kept a sharp eye on the comings and goings of her lodgers. It was"no' canny" that this old man, with a cauld in his chest, had gone upfull two days before and had not come down again. To bitter complaintsof his coughing and of his strange talking to himself she gave scantattention, but foul play was done often enough in these dens to makeher uneasy. She had no desire to have the Burgh police coming aboutand interfering with her business. She knocked sharply on the door andcalled:

"Auld Jock!"

Bobby trotted over to the door and stood looking at it. In such a straithe would naturally have welcomed the visitor, scratching on the panel, and crying to any human body without to come in and see what hadbefallen his master. But Auld Jock had bade him "haud 'is gab" there, as in Greyfriars kirkyard. So he held to loyal silence, although theknocking and shaking of the latch was insistent and the lodgers wereastir. The voice of the old woman was shrill with alarm. 

"Auld Jock, can ye no' wauken?" And, after a moment, in which theunlatched casement window within could be heard creaking on its hingesin the chill breeze, there was a hushed and frightened question:

"Are ye deid?"

The footsteps fled down the stairs, and Bobby was left to watch throughthe long hours of darkness. 

Very early in the morning the flimsy door was quietly forced byauthority. The first man who entered--an officer of the Crown from thesheriff's court on the bridge--took off his hat to the majesty thatdominated that bare cell. The Cowgate region presented many a startlingcontrast, but such a one as this must seldom have been seen. The classicfireplace, and the motionless figure and peaceful face of the pious oldshepherd within it, had the dignity and beauty of some monumental tomband carved effigy in old Greyfriars kirkyard. Only less strange was thecontrast between the marks of poverty and toil on the dead man and thedainty grace of the little fluff of a dog that mourned him. 

No such men as these--officers of her Majesty the Queen, Burghpolicemen, and learned doctors from the Royal Infirmary--had ever beenaware of Auld Jock, living. Dead, and no' needing them any more, theystood guard over him, and inquired sternly as to the manner in whichhe had died. There was a hysterical breath of relief from the crowdof lodgers and tenants when the little pile of coins was found on theBible. There had been no foul play. Auld Jock had died of heart failure, from pneumonia and worn-out old age. 

"There's eneugh, " a Burgh policeman said when the money was counted. Hemeant much the same thing Auld Jock himself had meant. There was enoughto save him from the last indignity a life of useful labor can thrustupon the honest poor--pauper burial. But when inquiries were made forthe name and the friends of this old man there appeared to be only "AuldJock" to enter into the record, and a little dog to follow the body tothe grave. It was a Bible reader who chanced to come in from the MedicalMission in the Cowgate who thought to look in the fly-leaf of AuldJock's Bible. 

"His name is John Gray. "

He laid the worn little book on Auld Jock's breast and crossed thework-scarred hands upon it. "It's something by the ordinar' to finda gude auld country body in such a foul place. " He stooped and pattedBobby, and noted the bun, untouched, upon the floor. Turning to a wildelf of a barefooted child in the crowd he spoke to her. "Would you shareyour gude brose with the bit dog, lassie?"

She darted down the stairs, and presently returned with her own scantybowl of breakfast porridge. Bobby refused the food, but he looked at herso mournfully that the first tears of pity her unchildlike eyes had evershed welled up. She put out her hand timidly and stroked him. 

It was just before the report of the time-gun that two policemen clearedthe stairs, shrouded Auld Jock in his own greatcoat and plaid, andcarried him down to the court. There they laid him in a plain box ofwhite deal that stood on the pavement, closed it, and went away down thewynd on a necessary errand. The Bible-reader sat on an empty beer keg toguard the box, and Bobby climbed on the top and stretched himself abovehis master. The court was a well, more than a hundred feet deep. Whatsky might have been visible above it was hidden by tier above tier ofdingy, tattered washings. The stairway filled again, and throngs ofoutcasts of every sort went about their squalid businesses, with only acurious glance or so at the pathetic group. 

Presently the policemen returned from the Cowgate with a motleyassortment of pallbearers. There was a good-tempered Irish laborer froma near-by brewery; a decayed gentleman, unsteady of gait and blear-eyed, in greasy frock-coat and broken hat; a flashily dressed bartenderwho found the task distasteful; a stout, bent-backed fagot-carrier; adrunken fisherman from New Haven, suddenly sobered by this uncannyduty, and a furtive, gaol-bleached thief who feared a trap and tried toescape. 

Tailed by scuffling gamins, the strange little procession moved quicklydown the wynd and turned into the roaring Cowgate. The policemen wentbefore to force a passage through the press. The Bible-reader followedthe box, and Bobby, head and tail down, trotted unnoticed, beneathit. The humble funeral train passed under a bridge arch into the emptyGrassmarket, and went up Candlemakers Row to the kirkyard gate. Such asAuld Jock, now, by unnumbered thousands, were coming to lie among thegrand and great, laird and leddy, poet and prophet, persecutor andmartyr, in the piled-up, historic burying-ground of old Greyfriars. 

By a gesture the caretaker directed the bearers to the right, past thechurch, and on down the crowded slope to the north, that was circledabout by the backs of the tenements in the Grassmarket and CandlemakersRow. The box was lowered at once, and the pall-bearers hastily departedto delayed dinners. The policemen had urgent duties elsewhere. Only theBible reader remained to see the grave partly filled in, and to try topersuade Bobby to go away with him. But the little dog resisted withsuch piteous struggles that the man put him down again. The grave diggerleaned on his spade for a bit of professional talk. 

"Many a dog gangs daft an' greets like a human body when his maisterdees. They're aye put oot, a time or twa, an' they gang to folic thatken them, an' syne they tak' to ithers. Dinna fash yersel' aboot 'im. Hewullna greet lang. "

Since Bobby would not go, there was nothing to do but leave him there;but it was with many a backward look and disturbing doubt that thegood man turned away. The grave-digger finished his task cheerfully, shouldered his tools, and left the kirkyard. The early dark was comingon when the caretaker, in making his last rounds, found the littleterrier flattened out on the new-made mound. 

"Gang awa' oot!" he ordered. Bobby looked up pleadingly and trembled, but he made no motion to obey. James Brown was not an unfeeling man, andhe was but doing his duty. From an impulse of pity for this bonny weebit of loyalty and grief he picked Bobby up, carried him all the way tothe gate and set him over the wicket on the pavement. 

"Gang awa' hame, noo, " he said, kindly. "A kirkya'rd isna a place for abit dog to be leevin'. "

Bobby lay where he had been dropped until the caretaker was out ofsight. Then, finding the aperture under the gate too small for himto squeeze through, he tried, in his ancestral way, to enlarge it bydigging. He scratched and scratched at the unyielding stone until hislittle claws were broken and his toes bleeding, before he stopped andlay down with his nose under the wicket. 

 Just before the closing hour a carriage stopped at thekirkyard gate. A black-robed lady, carrying flowers, hurried through thewicket. Bobby slipped in behind her and disappeared. 

After nightfall, when the lamps were lighted on the bridge, when Mr. Traill had come out to stand idly in his doorway, looking for some oneto talk to, and James Brown had locked the kirkyard yard gate for thenight and gone into his little stone lodge to supper, Bobby came out ofhiding and stretched himself prone across Auld Jock's grave. 

IV. 

Fifteen minutes after the report of the time-gun on Monday, when thebells were playing their merriest and the dining-rooms were busiest, Mr. Traill felt such a tiny tug at his trouser-leg that it was repeatedbefore he gave it attention. In the press of hungry guests Bobby hadlittle more than room to rise in his pretty, begging attitude. Thelandlord was so relieved to see him again, after five consciencestricken days, that he stooped to clap the little dog on the side and togreet him with jocose approval. 

"Gude dog to fetch Auld Jock--"

With a faint and piteous cry that was heard by no one but Mr. Traill, Bobby toppled over on the floor. It was a limp little bundle that thelandlord picked up from under foot and held on his arm a moment, whilehe looked around for the dog's master. Shocked at not seeing Auld Jock, by a kind of inspiration he carried the little dog to the inglenookand laid him down under the familiar settle. Bobby was little more thanbreathing, but he opened his silkily veiled brown eyes and licked thefriendly hand that had done this refinement of kindness. It took Mr. Traill more than a moment to realize the nature of the trouble. A dogwith so thick a fleece of wool, under so crisply waving an outer coatas Bobby's, may perish for lack of food and show no outward sign ofemaciation. 

"The sonsie, wee--why, he's all but starved!"

Pale with pity, Mr. Traill snatched a plate of broth from the hands ofa gaping waiter laddie, set it under Bobby's nose, and watched him beginto lap the warm liquid eagerly. In the busy place the incident passedunnoticed. With his usual, brisk decision Mr. Traill turned the backs ofa couple of chairs over against the nearest table, to signify that thecorner was reserved, and he went about his duties with unwonted silence. As the crowd thinned he returned to the inglenook to find Bobby asleep, not curled up in a tousled ball, as such a little dog should be, butstretched on his side and breathing irregularly. 

If Bobby was in such straits, how must it be with Auld Jock? This wasthe fifth day since the sick old man had fled into the storm. With newdisquiet Mr. Traill remembered a matter that had annoyed him in themorning, and that he had been inclined to charge to mischievous Heriotboys. Low down on the outside of his freshly varnished entrance doorwere many scratches that Bobby could have made. He may have come forfood on the Sabbath day when the place was closed. 

After an hour Bobby woke long enough to eat a generous plate of thatdelectable and highly nourishing Scotch dish known as haggis. He fellasleep again in an easier attitude that relieved the tension on thelandlord's feelings. Confident that the devoted little dog would leadhim straight to his master, Mr. Traill closed the door securely, that hemight not escape unnoticed, and arranged his own worldly affairs so hecould leave them to hirelings on the instant. In the idle time betweendinner and supper he sat down by the fire, lighted his pipe, repentedhis unruly tongue, and waited. As the short day darkened to its closethe sunset bugle was blown in the Castle. At the first note, Bobby creptfrom under the settle, a little unsteady on his legs as yet, wagged histail for thanks, and trotted to the door. 

Mr. Traill had no trouble at all in keeping the little dog in sight tothe kirkyard gate, for in the dusk his coat shone silvery white. Indeed, by a backward look now and then, Bobby seemed to invite the man tofollow, and waited at the gate, with some impatience, for him tocome up. Help was needed there. By rising and tugging at Mr. Traill'sclothing and then jumping on the wicket Bobby plainly begged to have itopened. He made no noise, neither barking nor whimpering, and that wasvery strange for a dog of the terrier breed; but each instant of delayhe became more insistent, and even frantic, to have the gate unlatched. Mr. Traill refused to believe what Bobby's behavior indicated, andreproved him in the broad Scotch to which the country dog was used. 

"Nae, Bobby; be a gude dog. Gang doon to the Coogate noo, an' find AuldJock. "

Uttering no cry at all, Bobby gave the man such a woebegone look anddropped to the pavement, with his long muzzle as far under the wicketas he could thrust it, that the truth shot home to Mr. Traill'sunderstanding. He opened the gate. Bobby slipped through and stood justinside a moment, and looking back as if he expected his human friendto follow. Then, very suddenly, as the door of the lodge opened and thecaretaker came out, Bobby disappeared in the shadow of the church. 

A big-boned, slow-moving man of the best country house-gardener type, serviceably dressed in corduroy, wool bonnet, and ribbed stockings, James Brown collided with the small and wiry landlord, to his own verygreat embarrassment. 

"Eh, Maister Traill, ye gied me a turn. It's no' canny to be proolin'aboot the kirkyaird i' the gloamin'. "

"Whaur did the bit dog go, man?" demanded the peremptory landlord. 

"Dog? There's no' ony dog i' the kirkyaird. It isna permeetted. Gin it'sa pussy ye're needin', noo--"

But Mr. Traill brushed this irrelevant pleasantry aside. 

"Ay, there's a dog. I let him in my ainsel'. "

The caretaker exploded with wrath: "Syne I'll hae the law on ye. Can yeno' read, man?"

"Tut, tut, Jeemes Brown. Don't stand there arguing. It's a gude andnecessary regulation, but it's no' the law o' the land. I turned the dogin to settle a matter with my ain conscience, and John Knox would havedone the same thing in the bonny face o' Queen Mary. What it is, is naebeesiness of yours. The dog was a sma' young terrier of the Highlandbreed, but with a drop to his ears and a crinkle in his frosty coat--no'just an ordinar' dog. I know him weel. He came to my place to be fed, near dead of hunger, then led me here. If his master lies in thiskirkyard, I'll tak' the bit dog awa' with me. "

Mr. Traill's astonishing fluency always carried all walls of resistancebefore it with men of slower wit and speech. Only a superior man couldbrush time-honored rules aside so curtly and stand on his human rightsso surely. James Brown pulled his bonnet off deferentially, scratchedhis shock head and shifted his pipe. Finally he admitted:

"Weel, there was a bit tyke i' the kirkyaird twa days syne. I put 'imoot, an' haena seen 'im aboot ony main" He offered, however, to show thenew-made mound on which he had found the dog. Leading the way past thechurch, he went on down the terraced slope, prolonging the walk withconversation, for the guardianship of an old churchyard offers verylittle such lively company as John Traill's. 

"I mind, noo, it was some puir body frae the Coogate, wi' no' onymourners but the sma' terrier aneath the coffin. I let 'im pass, no'to mak' a disturbance at a buryin'. The deal box was fetched up by thepolice, an' carried by sic a crew o' gaol-birds as wad mak' ye turn owerin yer ain God's hole. But he paid for his buryin' wi' his ain siller, an' noo lies as canny as the nobeelity. Nae boot here's the place, Maister Traill; an' ye can see for yer ainsel' there's no' any dog. "

"Ay, that would be Auld Jock and Bobby would no' be leaving him, "insisted the landlord, stubbornly. He stood looking down at the roughmound of frozen clods heaped in a little space of trampled snow. 

"Jeemes Brown, " Mr. Trail said, at last, "the man wha lies here was adecent, pious auld country body, and I drove him to his meeserable deathin the Cowgate. "

"Man, ye dinna ken what ye're sayin'!" was the shocked response. 

"Do I no'? I'm canny, by the ordinar', but my fule tongue will get meinto trouble with the magistrates one of these days. It aye wags at bothends, and is no' tied in the middle. "

Then, stanch Calvinist that he was, and never dreaming that he wasindulging in the sinful pleasure of confession, Mr. Traill poured outthe story of Auld Jock's plight and of his own shortcomings. It was abitter, upbraiding thing that he, an uncommonly capable man, had meantso well by a humble old body, and done so ill. And he had failed againwhen he tried to undo the mischief. The very next morning he had gonedown into the perilous Cowgate, and inquired in every place where itmight be possible for such a timid old shepherd to be known. But there!As well look for a burr thistle in a bin of oats, as look for a humanatom in the Cowgate and the wynds "juist aff. "

"Weel, noo, ye couldna hae dune aething wi' the auld body, ava, gin hewouldna gang to the infairmary. " The caretaker was trying to console theself-accusing man. 

"Could I no'? Ye dinna ken me as weel as ye micht. " The disgustedlandlord tumbled into broad Scotch. "Gie me to do it ance mair, an' I'dchairge Auld Jock wi' thievin' ma siller, wi' a wink o' the ee at thepolice to mak' them ken I was leein'; an' syne they'd hae hustled 'imaff, willy-nilly, to a snug bed. "

The energetic little man looked so entirely capable of any daring deedthat he fired the caretaker into enthusiastic search for Bobby. It wasnot entirely dark, for the sky was studded with stars, snow lay in broadpatches on the slope, and all about the lower end of the kirkyard suppercandles burned at every rear window of the tall tenements. 

The two men searched among the near-by slabs and table-tombs andscattered thorn bushes. They circled the monument to all the martyrs whohad died heroically, in the Grassmarket and elsewhere, for their faith. They hunted in the deep shadows of the buttresses along the side of theauld kirk and among the pillars of the octagonal portico to the new. Atthe rear of the long, low building, that was clumsily partitioned acrossfor two pulpits, stood the ornate tomb of "Bluidy" McKenzie. But Bobbyhad not committed himself to the mercy of the hanging judge, nor yetto the care of the doughty minister, who, from the pulpit of Greyfriarsauld kirk, had flung the blood and tear stained Covenant in the teeth ofpersecution. 

The search was continued past the modest Scott family burial plot andon to the west wall. There was a broad outlook over Heriot's Hospitalgrounds, a smooth and shining expanse of unsullied snow about the earlyElizabethan pile of buildings. Returning, they skirted the lowest wallbelow the tenements, for in the circling line of courtyarded vaults, where the "nobeelity" of Scotland lay haughtily apart under timestainedmarbles, were many shadowy nooks in which so small a dog could stowhimself away. Skulking cats were flushed there, and sent flying overaristocratic bones, but there was no trace of Bobby. 

The second tier of windows of the tenements was level with the kirkyardwall, and several times Mr. Traill called up to a lighted casement wherea family sat at a scant supper. 

"Have you seen a bit dog, man?"

There was much cordial interest in his quest, windows opening and facesstaring into the dusk; but not until near the top of the Row was a cluegained. Then, at the query, an unkempt, illclad lassie slipped from herstool and leaned out over the pediment of a tomb. She had seen a "wee, wee doggie jinkin' amang the stanes. " It was on the Sabbath evening, when the well-dressed folk had gone home from the afternoon services. She was eating her porridge at the window, "by her lane, " when he"keeked up at her so knowing, and begged so bonny, " that she balancedher bit bowl on a lath, and pushed it over on the kirkyard wall. As shefinished the story the big, blue eyes of the little maid, who doubtlesshad herself known what it was to be hungry, filled with tears. 

"The wee tyke couldna loup up to it, an' a deil o' a pussy got it a'. Hewas so bonny, like a leddy's pet, an' syne he fell ower on the snaw an'creepit awa'. He didna cry oot, but he was a' but deid wi' hunger. "At the memory of it soft-hearted Ailie Lindsey sobbed on her mother'sshoulder. 

The tale was retold from one excited window to another, all the wayaround and all the way up to the gables, so quickly could some incidentof human interest make a social gathering in the populous tenements. Most of all, the children seized upon the touching story. Eager andpinched little faces peered wistfully into the melancholy kirkyard. 

"Is he yer ain dog?" crippled Tammy Barr piped out, in his thin treble. "Gin I had a bonny wee dog I'd gie 'im ma ain brose, an' cuddle 'im, an'he couldna gang awa'. "

"Nae, laddie, he's no' my dog. His master lies buried here, and the lealHighlander mourns for him. " With keener appreciation of its pathos, Mr. Traill recalled that this was what Auld Jock had said: "Bobby isna maain dog. " And he was conscious of wishing that Bobby was his own, withhis unpurchasable love and a loyalty to face starvation. As he mountedthe turfed terraces he thought to call back:

"If you see him again, lassie, call him 'Bobby, ' and fetch him up toGreyfriars Dining-Rooms. I have a bright siller shulling, with theQueen's bonny face on it, to give the bairn that finds Bobby. "

There was excited comment on this. He must, indeed, be an attractivedog to be worth a shilling. The children generously shared plans forcapturing Bobby. But presently the windows were closed, and supper wasresumed. The caretaker was irritable. 

"Noo, ye'll hae them a' oot swarmin' ower the kirkyaird. There's naecoontin' the bairns o' the neeborhood, an' nane o' them are so weelbroucht up as they micht be. "

Mr. Traill commented upon this philosophically: "A bairn is like a dogin mony ways. Tak' a stick to one or the other and he'll misbehave. Thechildren here are poor and neglected, but they're no' vicious like theawfu' imps of the Cowgate, wha'd steal from their blind grandmithers. Get on the gude side of the bairns, man, and you'll live easier and diehappier. "

It seemed useless to search the much longer arm of the kirkyard that ransouthward behind the shops of Greyfriars Place and Forest Road. If Bobbywas in the enclosure at all he would not be far from Auld Jock's grave. Nearest the new-made mound were two very old and dark table-tombs. Thefarther one lay horizontally, on its upright "through stanes, " somedistance above the earth. The supports of the other had fallen, and thetable lay on their thickness within six inches of the ground. Mr. Trailland the caretaker sat upon this slab, which testified to the piety andworth of one Mistress Jean Grant, who had died "lang syne. "

Encroached upon, as it was, by unlovely life, Greyfriars kirkyard wasyet a place of solitude and peace. The building had the dignitythat only old age can give. It had lost its tower by an explosionof gunpowder stored there in war time, and its walls and many of theancient tombs bore the marks of fire and shot. Within the last decadesome of the Gothic openings had been filled with beautiful memorialwindows. Despite the horrors and absurdities and mutilation of much ofthe funeral sculpturing, the kirkyard had a sad distinction, such asbecame its fame as Scotland's Westminster. And, there was one heavenwardoutlook and heavenly view. Over the tallest decaying tenement one couldlook up to the Castle of dreams on the crag, and drop the glance all theway down the pinnacled crest of High Street, to the dark and desertedPalace of Holyrood. After nightfall the turreted heights wore a luminouscrown, and the steep ridge up to it twinkled with myriad lights. After atime the caretaker offered a well-considered opinion. 

"The dog maun hae left the kirkyaird. Thae terriers are aye barkin'. It'd be maist michty noo, gin he'd be so lang i' the kirkyaird, an' no'mak' a blatterin'. "

As a man of superior knowledge Mr. Traill found pleasure in upsettingthis theory. "The Highland breed are no' like ordinar' terriers. Noisyenough to deave one, by nature, give a bit Skye a reason and he'll liea' the day under a whin bush on the brae, as canny as a fox. You gaveBobby a reason for hiding here by turning him out. And Auld Jock was avera releegious man. It would no' be surprising if he taught Bobby tohold his tongue in a kirkyard. "

"Man, he did that vera thing. " James Brown brought his fist down on hisknee; for suddenly he identified Bobby as the snappy little ruffianthat had chased the cat and bitten his shins, and Auld Jock as thescandalized shepherd who had rebuked the dog so bitterly. He related theincident with gusto. 

"The auld man cried oot on the misbehavin' tyke to haud 'is gab. Syne, ye ne'er saw the bit dog's like for a bairn that'd haen a lickin'. He'd'a' gaen into a pit, gin there'd been ane, an' pu'd it in ahind 'im. I turned 'em baith oot, an' told 'em no' to come back. Eh, man, it'sfearsome hoo ilka body comes to a kirkyaird, toes afore 'im, in a longbox. "

Mr. Brown was sobered by this grim thought and then, in his turn, heconfessed a slip to this tolerant man of the world. "The wee deil o' asperity dog nipped me so I let oot an aith. "

"Ay, that's Bobby. He would no' be afraid of onything with hide or hairon it. Man, the Skye terriers go into dens of foxes and wildcats, andworry bulls till they tak' to their heels. And Bobby's sagacious by theordinar'. " He thought intently for a moment, and then spoke naturally, and much as Auld Jock himself might have spoken to the dog. 

"Whaur are ye, Bobby? Come awa' oot, laddie!"

Instantly the little dog stood before him like some conjured ghost. Hehad slipped from under the slab on which they were sitting. It layso near the ground, and in such a mat of dead grass, that it hadnot occurred to them to look for him there. He came up to Mr. Traillconfidently, submitted to having his head patted, and looked pleadinglyat the caretaker. Then, thinking he had permission to do so, he lay downon the mound. James Brown dropped his pipe. 

"It's maist michty!" he said. 

Mr. Traill got to his feet briskly. "I'll just tak' the dog with me, Mr. Brown. On marketday I'll find the farmer that owns him and sendhim hame. As you say, a kirkyard's nae place for a dog to be livingneglected. Come awa', Bobby. "

Bobby looked up, but, as he made no motion to obey, Mr. Traill stoopedand lifted him. 

From sheer surprise at this unexpected move the little dog lay still amoment on the man's arm. Then, with a lithe twist of his muscular bodyand a spring, he was on the ground, trembling, reproachful for thebreach of faith, but braced for resistance. 

"Eh, you're no' going?" Mr. Traill put his hands in his pockets, lookeddown at Bobby admiringly, and sighed. "There's a dog after my ain heart, and he'll have naething to do with me. He has a mind of his ain. I'lljust have to be leaving him here the two days, Mr. Brown. "

"Ye wullna leave 'im! Ye'll tak' 'im wi' ye, or I'll hae to put 'im oot. Man, I couldna haud the place gin I brak the rules. "

"You--will--no'--put--the--wee--dog--out!" Mr. Traill shook a playful, emphatic finger under the big man's nose. 

"Why wull I no'?"

"Because, man, you have a vera soft heart, and you canna deny it. " Itwas with a genial, confident smile that Mr. Traill made this terribleaccusation. 

"Ma heart's no' so saft as to permit a bit dog to scandalize the deid. "

"He's been here two days, you no' knowing it, and he has scandalizedneither the dead nor the living. He's as leal as ony Covenanter here, and better conducted than mony a laird. He's no the quarrelsome kind, but, man, for a principle he'd fight like auld Clootie. " Here thelandlord's heat gave way to pure enjoyment of the situation. "Eh, I'dlike to see you put him out. It would be another Flodden Field. "

The angry caretaker shrugged his broad shoulders. 

"Ye can see it, gin ye stand by, in juist one meenit. Fecht as he may, it wull soon be ower. "

Mr. Traill laughed easily, and ventured the opinion that Mr. Brown'sbark was worse than his bite. As he went through the gateway he couldnot resist calling back a challenge: "I daur you to do it. "

Mr. Brown locked the gate, went sulkily into the lodge, lighted hiscutty pipe, and smoked it furiously. He read a Psalm with deliberation, poked up an already bright fire, and glowered at his placid gude wife. It was not to be borne--to be defied by a ten-inch-high terrier, anddared, by a man a third under his own weight, to do his duty. After anhour or so he worked himself up to the point of going out and slammingthe door. 

At eight o'clock Mr. Traill found Bobby on the pavement outside thelocked gate. He was not sorry that the fortunes of unequal battlehad thrown the faithful little dog on his hospitality. Bobby beggedpiteously to be put inside, but he seemed to understand at last thatthe gate was too high for Mr. Traill to drop him over. He followedthe landlord up to the restaurant willingly. He may have thought thischampion had another solution of the difficulty, for when he saw the mansettle comfortably in a chair he refused to lie on the hearth. He ran tothe door and back, and begged and whined to be let out. For a long timehe stood dejectedly. He was not sullen, for he ate a light supper andthanked his host with much polite wagging, and he even allowed himselfto be petted. Suddenly he thought of something, trotted briskly off to acorner and crouched there. 

Mr. Traill watched the attractive little creature with interest andgrowing affection. Very likely he indulged in a day-dream that, perhaps, the tenant of Cauldbrae farm could be induced to part with Bobby fora consideration, and that he himself could win the dog to transfer hislove from a cold grave to a warm hearth. 

With a spring the rat was captured. A jerk of the long head and therewas proof of Bobby's prowess to lay at his good friend's feet. Made muchof, and in a position to ask fresh favors, the little dog was off to thedoor with cheerful, staccato barks. His reasoning was as plain as print:"I hae done ye a service, noo tak' me back to the kirkyaird. "

Mr. Traill talked to him as he might have reasoned with a bright bairn. Bobby listened patiently, but remained of the same mind. At lasthe moved away, disappointed in this human person, discouraged, butundefeated in his purpose. He lay down by the door. Mr. Traill watchedhim, for if any chance late comer opened the door the masterless littledog would be out into the perils of the street. Bobby knew what doorswere for and, very likely, expected some such release. He waited a longtime patiently. Then he began to run back and forth. He put his pawsupon Mr. Traill and whimpered and cried. Finally he howled. 

It was a dreadful, dismal, heartbroken howl that echoed back from thewalls. He howled continuously, until the landlord, quite distracted, andconcerned about the peace of his neighbors, thrust Bobby into the darkscullery at the rear, and bade him stop his noise. For fully ten minutesthe dog was quiet. He was probably engaged in exploring his new quartersto find an outlet. Then he began to howl again. It was truly astonishingthat so small a dog could make so large a noise. 

A battle was on between the endurance of the man and the persistence ofthe terrier. Mr. Traill was speculating on which was likely to be victorin the contest, when the front door was opened and the proprietor of theBook Hunter's Stall put in a bare, bald head and the abstracted face ofthe book-worm that is mildly amused. 

"Have you tak'n to a dog at your time o' life, Mr. Traill?"

"Ay, man, and it would be all right if the bit dog would just tak' tome. "

This pleasantry annoyed a good man who had small sense of humor, and heremarked testily "The barkin' disturbs my customers so they canna read. "The place was a resort for student laddies who had to be saving ofcandles. 

"That's no' right, " the landlord admitted, sympathetically. "'Readingmak'th a full man. ' Eh, what a deeference to the warld if Robbie Burnshad aye preferred a book to a bottle. " The bookseller refused to bebeguiled from his just cause of complaint into the flowery meads ofliterary reminiscences and speculations. 

"You'll stop that dog's cleaving noise, Mr. Traill, or I'll appeal tothe Burgh police. "

The landlord returned a bland and child-like smile. "You'd be weelwithin your legal rights to do it, neebor. "

The door was shut with such a business-like click that the situationsuddenly became serious. Bobby's vocal powers, however, gave no signs ofdiminishing. Mr. Traill quieted the dog for a few moments by letting himinto the outer room, but the swiftness and energy with which he renewedhis attacks on the door and on the man's will showed plainly that thetruce was only temporary. He did not know what he meant to do exceptthat he certainly had no intention of abandoning the little dog. To gaintime he put on his hat and coat, picked Bobby up, and opened the door. The thought occurred to him to try the gate at the upper end of thekirkyard or, that failing, to get into Heriot's Hospital grounds and putBobby over the wall. As he opened the door, however, he heard GeordieRoss's whistle around the bend in Forest Road. 

"Hey, laddie!" he called. "Come awa' in a meenit. " When the sturdy boywas inside and the door safely shut, he began in his most guileless andpersuasive tone: "Would you like to earn a shulling, Geordie?"

"Ay, I would. Gie it to me i' pennies an' ha'pennies, Maister Traill. Itseems mair, an' mak's a braw jinglin' in a pocket. "

The price was paid and the tale told. The quick championship of theboy was engaged for the gallant dog, and Geordie's eyes sparkled at theprospect of dark adventure. Bobby was on the floor listening, ears andeyes, brambly muzzle and feathered tail alert. He listened with hiswhole, small, excited body, and hung on the answer to the momentousquestion. 

"Is there no' a way to smuggle the bit dog into the kirkyard?"

It appeared that nothing was easier, "aince ye ken hoo. " Did Mr. Traillknow of the internal highway through the old Cunzie Neuk at the bottomof the Row? One went up the stairs on the front to the low, timberedgallery, then through a passage as black as "Bluidy" McKenzie's heart. At the end of that, one came to a peep-hole of a window, set out onwooden brackets, that hung right over the kirkyard wall. From thatwindow Bobby could be dropped on a certain noble vault, from which hecould jump to the ground. 

"Twa meenits' wark, stout hearts, sleekit footstaps, an' the fearsomedeed is done, " declared twelve-year-old Geordie, whose sense of thedramatic matched his daring. 

But when the deed was done, and the two stood innocently on the brightlylighted approach to the bridge, Mr. Traill had his misgivings. Awell-respected business man and church-member, he felt uneasy to be atthe mercy of a laddie who might be boastful. 

"Geordie, if you tell onybody about this I'll have to give you alicking. "

"I wullna tell, " Geordie reassured him. "It's no' so respectable, an'syne ma mither'd gie me anither lickin', an' they'd gie me twa moreawfu' aces, an' black marks for a month, at Heriot's. "

V. 

