Bobby watched all this without a movement.He shivered when the lodge door was heard to open and shut and heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel and snow around the church."Juist fair silly" on his quaking legs he stood up, head and tail drooped.
But he held his ground bravely, and when the caretaker sighted him he trotted to meet the man, lifted himself on his hind legs, his short, shagged fore paws on his breast, begging attention and indulgence.Then he sprawled across the great boots, asking pardon for the liberty he was taking.At last, all in a flash, he darted back to the grave, sniffed at it, and stood again, head up, plumy tail crested, all excitement, as much as to say:
"Come awa' ower, man, an' leuk at the brave sicht."If he could have barked, his meaning would have carried more convincingly, but he "hauded 'is gab" loyally.And, alas, the caretaker was not to be beguiled.Mr.Traill had told him Bobby had been sent back to the hill farm, but here he was, "perseestent" little rascal, and making some sort of bid for the man's favor.Mr.Brown took his pipe out of his mouth in surprised exasperation, and glowered at the dog.
"Gang awa' oot wi' ye!"
But Bobby was back again coaxing undauntedly, abasing himself before the angry man, insisting that he had something of interest to show.The caretaker was literally badgered and cajoled into following him.One glance at the formidable heap of the slain, and Mr.Brown dropped to a seat on the slab.
"Preserve us a'!"
He stared from the little dog to his victims, turned them over with his stout stick and counted them, and stared again.Bobby fixed his pleading eyes on the man and stood at strained attention while fate hung in the balance.
"Guile wark! Guile wark! A braw doggie, an' an unco' fechter.
Losh! but ye're a deil o' a bit dog!"
All this was said in a tone of astonished comment, so non-committal of feeling that Bobby's tail began to twitch in the stress of his anxiety.When the caretaker spoke again, after a long, puzzled frowning, it was to express a very human bewilderment and irritation.
"Noo, what am I gangin' to do wi' ye?"
Ah, that was encouraging! A moment before, he had ordered Bobby out in no uncertain tone.After another moment he referred the question to a higher court.
"Jeanie, woman, come awa' oot a meenit, wull ye?"A hasty pattering of carpet-slippered feet on the creaking snow, around the kirk, and there was the neatest little apple-cheeked peasant woman in Scotland, "snod" from her smooth, frosted hair, spotless linen mutch and lawn kerchief, to her white, lamb's wool stockings.
"Here's the bit dog I was tellin' ye aboot; an' see for yersel'
what he's done noo."
"The wee beastie couldna do a' that! It's as muckle as his ain wecht in fou' vermin!" she cried.
"Ay, he did.Thae terriers are sperity, by the ordinar'.Ane o'
them, let into the corn exchange a murky nicht, killed saxty in ten meenits, an' had to be dragged awa' by the tail.Noo, what Iam gangin' to do wi' the takin' bit I dinna ken."It is very certain that simple Mistress Jean Brown had never heard of Mr.Dick's advice to Miss Betsy Trotwood on the occasion when young David Copperfield presented himself, travel-stained and weary, before his good aunt.But out of her experience of wholesome living she brought forth the same wise opinion.
"I'd gie him a gude washin' first of a', Jamie.He leuks like some puir, gaen-aboot dog." And she drew her short, blue-stuff gown back from Bobby's grateful attentions.
Mr.Brown slapped his corduroy-breeked knee and nodded his grizzled head."Richt ye are.It's maist michty, noo, I wadna think o' that.When I was leevin' as an under gairdener wi' a laird i' Argyleshire I was aye aboot the kennels wi' the gillies.
That was lang syne.The sma' terrier dogs were aye washed i'
claes tubs wi' warm water an' soap.Come awa', Bobby."The caretaker got up stiffly, for such snell weather was apt to give him twinges in his joints.In him a youthful enthusiasm for dogs had suddenly revived.Besides, although he would have denied it, he was relieved at having the main issue, as to what was to be done with this four-footed trespasser, side-tracked for a time.Bobby followed him to the lodge at an eager trot, and he dutifully hopped into the bath that was set on the rear doorstep.
Mr.Brown scrubbed him vigorously, and Bobby splashed and swam and churned the soapy water to foam.He scrambled out at once, when told to do so, and submitted to being dried with a big, tow-linen towel.This was all a delightful novelty to Bobby.
Heretofore he had gone into any convenient tam or burn to swim, and then dried himself by rolling on the heather and running before the wind.Now he was bundled up ignominiously in an old flannel petticoat, carried across a sanded kitchen floor and laid on a warm hearth.
"Doon wi' ye!" was the gruff order.Bobby turned around and around on the hearth, like some little wild dog making a bed in the jungle, before he obeyed.He kept very still during the reading of a chapter and the singing of a Psalm, as he had been taught to do at the farm by many a reminder from Auld Jock's boot.And he kept away from the breakfast-table, although the walls of his stomach were collapsed as flat as the sides of an empty pocket.
It was such a clean, shining little kitchen, with the scoured deal table, chairs and cupboard, and the firelight from the grate winked so on pewter mugs, copper kettle, willow-patterned plates and diamond panes, that Bobby blinked too.Flowers bloomed in pots on the casement sills, and a little brown skylark sang, fluttering as if it would soar, in a gilded cage.After the morning meal Mr.Brown lighted his pipe and put on his bonnet to go out again, when he bethought him that Bobby might be needing something to eat.
