ows of
stained glass were not for the purpose of looking out, he did not see a
dramatic incident that occurred in the kirkyard after three o'clock in
the afternoon. The prelude to it really began with the report of the
timegun at one. Bobby had insisted upon being let out of the lodge
kitchen, and had spent the morning near Auld Jock's grave and in nosing
about neighboring slabs and thorn bushes. When the time-gun boomed he
trotted to the gate quite openly and waited there inside the wicket.

In such nipping weather there were no visitors to the kirkyard and the
gate was not opened. The music bells ran the gamut of old Scotch airs
and ceased, while he sat there and waited patiently. Once a man stopped
to look at the little dog, and Bobby promptly jumped on the wicket,
plainly begging to have it unlatched. But the passer-by decided that
some lady had left her pet behind, and would return for him. So he
patted the attractive little Highlander on the head and went on about
his business.

Discouraged by the unpromising outlook for dinner that day, Bobby went
slowly back to the grave. Twice afterward he made hopeful pilgrimages
to the gate. For diversion he fell noiselessly upon a prowling cat and
chased it out of the kirkyard. At last he sat upon the table-tomb. He
had escaped notice from the tenements all the morning because the view
from most of the windows was blocked by washings, hung out and dripping,
then freezing and clapping against the old tombs. It was half-past three
o'clock when a tiny, wizened face popped out of one of the rude little
windows in the decayed Cunzie Neuk at the bottom of Candlemakers Row.
Crippled Tammy Barr called out in shrill excitement,

"Ailie! O-o-oh, Ailie Lindsey, there's the wee doggie!"

"Whaur?" The lassie's elfin face looked out from a low, rear window of
the Candlemakers' Guildhall at the top of the Row.

"On the stane by the kirk wa'."

"I see 'im noo. Isna he bonny? I wish Bobby could bide i' the kirkyaird,
but they wadna let 'im. Tammy, gin ye tak' 'im up to Maister Traill,
he'll gie ye the shullin'!"

"I couldna tak' 'im by ma lane," was the pathetic confession. "Wad ye
gang wi' me, Ailie? Ye could drap ower an' catch 'im, an' I could come
by the gate. Faither made me some grand crutches frae an' auld chair
back."

Tears suddenly drowned the lassie's blue eyes and ran down her pinched
little cheeks. "Nae, I couldna gang. I haena ony shoon to ma feet."

"It's no' so cau