They were all down on the floor, in the space before the altar, unwashed, uncombed, unconscious of the dirty rags that scarce covered them; quite happy and self-forgetful in the charming friskings and friendly lollings of the well-fed, carefully groomed, beautiful little dog.  Ailie, still so excited that she forgot to be shy, put Bobby through his pretty tricks.  He rolled over and over, he jumped, he danced to Tammy’s whistling of “Bonnie Dundee,” he walked on his hind legs and louped at a bonnet, he begged, he lifted his short shagged paw and shook hands.  Then he sniffed at the heap of coins, looked up inquiringly at Mr. Traill, and, concluding that here was some property to be guarded, stood by the “siller” as stanchly as a soldier.  It was just pure pleasure to watch him.

Very suddenly the Lord Provost changed his mind.  A sacred kirk was the very best place of all to settle this little dog’s affairs.  The offering of these children could not be refused.  It should lie there, below the altar, and be consecrated to some other blessed work; and he would do now and here what he had meant to do elsewhere and in a quite different way.  He lifted Bobby to the pulpit so that all might see him, and he spoke so that all might understand.

“Are ye kennin’ what it is to gie the freedom o’ the toon to grand folk?”

“It’s—­it’s when the bonny Queen comes an’ ye gie her the keys to the burgh gates that are no’ here ony mair.”  Tammy, being in Heriot’s, was a laddie of learning.

“Weel done, laddie.  Lang syne there was a wa’ aroond Edinburgh wi’ gates in it.”  Oh yes, all these bairnies knew that, and the fragment of it that was still to be seen outside and above the Grassmarket, with its sentry tower by the old west port.  “Gin a fey king or ither grand veesitor cam’, the Laird Provost an’ the maigestrates gied ‘im the keys so he could gang in an’ oot at ’is pleesure.  The wa’s are a’ doon noo, an’ the gates no’ here ony mair, but we hae the keys, an’ we mak’ a show o’ gien’ ’em to veesitors wha are vera grand or wise or gude, or juist usefu’ by the ordinar’.”

“Maister Gladstane,” said Tammy.

“Ay, we honor the Queen’s meenisters; an’ Miss Nightingale, wha nursed the soldiers i’ the war; an’ Leddy Burdett-Coutts, wha gies a’ her siller an’ a’ her heart to puir folk an’ is aye kind to horses and dogs an’ singin’ birdies; an’ we gie the keys to heroes o’ the war wha are brave an’ faithfu’.  An’ noo, there’s a wee bit beastie.  He’s weel-behavin’, an’ isna makin’ a blatterin’ i’ an auld kirkyaird.  He aye minds what he’s bidden to do.  He’s cheerfu’ an’ busy, keepin’ the proolin’ pussies an’ vermin frae the sma’ birdies i’ the nests.  He mak’s friends o’ ilka body, an’ he’s faithfu’.  For a deid man he lo’ed he’s gaun hungry; an’ he hasna forgotten ’im or left ’im by ’is lane at nicht for mair years than some o’ ye are auld.  An’ gin ye find ‘im lyin’ canny, an’ ye tak’ a keek into ’is bonny brown een, ye can see he’s aye greetin’.  An’ so, ye didna ken why, but ye a’ lo’ed the lanely wee—­”