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Page 18
For a long time Auld Jock sat there with his head in his hands
before he again slipped back to his pillow. Darkness stole into
the quiet room. The lodgers returned to their dens one after one,
tramping or slipping or hobbling up the stairs and along the
passage. Bobby bristled and froze, on guard, when a stealthy
hand tried the latch. Then there were sounds of fighting, of
crying women, and the long, low wailing of-wretched children. The
evening drum and bugle were heard from the Castle, and hour
after hour was struck from the clock of St. Giles while Bobby
watched beside his master.
All night Auld Jock was "aff 'is heid." When he muttered in his
sleep or cried out in the delirium of fever, the little dog put
his paws upon the bed-rail. He scratched on it and begged to be
lifted to where he could comfort his master, for the shelf was
set too high for him to climb into the bed. Unable to get his
master's attention, he licked the hot hand that hung over the
side. Auld Jock lay still at last, not coughing any more, but
breathing rapid, shallow breaths. Just at dawn he turned his head
and gazed in bewilderment at the alert and troubled little
creature that was instantly upon the rail. After a long time he
recognized the dog and patted the shaggy little head. Feeling
around the bed, he found the other bun and dropped it on the
floor. Presently he said, between strangled breaths:
"Puir--Bobby! Gang--awa'--hame--laddie."
After that it was suddenly very still in the brightening room.
Bobby gazed and gazed at his master--one long, heartbroken look,
then dropped to all fours and stood trembling. Without another
look he stretched himself upon the hearthstone below the bed.
Morning and evening footsteps went down and came up on the
stairs. Throughout the day--the babel of crowded tenement strife;
the crying of fishwives and fagot-venders in the court; the
striking of the hours; the boom of the time gun and sweet clamor
of music bells; the failing of the light and the soaring note of
the bugle--he watched motionless beside his master.
Very late at night shuffling footsteps came up the stairs. The
"auld wifie" kept a sharp eye on the comings and goings of her
lodgers. It was "no' canny" that this old man, with a cauld in
his chest, had gone up full two days before and had not come down
again. To bitter complaints of his coughing and of his strange
talking to himself she gave scant attention, but foul play was
done often enough in these dens to make her uneasy. She had no
desire to have the Burgh police coming about and interfering with
her business. She knocked sharply on the door and called:
"Auld Jock!"
Bobby trotted over to the door and stood looking at it. In such a
strait he would naturally have welcomed the visitor, scratching
on the panel, and crying to any human body without to come in and
see what had befallen his master. But Auld Jock had bade him
"haud 'is gab" there, as in Greyfriars kirkyard. So he held to
loyal silence, although the knocking and shaking of the latch was
insistent and the lodgers were astir. The voice of the old woman
was shrill with alarm.
"Auld Jock, can ye no' wauken?" And, after a moment, in which the
unlatched casement window within could be heard creaking on its
hinges in the chill breeze, there was a hushed and frightened
question:
"Are ye deid?"
The footsteps fled down the stairs, and Bobby was left to watch
through the long hours of darkness.
Very early in the morning the flimsy door was quietly forced by
authority. The first man who entered--an officer of the Crown
from the sheriff's court on the bridge--took off his hat to the
majesty that dominated that bare cell. The Cowgate region
presented many a startling contrast, but such a one as this must
seldom have been seen. The classic fireplace, and the motionless
figure and peaceful face of the pious old shepherd within it, had
the dignity and beauty of some monumental tomb and carved effigy
in old Greyfriars kirkyard. Only less strange was the contrast
between the marks of poverty and toil on the dead man and the
dainty grace of the little fluff of a dog that mourned him.
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