om human kind, he confided the strange weakness and
dizziness in the head that had overtaken him: "Auld Jock is juist fair
silly the day, bonny wee laddie."

Down came a shaking, hot old hand in a rough caress, and up a gallant
young tail to wave like a banner. All was right with the little dog's
world again. But it was plain, even to Bobby, that something had gone
wrong with Auld Jock. It was the man who wore the air of a culprit. A
Scotch laborer does not lightly confess to feeling "fair silly," nor
sleep away the busy hours of daylight. The old man was puzzled and
humiliated by this discreditable thing. A human friend would have
understood his plight, led the fevered man out of that bleak and fetid
cul-de-sac, tucked him into a warm bed, comforted him with a hot drink,
and then gone swiftly for skilled help. Bobby knew only that his master
had unusual need of love.

Very, very early a dog learns that life is not as simple a matter to his
master as it is to himself. There are times when he reads trouble, that
he cannot help or understand, in the man's eye and voice. Then he
can only look his love and loyalty, wistfully, as if he felt his own
shortcoming in the matter of speech. And if the trouble is so great that
the master forgets to eat his dinner; forgets, also, the needs of his
faithful little friend, it is the dog's dear privilege to bear neglect
and hunger without complaint. Therefore, when Auld Jock lay down again
and sank, almost at once, into sodden sleep, Bobby snuggled in the
hollow of his master's arm and nuzzled his nose in his master's neck.

II.

While the bells played "There Grows a Bonny Briarbush in Our Kale Yard,"
Auld Jock and Bobby slept. They slept while the tavern emptied itself
of noisy guests and clattering crockery was washed at the dingy,
gas-lighted windows that overlooked the cockpit. They slept while the
cold fell with the falling day and the mist was whipped into driving
rain. Almost a cave, between shelving rock and house wall, a gust of
wind still found its way in now and then. At a splash of rain Auld Jock
stirred uneasily in his sleep. Bobby merely sniffed the freshened air
with pleasure and curled himself up for another nap.

No rain could wet Bobby. Under his rough outer coat, that was parted
along the back as neatly as the thatch along a cottage ridge-pole, was
a dense, woolly fleece that defied wind and rain, snow and sleet to
penetrate. He could not know that nature h