As she was getting into her carriage a noble collie, but one with a discouraged tail and hanging tongue, came out of Forest Road.  He had done a hard morning’s work, of driving a flock from the Pentlands to the cattle and sheep market, and then had hunted far and unsuccessfully for water.  He nosed along the gutter, here and there licking from the cobblestones what muddy moisture had not drained away from a recent rain.  The same lady who had fed the carrots to the coster’s donkey in London turned hastily into Ye Olde Greyfriars Dining-Rooms, and asked Mr. Traill for a basin of water.  The landlord thought he must have misunderstood 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’s nose.  The collie lapped it eagerly until the water was gone, then looked up and, by waggings and lickings, asked for more.  Mr. Traill brought out a 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 the moor to drink from.  This neeborhood is noted for the dogs that are aye passing.  On Wednesdays the farm dogs come up from the Grassmarket, and every day there are weel-cared-for dogs from the residence streets, dogs of all conditions across the bridge from High Street, and meeserable waifs from the Cowgate.  Stray pussies are about, too.  I’m a gude-hearted man, and an unco’ observant one, your Leddyship, but I was no’ thinking that these animals must often suffer from thirst.”

“Few people do think of it.  Most men can love some one dog or cat or horse and be attentive to its wants, but they take little thought for the world of dumb animals that are so dependent upon us.  It is no special credit to you, Mr. Traill, that you became fond of an attractive little dog like Bobby and have cared for him so tenderly.”

The landlord gasped.  He had taken not a little pride in his stanch championship and watchful care of Bobby, and his pride had beer increased by the admiration that had been lavished on him for years by the general public.  Now, as he afterward confessed to Mr. Brown: 

“Her leddyship made me feel I’d done naething by the ordinar’, but maistly to please my ainsel’.  Eh, man, she made me sing sma’.”

When the collie had finished drinking, he looked up gratefully, rubbed against the good Samaritans, waved his plumed tail like a banner, and trotted away.  After a thoughtful moment Lady Burdett-Coutts said: 

“The suitable memorial here, Mr. Traill, is a fountain, with a low basin level with the curb, and a higher one, and Bobby sitting on an altar-topped central column above, looking through the kirkyard gate.  It shall be his mission to bring men and small animals together in sympathy by offering to both the cup of cold water.”

She was there once again that year.  On her way north she stopped in Edinburgh 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 and sharp.  But on that day it was misting, and yellow leaves were dropping on the wet tombs and beaded grass, when the Grand Leddy appeared at the kirkyard late in the afternoon with a wreath of laurel to lay on Auld Jock’s grave.