for more than two centuries, in a spacious park, like the
country-seat of a Lowland laird, but hemmed in by sordid markets
and swarming slums. The region round about furnished an unfailing
supply of "puir orphan an' faderless boys" who were as
light-hearted and irresponsible as Bobby.

Hundreds of the Heriot laddies were out in the noon recess,
playing cricket and leap-frog, when Bobby chased that unlucky cat
over the kirkyard wall. He could go no farther himself, but the
laddies took up the pursuit, yelling like Highland clans of old
in a foray across the border. The unholy din disturbed the sacred
peace of the kirkyard. Bobby dashed back, barking furiously, in
pure exuberance of spirits. He tumbled gaily over grassy
hummocks, frisked saucily around terrifying old mausoleums,
wriggled under the most enticing of low-set table tombs and
sprawled, exhausted, but still happy and noisy, at Auld Jock's
feet.

It was a scandalous thing to happen in any kirkyard! The angry
caretaker was instantly out of his little stone lodge by the gate
and taking Auld Jock sharply to task for Bobby's misbehavior.
The pious old shepherd, shocked himself and publicly disgraced,
stood, bonnet in hand, humbly apologetic. Seeing that his master
was getting the worst of it, Bobby rushed into the fray, an
animated little muff of pluck and fury, and nipped the
caretaker's shins. There was a howl of pain, and a "maist michty"
word that made the ancient tombs stand aghast. Master and dog
were hustled outside the gate and into a rabble of jeering slum
gamin.