A leap, as if released from a spring, and Bobby captured it.  A snap of his long muzzle, a jerk of his stoutly set head, and the victim hung limp from his grip.  And he followed another deeply seated instinct when he carried the slain to Auld Jock’s grave.  Trophies of the chase were always to be laid at the feet of the master.

“Gude dog! eh, but ye’re a bonny wee fechter!” Auld Jock had always said after such an exploit; and Bobby had been petted and praised until he nearly wagged his crested tail off with happiness and pride.  Then he had been given some choice tidbit of food as a reward for his prowess.  The farmer of Cauldbrae had on such occasions admitted that Bobby might be of use about barn and dairy, and Mr. Traill had commended his capture of prowlers in the dining-room.  But Bobby was “ower young” and had not been “put to the vermin” as a definite business in life.  He caught a rat, now and then, as he chased rabbits, merely as a diversion.  When he had caught this one he lay down again.  But after a time he got up deliberately and trotted down to the encircling line of old courtyarded tombs.  There were nooks and crannies between and behind these along the wall into which the caretaker could not penetrate with sickle, rake and spade, that formed sheltered runways for rodents.

A long, low, weasel-like dog that could flatten himself on the ground, Bobby squeezed between railings and pedestals, scrambled over fallen fragments of sculptured urns, trumpets, angels’ wings, altars, skull and cross-bones, and Latin inscribed scrolls.  He went on his stomach under holly and laurel shrubs, burdocks, thistles, and tangled, dead vines.  Here and there he lay in such rubbish as motionless as the effigies careen on marble biers.  With the growing light grew the heap of the slain on Auld Jock’s grave.

Having done his best, Bobby lay down again, worse in appearance than before, but with a stouter heart.  He did not stir, although the shadows fled, the sepulchers stood up around the field of snow, and slabs and shafts camped in ranks on the slope.  Smoke began to curl up from high, clustered chimney-pots; shutters were opened, and scantily clad women had hurried errands on decaying gallery and reeling stairway.  Suddenly the Castle turrets were gilded with pale sunshine, and all the little cells in the tall, old houses hummed and buzzed and clacked with life.  The University bell called scattered students to morning prayers.  Pinched and elfish faces of children appeared at the windows overlooking the kirkyard.  The sparrows had instant news of that, and the little winged beggars fluttered up to the lintels of certain deep-set casements, where ill-fed bairns scattered breakfasts of crumbs.