, of courage, of self-sacrifice. And this being so, it
touched the imagination to see, among the marbles that crumbled toward
the dust below, a living embodiment of affection and fidelity. Indeed,
it came to be remarked, as it is remarked to-day, although four decades
have gone by, that no other spot in Greyfriars was so much cared for as
the grave of a man of whom nothing was known except that the life and
love of a little dog was consecrated to his memory.

At almost any hour Bobby might be found there. As he grew older he
became less and less willing to be long absent, and he got much of his
exercise by nosing about among the neighboring thorns. In fair weather
he took his frequent naps on the turf above his master, or he sat on
the fallen table-tomb in the sun. On foul days he watched the grave from
under the slab, and to that spot he returned from every skirmish against
the enemy. Visitors stopped to speak to him. Favored ones were permitted
to read the inscription on his collar and to pat his head. It seemed,
therefore, the most natural thing in the world when the greatest lady in
England, beside the Queen, the Baroness Burdett-Coutts, came all the way
from London to see Bobby.

Except that it was the first Monday in June, and Founder's Day at
Heriot's Hospital, it was like any other day of useful work, innocent
pleasure, and dreaming dozes on Auld Jock's grave to wee Bobby. As years
go, the shaggy little Skye was an old dog, but he was not feeble or
blind or unhappy. A terrier, as a rule, does not live as long as more
sluggish breeds of dogs, but, active to the very end, he literally
wears himself out tearing around, and then goes, little soldier, very
suddenly, dying gallantly with his boots on.

In the very early mornings of the northern summer Bobby woke with the
birds, a long time before the reveille was sounded from the Castle. He
scampered down to the circling street of tombs at once, and not until
the last prowler had been dispatched, or frightened into his burrow, did
he return for a brief nap on Auld Jock's grave.

All about him the birds fluttered and hopped and gossiped and foraged,
unafraid. They were used, by this time, to seeing the little dog lying
motionless, his nose on his paws. Often some tidbit of food lay there,
brought for Bobby by a stranger. He had learned that a Scotch bun
dropped near him was a feast that brought feathered visitors about and
won their confidence and cheerful companion