Bobby watched all this without a movement.  He shivered when the lodge door was heard to open and shut and heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel and snow around the church.  “Juist fair silly” on his quaking legs he stood up, head and tail drooped.  But he held his ground bravely, and when the caretaker sighted him he trotted to meet the man, lifted himself on his hind legs, his short, shagged fore paws on his breast, begging attention and indulgence.  Then he sprawled across the great boots, asking pardon for the liberty he was taking.  At last, all in a flash, he darted back to the grave, sniffed at it, and stood again, head up, plumy tail crested, all excitement, as much as to say: 

“Come awa’ ower, man, an’ leuk at the brave sicht.”

If he could have barked, his meaning would have carried more convincingly, but he “hauded ’is gab” loyally.  And, alas, the caretaker was not to be beguiled.  Mr. Traill had told him Bobby had been sent back to the hill farm, but here he was, “perseestent” little rascal, and making some sort of bid for the man’s favor.  Mr. Brown took his pipe out of his mouth in surprised exasperation, and glowered at the dog.

“Gang awa’ oot wi’ ye!”

But Bobby was back again coaxing undauntedly, abasing himself before the angry man, insisting that he had something of interest to show.  The caretaker was literally badgered and cajoled into following him.  One glance at the formidable heap of the slain, and Mr. Brown dropped to a seat on the slab.

“Preserve us a’!”

He stared from the little dog to his victims, turned them over with his stout stick and counted them, and stared again.  Bobby fixed his pleading eyes on the man and stood at strained attention while fate hung in the balance.

“Guile wark!  Guile wark!  A braw doggie, an’ an unco’ fechter.  Losh! but ye’re a deil o’ a bit dog!”

All this was said in a tone of astonished comment, so non-committal of feeling that Bobby’s tail began to twitch in the stress of his anxiety.  When the caretaker spoke again, after a long, puzzled frowning, it was to express a very human bewilderment and irritation.

“Noo, what am I gangin’ to do wi’ ye?”

Ah, that was encouraging!  A moment before, he had ordered Bobby out in no uncertain tone.  After another moment he referred the question to a higher court.

“Jeanie, woman, come awa’ oot a meenit, wull ye?”

A hasty pattering of carpet-slippered feet on the creaking snow, around the kirk, and there was the neatest little apple-cheeked peasant woman in Scotland, “snod” from her smooth, frosted hair, spotless linen mutch and lawn kerchief, to her white, lamb’s wool stockings.

“Here’s the bit dog I was tellin’ ye aboot; an’ see for yersel’ what he’s done noo.”

“The wee beastie couldna do a’ that!  It’s as muckle as his ain wecht in fou’ vermin!” she cried.

“Ay, he did.  Thae terriers are sperity, by the ordinar’.  Ane o’ them, let into the corn exchange a murky nicht, killed saxty in ten meenits, an’ had to be dragged awa’ by the tail.  Noo, what I am gangin’ to do wi’ the takin’ bit I dinna ken.”