snawy
hawthorn aboon the burn in Swanston Dell. The throstles nest there,
an' the blackbirds whustle bonny. It isna so far but the bairnies could
march oot wi' posies." She turned to the lady, who had overheard her.
"We gied a promise to the Laird Provost to gie Bobby a grand funeral. Ye
ken he wullna be permittet to be buried i' the kirkyaird."

"Will he not? I had not thought of that." Her tone was at once hushed
and startled.

Then she was down in the grass, brooding over the little dog, and Bobby
had the pathetic look of trying to understand what this emotional talk,
that seemed to concern himself, was about. Tammy and Ailie were down,
too.

"Are ye thinkin' Bobby wall be kennin' the deeference?" Ailie's bluebell
eyes were wide at the thought of pain for this little pet.

"I do not know, my dear. But there cannot well be more love in this
world than there is room for in God's heaven."

She was silent all the way to the gate, some thought in her mind already
working toward a gracious deed. At the last she said: "The little dog
is fond of you both. Be with him all you can, for I think his beautiful
life is near its end." After a pause, during which her face was lighted
by a smile, as if from a lovely thought within, she added: "Don't let
Bobby die before my return from London."

In a week she was back, and in the meantime letters and telegrams had
been flying, and many wheels set in motion in wee Bobby's affairs. When
she returned to the churchyard, very early one morning, no less a person
than the Lord Provost himself was with her. Five years had passed, but
Mr.--no, Sir William--Chambers, Laird of Glenormiston, for he had been
knighted by the Queen, was still Lord Provost of Edinburgh.

Almost immediately Mr. Traill appeared, by appointment, and was made
all but speechless for once in his loquacious life by the honor of being
asked to tell Bobby's story to the Baroness Burdett-Coutts. But not even
a tenement child or a London coster could be ill at ease with the Grand
Leddy for very long, and presently the three were in close conference in
the portico. Bobby welcomed them, and then dozed in the sun and visited
with the robin on Auld Jock's grave. Far from being tongue-tied, the
landlord was inspired. What did he not remember, from the pathetic
renunciation, "Bobby isna ma ain dog," down to the leal Highlander's
last, near tragic reminder to men that in the nameless grave lay his
unforgotten master.

He sk