reet, and angry conjectures that he had been
stolen. Then Ailie wailed:

"Oh, Maister Traill, the bittie dog's deid!"

"Havers, lassie! I'm ashamed o' ye for a fulish bairn. Bobby's no' deid.
Nae doot he's amang the stanes i' the kirkyaird. He's aye scramblin'
aboot for vermin an' pussies, an' may hae hurt himsel', an' ye a' ken
the bonny wee wadna cry oot i' the kirkyaird. Noo, get to wark, an'
dinna stand there greetin' an' waggin' yer tongues. The mithers an'
bairns maun juist gang hame an' stap their havers, an' licht a' the
candles an' cruisey lamps i' their hames, an' set them i' the windows
aboon the kirkyaird. Greyfriars is murky by the ordinar', an' ye couldna
find a coo there wi'oot the lichts."

The crowd suddenly melted away, so eager were they all to have a hand in
helping to find the community pet. Then Mr. Traill turned to the boys.

"Hoo mony o' ye laddies hae the bull's-eye lanterns?"

Ah! not many in the old buildings around the kirkyard. These japanned
tin aids to dark adventures on the golf links on autumn nights cost a
sixpence and consumed candles. Geordie Ross and Sandy McGregor, coming
up arm in arm, knew of other students and clerks who still had these
cherished toys of boyhood. With these heroes in the lead a score or more
of laddies swarmed into the kirkyard.

The tenements were lighted up as they had not been since nobles held
routs and balls there. Enough candles and oil were going up in smoke
to pay for wee Bobby's license all over again, and enough love shone
in pallid little faces that peered into the dusk to light the darkest
corner in the heart of the world. Rays from the bull's-eyes were thrown
into every nook and cranny. Very small laddies insinuated themselves
into the narrowest places. They climbed upon high vaults and let
themselves down in last year's burdocks and tangled vines. It was all
done in silence, only Mr. Traill speaking at all. He went everywhere
with the searchers, and called:

"Whaur are ye, Bobby? Come awa' oot, laddie!"

But no gleaming ghost of a tousled dog was conjured by the voice of
affection. The tiniest scratching or lowest moaning could have been
heard, for the warm spring evening was very still, and there were, as
yet, few leaves to rustle. Sleepy birds complained at being disturbed
on their perches, and rodents could be heard scampering along their
runways. The entire kirkyard was explored, then the interior of the
two kirks. Mr. Traill went up to