What a to-do about a miserable cat! To Bobby there was no logic
at all in the denouement to this swift, exciting drama. But he
understood Auld Jock's shame and displeasure perfectly.
Good-tempered as he was gay and clever, the little dog took his
punishment meekly, and he remembered it. Thereafter, he passed
the kirk yard gate decorously. If he saw a cat that needed
harrying he merely licked his little red chops--the outward sign
of a desperate self-control. And, a true sport, he bore no malice
toward the caretaker.

During that first summer of his life Bobby learned many things.
He learned that he might chase rabbits, squirrels and moor-fowl,
and sea-gulls and whaups that came up to feed in plowed fields.
Rats and mice around byre and dairy were legitimate prey; but he
learned that he must not annoy sheep and sheep-dogs, nor cattle,
horses and chickens. And he discovered that, unless he hung close
to Auld Jock's heels, his freedom was in danger from a wee lassie
who adored him. He was no lady's lap-dog. From the bairnie's soft
cosseting he aye fled to Auld Jock and the rough hospitality of
the sheep fold. Being exact opposites in temperaments, but alike
in tastes, Bobby and Auld Jock were inseparable. In the quiet
corner of Mr. Traill's crowded dining-room they spent the one
idle hour of the week together, happily. Bobby had the leavings
of a herring or haddie, for a rough little Skye will eat anything
from smoked fish to moor-fowl eggs, and he had the tidbit of a
farthing bone to worry at his leisure. Auld Jock smoked his cutty
pipe, gazed at the fire or into the kirk-yard, and meditated on
nothing in particular.

In some strange way that no dog could understand, Bobby had been