Humiliated by being brought home a prisoner, and grieving for the forsaken grave in Greyfriars, Bobby crept away to a corner bench, on which Auld Jock had always sat in humble self-effacement.He lay down under it, and the little four year-old lassie sat on the floor close beside him, understanding, and sorry with him.Her rough brother Wattie teased her about wanting her supper there on one plate with Bobby.
"I wadna gang daft aboot a bit dog, Elsie.""Leave the bairn by 'er lane," commanded the farmer.The mither patted the child's bright head, and wiped the tears from the bluebell eyes.And there was a little sobbing confidence poured into a sympathetic ear.
Bobby refused to eat at first, but by and by he thought better of it.A little dog that has his life to live and his work to do must have fuel to drive the throbbing engine of his tiny heart.
So Bobby very sensibly ate a good supper in the lassie's company and, grateful for that and for her sympathy, submitted to her shy petting.But after the shepherds and dogs were gone and the farmer had come in again from an overseeing look about the place the little dog got up, trotted to the door, and lay down by it.
The lassie followed him.With two small, plump hands she pushed Bobby's silver veil back, held his muzzle and looked into his sad, brown eyes.
"Oh, mither, mither, Bobby's greetin'," she cried.
"Nae, bonny wee, a sma' dog canna greet.""Ay, he's greetin' sair!" A sudden, sweet little sound was dropped on Bobby's head.
"Ye shouldna kiss the bit dog, bairnie.He isna like a human body.""Ay, a wee kiss is gude for 'im.Faither, he greets so I canna thole it." The child fled to comforting arms in the inglenook and cried herself to sleep.The gude wife knitted, and the gude mon smoked by the pleasant fire.The only sound in the room was the ticking of the wag at the wa' clock, for burning peat makes no noise at all, only a pungent whiff in the nostrils, the memory of which gives a Scotch laddie abroad a fit of hamesickness.Bobby lay very still and watchful by the door.The farmer served his astonishing news in dramatic bits.
"Auld Jock's deid." Bobby stirred at that, and flattened out on the floor.
"Ay, the lassie told that, an' I wad hae kenned it by the dog.He is greetin' by the ordinar'.""An' he's buried i' the kirkyaird o' auld Greyfriars." Ah, that fetched her! The gude wife dropped her knitting and stared at him.
"There's a gairdener, like at the country-hooses o' the gentry, leevin' in a bit lodge by the gate.He has naethin' to do, ava, but lock the gate at nicht, put the dogs oot, an' mak' the posies bloom i' the simmer.Ay, it's a bonny place.""It's ower grand for Auld Jock.""Ye may weel say that.His bit grave isna so far frae the martyrs' monument." When the grandeur of that had sunk in he went on to other incredibilities.
Presently he began to chuckle."There's a bit notice on the gate that nae dogs are admittet, but Bobby's sleepit on Auld Jock's grave ane--twa--three--fower nichts, an' the gairdener doesna ken it, ava.He's a canny beastie.""Ay, he is.Folk wull be comin' frae miles aroond juist to leuk at thesperity bit.Ilka body aboot kens Auld Jock.It'll be maist michty news to tell at the kirk on the Sabbath, that he's buried i' Greyfriars."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."
This argument was so convincing and so attractive that the little maid dried her tears, kissed Bobby on the head again, and made a bed of heather for him in a corner.But as they were leaving the byre fresh doubts assailed her.
"He'll gang awa' gin ye dinna tie 'im snug the nicht, faither.""Sic a fulish bairn! Wi' fower wa's aroond 'im, an' a roof to 'is heid, an' a floor to 'is fut, hoo could a sma' dog mak' a way oot?"It was a foolish notion, bred of fond anxiety, and so, reassured, the child went happily back to the house and to rosy sleep in her little closet bed.
