by."

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.

"What'll ye gie 'im, Jeanie? At the laird's, noo, the terriers were aye
fed wi' bits o' livers an' cheese an' moor fowls' eggs, an' sic-like,
fried."

"Havers, Jamie, it's no' releegious to feed a dog better than puir
bairns. He'll do fair weel wi' table-scraps."

She set down a plate with a spoonful of porridge on it, a cold potato,
some bread crusts, and the leavings of a broiled caller herrin'. It was
a generous breakfast for so small a dog, but Bobby had been without food
for quite forty hours, and