“Bide a wee, noo, an’ I’ll fetch the doggie doon.”

Bobby had slept blissfully nearly all the day, after his exhausting labors and torturing pains.  But with the sunset bugle he fretted to be let 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 crawled from his rug and dragged himself to the door.  He rapped the floor with his tail in delight when Mr. Traill came in and bundled him up on the rug, so he could lie easily, and carried him down to the gate.

For quite twenty minutes these neighbors and friends of Bobby filed by silently, patted the shaggy little head, looked at the grand plate with Bobby’s and the Lord Provost’s names upon it, and believed their own wondering een.  Bobby wagged his tail and lolled his tongue, and now and then he licked the hand of a baby who had to be lifted by a tall brother to 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 of flowers.  Wreaths and nosegays, potted daffodils and primroses and daisies, covered the sunken mound so that some of them had to be moved to make room for Bobby.  He sniffed and sniffed at them, looked up inquiringly at Mr. Traill; and then snuggled down contentedly among the blossoms.  He did not understand their being there any more than he understood the collar about which everybody made such a to-do.  The narrow band of leather would disappear under his thatch again, and would be unnoticed by the casual passer-by; the flowers would fade and never be 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 the scattered garrison in the Castle, there took place a loving ceremony that was never afterward omitted as long as Bobby lived.  Every child newly come to the tenements learned it, every weanie lisped it among his first words.  Before going to bed each bairn opened a casement.  Sometimes a candle was held up—­a little star of love, glimmering for a moment on the dark; but always there was a small face peering into the melancholy kirkyard.  In midsummer, and at other seasons if the moon rose full and early and the sky was clear, Bobby could be seen on the grave.  And when he recovered from these hurts he trotted about, making the circuit below the windows.  He could not speak there, because he had been forbidden, but he could wag his tail and look up to show his friendliness.  And whether the children saw him or not they knew he was always there after sunset, keeping watch and ward, and “lanely” because his master had gone away to heaven; and so they called out to him sweetly and clearly: