ith a twist and a leap Bobby was gone. He scrambled straight up the
steep, thorn-clad wall of the glen, where no laddie could follow, and
was over the crest. It was a narrow escape, made by terrific effort.
His little heart pounding with exhaustion and alarm, he hid under a whin
bush to get his breath and strength. The sheltered dell was windless,
but here a stiff breeze blew. Suddenly shifting a point, the wind
brought to the little dog's nose a whiff of the acrid coal smoke of
Edinburgh three miles away.

Straight as an arrow he ran across country, over roadway and wall,
plowed fields and rippling burns. He scrambled under hedges and dashed
across farmsteads and cottage gardens. As he neared the city the hour
bells aided him, for the Skye terrier is keen of hearing. It was growing
dark when he climbed up the last bank and gained Lauriston Place. There
he picked up the odors of milk and wool, and the damp smell of the
kirkyard.

Now for something comforting to put into his famished little body. A
night and a day of exhausting work, of anxiety and grief, had used up
the last ounce of fuel. Bobby raced down Forest Road and turned the
slight angle into Greyfriars Place. The lamp lighter's progress toward
the bridge was marked by the double row of lamps that bloomed, one after
one, on the dusk. The little dog had come to the steps of Mr. Traill's
place, and lifted himself to scratch on the door, when the bugle began
to blow. He dropped with the first note and dashed to the kirkyard gate.

None too soon! Mr. Brown was setting the little wicket gate inside,
against the wall. In the instant his back was turned, Bobby slipped
through. After nightfall, when the caretaker had made his rounds, he
came out from under the fallen table-tomb of Mistress Jean Grant.

Lights appeared at the rear windows of the tenements, and families sat
at supper. It was snell weather again, the sky dark with threat of
snow, and the windows were all closed. But with a sharp bark beneath the
lowest of them Bobby could have made his presence and his wants known.
He watched the people eating, sitting wistfully about on his haunches
here and there, but remaining silent. By and by there were sounds of
crying babies, of crockery being washed, and the ringing of church
bells far and near. Then the lights were extinguished, and huge bulks of
shadow, of tenements and kirk, engulfed the kirkyard.

When Bobby lay down on Auld Jock's grave, pellets of frozen