her so knowing, and begged so bonny," that she balanced her bit
bowl on a lath, and pushed it over on the kirkyard wall. As she
finished the story the big, blue eyes of the little maid, who
doubtless had herself known what it was to be hungry, filled with
tears.

"The wee tyke couldna loup up to it, an' a deil o' a pussy got it
a'. He was so bonny, like a leddy's pet, an' syne he fell ower on
the snaw an' creepit awa'. He didna cry oot, but he was a' but
deid wi' hunger." At the memory of it soft-hearted Ailie Lindsey
sobbed on her mother's shoulder.

The tale was retold from one excited window to another, all the
way around and all the way up to the gables, so quickly could
some incident of human interest make a social gathering in the
populous tenements. Most of all, the children seized upon the
touching story. Eager and pinched little faces peered wistfully
into the melancholy kirkyard.

"Is he yer ain dog?" crippled Tammy Barr piped out, in his thin
treble. "Gin I had a bonny wee dog I'd gie 'im ma ain brose, an'
cuddle 'im, an' he couldna gang awa'."

"Nae, laddie, he's no' my dog. His master lies buried here, and
the leal Highlander mourns for him." With keener appreciation of
its pathos, Mr. Traill recalled that this was what Auld Jock had
said: "Bobby isna ma ain dog." And he was conscious of wishing
that Bobby was his own, with his unpurchasable love and a loyalty
to face starvation. As he mounted the turfed terraces he thought
to call back: