nother toast to
a little dog that is said to have slept on his master's grave in
Greyfriars churchyard for more than eight years. Sergeant Scott, of the
Royal Engineers, vouches for the story and will present the hero."

The sergeant came forward then with the word that Bobby could not be
found. He was somewhere in the Castle, and had made persistent and
frantic efforts to get out. Prevented at every turn, and forcibly held
in various places by well-meaning but blundering soldiers, he had been
frightened into hiding.

Bobby heard every word, and he must have understood that he himself was
under discussion. Alternately hopeful and apprehensive, he scanned
each face in the room that came within range of his vision, until one
arrested and drew him. Such faces, full of understanding, love and
compassion for dumb animals, are to be found among men, women and
children, in any company and in every corner of the world. Now, with
the dog's instinct for the dog-lover, Bobby made his way about the room
unnoticed, and set his short, shagged paws up on this man's knee.

"Bless my soul, gentlemen, here's the little dog now, and a beautiful
specimen of the drop-eared Skye he is. Why didn't you say that the
'bittie' dog was of the Highland breed, Sergeant? You may well believe
any extravagant tale you may hear of the fidelity and affection of the
Skye terrier."

And with that wee Bobby was set upon the polished table, his own silver
image glimmering among the reflections of candles and old plate. He
kept close under the hand of his protector, but waiting for the moment
favorable to his appeal. The company crowded around with eager interest,
while the man of expert knowledge and love of dogs talked about Bobby.

"You see he's a well-knit little rascal, long and low, hardy and strong.
His ancestors were bred for bolting foxes and wildcats among the rocky
headlands of the subarctic islands. The intelligence, courage and
devotion of dogs of this breed can scarcely be overstated. There is some
far away crossing here that gives this one a greater beauty and grace
and more engaging manners, making him a 'sport' among rough farm
dogs--but look at the length and strength of the muzzle. He's as
determined as the deil. You would have to break his neck before you
could break his purpose. For love of his master he would starve, or he
would leap to his death without an instant's hesitation."

All this time the man had been stroking Bobby's hea