Greyfriars Bobby by Eleanor Stackhouse Atkinson
page 79 of 232 (34%)
page 79 of 232 (34%)
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Through all this talk Bobby had lain quietly by the door, in the
expectation that it would be unlatched. Impatient of delay, he began to whimper and to scratch on the panel. The lassie opened her blue eyes at that, scrambled down, and ran to him. Instantly Bobby was up, tugging at her short little gown and begging to be let out. When she clasped her chubby arms around his neck and tried to comfort him he struggled free and set up a dreadful howling. "Hoots, Bobby, stap yer havers!" shouted the farmer. "Eh, lassie, he'll deave us a'. We'll juist hae to put 'im i' the byre wi' the coos for the nicht," cried the distracted mither. "I want Bobby i' the bed wi' me. I'll cuddle 'im an' lo'e 'im till he staps greetin'." "Nae, bonny wee, he wullna stap." The farmer picked the child up on one arm, gripped the dog under the other, and the gude wife went before with a lantern, across the dark farmyard to the cow-barn. When the stout door was unlatched there was a smell of warm animals, of milk, and cured hay, and the sound of full, contented breathings that should have brought a sense of companionship to a grieving little creature. "Bobby wullna be lanely here wi' the coos, bairnie, an' i' the morn ye can tak' a bit rope an' haud it in a wee hand so he canna brak awa', an' syne, in a day or twa, he'll be forgettin' Auld Jock. Ay, ye'll hae grand times wi' the sonsie doggie, rinnin' an' loupin' on the braes." |
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