"Maister, maister!" he said, as plainly as a little dog could
speak, "dinna bide here. It's juist a stap or two to food an'
fire in' the cozy auld ingleneuk."

And then, the level roadway won at last, there was the railing
of the bridge-approach to cling to, on the one hand, and the
upright bars of the kirkyard gate on the other. By the help of
these and the urging of wee Bobby, Auld Jock came the short,
steep way up out of the market, to the row of lighted shops in
Greyfriars Place.

With the wind at the back and above the housetops, Mr. Traill
stood bare-headed in a dry haven of peace in his doorway,
firelight behind him, and welcome in his shrewd gray eyes. If
Auld Jock had shown any intention of going by, it is not
impossible that the landlord of Ye Olde Greyfriars Dining-Rooms
might have dragged him in bodily. The storm had driven all his
customers home. For an hour there had not been a soul in the
place to speak to, and it was so entirely necessary for John
Traill to hear his own voice that he had been known, in such
straits, to talk to himself. Auld Jock was not an inspiring
auditor, but a deal better than naething; and, if he proved
hopeless, entertainment was to be found in Bobby. So Mr. Traill
bustled in before his guests, poked the open fire into leaping
flames, and heaped it up skillfully at the back with fresh coals.
The good landlord turned from his hospitable task to find Auld
Jock streaming and shaking on the hearth.

"Man, but you're wet!" he exclaimed. He hustled the old shepherd