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Page 68
"Havers, lassie! I'm ashamed o' ye for a fulish bairn. Bobby's no'
deid. Nae doot he's amang the stanes i' the kirkyaird. He's aye
scramblin' aboot for vermin an' pussies, an' may hae hurt himsel',
an' ye a' ken the bonny wee wadna cry oot i' the kirkyaird. Noo,
get to wark, an' dinna stand there greetin' an' waggin' yer
tongues. The mithers an' bairns maun juist gang hame an' stap their
havers, an' licht a' the candles an' cruisey lamps i' their hames,
an' set them i' the windows aboon the kirkyaird. Greyfriars is
murky by the ordinar', an' ye couldna find a coo there wi'oot the
lichts."
The crowd suddenly melted away, so eager were they all to have a
hand in helping to find the community pet. Then Mr. Traill turned
to the boys.
"Hoo mony o' ye laddies hae the bull's-eye lanterns?"
Ah! not many in the old buildings around the kirkyard. These
japanned tin aids to dark adventures on the golf links on autumn
nights cost a sixpence and consumed candles. Geordie Ross and Sandy
McGregor, coming up arm in arm, knew of other students and clerks
who still had these cherished toys of boyhood. With these heroes in
the lead a score or more of laddies swarmed into the kirkyard.
The tenements were lighted up as they had not been since nobles
held routs and balls there. Enough candles and oil were going up in
smoke to pay for wee Bobby's license all over again, and enough
love shone in pallid little faces that peered into the dusk to
light the darkest corner in the heart of the world. Rays from the
bull's-eyes were thrown into every nook and cranny. Very small
laddies insinuated themselves into the narrowest places. They
climbed upon high vaults and let themselves down in last year's
burdocks and tangled vines. It was all done in silence, only Mr.
Traill speaking at all. He went everywhere with the searchers, and
called:
"Whaur are ye, Bobby? Come awa' oot, laddie!"
But no gleaming ghost of a tousled dog was conjured by the voice of
affection. The tiniest scratching or lowest moaning could have been
heard, for the warm spring evening was very still, and there were,
as yet, few leaves to rustle. Sleepy birds complained at being
disturbed on their perches, and rodents could be heard scampering
along their runways. The entire kirkyard was explored, then the
interior of the two kirks. Mr. Traill went up to the lodge for the
keys, saying, optimistically, that a sexton might unwittingly have
locked Bobby in. Young men with lanterns went through the courts of
the tenements, around the Grassmarket, and under the arches of the
bridge. Laddies dropped from the wall and hunted over Heriot's
Hospital grounds to Lauriston market. Tammy, poignantly conscious
of being of no practical use, sat on Auld Jock's grave, firm in the
conviction that Bobby would return to that spot his ainsel' And
Ailie, being only a maid, whose portion it was to wait and weep,
lay across the window-sill, on the pediment of the tomb, a limp
little figure of woe.
Mr. Traill's heart was full of misgiving. Nothing but death or
stone walls could keep that little creature from this beloved
grave. But, in thinking of stone walls, he never once thought of
the Castle. Away over to the east, in Broughton market, when the
garrison marched away and at Lauriston when they returned, Mr.
Traill did not know that the soldiers had been out of the city.
Busy in the lodge Mistress Jeanie had not seen them go by the
kirkyard, and no one else, except Mr. Brown, knew the fascination
that military uniforms, marching and music had for wee Bobby. A fog
began to drift in from the sea. Suddenly the grass was sheeted and
the tombs blurred. A curtain of gauze seemed to be hung before the
lighted tenements. The Castle head vanished, and the sounds of the
drum and bugle of the tattoo came down muffled, as if through
layers of wool. The lights of the bull's-eyes were ruddy discs that
cast no rays. Then these were smeared out to phosphorescent glows,
like the "spunkies" that everybody in Scotland knew came out to
dance in old kirkyards.
It was no' canny. In the smother of the fog some of the little boys
were lost, and cried out. Mr. Traill got them up to the gate and
sent them home in bands, under the escort of the students. Mistress
Jeanie was out by the wicket. Mr. Brown was asleep, and she
"couldna thole it to sit there snug." When a fog-horn moaned from
the Firth she broke into sobbing. Mr. Traill comforted her as best
he could by telling her a dozen plans for the morning. By feeling
along the wall he got her to the lodge, and himself up to his cozy
dining-rooms.
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