Word had been left at all the inns and carting offices about bothmarkets for the tenant of Cauldbrae farm to call at Mr. Traill'splace for Bobby. The man appeared Wednesday afternoon, driving a bigClydesdale horse to a stout farm cart. The low-ceiled dining-roomsuddenly shrank about the big-boned, long legged hill man. The factembarrassed him, as did also a voice cultivated out of all proportion totown houses, by shouting to dogs and shepherds on windy shoulders of thePentlands. 

"Hae ye got the dog wi' ye?"

Mr. Train pointed to Bobby, deep in a blissful, after dinner nap underthe settle. 

The farmer breathed a sigh of relief, sat at a table, and ate afrugal meal of bread and cheese. As roughly dressed as Auld Jock, ina metal-buttoned greatcoat of hodden gray, a woolen bonnet, and theshepherd's twofold plaid, he was a different species of human beingaltogether. A long, lean, sinewy man of early middle age, he had asmooth-shaven, bony jaw, far-seeing gray eyes under furzy brows, and ashock of auburn hair. When he spoke, it was to give bits out of his ownexperience. 

"Thae terriers are usefu' eneugh on an ordinar' fairm an' i' the toon tokeep awa' the vermin, but I wadna gie a twa-penny-bit for ane o' them ona sheep-fairm. There's a wee lassie at Cauldbrae wha wants Bobby for apet. It wasna richt for Auld Jock to win 'im awa' frae the bairn. "

Mr. Traill's hand was lifted in rebuke. "Speak nae ill, man; Auld Jock'sdead. "

The farmer's ruddy face blanched and he dropped his knife. "He's no'buried so sane?"

"Ay, he's buried four days since in Greyfriars kirkyard, and Bobby hasslept every night on the auld man's grave. "

"I'll juist tak' a leuk at the grave, moil, gin ye'll hae an ee on thedog. "

Mr. Traill cautioned him not to let the caretaker know that Bobby hadcontinued to sleep in the kirkyard, after having been put out twice. Thefarmer was back in ten minutes, with a canny face that defied reading. He lighted his short Dublin pipe and smoked it out before he spokeagain. 

"It's ower grand for a puir auld shepherd body to be buried i'Greyfriars. "

"No' so grand as heaven, I'm thinking. " Mr. Traill's response was dry. 

"Ay, an' we're a' coontin' on gangin' there; but it's a prood thing tohae yer banes put awa' in Greyfriars, ance ye're through wi' 'em!"

"Nae doubt the gude auld man would rather be alive on the Pentland braesthan dead in Greyfriars. "

"Ay, " the farmer admitted. "He was fair fond o' the hills, an' no'likin' the toon. An', moil, he was a wonder wi' the lambs. He'd gang wi'a collie ower miles o' country in roarin' weather, an' he'd aye fetchthe lost sheep hame. The auld moil was nane so weel furnished i' theheid, but bairnies and beasts were unco' fond o' 'im. It wasna his fau'tthat Bobby was aye at his heels. The lassie wad 'a' been after'im, gin'er mither had permeeted it. "

Mr. Traill asked him why he had let so valuable a man go, and the farmerreplied at once that he was getting old and could no longer do thewinter work. To any but a Scotchman brought up near the sheep countrythis would have sounded hard, but Mr. Traill knew that the farmers onthe wild, tipped-up moors were themselves hard pressed to meet rentand taxes. To keep a shepherd incapacitated by age and liable to lose aflock in a snow-storm, was to invite ruin. And presently the man showed, unwittingly, how sweet a kernel the heart may lie under the shell ofsordid necessity. 

"I didna ken the auld man was fair ill or he micht hae bided at thefairm an' tak'n 'is ain time to dee at 'is ease. "

As Bobby unrolled and stretched to an awakening, the farmer got up, tookhim unaware and thrust him into a covered basket. He had no intention ofletting the little creature give him the slip again. Bobby howled at theindignity, and struggled and tore at the stout wickerwork. It went toMr. Traill's heart to hear him, and to see the gallant little dog sodefenseless. He talked to him through the latticed cover all the wayout to the cart, telling him Auld Jock meant for him to go home. At thatbeloved name, Bobby dropped to the bottom of the basket and cried insuch a heartbroken way that tears stood in the landlord's eyes, and eventhe farmer confessed to a sudden "cauld in 'is heid. "

"I'd gie 'im to ye, mon, gin it wasna that the bit lassie wad greet herbonny een oot gin I didna fetch 'im hame. Nae boot the bit tyke wad 'a'deed gin ye hadna fed 'im. "

"Eh, man, he'll no' bide with me, or I'd be bargaining for him. Andhe'll no' be permitted to live in the kirkyard. I know naething in thislife more pitiful than a masterless, hameless dog. " And then, to delaythe moment of parting with Bobby, who stopped crying and began to lickhis hand in frantic appeal through a hole in the basket, Mr. Traillasked how Bobby came by his name. 

"It was a leddy o' the neeborhood o' Swanston. She cam' drivin' byCauldbrae i' her bit cart wi' shaggy Shetlands to it an' stapped at thedairy for a drink o' buttermilk frae the kirn. Syne she saw the sonsiepuppy loupin' at Auld Jock's heels, bonny as a poodle, but mair knowin'. The leddy gied me a poond note for 'im. I put 'im up on the seat, an'she said that noo she had a smart Hieland groom to match 'er Hielandsteeds, an' she flicked the ponies wi' 'er whup. Syne the bit dog was onthe airth an' flyin' awa' doon the road like the deil was after 'im. An'the leddy lauched an' lauched, an' went awa' wi'oot 'im. At the fut o'the brae she was still lauchin', an' she ca'ed back: 'Gie 'im the nameo' Bobby, gude mon. He's left the plow-tail an's aff to Edinburgh tomak' his fame an' fortune. ' I didna ken what the leddy meant. "

"Man, she meant he was like Bobby Burns. "

Here was a literary flavor that gave added attraction to a man who satat the feet of the Scottish muses. The landlord sighed as he went backto the doorway, and he stood there listening to the clatter of the cartand rough-shod horse and to the mournful howling of the little dog, until the sounds died away in Forest Road. 

Mr. Traill would have been surprised to know, perhaps, that the confinesof the city were scarcely passed before Bobby stopped protesting andgrieving and settled down patiently to more profitable work. A humanbeing thus kidnapped and carried away would have been quite helpless. But Bobby fitted his mop of a black muzzle into the largest hole of hiswicker prison, and set his useful little nose to gathering news of hiswhereabouts. 

If it should happen to a dog in this day to be taken from Ye OldeGreyfriars Dining-Rooms and carried southward out of Edinburgh therewould be two miles or more of city and suburban streets to be traversedbefore coming to the open country. But a half century or more agoone could stand at the upper gate of Greyfriars kirkyard or Heriot'sHospital grounds and look down a slope dotted with semi-rustic houses, a village or two and water-mills, and then cultivated farms, all the wayto a stone-bridged burn and a toll-bar at the bottom of the valley. Thishillside was the ancient Burghmuir where King James of old gathered agreat host of Scots to march and fight and perish on Flodden Field. 

Bobby had not gone this way homeward before, and was puzzled by thesmell of prosperous little shops, and by the park-like odors fromcollege campuses to the east, and from the well-kept residence parkof George Square. But when the cart rattled across Lauriston Place hepicked up the familiar scents of milk and wool from the cattle andsheep market, and then of cottage dooryards, of turned furrows and offarmsteads. 

The earth wears ever a threefold garment of beauty. The human personusually manages to miss nearly everything but the appearance of things. A few of us are so fortunate as to have ears attuned to the harmonieswoven on the wind by trees and birds and water; but the tricky weft ofodors that lies closest of all, enfolding the very bosom of the earth, escapes us. A little dog, traveling with his nose low, lives in anotherstratum of the world, and experiences other pleasures than his master. He has excitements that he does his best to share, and that send himflying in pursuit of phantom clues. 

From the top of the Burghmuir it was easy going to Bobby. The snow hadgone off in a thaw, releasing a multitude of autumnal aromas. There wasa smell of birch and beech buds sealed up in gum, of berries clotted onthe rowan-trees, and of balsam and spice from plantations of Highlandfirs and larches. The babbling water of the burn was scented with thedead bracken of glens down which it foamed. Even the leafless hedges hadtheir woody odors, and stone dykes their musty smell of decaying mossesand lichens. 

Bobby knew the pause at the toll-bar in the valley, and the mixed odorsof many passing horses and men, there. He knew the smells of poultryand cheese at a dairy-farm; of hunting dogs and riding-leathers at asportsman's trysting inn, and of grist and polluted water at a mill. And after passing the hilltop toll-bar of Fairmilehead, dipping across anarrow valley and rounding the base of a sentinel peak, many tame odorswere left behind. At the buildings of the large, scattered farms therewere smells of sheep, and dogs and barn yards. But, for the most part, after the road began to climb over a high shoulder of the range, therewas just one wild tang of heather and gorse and fern, tingling with saltair from the German Ocean. 

When they reached Cauldbrae farm, high up on the slope, it was entirelydark. Lights in the small, deep-set windows gave the outlines of a low, steep-roofed, stone farm-house. Out of the darkness a little wind blownfigure of a lassie fled down the brae to meet the cart, and an eagerlittle voice, as clear as a hill-bird's piping, cried out:

"Hae ye got ma ain Bobby, faither?"

"Ay, lassie, I fetched 'im hame, " the farmer roared back, in his bigvoice. 

Then the cart was stopped for the wee maid to scramble up over awheel, and there were sweet little sounds of kissing and muffled littlecuddlings under the warm plaid. When these soft endearments had beenattended to there was time for another yearning. 

"May I haud wee Bobby, faither?"

"Nae, lassie, a bonny bit bairnie couldna haud 'im in 'er sma' airms. Bobby's a' for gangin' awa' to leev in a grand kirkyaird wi' Auld Jock. "

A little gasp, and a wee sob, and an awed question: "Is gude Auld Jockdeid, daddy?"

Bobby heard it and answered with a mournful howl. The lassie snuggledcloser to the warm, beating heart, hid her eyes in the rough plaid, andcried for Auld Jock and for the grieving little dog. 

"Niest to faither an' mither an' big brither Wattie I lo'e Auld Jock an'Bobby. " The bairnie's voice was smothered in the plaidie. Because it wasdark and none were by to see, the reticent Scot could overflow in tenderspeech. His arm tightened around this one little ewe lamb of the humanfold on cold slope farm. He comforted the child by telling her howthey would mak' it up to Bobby, and how very soon a wee dog forgets thekeenest sorrow and is happy again. 

The sheep-dogs charged the cart with as deafening a clamor of welcome asif a home-coming had never happened before, and raced the horse acrossthe level. The kitchen door flared open, a sudden beacon to shepherdsscattered afar on these upland billows of heath. In a moment the basketwas in the house, the door snecked, and Bobby released on the hearth. 

It was a beautiful, dark old kitchen, with a homely fire of peat thatglowed up to smoke-stained rafters. Soon it was full of shepherds, comein to a supper of brose, cheese, milk and bannocks. Sheep-dogs sprawledand dozed on the hearth, so that the gude wife complained of their beingunderfoot. But she left them undisturbed and stepped over them, for, tired as they were, they would have to go out again to drive the sheepinto the fold. 

Humiliated by being brought home a prisoner, and grieving for theforsaken grave in Greyfriars, Bobby crept away to a corner bench, onwhich Auld Jock had always sat in humble self-effacement. He lay downunder it, and the little four year-old lassie sat on the floor closebeside him, understanding, and sorry with him. Her rough brother Wattieteased her about wanting her supper there on one plate with Bobby. 

"I wadna gang daft aboot a bit dog, Elsie. "

"Leave the bairn by 'er lane, " commanded the farmer. The mither pattedthe child's bright head, and wiped the tears from the bluebell eyes. Andthere was a little sobbing confidence poured into a sympathetic ear. 

Bobby refused to eat at first, but by and by he thought better of it. Alittle dog that has his life to live and his work to do must have fuelto drive the throbbing engine of his tiny heart. So Bobby very sensiblyate a good supper in the lassie's company and, grateful for that and forher sympathy, submitted to her shy petting. But after the shepherds anddogs were gone and the farmer had come in again from an overseeing lookabout the place the little dog got up, trotted to the door, and lay downby it. The lassie followed him. With two small, plump hands she pushedBobby's silver veil back, held his muzzle and looked into his sad, browneyes. 

"Oh, mither, mither, Bobby's greetin', " she cried. 

"Nae, bonny wee, a sma' dog canna greet. "

"Ay, he's greetin' sair!" A sudden, sweet little sound was dropped onBobby's head. 

"Ye shouldna kiss the bit dog, bairnie. He isna like a human body. "

"Ay, a wee kiss is gude for 'im. Faither, he greets so I canna tholeit. " The child fled to comforting arms in the inglenook and criedherself to sleep. The gude wife knitted, and the gude mon smoked by thepleasant fire. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the wag atthe wa' clock, for burning peat makes no noise at all, only a pungentwhiff in the nostrils, the memory of which gives a Scotch laddie abroada fit of hamesickness. Bobby lay very still and watchful by the door. The farmer served his astonishing news in dramatic bits. 

"Auld Jock's deid. " Bobby stirred at that, and flattened out on thefloor. 

"Ay, the lassie told that, an' I wad hae kenned it by the dog. He isgreetin' by the ordinar'. "

"An' he's buried i' the kirkyaird o' auld Greyfriars. " Ah, that fetchedher! The gude wife dropped her knitting and stared at him. 

"There's a gairdener, like at the country-hooses o' the gentry, leevin'in a bit lodge by the gate. He has naethin' to do, ava, but lock thegate at nicht, put the dogs oot, an' mak' the posies bloom i' thesimmer. Ay, it's a bonny place. "

"It's ower grand for Auld Jock. "

"Ye may weel say that. His bit grave isna so far frae the martyrs'monument. " When the grandeur of that had sunk in he went on to otherincredibilities. 

Presently he began to chuckle. "There's a bit notice on the gatethat nae dogs are admittet, but Bobby's sleepit on Auld Jock's graveane--twa--three--fower nichts, an' the gairdener doesna ken it, ava. He's a canny beastie. "

"Ay, he is. Folk wull be comin' frae miles aroond juist to leuk atthesperity bit. Ilka body aboot kens Auld Jock. It'll be maistmichty news to tell at the kirk on the Sabbath, that he's buried i'Greyfriars. "

Through all this talk Bobby had lain quietly by the door, in theexpectation that it would be unlatched. Impatient of delay, he began towhimper and to scratch on the panel. The lassie opened her blue eyes atthat, scrambled down, and ran to him. Instantly Bobby was up, tuggingat her short little gown and begging to be let out. When she clasped herchubby arms around his neck and tried to comfort him he struggled freeand set up a dreadful howling. 

"Hoots, Bobby, stap yer havers!" shouted the farmer. 

"Eh, lassie, he'll deave us a'. We'll juist hae to put 'im i' the byrewi' the coos for the nicht, " cried the distracted mither. 

"I want Bobby i' the bed wi' me. I'll cuddle 'im an' lo'e 'im till hestaps greetin'. "

"Nae, bonny wee, he wullna stap. " The farmer picked the child up on onearm, gripped the dog under the other, and the gude wife went before witha lantern, across the dark farmyard to the cow-barn. When the stout doorwas unlatched there was a smell of warm animals, of milk, and cured hay, and the sound of full, contented breathings that should have brought asense of companionship to a grieving little creature. 

"Bobby wullna be lanely here wi' the coos, bairnie, an' i' the morn yecan tak' a bit rope an' haud it in a wee hand so he canna brak awa', an' syne, in a day or twa, he'll be forgettin' Auld Jock. Ay, ye'll haegrand times wi' the sonsie doggie, rinnin' an' loupin' on the braes. "

This argument was so convincing and so attractive that the little maiddried her tears, kissed Bobby on the head again, and made a bed ofheather for him in a corner. But as they were leaving the byre freshdoubts assailed her. 

"He'll gang awa' gin ye dinna tie 'im snug the nicht, faither. "

"Sic a fulish bairn! Wi' fower wa's aroond 'im, an' a roof to 'is heid, an' a floor to 'is fut, hoo could a sma' dog mak' a way oot?"

It was a foolish notion, bred of fond anxiety, and so, reassured, thechild went happily back to the house and to rosy sleep in her littlecloset bed. 

Ah! here was a warm place in a cold world for Bobby. A soft-heartedlittle mistress and merry playmate was here, generous food, and humansociety of a kind that was very much to a little farm dog's liking. Herewas freedom--wide moors to delight his scampering legs, adventures withrabbits, foxes, hares and moor-fowl, and great spaces where no one'sears would be offended by his loudest, longest barking. Besides, AuldJock had said, with his last breath, "Gang--awa'--hame--laddie!" It isnot to be supposed Bobby had forgotten that, since he rememberedand obeyed every other order of that beloved voice. But there, self-interest, love of liberty, and the instinct of obedience, even, sank into the abysses of the little creature's mind. Up to the top rosethe overmastering necessity of guarding the bit of sacred earth thatcovered his master. 

The byre was no sooner locked than Bobby began, in the pitch darkness, to explore the walls. The single promise of escape that was offered wasan inch-wide crack under the door, where the flooring stopped short andexposed a strip of earth. That would have appalled any but a desperatelittle dog. The crack was so small as to admit but one paw, at first, and the earth was packed as hard as wood by generations of tramplingcattle. 

There he began to dig. He came of a breed of dogs used by farmers andhunters to dig small, burrowing animals out of holes, a breed whosecourage and persistence know no limit. He dug patiently, steadily, hourafter hour, enlarging the hole by inches. Now and then he had to stopto rest. When he was able to use both forepaws he made encouragingprogress; but when he had to reach under the door, quite the length ofhis stretched legs, and drag every bit of earth back into the byre, thetask must have been impossible to any little creature not urged by uttermisery. But Skye terriers have been known to labor with such fury thatthey have perished of their own exertions. Bobby's nose sniffed libertylong before he could squeeze his weasel-like body through the tunnel. His back bruised and strained by the struggle through a hole too small, he stood, trembling with exhaustion, in the windy dawn. 

An opening door, a barking sheep-dog, the shuffle of the moving flock, were signs that the farm day was beginning, although all the stars hadnot faded out of the sky. A little flying shadow, Bobby slipped out ofthe cow-yard, past the farm-house, and literally tumbled down the brae. From one level to another he dropped, several hundred feet in a very fewminutes, and from the clear air of the breezy hilltop to a nether worldthat was buried fathoms deep in a sea-fog as white as milk. 

Hidden in a deep fold of the spreading skirts of the range, and somedistance from the road, lay a pool, made by damming a burn, and used, inthe shearing season, for washing sheep. Surrounded by brushy woods, andvery damp and dark, at other seasons it was deserted. Bobby found thissecluded place with his nose, curled up under a hazel thicket and fellsound asleep. And while he slept, a nipping wind from the far, northernHighlands swooped down on the mist and sent it flying out to sea. TheLowlands cleared like magic. From the high point where Bobby lay theroad could be seen to fall, by short rises and long descents, all theway to Edinburgh. From its crested ridge and flanking hills the citytrailed a dusky banner of smoke out over the fishing fleet in the Firth. 

A little dog cannot see such distant views. Bobby could only read andfollow the guide-posts of odors along the way. He had begun the ascentto the toll-bar when he heard the clatter of a cart and the poundingof hoofs behind him. He did not wait to learn if this was the Cauldbraefarmer in pursuit. Certain knowledge on that point was only to be gainedat his peril. He sprang into the shelter of a stone wall, scrambled overit, worked his way along it a short distance, and disappeared into abrambly path that skirted a burn in a woody dell. 

Immediately the little dog was lost in an unexplored country. The narrowglen was musical with springs, and the low growth was undercut with amaze of rabbit runs, very distracting to a dog of a hunting breed. Bobbyknew, by much journeying with Auld Jock, that running water is a naturalhighway. Sheep drift along the lowest level until they find an outletdown some declivity, or up some foaming steep, to new pastures. 

But never before had Bobby found, above such a rustic brook, a manychimneyed and gabled house of stone, set in a walled garden and swathedin trees. Today, many would cross wide seas to look upon Swanstoncottage, in whose odorous old garden a whey-faced, wistful-eyed laddiedreamed so many brave and laughing dreams. It was only a farm-housethen, fallen from a more romantic history, and it had no attractionfor Bobby. He merely sniffed at dead vines of clematis, sleeping briarbushes, and very live, bright hedges of holly, rounded a corner of itswall, and ran into a group of lusty children romping on the brae, belowthe very prettiest, thatch roofed and hill-sheltered hamlet within manya mile of Edinboro' town. The bairns were lunching from grimy, mittenedhands, gypsy fashion, life being far too short and playtime too brieffor formal meals. Seeing them eating, Bobby suddenly discovered that hewas hungry. He rose before a well-provided laddie and politely beggedfor a share of his meal. 

Such an excited shouting of admiration and calling on mithers to comeand see the bonny wee dog was never before heard on Swanston villagegreen. Doors flew open and bareheaded women ran out. Then the babies hadto be brought, and the' old grandfaithers and grandmithers. Everybodyoh-ed and ah-ed and clapped hands, and doubled up with laughter, for, a tempting bit held playfully just out of reach, Bobby rose, again andagain, jumped for it, and chased a teasing laddie. Then he bethought himto roll over and over, and to go through other winsome little tricks, as Auld Jock had taught him to do, to win the reward. All this had onequite unexpected result. A shrewd-eyed woman pounced upon Bobby andcaptured him. 

"He's no' an ordinar' dog. Some leddy has lost her pet. I'll juist shut'im up, an' syne she'll pay a shullin' or twa to get 'im again. "

With a twist and a leap Bobby was gone. He scrambled straight up thesteep, thorn-clad wall of the glen, where no laddie could follow, andwas over the crest. It was a narrow escape, made by terrific effort. His little heart pounding with exhaustion and alarm, he hid under a whinbush to get his breath and strength. The sheltered dell was windless, but here a stiff breeze blew. Suddenly shifting a point, the windbrought to the little dog's nose a whiff of the acrid coal smoke ofEdinburgh three miles away. 

Straight as an arrow he ran across country, over roadway and wall, plowed fields and rippling burns. He scrambled under hedges and dashedacross farmsteads and cottage gardens. As he neared the city the hourbells aided him, for the Skye terrier is keen of hearing. It was growingdark when he climbed up the last bank and gained Lauriston Place. Therehe picked up the odors of milk and wool, and the damp smell of thekirkyard. 

Now for something comforting to put into his famished little body. Anight and a day of exhausting work, of anxiety and grief, had used upthe last ounce of fuel. Bobby raced down Forest Road and turned theslight angle into Greyfriars Place. The lamp lighter's progress towardthe bridge was marked by the double row of lamps that bloomed, one afterone, on the dusk. The little dog had come to the steps of Mr. Traill'splace, and lifted himself to scratch on the door, when the bugle beganto blow. He dropped with the first note and dashed to the kirkyard gate. 

None too soon! Mr. Brown was setting the little wicket gate inside, against the wall. In the instant his back was turned, Bobby slippedthrough. After nightfall, when the caretaker had made his rounds, hecame out from under the fallen table-tomb of Mistress Jean Grant. 

Lights appeared at the rear windows of the tenements, and families satat supper. It was snell weather again, the sky dark with threat ofsnow, and the windows were all closed. But with a sharp bark beneath thelowest of them Bobby could have made his presence and his wants known. He watched the people eating, sitting wistfully about on his hauncheshere and there, but remaining silent. By and by there were sounds ofcrying babies, of crockery being washed, and the ringing of churchbells far and near. Then the lights were extinguished, and huge bulks ofshadow, of tenements and kirk, engulfed the kirkyard. 

When Bobby lay down on Auld Jock's grave, pellets of frozen snow werefalling and the air had hardened toward frost. 

VI. 

Sleep alone goes far to revive a little dog, and fasting sharpens thewits. Bobby was so tired that he slept soundly, but so hungry that hewoke early, and instantly alert to his situation. It was so very earlyof a dark winter morning that not even the sparrows were out foraging inthe kirkyard for dry seeds. The drum and bugle had not been sounded fromthe Castle when the milk and dustman's carts began to clatter over thefrozen streets. With the first hint of dawn stout fishwives, who hadtramped all the way in from the piers of Newhaven with heavily ladencreels on their heads, were lustily crying their "caller herrin'. "Soon fagot men began to call up the courts of tenements, where fuel wasbought by the scant bundle: "Are ye cauld?"

Many a human waif in the tall buildings about the lower end ofGreyfriars kirkyard was cold, even in bed, but, in his thick underjacketof fleece, Bobby was as warm as a plate of breakfast toast. With avigorous shaking he broke and scattered the crust of snow that burdenedhis shaggy thatch. Then he lay down on the grave again, with his noseon his paws. Urgent matters occupied the little dog's mind. To deal withthese affairs he had the long head of the canniest Scot, wide and highbetween the ears, and a muzzle as determined as a little steel trap. Small and forlorn as he was, courage, resource and purpose marked him. 

As soon as the door of the caretaker's lodge opened he would have tocreep under the fallen slab again. To lie in such a cramped position, hour after hour, day after day, was enough to break the spirit of anywarm blooded creature that lives. It was an exquisite form of torturenot long to be endured. And to get his single meal a day at Mr. Traill'splace Bobby had to watch for the chance opening of the wicket to slip inand out like a thief. The furtive life is not only perilous, it outragesevery feeling of an honest dog. It is hard for him to live at allwithout the approval and the cordial consent of men. The human orderhostile, he quickly loses his self-respect and drops to the pariahclass. Already wee Bobby had the look of the neglected. His pretty coatwas dirty and unkempt. In his run across country, leaves, twigs andburrs had become entangled in his long hair, and his legs and underpartswere caked with mire. 

Instinctively any dog struggles to escape the fate of the outcast. Byevery art he possesses he ingratiates himself with men. One that has hisusefulness in the human scheme of things often is able to make his ownterms with life, to win the niche of his choice. Bobby's one talent thatwas of practical value to society was his hunting instinct for everysmall animal that burrows and prowls and takes toll of men's labor. In Greyfriars kirkyard was work to be done that he could do. For quitethree centuries rats and mice had multiplied in this old sanctuarygarden from which cats were chased and dogs excluded. Every breeze thatblew carried challenges to Bobby's offended nose. Now, in the crisp graydawn, a big rat came out into the open and darted here and there overthe powdering of dry snow that frosted the kirkyard. 

A leap, as if released from a spring, and Bobby captured it. A snap ofhis long muzzle, a jerk of his stoutly set head, and the victim hunglimp from his grip. And he followed another deeply seated instinct whenhe carried the slain to Auld Jock's grave. Trophies of the chase werealways to be laid at the feet of the master. 

"Gude dog! eh, but ye're a bonny wee fechter!" Auld Jock had always saidafter such an exploit; and Bobby had been petted and praised until henearly wagged his crested tail off with happiness and pride. Then he hadbeen given some choice tidbit of food as a reward for his prowess. Thefarmer of Cauldbrae had on such occasions admitted that Bobby might beof use about barn and dairy, and Mr. Traill had commended his capture ofprowlers in the dining-room. But Bobby was "ower young" and had not been"put to the vermin" as a definite business in life. He caught a rat, now and then, as he chased rabbits, merely as a diversion. When hehad caught this one he lay down again. But after a time he got updeliberately and trotted down to the encircling line of old courtyardedtombs. There were nooks and crannies between and behind these along thewall into which the caretaker could not penetrate with sickle, rake andspade, that formed sheltered runways for rodents. 

A long, low, weasel-like dog that could flatten himself on the ground, Bobby squeezed between railings and pedestals, scrambled over fallenfragments of sculptured urns, trumpets, angels' wings, altars, skull andcross-bones, and Latin inscribed scrolls. He went on his stomach underholly and laurel shrubs, burdocks, thistles, and tangled, dead vines. Here and there he lay in such rubbish as motionless as the effigiescareen on marble biers. With the growing light grew the heap of theslain on Auld Jock's grave. 

Having done his best, Bobby lay down again, worse in appearance thanbefore, but with a stouter heart. He did not stir, although the shadowsfled, the sepulchers stood up around the field of snow, and slabs andshafts camped in ranks on the slope. Smoke began to curl up from high, clustered chimney-pots; shutters were opened, and scantily clad womenhad hurried errands on decaying gallery and reeling stairway. Suddenlythe Castle turrets were gilded with pale sunshine, and all the littlecells in the tall, old houses hummed and buzzed and clacked with life. The University bell called scattered students to morning prayers. Pinched and elfish faces of children appeared at the windows overlookingthe kirkyard. The sparrows had instant news of that, and the littlewinged beggars fluttered up to the lintels of certain deep-setcasements, where ill-fed bairns scattered breakfasts of crumbs. 

Bobby watched all this without a movement. He shivered when the lodgedoor was heard to open and shut and heavy footsteps crunched on thegravel and snow around the church. "Juist fair silly" on his quakinglegs he stood up, head and tail drooped. But he held his ground bravely, and when the caretaker sighted him he trotted to meet the man, liftedhimself on his hind legs, his short, shagged fore paws on his breast, begging attention and indulgence. Then he sprawled across the greatboots, asking pardon for the liberty he was taking. At last, all in aflash, he darted back to the grave, sniffed at it, and stood again, headup, plumy tail crested, all excitement, as much as to say:

"Come awa' ower, man, an' leuk at the brave sicht. "

If he could have barked, his meaning would have carried moreconvincingly, but he "hauded 'is gab" loyally. And, alas, the caretakerwas not to be beguiled. Mr. Traill had told him Bobby had been sentback to the hill farm, but here he was, "perseestent" little rascal, andmaking some sort of bid for the man's favor. Mr. Brown took his pipe outof his mouth in surprised exasperation, and glowered at the dog. 

"Gang awa' oot wi' ye!"

But Bobby was back again coaxing undauntedly, abasing himself beforethe angry man, insisting that he had something of interest to show. Thecaretaker was literally badgered and cajoled into following him. Oneglance at the formidable heap of the slain, and Mr. Brown dropped to aseat on the slab. 

"Preserve us a'!"

He stared from the little dog to his victims, turned them over with hisstout stick and counted them, and stared again. Bobby fixed his pleadingeyes on the man and stood at strained attention while fate hung in thebalance. 

"Guile wark! Guile wark! A braw doggie, an' an unco' fechter. Losh! butye're a deil o' a bit dog!"

All this was said in a tone of astonished comment, so non-committal offeeling that Bobby's tail began to twitch in the stress of his anxiety. When the caretaker spoke again, after a long, puzzled frowning, it wasto express a very human bewilderment and irritation. 

"Noo, what am I gangin' to do wi' ye?"

Ah, that was encouraging! A moment before, he had ordered Bobby out inno uncertain tone. After another moment he referred the question to ahigher court. 

"Jeanie, woman, come awa' oot a meenit, wull ye?"

A hasty pattering of carpet-slippered feet on the creaking snow, aroundthe kirk, and there was the neatest little apple-cheeked peasant womanin Scotland, "snod" from her smooth, frosted hair, spotless linen mutchand lawn kerchief, to her white, lamb's wool stockings. 

"Here's the bit dog I was tellin' ye aboot; an' see for yersel' whathe's done noo. "

"The wee beastie couldna do a' that! It's as muckle as his ain wecht infou' vermin!" she cried. 

