the deil's ain bairns."

The minister lifted his hand in rebuke. "Remember the Sabbath
Day. And I see no cats, Mr. Brown."

"Ye wullna see ony as lang as the wee doggie is leevin' i' the
kirkyaird. An' the vermin hae sneekit awa' the first time sin'
Queen Mary's day. An' syne there's mair singin' birdies than for
mony a year."

Mr. Traill had listened, unseen. Now he came forward with a gay
challenge in broad Scotch to put the all but routed caretaker at
his ease.

"Doctor, I hae a queistion to spier ye. Which is mair unseemly: a
weel-behavin' bittie tyke i' the kirkyaird or a scandalous organ
i' the kirk?"

"Ah, Mr. Traill, I'm afraid you're a sad, irreverent young dog
yourself, sir." The minister broke into a genial laugh. "Man,
you've spoiled a bit of fun I was having with Mr. Brown, who
takes his duties 'sairiously."' He sat looking down at the little
dog until Bobby came up to him and stood confidingly under his
caressing hand. Then he added: "I have suspected for some months
that he was living in the churchyard. It is truly remarkable that
an active, noisy little Skye could keep so still about it."

At that Mr. Brown retreated to the martyrs' monument to meditate
on the unministerial behavior of this minister and professor of
Biblical criticism in the University. Mr. Traill, however, sat