Sensing some shifting of the winds in the man’s soul, Bobby trotted over to lick his hand.  Then he sat up on the hearth and lolled his tongue, reminding the good landlord that he had one cheerful friend to bear him company on the blaw-weary day.  It was thus they sat, companionably, when a Burgh policeman who was well known to Mr. Traill came in to dry himself by the fire.  Gloomy thoughts were dispelled at once by the instinct of hospitality.

“You’re fair wet, man.  Pull a chair to the hearth.  And you have a bit smut on your nose, Davie.”

“It’s frae the railway engine.  Edinburgh was a reekie toon eneugh afore the engines cam’ in an’ belched smuts in ilka body’s faces.”  The policeman was disgusted and discouraged by three days of wet clothing, and he would have to go out into the rain again before he got dry.  Nothing occurred to him to talk about but grievances.

“Did ye ken the Laird Provost, Maister Chambers, is intendin’ to knock a lang hole aboon the tap o’ the Coogate wynds?  It wull mak’ a braid street ye can leuk doon frae yer doorway here.  The gude auld days gangin’ doon in a muckle dust!”

“Ay, the sun will peep into foul places it hasn’t seen sin’ Queen Mary’s day.  And, Davie, it would be more according to the gude auld customs you’re so fond of to call Mr. William Chambers ‘Glenormiston’ for his bit country place.”

“He’s no’ a laird.”

“Nae; but he’ll be a laird the next time the Queen shows her bonny face north o’ the Tweed.  Tak’ ‘a cup o’ kindness’ with me, man.  Hot tay will tak’ the cauld out of vour disposeetion.”  Mr. Traill pulled a bell-cord and Ailie, unused as yet to bells, put her startled little face in at the door to the scullery.  At sight of the policeman she looked more than ever like a scared rabbit, and her hands shook when she set the tray down before him.  A tenement child grew up in an atmosphere of hostility to uniformed authority, which seldom appeared except to interfere with what were considered personal affairs.

The tea mollified the dour man, but there was one more rumbling.  “I’m no’ denyin’ the Provost’s gude-hearted.  Ance he got up a hame for gaen-aboot dogs, an’ he had naethin’ to mak’ by that.  But he canna keep ‘is spoon oot o’ ilka body’s porridge.  He’s fair daft to tear doon the wa’s that cut St. Giles up into fower, snod, white kirks, an’ mak’ it the ane muckle kirk it was in auld Papist days.  There are folk that say, gin he doesna leuk oot, anither kale wifie wull be throwin’ a bit stool at ‘is meddlin’ heid.”

“Eh, nae doubt.  There’s aye a plentifu’ supply o’ fules in the warld.”

Seeing his good friend so well entertained, and needing his society no longer, Bobby got up, wagged his tail in farewell, and started toward the door.  Mr. Traill summoned the little maid and spoke to her kindly:  “Give Bobby a bone, lassie, and then open the door for him.”

In carrying out these instructions Ailie gave the policeman as wide leeway as possible and kept a wary eye upon him.  The officer’s duties were chiefly up on High Street.  He seldom crossed the bridge, and it happened that he had never seen Bobby before.  Just by way of making conversation he remarked, “I didna ken ye had a dog, John.”