"Ay, he did. Thae terriers are sperity, by the ordinar'. Ane o' them, let into the corn exchange a murky nicht, killed saxty in ten meenits, an' had to be dragged awa' by the tail. Noo, what I am gangin' to do wi'the takin' bit I dinna ken. "

It is very certain that simple Mistress Jean Brown had never heard ofMr. Dick's advice to Miss Betsy Trotwood on the occasion when youngDavid Copperfield presented himself, travel-stained and weary, beforehis good aunt. But out of her experience of wholesome living she broughtforth the same wise opinion. 

"I'd gie him a gude washin' first of a', Jamie. He leuks like somepuir, gaen-aboot dog. " And she drew her short, blue-stuff gown back fromBobby's grateful attentions. 

Mr. Brown slapped his corduroy-breeked knee and nodded his grizzledhead. "Richt ye are. It's maist michty, noo, I wadna think o' that. WhenI was leevin' as an under gairdener wi' a laird i' Argyleshire I was ayeaboot the kennels wi' the gillies. That was lang syne. The sma' terrierdogs were aye washed i' claes tubs wi' warm water an' soap. Come awa', Bobby. "

The caretaker got up stiffly, for such snell weather was apt to givehim twinges in his joints. In him a youthful enthusiasm for dogs hadsuddenly revived. Besides, although he would have denied it, he wasrelieved at having the main issue, as to what was to be done with thisfour-footed trespasser, side-tracked for a time. Bobby followed him tothe lodge at an eager trot, and he dutifully hopped into the bath thatwas set on the rear doorstep. Mr. Brown scrubbed him vigorously, and Bobby splashed and swam and churned the soapy water to foam. Hescrambled out at once, when told to do so, and submitted to being driedwith a big, tow-linen towel. This was all a delightful novelty to Bobby. Heretofore he had gone into any convenient tam or burn to swim, and thendried himself by rolling on the heather and running before the wind. Now he was bundled up ignominiously in an old flannel petticoat, carriedacross a sanded kitchen floor and laid on a warm hearth. 

"Doon wi' ye!" was the gruff order. Bobby turned around and around onthe hearth, like some little wild dog making a bed in the jungle, beforehe obeyed. He kept very still during the reading of a chapter and thesinging of a Psalm, as he had been taught to do at the farm by manya reminder from Auld Jock's boot. And he kept away from thebreakfast-table, although the walls of his stomach were collapsed asflat as the sides of an empty pocket. 

It was such a clean, shining little kitchen, with the scoured dealtable, chairs and cupboard, and the firelight from the grate winkedso on pewter mugs, copper kettle, willow-patterned plates and diamondpanes, that Bobby blinked too. Flowers bloomed in pots on the casementsills, and a little brown skylark sang, fluttering as if it would soar, in a gilded cage. After the morning meal Mr. Brown lighted his pipeand put on his bonnet to go out again, when he bethought him that Bobbymight be needing something to eat. 

"What'll ye gie 'im, Jeanie? At the laird's, noo, the terriers were ayefed wi' bits o' livers an' cheese an' moor fowls' eggs, an' sic-like, fried. "

"Havers, Jamie, it's no' releegious to feed a dog better than puirbairns. He'll do fair weel wi' table-scraps. "

She set down a plate with a spoonful of porridge on it, a cold potato, some bread crusts, and the leavings of a broiled caller herrin'. It wasa generous breakfast for so small a dog, but Bobby had been without foodfor quite forty hours, and had done an amazing amount of work in themeantime. When he had eaten all of it, he was still hungry. As a politehint, he polished the empty plate with his pink tongue and looked upexpectantly; but the best-intentioned people, if they have had little todo with dogs, cannot read such signs. 

"Ye needna lick the posies aff, " the wifie said, good humoredly, as shepicked the plate up to wash it. She thought to put down a tin basin ofwater. Bobby lapped a' it so eagerly, yet so daintily, that she added:"He's a weel-broucht-up tyke, Jamie. "

"He is so. Noo, we'll see hoo weel he can leuk. " In a shamefaced way hefetched from a tool-box a long-forgotten, strong little currycomb, suchas is used on shaggy Shetland ponies. With that he proceeded to giveBobby such a grooming as he had never had before. It was a painfuloperation, for his thatch was a stubborn mat of crisp waves and knottytangles to his plumy tail and down to his feathered toes. He bracedhimself and took the punishment without a whimper, and when it was donehe stood cascaded with dark-silver ripples nearly to the floor. 

"The bonny wee!" cried Mistress Jeanie. "I canna tak' ma twa een aff o''im. "

"Ay, he's bonny by the ordinar'. It wad be grand, noo, gin themeenister'd fancy 'im an' tak' 'im into the manse. "

The wifie considered this ruefully. "Jamie, I was wishin' ye didna haeto--"

But what she wished he did not have to do, Mr. Brown did not stop tohear. He suddenly clapped his bonnet on his head and went out. He hadan urgent errand on High Street, to buy grass and flower seeds and toolsthat would certainly be needed in April. It took him an hour or moreof shrewd looking about for the best bargains, in a swarm of littlebarnacle and cellar shops, to spend a few of the kirk's shillings. Whenhe found himself, to his disgust, looking at a nail studded collar fora little dog he called himself a "doited auld fule, " and tramped backacross the bridge. 

At the kirkyard gate he stopped and read the notice through twice: "Nodogs permitted. " That was as plain as "Thou shalt not. " To the piouscaretaker and trained servant it was the eleventh commandment. He shookhis head, sighed, and went in to dinner. Bobby was not in the house, andthe master of it avoided inquiring for him. He also avoided thewifie's wistful eye, and he busied himself inside the two kirks all theafternoon. 

Because he was in the kirks, and the beautiful memorial windows ofstained glass were not for the purpose of looking out, he did not see adramatic incident that occurred in the kirkyard after three o'clock inthe afternoon. The prelude to it really began with the report of thetimegun at one. Bobby had insisted upon being let out of the lodgekitchen, and had spent the morning near Auld Jock's grave and in nosingabout neighboring slabs and thorn bushes. When the time-gun boomed hetrotted to the gate quite openly and waited there inside the wicket. 

In such nipping weather there were no visitors to the kirkyard and thegate was not opened. The music bells ran the gamut of old Scotch airsand ceased, while he sat there and waited patiently. Once a man stoppedto look at the little dog, and Bobby promptly jumped on the wicket, plainly begging to have it unlatched. But the passer-by decided thatsome lady had left her pet behind, and would return for him. So hepatted the attractive little Highlander on the head and went on abouthis business. 

Discouraged by the unpromising outlook for dinner that day, Bobby wentslowly back to the grave. Twice afterward he made hopeful pilgrimagesto the gate. For diversion he fell noiselessly upon a prowling cat andchased it out of the kirkyard. At last he sat upon the table-tomb. Hehad escaped notice from the tenements all the morning because the viewfrom most of the windows was blocked by washings, hung out and dripping, then freezing and clapping against the old tombs. It was half-past threeo'clock when a tiny, wizened face popped out of one of the rude littlewindows in the decayed Cunzie Neuk at the bottom of Candlemakers Row. Crippled Tammy Barr called out in shrill excitement, "Ailie! O-o-oh, Ailie Lindsey, there's the wee doggie!"

"Whaur?" The lassie's elfin face looked out from a low, rear window ofthe Candlemakers' Guildhall at the top of the Row. 

"On the stane by the kirk wa'. "

"I see 'im noo. Isna he bonny? I wish Bobby could bide i' the kirkyaird, but they wadna let 'im. Tammy, gin ye tak' 'im up to Maister Traill, he'll gie ye the shullin'!"

"I couldna tak' 'im by ma lane, " was the pathetic confession. "Wad yegang wi' me, Ailie? Ye could drap ower an' catch 'im, an' I could comeby the gate. Faither made me some grand crutches frae an' auld chairback. "

Tears suddenly drowned the lassie's blue eyes and ran down her pinchedlittle cheeks. "Nae, I couldna gang. I haena ony shoon to ma feet. "

"It's no' so cauld. Gin I had twa guile feet I could gang the bit waywi'oot shoon. "

"I ken it isna so cauld, " Ailie admitted, "but for a lassie it's no'respectable to gang to a grand place barefeeted. "

That was undeniable, and the eager children fell silent and tearful. Butoh, necessity is the mother of makeshifts among the poor! Suddenly Ailiecried: "Bide a meenit, Tammy, " and vanished. Presently she was back, with the difficulty overcome. "Grannie says I can wear her shoon. Shedoesna wear 'em i' the hoose, ava. "

"I'll gie ye a saxpence, Ailie, " offered Tammy. 

The sordid bargain shocked no feeling of these tenement bairnsnor marred their pleasure in the adventure. Presently there was atap-tap-tapping of crutches on the heavy gallery that fronted the CunzieNeuk, and on the stairs that descended from it to the steep and curvingrow. The lassie draped a fragment of an old plaid deftly over her thinlyclad shoulders, climbed through the window, to the pediment of theclassic tomb that blocked it, and dropped into the kirkyard. To hersurprise Bobby was there at her feet, frantically wagging his tail, and he raced her to the gate. She caught him on the steps of the diningroom, and held his wriggling little body fast until Tammy came up. 

It was a tumultuous little group that burst in upon the astonishedlandlord: barking fluff of an excited dog, flying lassie in clatteringbig shoes, and wee, tapping Tammy. They literally fell upon him when hewas engaged in counting out his money. 

"Whaur did you find him?" asked Mr. Traill in bewilderment. 

Six-year-old Ailie slipped a shy finger into her mouth, and looked tothe very much more mature five-year old crippled laddie to answer, "He was i' the kirkyaird. "

"Sittin' upon a stane by 'is ainsel', " added Ailie. 

"An' no' hidin', ava. It was juist like he was leevin' there. "

"An' syne, when I drapped oot o' the window he louped at me so bonny, an' I couldna keep up wi' 'im to the gate. "

Wonder of wonders! It was plain that Bobby had made his way back fromthe hill farm and, from his appearance and manner, as well as from thisaccount, it was equally clear that some happy change in his fortuneshad taken place. He sat up on his haunches listening with interest andlolling his tongue! And that was a thing the bereft little dog had notdone since his master died. In the first pause in the talk he rose andbegged for his dinner. 

"Noo, what am I to pay? It took ane, twa, three o' ye to fetch ane sma'dog. A saxpence for the laddie, a saxpence for the lassie, an' a bitmeal for Bobby. "

While he was putting the plate down under the settle Mr. Traill heardan amazed whisper "He's gien the doggie a chuckie bane. " The landlordswitched the plate from under Bobby's protesting little muzzle andturned to catch the hungry look on the faces of the children. Chicken, indeed, for a little dog, before these ill-fed bairns! Mr. Traill had abrilliant thought. 

"Preserve me! I didna think to eat ma ain dinner. I hae so muckle to eatI canna eat it by ma lane. "

The idea of having too much to eat was so preposterously funny thatTammy doubled up with laughter and nearly tumbled over his crutches. Mr. Traill set him upright again. 

"Did ye ever gang on a picnic, bairnies?" And what was a picnic? Tammyventured the opinion that it might be some kind of a cart for lameladdies to ride in. 

"A picnic is when ye gang gypsying in the summer, " Mr. Traill explained. "Ye walk to a bonny green brae, an' sit doon under a hawthorntree a'covered wi' posies, by a babblin' burn, an' ye eat oot o' yer ain hands. An' syne ye hear a throstle or a redbreast sing an' a saucy blackbirdwhustle. "

"Could ye tak' a dog?" asked Tammy. 

"Ye could that, mannie. It's no' a picnic wi'oot a sonsie doggie to rinon the brae wi' ye. "

"Oh!" Ailie's blue eyes slowly widened in her pallid little face. "Butye couldna hae a picnic i' the snawy weather. "

"Ay, ye could. It's the bonniest of a' when ye're no' expectin' it. I aye keep a picnic hidden i' the ingleneuk aboon. " He suddenly swungTammy up on his shoulder, and calling, gaily, "Come awa', " went outthe door, through another beside it, and up a flight of stairs to thedining-room above. A fire burned there in the grate, the tables werecovered with linen, and there were blooming flowers in pots in the frontwindows. Patrons from the University, and the well-to-do streets andsquares to the south and east, made of this upper room a sort of club inthe evenings. At four o'clock in the afternoon there were no guests. 

"Noo, " said Mr. Traill, when his overcome little guests were seated ata table in the inglenook. "A picnic is whaur ye hae onything ye fancyto eat; gude things ye wullna be haein' ilka day, ye mind. " He rang acall-bell, and a grinning waiter laddie popped up so quickly the lassiecaught her breath. 

"Eneugh broo for aince, " said Tammy. 

"Porridge that isna burned, " suggested Ailie. Such pitiful poverty ofthe imagination!

"Nae, it's bread, an' butter, an' strawberry jam, an' tea wi' cream an'sugar, an' cauld chuckie at a snawy picnic, " announced Mr. Traill. Andthere it was, served very quickly and silently, after some manner ofmagic. Bobby had to stand on the fourth chair to eat his dinner, andwhen he had despatched it he sat up and viewed the little party with theliveliest interest and happiness. 

"Tammy, " Ailie said, when her shyness had worn off, "it's like the grandtales ye mak' up i' yer heid. "

"Preserve me! Does the wee mannie mak' up stories?"

"It's juist fulish things, aboot haein' mair to eat, an' a sonsie doggieto play wi', an' twa gude legs to tak' me aboot. I think 'em oot atnicht when I canna sleep. "

"Eh, laddie, do ye noo?" Mr. Traill suddenly had a terrible "cauld in'is heid, " that made his eyes water. "Hoo auld are ye?"

"Five, gangin' on sax. "

"Losh! I thoucht ye war fifty, gangin' on saxty. " Laughter saved the dayfrom overmoist emotions. And presently Mr. Traill was able to say in abusiness-like tone:

"We'll hae to tak' ye to the infirmary. An' if they canna mak' yer legsower ye'll get a pair o' braw crutches that are the niest thing to gudelegs. An' syne we'll see if there's no' a place in Heriot's for a sma'laddie that mak's up bonny tales o' his ain in the murky auld CunzieNeuk. "

Now the gay little feast was eaten, and early dark was coming on. If Mr. Traill had entertained the hope that Bobby had recovered from his griefand might remain with him, he was disappointed. The little dog began tobe restless. He ran to the door and back; he begged, and he scratchedon the panel. And then he yelped! As soon as the door was opened he shotout of it, tumbled down the stairway and waited at the foot impatientlyfor the lower door to be unlatched. Ailie's thin, swift legs were leftbehind when Bobby dashed to the kirkyard. 

Tammy followed at a surprising pace on his rude crutches, and Mr. Traillbrought up the rear. If the children could not smuggle the franticlittle dog inside, the landlord meant to put him over the wicket and, ifnecessary, to have it out with the caretaker, and then to go before thekirk minister and officers with his plea. He was still concealed by thebuildings, from the alcoved gate, when he heard Mr. Brown's gruff voicetaking the frightened bairns to task. 

"Gie me the dog; an' dinna ye tak' him oot ony mair wi'oot spierin' me. "

The children fled. Peeping around the angle of the Book Hunter's Stall, Mr. Traill saw the caretaker lift Bobby over the wicket to his arms, andstart with him toward the lodge. He was perishing with curiosity aboutthis astonishing change of front on the part of Mr. Brown, but it was adelicate situation in which it seemed best not to meddle. He went slowlyback to the restaurant, begrudging Bobby to the luckier caretaker. 

His envy was premature. Mr. Brown set Bobby inside the lodge kitchen andannounced briefly to his wife: "The bit dog wull sleep i' the hoosethe nicht. " And he went about some business at the upper end of thekirkyard. When he came in an hour later Bobby was gone. 

"I couldna keep 'im in, Jamie. He didna blatter, but he greeted so sairto be let oot, an syne he scratched a' the paint aff the door. "

Mr. Brown glowered at her in exasperation. "Woman, they'll hae me upafore kirk sessions for brakin' the rules, an' syne they'll turn us a'oot i' the cauld warld togither. "

He slammed the door and stormed angrily around the kirk. It was stilllight enough to see the little creature on the snowy mound and, indeed, Bobby got up and wagged his tail in friendly greeting. At that all thebluster went out of the man, and he began to argue the matter with thedog. 

"Come awa', Bobby. Ye canna be leevin' i' the kirkyaird. "

Bobby was of a different opinion. He turned around and around, thoughtfully, several times, then sat up on the grave. Entirely willingto spend a social hour with his new friend, he fixed his eyes hospitablyupon him. Mr. Brown dropped to the slab, lighted his pipe, and smokedfor a time, to compose his agitated mind. By and by he got up brisklyand stooped to lift the little dog. At that Bobby dug his claws in theclods and resisted with all his muscular body and determined mind. Heclung to the grave so desperately, and looked up so piteously, that thecaretaker surrendered. And there was snod Mistress Jeanie, forgettingher spotless gown and kneeling in the snow. 

"Puir Bobby, puir wee Bobby!" she cried, and her tears fell on thelittle tousled head. The caretaker strode abruptly away and waited forthe wifie in the shadow of the auld kirk. Bobby lifted his muzzle andlicked the caressing hand. Then he curled himself up comfortably on themound and went to sleep. 

VIII. 

In no part of Edinburgh did summer come up earlier, or with more lavishbloom, than in old Greyfriars kirkyard. Sheltered on the north and east, it was open to the moist breezes of the southwest, and during all thelengthening afternoons the sun lay down its slope and warmed therear windows of the overlooking tenements. Before the end of May thecaretaker had much ado to keep the growth in order. Vines threatenedto engulf the circling street of sepulchers in greenery and bloom, andgrass to encroach on the flower plots. 

A half century ago there were no rotary lawnmowers to cut off cloverheads; and, if there had been, one could not have been used on thesedropping terraces, so populous with slabs and so closely set with turfedmounds and oblongs of early flowering annuals and bedding plants. Mr. Brown had to get down on his hands and knees, with gardener's shears, to clip the turfed borders and banks, and take a sickle to the hummocks. Thus he could dig out a root of dandelion with the trowel kept ever inhis belt, consider the spreading crocuses and valley lilies, whetherto spare them, give a country violet its blossoming time, and leave ascreening burdock undisturbed until fledglings were out of their nestsin the shrubbery. 

Mistress Jeanie often brought out a little old milking stool on balmymornings, and sat with knitting or mending in one of the narrow aisles, to advise her gude-mon in small matters. Bobby trotted quietly about, sniffing at everything with the liveliest interest, head on this side orthat, alertly. His business, learned in his first summer in Greyfriars, was to guard the nests of foolish skylarks, song-thrushes, redbreastsand wrens, that built low in lilac, laburnum, and flowering currantbushes, in crannies of wall and vault, and on the ground. It cannotbut be a pleasant thing to be a wee young dog, full of life and goodintentions, and to play one's dramatic part in making an old garden ofsouls tuneful with bird song. A cry of alarm from parent or nestlingwas answered instantly by the tiny, tousled policeman, and there was aprowler the less, or a skulking cat was sent flying over tomb and wall. 

His duty done, without noise or waste of energy, Bobby returned to liein the sun on Auld Jock's grave. Over this beloved mound a coverlet ofrustic turf had been spread as soon as the frost was out of the ground, and a bonny briar bush planted at the head. Then it bore nature's owntribute of flowers, for violets, buttercups, daisies and clover blossomsopened there and, later, a spike or so of wild foxglove and a knot ofheather. Robin redbreasts and wrens foraged around Bobby, unafraid;swallows swooped down from their mud villages, under the dizzy dormersand gables, to flush the flies on his muzzle, and whole flocks of littleblue titmice fluttered just overhead, in their rovings from holly andlaurel to newly tasseled firs and yew trees. 

The click of the wicket gate was another sort of alarm altogether. Atthat the little dog slipped under the fallen table-tomb and lay hiddenthere until any strange visitor had taken himself away. Except for twomore forced returns and ingenious escapes from the sheepfarm on thePentlands, Bobby had lived in the kirkyard undisturbed for six months. The caretaker had neither the heart to put him out nor the courage toface the minister and the kirk officers with a plea for him to remain. The little dog's presence there was known, apparently, only to Mr. Traill, to a few of the tenement dwellers, and to the Heriot boys. Ifhis life was clandestine in a way, it was as regular of hour and dutyand as well ordered as that of the garrison in the Castle. 

When the time-gun boomed, Bobby was let out for his midday meal at Mr. Traill's and for a noisy run about the neighborhood to exercise hislungs and legs. On Wednesdays he haunted the Grassmarket, sniffing athorses, carts and mired boots. Edinburgh had so many shaggy littleSkye and Scotch terriers that one more could go about unremarked. Bobbyreturned to the kirkyard at his own good pleasure. In the evening he wasgiven a supper of porridge and broo, or milk, at the kitchen door of thelodge, and the nights he spent on Auld Jock's grave. The morning drumand bugle woke him to the chase, and all his other hours were spent inclose attendance on the labors of the caretaker. The click of the wicketgate was the signal for instant disappearance. 

A scramble up the wall from Heriot's Hospital grounds, or the patterof bare feet on the gravel, however, was notice to come out and greeta friend. Bobby was host to the disinherited children of the tenements. Now, at the tap-tap-tapping of Tammy Barr's crutches, he scampered upthe slope, and he suited his pace to the crippled boy's in coming downagain. Tammy chose a heap of cut grass on which to sit enthroned andplay king, a grand new crutch for a scepter, and Bobby for a courtier. At command, the little dog rolled over and over, begged, and walked onhis hind legs. He even permitted a pair of thin little arms to come nearstrangling him, in an excess of affection. Then he wagged his tail andlolled his tongue to show that he was friendly, and trotted away abouthis business. Tammy took an oat-cake from his pocket to nibble, andbegan a conversation with Mistress Jeanie. 

"I broucht a picnic wi' me. "

"Did ye, noo? An' hoo did ye ken aboot picnics, laddie?"

"Maister Traill was tellin' Ailie an' me. There's ilka thing to mak'a picnic i' the kirkyaird. They couldna mak' my legs gude i' theinfairmary, but I'm gangin' to Heriot's. I'll juist hae to airn maleevin' wi' ma heid, an' no' remember aboot ma legs, ava. Is he no' abonny doggie?"

"Ay, he's bonny. An' ye're a braw laddie no' to fash yersel' aboot whatcanna be helped. "

The wifie took his ragged jacket and mended it, dropped a tear in animpossible hole, and a ha'penny in the one good pocket. And by and bythe pale laddie slept there among the bright graves, in the sun. Afteranother false alarm from the gate she asked her gude-mon, as she hadasked many times before:

"What'll ye do, Jamie, when the meenister kens aboot Bobby, an' ca's yeup afore kirk sessions for brakin' the rule?"

"We wullna cross the brig till we come to the burn, woman, " heinvariably answered, with assumed unconcern. Well he knew that thebridge might be down and the stream in flood when he came to it. ButMr. Traill was a member of Greyfriars auld kirk, too, and a companion inguilt, and Mr. Brown relied not a little on the landlord's fertile mindand daring tongue. And he relied on useful, well-behaving Bobby to pleadhis own cause. 

"There's nae denyin' the doggie is takin' in 'is ways. He's had twagude hames fair thrown at 'is heid, but the sperity bit keeps to 'is ainmind. An' syne he's usefu', an' hauds 'is gab by the ordinar'. " He oftenreinforced his inclination with some such argument. 

With all their caution, discovery was always imminent. The kirkyard waslong and narrow and on rising levels, and it was cut almost across bythe low mass of the two kirks, so that many things might be going on atone end that could not be seen from the other. On this Saturday noon, when the Heriot boys were let out for the half-holiday, Mr. Brownkept an eye on them until those who lived outside had dispersed. WhenMistress Jeanie tucked her knitting-needles in her belt, and went upto the lodge to put the dinner over the fire, the caretaker went downtoward Candlemakers Row to trim the grass about the martyrs' monument. Bobby dutifully trotted at his heels. Almost immediately a half-dozenladdies, led by Geordie Ross and Sandy McGregor, scaled the wall fromHeriot's grounds and stepped down into the kirkyard, that lay piledwithin nearly to the top. They had a perfectly legitimate errand there, but no mission is to be approached directly by romantic boyhood. 

"Hist!" was the warning, and the innocent invaders, feeling delightfullylawless, stole over and stormed the marble castle, where "Bluidy"McKenzie slept uneasily against judgment day. Light-hearted lads can dodaring deeds on a sunny day that would freeze their blood on a dark andstormy night. So now Geordie climbed nonchalantly to a seat over the oldpersecutor, crossed his stout, bare legs, filled an imaginary pipe, andrattled the three farthings in his pocket. 

"I'm 'Jinglin' Geordie' Heriot, " he announced. 

"I'll show ye hoo a prood goldsmith ance smoked wi' a'. " Then, jauntily:"Sandy, gie a crack to 'Bluidy' McKenzie's door an' daur the auld hornieto come oot. "

The deed was done amid breathless apprehensions, but nothing disturbedthe silence of the May noon except the lark that sprang at their feetand soared singing into the blue. It was Sandy who presently whistledlike a blackbird to attract the attention of Bobby. 

There were no blackbirds in the kirkyard, and Bobby understood thesignal. He scampered up at once and dashed around the kirk, allexcitement, for he had had many adventures with the Heriot boys atskating and hockey on Duddingston Lock in the winter, and tramps overthe country and out to Leith harbor in the spring. The laddies prowledalong the upper wall of the kirks, opened and shut the wicket, to givethe caretaker the idea that they had come in decorously by the gate, andwent down to ask him, with due respect and humility, if they could takeBobby out for the afternoon. They were going to mark the places wherewild flowers might be had, to decorate "Jinglin' Geordie's" portrait, statue and tomb at the school on Founder's Day. Mr. Brown consideredthem with a glower that made the boys nudge each other knowingly. "Saturday isna the day for 'im to be gaen aboot. He aye has a washin'an' a groomin' to mak' 'im fit for the Sabbath. An', by the leuk o' ye, ye'd be nane the waur for soap an' water yer ainsel's. "

"We'll gie 'im 'is washin' an' combin' the nicht, " they volunteered, eagerly. 

"Weel, noo, he wullna hae 'is dinner till the time-gun. "

Neither would they. At that, annoyed by their persistence, Mr. Browndenied authority. 

"Ye ken weel he isna ma dog. Ye'll hae to gang up an' spier MaisterTraill. He's fair daft aboot the gude-for-naethin' tyke. "

This was understood as permission. As the boys ran up to the gate, withBobby at their heels, Mr. Brown called after them: "Ye fetch 'im hamewi' the sunset bugle, an' gin ye teach 'im ony o' yer unmannerly waysI'll tak' a stick to yer breeks. "

When they returned to Mr. Traill's place at two o'clock the landlordstood in shirt-sleeves and apron in the open doorway with Bobby, thelittle dog gripping a mutton shank in his mouth. 

"Bobby must tak' his bone down first and hide it awa'. The Sabbath ina kirkyard is a dull day for a wee dog, so he aye gets a catechism of abone to mumble over. "

'The landlord sighed in open envy when the laddies and the little dogtumbled down the Row to the Grassmarket on their gypsying. His eyessought out the glimpse of green country on the dome of Arthur's Seat, that loomed beyond the University towers to the east. There are timeswhen the heart of a boy goes ill with the sordid duties of the man. 

Straight down the length of the empty market the laddies ran, throughthe crooked, fascinating haunt of horses and jockeys in the streetof King's Stables, then northward along the fronts of quaint littlehandicrafts shops that skirted Castle Crag. By turning westward intoQueensferry Street a very few minutes would have brought them to a bitof buried country. But every expedition of Edinburgh lads of spirit ofthat day was properly begun with challenges to scale Castle Rock fromthe valley park of Princes Street Gardens on the north. 

"I daur ye to gang up!" was all that was necessary to set any group ofyoungsters to scaling the precipice. By every tree and ledge, by everycranny and point of rock, stoutly rooted hazel and thorn bush and clumpof gorse, they climbed. These laddies went up a quarter or a thirdof the way to the grim ramparts and came cautiously down again. Bobbyscrambled higher, tumbled back more recklessly and fell, head over heelsand upside down, on the daisied turf. He righted himself at once, and yelped in sharp protest. Then he sniffed and busied himself withpretenses, in the elaborate unconcern with which a little dog deniesanything discreditable. There were legends of daring youth havingclimbed this war-like cliff and laying hands on the fortress wall, butGeordie expressed a popular feeling in declaring these tales "a' lees. "

"No' ony laddie could gang a' the way up an' come doon wi' 'is heidno' broken. Bobby couldna do it, an' he's mair like a wild fox than anordinar' dog. Noo, we're the Light Brigade at Balaklava. Chairge!"

The Crimean War was then a recent event. Heroes of Sebastopol answeredthe summons of drum and bugle in the Castle and fired the hearts ofEdinburgh youth. Cannon all around them, and "theirs not to reason why, "this little band stormed out Queensferry Street and went down, handunder hand, into the fairy underworld of Leith Water. 

All its short way down from the Pentlands to the sea, the Water of Leithwas then a foaming little river of mills, twisting at the bottom of agorge. One cliff-like wall or the other lay to the sun all day, so thatthe way was lined with a profusion of every wild thing that turns greenand blooms in the Lowlands of Scotland. And it was filled to the brimwith bird song and water babble. 

A crowd of laddies had only to go inland up this gorge to find wild andtame bloom enough to bury "Jinglin' Geordie" all over again every year. But adventure was to be had in greater variety by dropping seaward withthe bickering brown water. These waded along the shallow margin, walkedon shelving sands of gold, and, where the channel was filled, they clungto the rocks and picked their way along dripping ledges. Bobby missed nochance to swim. If he could scramble over rough ground like a squirrelor a fox, he could swim like an otter. Swept over the low dam at Deanvillage, where a cup-like valley was formed, he tumbled over and over inthe spray and was all but drowned. As soon as he got his breath and hisbearings he struck out frantically for the bank, shook the foam fromhis eyes and ears, and barked indignantly at the saucy fall. The whitemiller in the doorway of the gray-stone, red-roofed mill laughed, andanxious children ran down from a knot of storybook cottages and gaydooryards. "I'll gie ye ten shullin's for the sperity bit dog, " themiller shouted, above the clatter of the' wheel and the swish of thedam. 

"He isna oor ain dog, " Geordie called back. "But he wullna droon. He'sgot a gude heid to 'im, an' wullna be sic a bittie fule anither time. "

Indeed he had a good head on him! Bobby never needed a second lesson. AtSilver Mills and Canon Mills he came out and trotted warily around thedam. Where the gorge widened to a valley toward the sea they all climbedup to Leith Walk, that ran to the harbor, and came out to a wonder-worldof water-craft anchored in the Firth. Each boy picked out his ship to goadventuring. 

"I'm gangin' to Norway!"

Geordie was scornful. "Hoots, ye tame pussies. Ye're fleid o' gettin'yer feet wat. I'll be rinnin' aff to be a pirate. Come awa' doon. "

They followed the leader along shore and boarded an abandoned andevil-smelling fishingboat. There they ran up a ragged jacket for a blackflag. But sailing a stranded craft palled presently. 

"Nae, I'm gangin' to be a Crusoe. Preserve me! If there's no' a futprinti' the sand Bobby's ma sma' man Friday. "

Away they ran southward to find a castaway's shelter in a hollow on thegolf links. Soon this was transformed into a wrecker's den, andthen into the hiding-place of a harried Covenanter fleeing religiouspersecution. Daring things to do swarmed in upon their minds, forEdinburgh laddies live in a city of romantic history, of soldiers, ofnear-by mountains, and of sea rovings. No adventure served them fiveminutes, and Bobby was in every one. Ah, lucky Bobby, to have such gayplayfellows on a sunny afternoon and under foot the open country!

