him: "Auld Jock is juist fair silly the day, bonny wee laddie."

Down came a shaking, hot old hand in a rough caress, and up a
gallant young tail to wave like a banner. All was right with the
little dog's world again. But it was plain, even to Bobby, that
something had gone wrong with Auld Jock. It was the man who wore
the air of a culprit. A Scotch laborer does not lightly confess
to feeling "fair silly," nor sleep away the busy hours of
daylight. The old man was puzzled and humiliated by this
discreditable thing. A human friend would have understood his
plight, led the fevered man out of that bleak and fetid
cul-de-sac, tucked him into a warm bed, comforted him with a hot
drink, and then gone swiftly for skilled help. Bobby knew only
that his master had unusual need of love.

Very, very early a dog learns that life is not as simple a matter
to his master as it is to himself. There are times when he reads
trouble, that he cannot help or understand, in the man's eye and
voice. Then he can only look his love and loyalty, wistfully, as
if he felt his own shortcoming in the matter of speech. And if
the trouble is so great that the master forgets to eat his
dinner; forgets, also, the needs of his faithful little friend,
it is the dog's dear privilege to bear neglect and hunger without
complaint. Therefore, when Auld Jock lay down again and sank,
almost at once, into sodden sleep, Bobby snuggled in the hollow
of his master's arm and nuzzled his nose in his master's neck.



II.