as a weel-born lassie,
sax or seven years auld, and sma' of her age, but no' half as sma' as
Bobby, I'm thinking." He stopped to let this significant comparison sink
into Auld Jock's mind. "The lassie had nae liking for the unmannerly
wind and snaw of Edinburgh. So Sir Walter just happed her in the pouch
of his plaid, and tumbled her out, snug as a lamb and nane the wiser, in
the big room wha's walls were lined with books."

Auld Jock betrayed not a glimmer of intelligence as to the personal
bearing of the story, but he showed polite interest. "I ken naethin'
aboot Sir Walter or ony o' the grand folk." Mr. Traill sighed, cleared
the table in silence, and mended the fire. It was ill having no one to
talk to but a simple old body who couldn't put two and two together and
make four.

The landlord lighted his pipe meditatively, and he lighted his cruisey
lamp for reading. Auld Jock was dry and warm again; oh, very, very warm,
so that he presently fell into a doze. The dining-room was so compassed
on all sides but the front by neighboring house and kirkyard wall and by
the floors above, that only a murmur of the storm penetrated it. It was
so quiet, indeed, that a tiny, scratching sound in a distant corner was
heard distinctly. A streak of dark silver, as of animated mercury, Bobby
flashed past. A scuffle, a squeak, and he was back again, dropping a big
rat at the landlord's feet and, wagging his tail with pride.

"Weel done, Bobby! There's a bite and a bone for you here ony time
o' day you call for it. Ay, a sensible bit dog will attend to his ain
education and mak' himsel' usefu'."

Mr. Traill felt a sudden access of warm liking for the attractive little
scrap of knowingness and pluck. He patted the tousled head, but Bobby
backed away. He had no mind to be caressed by any man beside his
master. After a moment the landlord took "Guy Mannering" down from the
book-shelf. Knowing his "Waverley" by heart, he turned at once to the
passages about Dandie Dinmont and his terriers--Mustard and Pepper and
other spicy wee rascals.

"Ay, terriers are sonsie, leal dogs. Auld Jock will have ane true
mourner at his funeral. I would no' mind if--"

On impulse he got up and dropped a couple of hard Scotch buns, very good
dog-biscuit, indeed, into the pocket of Auld Jock's greatcoat for Bobby.
The old man might not be able to be out the morn. With the thought in
his mind that some one should keep a friendly eye on the man, he mended
t