Bobby licked his master's face and hands, and then sat quietly
down beside him. So many strange, uncanny things had happened
within the last twenty-four hours that the little dog was rapidly
outgrowing his irresponsible puppyhood. After a long time Auld
Jock opened his eyes and sat up. Bobby put his paws on his
master's knees in anxious sympathy. Before the man had got his
wits about him the time-gun boomed from the Castle.
Panic-stricken that he should have slept in his bed so late, and
then lain senseless on the floor for he knew not how long, Auld
Jock got up and struggled into his greatcoat, bonnet and plaid.
In feeling for his woolen mittens he discovered the buns that Mr.
Trail had dropped into his pocket for Bobby.

The old man stared and stared at them in piteous dismay. Mr.
Traill had believed him to be so ill that he "wouldna be oot the
morn." It was a staggering thought.

The bells of St. Giles broke into "Over the Hills and Far Away."
The melody came to Auld Jock clearly, unbroken by echoes, for the
garret was on a level with the cathedral's crown on High Street.
It brought to him again a vision of the Midlothian slopes, but it
reminded Bobby that it was dinner-time. He told Auld Jock so by
running to the door and back and begging him, by every pretty
wile at his command, to go. The old man got to his feet and then
fell back, pale and shaken, his heart hammering again. Bobby ate
the bun soberly and then sat up against Auld Jock's feet, that
dangled helplessly from the bed. The bells died away from the
man's ears before they had ceased playing. Both the church and
the University bells struck the hour of two then three then four.