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Page 80
"Are ye kennin' anither tale, Leddy?"
"Oh, a number of them. Prince, the fox terrier, was ill once, and
the doctor who came to see him said his mistress gave him too much
to eat. That was very probable, because that lady likes to see
children and animals have too much to eat. There are dozens and
dozens of poor children that the lady knows and loves. Once they
lived in a very dark and dirty and crowded tenement, quite as bad
as some that were torn down in the Cowgate and the Grassmarket."
"It mak's ye fecht ane anither," said one laddie, soberly. "Gin
they had a sonsie doggie like Bobby to lo'e, an' an auld kirkyaird
wi' posies an' birdies to leuk into, they wadna fecht sae muckle."
"I'm very sure of that. Well, the lady built a new tenement with
plenty of room and light and air, and a market so they can get
better food more cheaply, and a large church, that is also a kind
of school where big and little people can learn many things. She
gives the children of the neighborhood a Christmas dinner and a gay
tree, and she strips the hedges of Holly Lodge for them, and then
she takes Peter and Prince, and Cocky the parrot, to help along the
fun, and she tells her newest stories. Next Christmas she means to
tell the story of Greyfriars Bobby, and how all his little Scotch
friends are better-behaving and cleaner and happier because they
have that wee dog to love."
"Ilka body lo'es Bobby. He wasna ever mistreatet or neglectet,"
said Ailie, thoughtfully.
"Oh--my--dear! That's the very best part of the story!" The Grand
Leddy had a shining look.
The rain had ceased and the sun come out, and the children began to
be called away. There was quite a little ceremony of lingering
leave-taking with the lady and with Bobby, and while this was going
on Ailie had a "sairious" confidence for her old playfellow.
"Tammy, as the leddy says, Bobby's gettin' auld. I ken whaur's a
snawy hawthorn aboon the burn in Swanston Dell. The throstles nest
there, an' the blackbirds whustle bonny. It isna so far but the
bairnies could march oot wi' posies." She turned to the lady, who
had overheard her. "We gied a promise to the Laird Provost to gie
Bobby a grand funeral. Ye ken he wullna be permittet to be buried
i' the kirkyaird."
"Will he not? I had not thought of that." Her tone was at once
hushed and startled.
Then she was down in the grass, brooding over the little dog, and
Bobby had the pathetic look of trying to understand what this
emotional talk, that seemed to concern himself, was about. Tammy
and Ailie were down, too.
"Are ye thinkin' Bobby wall be kennin' the deeference?" Ailie's
bluebell eyes were wide at the thought of pain for this little pet.
"I do not know, my dear. But there cannot well be more love in this
world than there is room for in God's heaven."
She was silent all the way to the gate, some thought in her mind
already working toward a gracious deed. At the last she said: "The
little dog is fond of you both. Be with him all you can, for I
think his beautiful life is near its end." After a pause, during
which her face was lighted by a smile, as if from a lovely thought
within, she added: "Don't let Bobby die before my return from
London."
In a week she was back, and in the meantime letters and telegrams
had been flying, and many wheels set in motion in wee Bobby's
affairs. When she returned to the churchyard, very early one
morning, no less a person than the Lord Provost himself was with
her. Five years had passed, but Mr.--no, Sir William--Chambers,
Laird of Glenormiston, for he had been knighted by the Queen, was
still Lord Provost of Edinburgh.
Almost immediately Mr. Traill appeared, by appointment, and was
made all but speechless for once in his loquacious life by the
honor of being asked to tell Bobby's story to the Baroness
Burdett-Coutts. But not even a tenement child or a London coster
could be ill at ease with the Grand Leddy for very long, and
presently the three were in close conference in the portico. Bobby
welcomed them, and then dozed in the sun and visited with the robin
on Auld Jock's grave. Far from being tongue-tied, the landlord was
inspired. What did he not remember, from the pathetic renunciation,
"Bobby isna ma ain dog," down to the leal Highlander's last, near
tragic reminder to men that in the nameless grave lay his
unforgotten master.
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