And fortunate laddies to have such a merry rascal of a wee dog withthem! To the mile they ran, Bobby went five, scampering in wide circlesand barking and louping at butterflies and whaups. He made a detour tothe right to yelp saucily at the red-coated sentry who paced before theGothic gateway to the deserted Palace of Holyrood, and as far to theleft to harry the hoofs of a regiment of cavalry drilling before thebarracks at Piershill. He raced on ahead and swam out to scatter thefleet of swan sailing or the blue mirror of Duddingston Loch. 

The tired boys lay blissfully up the sunny side of Arthur's Seat ina thicket of hazel while Geordie carried out a daring plan for whichprivacy was needed. Bobby was solemnly arraigned before a court on thecharge of being a seditious Covenanting meenister, and was required totake the oath of loyalty to English King and Church on pain of beinghanged in the Grassmarket. The oath had been duly written out on paperand greased with mutton tallow to make it more palatable. Bobby lickedthe fat off with relish. Then he took the paper between his sharp littleteeth and merrily tore it to shreds. And, having finished it, he barkedcheerful defiance at the court. The lads came near rolling down theslope with laughter, and they gave three cheers for the little hero. Sandy remarked, "Ye wadna think, noo, sic a sonsie doggie wad be leevin'i' the murky auld kirkyaird. "

Bobby had learned the lay of the tipped-up and scooped-out and jumbledauld toon, and he led the way homeward along the southern outskirts ofthe city. He turned up Nicolson Street, that ran northward, past theUniversity and the old infirmary. To get into Greyfriars Place from theeast at that time one had to descend to the Cowgate and climb out again. Bobby darted down the first of the narrow wynds. 

Suddenly he turned 'round and 'round in bewilderment, then shot througha sculptured door way, into a well-like court, and up a flight of stonestairs. The slamming of a shutter overhead shocked him to a standstillon the landing and sent him dropping slowly down again. What memoriessurged back to his little brain, what grief gripped his heart, as hestood trembling on a certain spot in the pavement where once a long dealbox had rested!

"What ails the bittie dog?" There was something here that sobered thethoughtless boys. "Come awa', Bobby!"

At that he came obediently enough. But he trotted down the verymiddle of the wynd, head and tail low, and turned unheeding into theSaturday-evening roar of the Cowgate. He refused to follow them upthe rise between St. Magdalen's Chapel and the eastern parapet of thebridge, but kept to his way under the middle arch into the Grassmarket. By way of Candlemakers Row he gained the kirkyard gate, and when thewicket was opened he disappeared around the church. When Bobby failedto answer calls, Mr. Brown grumbled, but went after him. The little dogsubmitted to his vigorous scrubbing and grooming, but he refused hissupper. Without a look or a wag of the tail he was gone again. 

"Noo, what hae ye done to'im? He's no' like 'is ainsel' ava. "

They had done nothing, indeed. They could only relate Bobby's strangebehavior in College Wynd and the rest of the way home. Mistress Jeanienodded her head, with the wisdom of women that is of the heart. 

"Eh, Jamie, that wad be whaur 'is maister deed sax months syne. " Andhaving said it she slipped down the slope with her knitting and sat onthe mound beside the mourning little dog. 

When the awe-struck lads asked for the story Mr. Brown shook his head. "Ye spier Maister Traill. He kens a' aboot it; an' syne he can talk likea beuk. "

Before they left the kirkyard the laddies walked down to Auld Jock'sgrave and patted Bobby on the head, and they went away thoughtfully totheir scattered homes. 

As on that first morning when his grief was new, Bobby woke to aCalvinistic Sabbath. There were no rattling carts or hawkers cryingtheir wares. Steeped in sunshine, the Castle loomed golden into theblue. Tenement dwellers slept late, and then moved about quietly. Children with unwontedly clean faces came out to galleries and stairs tostudy their catechisms. Only the birds were unaware of the seventh day, and went about their melodious business; and flower buds opened to thesun. 

In mid-morning there suddenly broke on the sweet stillness that clamorof discordant bells that made the wayfarer in Edinburgh stop his ears. All the way from Leith Harbor to the Burghmuir eight score of warringbells contended to be heard. Greyfriars alone was silent in thatbabblement, for it had lost tower and bell in an explosion of gunpowder. And when the din ceased at last there was a sound of military music. TheCastle gates swung wide, and a kilted regiment marched down HighStreet playing "God Save the Queen. " When Bobby was in good spirits themarching music got into his legs and set him to dancing scandalously. The caretaker and his wifie always came around the kirk on pleasantmornings to see the bonny sight of the gay soldiers going to church. 

To wee Bobby these good, comfortable, everyday friends of his must haveseemed strange in their black garments and their serious Sunday faces. And, ah! the Sabbath must, indeed, have been a dull day to the littledog. He had learned that when the earliest comer clicked the wicket hemust go under the table-tomb and console himself with the extra bonethat Mr. Traill never failed to remember. With an hour's respite fordinner at the lodge, between the morning and afternoon services, he laythere all day. The restaurant was closed, and there was no running aboutfor good dogs. In the early dark of winter he could come out and trotquietly about the silent, deserted place. 

As soon as the crocuses pushed their green noses through the earth inthe spring the congregation began to linger among the graves, for tosee an old burying ground renew its life is a peculiar promise of theresurrection. By midsummer visitors were coming from afar, some evenfrom over-sea, to read the quaint inscriptions on the old tombs, or tolay tributes of flowers on the graves of poets and religious heroes. Itwas not until the late end of such a day that Bobby could come out ofhiding to stretch his cramped legs. Then it was that tenement childrendropped from low windows, over the tombs, and ate their suppers of oatcake there in the fading light. 

When Mr. Traill left the kirkyard in the bright evening of the lastSunday in May he stopped without to wait for Dr. Lee, the minister ofGreyfriars auld kirk, who had been behind him to the gate. Now he wasnowhere to be seen. With Bobby ever in the background of his mind, atsuch times of possible discovery, Mr. Traill reentered the kirkyard. The minister was sitting on the fallen slab, tall silk hat off, with Mr. Brown standing beside him, uncovered and miserable of aspect, and Bobbylooking up anxiously at this new element in his fate. 

"Do you think it seemly for a dog to be living in the churchyard, Mr. Brown?" The minister's voice was merely kind and inquiring, but thecaretaker was in fault, and this good English was disconcerting. However, his conscience acquitted him of moral wrong, and his sturdyScotch independence came to the rescue. 

"Gin a bit dog, wha hands 'is gab, isna seemly, thae pussies are thedeil's ain bairns. "

The minister lifted his hand in rebuke. "Remember the Sabbath Day. And Isee no cats, Mr. Brown. "

"Ye wullna see ony as lang as the wee doggie is leevin' i' thekirkyaird. An' the vermin hae sneekit awa' the first time sin' QueenMary's day. An' syne there's mair singin' birdies than for mony a year. "

Mr. Traill had listened, unseen. Now he came forward with a gaychallenge in broad Scotch to put the all but routed caretaker at hisease. 

"Doctor, I hae a queistion to spier ye. Which is mair unseemly: aweel-behavin' bittie tyke i' the kirkyaird or a scandalous organ i' thekirk?"

"Ah, Mr. Traill, I'm afraid you're a sad, irreverent young dog yourself, sir. " The minister broke into a genial laugh. "Man, you've spoiled a bitof fun I was having with Mr. Brown, who takes his duties 'sairiously. "'He sat looking down at the little dog until Bobby came up to him andstood confidingly under his caressing hand. Then he added: "I havesuspected for some months that he was living in the churchyard. It istruly remarkable that an active, noisy little Skye could keep so stillabout it. "

At that Mr. Brown retreated to the martyrs' monument to meditate onthe unministerial behavior of this minister and professor of Biblicalcriticism in the University. Mr. Traill, however, sat himself downon the slab for a pleasant probing into the soul of this courageousdominie, who had long been under fire for his innovations in the kirkservices. 

"I heard of Bobby first early in the winter, from a Bible-reader at theMedical Mission in the Cowgate, who saw the little dog's master buried. He sees many strange, sad things in his work, but nothing ever shockedhim so as the lonely death of that pious old shepherd in such apicturesque den of vice and misery. "

"Ay, he went from my place, fair ill, into the storm. I never knew whaurthe auld man died. "

The minister looked at Mr. Traill, struck by the note of remorse in histone. 

"The missionary returned to the churchyard to look for the dog that hadrefused to leave the grave. He concluded that Bobby had gone away toa new home and master, as most dogs do go sooner or later. Some weeksafterward the minister of a small church in the hills inquired for himand insisted that he was still here. This last week, at the GeneralAssembly, I heard of the wee Highlander from several sources. The talesof his escapes from the sheep-farm have grown into a sort of Odyssey ofthe Pentlands. I think, perhaps, if you had not continued to feed him, Mr. Traill, he might have remained at his old home. "

"Nae, I'm no' thinking so, and I was no' willing to risk the starvationof the bonny, leal Highlander. "

Until the stars came out Mr. Traill sat there telling the story. Atmention of his master's name Bobby returned to the mound and stretchedhimself across it. "I will go before the kirk officers, Doctor Lee, and tak' full responseebility. Mr. Brown is no' to blame. It would havetak'n a man with a heart of trap-rock to have turned the woeful bit dogout. "

"He is well cared for and is of a hardy breed, so he is not likely tosuffer; but a dog, no more than a man, cannot live on bread alone. Hisheart hungers for love. "

"Losh!" cried Mr. Brown. "Are ye thinkin' he isna gettin' it? Oor bairnsare a' oot o' the hame nest, an' ma woman, Jeanie, is fair daft abootBobby, aye thinkin' he'll tak' the measles. An' syne, there's a' thetenement bairns cryin' oot on 'im ilka meenit, an' ane crippled laddiehe een lets fondle 'im. "

"Still, it would be better if he belonged to some one master. Everybody's dog is nobody's dog, " the minister insisted. "I wish youcould attach him to you, Mr. Traill. "

"Ay, it's a disappointment to me that he'll no' bide with me. Perhaps, in time--"

"It's nae use, ava, " Mr. Brown interrupted, and he related the incidentof the evening before. "He's cheerfu' eneugh maist o' the time, an'likes to be wi' the laddies as weel as ony dog, but he isna forgettin'Auld Jock. The wee doggie cam' again to 'is maister's buryin'. Man, yene'er saw the like o' it. The wifie found 'im flattened oot to a furrydoor-mat, an' greetin' to brak 'is heart. "

"It's a remarkable story; and he's a beautiful little dog, and a lealone. " The minister stooped and patted Bobby, and he was thoughtful allthe way to the gate. 

"The matter need not be brought up in any formal way. I will speakto the elders and deacons about it privately, and refer those wantingdetails to you, Mr. Traill. Mr. Brown, " he called to the caretaker whostood in the lodge door, "it cannot be pleasing to God to see the littlecreature restrained. Give Bobby his liberty on the Sabbath. "

VIII. 

It was more than eight years after Auld Jock fled from the threat of adoctor that Mr. Traill's prediction, that his tongue would get him intotrouble with the magistrates, was fulfilled; and then it was because ofthe least-considered slip in speaking to a boyhood friend who happenedto be a Burgh policeman. 

Many things had tried the landlord of Ye Olde Greyfriars Dining-Rooms. After a series of soft April days, in which lilacs budded and birds sangin the kirkyard, squalls of wind and rain came up out of the sea-roaringeast. The smoky old town of Edinburgh was so shaken and beaten upon andicily drenched that rattling finials and tiles were torn from ancientgables and whirled abroad. Rheumatic pains were driven into the jointsof the elderly. Mr. Brown took to his bed in the lodge, and Mr. Traillwas touchy in his temper. 

A sensitive little dog learns to read the human barometer with a degreeof accuracy rarely attained by fellowmen and, in times of low pressure, wisely effaces himself. His rough thatch streaming, Bobby trotted inblithely for his dinner, ate it under the settle, shook himself dry, anddozed half the afternoon. 

To the casual observer the wee terrier was no older than when his masterdied. As swift of foot and as sound of wind as he had ever been, hecould tear across country at the heels of a new generation of Heriotladdies and be as fresh as a daisy at nightfall. Silvery gray all over, the whitening hairs on his face and tufted feet were not visible. Hishazel-brown eyes were still as bright and soft and deep as the sunniestpools of Leith Water. It was only when he opened his mouth for a tiny, pink cavern of a yawn that the points of his teeth could be seen to bewearing down; and his after-dinner nap was more prolonged than of old. At such times Mr. Traill recalled that the longest life of a dog is nomore than a fifth of the length of days allotted to man. 

On that snarling April day, when only himself and the flossy ball ofsleeping Skye were in the place, this thought added to Mr. Traill'sdiscontent. There had been few guests. Those who had come in, soaked andsurly, ate their dinner in silence and discomfort and took themselvesaway, leaving the freshly scrubbed floor as mucky as a moss-hag on themoor. Late in the afternoon a sergeant, risen from the ranks and cockyabout it, came in and turned himself out of a dripping greatcoat, dapperand dry in his red tunic, pipe-clayed belt, and winking buttons. Heordered tea and toast and Dundee marmalade with an air of gay well-beingthat was no less than a personal affront to a man in Mr. Traill's frameof mind. Trouble brewed with the tea that Ailie Lindsey, a tall lassieof fifteen, but shy and elfish as of old, brought in on a tray from thescullery. 

When this spick-and-span non-commissioned officer demanded Mr. Traill'sprice for the little dog that took his eye, the landlord replied curtlythat Bobby was not for sale. The soldier was insolently amused. 

"That's vera surprisin'. I aye thoucht an Edinburgh shopkeeper wad sellilka thing he had, an' tak' the siller to bed wi' 'im to keep 'im snugthe nicht. "

Mr. Traill returned, with brief sarcasm, that "his lairdship" had beenmisinformed. 

"Why wull ye no' sell the bit dog?" the man insisted. 

The badgered landlord turned upon him and answered at length, after theelaborate manner of a minister who lays his sermon off in sections, "First: he's no' my dog to sell. Second: he's a dog of rarediscreemination, and is no' like to tak' you for a master. Third: yousoldiers aye have with you a special brand of shulling-a-day impudence. And, fourth and last, my brither: I'm no' needing your siller, and I canmanage to do fair weel without your conversation. "

As this bombardment proceeded, the sergeant's jaw dropped. When it wasfinished he laughed heartily and slapped his knee. "Man, come an' brakbread wi' me or I'll hae to brak yer stiff neck. "

A truce was declared over a cozy pot of tea, and the two became atleast temporary friends. It was such a day that the landlord would havegossiped with a gaol bird; and when a soldier who has seen years ofservice, much of it in strange lands, once admits a shopkeeper toequality, he can be affable and entertaining "by the ordinar'. " Mr. Traill sketched Bobby's story broadly, and to a sympathetic listener;and the soldier told the landlord of the animals that had lived and diedin the Castle. 

Parrots and monkeys and strange dogs and cats had been brought there byregiments returning from foreign countries and colonies. But most of thepets had been native dogs--collies, spaniels and terriers, and animalsof mixed breeds and of no breed at all, but just good dogs. No one knewwhen the custom began, but there was an old and well-filled cemeteryfor the Castle pets. When a dog died a little stone was set up, withthe name of the animal and the regiment to which it had belonged on it. Soldiers often went there among the tiny mounds and told stories of thevirtues and taking ways of old favorites. And visitors read the names ofFlora and Guy and Dandie, of Prince Charlie and Rob Roy, of Jeanie andBruce and Wattie. It was a merry life for a dog in the Castle. Hewas petted and spoiled by homesick men, and when he died there were athousand mourners at his funeral. 

"Put it to the bit Skye noo. If he tak's the Queen's shullin' he belongsto the army. " The sergeant flipped a coin before Bobby, who was wagginghis tail and sniffing at the military boots with his ever livelyinterest in soldiers. 

He looked up at the tossed coin indifferently, and when it fell to thefloor he let it lie. "Siller" has no meaning to a dog. His love can bepurchased with nothing less than his chosen master's heart. The soldiersighed at Bobby's indifference. He introduced himself as Sergeant Scott, of the Royal Engineers, detailed from headquarters to direct the workin the Castle crafts shops. Engineers rank high in pay and inconsideration, and it was no ordinary Jack of all trades who had expertknowledge of so many skilled handicrafts. Mr. Traill's respect andliking for the man increased with the passing moments. 

As the sergeant departed he warned Mr. Traill, laughingly, that he meantto kidnap Bobby the very first chance he got. The Castle pet had died, and Bobby was altogether too good a dog to be wasted on a moldy auldkirkyard and thrown on a dust-cart when he came to die. 

Mr. Traill resented the imputation. "He'll no' be thrown on adust-cart!"

The door was shut on the mocking retort "Hoo do ye ken he wullna?"

And there was food for gloomy reflection. The landlord could not know, in truth, what Bobby's ultimate fate might be. But little over nineyears of age, he should live only five or six years longer at most. Ofhis friends, Mr. Brown was ill and aging, and might have to give placeto a younger man. He himself was in his prime, but he could not becertain of living longer than this hardy little dog. For the firsttime he realized the truth of Dr. Lee's saying that everybody's dog wasnobody's dog. The tenement children held Bobby in a sort of communityaffection. He was the special pet of the Heriot laddies, but a class wassent into the world every year and was scattered far. Not one of all thehundreds of bairns who had known and loved this little dog could givehim any real care or protection. 

For the rest, Bobby had remained almost unknown. Many of thecongregations of old and new Greyfriars had never seen or heard of him. When strangers were about he seemed to prefer lying in his retreat underthe fallen tomb. His Sunday-afternoon naps he usually took in the lodgekitchen. And so, it might very well happen that his old age would befriendless, that he would come to some forlorn end, and be carried awayon the dustman's cart. It might, indeed, be better for him to endhis days in love and honor in the Castle. But to this solution of theproblem Mr. Traill himself was not reconciled. 

Sensing some shifting of the winds in the man's soul, Bobby trotted overto lick his hand. Then he sat up on the hearth and lolled his tongue, reminding the good landlord that he had one cheerful friend to bear himcompany on the blaw-weary day. It was thus they sat, companionably, when a Burgh policeman who was well known to Mr. Traill came in todry himself by the fire. Gloomy thoughts were dispelled at once by theinstinct of hospitality. 

"You're fair wet, man. Pull a chair to the hearth. And you have a bitsmut on your nose, Davie. "

"It's frae the railway engine. Edinburgh was a reekie toon eneughafore the engines cam' in an' belched smuts in ilka body's faces. " Thepoliceman was disgusted and discouraged by three days of wet clothing, and he would have to go out into the rain again before he got dry. Nothing occurred to him to talk about but grievances. 

"Did ye ken the Laird Provost, Maister Chambers, is intendin' to knocka lang hole aboon the tap o' the Coogate wynds? It wull mak' a braidstreet ye can leuk doon frae yer doorway here. The gude auld daysgangin' doon in a muckle dust!"

"Ay, the sun will peep into foul places it hasn't seen sin' Queen Mary'sday. And, Davie, it would be more according to the gude auld customsyou're so fond of to call Mr. William Chambers 'Glenormiston' for hisbit country place. "

"He's no' a laird. "

"Nae; but he'll be a laird the next time the Queen shows her bonny facenorth o' the Tweed. Tak' 'a cup o' kindness' with me, man. Hot tay willtak' the cauld out of vour disposeetion. " Mr. Traill pulled a bell-cordand Ailie, unused as yet to bells, put her startled little face in atthe door to the scullery. At sight of the policeman she looked more thanever like a scared rabbit, and her hands shook when she set the traydown before him. A tenement child grew up in an atmosphere of hostilityto uniformed authority, which seldom appeared except to interfere withwhat were considered personal affairs. 

The tea mollified the dour man, but there was one more rumbling. "I'mno' denyin' the Provost's gude-hearted. Ance he got up a hame forgaen-aboot dogs, an' he had naethin' to mak' by that. But he canna keep'is spoon oot o' ilka body's porridge. He's fair daft to tear doon thewa's that cut St. Giles up into fower, snod, white kirks, an' mak' itthe ane muckle kirk it was in auld Papist days. There are folk that say, gin he doesna leuk oot, anither kale wifie wull be throwin' a bit stoolat 'is meddlin' heid. "

"Eh, nae doubt. There's aye a plentifu' supply o' fules in the warld. "

Seeing his good friend so well entertained, and needing his society nolonger, Bobby got up, wagged his tail in farewell, and started towardthe door. Mr. Traill summoned the little maid and spoke to her kindly:"Give Bobby a bone, lassie, and then open the door for him. "

In carrying out these instructions Ailie gave the policeman as wideleeway as possible and kept a wary eye upon him. The officer's dutieswere chiefly up on High Street. He seldom crossed the bridge, and ithappened that he had never seen Bobby before. Just by way of makingconversation he remarked, "I didna ken ye had a dog, John. "

Ailie stopped stock still, the cups on the tray she was taking outtinkling from her agitation. It was thus policemen spoke at privatedoors in the dark tenements: "I didna ken ye had the smallpox. " ButMr. Traill seemed in no way alarmed. He answered with easy indulgence"That's no' surprising. There's mony a thing you dinna ken, Davie. "

The landlord forgot the matter at once, but Ailie did not, for she sawthe officer flush darkly and, having no answer ready, go out in silence. In truth, the good-humored sarcasm rankled in the policeman's breast. Anhour later he suddenly came to a standstill below the clock tower of theTron kirk on High Street, and he chuckled. 

"Eh, John Traill. Ye're unco' weel furnished i' the heid, but there'sane or twa things ye dinna ken yer ainsel'. "

Entirely taken up with his brilliant idea, he lost no time in putting itto work. He dodged among the standing cabs and around the buttresses ofSt. Giles that projected into the thoroughfare. In the mid-centurythere was a police office in the middle of the front of the historic oldcathedral that had then fallen to its lowest ebb of fortune. There theofficer reported a matter that was strictly within the line of his duty. 

Very early the next morning he was standing before the door of Mr. Traill's place, in the fitful sunshine of clearing skies, when thelandlord appeared to begin the business of the day. 

"Are ye Maister John Traill?"

"Havers, Davie! What ails you, man? You know my name as weel as you knowyour ain. "

"It's juist a formality o' the law to mak' ye admit yer identity. Here'sa bit paper for ye. " He thrust an official-looking document into Mr. Traill's hand and took himself away across the bridge, fair satisfiedwith his conduct of an affair of subtlety. 

It required five minutes for Mr. Traill to take in the import of thelegal form. Then a wrathful explosion vented itself on the unruly keythat persisted in dodging the keyhole. But once within he read thepaper again, put it away thoughtfully in an inner pocket, and outwardlysubsided to his ordinary aspect. He despatched the business of the daywith unusual attention to details and courtesy to guests, and when, inmid afternoon, the place was empty, he followed Bobby to the kirkyardand inquired at the lodge if he could see Mr. Brown. 

"He isna so ill, noo, Maister Traill, but I wadna advise ye to haemuckle to say to 'im. " Mistress Jeanie wore the arch look of the wifiewho is somewhat amused by a convalescent husband's ill humors. "Thepains grupped 'im sair, an' noo that he's easier he'd see us a' hangedwi' pleesure. Is it onything by the ordinar'?"

"Nae. It's just a sma' matter I can attend to my ainsel'. Do you thinkhe could be out the morn?"

"No' afore a week or twa, an' syne, gin the bonny sun comes oot to bidea wee. "

Mr. Traill left the kirkyard and went out to George Square to call uponthe minister of Greyfriars auld kirk. The errand was unfruitful, and hewas back in ten minutes, to spend the evening alone, without even theconsolation of Bobby's company, for the little dog was unhappy outsidethe kirkyard after sunset. And he took an unsettling thought to bed withhim. 

Here was a pretty kettle of fish, indeed, for a respected member of akirk and middle-aged business man to fry in. Through the legal verbiageMr. Traill made out that he was summoned to appear before whatevermagistrate happened to be sitting on the morrow in the Burgh court, toanswer to the charge of owning, or harboring, one dog, upon which he hadnot paid the license tax of seven shillings. 

For all its absurdity it was no laughing matter. The municipal court ofEdinburgh was of far greater dignity than the ordinary justice courtof the United Kingdom and of America. The civic bench was occupied, inturn, by no less a personage than the Lord Provost as chief, and byfive other magistrates elected by the Burgh council from among its ownmembership. Men of standing in business, legal and University circles, considered it an honor and a duty to bring their knowledge andresponsibility to bear on the pettiest police cases. 

It was morning before Mr. Traill had the glimmer of an idea to take withhim on this unlucky business. An hour before the opening of court hecrossed the bridge into High Street, which was then as picturesquelyGothic and decaying and overpopulated as the Cowgate, but high-set, wind-swept and sun-searched, all the way up the sloping mile fromHolyrood Palace to the Castle. The ridge fell away steeply, throughrifts of wynds and closes, to the Cowgate ravine on the one hand, and toPrinces Street's parked valley on the other. Mr. Traill turned into thenarrow descent of Warriston Close. Little more than a crevice in theprecipice of tall, old buildings, on it fronted a business house whosefirm name was known wherever the English language was read: "W. And R. Chambers, Publishers. "

From top to bottom the place was gas-lit, even on a sunny springmorning, and it hummed and clattered with printing-presses. No one wasin the little anteroom to the editorial offices beside a young clerk, but at sight of a red-headed, freckle-faced Heriot laddie of Bobby'spuppyhood days Mr. Traill's spirits rose. 

"A gude day to you, Sandy McGregor; and whaur's your auld twinconspirator, Geordie Ross?"

"He's a student in the Medical College, Mr. Traill. He went by thismeenit to the Botanical Garden for herbs my grandmither has aye knownwithout books. " Sandy grinned in appreciation of this foolishness, but he added, with Scotch shrewdness, "It's gude for the book-prentingbeesiness. "

"It is so, " the landlord agreed, heartily. "But you must no' beforgetting that the Chambers brothers war book readers and sellersbefore they war publishers. You are weel set up in life, laddie, andHeriot's has pulled the warst of the burrs from your tongue. I'm wantingto see Glenormiston. "

"Mr. William Chambers is no' in. Mr. Robert is aye in, but he's no'liking to be fashed about sma' things. "

"I'll no' trouble him. It's the Lord Provost I'm wanting, on ofeecialbeesiness. " He requested Sandy to ask Glenormiston, if he came in, tocome over to the Burgh court and spier for Mr. Traill. 

"It's no' his day to sit as magistrate, and he's no' like to go unlessit's a fair sairious matter. "

"Ay, it is, laddie. It's a matter of life and death, I'm thinking!"He smiled grimly, as it entered his head that he might be driven to doviolence to that meddling policeman. The yellow gas-light gave his facesuch a sardonic aspect that Sandy turned pale. 

"Wha's death, man?"

Mr. Traill kept his own counsel, but at the door he turned: "You'll no'be remembering the bittie terrier that lived in the kirkyard?"

The light of boyhood days broke in Sandy's grin. "Ay, I'll no' beforgetting the sonsie tyke. He was a deil of a dog to tak' on a holiday. Is he still faithfu' to his dead master?"

"He is that; and for his faithfu'ness he's like to be dead himsel'. Thepolice are takin' up masterless dogs an' putting them out o' the way. I'll mak' a gude fight for Bobby in the Burgh court. "

"I'll fight with you, man. " The spirit of the McGregor clan, thoughmuch diluted and subdued by town living, brought Sandy down from athree-legged stool. He called another clerk to take his place, and madeoff to find the Lord Provost, powerful friend of hameless dogs. Mr. Traill hastened down to the Royal Exchange, below St. Giles and on thenorthern side of High Street. 

Less than a century old, this municipal building was modern amongancient rookeries. To High Street it presented a classic front offour stories, recessed by flanking wings, around three sides of aquadrangular courtyard. Near the entrance there was a row of barbershops and coffee-rooms. Any one having business with the city officeswent through a corridor between these places of small trade to thestairway court behind them. On the floor above, one had to inquire ofsome uniformed attendant in which of the oaken, ante-roomed halls theBurgh court was sitting. And by the time one got there all the pride ofcivic history of the ancient royal Burgh, as set forth in portrait andstatue and a museum of antiquities, was apt to take the lime out ofthe backbone of a man less courageous than Mr. Traill. What a car ofjuggernaut to roll over one, small, masterless terrier!

But presently the landlord found himself on his feet, and not so ill atease. A Scottish court, high or low, civil or criminal, had a flavor allits own. Law points were threshed over with gusto, but counsel, client, and witness gained many a point by ready wit, and there was no lack ofdry humor from the bench. About the Burgh court, for all its statelysetting, there was little formality. The magistrate of the day satbehind a tall desk, with a clerk of record at his elbow, and the officergave his testimony briefly: Edinburgh being quite overrun by stray andunlicensed dogs, orders had recently been given the Burgh police toreport such animals. In Mr. Traill's place he had seen a small terrierthat appeared to be at home there; and, indeed, on the dog's going out, Mr. Traill had called a servant lassie to fetch a bone, and to open thedoor for him. He noticed that the animal wore no collar, and felt it hisduty to report the matter. 

By the time Mr. Traill was called to answer to the charge a number ofcurious idlers had gathered on the back benches. He admitted his nameand address, but denied that he either owned or was harboring a dog. The magistrate fixed a cold eye upon him, and asked if he meant tocontradict the testimony of the officer. 

"Nae, your Honor; and he might have seen the same thing ony week-day ofthe past eight and a half years. But the bit terrier is no' my aindog. " Suddenly, the memory of the stormy night, the sick old man and thepathos of his renunciation of the only beating heart in the world thatloved him--"Bobby isna ma ain dog!" swept over the remorseful landlord. He was filled with a fierce championship of the wee Highlander, whoseloyalty to that dead master had brought him to this strait. 

To the magistrate Mr. Traill's tossed-up head had the effect ofdefiance, and brought a sharp rebuke. "Don't split hairs, Mr. Traill. You are wasting the time of the court. You admit feeding the dog. Who ishis master and where does he sleep?"

"His master is in his grave in auld Greyfriars kirkyard, and the dog hasaye slept there on the mound. "

The magistrate leaned over his desk. "Man, no dog could sleep in theopen for one winter in this climate. Are you fond of romancing, Mr. Traill?"

"No' so overfond, your Honor. The dog is of the subarctic breed of Skyeterriers, the kind with a thick under-jacket of fleece, and a weatherthatch that turns rain like a crofter's cottage roof. "

"There should be witnesses to such an extraordinary story. The dog couldnot have lived in this strictly guarded churchyard without theconsent of those in authority. " The magistrate was plainly annoyed andskeptical, and Mr. Traill felt the sting of it. 

"Ay, the caretaker has been his gude friend, but Mr. Brown is illof rheumatism, and can no' come out. Nae doubt, if necessary, hisdeposeetion could be tak'n. Permission for the bit dog to live in thekirkyard was given by the meenister of Greyfriars auld kirk, but DoctorLee is in failing health and has gone to the south of France. Thetenement children and the Heriot laddies have aye made a pet of Bobby, but they would no' be competent witnesses. "

"You should have counsel. There are some legal difficulties here. "

"I'm no' needing a lawyer. The law in sic a matter can no' be socomplicated, and I have a tongue in my ain head that has aye servedme, your Honor. " The magistrate smiled, and the spectators moved to thenearer benches to enjoy this racy man. The room began to fill by thatkind of telepathy that causes crowds to gather around the human drama. One man stood, unnoticed, in the doorway. Mr. Traill went on, quietly:"If the court permits me to do so, I shall be glad to pay for Bobby'slicense, but I'm thinking that carries responsibeelity for the bit dog. "

"You are quite right, Mr. Traill. You would have to assumeresponsibility. Masterless dogs have become a serious nuisance in thecity. "

"I could no' tak' responsibeelity. The dog is no' with me more than acouple of hours out of the twenty-four. I understand that most of histime is spent in the kirkyard, in weel-behaving, usefu' ways, but Icould no' be sure. "

"But why have you fed him for so many years? Was his master a friend?"

