eve, has no precedent. All
the endearing qualities of the dog reach their height in this loyal
and lovable Highland terrier; and he seems to have brought out the best
qualities of the people who have known him. Indeed, for fourteen years
hundreds of disinherited children have been made kinder and happier by
knowing Bobby's story and having that little dog to love."

She stopped in some embarrassment, seeing how she had let herself go, in
this warm championship, and then she added:

"Bobby does not need a monument, but I think we need one of him, that
future generations may never forget what the love of a dog may mean, to
himself and to us."

The Grand Leddy must have won her plea, then and there, but for the fact
that the matter of erecting a monument of a public character anywhere
in the city had to come up before the Burgh council. In that body the
stubborn opposition of a few members unexpectedly developed, and, in
spite of popular sympathy with the proposal, the plan was rejected.
Permission was given, however, for Lady Burdett-Coutts to put up a
suitable memorial to Bobby at the end of George IV Bridge, and opposite
the main gateway to the kirkyard.

For such a public place a tomb was unsuitable. What form the memorial
was to take was not decided upon until, because of two chance happenings
of one morning, the form of it bloomed like a flower in the soul of the
Grand Leddy. She had come down to the kirkyard to watch the artist at
work. Morning after morning he had sketched there. He had drawn Bobby
lying down, his nose on his paws, asleep on the grave. He had drawn him
sitting upon the table-tomb, and standing in the begging attitude in
which he was so irresistible. But with every sketch he was dissatisfied.

Bobby was a trying and deceptive subject. He had the air of curiosity
and gaiety of other terriers. He saw no sense at all in keeping still,
with his muzzle tipped up or down, and his tail held just so. He brushed
all that unreasonable man's suggestions aside as quite unworthy of
consideration. Besides, he had the liveliest interest in the astonishing
little dog that grew and disappeared, and came back, in some new
attitude, on the canvas. He scraped acquaintance with it once or twice
to the damage of fresh brush-work. He was always jumping from his pose
and running around the easel to see how the latest dog was coming on.

After a number of mornings Bobby lost interest in the man and his
occupation and