Shocked at not seeing Auld Jock, by a kind of inspiration he
carried the little dog to the inglenook and laid him down under
the familiar settle. Bobby was little more than breathing, but he
opened his silkily veiled brown eyes and licked the friendly hand
that had done this refinement of kindness. It took Mr. Traill
more than a moment to realize the nature of the trouble. A dog
with so thick a fleece of wool, under so crisply waving an outer
coat as Bobby's, may perish for lack of food and show no outward
sign of emaciation.

"The sonsie, wee--why, he's all but starved!"

Pale with pity, Mr. Traill snatched a plate of broth from the
hands of a gaping waiter laddie, set it under Bobby's nose, and
watched him begin to lap the warm liquid eagerly. In the busy
place the incident passed unnoticed. With his usual, brisk
decision Mr. Traill turned the backs of a couple of chairs over
against the nearest table, to signify that the corner was
reserved, and he went about his duties with unwonted silence. As
the crowd thinned he returned to the inglenook to find Bobby
asleep, not curled up in a tousled ball, as such a little dog
should be, but stretched on his side and breathing irregularly.

If Bobby was in such straits, how must it be with Auld Jock? This
was the fifth day since the sick old man had fled into the storm.
With new disquiet Mr. Traill remembered a matter that had annoyed
him in the morning, and that he had been inclined to charge to
mischievous Heriot boys. Low down on the outside of his freshly
varnished entrance door were many scratches that Bobby could have
made. He may have come for food on the Sabbath day when the place