The children fled. Peeping around the angle of the Book Hunter's
Stall, Mr. Traill saw the caretaker lift Bobby over the wicket to
his arms, and start with him toward the lodge. He was perishing
with curiosity about this astonishing change of front on the part
of Mr. Brown, but it was a delicate situation in which it seemed
best not to meddle. He went slowly back to the restaurant,
begrudging Bobby to the luckier caretaker.

His envy was premature. Mr. Brown set Bobby inside the lodge
kitchen and announced briefly to his wife: "The bit dog wull
sleep i' the hoose the nicht." And he went about some business at
the upper end of the kirkyard. When he came in an hour later
Bobby was gone.

"I couldna keep 'im in, Jamie. He didna blatter, but he greeted
so sair to be let oot, an syne he scratched a' the paint aff the
door."

Mr. Brown glowered at her in exasperation. "Woman, they'll hae me
up afore kirk sessions for brakin' the rules, an' syne they'll
turn us a' oot i' the cauld warld togither."

He slammed the door and stormed angrily around the kirk. It was
still light enough to see the little creature on the snowy mound
and, indeed, Bobby got up and wagged his tail in friendly
greeting. At that all the bluster went out of the man, and he
began to argue the matter with the dog.

"Come awa', Bobby. Ye canna be leevin' i' the kirkyaird."