ttle Skye could keep so still
about it."

At that Mr. Brown retreated to the martyrs' monument to meditate on
the unministerial behavior of this minister and professor of Biblical
criticism in the University. Mr. Traill, however, sat himself down
on the slab for a pleasant probing into the soul of this courageous
dominie, who had long been under fire for his innovations in the kirk
services.

"I heard of Bobby first early in the winter, from a Bible-reader at the
Medical Mission in the Cowgate, who saw the little dog's master buried.
He sees many strange, sad things in his work, but nothing ever shocked
him so as the lonely death of that pious old shepherd in such a
picturesque den of vice and misery."

"Ay, he went from my place, fair ill, into the storm. I never knew whaur
the auld man died."

The minister looked at Mr. Traill, struck by the note of remorse in his
tone.

"The missionary returned to the churchyard to look for the dog that had
refused to leave the grave. He concluded that Bobby had gone away to
a new home and master, as most dogs do go sooner or later. Some weeks
afterward the minister of a small church in the hills inquired for him
and insisted that he was still here. This last week, at the General
Assembly, I heard of the wee Highlander from several sources. The tales
of his escapes from the sheep-farm have grown into a sort of Odyssey of
the Pentlands. I think, perhaps, if you had not continued to feed him,
Mr. Traill, he might have remained at his old home."

"Nae, I'm no' thinking so, and I was no' willing to risk the starvation
of the bonny, leal Highlander."

Until the stars came out Mr. Traill sat there telling the story. At
mention of his master's name Bobby returned to the mound and stretched
himself across it. "I will go before the kirk officers, Doctor Lee,
and tak' full responseebility. Mr. Brown is no' to blame. It would have
tak'n a man with a heart of trap-rock to have turned the woeful bit dog
out."

"He is well cared for and is of a hardy breed, so he is not likely to
suffer; but a dog, no more than a man, cannot live on bread alone. His
heart hungers for love."

"Losh!" cried Mr. Brown. "Are ye thinkin' he isna gettin' it? Oor bairns
are a' oot o' the hame nest, an' ma woman, Jeanie, is fair daft aboot
Bobby, aye thinkin' he'll tak' the measles. An' syne, there's a' the
tenement bairns cryin' oot on 'im ilka meenit, an' ane crippled laddie
he een lets fondle 'im."

"Sti