en, he
could tear across country at the heels of a new generation of Heriot
laddies and be as fresh as a daisy at nightfall. Silvery gray all over,
the whitening hairs on his face and tufted feet were not visible. His
hazel-brown eyes were still as bright and soft and deep as the sunniest
pools of Leith Water. It was only when he opened his mouth for a tiny,
pink cavern of a yawn that the points of his teeth could be seen to be
wearing down; and his after-dinner nap was more prolonged than of old.
At such times Mr. Traill recalled that the longest life of a dog is no
more than a fifth of the length of days allotted to man.

On that snarling April day, when only himself and the flossy ball of
sleeping Skye were in the place, this thought added to Mr. Traill's
discontent. There had been few guests. Those who had come in, soaked and
surly, ate their dinner in silence and discomfort and took themselves
away, leaving the freshly scrubbed floor as mucky as a moss-hag on the
moor. Late in the afternoon a sergeant, risen from the ranks and cocky
about it, came in and turned himself out of a dripping greatcoat, dapper
and dry in his red tunic, pipe-clayed belt, and winking buttons. He
ordered tea and toast and Dundee marmalade with an air of gay well-being
that was no less than a personal affront to a man in Mr. Traill's frame
of mind. Trouble brewed with the tea that Ailie Lindsey, a tall lassie
of fifteen, but shy and elfish as of old, brought in on a tray from the
scullery.

When this spick-and-span non-commissioned officer demanded Mr. Traill's
price for the little dog that took his eye, the landlord replied curtly
that Bobby was not for sale. The soldier was insolently amused.

"That's vera surprisin'. I aye thoucht an Edinburgh shopkeeper wad sell
ilka thing he had, an' tak' the siller to bed wi' 'im to keep 'im snug
the nicht."

Mr. Traill returned, with brief sarcasm, that "his lairdship" had been
misinformed.

"Why wull ye no' sell the bit dog?" the man insisted.

The badgered landlord turned upon him and answered at length, after the
elaborate manner of a minister who lays his sermon off in sections,

"First: he's no' my dog to sell. Second: he's a dog of rare
discreemination, and is no' like to tak' you for a master. Third: you
soldiers aye have with you a special brand of shulling-a-day impudence.
And, fourth and last, my brither: I'm no' needing your siller, and I can
manage to do fair weel without your conv