"Nae, just a customer, your Honor; a simple auld shepherd who ate hismarket-day dinner in my place. He aye had the bit dog with him, andI was the last man to see the auld body before he went awa' to hismeeserable death in a Cowgate wynd. Bobby came to me, near starved, to be fed, two days after his master's burial. I was tak'n by the weeHighlander's leal spirit. "

And that was all the landlord would say. He had no mind to wear hisheart upon his sleeve for this idle crowd to gape at. 

After a moment the magistrate spoke warmly: "It appears, then, that thepayment of the license could not be accepted from you. Your humanity iscommendable, Mr. Traill, but technically you are in fault. The minimumfine should be imposed and remitted. "

At this utterly unlooked-for conclusion Mr. Traill seemed to gatherhis lean shoulders together for a spring, and his gray eyes narrowed toblades. 

"With due respect to your Honor, I must tak' an appeal against sic adeceesion, to the Lord Provost and a' the magistrates, and then to theCourt of Sessions. "

"You would get scant attention, Mr. Traill. The higher judiciary havemore important business than reviewing dog cases. You would be laughedout of court. "

The dry tone stung him to instant retort. "And in gude company I'dbe. Fifty years syne Lord Erskine was laughed down in Parliament forproposing to give legal protection to dumb animals. But we're getting abit more ceevilized. "

"Tut, tut, Mr. Traill, you are making far too much of a small matter. "

"It's no' a sma' matter to be entered in the records of the Burgh courtas a petty law-breaker. And if I continued to feed the dog I would be incontempt of court. "

The magistrate was beginning to feel badgered. "The fine carries theinterdiction with it, Mr. Traill, if you are asking for information. "

"It was no' for information, but just to mak' plain my ain line ofconduct. I'm no' intending to abandon the dog. I am commended here formy humanity, but the bit dog I must let starve for a technicality. "Instantly, as the magistrate half rose from the bench, the landlordsaw that he had gone too far, and put the court on the defensive. In aneasy, conversational tone, as if unaware of the point he had scored, he asked if he might address his accuser on a personal matter. "We kneweach other weel as laddies. Davie, when you're in my neeborhood again ona wet day, come in and dry yoursel' by my fire and tak' another cup o'kindness for auld lang syne. You'll be all the better man for a lessonin morals the bit dog can give you: no' to bite the hand that feedsyou. "

The policeman turned purple. A ripple of merriment ran through the room. The magistrate put his hand up to his mouth, and the clerk began to droppens. Before silence was restored a messenger laddie ran up with a notefor the bench. The magistrate read it with a look of relief, and noddedto the man who had been listening from the doorway, but who disappearedat once. 

"The case is ordered continued. The defendant will be given time tosecure witnesses, and notified when to appear. The next case is called. "

Somewhat dazed by this sudden turn, and annoyed by the delayedsettlement of the affair, Mr. Traill hastened from the court-room. As hegained the street he was overtaken by the messenger with a second note. And there was a still more surprising turn that sent the landlord off upswarming High Street, across the bridge, and on to his snug little placeof business, with the face and the heart of a school-boy. When Bobby, draggled by three days of wet weather, came in for his dinner, Mr. Traill scanned him critically and in some perplexity. At the end ofthe day's work, as Ailie was dropping her quaint curtsy and giving heradored employer a shy "gude nicht, " he had a sudden thought that madehim call her back. 

"Did you ever give a bit dog a washing, lassie?"

"Ye mean Bobby, Maister Traill? Nae, I didna. " Her eyes sparkled. "ButTammy's hauded 'im for Maister Brown, an' he says it's sonsie to gie thebonny wee a washin'. "

"Weel, Mr. Brown is fair ill, and there has been foul weather. Bobby'sgetting to look like a poor 'gaen aboot' dog. Have him at the kirkyardgate at a quarter to eight o'clock the morn looking like a leddy's petand I'll dance a Highland fling at your wedding. "

"Are ye gangin' to tak' Bobby on a picnic, Maister Traill?"

He answered with a mock solemnity and a twinkle in his eyes thatmystified the little maid. "Nae, lassie; I'm going to tak' him to ameeting in a braw kirk. "

IX

When Ailie wanted to get up unusually early in the morning she madeuse of Tammy for an alarm-clock. A crippled laddie who must "mak''is leevin' wi' 'is heid" can waste no moment of daylight, and in theancient buildings around Greyfriars the maximum of daylight was to behad only by those able and willing to climb to the gables. Tammy, havingto live on the lowest, darkest floor of all, used the kirkyard for astudy, by special indulgence of the caretaker, whenever the weatherpermitted. 

From a window he dropped his books and his crutches over the wall. Then, by clasping his arms around a broken shaft that blocked the casement, heswung himself out, and scrambled down into an enclosed vault yard. There he kept hidden Mistress Jeanie's milking stool for a seat; and atable-tomb served as well, for the laddie to do his sums upon, as ithad for the tearful signing of the Covenant more than two hundredyears before. Bobby, as host, greeted Tammy with cordial friskings andwaggings, saw him settled to his tasks, and then went briskly about hisown interrupted business of searching out marauders. Many a spring dawnthe quiet little boy and the swift and silent little dog had the shadowygarden all to themselves, and it was for them the song-thrushes andskylarks gave their choicest concerts. 

On that mid-April morning, when the rising sun gilded the Castle turretsand flashed back from the many beautiful windows of Heriot's Hospital, Tammy bundled his books under the table-tomb of Mistress Jean Grant, went over to the rear of the Guildhall at the top of the Row, and threwa handful of gravel up to Ailie's window. Because of a grandmither, Ailie, too, dwelt on a low level. Her eager little face, lighted bysleep-dazzled blue eyes, popped out with the surprising suddenness ofthe manikins in a Punch-and-Judy show. 

"In juist ane meenit, Tammy, " she whispered, "no' to wauken thegrandmither. " It was in so very short a minute that the lassie climbedout onto the classic pediment of a tomb and dropped into the kirkyardthat her toilet was uncompleted. Tammy buttoned her washed-out cottongown at the back, and she sat on a slab to lace her shoes. If the funof giving Bobby his bath was to be enjoyed to the full there must be nounnecessary delay. This consideration led Tammy to observe:

"Ye're no' needin' to comb yer hair, Ailie. It leuks bonny eneugh. "

In truth, Ailie was one of those fortunate lassies whose crinkly, gold-brown mop really looked best when in some disorder; and of thatadvantage the little maid was well aware. 

"I ken a' that, Tammy. I aye gie it a lick or twa wi' a comb the nichtafore. Ca' the wee doggie. "

Bobby fully understood that he was wanted for some serious purpose, butit was a fresh morning of dew and he, apparently, was in the highest ofspirits. So he gave Ailie a chase over the sparkling grass and under theshowery shrubbery. When he dropped at last on Auld Jock's graveTammy captured him. The little dog could always be caught there, in acaressable state of exhaustion or meditation, for, sooner or later, hereturned to the spot from every bit of work or play. No one would haveknown it for a place of burial at all. Mr. Brown knew it only by therose bush at its head and by Bobby's haunting it, for the mound hadsunk to the general level of the terrace on which it lay, and spreadingcrocuses poked their purple and gold noses through the crisp springturf. But for the wee, guardian dog the man who lay beneath had longlost what little identity he had ever possessed. 

Now, as the three lay there, the lassie as flushed and damp as somewater-nymph, Bobby panting and submitting to a petting, Tammy took thelittle dog's muzzle between his thin hands, parted the veil, and lookedinto the soft brown eyes. 

"Leak, Ailie, Bobby's wantin' somethin', an' is juist haudin' 'imsel'. "

It was true. For all his gaiety in play and his energy at work Bobby'seyes had ever a patient, wistful look, not unlike the crippled laddie's. Ah, who can say that it did not require as much courage and gallantbravado on the part of that small, bereft creature to enable him to liveat all, as it did for Tammy to face his handicapped life and "no' toremember 'is bad legs"?

In the bath on the rear steps of the lodge Bobby swam and splashed, andscattered foam with his excited tail. He would not stand still to begroomed, but wriggled and twisted and leaped upon the children, puttinghis shaggy wet paws roguishly in their faces. But he stood there atlast, after the jolliest romp, in which the old kirkyard rang withlaughter, and oh! so bonny, in his rippling coat of dark silver. Nosooner was he released than he dashed around the kirk and back again, bringing his latest bone in his mouth. To his scratching on the stonesill, for he had been taught not to scratch on the panel, the doorwas opened by snod and smiling Mistress Jeanie, who invited these slumbairns into such a cozy, spotless kitchen as was not possible in thetenements. Mr. Brown sat by the hearth, bundled in blue and whiteblankets of wonderfully blocked country weaving. Bobby put his fore pawson the caretaker's chair and laid his precious bone in the man's lap. 

"Eh, ye takin' bit rascal; loup!" Bobby jumped to the patted knee, turned around and around on the soft bed that invited him, licked thebeaming old face to show his sympathy and friendliness, and jumped downagain. Mr. Brown sighed because Bobby steadily but amiably refused to beanybody's lap-dog. The caretaker turned to the admiring children. 

"Ilka morn he fetches 'is bit bane up, thinkin' it a braw giftie for anill man. An' syne he veesits me twa times i' the day, juist bidin' awee on the hearthstane, lollin' 'is tongue an' waggin' 'is tail, cheerfu'-like. Bobby has mair gude sense in 'is heid than mony a man whacomes ben the hoose, wi' a lang face, to let me ken I'm gangin' to dee. Gin I keep snug an' canny it wullna gang to the heart. Jeanie, woman, fetch ma fife, wull ye?"

Then there were strange doings in the kirkyard lodge. James Brown "wasnagangin' to dee" before his time came, at any rate. In his youth, asunder-gardener on a Highland estate, he had learned to play the piccoloflute, and lately he had revived the pastoral art of piping just becauseit went so well with Bobby's delighted legs. To the sonsie air of"Bonnie Dundee" Bobby hopped and stepped and louped, and he turnedabout on his hind feet, his shagged fore paws drooped on his breast asdaintily as the hands in the portraits of early Victorian ladies. Thefire burned cheerily in the polished grate, and winked on every shiningthing in the room; primroses bloomed in the diamond-paned casement; theskylark fluttered up and sang in its cage; the fife whistled as gaily asa blackbird, and the little dog danced with a comic clumsiness that madethem all double up with laughter. The place was so full of brightness, and of kind and merry hearts, that there was room for nothing else. Notone of them dreamed that the shadow of the law was even then over thisuseful and lovable little dog's head. 

A glance at the wag-at-the-wa' clock reminded Ailie that Mr. Traillmight be waiting for Bobby. 

Curious about the mystery, the children took the little dog down to thegate, happily. They were sobered, however, when Mr. Traill appeared, looking very grand in his Sabbath clothes. He inspected Bobby all overwith anxious scrutiny, and gave each of the bairns a threepenny-bit, but he had no blithe greeting for them. Much preoccupied, he went off atonce, with the animated little muff of a dog at his heels. In truth, Mr. Traill was thinking about how he might best plead Bobby's cause with theLord Provost. The note that was handed him, on leaving the Burgh courtthe day before, had read:

"Meet me at the Regent's Tomb in St. Giles at eight o'clock in themorning, and bring the wee Highlander with you. --Glenormiston. "

On the first reading the landlord's spirits had risen, out of allproportion to the cause, owing to his previous depression. But, afterall, the appointment had no official character, since the Regent's Tombin St. Giles had long been a sort of town pump for the retailing ofgossip and for the transaction of trifling affairs of all sorts. Thefate of this little dog was a small matter, indeed, and so it might bethought fitting, by the powers that be, that it should be decided at theRegent's Tomb rather than in the Burgh court. 

To the children, who watched from the kirkyard gate until Mr. Traill andBobby were hidden by the buildings on the bridge, it was no' canny. Thebusy landlord lived mostly in shirt-sleeves and big white apron, readyto lend a hand in the rush hours, and he never was known to put onhis black coat and tall hat on a week-day, except to attend a funeral. However, there was the day's work to be done. Tammy had a lessonstill to get, and returned to the kirkyard, and Ailie ran up to thedining-rooms. On the step she collided with a red headed, freckle-facedyoung man who asked for Mr. Traill. 

"He isna here. " The shy lassie was made almost speechless byrecognizing, in this neat, well-spoken clerk, an old Heriot boy, once aspoor as herself. 

"Do you wark for him, lassie? Weel, do you know how he cam' out in theBurgh court about the bit dog?"

There was only one "bit dog" in the world to Ailie. Wild eyed with alarmat mention of the Burgh court, in connection with that beloved littlepet, she stammered: "It's--it's--no' a coort he gaed to. MaisterTraill's tak'n Bobby awa' to a braw kirk. "

Sandy nodded his head. "Ay, that would be the police office in St. Giles. Lassie, tell Mr. Traill I sent the Lord Provost, and if he'sneeding a witness to ca' on Sandy McGregor. "

Ailie stared after him with frightened eyes. Into her mind flashed thatominous remark of the policeman two days before: "I didna ken ye had adog, John?" She overtook Sandy in front of the sheriff's court on thebridge. 

"What--what hae the police to do wi' bittie dogs?"

"If a dog has nae master to pay for his license the police can tak' himup and put him out o' the way. "

"Hoo muckle siller are they wantin'?"

"Seven shullings. Gude day, lassie; I'm fair late. " Sandy was not reallyalarmed about Bobby since the resourceful Mr. Traill had taken uphis cause, and he had no idea of the panic of grief and fright thatoverwhelmed this forlorn child. 

Seven shullings! It was an enormous sum to the tenement bairn, whosehalf-blind grandmither knitted and knitted in a dimly lighted room, andhoarded halfpennies and farthings to save herself from pauper burial. Seven shullings would pay a month's rent for any one of the crowdedrooms in which a family lived. Ailie herself, an untrained lassie whoscarcely knew the use of a toasting-fork, was overpaid by generous Mr. Traill at sixpence a day. Seven shullings to permit one little dog tolive! It did not occur to Ailie that this was a sum Mr. Traill couldeasily pay. No' onybody at all had seven shullings all at once! But, oh!everybody had pennies and halfpennies and farthings, and she and Tammytogether had a sixpence. 

Darting back to the gate, to catch the laddie before he could be off toschool, she ran straight into the policeman, who stood with his hand onthe wicket. He eyed her sharply. 

"Eh, lassie, I was gangin' to spier at the lodge, gin there's a bit dogleevin' i' the kirkyaird. "

"I--I--dinna ken. " Her voice was unmanageable. She had left to her onlythe tenement-bred instinct of concealment of any and all facts from anofficer of the law. 

"Ye dinna ken! Maister Traill said i' the coort a' the bairns abootkenned the dog. Was he leein'?"

The question stung her into angry admission. "He wadna be leein'. But--but--the bittie--dog--isna here noo. "

"Syne, whaur is he? Oot wi' it!"

"I--dinna--ken!" She cowered in abject fear against the wall. She couldnot know that this officer was suffering a bad attack of shame for hisshabby part in the affair. Satisfied that the little dog really didlive in the kirkyard, he turned back to the bridge. When Tammy cameout presently he found Ailie crumpled up in a limp little heap in thegateway alcove. In a moment the tale of Bobby's peril was told. Theladdie dropped his books and his crutches on the pavement, and his headin his helpless arms, and cried. He had small faith in Ailie's suddenlyconceived plan to collect the seven shullings among the dwellers in thetenements. 

"Do ye ken hoo muckle siller seven shullin's wad be? It's auchty-fowerpennies, a hundred an' saxty-aucht ha'pennies an'--an'--I canna thinkhoo mony farthings. "

"I dinna care a bittie bit. There's mair folk aroond the kirkyaird thanthere's farthings i' twa, three times seven shullin's. An' maist ilkabody kens Bobby. An' we hae a saxpence atween us noo. "

"Maister Brown wad gie us anither saxpence gin he had ane, " Tammysuggested, wistfully. 

"Nae, he's fair ill. Gin he doesna keep canny it wull gang to 'is heart. He'd be aff 'is heid, aboot Bobby. Oh, Tammy, Maister Traill gaed togie 'im up! He was wearin' a' 'is gude claes an' a lang face, to gang toBobby's buryin'. "

This dreadful thought spurred them to instant action. By way of mutualencouragement they went together through the sculptured doorway, thatbore the arms of the ancient guild of the candlemakers on the lintel, and into the carting office on the front. 

"Do ye ken Greyfriars Bobby?" Tammy asked, timidly, of the man incharge. 

He glowered at the laddie and shook his head. "Havers, mannie; there'sno' onybody named for an auld buryin' groond. "

The children fled. There was no use at all in wasting time on folk whodid not know Bobby, for it would take too long to explain him. But, alas, they soon discovered that "maist ilka body" did not know thelittle dog, as they had so confidently supposed. He was sure to be knownonly in the rooms at the rear that overlooked the kirkyard, and, as onewent upward, his identity became less and less distinct. He was sucha wee, wee, canny terrier, and so many of the windows had their viewsconstantly shut out by washings. Around the inner courts, where unkemptwomen brought every sort of work out to the light on the galleries andmended worthless rags, gossiped, and nursed their babies on the stairs, Bobby had sometimes been heard of, but almost never seen. Children oftenknew him where their elders did not. By the time Ailie and Tammy hadworked swiftly down to the bottom of the Row other children began tofollow them, moved by the peril of the little dog to sympathy and eagersacrifice. 

"Bide a wee, Ailie!" cried one, running to overtake the lassie. "Here'sa penny. I was gangin' for milk for the porridge. We can do wi'oot theday. "

And there was the money for the broth bone, and the farthing thatwould have filled the gude-man's evening pipe, and the ha'penny for thegrandmither's tea. It was the world-over story of the poor helping thepoor. The progress of Ailie and Tammy through the tenements was likethat of the piper through Hamelin. The children gathered and gathered, and followed at their heels, until a curiously quiet mob of threescoreor more crouched in the court of the old hall of the Knights of St. John, in the Grassmarket, to count the many copper coins in Tammy'swoolen bonnet. 

"Five shullin's, ninepence, an' a ha'penny, " Tammy announced. And then, after calculation on his fingers, "It'll tak' a shullin' an' twapennyha'penny mair. "

There was a gasping breath of bitter disappointment, and one wee laddiewailed for lost Bobby. At that Ailie dashed the tears from her own eyesand sprang up, spurred to desperate effort. She would storm the all buthopeless attic chambers. Up the twisting turnpike stairs on the outerwall she ran, to where the swallows wheeled about the cornices, and shecould hear the iron cross of the Knights Templars creak above the gable. Then, all the way along a dark passage, at one door after another, sheknocked, and cried, "Do ye ken Greyfriars Bobby?"

At some of the doors there was no answer. At others students stared outat the bairn, not in the least comprehending this wild crying. Tears ofanger and despair flooded the little maid's blue eyes when she beat onthe last door of the row with her doubled fist. 

"Do ye ken Greyfriars Bobby? The police are gangin' to mak' 'im bedeid--" As the door was flung open she broke into stormy weeping. 

"Hey, lassie. I know the dog. What fashes you?"

There stood a tall student, a wet towel about his head, and, behindhim, the rafters of the dormer-lighted closet were as thickly hungwith bunches of dried herbs from the Botanical Garden as any auld witchwife's kitchen. 

"Oh, are ye kennin' 'im? Isna he bonny an' sonsie? Gie me the shullin'an' twapenny ha' penny we're needin', so the police wullna put 'imawa'. "

"Losh! It's a license you're wanting? I wish I had as many shullingsas I've had gude times with Bobby, and naething to pay for his brawcompany. "

For this was Geordie Ross, going through the Medical College with thehelp of Heriot's fund that, large as it was, was never quite enoughfor all the poor and ambitious youths of Edinburgh. And so, althoughprovided for in all necessary ways, his pockets were nearly as empty asof old. He could spare a sixpence if he made his dinner on a potato anda smoked herring. That he was very willing to do, once he had heardthe tale, and he went with Ailie to the lodgings of other students, anddemanded their siller with no explanation at all. 

"Give the lassie what you can spare, man, or I'll have to give you alicking, " was his gay and convincing argument, from door to door, untilthe needed amount was made up. Ailie fled recklessly down the stairs, and cried triumphantly to the upward-looking, silent crowd that hadgrown and grown around Tammy, like some host of children crusaders. 

While Ailie and Tammy were collecting the price of his ransom Bobby wasexploring the intricately cut-up interior of old St. Giles, sniffing atthe rifts in flimsily plastered partitions that the Lord Provost pointedout to Mr. Traill. Rats were in those crumbling walls. If there had beena hole big enough to admit him, the plucky little dog would have gonein after them. Forbidden to enlarge one, Bobby could only poke hisindignant muzzle into apertures, and brace himself as for a fray. And, at the very smell of him, there were such squeakings and scamperings inhidden runways as to be almost beyond a terrier's endurance. The LordProvost watched him with an approving eye. 

"When these partitions are tak'n down Bobby would be vera useful inridding our noble old cathedral of vermin. But that will not be in thiswee Highlander's day nor, I fear, in mine. " About the speech of thisPeebles man, who had risen from poverty to distinction, learning, wealth, and many varieties of usefulness, there was still an engagingburr. And his manner was so simple that he put the humblest at his ease. 

There had been no formality about the meeting at all. Glenormiston wasstanding in a rear doorway of the cathedral near the Regent's Tomb, looking out into the sunny square of Parliament Close, when Mr. Trailland Bobby appeared. Near seventy, at that time, a backward sweep ofwhite hair and a downward flow of square-cut, white beard framed aboldly featured face and left a generous mouth uncovered. 

"Gude morning, Mr. Traill. So that is the famous dog that has stoodsentinel for more than eight years. He should be tak'n up to the Castleand shown to young soldiers who grumble at twenty-four hours' guardduty. How do you do, sir!" The great man, whom the Queen knighted later, and whom the University he was too poor to attend as a lad honored witha degree, stooped from the Regent's Tomb and shook Bobby's lifted pawwith grave courtesy. Then, leaving the little dog to entertain himself, he turned easily to his own most absorbing interest of the moment. 

"Do you happen to care for Edinburgh antiquities, Mr. Traill?Reformation piety made sad havoc of art everywhere. Man, come here!"

Down into the lime dust the Lord Provost and the landlord went, in theirgood black clothes, for a glimpse of a bit of sculpturing on a tomb thathad been walled in to make a passage. A loose brick removed, behind andabove it, the sun flashed through fragments of emerald and ruby glassof a saint's robe, in a bricked up window. Such buried and forgottentreasure, Glenormiston explained, filled the entire south transept. Inthe High Kirk, that then filled the eastern end of the cathedral, theywent up a cheap wooden stairway, to the pew-filled gallery that wasbuilt into the old choir, and sat down. Mr. Traill's eyes sparkled. Glenormiston was a man after his own heart, and they were getting alongfamously; but, oh! it began to seem more and more unlikely that a LordProvost, who was concerned about such braw things as the restoration ofthe old cathedral and letting the sun into the ancient tenements, shouldbe much interested in a small, masterless dog. 

"Man, auld John Knox will turn over in his bit grave in Parliament Closeif you put a 'kist o' whustles' in St. Giles. " Mr. Traill laughed. 

"I admit I might have stopped short of the organ but for the courageousexample of Doctor Lee in Greyfriars. It was from him that I had a quiteextravagant account of this wee, leal Highlander a few years ago. I haveaye meant to go to see him; but I'm a busy man and the matter passed outof mind. Mr. Traill, I'm your sadly needed witness: I heard you from thedoorway of the court-room, and I sent up a note confirming your storyand asking, as a courtesy, that the case be turned over to me for someexceptional disposal. Would you mind telling another man the tale thatso moved Doctor Lee? I've aye had a fondness for the human document. "

So there, above the pulpit of the High Kirk of St. Giles, the tale wastold again, so strangely did this little dog's life come to be linkedwith the highest and lowest, the proudest and humblest in the Scottishcapital. Now, at mention of Auld Jock, Bobby put his shagged paws upinquiringly on the edge of the pew, so that Mr. Traill lifted him. Helay down flat between the two men, with his nose on his paws, and hislittle tousled head under the Lord Provost's hand. 

Auld Jock lived again in that recital. Glenormiston, coming from thecountry of the Ettrick shepherd, knew such lonely figures, and thepathos of old age and waning powers that drove them in to the poorquarters of towns. There was pictured the stormy night and the simpleold man who sought food and shelter, with the devoted little dog that"wasna 'is ain. " Sick unto death he was, and full of ignorant prejudicesand fears that needed wise handling. And there was the well-meaninglandlord's blunder, humbly confessed, and the obscure and tragic resultof it, in a foul and swarming rookery "juist aff the Coogate. "

"Man, it was Bobby that told me of his master's condition. He begged meto help Auld Jock, and what did I do but let my fule tongue wag aboutdoctors. I nae more than turned my back than the auld body was awa' tohis meeserable death. It has aye eased my conscience a bit to feed thedog. "

"That's not the only reason why you have fed him. " There was a twinklein the Lord Provost's eye, and Mr. Traill blushed. 

"Weel, I'll admit to you that I'm fair fulish about Bobby. Man, I'vecourted that sma' terrier for eight and a half years. He's as politeand friendly as the deil, but he'll have naething to do with me or withonybody. I wonder the intelligent bit doesn't bite me for the ill turn Idid his master. "

Then there was the story of Bobby's devotion to Auld Jock's memory to betold--the days when he faced starvation rather than desert that grave, the days when he lay cramped under the fallen table-tomb, and hisrepeated, dramatic escapes from the Pentland farm. His never brokensilence in the kirkyard was only to be explained by the unforgottenorders of his dead master. His intelligent effort to make himself usefulto the caretaker had won indulgence. His ready obedience, good temper, high spirits and friendliness had made him the special pet of thetenement children and the Heriot laddies. At the very last Mr. Traillrepeated the talk he had had with the non-commissioned officer from theCastle, and confessed his own fear of some forlorn end for Bobby. It wastrue he was nobody's dog; and he was fascinated by soldiers and militarymusic, and so, perhaps--

"I'll no' be reconciled to parting--Eh, man, that's what Auld Jockhimsel' said when he was telling me that the bit dog must be returned tothe sheep-farm: 'It wull be sair partin'. '" Tears stood in the unashamedlandlord's eyes. 

Glenormiston was pulling Bobby's silkily fringed ears thoughtfully. Through all this talk about his dead master the little dog had notstirred. For the second time that day Bobby's veil was pushed back, first by the most unfortunate laddie in the decaying tenements aboutGreyfriars, and now by the Lord Provost of the ancient royal burgh andcapital of Scotland. And both made the same discovery. Deep-brown poolsof love, young Bobby's eyes had dwelt upon Auld Jock. Pools of sadmemories they were now, looking out wistfully and patiently upon amasterless world. 

"Are you thinking he would be reconciled to be anywhere away from thatgrave? Look, man!"

"Lord forgive me! I aye thought the wee doggie happy enough. "

After a moment the two men went down the gallery stairs in silence. Bobby dropped from the bench and fell into a subdued trot at theirheels. As they left the cathedral by the door that led into High StreetGlenormiston remarked, with a mysterious smile:

"I'm thinking Edinburgh can do better by wee Bobby than to banish him tothe Castle. But wait a bit, man. A kirk is not the place for settling asmall dog's affairs. "

The Lord Provost led the way westward along the cathedral's front. OnHigh Street, St. Giles had three doorways. The middle door then gaveadmittance to the police office; the western opened into the LittleKirk, popularly known as Haddo's Hole. It was into this bare, whitewashed chapel that Glenormiston turned to get some restorationdrawings he had left on the pulpit. He was explaining them to Mr. Traillwhen he was interrupted by a murmur and a shuffle, as of many voices andfeet, and an odd tap-tap-tapping in the vestibule. 

Of all the doorways on the north and south fronts of St. Giles the oneto the Little Kirk was nearest the end of George IV Bridge. Confused bythe vast size and imposing architecture of the old cathedral, these slumchildren, in search of the police office, went no farther, but venturedtimidly into the open vestibule of Haddo's Hole. Any doubts they mighthave had about this being the right place were soon dispelled. Bobbyheard them and darted out to investigate. And suddenly they were allinside, overwrought Ailie on the floor, clasping the little dog andcrying hysterically. 

"Bobby's no' deid! Bobby's no' deid! Oh, Maister Traill, ye wullna haeto gie 'im up to the police! Tammy's got the seven shullin's in 'isbonnet!"

And there was small Tammy, crutches dropped and pouring that offeringof love and mercy out at the foot of an altar in old St. Giles. Such anastonishing pile of copper coins it was, that it looked to the landlordlike the loot of some shopkeeper's change drawer. 

"Eh, puir laddie, whaur did ye get it a' noo?" he asked, gravely. 

Tammy was very self-possessed and proud. "The bairnies aroond thekirkyaird gie'd it to pay the police no' to mak' Bobby be deid. "

Mr. Traill flashed a glance at Glenormiston. It was a look at once oftriumph and of humility over the Herculean deed of these disinheritedchildren. But the Lord Provost was gazing at that crowd of pale bairns, products of the Old Town's ancient slums, and feeling, in his ownperson, the civic shame of it. And he was thinking, thinking, that hemust hasten that other project nearest his heart, of knocking holes insolid rows of foul cliffs, in the Cowgate, on High Street, and aroundGreyfriars. It was an incredible thing that such a flower of affectionshould have bloomed so sweetly in such sunless cells. And it was a newgospel, at that time, that a dog or a horse or a bird might have itsmission in this world of making people kinder and happier. 

They were all down on the floor, in the space before the altar, unwashed, uncombed, unconscious of the dirty rags that scarce coveredthem; quite happy and self-forgetful in the charming friskings andfriendly lollings of the well-fed, carefully groomed, beautiful littledog. Ailie, still so excited that she forgot to be shy, put Bobbythrough his pretty tricks. He rolled over and over, he jumped, he dancedto Tammy's whistling of "Bonnie Dundee, " he walked on his hind legs andlouped at a bonnet, he begged, he lifted his short shagged paw and shookhands. Then he sniffed at the heap of coins, looked up inquiringly atMr. Traill, and, concluding that here was some property to be guarded, stood by the "siller" as stanchly as a soldier. It was just purepleasure to watch him. 

Very suddenly the Lord Provost changed his mind. A sacred kirk was thevery best place of all to settle this little dog's affairs. The offeringof these children could not be refused. It should lie there, below thealtar, and be consecrated to some other blessed work; and he would donow and here what he had meant to do elsewhere and in a quite differentway. He lifted Bobby to the pulpit so that all might see him, and hespoke so that all might understand. 

"Are ye kennin' what it is to gie the freedom o' the toon to grandfolk?"

"It's--it's when the bonny Queen comes an' ye gie her the keys to theburgh gates that are no' here ony mair. " Tammy, being in Heriot's, was aladdie of learning. 

