When the morning stream of auld acquaintance had gone by, and none forgot, Bobby went up to the lodge to sit for an hour with Mistress Jeanie.  There he was called “croodlin’ doo”—­which was altogether absurd—­by the fond old woman.  As neat of plumage, and as busy and talkative about small domestic matters as the robin, Bobby loved to watch the wifie stirring savory messes over the fire, watering her posies, cleaning the fluttering skylark’s cage, or just sitting by the hearth or in the sunny doorway with him, knitting warm stockings for her rheumatic 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 open unless Mr. Brown was on guard, and, by long and close companionship with him, the aging man could often tell what Bobby was dreaming about.  At a convulsive movement and a jerk of his head the caretaker would say to the 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 then foolish, at the vivid imaginings of sleep.  But when, in a doze, he half stretched himself up on his short, shagged fore paws, flattened out, and then awoke and lay so, very still, for a time, it was Mistress Jeanie who 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.  But Mr. Brown bit his teeth in his pipe, limped away, and stormed at his daft 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 his memory, Bobby often lived again the hour of his bereavement, and heard Auld 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 merely his tarrying place, where he waited until such a time as that mysterious door should open for him, perchance to an equal sky, and he could slip through and find his master.

On the morning of the day when the Grand Leddy came Bobby watched the holiday crowd gather on Heriot’s Hospital grounds.  The mothers and sisters of hundreds of boys were there, looking on at the great match game of cricket.  Bobby dropped over the wall and scampered about, taking a merry part in the play.  When the pupils’ procession was formed, and the long line of grinning and nudging laddies marched in to service in the 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 dog trotted up for his dinner and nap under the settle and his daily visit with Mr. Traill.