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Page 84
"I am on my way to Braemar to visit for a few days at Balmoral
Castle. I wish I could take Bobby with me to show him to the dear
Queen."
"Preserve me!" cried Mistress Jeanie, and Mr. Brown's pet pipe was
in fragments on the hearth.
Bobby leaped upon her and whimpered, saying "Dinna gang, Leddy!" as
plainly as a little dog could say anything. He showed the pathos at
parting with one he was fond of, now, that an old and affectionate
person shows. He clung to her gown, rubbed his rough head under her
hand, and trotted disconsolately beside her to her waiting
carriage. At the very last she said, sadly:
"The Queen will have to come to Edinburgh to see Bobby."
"The bonny wee wad be a prood doggie, yer Leddyship," Mistress
Jeanie managed to stammer, but Mr. Brown was beyond speech.
The Grand Leddy said nothing. She looked at the foundation work of
Bobby's memorial fountain, swathed in canvas against the winter,
and waiting--waiting for the spring, when the waters of the earth
should be unsealed again; waiting until finis could be written to a
story on a bronze table-tomb; waiting for the effigy of a shaggy
Skye terrier to be cast and set up; waiting--
When the Queen came to see Bobby it was unlikely that he would know
anything about it.
He would know nothing of the crowds to gather there on a public
occasion, massing on the bridge, in Greyfriars Place, in broad
Chambers Street, and down Candlemakers Row--the magistrates and
Burgh council, professors and students from the University,
soldiers from the Castle, the neighboring nobility in carriages,
farmers and shepherds from the Pentlands, the Heriot laddies
marching from the school, and the tenement children in holiday
duddies--all to honor the memory of a devoted little dog. He would
know nothing of the military music and flowers, the prayer of the
minister of Greyfriars auld kirk, the speech of the Lord Provost;
nothing of the happy tears of the Grand Leddy when a veil should
fall away from a little bronze dog that gazed wistfully through the
kirkyard gate, and water gush forth for the refreshment of men and
animals.
"Good-by, good-by, good-by, Bobby; most loving and lovable,
darlingest wee dog in the world!" she cried, and a shower of bright
drops and sweet little sounds fell on Bobby's tousled head. Then
the carriage of the Grand Leddy rolled away in the rainy dusk.
The hour-bell of St. Giles was rung, and the sunset bugle blown in
the Castle. It took Mr. Brown a long time to lift the wicket, close
the tall leaves and lock the gate. The wind was rising, and the air
hardening. One after one the gas lamps flared in the gusts that
blew on the bridge. The huge bulk of shadow lay, velvet black, in
the drenched quarry pit of the Grassmarket. The caretaker's voice
was husky with a sudden "cauld in 'is heid."
"Ye're an auld dog, Bobby, an' ye canna deny it. Ye'll juist hae to
sleep i' the hoose the misty nicht."
Loath to part with them, Bobby went up to the lodge with the old
couple and saw them within the cheerful kitchen. But when the door
was held open for him, he wagged his tail in farewell and trotted
away around the kirk. All the concession he was willing to make to
old age and bad weather was to sleep under the fallen table-tomb.
Greyfriars on a dripping autumn evening! A pensive hour and season,
everything memorable brooded there. Crouched back in shadowy ranks,
the old tombs were draped in mystery. The mist was swirled by the
wind and smoke smeared out, over their dim shapes. Where families
sat close about scant suppers, the lights of candles and cruisey
lamps were blurred. The faintest halo hung above the Castle head.
Infrequent footsteps hurried by the gate. There was the rattle of a
belated cart, the ring of a distant church bell. But even on such
nights the casements were opened and little faces looked into the
melancholy kirkyard. Candles glimmered for a moment on the murk,
and sweetly and clearly the tenement bairns called down:
"A gude nicht to ye, Bobby."
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