"Weel done, laddie. Lang syne there was a wa' aroond Edinburgh wi' gatesin it. " Oh yes, all these bairnies knew that, and the fragment of itthat was still to be seen outside and above the Grassmarket, withits sentry tower by the old west port. "Gin a fey king or ither grandveesitor cam', the Laird Provost an' the maigestrates gied 'im the keysso he could gang in an' oot at 'is pleesure. The wa's are a' doon noo, an' the gates no' here ony mair, but we hae the keys, an' we mak' a showo' gien' 'em to veesitors wha are vera grand or wise or gude, or juistusefu' by the ordinar'. "

"Maister Gladstane, " said Tammy. 

"Ay, we honor the Queen's meenisters; an' Miss Nightingale, wha nursedthe soldiers i' the war; an' Leddy Burdett-Coutts, wha gies a' hersiller an' a' her heart to puir folk an' is aye kind to horses and dogsan' singin' birdies; an' we gie the keys to heroes o' the war whaare brave an' faithfu'. An' noo, there's a wee bit beastie. He'sweel-behavin', an' isna makin' a blatterin' i' an auld kirkyaird. Heaye minds what he's bidden to do. He's cheerfu' an' busy, keepin' theproolin' pussies an' vermin frae the sma' birdies i' the nests. He mak'sfriends o' ilka body, an' he's faithfu'. For a deid man he lo'ed he'sgaun hungry; an' he hasna forgotten 'im or left 'im by 'is lane atnicht for mair years than some o' ye are auld. An' gin ye find 'im lyin'canny, an' ye tak' a keek into 'is bonny brown een, ye can see he's ayegreetin'. An' so, ye didna ken why, but ye a' lo'ed the lanely wee--"

"Bobby!" It was an excited breath of a word from the wide-eyed bairns. 

"Bobby! Havers! A bittie dog wadna ken what to do wi' keys. "

But Glenormiston was smiling, and these sharp witted slum bairnsexchanged knowing glances. "Whaur's that sma'--?" He dived into thispocket and that, making a great pretense of searching, until he found anarrow band of new leather, with holes in one end and a stout buckleon the other, and riveted fast in the middle of it was a shining brassplate. Tammy read the inscription aloud:

 GREYFRIARS BOBBY

 FROM THE LORD PROVOST

 1867 Licensed

The wonderful collar was passed from hand to hand in awed silence. Thechildren stared and stared at this white-haired and bearded man, who"wasna grand ava, " but who talked to them as simply and kindly as agrandfaither. He went right on talking to them in his homely way to putthem at their ease, telling them that nobody at all, not even the bonnyQueen, could be more than kind and well-behaving and faithful to duty. Wee Bobby was all that, and so "Gin dizzens an' dizzens o' bairns warkennin' 'im, an' wad fetch seven shullin's i' their ha'pennies to akirk, they could buy the richt for the braw doggie to be leevin', thecare o' them a', i' the auld kirkyaird o' Greyfriars. An' he maun haethe collar so the police wull ken 'im an' no' ever tak' 'im up for apuir, gaen-aboot dog. "

The children quite understood the responsibility they assumed, and theireyes shone with pride at the feeling that, if more fortunate friendsfailed, this little creature must never be allowed to go hungry. Andwhen he came to die--oh, in a very, very few years, for they mustremember that "a doggie isna as lang-leevin' as folk"--they must notforget that Bobby would not be permitted to be buried in the kirkyard. 

"We'll gie 'im a grand buryin', " said Tammy. "We'll find a green braeby a babblin' burn aneath a snawy hawthorn, whaur the throstle sings an'the blackbird whustles. " For the crippled laddie had never forgotten Mr. Traill's description of a proper picnic, and that must, indeed, be a weedog's heaven. 

"Ay, that wull do fair weel. " The collar had come back to him by thistime, and the Lord Provost buckled it securely about Bobby's neck. 

X. 

The music of bagpipe, fife and drum brought them all out of Haddo's Holeinto High Street. It was the hour of the morning drill, and the soldierswere marching out of the Castle. From the front of St. Giles, thatjutted into the steep thoroughfare, they could look up to where thestreet widened to the esplanade on Castle Hill. Rank after rank ofscarlet coats, swinging kilts and sporrans, and plumed bonnets appeared. The sun flashed back from rifle barrels and bayonets and from countlessbright buttons. 

A number of the older laddies ran up the climbing street. Mr. Traillcalled Bobby back and, with a last grip of Glenormiston's hand, set offacross the bridge. To the landlord the world seemed a brave place to beliving in, the fabric of earth and sky and human society to be woven ofkindness. Having urgent business of buying supplies in the markets atBroughton and Lauriston, Mr. Traill put Bobby inside the kirkyard gateand hurried away to get into his everyday clothing. After dinner, ortea, he promised himself the pleasure of an hour at the lodge, to tellMr. Brown the wonderful news, and to show him Bobby's braw collar. 

When, finally, he was left alone, Bobby trotted around the kirk, toassure himself that Auld Jock's grave was unmolested. There he turnedon his back, squirmed and rocked on the crocuses, and tugged at theunaccustomed collar. His inverted struggles, low growlings and furrycontortions set the wrens to scolding and the redbreasts to makingnervous inquiries. Much nestbuilding, tuneful courtship, and masculineblustering was going on, and there was little police duty for Bobby. After a time he sat up on the table-tomb, pensively. With Mr. Brownconfined, to the lodge, and Mistress Jeanie in close attendance upon himthere, the kirkyard was a lonely place for a sociable little dog; anda soft, spring day given over to brooding beside a beloved grave, wasquite too heart-breaking a thing to contemplate. Just for cheerfuloccupation Bobby had another tussle with the collar. He pulled it so farunder his thatch that no one could have guessed that he had a collar onat all, when he suddenly righted himself and scampered away to the gate. 

The music grew louder and came nearer. The first of the route-marchingthat the Castle garrison practiced on occasional, bright springmornings was always a delightful surprise to the small boys and dogsof Edinburgh. Usually the soldiers went down High Street and out toPortobello on the sea. But a regiment of tough and wiry Highlandersoften took, by preference, the mounting road to the Pentlands to get awhiff of heather in their nostrils. 

On they came, band playing, colors flying, feet moving in unison with amarch, across the viaduct bridge into Greyfriars Place. Bobby was up onthe wicket, his small, energetic body quivering with excitement from hismuzzle to his tail. If Mr. Traill had been there he would surely havecaught the infection, thrown care to this sweet April breeze foronce, and taken the wee terrier for a run on the Pentland braes. Thetemptation was going by when a preoccupied lady, with a sheaf of Easterlilies on her sable arm, opened the wicket. Her ample Victorian skirtsswept right over the little dog, and when he emerged there was the gateslightly ajar. Widening the aperture with nose and paws, Bobby was off, skirmishing at large on the rear and flanks of the troops, down theBurghmuir. 

It may never have happened, in the years since Auld Jock died and thefarmer of Cauldbrae gave up trying to keep him on the hills, that Bobby, had gone so far back on this once familiar road; and he may nothave recognized it at first, for the highways around Edinburgh wereeverywhere much alike. This one alone began to climb again. Up, up ittoiled, for two weary miles, to the hilltop toll-bar of Fairmilehead, and there the sounds and smells that made it different from other roadsbegan. 

Five miles out of the city the halt was called, and the soldiers flungthemselves on the slope. Many experiences of route-marching had taughtBobby that there was an interval of rest before the return, so, withhis nose to the ground, he started up the brae on a pilgrimage to oldshrines, just as in his puppyhood days, at Auld Jock's heels, there wasmuch shouting of men, barking of collies, and bleating of sheep all theway up. Once he had to leave the road until a driven flock had passed. Behind the sheep walked an old laborer in hodden-gray, woolen bonnet, and shepherd's two-fold plaid, with a lamb in the pouch of it. Bobbytrembled at the apparition, sniffed at the hob-nailed boots, and then, with drooped head and tail, trotted on up the slope. 

Men and dogs were all out on the billowy pastures, and the farm-houseof Cauldbrae lay on the level terrace, seemingly deserted and steeped inmemories. A few moments before, a tall lassie had come out to listento the military music. A couple of hundred feet below, the coats of thesoldiers looked to her like poppies scattered on the heather. At thetop of the brae the wind was blowing a cold gale, so the maidie went upagain, and around to a bit of tangled garden on the sheltered side ofthe house. The "wee lassie Elsie" was still a bairn in short skirtsand braids, who lavished her soft heart, as yet, on briar bushes anddaisies. 

Bobby made a tour of the sheepfold, the cowyard and byre, and helingered behind the byre, where Auld Jock had played with him on Sabbathafternoons. He inspected the dairy, and the poultry-house where henswere sitting on their nests. By and by he trotted around the house andcame upon the lassie, busily clearing winter rubbish from her posie bed. A dog changes very little in appearance, but in eight and a half years achild grows into a different person altogether. Bobby barked politely tolet this strange lassie know that he was there. In the next instant heknew her, for she whirled about and, in a kind of glad wonder, criedout:

"Oh, Bobby! hae ye come hame? Mither, here's ma ain wee Bobby!" For shehad never given up the hope that this adored little pet would some dayreturn to her. 

"Havers, lassie, ye're aye seein' Bobby i' ilka Hielan' terrier, an'there's mony o' them aboot. "

The gude-wife looked from an attic window in the steep gable, and thenhurried down. "Weel, noo, ye're richt, Elsie. He wad be comin' wi' theregiment frae the Castle. Bittie doggies an' laddies are fair daft abootthe soldiers. Ay, he's bonny, an' weel cared for, by the ordinar'. Iwonder gin he's still leevin' i' the grand auld kirkyaird. "

Wary of her remembered endearments, Bobby kept a safe distance from themaidie, but he sat up and lolled his tongue, quite willing to pay her afriendly visit. From that she came to a wrong conclusion: "Sin' he cam'o' his ain accord he's like to bide. " Her eyes were blue stars. 

"I wadna be coontin' on that, lassie. An' I wadna speck a door on 'imanither time. Grin he wanted to get oot he'd dig aneath a floor o'stane. Leuk at that, noo! The bonny wee is greetin' for Auld Jock. "

It was true, for, on entering the kitchen, Bobby went straight to thebench in the corner and lay down flat under it. Elsie sat beside him, just as she had done of old. Her eyes overflowed so in sympathy that themother was quite distracted. This would not do at all. 

"Lassie, are ye no' rememberin' Bobby was fair fond o' moor-hens' eggsfried wi' bits o' cheese? He wullna be gettin' thae things; an' it wadbe maist michty, noo, gin ye couldna win the bittie dog awa' frae thereekie auld toon. Gang oot wi' 'im an' rin on the brae an' bid 'im findthe nests aneath the whins. "

In a moment they were out on the heather, and it seemed, indeed, asif Bobby might be won. He frisked and barked at Elsie's heels, chasedrabbits and flushed the grouse; and when he ran into a peat-darkenedtarp, rimmed with moss, he had such a cold and splashy swim as quite togive a little dog a distaste for warm, soapy water in a claes tub. Heshook and ran himself dry, and he raced the laughing child until theyboth dropped panting on the wind-rippled heath. Then he hunted on theground under the gorse for those nests that had a dozen or more eggs inthem. He took just one from each in his mouth, as Auld Jock had taughthim to do. On the kitchen hearth he ate the savory meal with muchsatisfaction and polite waggings. But when the bugle sounded from belowto form ranks, he pricked his drop ears and started for the door. 

Before he knew what had happened he was inside the poultry-house. Inanother instant he was digging frantically in the soft earth under thedoor. When the lassie lay down across the crack he stopped digging, inconsternation. His sense of smell told him what it was that shut out thestrip of light; and a bairn's soft body is not a proper object of attackfor a little dog, no matter how desperate the emergency. There was notime to be lost, for the drums began to beat the march. Having to getout very quickly, Bobby did a forbidden thing: swiftly and noisily hedashed around the dark place, and there arose such wild squawkings andrushings of wings as to bring the gude-wife out of the house in alarm. 

"Lassie, I canna hae the bittie dog in wi the broodin' chuckies!"

She flung the door wide. Bobby shot through, and into Elsie'soutstretched arms. She held to him desperately, while he twisted andstruggled and strained away; and presently something shining worked intoview, through the disordered thatch about his neck. The mother had cometo the help of the child, and it was she who read the inscription on thebrazen plate aloud. 

"Preserve us a'! Lassie, he's been tak'n by the Laird Provost an' gienthe name o' the auld kirkyaird. He's an ower grand doggie. Ma puirbairnie, dinna greet so sair!" For the little girl suddenly released thewee Highlander and sobbed on her mother's shoulder. 

"He isna ma ain Bobby ony mair!" She "couldna thole" to watch him as hetumbled down the brae. 

On the outward march, among the many dogs and laddies that hadfollowed the soldiers, Bobby escaped notice. But most of these had goneadventuring in Swanston Dell, to return to the city by the gorge ofLeith Water. Now, traveling three miles to the soldiers' one, scamperingin wide circles over the fields, swimming burns, scrambling underhedges, chasing whaups into piping cries, barking and louping inpure exuberance of spirits, many eyes looked upon him admiringly, anddiscontented mouths turned upward at the corners. It is not the leastof a little dog's missions in life to communicate his own irresponsiblegaiety to men. 

If the return had been over George IV Bridge Bobby would, no doubt, havedropped behind at Mr. Traill's or at the kirkyard. But on the Burghmuirthe troops swung eastward until they rounded Arthur's Seat and metthe cavalry drilling before the barracks at Piershill. Such prettymaneuvering of horse and foot took place below Holyrood Palace as quiteto enrapture a terrier. When the infantry marched up the Canongate andHigh Street, the mounted men following and the bands playing at fullblast, the ancient thoroughfare was quickly lined with cheeringcrowds, and faces looked down from ten tiers of windows on a beautifulspectacle. Bobby did not know when the bridge-approach was passed; andthen, on Castle Hill, he was in an unknown region. There the streetwidened to the great square of the esplanade. The cavalry wheeled anddashed down High Street, but the infantry marched on and up, over thesounding drawbridge that spanned a dry moat of the Middle Ages, andthrough a deep-arched gateway of masonry. 

The outer gate to the Castle was wider than the opening into many anEdinburgh wynd; but Bobby stopped, uncertain as to where this narrowroadway, that curved upward to the right, might lead. It was not a darkfissure in a cliff of houses, but was bounded on the outer side by aloopholed wall, and on the inner by a rocky ledge of ascending levels. Wherever the shelf was of sufficient breadth a battery of cannon wasmounted, and such a flood of light fell from above and flashedon polished steel and brass as to make the little dog blink inbewilderment. And he whirled like a rotary sweeper in the dusty road andyelped when the time-gun, in the half-moon battery at the left of thegate and behind him, crashed and shook the massive rock. 

He barked and barked, and dashed toward the insulting clamor. Thedauntless little dog and his spirited protest were so out of proportionto the huge offense that the guard laughed, and other soldiers ran outof the guard houses that flanked the gate. They would have put the noisyterrier out at once, but Bobby was off, up the curving roadway into theCastle. The music had ceased, and the soldiers had disappeared over therise. Through other dark arches of masonry he ran. On the crest weretwo ways to choose--the roadway on around and past the barracks, and aflight of steps cut steeply in the living rock of the ledge, and leadingup to the King's Bastion. Bobby took the stairs at a few bounds. 

On the summit there was nothing at all beside a tiny, ancient stonechapel with a Norman arched and sculptured doorway, and guarding itan enormous burst cannon. But these ruins were the crown jewels of thefortifications--their origins lost in legends--and so they were caredfor with peculiar reverence. Sergeant Scott of the Royal Engineershimself, in fatigue-dress, was down on his knees before St. Margaret'soratory, pulling from a crevice in the foundations a knot of grass thatwas at its insidious work of time and change. As Bobby dashed up to thecitadel, still barking, the man jumped to his feet. Then he slapped histhigh and laughed. Catching the animated little bundle of protest thesergeant set him up for inspection on the shattered breeching of MonsMeg. 

"Losh! The sma' dog cam' by 'is ainsel'! He could no' resist the brawsoldier laddies. 'He's a dog o' discreemination, ' eh? Gin he bides awee, noo, it wull tak' the conceit oot o' the innkeeper. " He turned togather up his tools, for the first dinner bugle was blowing. Bobby knewby the gun that it was the dinner-hour, but he had been fed at the farmand was not hungry. He might as well see a bit more of life. He satupon the cannon, not in the least impressed by the honor, and lolled histongue. 

In Edinburgh Castle there was nothing to alarm a little dog. A dozenor more large buildings, in three or four groups, and representingmany periods of architecture, lay to the south and west on the lowestterraces, and about them were generous parked spaces. Into the largestof the buildings, a long, four-storied barracks, the soldiers hadvanished. And now, at the blowing of a second bugle, half a hundredorderlies hurried down from a modern cook-house, near the summit, withcans of soup and meat and potatoes. The sergeant followed one of theseinto a room on the front of the barracks. In their serge fatigue-tunicsthe sixteen men about the long table looked as different from the gaysoldiers of the march as though so many scarlet and gold and bonnetedbutterflies had turned back into sad-colored grubs. 

"Private McLean, " he called to his batman who, for one-and-six a week, cared for his belongings, "tak' chairge o' the dog, wull ye, an' fetch'im to the non-com mess when ye come to put ma kit i' gude order. "

Before he could answer the bombardment of questions about Bobby the doorwas opened again. The men dropped their knives and forks and stood atattention. The officer of the day was making the rounds of the fortyor fifty such rooms in the barracks to inquire of the soldiers if theirdinner was satisfactory. He recognized at once the attractive littleSkye that had taken the eyes of the men on the march, and asked abouthim. Sergeant Scott explained that Bobby had no owner. He was living, bypermission, in Greyfriars kirkyard, guarding the grave of a long-dead, humble master, and was fed by the landlord of the dining-rooms near thegate. If the little dog took a fancy to garrison life, and the regimentto him, he thought Mr. Traill, who had the best claim upon him, mightconsent to his transfer to the Castle. After orders, at sunset, he wouldtake Bobby down to the restaurant himself. 

"I wish you good luck, Sergeant. " The officer whistled, and Bobby leapedupon him and off again, and indulged in many inconsequent friskings. "Before you take him home fetch him over to the officers' mess atdinner. It is guest night, and he is sure to interest the gentlemen. Aloyal little creature who has guarded his dead master's grave for morethan eight years deserves to have a toast drunk to him by the officersof the Queen. But it's an extraordinary story, and it doesn't soundaltogether probable. Jolly little beggar!" He patted Bobby cordially onthe side, and went out. 

The news of his advent and fragments of his story spread so quicklythrough the barracks that mess after mess swarmed down from the uppermoors and out into the roadway to see Bobby. Private McLean stood in thedoor, smoking a cutty pipe, and grinning with pride in the merry littleruffian of a terrier, who met the friendly advances of the soldiers morethan half-way. Bobby's guardian would have liked very well to havesat before the canteen in the sun and gossiped about his small charge. However, in the sergeant's sleeping-quarters above the mess-room, he hadthe little dog all to himself, and Bobby had the liveliest interestin the boxes and pots, brushes and sponges, and in the processes ofpolishing, burnishing, and pipe-claying a soldier's boots and buttonsand belts. As he worked at his valeting, the man kept time with his footto rude ballads that he sang in such a hissing Celtic that Bobbybarked, scandalized by a dialect that had been music in the ears of hisancestors. At that Private McLean danced a Highland fling for him, andwee Bobby came near bursting with excitement. When the sergeant came upto make a magnificent toilet for tea and for the evening in town, thesoldier expressed himself with enthusiasm. 

"He iss a deffle of a dog, sir!"

He was thought to be a "deffle of a dog" in the mess, where the non-comofficers had tea at small writing and card tables. They talked andlaughed very fast and loud, tried Bobby out on all the pretty tricks heknew, and taught him to speak and to jump for a lump of sugar balancedon his nose. They did not fondle him, and this rough, masculine style ofpampering and petting was very much to his liking. It was a proud thing, too, for a little dog, to walk out with the sergeant's shining bootsand twirled walkingstick, and be introduced into one strange place afteranother all around the Castle. 

From tea to tattoo was playtime for the garrison. Many smartly dressedsoldiers, with passes earned by good behavior, went out to findamusement in the city. Visitors, some of them tourists from America, made the rounds under the guidance of old soldiers. The sergeantfollowed such a group of sight-seers through a postern behind the armoryand out onto the cliff. There he lounged under a fir-tree above St. Margaret's Well and smoked a dandified cigar, while Bobby explored thepromenade and scraped acquaintance with the strangers. 

On the northern and southern sides the Castle wall rose from the veryedge of sheer precipices. Except for loopholes there were no openings. But on the west there was a grassy terrace without the wall, and belowthat the cliff fell away a little less steeply. The declivity wasclothed sparsely with hazel shrubs, thorns, whins and thistles; and nowand then a stunted fir or rowan tree or a group of white-stemmed birkswas stoutly rooted on a shelving ledge. Had any one, the visitors asked, ever escaped down this wild crag?

Yes, Queen Margaret's children, the guide answered. Their father dead, in battle, their saintly mother dead in the sanctuary of her tinychapel, the enemy battering at the gate, soldiers had lowered the royallady's body in a basket, and got the orphaned children down, in safetyand away, in a fog, over Queen's Ferry to Dunfirmline in the Kingdomof Fife. It was true that a false step or a slip of the foot wouldhave dashed them to pieces on the rocks below. A gentleman of the partyscouted the legend. Only a fox or an Alpine chamois could make thatperilous descent. 

With his head cocked alertly, Bobby had stood listening. Hearing thisvague talk of going down, he may have thought these people meant to go, for he quietly dropped over the edge and went, head over heels, ten feetdown, and landed in a clump of hazel. A lady screamed. Bobby rightedhimself and barked cheerful reassurance. The sergeant sprang to his feetand ordered him to come back. 

Now, the sergeant was pleasant company, to be sure; but he was not aperson who had to be obeyed, so Bobby barked again, wagged his crestedtail, and dropped lower. The people who shuddered on the brink could seethat the little dog was going cautiously enough; and presently he lookeddoubtfully over a sheer fall of twenty feet, turned and scrambled backto the promenade. He was cried and exclaimed over by the hystericalladies, and scolded for a bittie fule by the sergeant. To this Bobbyreturned ostentatious yawns of boredom and nonchalant lollings, forit seemed a small matter to be so fashed about. At that a gentlemanremarked, testily, to hide his own agitation, that dogs really had verylittle sense. The sergeant ordered Bobby to precede him through thepostern, and the little dog complied amiably. 

All the afternoon bugles had been blowing. For each signal there was adifferent note, and at each uniformed men appeared and hurried to newpoints. Now, near sunset, there was the fanfare for officers' orders forthe next day. The sergeant put Bobby into Queen Margaret's Chapel, badehim remain there, and went down to the Palace Yard. The chapel on thesummit was a convenient place for picking the little dog up on his wayto the officers' mess. Then he meant to have his own supper cozily atMr. Traill's and to negotiate for Bobby. 

A dozen people would have crowded this ancient oratory, but, small asit was, it was fitted with a chancel rail and a font for baptizing thebabies born in the Castle. Through the window above the altar, where thesainted Queen was pictured in stained glass, the sunlight streamed andlaid another jeweled image on the stone floor. Then the colors faded, until the holy place became an austere cell. The sun had dropped behindthe western Highlands. 

Bobby thought it quite time to go home. By day he often went farafield, seeking distraction, but at sunset he yearned for the grave inGreyfriars. The steps up which he had come lay in plain view from thedoorway of the chapel. Bobby dropped down the stairs, and turned intothe main roadway of the Castle. At the first arch that spanned it ared-coated guard paced on the other side of a closed gate. It wouldnot be locked until tattoo, at nine thirty, but, without a pass, no onecould go in or out. Bobby sprang on the bars and barked, as much as tosay: "Come awa', man, I hae to get oot. "

The guard stopped, presented arms to this small, peremptory terrier, and inquired facetiously if he had a pass. Bobby bristled and yelpedindignantly. The soldier grinned with amusement. Sentinel duty waslonesome business, and any diversion a relief. In a guardhouse asleepwhen Bobby came into the Castle, he had not seen the little dog beforeand knew nothing about him. He might be the property of one of theregiment ladies. Without orders he dared not let Bobby out. A furiousand futile onslaught on the gate he met with a jocose feint of hisbayonet. Tiring of the play, presently, the soldier turned his back andpaced to the end of his beat. 

Bobby stopped barking in sheer astonishment. He gazed after the stiff, retreating back, in frightened disbelief that he was not to be let out. He attacked the stone under the barrier, but quickly discovered itsunyielding nature. Then he howled until the sentinel came back, but whenthe man went by without looking at him he uttered a whimpering cry andfled upward. The roadway was dark and the dusk was gathering on thecitadel when Bobby dashed across the summit and down into the brightlylighted square of the Palace Yard. 

The gas-lamps were being lighted on the bridge, and Mr. Traill wasgetting into his streetcoat for his call on Mr. Brown when Tammy put hishead in at the door of the restaurant. The crippled laddie had a warm, uplifted look, for Love had touched the sordid things of life, and amiracle had bloomed for the tenement dwellers around Greyfriars. 

"Maister Traill, Mrs. Brown says wull ye please send Bobby hame. Hergude-mon's frettin' for 'im; an' syne, a' the folk aroond the kirkyairdhae come to the gate to see the bittie dog's braw collar. They wullnabelieve the Laird Provost gied it to 'im for a chairm gin they dinna seeit wi' their gin een. "

"Why, mannie, Bobby's no' here. He must be in the kirkyard. "

"Nae, he isna. I ca'ed, an' Ailie keeked in ilka place amang thestanes. "

They stared at each other, the landlord serious, the laddie's liptrembling. Mr. Traill had not returned from his numerous errands aboutthe city until the middle of the afternoon. He thought, of course, thatBobby had been in for his dinner, as usual, and had returned to thekirkyard. It appeared, now, that no one about the diningrooms had seenthe little dog. Everybody had thought that Mr. Traill had taken Bobbywith him. He hurried down to the gate to find Mistress Jeanie at thewicket, and a crowd of tenement women and children in the alcove andmassed down Candlemakers Row. Alarm spread like a contagion. In eightyears and more Bobby had not been outside the kirkyard gate after thesunset bugle. Mrs. Brown turned pale. 

"Dinna say the bittie dog's lost, Maister Traill. It wad gang to theheart o' ma gudemon. "

"Havers, woman, he's no' lost. " Mr. Traill spoke stoutly enough. "Justgo up to the lodge and tell Mr. Brown I'm--weel, I'll just attend tothat sma' matter my ainsel'. " With that he took a gay face and a set-upair into the lodge to meet Mr. Brown's glowering eye. 

"Whaur's the dog, man? I've been deaved aboot 'im a' the day, but Ihaena seen the sonsie rascal nor the braw collar the Laird Provost gied'im. An' syne, wi' the folk comin' to spier for 'im an' swarmin' owerthe kirkyaird, ye'd think a warlock was aboot. Bobby isna your dog--"

"Haud yoursel', man. Bobby's a famous dog, with the freedom of Edinburghgiven to him, and naething will do but Glenormiston must show him to acompany o' grand folk at his bit country place. He's sending in a cartby a groom, and I'm to tak' Bobby out and fetch him hame after a brawdinner on gowd plate. The bairns meant weel, but they could no' giveBobby a washing fit for a veesit with the nobeelity. I had to tak' himto a barber for a shampoo. "

Mr. Brown roared with laughter. "Man, ye hae mair fule notions i' yerheid. Ye'll hae to pay a shullin' or twa to a barber, an' Bobby'll besae set up there'll be nae leevin' wi' 'im. Sit ye doon an' tell meaboot the collar, man. "

"I can no' stop now to wag my tongue. Here's the gude-wife. I'll justhelp her get you awa' to your bed. "

It was dark when he returned to the gate, and the Castle wore itsluminous crown. The lights from the street lamps flickered on theup-turned, anxious faces. Some of the children had begun to weep. Womenoffered loud suggestions. There were surmises that Bobby had been runover by a cart in the street, and angry conjectures that he had beenstolen. Then Ailie wailed:

"Oh, Maister Traill, the bittie dog's deid!"

"Havers, lassie! I'm ashamed o' ye for a fulish bairn. Bobby's no' deid. Nae doot he's amang the stanes i' the kirkyaird. He's aye scramblin'aboot for vermin an' pussies, an' may hae hurt himsel', an' ye a' kenthe bonny wee wadna cry oot i' the kirkyaird. Noo, get to wark, an'dinna stand there greetin' an' waggin' yer tongues. The mithers an'bairns maun juist gang hame an' stap their havers, an' licht a' thecandles an' cruisey lamps i' their hames, an' set them i' the windowsaboon the kirkyaird. Greyfriars is murky by the ordinar', an' ye couldnafind a coo there wi'oot the lichts. "

The crowd suddenly melted away, so eager were they all to have a hand inhelping to find the community pet. Then Mr. Traill turned to the boys. 

"Hoo mony o' ye laddies hae the bull's-eye lanterns?"

Ah! not many in the old buildings around the kirkyard. These japannedtin aids to dark adventures on the golf links on autumn nights cost asixpence and consumed candles. Geordie Ross and Sandy McGregor, comingup arm in arm, knew of other students and clerks who still had thesecherished toys of boyhood. With these heroes in the lead a score or moreof laddies swarmed into the kirkyard. 

The tenements were lighted up as they had not been since nobles heldrouts and balls there. Enough candles and oil were going up in smoketo pay for wee Bobby's license all over again, and enough love shonein pallid little faces that peered into the dusk to light the darkestcorner in the heart of the world. Rays from the bull's-eyes were throwninto every nook and cranny. Very small laddies insinuated themselvesinto the narrowest places. They climbed upon high vaults and letthemselves down in last year's burdocks and tangled vines. It was alldone in silence, only Mr. Traill speaking at all. He went everywherewith the searchers, and called:

"Whaur are ye, Bobby? Come awa' oot, laddie!"

But no gleaming ghost of a tousled dog was conjured by the voice ofaffection. The tiniest scratching or lowest moaning could have beenheard, for the warm spring evening was very still, and there were, asyet, few leaves to rustle. Sleepy birds complained at being disturbedon their perches, and rodents could be heard scampering along theirrunways. The entire kirkyard was explored, then the interior of thetwo kirks. Mr. Traill went up to the lodge for the keys, saying, optimistically, that a sexton might unwittingly have locked Bobby in. Young men with lanterns went through the courts of the tenements, aroundthe Grassmarket, and under the arches of the bridge. Laddies droppedfrom the wall and hunted over Heriot's Hospital grounds to Lauristonmarket. Tammy, poignantly conscious of being of no practical use, saton Auld Jock's grave, firm in the conviction that Bobby would return tothat spot his ainsel' And Ailie, being only a maid, whose portion itwas to wait and weep, lay across the window-sill, on the pediment of thetomb, a limp little figure of woe. 

Mr. Traill's heart was full of misgiving. Nothing but death or stonewalls could keep that little creature from this beloved grave. But, inthinking of stone walls, he never once thought of the Castle. Away overto the east, in Broughton market, when the garrison marched away and atLauriston when they returned, Mr. Traill did not know that the soldiershad been out of the city. Busy in the lodge Mistress Jeanie had not seenthem go by the kirkyard, and no one else, except Mr. Brown, knew thefascination that military uniforms, marching and music had for weeBobby. A fog began to drift in from the sea. Suddenly the grass wassheeted and the tombs blurred. A curtain of gauze seemed to be hungbefore the lighted tenements. The Castle head vanished, and the soundsof the drum and bugle of the tattoo came down muffled, as if throughlayers of wool. The lights of the bull's-eyes were ruddy discs that castno rays. Then these were smeared out to phosphorescent glows, like the"spunkies" that everybody in Scotland knew came out to dance in oldkirkyards. 

