mourners but the sma' terrier aneath the coffin. I let 'im pass,
no' to mak' a disturbance at a buryin'. The deal box was fetched
up by the police, an' carried by sic a crew o' gaol-birds as wad
mak' ye turn ower in yer ain God's hole. But he paid for his
buryin' wi' his ain siller, an' noo lies as canny as the
nobeelity. Nae boot here's the place, Maister Traill; an' ye can
see for yer ainsel' there's no' any dog."

"Ay, that would be Auld Jock and Bobby would no' be leaving him,"
insisted the landlord, stubbornly. He stood looking down at the
rough mound of frozen clods heaped in a little space of trampled
snow.

"Jeemes Brown," Mr. Trail said, at last, "the man wha lies here
was a decent, pious auld country body, and I drove him to his
meeserable death in the Cowgate."

"Man, ye dinna ken what ye're sayin'!" was the shocked response.

"Do I no'? I'm canny, by the ordinar', but my fule tongue will
get me into trouble with the magistrates one of these days. It
aye wags at both ends, and is no' tied in the middle."

Then, stanch Calvinist that he was, and never dreaming that he
was indulging in the sinful pleasure of confession, Mr. Traill
poured out the story of Auld Jock's plight and of his own.
shortcomings. It was a bitter, upbraiding thing that he, an
uncommonly capable man, had meant so well by a humble old body,
and done so ill. And he had failed again when he tried to undo
the mischief. The very next morning he had gone down into the