"Speak nae ill, man; Auld Jock's
dead."

The farmer's ruddy face blanched and he dropped his knife. "He's no'
buried so sane?"

"Ay, he's buried four days since in Greyfriars kirkyard, and Bobby has
slept every night on the auld man's grave."

"I'll juist tak' a leuk at the grave, moil, gin ye'll hae an ee on the
dog."

Mr. Traill cautioned him not to let the caretaker know that Bobby had
continued to sleep in the kirkyard, after having been put out twice. The
farmer was back in ten minutes, with a canny face that defied reading.
He lighted his short Dublin pipe and smoked it out before he spoke
again.

"It's ower grand for a puir auld shepherd body to be buried i'
Greyfriars."

"No' so grand as heaven, I'm thinking." Mr. Traill's response was dry.

"Ay, an' we're a' coontin' on gangin' there; but it's a prood thing to
hae yer banes put awa' in Greyfriars, ance ye're through wi' 'em!"

"Nae doubt the gude auld man would rather be alive on the Pentland braes
than dead in Greyfriars."

"Ay," the farmer admitted. "He was fair fond o' the hills, an' no'
likin' the toon. An', moil, he was a wonder wi' the lambs. He'd gang wi'
a collie ower miles o' country in roarin' weather, an' he'd aye fetch
the lost sheep hame. The auld moil was nane so weel furnished i' the
heid, but bairnies and beasts were unco' fond o' 'im. It wasna his fau't
that Bobby was aye at his heels. The lassie wad 'a' been after'im, gin
'er mither had permeeted it."

Mr. Traill asked him why he had let so valuable a man go, and the farmer
replied at once that he was getting old and could no longer do the
winter work. To any but a Scotchman brought up near the sheep country
this would have sounded hard, but Mr. Traill knew that the farmers on
the wild, tipped-up moors were themselves hard pressed to meet rent
and taxes. To keep a shepherd incapacitated by age and liable to lose a
flock in a snow-storm, was to invite ruin. And presently the man showed,
unwittingly, how sweet a kernel the heart may lie under the shell of
sordid necessity.

"I didna ken the auld man was fair ill or he micht hae bided at the
fairm an' tak'n 'is ain time to dee at 'is ease."

As Bobby unrolled and stretched to an awakening, the farmer got up, took
him unaware and thrust him into a covered basket. He had no intention of
letting the little creature give him the slip again. Bobby howled at the
indignity, and struggled and tore at the stout wickerwork. It went to
Mr.