It was no' canny. In the smother of the fog some of the little boys werelost, and cried out. Mr. Traill got them up to the gate and sent themhome in bands, under the escort of the students. Mistress Jeanie was outby the wicket. Mr. Brown was asleep, and she "couldna thole it tosit there snug. " When a fog-horn moaned from the Firth she broke intosobbing. Mr. Traill comforted her as best he could by telling her adozen plans for the morning. By feeling along the wall he got her to thelodge, and himself up to his cozy dining-rooms. 

For the first time since Queen Mary the gate of the historic garden ofthe Greyfriars was left on the latch. And it was so that a little dog, coming home in the night might not be shut out. 

XI. 

It was more than two hours after he left Bobby in Queen Margaret'sChapel that the sergeant turned into the officers' mess-room and triedto get an orderly to take a message to the captain who had noticed thelittle dog in the barracks. He wished to report that Bobby could not befound, and to be excused to continue the search. 

He had to wait by the door while the toast to her Majesty was proposedand the band in the screened gallery broke into "God Save the Queen";and when the music stopped the bandmaster came in for the usualcompliments. 

The evening was so warm and still, although it was only mid-April, thata glass-paneled door, opening on the terrace, was set ajar for air. Inthe confusion of movement and talk no one noticed a little black mop ofa muzzle that was poked through the aperture. From the outer darknessBobby looked in on the score or more of men doubtfully, ready forinstant disappearance on the slightest alarm. Desperate was theemergency, forlorn the hope that had brought him there. At every turnhis efforts to escape from the Castle had been baffled. He had beenimprisoned by drummer boys and young recruits in the gymnasium, detainedin the hospital, captured in the canteen. 

Bobby went through all his pretty tricks for the lads, and then beggedto be let go. Laughed at, romped with, dragged back, thrown into theswimming-pool, expected to play and perform for them, he rebelled atlast. He scarred the door with his claws, and he howled so dismallythat, hearing an orderly corporal coming, they turned him out in a roughhaste that terrified him. In the old Banqueting Hall on the PalaceYard, that was used as a hospital and dispensary, he went through thattravesty of joy again, in hope of the reward. 

Sharply rebuked and put out of the hospital, at last, because of hisdestructive clawing and mournful howling, Bobby dashed across thePalace Yard and into a crowd of good-humored soldiers who lounged in thecanteen. Rising on his hind legs to beg for attention and indulgence, hewas taken unaware from behind by an admiring soldier who wanted to rompwith him. Quite desperate by that time, he snapped at the hand of hiscaptor and sprang away into the first dark opening. Frightened bythe man's cry of pain, and by the calls and scuffling search for himwithout, he slunk to the farthest corner of a dungeon of the MiddleAges, under the Royal Lodging. 

When the hunt for him ceased, Bobby slipped out of hiding and made hisway around the sickle-shaped ledge of rock, and under the guns of thehalf-moon battery, to the outer gate. Only a cat, a fox, or a low, weasel-like dog could have done it. There were many details that wouldhave enabled the observant little creature to recognize this barrier asthe place where he had come in. Certainly he attacked it with fury, andon the guards he lavished every art of appeal that he possessed. Butthere he was bantered, and a feint was made of shutting him up in theguard-house as a disorderly person. With a heart-broken cry he escapedhis tormentors, and made his way back, under the guns, to the citadel. 

His confidence in the good intentions of men shaken, Bobby took tofurtive ways. Avoiding lighted buildings and voices, he sped from shadowto shadow and explored the walls of solid masonry. Again and again hereturned to the postern behind the armory, but the small back gate thatgave to the cliff was not opened. Once he scrambled up to a loophole inthe fortifications and looked abroad at the scattered lights of the cityset in the void of night. But there, indeed, his stout heart failed him. 

It was not long before Bobby discovered that he was being pursued. Anumber of soldiers and drummer boys were out hunting for him, contritelyenough, when the situation was explained by the angry sergeant. Whereverhe went voices and footsteps followed. Had the sergeant gone alone andcalled in familiar speech, "Come awa' oot, Bobby!" he would probablyhave run to the man. But there were so many calls--in English, inCeltic, and in various dialects of the Lowlands--that the little dogdared not trust them. From place to place he was driven by fear, andwhen the calling stopped and the footsteps no longer followed, he layfor a time where he could watch the postern. A moment after he gave upthe vigil there the little back gate was opened. 

Desperation led him to take another chance with men. Slipping into theshadow of the old Governor's House, the headquarters of commissionedofficers, on the terrace above the barracks, he lay near the open doorto the mess-room, listening and watching. 

The pretty ceremony of toasting the bandmaster brought all the companyabout the table again, and the polite pause in the conversation, on hisexit, gave an opportunity for the captain to speak of Bobby before thesergeant could get his message delivered. 

"Gentlemen, your indulgence for a moment, to drink another toast toa little dog that is said to have slept on his master's grave inGreyfriars churchyard for more than eight years. Sergeant Scott, of theRoyal Engineers, vouches for the story and will present the hero. "

The sergeant came forward then with the word that Bobby could not befound. He was somewhere in the Castle, and had made persistent andfrantic efforts to get out. Prevented at every turn, and forcibly heldin various places by well-meaning but blundering soldiers, he had beenfrightened into hiding. 

Bobby heard every word, and he must have understood that he himself wasunder discussion. Alternately hopeful and apprehensive, he scannedeach face in the room that came within range of his vision, until onearrested and drew him. Such faces, full of understanding, love andcompassion for dumb animals, are to be found among men, women andchildren, in any company and in every corner of the world. Now, withthe dog's instinct for the dog-lover, Bobby made his way about the roomunnoticed, and set his short, shagged paws up on this man's knee. 

"Bless my soul, gentlemen, here's the little dog now, and a beautifulspecimen of the drop-eared Skye he is. Why didn't you say that the'bittie' dog was of the Highland breed, Sergeant? You may well believeany extravagant tale you may hear of the fidelity and affection of theSkye terrier. "

And with that wee Bobby was set upon the polished table, his own silverimage glimmering among the reflections of candles and old plate. Hekept close under the hand of his protector, but waiting for the momentfavorable to his appeal. The company crowded around with eager interest, while the man of expert knowledge and love of dogs talked about Bobby. 

"You see he's a well-knit little rascal, long and low, hardy and strong. His ancestors were bred for bolting foxes and wildcats among the rockyheadlands of the subarctic islands. The intelligence, courage anddevotion of dogs of this breed can scarcely be overstated. There is somefar away crossing here that gives this one a greater beauty and graceand more engaging manners, making him a 'sport' among rough farmdogs--but look at the length and strength of the muzzle. He's asdetermined as the deil. You would have to break his neck before youcould break his purpose. For love of his master he would starve, or hewould leap to his death without an instant's hesitation. "

All this time the man had been stroking Bobby's head and neck. Now, feeling the collar under the thatch, he slipped it out and brought thebrass plate up to the light. 

"Propose your toast to Greyfriars Bobby, Captain. His story is vouchedfor by no less a person than the Lord Provost. The 'bittie' dog seems tohave won a sort of canine Victoria Cross. "

The toast was drunk standing, and, a cheer given. The company pressedclose to examine the collar and to shake Bobby's lifted paw. Then, thinking the moment had come, Bobby rose in the begging attitude, prostrated himself before them, and uttered a pleading cry. His newfriend assured him that he would be taken home. 

"Bide a wee, Bobby. Before he goes I want you all to see his beautifuleyes. In most breeds of dogs with the veil you will find the hairs ofthe face discolored by tears, but the Skye terrier's are not, andhis eyes are living jewels, as sunny a brown as cairngorms in pebblebrooches, but soft and deep and with an almost human intelligence. "

For the third time that day Bobby's veil was pushed back. One shockedlook by this lover of dogs, and it was dropped. "Get him back to thatgrave, man, or he's like to die. His eyes are just two cairngorms ofgrief. "

In the hush that fell upon the company the senior officer spoke sharply:"Take him down at once, Sergeant. The whole affair is most unfortunate, and you will please tender my apologies at the churchyard and therestaurant, as well as your own, and I will see the Lord Provost. "

The military salute was given to Bobby when he leaped from the table atthe sergeant's call: "Come awa', Bobby. I'll tak' ye to Auld Jock i' thekirkyaird noo. "

He stepped out onto the lawn to wait for his pass. Bobby stood at hisfeet, quivering with impatience to be off, but trusting in the man'sgiven word. The upper air was clear, and the sky studded with stars. Twenty minutes before the May Light, that guided the ships into theFirth, could be seen far out on the edge of the ocean, and in everydirection the lamps of the city seemed to fall away in a shower ofsparks, as from a burst meteor. But now, while the stars above were asnumerous and as brilliant as before, the lights below had vanished. Asthe sergeant looked, the highest ones expired in the rising fog. TheIsland Rock appeared to be sinking in a waveless sea of milk. 

A startled exclamation from the sergeant brought other men out on theterrace to see it. The senior officer withheld the pass in his hand, andscouted the idea of the sergeant's going down into the city. As the drumbegan to beat the tattoo and the bugle to rise on a crescendo of lovelynotes, soldiers swarmed toward the barracks. Those who had been out inthe town came running up the roadway into the Castle, talking loudly ofadventures they had had in the fog. The sergeant looked down at anxiousBobby, who stood agitated and straining as at a leash, and said that hepreferred to go. 

"Impossible! A foolish risk, Sergeant, that I am unwilling you shouldtake. Edinburgh is too full of pitfalls for a man to be going about onsuch a night. Our guests will sleep in the Castle, and it will be saferfor the little dog to remain until morning. "

Bobby did not quite understand this good English, but the excited talkand the delay made him uneasy. He whimpered piteously. He lay acrossthe sergeant's feet, and through his boots the man could feel the littlecreature's heart beat. Then he rose and uttered his pleading cry. Thesergeant stooped and patted the shaggy head consolingly, and tried toexplain matters. 

"Be a gude doggie noo. Dinna fash yersel' aboot what canna be helped. Icanna tak' ye to the kirkyaird the nicht. "

"I'll take charge of Bobby, Sergeant. " The dog-loving guest ran outhastily, but, with a wild cry of reproach and despair, Bobby was gone. 

The group of soldiers who had been out on the cliff were standing in thepostern a moment to look down at the opaque flood that was rising aroundthe rock. They felt some flying thing sweep over their feet and caught asilvery flash of it across the promenade. The sergeant cried to them tostop the dog, and he and the guest were out in time to see Bobby go overthe precipice. 

For a time the little dog lay in a clump of hazel above the fog, betweentwo terrors. He could see the men and the lights moving along the topof the cliff, and he could hear the calls. Some one caught a glimpse ofhim, and the sergeant lay down on the edge of the precipice and talkedto him, saying every kind and foolish thing he could think of topersuade Bobby to come back. Then a drummer boy was tied to a rope andlet down to the ledge to fetch him up. But at that, without any sound atall, Bobby dropped out of sight. 

Through the smother came the loud moaning of fog-horns in the Firth. Although nothing could be seen, and sounds were muffled as if the earsof the world were stuffed with wool, odors were held captive and mingledin confusion. There was nothing to guide a little dog's nose, everythingto make him distrust his most reliable sense. The smell of every planton the crag was there; the odors of leather, of paint, of wood, of iron, from the crafts shops at the base. Smoke from chimneys in the valley wasmixed with the strong scent of horses, hay and grain from the street ofKing's Stables. There was the smell of furry rodents, of nesting birds, of gushing springs, of the earth itself, and something more ancientstill, as of burned-out fires in the Huge mass of trap-rock. 

Everything warned Bobby to lie still in safety until morning and theworld was restored to its normal aspects. But ah! in the highest typeof man and dog, self-sacrifice, and not self-preservation, is the firstlaw. A deserted grave cried to him across the void, the anguish ofprotecting love urged him on to take perilous chances. Falling upon anarrow shelf of rock, he had bounded off and into a thicket of thorns. Bruised and shaken and bewildered, he lay there for a time and tried toget his bearings. 

Bobby knew only that the way was downward. He put out a paw and felt forthe edge of the shelf. A thorn bush rooted below tickled his nose. Hedropped into that and scrambled out again. Loose earth broke under hisstruggles and carried him swiftly down to a new level. He slipped in thewet moss of a spring before he heard the tinkle of the water, lost hisfoothold, and fell against a sharp point of rock. The shadowy spire of afir-tree looming in a parting of the vapor for an instant, Bobby leapedto the ledge upon which it was rooted. 

Foot by foot he went down, with no guidance at all. It is the natureof such long, low, earth dogs to go by leaps and bounds like foxes, calculating distances nicely when they can see, and tearing across theroughest country with the speed of the wild animals they hunt. And wherethe way is very steep they can scramble up or down any declivity that isat a lesser angle than the perpendicular. Head first they go downward, setting the fore paws forward, the claws clutching around projectionsand in fissures, the weight hung from the stout hindquarters, the bodyflattened on the earth. 

Thus Bobby crept down steep descents in safety, but his claws werebroken in crevices and his feet were torn and pierced by splinters ofrock and thorns. Once he went some distance into a cave and had to backup and out again. And then a promising slope shelving under suddenly, where he could not retreat, he leaped, turned over and over in the air, and fell stunned. His heart filled with fear of the unseen before him, the little dog lay for a long time in a clump of whins. He may even havedozed and dreamed, to be awakened with starts by his misery of longing, and once by the far-away barking of a dog. It came up deadened, as iffrom fathoms below. He stood up and listened, but the sound was notrepeated. His lacerated feet burned and throbbed; his bruised muscleshad begun to stiffen, so that every movement was a pain. 

In these lower levels there was more smoke, that smeared out andthickened the mist. Suddenly a breath of air parted the fog as if itwere a torn curtain. Like a shot Bobby went down the crag, leaping fromrock to rock, scrambling under thorns and hazel shrubs, dropping overprecipitous ledges, until he looked down a sheer fall on which not evena knot of grass could find a foothold. He took the leap instantly, andhis thick fleece saved him from broken bones; but when he tried to getup again his body was racked with pain and his hind legs refused toserve him. 

Turning swiftly, he snarled and bit, at them in angry disbelief that hisgood little legs should play false with his stout heart. Then he quiteforgot his pain, for there was the sharp ring of iron on an anvil andthe dull glow of a forge fire, where a smith was toiling in the earlyhours of the morning. A clever and resourceful little dog, Bobby madeshift to do without legs. Turning on his side, he rolled down the lastslope of Castle Rock. Crawling between two buildings and dropping fromthe terrace on which they stood, he fell into a little street at thewest end and above the Grassmarket. 

Here the odors were all of the stables. He knew the way, and that it wasstill downward. The distance he had to go was a matter of a quarter of amile, or less, and the greater part of it was on the level, throughthe sunken valley of the Grassmarket. But Bobby had literally to draghimself now; and he had still to pull him self up by his fore paws overthe wet and greasy cobblestones of Candlemakers Row. Had not the greatleaves of the gate to the kirkyard been left on the latch, he wouldhave had to lie there in the alcove, with his nose under the bars, untilmorning. But the gate gave way to his push, and so, he dragged himselfthrough it and around the kirk, and stretched himself on Auld Jock'sgrave. 

It was the birds that found him there in the misty dawn. They were usedto seeing Bobby scampering about, for the little watchman was awake andbusy as early as the feathered dwellers in the kirkyard. But, in whatlooked to be a wet and furry door-mat left out overnight on the grass, they did not know him at all. The throstles and skylarks were shy of it, thinking it might be alive. The wrens fluffed themselves, scolded it, and told it to get up. The blue titmice flew over it in a flock againand again, with much sweet gossiping, but they did not venture nearer. Aredbreast lighted on the rose bush that marked Auld Jock's grave, cockedits head knowingly, and warbled a little song, as much as to say: "Ifit's alive that will wake it up. "

As Bobby did not stir, the robin fluttered down, studied him from allsides, made polite inquiries that were not answered, and concluded thatit would be quite safe to take a silver hair for nest lining. Then, startled by the animal warmth or by a faint, breathing movement, itdropped the shining trophy and flew away in a shrill panic. At that, allthe birds set up such an excited crying that they waked Tammy. 

From the rude loophole of a window that projected from the old CunzieNeuk, the crippled laddie could see only the shadowy tombs and the longgray wall of the two kirks, through the sunny haze. But he dropped hiscrutches over, and climbed out onto the vault. Never before had Bobbyfailed to hear that well-known tap-tap-tapping on the graveled path, norfailed to trot down to meet it with friskings of welcome. But now he layvery still, even when a pair of frail arms tried to lift his dead weightto a heaving breast, and Tammy's cry of woe rang through the kirkyard. In a moment Ailie and Mistress Jeanie were in the wet grass beside them, half a hundred casements flew open, and the piping voices of tenementbairns cried-down:

"Did the bittie doggie come hame?"

Oh yes, the bittie doggie had come hame, indeed, but down such perilousheights as none of them dreamed; and now in what a woeful plight!

Some murmur of the excitement reached an open dormer of the Templetenements, where Geordie Ross had slept with one ear of the born doctoropen. Snatching up a case of first aids to the injured, he ran down thetwisting stairs to the Grassmarket, up to the gate, and around the kirk, to find a huddled group of women and children weeping over a limp littlebundle of a senseless dog. He thrust a bottle of hartshorn underthe black muzzle, and with a start and a moan Bobby came back toconsciousness. 

"Lay him down flat and stop your havers, " ordered the business-like, embryo medicine man. "Bobby's no' dead. Laddie, you're a braw soldierfor holding your ain feelings, so just hold the wee dog's head. " Then, in the reassuring dialect: "Hoots, Bobby, open the bit mou' noo, an'tak' the medicine like a mannie!" Down the tiny red cavern of a throatGeordie poured a dose that galvanized the small creature into life. 

"Noo, then, loup, ye bonny rascal!"

Bobby did his best to jump at Geordie's bidding. He was so glad to be athome and to see all these familiar faces of love that he lifted himselfon his fore paws, and his happy heart almost put the power to loup intohis hind legs. But when he tried to stand up he cried out with the painsand sank down again, with an apologetic and shamefaced look that wasworthy of Auld Jock himself. Geordie sobered on the instant. 

"Weel, now, he's been hurt. We'll just have to see what ails the sonsiedoggie. " He ran his hand down the parting in the thatch to discover ifthe spine had been injured. When he suddenly pinched the ball of a hindtoe Bobby promptly resented it by jerking his head around and looking athim reproachfully. The bairns were indignant, too, but Geordie grinnedcheerfully and said: "He's no' paralyzed, at ony rate. " He turned asfootsteps were heard coming hastily around the kirk. 

"A gude morning to you, Mr. Traill. Bobby may have been run over by acart and got internal injuries, but I'm thinking it's just sprains andbruises from a bad fall. He was in a state of collapse, and his clawsare as broken and his toes as torn as if he had come down Castle Rock. "

This was such an extravagant surmise that even the anxious landlordsmiled. Then he said, drily:

"You're a braw laddie, Geordie, and gudehearted, but you're no' a doctoryet, and, with your leave, I'll have my ain medical man tak' a look atBobby. "

"Ay, I would, " Geordie agreed, cordially. "It's worth four shullings tohave your mind at ease, man. I'll just go up to the lodge and get a warmbath ready, to tak' the stiffness out of his muscles, and brew a teafrom an herb that wee wild creatures know all about and aye hunt forwhen they're ailing. "

Geordie went away gaily, to take disorder and evil smells into MistressJeanie's shining kitchen. 

No sooner had the medical student gone up to the lodge, and the childrenhad been persuaded to go home to watch the proceedings anxiously fromthe amphitheater of the tenement windows, than the kirkyard gate wasslammed back noisily by a man in a hurry. It was the sergeant who, inthe splendor of full uniform, dropped in the wet grass beside Bobby. 

"Lush! The sma' dog got hame, an' is still leevin'. Noo, God forgieme--"

"Eh, man, what had you to do with Bobby's misadventure?"

Mr. Traill fixed an accusing eye on the soldier, remembering suddenlyhis laughing threat to kidnap Bobby. The story came out in a flood ofremorseful words, from Bobby's following of the troops so gaily into theCastle to his desperate escape over the precipice. 

"Noo, " he said, humbly, "gin it wad be ony satisfaction to ye, I'll gangup to the Castle an' put on fatigue dress, no' to disgrace the unifarmo' her Maijesty, an' let ye tak' me oot on the Burghmuir an' gie me agude lickin'. "

Mr. Traill shrugged his shoulders. "Naething would satisfy me, man, butto get behind you and kick you over the Firth into the Kingdom of Fife. "

He turned an angry back on the sergeant and helped Geordie lift Bobbyonto Mrs. Brown's braided hearth-rug and carry the improvised litter upto the lodge. In the kitchen the little dog was lowered into a hot bath, dried, and rubbed with liniments under his fleece. After his laceratedfeet had been cleaned and dressed with healing ointments and tied up, Bobby was wrapped in Mistress Jeanie's best flannel petticoat and laidon the hearth-rug, a very comfortable wee dog, who enjoyed his breakfastof broth and porridge. 

Mr. Brown, hearing the commotion and perishing of curiosity, demandedthat some one should come and help him out of bed. As no attentionwas paid to him he managed to get up himself and to hobble out to thekitchen just as Mr. Traill's ain medical man came in. Bobby's spine wasexamined again, the tail and toes nipped, the heart tested, and all thesoft parts of his body pressed and punched, in spite of the little dog'svigorous objections to these indignities. 

"Except for sprains and bruises the wee dog is all right. Came downCastle Crag in the fog, did he? He's a clever and plucky little chap, indeed, and deserving of a hero medal to hang on the Lord Provost'scollar. You've done very well, Mr. Ross. Just take as good care of himfor a week or so and he could do the gallant deed again. "

Mr. Brown listened to the story of Bobby's adventures with a mingledlook of disgust at the foolishness of men, pride in Bobby's prowess, and resentment at having been left out of the drama of the night before. "It's maist michty, noo, Maister Traill, that ye wad tak' the leebertyo' leein' to me, " he complained. 

"It was a gude lee or a bad nicht for an ill man. Geordie will tellyou that a mind at ease is worth four shullings, and I'm charging younaething. Eh, man, you're deeficult to please. " As he went out into thekirkyard Mr. Traill stopped to reflect on a strange thing: "'You've donevery well, Mr. Ross. ' Weel, weel, how the laddies do grow up! But I'mno' going to admit it to Geordie. "

Another thought, over which he chuckled, sent him off to find thesergeant. The soldier was tramping gloomily about in the wet, to thedemoralization of his beautiful boots. 

"Man, since a stormy nicht eight years ago last November I've aye beenlooking for a bigger weel meaning fule than my ain sel'. You're the man, so if you'll just shak' hands we'll say nae more about it. "

He did not explain this cryptic remark, but he went on to assure thesorry soldier that Bobby had got no serious hurt and would soon be aswell as ever. They had turned toward the gate when a stranger with anewspaper in his hand peered mildly around the kirk and inquired "Do yeken whaur's the sma' dog, man?" As Mr. Traill continued to stare at himhe explained, patiently: "It's Greyfriars Bobby, the bittie terrier theLaird Provost gied the collar to. Hae ye no' seen 'The Scotsman' theday?"

The landlord had not. And there was the story, Bobby's, name headingquite a quarter of a broad column of fine print, and beginning with:"A very singular and interesting occurrence was brought to light in theBurgh court by the hearing of a summons in regard to a dog tax. "Bobby was a famous dog, and Mr. Traill came in for a goodly portion ofreflected glory. He threw up his hands in dismay. 

"It's all over the toon, Sergeant. " Turning to the stranger, he assuredhim that Bobby was not to be seen. "He hurt himsel' coming down CastleRock in the nicht, and is in the lodge with the caretaker, wha's fairill. Hoo do I ken?" testily. "Weel, man, I'm Mr. Traill. "

He saw at once how unwise was that admission, for he had to shake handswith the cordial stranger. And after dismissing him there was another atthe gate who insisted upon going up to the lodge to see the little hero. Here was a state of things, indeed, that called upon all the powers ofthe resourceful landlord. 

"All the folk in Edinburgh will be coming, and the poor woman be deavedwith their spiering. " And then he began to laugh. "Did you ever hear o'sic a thing as poetic justice, Sergeant? Nae, it's no' the kind you'llget in the courts of law. Weel, it's poetic justice for a birkiesoldier, wha claims the airth and the fullness thereof, to have to tak'his orders from a sma' shopkeeper. Go up to the police office in St. Gila now and ask for an officer to stand at the gate here to answerquestions, and to keep the folk awa' from the lodge. "

He stood guard himself, and satisfied a score of visitors before thesergeant came back, and there was another instance of poetic justice, inthe crestfallen Burgh policeman who had been sent with instructions totake his orders from the delighted landlord. 

"Eh, Davie, it's a lang lane that has nae turning. Ye're juist to standhere a' the day an' say to ilka body wha spiers for the dog: 'Ay, sir, Greyfriars Bobby's been leevin' i' the kirkyaird aucht years an' mair, an' Maister Traill's aye fed 'im i' the dining-rooms. Ay, the case wasdismissed i' the Burgh coort. The Laird Provost gied a collar to the bitSkye because there's a meddlin' fule or twa amang the Burgh police wha'dbe takin' 'im up. The doggie's i' the lodge wi' the caretaker, wha'sfair ill, an' he canna be seen the day. But gang aroond the kirk an' yecan see Auld Jock's grave that he's aye guarded. There's nae stave toit, but it's neist to the fa'en table-tomb o' Mistress Jean Grant. Agude day to ye. ' Hae ye got a' that, man? Weel, cheer up. Yell hae tosay it nae mair than a thousand times or twa, atween noo an' nichtfa'. "

He went away laughing at the penance that was laid upon his foe. Thelandlord felt so well satisfied with the world that he took anotherjaunty crack at the sergeant: "By richts, man, you ought to go to gaol, but I'll just fine you a shulling a month for Bobby's natural lifetime, to give the wee soldier a treat of a steak or a chop once a week. "

Hands were struck heartily on the bargain, and the two men parted goodfriends. Now, finding Ailie dropping tears in the dish-water, Mr. Traillsent her flying down to the lodge with instructions to make herselfuseful to Mrs. Brown. Then he was himself besieged in his place ofbusiness by folk of high and low degree who were disappointed by theirfailure to see Bobby in the kirkyard. Greyfriars Dining-Rooms had moredistinguished visitors in a day than they had had in all the years sinceAuld Jock died and a little dog fell there at the landlord's feet "a'but deid wi' hunger. "

Not one of all the grand folk who, inquired for Bobby at the kirkyardor at the restaurant got a glimpse of him that day. But after theywere gone the tenement dwellers came up to the gate again, as they hadgathered the evening before, and begged that they might just tak' a lookat him and his braw collar. "The bonny bit is the bairns' ain doggie, an' the Laird Provost himsel' told 'em he wasna to be neglectet, " wasone mother's plea. 

Ah! that was very true. To the grand folk who had come to see him, Bobbywas only a nine-days' wonder. His story had touched the hearts of allorders of society. For a time strangers would come to see him, and thenthey would forget all about him or remember him only fitfully. It was tothese poor people around the kirkyard, themselves forgotten by the morefortunate, that the little dog must look for his daily meed of affectionand companionship. Mr. Traill spoke to them kindly. 

"Bide a wee, noo, an' I'll fetch the doggie doon. "

Bobby had slept blissfully nearly all the day, after his exhaustinglabors and torturing pains. But with the sunset bugle he fretted to belet out. Ailie had wept and pleaded, Mrs. Brown had reasoned with him, and Mr. Brown had scolded, all to the end of persuading him to sleep in"the hoose the nicht. " But when no one was watching him Bobby crawledfrom his rug and dragged himself to the door. He rapped the floor withhis tail in delight when Mr. Traill came in and bundled him up on therug, so he could lie easily, and carried him down to the gate. 

For quite twenty minutes these neighbors and friends of Bobby filed bysilently, patted the shaggy little head, looked at the grand plate withBobby's and the Lord Provost's names upon it, and believed their ownwondering een. Bobby wagged his tail and lolled his tongue, and now andthen he licked the hand of a baby who had to be lifted by a tall brotherto see him. Shy kisses were dropped on Bobby's head by toddling bairns, and awkward caresses by rough laddies. Then they all went home quietly, and Mr. Traill carried the little dog around the kirk. 

And there, ah! so belated, Auld Jock's grave bore its tribute offlowers. Wreaths and nosegays, potted daffodils and primroses anddaisies, covered the sunken mound so that some of them had to be movedto make room for Bobby. He sniffed and sniffed at them, looked upinquiringly at Mr. Traill; and then snuggled down contentedly amongthe blossoms. He did not understand their being there any more thanhe understood the collar about which everybody made such a to-do. Thenarrow band of leather would disappear under his thatch again, and wouldbe unnoticed by the casual passer-by; the flowers would fade and neverbe so lavishly renewed; but there was another more wonderful gift, now, that would never fail him. 

At nightfall, before the drum and bugle sounded the tattoo to call thescattered garrison in the Castle, there took place a loving ceremonythat was never afterward omitted as long as Bobby lived. Every childnewly come to the tenements learned it, every weanie lisped it among hisfirst words. Before going to bed each bairn opened a casement. Sometimesa candle was held up--a little star of love, glimmering for a moment onthe dark; but always there was a small face peering into the melancholykirkyard. In midsummer, and at other seasons if the moon rose full andearly and the sky was clear, Bobby could be seen on the grave. And whenhe recovered from these hurts he trotted about, making the circuit belowthe windows. He could not speak there, because he had been forbidden, but he could wag his tail and look up to show his friendliness. Andwhether the children saw him or not they knew he was always there aftersunset, keeping watch and ward, and "lanely" because his master had goneaway to heaven; and so they called out to him sweetly and clearly:

"A gude nicht to ye, Bobby. "

XII. 

In one thing Mr. Traill had been mistaken: the grand folk did not forgetBobby. At the end of five years the leal Highlander was not only stillremembered, but he had become a local celebrity. 

Had the grave of his haunting been on the Pentlands or in one of theoutlying cemeteries of the city Bobby must have been known to few of hisgeneration, and to fame not at all. But among churchyards Greyfriars wasdistinguished. One of the historic show-places of Edinburgh, and inthe very heart of the Old Town, it was never missed by the most hurriedtourist, seldom left unvisited, from year to year, by the oldestresident. Names on its old tombs had come to mean nothing to thosewho read them, except as they recalled memorable records of love, of inspiration, of courage, of self-sacrifice. And this being so, ittouched the imagination to see, among the marbles that crumbled towardthe dust below, a living embodiment of affection and fidelity. Indeed, it came to be remarked, as it is remarked to-day, although four decadeshave gone by, that no other spot in Greyfriars was so much cared for asthe grave of a man of whom nothing was known except that the life andlove of a little dog was consecrated to his memory. 

At almost any hour Bobby might be found there. As he grew older hebecame less and less willing to be long absent, and he got much of hisexercise by nosing about among the neighboring thorns. In fair weatherhe took his frequent naps on the turf above his master, or he sat onthe fallen table-tomb in the sun. On foul days he watched the grave fromunder the slab, and to that spot he returned from every skirmish againstthe enemy. Visitors stopped to speak to him. Favored ones were permittedto read the inscription on his collar and to pat his head. It seemed, therefore, the most natural thing in the world when the greatest lady inEngland, beside the Queen, the Baroness Burdett-Coutts, came all the wayfrom London to see Bobby. 

