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Page 46
"Ay, he went from my place, fair ill, into the storm. I never
knew whaur the auld man died."
The minister looked at Mr. Traill, struck by the note of remorse
in his tone.
"The missionary returned to the churchyard to look for the dog
that had refused to leave the grave. He concluded that Bobby had
gone away to a new home and master, as most dogs do go sooner or
later. Some weeks afterward the minister of a small church in the
hills inquired for him and insisted that he was still here. This
last week, at the General Assembly, I heard of the wee Highlander
from several sources. The tales of his escapes from the
sheep-farm have grown into a sort of Odyssey of the Pentlands. I
think, perhaps, if you had not continued to feed him, Mr. Traill,
he might have remained at his old home."
"Nae, I'm no' thinking so, and I was no' willing to risk the
starvation of the bonny, leal Highlander."
Until the stars came out Mr. Traill sat there telling the story.
At mention of his master's name Bobby returned to the mound and
stretched himself across it. "I will go before the kirk officers,
Doctor Lee, and tak' full responseebility. Mr. Brown is no' to
blame. It would have tak'n a man with a heart of trap-rock to
have turned the woeful bit dog out."
"He is well cared for and is of a hardy breed, so he is not
likely to suffer; but a dog, no more than a man, cannot live on
bread alone. His heart hungers for love."
"Losh!" cried Mr. Brown. "Are ye thinkin' he isna gettin' it? Oor
bairns are a' oot o' the hame nest, an' ma woman, Jeanie, is fair
daft aboot Bobby, aye thinkin' he'll tak' the measles. An' syne,
there's a' the tenement bairns cryin' oot on 'im ilka meenit, an'
ane crippled laddie he een lets fondle 'im."
"Still, it would be better if he belonged to some one master.
Everybody's dog is nobody's dog," the minister insisted. "I wish
you could attach him to you, Mr. Traill."
"Ay, it's a disappointment to me that he'll no' bide with me.
Perhaps, in time--"
"It's nae use, ava," Mr. Brown interrupted, and he related the
incident of the evening before. "He's cheerfu' eneugh maist o'
the time, an' likes to be wi' the laddies as weel as ony dog, but
he isna forgettin' Auld Jock. The wee doggie cam' again to 'is
maister's buryin'. Man, ye ne'er saw the like o' it. The wifie
found 'im flattened oot to a furry door-mat, an' greetin' to brak
'is heart."
"It's a remarkable story; and he's a beautiful little dog, and a
leal one." The minister stooped and patted Bobby, and he was
thoughtful all the way to the gate.
"The matter need not be brought up in any formal way. I will
speak to the elders and deacons about it privately, and refer
those wanting details to you, Mr. Traill. Mr. Brown," he called
to the caretaker who stood in the lodge door, "it cannot be
pleasing to God to see the little creature restrained. Give Bobby
his liberty on the Sabbath."
VIII.
It was more than eight years after Auld Jock fled from the threat
of a doctor that Mr. Traill's prediction, that his tongue would
get him into trouble with the magistrates, was fulfilled; and
then it was because of the least-considered slip in speaking to a
boyhood friend who happened to be a Burgh policeman.
Many things had tried the landlord of Ye Olde Greyfriars
Dining-Rooms. After a series of soft April days, in which lilacs
budded and birds sang in the kirkyard, squalls of wind and rain
came up out of the sea-roaring east. The smoky old town of
Edinburgh was so shaken and beaten upon and icily drenched that
rattling finials and tiles were torn from ancient gables and
whirled abroad. Rheumatic pains were driven into the joints of
the elderly. Mr. Brown took to his bed in the lodge, and Mr.
Traill was touchy in his temper.
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