owing animals out of holes, a breed whose
courage and persistence know no limit. He dug patiently, steadily, hour
after hour, enlarging the hole by inches. Now and then he had to stop
to rest. When he was able to use both forepaws he made encouraging
progress; but when he had to reach under the door, quite the length of
his stretched legs, and drag every bit of earth back into the byre, the
task must have been impossible to any little creature not urged by utter
misery. But Skye terriers have been known to labor with such fury that
they have perished of their own exertions. Bobby's nose sniffed liberty
long before he could squeeze his weasel-like body through the tunnel.
His back bruised and strained by the struggle through a hole too small,
he stood, trembling with exhaustion, in the windy dawn.

An opening door, a barking sheep-dog, the shuffle of the moving flock,
were signs that the farm day was beginning, although all the stars had
not faded out of the sky. A little flying shadow, Bobby slipped out of
the cow-yard, past the farm-house, and literally tumbled down the brae.
From one level to another he dropped, several hundred feet in a very few
minutes, and from the clear air of the breezy hilltop to a nether world
that was buried fathoms deep in a sea-fog as white as milk.

Hidden in a deep fold of the spreading skirts of the range, and some
distance from the road, lay a pool, made by damming a burn, and used, in
the shearing season, for washing sheep. Surrounded by brushy woods, and
very damp and dark, at other seasons it was deserted. Bobby found this
secluded place with his nose, curled up under a hazel thicket and fell
sound asleep. And while he slept, a nipping wind from the far, northern
Highlands swooped down on the mist and sent it flying out to sea. The
Lowlands cleared like magic. From the high point where Bobby lay the
road could be seen to fall, by short rises and long descents, all the
way to Edinburgh. From its crested ridge and flanking hills the city
trailed a dusky banner of smoke out over the fishing fleet in the Firth.

A little dog cannot see such distant views. Bobby could only read and
follow the guide-posts of odors along the way. He had begun the ascent
to the toll-bar when he heard the clatter of a cart and the pounding
of hoofs behind him. He did not wait to learn if this was the Cauldbrae
farmer in pursuit. Certain knowledge on that point was only to be gained
at his peril. He sprang int