Curious about the mystery, the children took the little dog down to the gate, happily.  They were sobered, however, when Mr. Traill appeared, looking very grand in his Sabbath clothes.  He inspected Bobby all over with anxious scrutiny, and gave each of the bairns a threepenny-bit, but he had no blithe greeting for them.  Much preoccupied, he went off at once, with the animated little muff of a dog at his heels.  In truth, Mr. Traill was thinking about how he might best plead Bobby’s cause with the Lord Provost.  The note that was handed him, on leaving the Burgh court the day before, had read: 

“Meet me at the Regent’s Tomb in St. Giles at eight o’clock in the morning, and bring the wee Highlander with you.—­ Glenormiston.”

On the first reading the landlord’s spirits had risen, out of all proportion to the cause, owing to his previous depression.  But, after all, the appointment had no official character, since the Regent’s Tomb in St. Giles had long been a sort of town pump for the retailing of gossip and for the transaction of trifling affairs of all sorts.  The fate of this little dog was a small matter, indeed, and so it might be thought fitting, by the powers that be, that it should be decided at the Regent’s Tomb rather than in the Burgh court.

To the children, who watched from the kirkyard gate until Mr. Traill and Bobby were hidden by the buildings on the bridge, it was no’ canny.  The busy landlord lived mostly in shirt-sleeves and big white apron, ready to lend a hand in the rush hours, and he never was known to put on his black coat and tall hat on a week-day, except to attend a funeral.  However, there was the day’s work to be done.  Tammy had a lesson still to get, and returned to the kirkyard, and Ailie ran up to the dining-rooms.  On the step she collided with a red headed, freckle-faced young man who asked for Mr. Traill.

“He isna here.”  The shy lassie was made almost speechless by recognizing, in this neat, well-spoken clerk, an old Heriot boy, once as poor as herself.

“Do you wark for him, lassie?  Weel, do you know how he cam’ out in the Burgh court about the bit dog?”

There was only one “bit dog” in the world to Ailie.  Wild eyed with alarm at mention of the Burgh court, in connection with that beloved little pet, she stammered:  “It’s—­it’s—­no’ a coort he gaed to.  Maister Traill’s tak’n Bobby awa’ to a braw kirk.”

Sandy nodded his head.  “Ay, that would be the police office in St. Giles.  Lassie, tell Mr. Traill I sent the Lord Provost, and if he’s needing a witness to ca’ on Sandy McGregor. "

Ailie stared after him with frightened eyes.  Into her mind flashed that ominous remark of the policeman two days before:  “I didna ken ye had a dog, John?” She overtook Sandy in front of the sheriff’s court on the bridge.

“What—­what hae the police to do wi’ bittie dogs?”

“If a dog has nae master to pay for his license the police can tak’ him up and put him out o’ the way.”