ck lads asked for the story Mr. Brown shook his head.
"Ye spier Maister Traill. He kens a' aboot it; an' syne he can talk like
a beuk."

Before they left the kirkyard the laddies walked down to Auld Jock's
grave and patted Bobby on the head, and they went away thoughtfully to
their scattered homes.

As on that first morning when his grief was new, Bobby woke to a
Calvinistic Sabbath. There were no rattling carts or hawkers crying
their wares. Steeped in sunshine, the Castle loomed golden into the
blue. Tenement dwellers slept late, and then moved about quietly.
Children with unwontedly clean faces came out to galleries and stairs to
study their catechisms. Only the birds were unaware of the seventh day,
and went about their melodious business; and flower buds opened to the
sun.

In mid-morning there suddenly broke on the sweet stillness that clamor
of discordant bells that made the wayfarer in Edinburgh stop his ears.
All the way from Leith Harbor to the Burghmuir eight score of warring
bells contended to be heard. Greyfriars alone was silent in that
babblement, for it had lost tower and bell in an explosion of gunpowder.
And when the din ceased at last there was a sound of military music. The
Castle gates swung wide, and a kilted regiment marched down High
Street playing "God Save the Queen." When Bobby was in good spirits the
marching music got into his legs and set him to dancing scandalously.
The caretaker and his wifie always came around the kirk on pleasant
mornings to see the bonny sight of the gay soldiers going to church.

To wee Bobby these good, comfortable, everyday friends of his must have
seemed strange in their black garments and their serious Sunday faces.
And, ah! the Sabbath must, indeed, have been a dull day to the little
dog. He had learned that when the earliest comer clicked the wicket he
must go under the table-tomb and console himself with the extra bone
that Mr. Traill never failed to remember. With an hour's respite for
dinner at the lodge, between the morning and afternoon services, he lay
there all day. The restaurant was closed, and there was no running about
for good dogs. In the early dark of winter he could come out and trot
quietly about the silent, deserted place.

As soon as the crocuses pushed their green noses through the earth in
the spring the congregation began to linger among the graves, for to
see an old burying ground renew its life is a peculiar promise of the
resurrecti