part with Bobby for a consideration, and that he himself could
win the dog to transfer his love from a cold grave to a warm
hearth.

With a spring the rat was captured. A jerk of the long head and
there was proof of Bobby's prowess to lay at his good friend's
feet. Made much of, and in a position to ask fresh favors, the
little dog was off to the door with cheerful, staccato barks. His
reasoning was as plain as print: "I hae done ye a service, noo
tak' me back to the kirkyaird."

Mr. Traill talked to him as he might have reasoned with a bright
bairn. Bobby listened patiently, but remained of the same mind.
At last he moved away, disappointed in this human person,
discouraged, but undefeated in his purpose. He lay down by the
door. Mr. Traill watched him, for if any chance late comer opened
the door the masterless little dog would be out into the perils
of the street. Bobby knew what doors were for and, very likely,
expected. some such release. He waited a long time patiently.
Then he began to run back and forth. He put his paws upon Mr.
Traill and whimpered and cried. Finally he howled.

It was a dreadful, dismal, heartbroken howl that echoed back from
the walls. He howled continuously, until the landlord, quite
distracted, and concerned about the peace of his neighbors,
thrust Bobby into the dark scullery at the rear, and bade him
stop his noise. For fully ten minutes the dog was quiet. He was
probably engaged in exploring his new quarters to find an outlet.
Then he began to howl again. It was truly astonishing that so
small a dog could make so large a noise.