By this act he admitted the
humiliating and fearful fact that he was very ill. The precious
little hoard must be hidden from the chance prowler. He looked
for a loose brick in the fireplace, but before he found one, he
forgot all about it, and absent-mindedly heaped the coins in a
little pile on the open Bible at the back of the bed.
For a long time Auld Jock sat there with his head in his hands
before he again slipped back to his pillow. Darkness stole into
the quiet room. The lodgers returned to their dens one after one,
tramping or slipping or hobbling up the stairs and along the
passage. Bobby bristled and froze, on guard, when a stealthy
hand tried the latch. Then there were sounds of fighting, of
crying women, and the long, low wailing of-wretched children. The
evening drum and bugle were heard from the Castle, and hour
after hour was struck from the clock of St. Giles while Bobby
watched beside his master.
All night Auld Jock was "aff 'is heid." When he muttered in his
sleep or cried out in the delirium of fever, the little dog put
his paws upon the bed-rail. He scratched on it and begged to be
lifted to where he could comfort his master, for the shelf was
set too high for him to climb into the bed. Unable to get his
master's attention, he licked the hot hand that hung over the
side. Auld Jock lay still at last, not coughing any more, but
breathing rapid, shallow breaths. Just at dawn he turned his head
and gazed in bewilderment at the alert and troubled little
creature that was instantly upon the rail.
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