He's an ower grand doggie. Ma
puir bairnie, dinna greet so sair!" For the little girl suddenly
released the wee Highlander and sobbed on her mother's shoulder.
"He isna ma ain Bobby ony mair!" She "couldna thole" to watch him
as he tumbled down the brae.
On the outward march, among the many dogs and laddies that had
followed the soldiers, Bobby escaped notice. But most of these had
gone adventuring in Swanston Dell, to return to the city by the
gorge of Leith Water. Now, traveling three miles to the soldiers'
one, scampering in wide circles over the fields, swimming burns,
scrambling under hedges, chasing whaups into piping cries, barking
and louping in pure exuberance of spirits, many eyes looked upon
him admiringly, and discontented mouths turned upward at the
corners. It is not the least of a little dog's missions in life to
communicate his own irresponsible gaiety to men.
If the return had been over George IV Bridge Bobby would, no doubt,
have dropped behind at Mr. Traill's or at the kirkyard. But on the
Burghmuir the troops swung eastward until they rounded Arthur's
Seat and met the cavalry drilling before the barracks at Piershill.
Such pretty maneuvering of horse and foot took place below Holyrood
Palace as quite to enrapture a terrier. When the infantry marched
up the Canongate and High Street, the mounted men following and the
bands playing at full blast, the ancient thoroughfare was quickly
lined with cheering crowds, and faces looked down from ten tiers of
windows on a beautiful spectacle.
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