"Put it to the bit Skye noo. If he tak's the Queen's shullin' he
belongs to the army." The sergeant flipped a coin before Bobby,
who was wagging his tail and sniffing at the military boots with
his ever lively interest in soldiers.

He looked up at the tossed coin indifferently, and when it fell
to the floor he let it lie. "Siller" has no meaning to a dog.
His love can be purchased with nothing less than his chosen
master's heart. The soldier sighed at Bobby's indifference. He
introduced himself as Sergeant Scott, of the Royal Engineers,
detailed from headquarters to direct the work in the
Castle crafts shops. Engineers rank high in pay and in
consideration, and it was no ordinary Jack of all trades who had
expert knowledge of so many skilled handicrafts. Mr. Traill's
respect and liking for the man increased with the passing
moments.

As the sergeant departed he warned Mr. Traill, laughingly, that
he meant to kidnap Bobby the very first chance he got. The Castle
pet had died, and Bobby was altogether too good a dog to be
wasted on a moldy auld kirkyard and thrown on a dust-cart when he
came to die.

Mr. Traill resented the imputation. "He'll no' be thrown on a
dust-cart!"

The door was shut on the mocking retort "Hoo do ye ken he
wullna?"

And there was food for gloomy reflection. The landlord could not