into the Grassmarket. By way of Candlemakers Row he gained the
kirkyard gate, and when the wicket was opened he disappeared
around the church. When Bobby failed to answer calls, Mr. Brown
grumbled, but went after him. The little dog submitted to his
vigorous scrubbing and grooming, but he refused his supper.
Without a look or a wag of the tail he was gone again.

"Noo, what hae ye done to'im? He's no' like 'is ainsel' ava."

They had done nothing, indeed. They could only relate Bobby's
strange behavior in College Wynd and the rest of the way home.
Mistress Jeanie nodded her head, with the wisdom of women that is
of the heart.

"Eh, Jamie, that wad be whaur 'is maister deed sax months syne."
And having said it she slipped down the slope with her knitting
and sat on the mound beside the mourning little dog.

When the awe-struck lads asked for the story Mr. Brown shook his
head. "Ye spier Maister Traill. He kens a' aboot it; an' syne he
can talk like a beuk."

Before they left the kirkyard the laddies walked down to Auld
Jock's grave and patted Bobby on the head, and they went away
thoughtfully to their scattered homes.

As on that first morning when his grief was new, Bobby woke to a
Calvinistic Sabbath. There were no rattling carts or hawkers
crying their wares. Steeped in sunshine, the Castle loomed golden
into the blue. Tenement dwellers slept late, and then moved about