olite wagging, and he even allowed himself
to be petted. Suddenly he thought of something, trotted briskly off to a
corner and crouched there.

Mr. Traill watched the attractive little creature with interest and
growing affection. Very likely he indulged in a day-dream that, perhaps,
the tenant of Cauldbrae farm could be induced to part with Bobby for
a consideration, and that he himself could win the dog to transfer his
love from a cold grave to a warm hearth.

With a spring the rat was captured. A jerk of the long head and there
was proof of Bobby's prowess to lay at his good friend's feet. Made much
of, and in a position to ask fresh favors, the little dog was off to the
door with cheerful, staccato barks. His reasoning was as plain as print:
"I hae done ye a service, noo tak' me back to the kirkyaird."

Mr. Traill talked to him as he might have reasoned with a bright bairn.
Bobby listened patiently, but remained of the same mind. At last
he moved away, disappointed in this human person, discouraged, but
undefeated in his purpose. He lay down by the door. Mr. Traill watched
him, for if any chance late comer opened the door the masterless little
dog would be out into the perils of the street. Bobby knew what doors
were for and, very likely, expected some such release. He waited a long
time patiently. Then he began to run back and forth. He put his paws
upon Mr. Traill and whimpered and cried. Finally he howled.

It was a dreadful, dismal, heartbroken howl that echoed back from the
walls. He howled continuously, until the landlord, quite distracted, and
concerned about the peace of his neighbors, thrust Bobby into the dark
scullery at the rear, and bade him stop his noise. For fully ten minutes
the dog was quiet. He was probably engaged in exploring his new quarters
to find an outlet. Then he began to howl again. It was truly astonishing
that so small a dog could make so large a noise.

A battle was on between the endurance of the man and the persistence of
the terrier. Mr. Traill was speculating on which was likely to be victor
in the contest, when the front door was opened and the proprietor of the
Book Hunter's Stall put in a bare, bald head and the abstracted face of
the book-worm that is mildly amused.

"Have you tak'n to a dog at your time o' life, Mr. Traill?"

"Ay, man, and it would be all right if the bit dog would just tak' to
me."

This pleasantry annoyed a good man who had small sense of humor, and