No sooner was he released than
he dashed around the kirk and back again, bringing his latest
bone in his mouth. To his scratching on the stone sill, for he
had been taught not to scratch on the panel, the door was opened
by snod and smiling Mistress Jeanie, who invited these slum
bairns into such a cozy, spotless kitchen as was not possible in
the tenements. Mr. Brown sat by the hearth, bundled in blue and
white blankets of wonderfully blocked country weaving. Bobby put
his fore paws on the caretaker's chair and laid his precious bone
in the man's lap.
"Eh, ye takin' bit rascal; loup!" Bobby jumped to the patted
knee, turned around and around on the soft bed that invited him,
licked the beaming old face to show his sympathy and
friendliness, and jumped down again. Mr. Brown sighed because
Bobby steadily but amiably refused to be anybody's lap-dog. The
caretaker turned to the admiring children.
"Ilka morn he fetches 'is bit bane up, thinkin' it a braw giftie
for an ill man. An' syne he veesits me twa times i' the day,
juist bidin' a wee on the hearthstane, lollin' 'is tongue an'
waggin' 'is tail, cheerfu'-like. Bobby has mair gude sense in 'is
heid than mony a man wha comes ben the hoose, wi' a lang face, to
let me ken I'm gangin' to dee. Gin I keep snug an' canny it
wullna gang to the heart. Jeanie, woman, fetch ma fife, wull ye?"
Then there were strange doings in the kirkyard lodge. James Brown
"wasna gangin' to dee" before his time came, at any rate.
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