little cuddlings under the warm plaid. When these soft
endearments had been attended to there was time for another
yearning.

"May I haud wee Bobby, faither?"

"Nae, lassie, a bonny bit bairnie couldna haud 'im in 'er sma'
airms. Bobby's a' for gangin' awa' to leev in a grand kirkyaird
wi' Auld Jock."

A little gasp, and a wee sob, and an awed question: "Is gude
Auld Jock deid, daddy?"

Bobby heard it and answered with a mournful howl. The lassie
snuggled closer to the warm, beating heart, hid her eyes in the
rough plaid, and cried for Auld Jock and for the grieving little
dog.

"Niest to faither an' mither an' big brither Wattie I lo'e Auld
Jock an' Bobby." The bairnie's voice was smothered in the
plaidie. Because it was dark and none were by to see, the
reticent Scot could overflow in tender speech. His arm tightened
around this one little ewe lamb of the human fold on cold slope
farm. He comforted the child by telling her how they would mak'
it up to Bobby, and how very soon a wee dog forgets the keenest
sorrow and is happy again.

The sheep-dogs charged the cart with as deafening a clamor of
welcome as if a home-coming had never happened before, and raced
the horse across the level. The kitchen door flared open, a