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 Page 3
 
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*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
 
 
 
 
 
 
GREYFRIARS BOBBY
 
 
by Eleanor Atkinson
 
 
 
 
 
I.
 
 
When the time-gun boomed from Edinburgh Castle, Bobby gave a
 
startled yelp. He was only a little country dog--the very
 
youngest and smallest and shaggiest of Skye terriers--bred on a
 
heathery slope of the Pentland hills, where the loudest sound was
 
the bark of a collie or the tinkle of a sheep-bell. That morning
 
he had come to the weekly market with Auld Jock, a farm laborer,
 
and the Grassmarket of the Scottish capital lay in the narrow
 
valley at the southern base of Castle Crag. Two hundred feet
 
above it the time-gun was mounted in the half-moon battery on an
 
overhanging, crescent-shaped ledge of rock. In any part of the
 
city the report of the one-o'clock gun was sufficiently alarming,
 
but in the Grassmarket it was an earth-rending explosion directly
 
overhead. It needed to be heard but once there to be registered
 
on even a little dog's brain. Bobby had heard it many times, and
 
he never failed to yelp a sharp protest at the outrage to his
 
ears; but, as the gunshot was always followed by a certain happy
 
event, it started in his active little mind a train of pleasant
 
associations.
 
 
In Bobby's day of youth, and that was in 1858, when Queen
 
Victoria was a happy wife and mother, with all her bairns about
 
her knees in Windsor or Balmoral, the Grassmarket of Edinburgh
 
was still a bit of the Middle Ages, as picturesquely decaying and
 
Gothic as German Nuremberg. Beside the classic corn exchange, it
 
had no modern buildings. North and south, along its greatest
 
length, the sunken quadrangle was faced by tall, old,
 
timber-fronted houses of stone, plastered like swallows' nests to
 
the rocky slopes behind them.
 
 
Across the eastern end, where the valley suddenly narrowed to the
 
ravine-like street of the Cowgate, the market was spanned by the
 
lofty, crowded arches of George IV Bridge. This high-hung,
 
viaduct thoroughfare, that carried a double line of buildings
 
within its parapet, leaped the gorge, from the tall, old, Gothic
 
rookeries on High Street ridge, just below the Castle esplanade.
 
It cleared the roofs of the tallest, oldest houses that swarmed
 
up the steep banks from the Cowgate, and ran on, by easy descent,
 
to the main gateway of Greyfriars kirkyard at the lower top of
 
the southern rise.
 
 
         
        
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