As soon as the crocuses pushed their green noses through the
earth in the spring the congregation began to linger among the
graves, for to see an old burying ground renew its life is a
peculiar promise of the resurrection. By midsummer visitors were
coming from afar, some even from over-sea, to read the quaint
inscriptions on the old tombs, or to lay tributes of flowers on
the graves of poets and religious heroes. It was not until the
late end of such a day that Bobby could come out of hiding to
stretch his cramped legs. Then it was that tenement children
dropped from low windows, over the tombs, and ate their suppers
of oat cake there in the fading light.

When Mr. Traill left the kirkyard in the bright evening of the
last Sunday in May he stopped without to wait for Dr. Lee, the
minister of Greyfriars auld kirk, who had been behind him to the
gate. Now he was nowhere to be seen. With Bobby ever in the
background of his mind, at such times of possible discovery, Mr.
Traill reentered the kirkyard. The minister was sitting on the
fallen slab, tall silk hat off, with Mr. Brown standing beside
him, uncovered and miserable of aspect, and Bobby looking up
anxiously at this new element in his fate.

"Do you think it seemly for a dog to be living in the churchyard,
Mr. Brown?" The minister's voice was merely kind and inquiring,
but the caretaker was in fault, and this good English was
disconcerting. However, his conscience acquitted him of moral
wrong, and his sturdy Scotch independence came to the rescue.

"Gin a bit dog, wha hands 'is gab, isna seemly, thae pussies are