was
unlikely, young as he was, that he would try to find his way back, all
the way from near the top of the Pentlands. In a day or two he would
forget Auld Jock.

"I canna say it wullna be sair partin'--" And then, seeing the sympathy
in the landlord's eye and fearing a disgraceful breakdown, Auld Jock
checked his self betrayal. During the talk Bobby stood listening. At the
abrupt ending, he put his shagged paws up on Auld Jock's knee, wistfully
inquiring about this emotional matter. Then he dropped soberly, and
slunk away under his master's chair.

"Ay, he kens we're talkin' aboot 'im."

"He's a knowing bit dog. Have you attended to his sairous education,
man?"

"Nae, he's ower young."

"Young is aye the time to teach a dog or a bairn that life is no' all
play. Man, you should put a sma' terrier at the vermin an' mak' him
usefu'."

"It's eneugh, gin he's gude company for the wee lassie wha's fair fond
o' 'im," Auld Jock answered, briefly. This was a strange sentiment from
the work-broken old man who, for himself, would have held ornamental
idleness sinful. He finished his supper in brooding silence. At last he
broke out in a peevish irritation that only made his grief at parting
with Bobby more apparent to an understanding man like Mr. Traill.

"I dinna ken what to do wi' 'im i' an Edinburgh lodgin' the nicht.
The auld wifie I lodge wi' is dour by the ordinar', an' wadna bide 'is
blatterin'. I couldna get 'im past 'er auld een, an' thae terriers are
aye barkin' aboot naethin' ava."

Mr. Traill's eyes sparkled at recollection of an apt literary story
to which Dr. John Brown had given currency. Like many Edinburgh
shopkeepers, Mr. Traill was a man of superior education and an
omnivorous reader. And he had many customers from the near-by University
to give him a fund of stories of Scotch writers and other worthies.

"You have a double plaid, man?"

"Ay. Ilka shepherd's got a twa-fold plaidie." It seemed a foolish
question to Auld Jock, but Mr. Traill went on blithely.

"There's a pocket in the plaid--ane end left open at the side to mak' a
pouch? Nae doubt you've carried mony a thing in that pouch?"

"Nae, no' so mony. Juist the new-born lambs."

"Weel, Sir Walter had a shepherd's plaid, and there was a bit lassie he
was vera fond of Syne, when he had been at the writing a' the day, and
was aff his heid like, with too mony thoughts, he'd go across the town
and fetch the bairnie to keep him company. She w