was fascinated by soldiers and military
music, and so, perhaps--

"I'll no' be reconciled to parting--Eh, man, that's what Auld Jock
himsel' said when he was telling me that the bit dog must be returned to
the sheep-farm: 'It wull be sair partin'.'" Tears stood in the unashamed
landlord's eyes.

Glenormiston was pulling Bobby's silkily fringed ears thoughtfully.
Through all this talk about his dead master the little dog had not
stirred. For the second time that day Bobby's veil was pushed back,
first by the most unfortunate laddie in the decaying tenements about
Greyfriars, and now by the Lord Provost of the ancient royal burgh and
capital of Scotland. And both made the same discovery. Deep-brown pools
of love, young Bobby's eyes had dwelt upon Auld Jock. Pools of sad
memories they were now, looking out wistfully and patiently upon a
masterless world.

"Are you thinking he would be reconciled to be anywhere away from that
grave? Look, man!"

"Lord forgive me! I aye thought the wee doggie happy enough."

After a moment the two men went down the gallery stairs in silence.
Bobby dropped from the bench and fell into a subdued trot at their
heels. As they left the cathedral by the door that led into High Street
Glenormiston remarked, with a mysterious smile:

"I'm thinking Edinburgh can do better by wee Bobby than to banish him to
the Castle. But wait a bit, man. A kirk is not the place for settling a
small dog's affairs."

The Lord Provost led the way westward along the cathedral's front. On
High Street, St. Giles had three doorways. The middle door then gave
admittance to the police office; the western opened into the Little
Kirk, popularly known as Haddo's Hole. It was into this bare,
whitewashed chapel that Glenormiston turned to get some restoration
drawings he had left on the pulpit. He was explaining them to Mr. Traill
when he was interrupted by a murmur and a shuffle, as of many voices and
feet, and an odd tap-tap-tapping in the vestibule.

Of all the doorways on the north and south fronts of St. Giles the one
to the Little Kirk was nearest the end of George IV Bridge. Confused by
the vast size and imposing architecture of the old cathedral, these slum
children, in search of the police office, went no farther, but ventured
timidly into the open vestibule of Haddo's Hole. Any doubts they might
have had about this being the right place were soon dispelled. Bobby
heard them and darted out to investigate. And s