the stout wickerwork. It went to Mr. Traill's heart to hear him,
and to see the gallant little dog so defenseless. He talked to
him through the latticed cover all the way out to the cart,
telling him Auld Jock meant for him to go home. At that beloved
name, Bobby dropped to the bottom of the basket and cried in such
a heartbroken way that tears stood in the landlord's eyes, and
even the farmer confessed to a sudden "cauld in 'is heid."

"I'd gie 'im to ye, mon, gin it wasna that the bit lassie wad
greet her bonny een oot gin I didna fetch 'im hame. Nae boot the
bit tyke wad 'a' deed gin ye hadna fed 'im."

"Eh, man, he'll no' bide with me, or I'd be bargaining for him.
And he'll no' be permitted to live in the kirkyard. I know
naething in this life more
pitiful than a masterless, hameless dog." And then, to delay the
moment of parting with Bobby, who stopped crying and began to
lick his hand in frantic appeal through a hole in the basket, Mr.
Traill asked how Bobby came by his name.

"It was a leddy o' the neeborhood o' Swanston. She cam' drivin'
by Cauldbrae i' her bit cart wi' shaggy Shetlands to it an'
stapped at the dairy for a drink o' buttermilk frae the kirn.
Syne she saw the sonsie puppy loupin' at Auld Jock's heels, bonny
as a poodle, but mair knowin'. The leddy gied me a poond note for
'im. I put 'im up on the seat, an' she said that noo she had a
smart Hieland groom to match 'er Hieland steeds, an' she flicked
the ponies wi' 'er whup. Syne the bit dog was on the airth an'
flyin' awa' doon the road like the deil was after 'im. An' the
leddy lauched an' lauched, an' went awa' wi'oot 'im. At the fut