'im awa' frae the bairn."

Mr. Traill's hand was lifted in rebuke. "Speak nae ill, man; Auld
Jock's dead."

The farmer's ruddy face blanched and he dropped his knife. "He's
no' buried so sane?"

"Ay, he's buried four days since in Greyfriars kirkyard, and
Bobby has slept every night on the auld man's grave."

"I'll juist tak' a leuk at the grave, moil, gin ye'll hae an ee
on the dog."

Mr. Traill cautioned him not to let the caretaker know that Bobby
had continued to sleep in the kirkyard, after having been put out
twice. The farmer was back in ten minutes, with a canny face that
defied reading. He lighted his short Dublin pipe and smoked it
out before he spoke again.

"It's ower grand for a puir auld shepherd body to be buried i'
Greyfriars."

"No' so grand as heaven, I'm thinking." Mr. Traill's response was
dry.

"Ay, an' we're a' coontin' on gangin' there; but it's a prood
thing to hae yer banes put awa' in Greyfriars, ance ye're through
wi' 'em!"