oss
the level. The kitchen door flared open, a sudden beacon to shepherds
scattered afar on these upland billows of heath. In a moment the basket
was in the house, the door snecked, and Bobby released on the hearth.

It was a beautiful, dark old kitchen, with a homely fire of peat that
glowed up to smoke-stained rafters. Soon it was full of shepherds, come
in to a supper of brose, cheese, milk and bannocks. Sheep-dogs sprawled
and dozed on the hearth, so that the gude wife complained of their being
underfoot. But she left them undisturbed and stepped over them, for,
tired as they were, they would have to go out again to drive the sheep
into the fold.

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
pleasa