ers and shepherds from the
Pentlands, the Heriot laddies marching from the school, and the tenement
children in holiday duddies--all to honor the memory of a devoted little
dog. He would know nothing of the military music and flowers, the prayer
of the minister of Greyfriars auld kirk, the speech of the Lord Provost;
nothing of the happy tears of the Grand Leddy when a veil should fall
away from a little bronze dog that gazed wistfully through the kirkyard
gate, and water gush forth for the refreshment of men and animals.

"Good-by, good-by, good-by, Bobby; most loving and lovable, darlingest
wee dog in the world!" she cried, and a shower of bright drops and sweet
little sounds fell on Bobby's tousled head. Then the carriage of the
Grand Leddy rolled away in the rainy dusk.

The hour-bell of St. Giles was rung, and the sunset bugle blown in the
Castle. It took Mr. Brown a long time to lift the wicket, close the tall
leaves and lock the gate. The wind was rising, and the air hardening.
One after one the gas lamps flared in the gusts that blew on the bridge.
The huge bulk of shadow lay, velvet black, in the drenched quarry pit of
the Grassmarket. The caretaker's voice was husky with a sudden "cauld in
'is heid."

"Ye're an auld dog, Bobby, an' ye canna deny it. Ye'll juist hae to
sleep i' the hoose the misty nicht."

Loath to part with them, Bobby went up to the lodge with the old couple
and saw them within the cheerful kitchen. But when the door was held
open for him, he wagged his tail in farewell and trotted away around
the kirk. All the concession he was willing to make to old age and bad
weather was to sleep under the fallen table-tomb.

Greyfriars on a dripping autumn evening! A pensive hour and season,
everything memorable brooded there. Crouched back in shadowy ranks, the
old tombs were draped in mystery. The mist was swirled by the wind and
smoke smeared out, over their dim shapes. Where families sat close about
scant suppers, the lights of candles and cruisey lamps were blurred. The
faintest halo hung above the Castle head. Infrequent footsteps hurried
by the gate. There was the rattle of a belated cart, the ring of a
distant church bell. But even on such nights the casements were opened
and little faces looked into the melancholy kirkyard. Candles glimmered
for a moment on the murk, and sweetly and clearly the tenement bairns
called down:

"A gude nicht to ye, Bobby."

They could not see the little dog,