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Page 76
"Bide a wee, noo, an' I'll fetch the doggie doon."
Bobby had slept blissfully nearly all the day, after his exhausting
labors and torturing pains. But with the sunset bugle he fretted to
be let out. Ailie had wept and pleaded, Mrs. Brown had reasoned
with him, and Mr. Brown had scolded, all to the end of persuading
him to sleep in "the hoose the nicht." But when no one was watching
him Bobby crawled from his rug and dragged himself to the door. He
rapped the floor with his tail in delight when Mr. Traill came in
and bundled him up on the rug, so he could lie easily, and carried
him down to the gate.
For quite twenty minutes these neighbors and friends of Bobby filed
by silently, patted the shaggy little head, looked at the grand
plate with Bobby's and the Lord Provost's names upon it, and
believed their own wondering een. Bobby wagged his tail and lolled
his tongue, and now and then he licked the hand of a baby who had
to be lifted by a tall brother to see him. Shy kisses were dropped
on Bobby's head by toddling bairns, and awkward caresses by rough
laddies. Then they all went home quietly, and Mr. Traill carried
the little dog around the kirk.
And there, ah! so belated, Auld Jock's grave bore its tribute of
flowers. Wreaths and nosegays, potted daffodils and primroses and
daisies, covered the sunken mound so that some of them had to be
moved to make room for Bobby. He sniffed and sniffed at them,
looked up inquiringly at Mr. Traill; and then snuggled down
contentedly among the blossoms. He did not understand their being
there any more than he understood the collar about which everybody
made such a to-do. The narrow band of leather would disappear under
his thatch again, and would be unnoticed by the casual passer-by;
the flowers would fade and never be so lavishly renewed; but there
was another more wonderful gift, now, that would never fail him.
At nightfall, before the drum and bugle sounded the tattoo to call
the scattered garrison in the Castle, there took place a loving
ceremony that was never afterward omitted as long as Bobby lived.
Every child newly come to the tenements learned it, every weanie
lisped it among his first words. Before going to bed each bairn
opened a casement. Sometimes a candle was held up--a little star of
love, glimmering for a moment on the dark; but always there was a
small face peering into the melancholy kirkyard. In midsummer, and
at other seasons if the moon rose full and early and the sky was
clear, Bobby could be seen on the grave. And when he recovered from
these hurts he trotted about, making the circuit below the windows.
He could not speak there, because he had been forbidden, but he
could wag his tail and look up to show his friendliness. And
whether the children saw him or not they knew he was always there
after sunset, keeping watch and ward, and "lanely" because his
master had gone away to heaven; and so they called out to him
sweetly and clearly:
"A gude nicht to ye, Bobby."
XII.
In one thing Mr. Traill had been mistaken: the grand folk did not
forget Bobby. At the end of five years the leal Highlander was not
only still remembered, but he had become a local celebrity.
Had the grave of his haunting been on the Pentlands or in one of
the outlying cemeteries of the city Bobby must have been known to
few of his generation, and to fame not at all. But among
churchyards Greyfriars was distinguished. One of the historic
show-places of Edinburgh, and in the very heart of the Old Town, it
was never missed by the most hurried tourist, seldom left
unvisited, from year to year, by the oldest resident. Names on its
old tombs had come to mean nothing to those who read them, except
as they recalled memorable records of love, of inspiration, of
courage, of self-sacrifice. And this being so, it touched the
imagination to see, among the marbles that crumbled toward the dust
below, a living embodiment of affection and fidelity. Indeed, it
came to be remarked, as it is remarked to-day, although four
decades have gone by, that no other spot in Greyfriars was so much
cared for as the grave of a man of whom nothing was known except
that the life and love of a little dog was consecrated to his
memory.
At almost any hour Bobby might be found there. As he grew older he
became less and less willing to be long absent, and he got much of
his exercise by nosing about among the neighboring thorns. In fair
weather he took his frequent naps on the turf above his master, or
he sat on the fallen table-tomb in the sun. On foul days he watched
the grave from under the slab, and to that spot he returned from
every skirmish against the enemy. Visitors stopped to speak to him.
Favored ones were permitted to read the inscription on his collar
and to pat his head. It seemed, therefore, the most natural thing
in the world when the greatest lady in England, beside the Queen,
the Baroness Burdett-Coutts, came all the way from London to see
Bobby.
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