pped over the wall and scampered about, taking
a merry part in the play. When the pupils' procession was formed, and
the long line of grinning and nudging laddies marched in to service in
the chapel and dinner in the hall, he was set up over the kirkyard wall,
hundreds of hands were waved to him, and voices called back: "Fareweel,
Bobby!" Then the time-gun boomed from the Castle, and the little dog
trotted up for his dinner and nap under the settle and his daily visit
with Mr. Traill.

In fair weather, when the last guest had departed and the music bells of
St. Giles had ceased playing, the landlord was fond of standing in his
doorway, bareheaded and in shirt-sleeves and apron, to exchange opinions
on politics, literature and religion, or to tell Bobby's story to what
passers-by he could beguile into talk. At his feet, there, was a fine
place for a sociable little dog to spend an hour. When he was ready to
go Bobby set his paws upon Mr. Traill and waited for the landlord's hand
to be laid on his head and the man to say, in the dialect the little
dog best understood: "Bide a wee. Ye're no' needin' to gang sae sune,
laddie!"

At that he dropped, barked politely, wagged his tail, and was off. If
Mr. Traill really wanted to detain Bobby he had only to withhold the
magic word "laddie," that no one else had used toward the little dog
since Auld Jock died. But if the word was too long in coming, Bobby
would thrash his tail about impatiently, look up appealingly, and
finally rise and beg and whimper.

"Weel, then, bide wi' me, an' ye'll get it ilka hour o' the day, ye
sonsie, wee, talon' bit! What are ye hangin' aroond for? Eh--weel--gang
awa' wi' ye--laddie!" The landlord sighed and looked down reproachfully.
With a delighted yelp, and a lick of the lingering hand, Bobby was off.

It was after three o'clock on this day when he returned to the kirkyard.
The caretaker was working at the upper end, and the little dog was
lonely. But; long enough absent from his master, Bobby lay down on the
grave, in the stillness of the mid-afternoon. The robin made a brief
call and, as no other birds were about, hopped upon Bobby's back,
perched on his head, and warbled a little song. It was then that the
gate clicked. Dismissing her carriage and telling the coachman to return
at five, Lady Burdett-Coutts entered the kirkyard.

Bobby trotted around the kirk on the chance of meeting a friend. He
looked up intently at the strange lady for a