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Page 21
If Bobby was in such straits, how must it be with Auld Jock? This
was the fifth day since the sick old man had fled into the storm.
With new disquiet Mr. Traill remembered a matter that had annoyed
him in the morning, and that he had been inclined to charge to
mischievous Heriot boys. Low down on the outside of his freshly
varnished entrance door were many scratches that Bobby could have
made. He may have come for food on the Sabbath day when the place
was closed.
After an hour Bobby woke long enough to eat a generous plate of
that delectable and highly nourishing Scotch dish known as
haggis. He fell asleep again in an easier attitude that relieved
the tension on the landlord's feelings. Confident that the
devoted little dog would lead him straight to his master, Mr.
Traill closed the door securely, that he might not escape
unnoticed, and arranged his own worldly affairs so he could leave
them to hirelings on the instant. In the idle time between dinner
and supper he sat down by the fire, lighted his pipe, repented
his unruly tongue, and waited. As the short day darkened to its
close the sunset bugle was blown in the Castle. At the first
note, Bobby crept from under the settle, a little unsteady on his
legs as yet, wagged his tail for thanks, and trotted to the door.
Mr. Traill had no trouble at all in keeping the little dog in
sight to the kirkyard gate, for in the dusk his coat shone
silvery white. Indeed, by a backward look now and then, Bobby
seemed to invite the man to follow, and waited at the
gate, with some impatience, for him to come up. Help was needed
there. By rising and tugging at Mr. Traill's clothing and then
jumping on the wicket Bobby plainly begged to have it opened. He
made no noise, neither barking nor whimpering, and that was very
strange for a dog of the terrier breed; but each instant of delay
he became more insistent, and even frantic, to have the gate
unlatched. Mr. Traill refused to believe what Bobby's behavior
indicated, and reproved him in the broad Scotch to which the
country dog was used.
"Nae, Bobby; be a gude dog. Gang doon to the Coogate noo, an'
find Auld Jock."
Uttering no cry at all, Bobby gave the man such a woebegone look
and dropped to the pavement, with his long muzzle as far under
the wicket as he could thrust it, that the truth shot home to Mr.
Traill's understanding. He opened the gate. Bobby slipped through
and stood just inside a moment, and looking back as if he
expected his human friend to follow. Then, very suddenly, as the
door of the lodge opened and the caretaker came out, Bobby
disappeared in the shadow of the church.
A big-boned, slow-moving man of the best country house-gardener
type, serviceably dressed in corduroy, wool bonnet, and ribbed
stockings, James Brown collided with the small and wiry landlord,
to his own very great embarrassment.
"Eh, Maister Traill, ye gied me a turn. It's no' canny to be
proolin' aboot the kirkyaird i' the gloamin'."
"Whaur did the bit dog go, man?" demanded the peremptory
landlord.
"Dog? There's no' ony dog i' the kirkyaird. It isna permeetted.
Gin it's a pussy ye're needin', noo--"
But Mr. Traill brushed this irrelevant pleasantry aside.
"Ay, there's a dog. I let him in my ainsel'."
The caretaker exploded with wrath: "Syne I'll hae the law on ye.
Can ye no' read, man?"
"Tut, tut, Jeemes Brown. Don't stand there arguing. It's a gude
and necessary regulation, but it's no' the law o' the land. I
turned the dog in to settle a matter with my ain conscience, and
John Knox would have done the same thing in the bonny face o'
Queen Mary. What it is, is nae beesiness of yours. The dog was a
sma' young terrier of the Highland breed, but with a drop to his
ears and a crinkle in his frosty coat--no' just an ordinar' dog.
I know him weel. He came to my place to be fed, near dead of
hunger, then led me here. If his master lies in this kirkyard,
I'll tak' the bit dog awa' with me."
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