This was such an extravagant surmise that even the anxious landlord smiled.  Then he said, drily: 

“You’re a braw laddie, Geordie, and gudehearted, but you’re no’ a doctor yet, and, with your leave, I’ll have my ain medical man tak’ a look at Bobby.”

“Ay, I would,” Geordie agreed, cordially.  “It’s worth four shullings to have your mind at ease, man.  I’ll just go up to the lodge and get a warm bath ready, to tak’ the stiffness out of his muscles, and brew a tea from an herb that wee wild creatures know all about and aye hunt for when they’re ailing.”

Geordie went away gaily, to take disorder and evil smells into Mistress Jeanie’s shining kitchen.

No sooner had the medical student gone up to the lodge, and the children had been persuaded to go home to watch the proceedings anxiously from the amphitheater of the tenement windows, than the kirkyard gate was slammed back noisily by a man in a hurry.  It was the sergeant who, in the splendor of full uniform, dropped in the wet grass beside Bobby.

“Lush!  The sma’ dog got hame, an’ is still leevin’.  Noo, God forgie me—­”

“Eh, man, what had you to do with Bobby’s misadventure?”

Mr. Traill fixed an accusing eye on the soldier, remembering suddenly his laughing threat to kidnap Bobby.  The story came out in a flood of remorseful words, from Bobby’s following of the troops so gaily into the Castle to his desperate escape over the precipice.

“Noo,” he said, humbly, “gin it wad be ony satisfaction to ye, I’ll gang up to the Castle an’ put on fatigue dress, no’ to disgrace the unifarm o’ her Maijesty, an’ let ye tak’ me oot on the Burghmuir an’ gie me a gude lickin’.”

Mr. Traill shrugged his shoulders.  “Naething would satisfy me, man, but to 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 Bobby onto Mrs. Brown’s braided hearth-rug and carry the improvised litter up to the lodge.  In the kitchen the little dog was lowered into a hot bath, dried, and rubbed with liniments under his fleece.  After his lacerated feet had been cleaned and dressed with healing ointments and tied up, Bobby was wrapped in Mistress Jeanie’s best flannel petticoat and laid on the hearth-rug, a very comfortable wee dog, who enjoyed his breakfast of broth and porridge.

Mr. Brown, hearing the commotion and perishing of curiosity, demanded that some one should come and help him out of bed.  As no attention was paid to him he managed to get up himself and to hobble out to the kitchen just as Mr. Traill’s ain medical man came in.  Bobby’s spine was examined again, the tail and toes nipped, the heart tested, and all the soft parts of his body pressed and punched, in spite of the little dog’s vigorous objections to these indignities.

“Except for sprains and bruises the wee dog is all right.  Came down Castle 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’s collar.  You’ve done very well, Mr. Ross.  Just take as good care of him for a week or so and he could do the gallant deed again.”