Brown's bark was worse than his bite. As he went through the
gateway he could not resist calling back a challenge: "I daur you
to do it."

Mr. Brown locked the gate, went sulkily into the lodge, lighted
his cutty pipe, and smoked it furiously. He read a Psalm with
deliberation, poked up an already bright fire, and glowered at
his placid gude wife. It was not to be borne--to be defied by a
ten-inch-high terrier, and dared, by a man a third under his own
weight, to do his duty. After an hour or so he worked himself up
to the point of going out and slamming the door.

At eight o'clock Mr. Traill found Bobby on the pavement outside
the locked gate. He was not sorry that the fortunes of unequal
battle had thrown the faithful little dog on his hospitality.
Bobby begged piteously to be put inside, but he seemed to
understand at last that the gate was too high for Mr. Traill to
drop him over. He followed the landlord up to the restaurant
willingly. He may have thought this champion had another solution
of the difficulty, for when he saw the man settle comfortably in
a chair he refused to lie on the hearth. He ran to the door and
back, and begged and whined to be let out. For a long time he
stood dejectedly. He was not sullen, for he ate a light supper
and thanked his host with much polite wagging, and he even
allowed himself to be petted. Suddenly he thought of something,
trotted briskly off to a corner and crouched there.

Mr. Traill watched the attractive little creature with interest
and growing affection. Very likely he indulged in a day-dream
that, perhaps, the tenant of Cauldbrae farm could be induced to