ings, asked for more. Mr. Traill brought out
a second basin, and he remarked upon a sheep-dog's capacity for water.

"It's no' a basin will satisfy him, used as he is to having a tam on the
moor to drink from. This neeborhood is noted for the dogs that are aye
passing. On Wednesdays the farm dogs come up from the Grassmarket, and
every day there are weel-cared-for dogs from the residence streets, dogs
of all conditions across the bridge from High Street, and meeserable
waifs from the Cowgate. Stray pussies are about, too. I'm a gude-hearted
man, and an unco' observant one, your Leddyship, but I was no' thinking
that these animals must often suffer from thirst."

"Few people do think of it. Most men can love some one dog or cat or
horse and be attentive to its wants, but they take little thought
for the world of dumb animals that are so dependent upon us. It is no
special credit to you, Mr. Traill, that you became fond of an attractive
little dog like Bobby and have cared for him so tenderly."

The landlord gasped. He had taken not a little pride in his stanch
championship and watchful care of Bobby, and his pride had beer
increased by the admiration that had been lavished on him for years by
the general public. Now, as he afterward confessed to Mr. Brown:

"Her leddyship made me feel I'd done naething by the ordinar', but
maistly to please my ainsel'. Eh, man, she made me sing sma'."

When the collie had finished drinking, he looked up gratefully, rubbed
against the good Samaritans, waved his plumed tail like a banner, and
trotted away. After a thoughtful moment Lady Burdett-Coutts said:

"The suitable memorial here, Mr. Traill, is a fountain, with a low
basin level with the curb, and a higher one, and Bobby sitting on an
altar-topped central column above, looking through the kirkyard gate. It
shall be his mission to bring men and small animals together in sympathy
by offering to both the cup of cold water."

She was there once again that year. On her way north she stopped in
Edinburgh over night to see how the work on the fountain had progressed.
It was in Scotland's best season, most of the days dry and bright and
sharp. But on that day it was misting, and yellow leaves were dropping
on the wet tombs and beaded grass, when the Grand Leddy appeared at the
kirkyard late in the afternoon with a wreath of laurel to lay on Auld
Jock's grave.

Bobby slipped out, dry as his own delectable bone, from under the tomb
of