Traill's heart to hear him, and to see the gallant little dog so
defenseless. He talked to him through the latticed cover all the way
out to the cart, telling him Auld Jock meant for him to go home. At that
beloved name, Bobby dropped to the bottom of the basket and cried in
such a heartbroken way that tears stood in the landlord's eyes, and even
the farmer confessed to a sudden "cauld in 'is heid."

"I'd gie 'im to ye, mon, gin it wasna that the bit lassie wad greet her
bonny een oot gin I didna fetch 'im hame. Nae boot the bit tyke wad 'a'
deed gin ye hadna fed 'im."

"Eh, man, he'll no' bide with me, or I'd be bargaining for him. And
he'll no' be permitted to live in the kirkyard. I know naething in this
life more pitiful than a masterless, hameless dog." And then, to delay
the moment of parting with Bobby, who stopped crying and began to lick
his hand in frantic appeal through a hole in the basket, Mr. Traill
asked how Bobby came by his name.

"It was a leddy o' the neeborhood o' Swanston. She cam' drivin' by
Cauldbrae i' her bit cart wi' shaggy Shetlands to it an' stapped at the
dairy for a drink o' buttermilk frae the kirn. Syne she saw the sonsie
puppy loupin' at Auld Jock's heels, bonny as a poodle, but mair knowin'.
The leddy gied me a poond note for 'im. I put 'im up on the seat, an'
she said that noo she had a smart Hieland groom to match 'er Hieland
steeds, an' she flicked the ponies wi' 'er whup. Syne the bit dog was on
the airth an' flyin' awa' doon the road like the deil was after 'im. An'
the leddy lauched an' lauched, an' went awa' wi'oot 'im. At the fut o'
the brae she was still lauchin', an' she ca'ed back: 'Gie 'im the name
o' Bobby, gude mon. He's left the plow-tail an's aff to Edinburgh to
mak' his fame an' fortune.' I didna ken what the leddy meant."

"Man, she meant he was like Bobby Burns."

Here was a literary flavor that gave added attraction to a man who sat
at the feet of the Scottish muses. The landlord sighed as he went back
to the doorway, and he stood there listening to the clatter of the cart
and rough-shod horse and to the mournful howling of the little dog,
until the sounds died away in Forest Road.

Mr. Traill would have been surprised to know, perhaps, that the confines
of the city were scarcely passed before Bobby stopped protesting and
grieving and settled down patiently to more profitable work. A human
being thus kidnapped and carried away would have been quite helpless.
Bu