He stood guard himself, and satisfied a score of visitors before the sergeant came back, and there was another instance of poetic justice, in the crestfallen Burgh policeman who had been sent with instructions to take his orders from the delighted landlord.

“Eh, Davie, it’s a lang lane that has nae turning.  Ye’re juist to stand here 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 was dismissed i’ the Burgh coort.  The Laird Provost gied a collar to the bit Skye because there’s a meddlin’ fule or twa amang the Burgh police wha’d be takin’ ’im up.  The doggie’s i’ the lodge wi’ the caretaker, wha’s fair ill, an’ he canna be seen the day.  But gang aroond the kirk an’ ye can see Auld Jock’s grave that he’s aye guarded.  There’s nae stave to it, but it’s neist to the fa’en table-tomb o’ Mistress Jean Grant.  A gude day to ye.’  Hae ye got a’ that, man?  Weel, cheer up.  Yell hae to say 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.  The landlord felt so well satisfied with the world that he took another jaunty 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 good friends.  Now, finding Ailie dropping tears in the dish-water, Mr. Traill sent her flying down to the lodge with instructions to make herself useful to Mrs. Brown.  Then he was himself besieged in his place of business by folk of high and low degree who were disappointed by their failure to see Bobby in the kirkyard.  Greyfriars Dining-Rooms had more distinguished visitors in a day than they had had in all the years since Auld 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 kirkyard or at the restaurant got a glimpse of him that day.  But after they were gone the tenement dwellers came up to the gate again, as they had gathered the evening before, and begged that they might just tak’ a look at 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,” was one mother’s plea.

Ah! that was very true.  To the grand folk who had come to see him, Bobby was only a nine-days’ wonder.  His story had touched the hearts of all orders of society.  For a time strangers would come to see him, and then they would forget all about him or remember him only fitfully.  It was to these poor people around the kirkyard, themselves forgotten by the more fortunate, that the little dog must look for his daily meed of affection and companionship.  Mr. Traill spoke to them kindly.