Until the stars came out Mr. Traill sat there telling the story.
At mention of his master's name Bobby returned to the mound and
stretched himself across it. "I will go before the kirk officers,
Doctor Lee, and tak' full responseebility. Mr. Brown is no' to
blame. It would have tak'n a man with a heart of trap-rock to
have turned the woeful bit dog out."

"He is well cared for and is of a hardy breed, so he is not
likely to suffer; but a dog, no more than a man, cannot live on
bread alone. His heart hungers for love."

"Losh!" cried Mr. Brown. "Are ye thinkin' he isna gettin' it? Oor
bairns are a' oot o' the hame nest, an' ma woman, Jeanie, is fair
daft aboot Bobby, aye thinkin' he'll tak' the measles. An' syne,
there's a' the tenement bairns cryin' oot on 'im ilka meenit, an'
ane crippled laddie he een lets fondle 'im."

"Still, it would be better if he belonged to some one master.
Everybody's dog is nobody's dog," the minister insisted. "I wish
you could attach him to you, Mr. Traill."

"Ay, it's a disappointment to me that he'll no' bide with me.
Perhaps, in time--"

"It's nae use, ava," Mr. Brown interrupted, and he related the
incident of the evening before. "He's cheerfu' eneugh maist o'
the time, an' likes to be wi' the laddies as weel as ony dog, but
he isna forgettin' Auld Jock. The wee doggie cam' again to 'is
maister's buryin'. Man, ye ne'er saw the like o' it. The wifie
found 'im flattened oot to a furry door-mat, an' greetin' to brak