undercut with a maze of rabbit runs, very distracting to a dog of
a hunting breed. Bobby knew, by much journeying with Auld Jock,
that running water is a natural highway. Sheep drift along the
lowest level until they find an outlet down some declivity, or up
some foaming steep, to new pastures.

But never before had Bobby found, above such a rustic brook, a
many chimneyed and gabled house of stone, set in a walled garden
and swathed in trees. Today, many would cross wide seas to look
upon Swanston cottage, in whose odorous old garden a whey-faced,
wistful-eyed laddie dreamed so many brave and laughing dreams.
It was only a farm-house then, fallen from a more romantic
history, and it had no attraction for Bobby. He merely sniffed at
dead vines of clematis, sleeping briar bushes, and very live,
bright hedges of holly, rounded a corner of its wall, and ran
into a group of lusty children romping on the brae, below the
very prettiest, thatch roofed and hill-sheltered hamlet within
many a mile of Edinboro' town. The bairns were lunching from
grimy, mittened hands, gypsy fashion, life being far too short
and playtime too brief for formal meals. Seeing them eating,
Bobby suddenly discovered that he was hungry. He rose before a
well-provided laddie and politely begged for a share of his meal.

Such an excited shouting of admiration and calling on mithers to
come and see the bonny wee dog was never before heard on Swanston
village green. Doors flew open and bareheaded women ran out. Then
the babies had to be brought, and the' old grandfaithers and
grandmithers. Everybody oh-ed and ah-ed and clapped hands, and
doubled up with laughter, for, a tempting bit held playfully just
out of reach, Bobby rose, again and again, jumped for it, and