"It's eneugh, gin he's gude company for the wee lassie wha's fair
fond o' 'im," Auld Jock answered, briefly. This was a strange
sentiment from the work-broken old man who, for himself, would
have held ornamental idleness sinful. He finished his supper in
brooding silence. At last he broke out in a peevish irritation
that only made his grief at parting with Bobby more apparent to
an understanding man like Mr. Traill.

"I dinna ken what to do wi' 'im i' an Edinburgh lodgin' the
nicht. The auld wifie I lodge wi' is dour by the ordinar', an'
wadna bide 'is blatterin'. I couldna get 'im past 'er auld een,
an' thae terriers are aye barkin' aboot naethin' ava."

Mr. Traill's eyes sparkled at recollection of an apt literary
story to which Dr. John Brown had given currency. Like many
Edinburgh shopkeepers, Mr. Traill was a man of superior education
and an omnivorous reader. And he had many customers from the
near-by University to give him a fund of stories of Scotch
writers and other worthies.

"You have a double plaid, man?"

"Ay. Ilka shepherd's got a twa-fold plaidie." It seemed a foolish
question to Auld Jock, but Mr. Traill went on blithely.

"There's a pocket in the plaid--ane end left open at the side to
mak' a pouch? Nae doubt you've carried mony a thing in that
pouch?"