was closed.

After an hour Bobby woke long enough to eat a generous plate of
that delectable and highly nourishing Scotch dish known as
haggis. He fell asleep again in an easier attitude that relieved
the tension on the landlord's feelings. Confident that the
devoted little dog would lead him straight to his master, Mr.
Traill closed the door securely, that he might not escape
unnoticed, and arranged his own worldly affairs so he could leave
them to hirelings on the instant. In the idle time between dinner
and supper he sat down by the fire, lighted his pipe, repented
his unruly tongue, and waited. As the short day darkened to its
close the sunset bugle was blown in the Castle. At the first
note, Bobby crept from under the settle, a little unsteady on his
legs as yet, wagged his tail for thanks, and trotted to the door.

Mr. Traill had no trouble at all in keeping the little dog in
sight to the kirkyard gate, for in the dusk his coat shone
silvery white. Indeed, by a backward look now and then, Bobby
seemed to invite the man to follow, and waited at the
gate, with some impatience, for him to come up. Help was needed
there. By rising and tugging at Mr. Traill's clothing and then
jumping on the wicket Bobby plainly begged to have it opened. He
made no noise, neither barking nor whimpering, and that was very
strange for a dog of the terrier breed; but each instant of delay
he became more insistent, and even frantic, to have the gate
unlatched. Mr. Traill refused to believe what Bobby's behavior
indicated, and reproved him in the broad Scotch to which the
country dog was used.