ants when the little pile of coins was found on the
Bible. There had been no foul play. Auld Jock had died of heart failure,
from pneumonia and worn-out old age.

"There's eneugh," a Burgh policeman said when the money was counted. He
meant much the same thing Auld Jock himself had meant. There was enough
to save him from the last indignity a life of useful labor can thrust
upon the honest poor--pauper burial. But when inquiries were made for
the name and the friends of this old man there appeared to be only "Auld
Jock" to enter into the record, and a little dog to follow the body to
the grave. It was a Bible reader who chanced to come in from the Medical
Mission in the Cowgate who thought to look in the fly-leaf of Auld
Jock's Bible.

"His name is John Gray."

He laid the worn little book on Auld Jock's breast and crossed the
work-scarred hands upon it. "It's something by the ordinar' to find
a gude auld country body in such a foul place." He stooped and patted
Bobby, and noted the bun, untouched, upon the floor. Turning to a wild
elf of a barefooted child in the crowd he spoke to her. "Would you share
your gude brose with the bit dog, lassie?"

She darted down the stairs, and presently returned with her own scanty
bowl of breakfast porridge. Bobby refused the food, but he looked at her
so mournfully that the first tears of pity her unchildlike eyes had ever
shed welled up. She put out her hand timidly and stroked him.

It was just before the report of the time-gun that two policemen cleared
the stairs, shrouded Auld Jock in his own greatcoat and plaid, and
carried him down to the court. There they laid him in a plain box of
white deal that stood on the pavement, closed it, and went away down the
wynd on a necessary errand. The Bible-reader sat on an empty beer keg to
guard the box, and Bobby climbed on the top and stretched himself above
his master. The court was a well, more than a hundred feet deep. What
sky might have been visible above it was hidden by tier above tier of
dingy, tattered washings. The stairway filled again, and throngs of
outcasts of every sort went about their squalid businesses, with only a
curious glance or so at the pathetic group.

Presently the policemen returned from the Cowgate with a motley
assortment of pallbearers. There was a good-tempered Irish laborer from
a near-by brewery; a decayed gentleman, unsteady of gait and blear-eyed,
in greasy frock-coat and broken hat; a flashily dre