Except that it was the first Monday in June, and Founder's Day atHeriot's Hospital, it was like any other day of useful work, innocentpleasure, and dreaming dozes on Auld Jock's grave to wee Bobby. As yearsgo, the shaggy little Skye was an old dog, but he was not feeble orblind or unhappy. A terrier, as a rule, does not live as long as moresluggish breeds of dogs, but, active to the very end, he literallywears himself out tearing around, and then goes, little soldier, verysuddenly, dying gallantly with his boots on. 

In the very early mornings of the northern summer Bobby woke with thebirds, a long time before the reveille was sounded from the Castle. Hescampered down to the circling street of tombs at once, and not untilthe last prowler had been dispatched, or frightened into his burrow, didhe return for a brief nap on Auld Jock's grave. 

All about him the birds fluttered and hopped and gossiped and foraged, unafraid. They were used, by this time, to seeing the little dog lyingmotionless, his nose on his paws. Often some tidbit of food lay there, brought for Bobby by a stranger. He had learned that a Scotch bundropped near him was a feast that brought feathered visitors about andwon their confidence and cheerful companionship. When he awoke he laythere lolling and blinking, following the blue rovings of the titmiceand listening to the foolish squabbles of the sparrows and the shrewishscoldings of the wrens. He always started when a lark sprang at his feetand a cataract of melody tumbled from the sky. 

But, best of all, Bobby loved a comfortable and friendly robinredbreast--not the American thrush that is called a robin, but thesmaller Old World warbler. It had its nest of grass and moss andfeathers, and many a silver hair shed by Bobby, low in a near-by thornbush. In sweet and plaintive talking notes it told its little dogcompanion all about the babies that had left the nest and the new broodthat would soon be there. On the morning of that wonderful day of theGrand Leddy's first coming, Bobby and the redbreast had a pleasant visittogether before the casements began to open and the tenement bairnscalled down their morning greeting:

"A gude day to ye, Bobby. "

By the time all these courtesies had been returned Tammy came in at thegate with his college books strapped on his back. The old CunzicNeuk had been demolished by Glenormiston, and Tammy, living in betterquarters, was studying to be a teacher at Heriot's. Bobby saw himsettled, and then he had to escort Mr. Brown down from the lodge. Thecaretaker made his way about stiffly with a cane and, with the aid ofa young helper who exasperated the old gardener by his cheerfulinefficiency, kept the auld kirkyard in beautiful order. 

"Eh, ye gude-for-naethin' tyke, " he said to Bobby, in transparentpretense of his uselessness. "Get to wark, or I'll hae a young dog in togie ye a lift, an' syne whaur'll ye be?"

Bobby jumped on him in open delight at this, as much as to say: "Ye maybe as dour as ye like, but ilka body kens ye're gude-hearted. "

Morning and evening numerous friends passed the gate, and the weedog waited for them on the wicket. Dr. George Ross and Mr. AlexanderMcGregor shook Bobby's lifted paw and called him a sonsie rascal. Smallmerchants, students, clerks, factory workers, house servants, laborersand vendors, all honest and useful people, had come up out of these oldtenements within Bobby's memory; and others had gone down, alas! intothe Cowgate. But Bobby's tail wagged for these unfortunates, too, andsome of them had no other friend in the world beside that uncalculatinglittle dog. 

When the morning stream of auld acquaintance had gone by, and noneforgot, Bobby went up to the lodge to sit for an hour with MistressJeanie. There he was called "croodlin' doo"--which was altogetherabsurd--by the fond old woman. As neat of plumage, and as busy andtalkative about small domestic matters as the robin, Bobby loved towatch the wifie stirring savory messes over the fire, watering herposies, cleaning the fluttering skylark's cage, or just sitting by thehearth or in the sunny doorway with him, knitting warm stockings for herrheumatic gude-mon. 

Out in the kirkyard Bobby trotted dutifully at the caretaker's heels. When visitors were about he did not venture to take a nap in the openunless Mr. Brown was on guard, and, by long and close companionship withhim, the aging man could often tell what Bobby was dreaming about. Ata convulsive movement and a jerk of his head the caretaker would say tothe wifie, if she chanced to be near:

"Leuk at that, noo, wull ye? The sperity bit was takin' thae fou'vermin. " And again, when the muscles of his legs worked rhythmically, "He's rinnin' wi' the laddies or the braw soldiers on the braes. "

Bobby often woke from a dream with a start, looked dazed, and thenfoolish, at the vivid imaginings of sleep. But when, in a doze, he halfstretched himself up on his short, shagged fore paws, flattened out, andthen awoke and lay so, very still, for a time, it was Mistress Jeaniewho said:

"Preserve us a'! The bonny wee was dreamin' o' his maister's deith, an'noo he's greetin' sair. "

At that she took her little stool and sat on the grave beside him. ButMr. Brown bit his teeth in his pipe, limped away, and stormed at hisdaft helper laddie, who didn't appear to know a violet from a burdock. 

Ah! who can doubt that, so deeply were scene and word graven on hismemory, Bobby often lived again the hour of his bereavement, and heardAuld Jock's last words:

"Gang--awa'--hame--laddie!"

Homeless on earth, gude Auld Jock had gone to a place prepared for him. But his faithful little dog had no home. This sacred spot was merelyhis tarrying place, where he waited until such a time as that mysteriousdoor should open for him, perchance to an equal sky, and he could slipthrough and find his master. 

On the morning of the day when the Grand Leddy came Bobby watched theholiday crowd gather on Heriot's Hospital grounds. The mothers andsisters of hundreds of boys were there, looking on at the great matchgame of cricket. Bobby dropped over the wall and scampered about, takinga merry part in the play. When the pupils' procession was formed, andthe long line of grinning and nudging laddies marched in to service inthe chapel and dinner in the hall, he was set up over the kirkyard wall, hundreds of hands were waved to him, and voices called back: "Fareweel, Bobby!" Then the time-gun boomed from the Castle, and the little dogtrotted up for his dinner and nap under the settle and his daily visitwith Mr. Traill. 

In fair weather, when the last guest had departed and the music bells ofSt. Giles had ceased playing, the landlord was fond of standing in hisdoorway, bareheaded and in shirt-sleeves and apron, to exchange opinionson politics, literature and religion, or to tell Bobby's story to whatpassers-by he could beguile into talk. At his feet, there, was a fineplace for a sociable little dog to spend an hour. When he was ready togo Bobby set his paws upon Mr. Traill and waited for the landlord's handto be laid on his head and the man to say, in the dialect the littledog best understood: "Bide a wee. Ye're no' needin' to gang sae sune, laddie!"

At that he dropped, barked politely, wagged his tail, and was off. IfMr. Traill really wanted to detain Bobby he had only to withhold themagic word "laddie, " that no one else had used toward the little dogsince Auld Jock died. But if the word was too long in coming, Bobbywould thrash his tail about impatiently, look up appealingly, andfinally rise and beg and whimper. 

"Weel, then, bide wi' me, an' ye'll get it ilka hour o' the day, yesonsie, wee, talon' bit! What are ye hangin' aroond for? Eh--weel--gangawa' wi' ye--laddie!" The landlord sighed and looked down reproachfully. With a delighted yelp, and a lick of the lingering hand, Bobby was off. 

It was after three o'clock on this day when he returned to the kirkyard. The caretaker was working at the upper end, and the little dog waslonely. But; long enough absent from his master, Bobby lay down on thegrave, in the stillness of the mid-afternoon. The robin made a briefcall and, as no other birds were about, hopped upon Bobby's back, perched on his head, and warbled a little song. It was then that thegate clicked. Dismissing her carriage and telling the coachman to returnat five, Lady Burdett-Coutts entered the kirkyard. 

Bobby trotted around the kirk on the chance of meeting a friend. Helooked up intently at the strange lady for a moment, and she stood stilland looked down at him. She was not a beautiful lady, nor very young. Indeed, she was a few years older than the Queen, and the Queen was awidowed grandmother. But she had a sweet dignity and warm serenity--anunhurried look, as if she had all the time in the world for a wee dog;and Bobby was an age-whitened muff of a plaintive terrier that capturedher heart at once. Very certain that this stranger knew and cared abouthow he felt, Bobby turned and led her down to Auld Jock's grave. Andwhen she was seated on the table-tomb he came up to her and let her lookat his collar, and he stood under her caress, although she spoke tohim in fey English, calling him a darling little dog. Then, entirelycontented with her company, he lay down, his eyes fixed upon her andlolling his tongue. 

The sun was on the green and flowery slope of Greyfriars, warming theweathered tombs and the rear windows of the tenements. The Grand Leddyfound a great deal there to interest her beside Bobby and the robin thatchirped and picked up crumbs between the little dog's paws. Presentlythe gate was opened again and' a housemaid from some mansion in GeorgeSquare came around the kirk. Trained by Mistress Jeanie, she was a neatand pretty and pleasant-mannered housemaid, in a black gown and whiteapron, and with a frilled cap on her crinkly, gold-brown hair that hadhad more than "a lick or twa the nicht afore. "

"It's juist Ailie, " Bobby seemed to say, as he stood a moment withcrested neck and tail. "Ilka body kens Ailie. "

The servant lassie, with an hour out, had stopped to speak to Bobby. Shehad not meant to stay long, but the lady, who didn't look in the leastgrand, began to think friendly things aloud. 

"The windows of the tenements are very clean. "

"Ay. The bairnies couldna see Bobby gin the windows warna washed. " Thelassie was pulling her adored little pet's ears, and Bobby was nuzzlingup to her. 

"In many of the windows there is a box of flowers, or of kitchen herbsto make the broth savory. "

"It wasna so i' the auld days. It was aye washin's clappin' aboon thestanes. Noo, mony o' the mithers hang the claes oot at nicht. Ilka thingis changed sin' I was a wean an' leevin' i' the auld Guildhall, thebairnies haen Bobby to lo'e, an' no' to be neglectet. " She continued theconversation to include Tammy as he came around the kirk on his tappingcrutches. 

"Hoo mony years is it, Tammy, sin' Bobby's been leevin' i' the auldkirkyaird? At Maister Traill's snawy picnic ye war five gangin' on sax. "They exchanged glances in which lay one of the happy memories of sadchildhoods. 

"Noo I'm nineteen going on twenty. It's near fourteen years syne, Ailie. " Nearly all the burrs had been pulled from Tammy's tongue, buthe used a Scotch word now and then, no' to shame Ailie's less cultivatedspeech. 

"So long?" murmured the Grand Leddy. "Bobby is getting old, very old fora terrier. "

As if to deny that, Bobby suddenly shot down the slope in answer to acry of alarm from a song thrush. Still good for a dash, when he cameback he dropped panting. The lady put her hand on his rippling coatand felt his heart pounding. Then she looked at his worn down teeth andlifted his veil. Much of the luster was gone from Bobby's brown eyes, but they were still soft and deep and appealing. 

From the windows children looked down upon the quiet group and, withoutin the least knowing why they wanted to be there, too, the tenementbairns began to drop into the kirkyard. Almost at once it rained--aquick, bright, dashing shower that sent them all flying and laughing upto the shelter of the portico to the new kirk. Bobby scampered up, too, and with the bairns in holiday duddies crowding about her, and the weedog lolling at her feet, the Grand Leddy talked fairy stories. 

She told them all about a pretty country place near London. It wascalled Holly Lodge because its hedges were bright with green leavesand red berries, even in winter. A lady who had no family at all livedthere, and to keep her company she had all sorts of pets. Peter andPrince were the dearest dogs, and Cocky was a parrot that could say themost amusing things. Sir Garnet was the llama goat, or sheep--shedidn't know which. There was a fat and lazy old pony that had long beenpensioned off on oats and clover, and--oh yes--the white donkey must notbe forgotten!

"O-o-o-oh! I didna ken there wad be ony white donkeys!" cried a big-eyedladdie. 

"There cannot be many, and there's a story about how the lady came tohave this one. One day, driving in a poor street, she saw a coster--thatis a London peddler--beating his tired donkey that refused to pull theload. The lady got out of her carriage, fed the animal some carrots fromthe cart, talked kindly to him right into his big, surprised ear, andstroked his nose. Presently the poor beast felt better and started offcheerfully with the heavy cart. When many costers learned that it wasnot only wicked but foolish to abuse their patient animals, they huntedfor a white donkey to give the lady. They put a collar of flowers abouthis neck, and brought him up on a platform before a crowd of people. Everybody laughed, for he was a clumsy and comical beast to be decoratedwith roses and daisies. But the lady is proud of him, and now thatpampered donkey has nothing to do but pull her Bath chair about, whenshe is at Holly Lodge, and kick up his heels on a clover pasture. "

"Are ye kennin' anither tale, Leddy?"

"Oh, a number of them. Prince, the fox terrier, was ill once, and thedoctor who came to see him said his mistress gave him too much to eat. That was very probable, because that lady likes to see children andanimals have too much to eat. There are dozens and dozens of poorchildren that the lady knows and loves. Once they lived in a very darkand dirty and crowded tenement, quite as bad as some that were torn downin the Cowgate and the Grassmarket. "

"It mak's ye fecht ane anither, " said one laddie, soberly. "Gin they hada sonsie doggie like Bobby to lo'e, an' an auld kirkyaird wi' posies an'birdies to leuk into, they wadna fecht sae muckle. "

"I'm very sure of that. Well, the lady built a new tenement with plentyof room and light and air, and a market so they can get better food morecheaply, and a large church, that is also a kind of school where bigand little people can learn many things. She gives the children ofthe neighborhood a Christmas dinner and a gay tree, and she strips thehedges of Holly Lodge for them, and then she takes Peter and Prince, and Cocky the parrot, to help along the fun, and she tells her neweststories. Next Christmas she means to tell the story of Greyfriars Bobby, and how all his little Scotch friends are better-behaving and cleanerand happier because they have that wee dog to love. "

"Ilka body lo'es Bobby. He wasna ever mistreatet or neglectet, " saidAilie, thoughtfully. 

"Oh--my--dear! That's the very best part of the story!" The Grand Leddyhad a shining look. 

The rain had ceased and the sun come out, and the children began to becalled away. There was quite a little ceremony of lingering leave-takingwith the lady and with Bobby, and while this was going on Ailie had a"sairious" confidence for her old playfellow. 

"Tammy, as the leddy says, Bobby's gettin' auld. I ken whaur's a snawyhawthorn aboon the burn in Swanston Dell. The throstles nest there, an' the blackbirds whustle bonny. It isna so far but the bairnies couldmarch oot wi' posies. " She turned to the lady, who had overheard her. "We gied a promise to the Laird Provost to gie Bobby a grand funeral. Yeken he wullna be permittet to be buried i' the kirkyaird. "

"Will he not? I had not thought of that. " Her tone was at once hushedand startled. 

Then she was down in the grass, brooding over the little dog, and Bobbyhad the pathetic look of trying to understand what this emotional talk, that seemed to concern himself, was about. Tammy and Ailie were down, too. 

"Are ye thinkin' Bobby wall be kennin' the deeference?" Ailie's bluebelleyes were wide at the thought of pain for this little pet. 

"I do not know, my dear. But there cannot well be more love in thisworld than there is room for in God's heaven. "

She was silent all the way to the gate, some thought in her mind alreadyworking toward a gracious deed. At the last she said: "The little dogis fond of you both. Be with him all you can, for I think his beautifullife is near its end. " After a pause, during which her face was lightedby a smile, as if from a lovely thought within, she added: "Don't letBobby die before my return from London. "

In a week she was back, and in the meantime letters and telegrams hadbeen flying, and many wheels set in motion in wee Bobby's affairs. Whenshe returned to the churchyard, very early one morning, no less a personthan the Lord Provost himself was with her. Five years had passed, butMr. --no, Sir William--Chambers, Laird of Glenormiston, for he had beenknighted by the Queen, was still Lord Provost of Edinburgh. 

Almost immediately Mr. Traill appeared, by appointment, and was madeall but speechless for once in his loquacious life by the honor of beingasked to tell Bobby's story to the Baroness Burdett-Coutts. But not evena tenement child or a London coster could be ill at ease with the GrandLeddy for very long, and presently the three were in close conference inthe portico. Bobby welcomed them, and then dozed in the sun and visitedwith the robin on Auld Jock's grave. Far from being tongue-tied, thelandlord was inspired. What did he not remember, from the patheticrenunciation, "Bobby isna ma ain dog, " down to the leal Highlander'slast, near tragic reminder to men that in the nameless grave lay hisunforgotten master. 

He sketched the scene in Haddo's Hole, where the tenement bairns pouredout as pure a gift of love and mercy and self-sacrifice as had everbeen laid at the foot of a Scottish altar. He told of the search for thelately ransomed and lost terrier, by the lavish use of oil and candles;of Bobby's coming down Castle Rock in the fog, battered and bruised fora month's careful tending by an old Heriot laddie. His feet still showedthe scars of that perilous descent. He himself, remorseful, had gonewith the Biblereader from the Medical Mission in the Cowgate to thedormer-lighted closet in College Wynd, where Auld Jock had died. Now hedescribed the classic fireplace of white freestone, with its boxed-inbed, where the Pentland shepherd lay like some effigy on a bier, withthe wee guardian dog stretched on the flagged hearth below. 

"What a subject for a monument!" The Grand Leddy looked across the topof the slope at the sleeping Skye. "I suppose there is no portrait ofBobby. "

"Ay, your Leddyship; I have a drawing in the dining rooms, sketchedby Mr. Daniel Maclise. He was here a year or twa ago, just before hisdeath, doing some commission, and often had his tea in my bit place. Itold him Bobby's story, and he made the sketch for me as a souvenir ofhis veesit. "

"I am sure you prize it, Mr. Traill. Mr. Maclise was a talented artist, but he was not especially an animal painter. There really is no onesince Landseer paints no more. "

"I would advise you, Baroness, not to make that remark at an Edinburghdinner-table. " Glenormiston was smiling. "The pride of Auld Reekie justnow is Mr. Gourlay Stelle, who was lately commanded to Balmoral Castleto paint the Queen's dogs. "

"The very person! I have seen his beautiful canvas--'Burns and the FieldMouse. ' Is he not a younger brother of Sir John Stelle, the sculptorof the statue and character figures in the Scott monument?" Her eyessparkled as she added: "You have so much talent of the right, sorts herethat it would be wicked not to employ it in the good cause. "

What "the good cause" was came out presently, in the church, whereshe startled even Glenormiston and Mr. Traill by saying quietly to theminister and the church officers of Greyfriars auld kirk: "When Bobbydies I want him laid in the grave with his master. "

Every member of both congregations knew Bobby and was proud of his fame, but no official notice had ever been taken of the little dog's presencein the churchyard. The elders and deacons were, in truth, surprised thatsuch distinguished attention should be directed to him now, and theywere embarrassed by it. It was not easy for any body of men in theUnited Kingdom to refuse anything to Lady Burdett-Coutts, because shecould always count upon having the sympathy of the public. But this, they declared, could not be considered. To propose to bury a dog inthe historic churchyard would scandalize the city. To this objectionGlenormiston said, seriously: "The feeling about Bobby is quiteexceptional. I would be willing to put the matter to the test of headinga petition. "

At that the church officers threw up their hands. They preferred tosound public sentiment themselves, and would consider it. But if Bobbywas permitted to be buried with his master there must be no notice takenof it. Well, the Heriot laddies might line up along the wall, and thetenement bairns look down from the windows. Would that satisfy herladyship?

"As far as it goes. " The Grand Leddy was smiling, but a little tremulousabout the mouth. 

That was a day when women had little to say in public, and she meant tomake a speech, and to ask to be allowed to do an unheard-of thing. 

"I want to put up a monument to the nameless man who inspired such love, and to the little dog that was capable of giving it. Ah gentlemen, donot refuse, now. " She sketched her idea of the classic fireplace bier, the dead shepherd of the Pentlands, and the little prostrate terrier. "Immemorial man and his faithful dog. Our society for the prevention ofcruelty to animals is finding it so hard to get people even to admit thesacredness of life in dumb creatures, the brutalizing effects of abuseof them on human beings, and the moral and practical worth to us ofkindness. To insist that a dog feels, that he loves devotedly and withless calculation than men, that he grieves at a master's death andremembers him long years, brings a smile of amusement. Ah yes! Here inScotland, too, where your own great Lord Erskine was a pioneer of pitytwo generations ago, and with Sir Walter's dogs beloved of the literary, and Doctor Brown's immortal 'Rab, ' we find it uphill work. 

"The story of Greyfriars Bobby is quite the most complete and remarkableever recorded in dog annals. His lifetime of devotion has been witnessedby thousands, and honored publicly, by your own Lord Provost, with thefreedom of the city, a thing that, I believe, has no precedent. Allthe endearing qualities of the dog reach their height in this loyaland lovable Highland terrier; and he seems to have brought out the bestqualities of the people who have known him. Indeed, for fourteen yearshundreds of disinherited children have been made kinder and happier byknowing Bobby's story and having that little dog to love. "

She stopped in some embarrassment, seeing how she had let herself go, inthis warm championship, and then she added:

"Bobby does not need a monument, but I think we need one of him, thatfuture generations may never forget what the love of a dog may mean, tohimself and to us. "

The Grand Leddy must have won her plea, then and there, but for the factthat the matter of erecting a monument of a public character anywherein the city had to come up before the Burgh council. In that body thestubborn opposition of a few members unexpectedly developed, and, inspite of popular sympathy with the proposal, the plan was rejected. Permission was given, however, for Lady Burdett-Coutts to put up asuitable memorial to Bobby at the end of George IV Bridge, and oppositethe main gateway to the kirkyard. 

For such a public place a tomb was unsuitable. What form the memorialwas to take was not decided upon until, because of two chance happeningsof one morning, the form of it bloomed like a flower in the soul of theGrand Leddy. She had come down to the kirkyard to watch the artist atwork. Morning after morning he had sketched there. He had drawn Bobbylying down, his nose on his paws, asleep on the grave. He had drawn himsitting upon the table-tomb, and standing in the begging attitude inwhich he was so irresistible. But with every sketch he was dissatisfied. 

Bobby was a trying and deceptive subject. He had the air of curiosityand gaiety of other terriers. He saw no sense at all in keeping still, with his muzzle tipped up or down, and his tail held just so. He brushedall that unreasonable man's suggestions aside as quite unworthy ofconsideration. Besides, he had the liveliest interest in the astonishinglittle dog that grew and disappeared, and came back, in some newattitude, on the canvas. He scraped acquaintance with it once or twiceto the damage of fresh brush-work. He was always jumping from his poseand running around the easel to see how the latest dog was coming on. 

After a number of mornings Bobby lost interest in the man and hisoccupation and went about his ordinary routine of life as if the artistwas not there at all. One morning the wee terrier was found sitting onthe table-tomb, on his haunches, looking up toward the Castle, whereclouds and birds were blown around the sun-gilded battlements. 

His attitude might have meant anything or nothing, for the man wholooked at him from above could not see his expression. And all at oncehe realized that to see Bobby a human being must get down to his level. To the scandal of the children, he lay on his back on the grass and didnothing at all but look up at Bobby until the little dog moved. Then heset the wee Highlander up on an altar-topped shaft just above the levelof the human eye. Indifferent at the moment as to what was done to him, Bobby continued to gaze up and out, wistfully and patiently, upon thismasterless world. As plainly as a little dog could speak, Bobby said:

"I hae bided lang an' lanely. Hoo lang hae I still to bide? An' syne, wull I be gangin' to Auld Jock?"

The Grand Leddy saw that at once, and tears started to her eyes whenshe came in to find the artist sketching with feverish rapidity. Sheconfessed that she had looked into Bobby's eyes, but she had never trulyseen that mourning little creature before. He had only to be set up so, in bronze, and looking through the kirkyard gate, to tell his own storyto the most careless passerby. The image of the simple memorial wasclear in her mind, and it seemed unlikely that anything could be addedto it, when she left the kirkyard. 

As she was getting into her carriage a noble collie, but one with adiscouraged tail and hanging tongue, came out of Forest Road. He haddone a hard morning's work, of driving a flock from the Pentlands to thecattle and sheep market, and then had hunted far and unsuccessfullyfor water. He nosed along the gutter, here and there licking from thecobblestones what muddy moisture had not drained away from a recentrain. The same lady who had fed the carrots to the coster's donkey inLondon turned hastily into Ye Olde Greyfriars Dining-Rooms, and askedMr. Traill for a basin of water. The landlord thought he must havemisunderstood her. "Is it a glass of water your Leddyship's wanting?"

"No, a basin, please; a large one, and very quickly. "

She took it from him, hurried out, and set it under the thirsty animal'snose. The collie lapped it eagerly until the water was gone, then lookedup and, by waggings and lickings, asked for more. Mr. Traill brought outa second basin, and he remarked upon a sheep-dog's capacity for water. 

"It's no' a basin will satisfy him, used as he is to having a tam on themoor to drink from. This neeborhood is noted for the dogs that are ayepassing. On Wednesdays the farm dogs come up from the Grassmarket, andevery day there are weel-cared-for dogs from the residence streets, dogsof all conditions across the bridge from High Street, and meeserablewaifs from the Cowgate. Stray pussies are about, too. I'm a gude-heartedman, and an unco' observant one, your Leddyship, but I was no' thinkingthat these animals must often suffer from thirst. "

"Few people do think of it. Most men can love some one dog or cat orhorse and be attentive to its wants, but they take little thoughtfor the world of dumb animals that are so dependent upon us. It is nospecial credit to you, Mr. Traill, that you became fond of an attractivelittle dog like Bobby and have cared for him so tenderly. "

The landlord gasped. He had taken not a little pride in his stanchchampionship and watchful care of Bobby, and his pride had beerincreased by the admiration that had been lavished on him for years bythe general public. Now, as he afterward confessed to Mr. Brown:

"Her leddyship made me feel I'd done naething by the ordinar', butmaistly to please my ainsel'. Eh, man, she made me sing sma'. "

When the collie had finished drinking, he looked up gratefully, rubbedagainst the good Samaritans, waved his plumed tail like a banner, andtrotted away. After a thoughtful moment Lady Burdett-Coutts said:

"The suitable memorial here, Mr. Traill, is a fountain, with a lowbasin level with the curb, and a higher one, and Bobby sitting on analtar-topped central column above, looking through the kirkyard gate. Itshall be his mission to bring men and small animals together in sympathyby offering to both the cup of cold water. "

She was there once again that year. On her way north she stopped inEdinburgh over night to see how the work on the fountain had progressed. It was in Scotland's best season, most of the days dry and bright andsharp. But on that day it was misting, and yellow leaves were droppingon the wet tombs and beaded grass, when the Grand Leddy appeared at thekirkyard late in the afternoon with a wreath of laurel to lay on AuldJock's grave. 

Bobby slipped out, dry as his own delectable bone, from under the tombof Mistress Jean Grant, and nearly wagged his tail off with pleasure. Mistress Jeanie was set in a proud flutter when the Grand Leddy rang atthe lodge kitchen and asked if she and Bobby could have their tea therewith the old couple by the cozy grate fire. 

They all drank tea from the best blue cups, and ate buttered scones andstrawberry jam on the scoured deal table. Bobby had his porridge andbroth on the hearth. The coals snapped in the grate and the firelightdanced merrily on the skylark's cage and the copper kettle. Mr. Browngot out his fife and played "Bonnie Dundee. " Wee, silver-white Bobbytried to dance, but he tumbled over so lamentably once or twice that hehung his head apologetically, admitting that he ought to have the senseto know that his dancing days were done. He lay down and lolled andblinked on the hearth until the Grand Leddy rose to go. 

"I am on my way to Braemar to visit for a few days at Balmoral Castle. Iwish I could take Bobby with me to show him to the dear Queen. "

"Preserve me!" cried Mistress Jeanie, and Mr. Brown's pet pipe was infragments on the hearth. 

Bobby leaped upon her and whimpered, saying "Dinna gang, Leddy!" asplainly as a little dog could say anything. He showed the pathos atparting with one he was fond of, now, that an old and affectionateperson shows. He clung to her gown, rubbed his rough head under herhand, and trotted disconsolately beside her to her waiting carriage. Atthe very last she said, sadly:

"The Queen will have to come to Edinburgh to see Bobby. "

"The bonny wee wad be a prood doggie, yer Leddyship, " Mistress Jeaniemanaged to stammer, but Mr. Brown was beyond speech. 

The Grand Leddy said nothing. She looked at the foundation work ofBobby's memorial fountain, swathed in canvas against the winter, andwaiting--waiting for the spring, when the waters of the earth shouldbe unsealed again; waiting until finis could be written to a story on abronze table-tomb; waiting for the effigy of a shaggy Skye terrier to becast and set up; waiting--

When the Queen came to see Bobby it was unlikely that he would knowanything about it. 

He would know nothing of the crowds to gather there on a publicoccasion, massing on the bridge, in Greyfriars Place, in broad ChambersStreet, and down Candlemakers Row--the magistrates and Burgh council, professors and students from the University, soldiers from the Castle, the neighboring nobility in carriages, farmers and shepherds from thePentlands, the Heriot laddies marching from the school, and the tenementchildren in holiday duddies--all to honor the memory of a devoted littledog. He would know nothing of the military music and flowers, the prayerof the minister of Greyfriars auld kirk, the speech of the Lord Provost;nothing of the happy tears of the Grand Leddy when a veil should fallaway from a little bronze dog that gazed wistfully through the kirkyardgate, and water gush forth for the refreshment of men and animals. 

"Good-by, good-by, good-by, Bobby; most loving and lovable, darlingestwee dog in the world!" she cried, and a shower of bright drops and sweetlittle sounds fell on Bobby's tousled head. Then the carriage of theGrand Leddy rolled away in the rainy dusk. 

The hour-bell of St. Giles was rung, and the sunset bugle blown in theCastle. It took Mr. Brown a long time to lift the wicket, close the tallleaves and lock the gate. The wind was rising, and the air hardening. One after one the gas lamps flared in the gusts that blew on the bridge. The huge bulk of shadow lay, velvet black, in the drenched quarry pit ofthe Grassmarket. The caretaker's voice was husky with a sudden "cauld in'is heid. "

"Ye're an auld dog, Bobby, an' ye canna deny it. Ye'll juist hae tosleep i' the hoose the misty nicht. "

Loath to part with them, Bobby went up to the lodge with the old coupleand saw them within the cheerful kitchen. But when the door was heldopen for him, he wagged his tail in farewell and trotted away aroundthe kirk. All the concession he was willing to make to old age and badweather was to sleep under the fallen table-tomb. 

Greyfriars on a dripping autumn evening! A pensive hour and season, everything memorable brooded there. Crouched back in shadowy ranks, theold tombs were draped in mystery. The mist was swirled by the wind andsmoke smeared out, over their dim shapes. Where families sat close aboutscant suppers, the lights of candles and cruisey lamps were blurred. Thefaintest halo hung above the Castle head. Infrequent footsteps hurriedby the gate. There was the rattle of a belated cart, the ring of adistant church bell. But even on such nights the casements were openedand little faces looked into the melancholy kirkyard. Candles glimmeredfor a moment on the murk, and sweetly and clearly the tenement bairnscalled down:

"A gude nicht to ye, Bobby. "

They could not see the little dog, but they knew he was there. They knewnow that he would still be there when they could see him no more--hisbody a part of the soil, his memory a part of all that was held dear andimperishable in that old garden of souls. They could go up to the lodgeand look at his famous collar, and they would have his image in bronzeon the fountain. And sometime, when the mysterious door opened forthem, they might see Bobby again, a sonsie doggie running on the greenpastures and beside the still waters, at the heels of his shepherdmaster, for:

If there is not more love in this world than there is room for in God'sheaven, Bobby would just have "gaen awa' hame. "