His new friend assured him that he would be taken home.
"Bide a wee, Bobby. Before he goes I want you all to see his
beautiful eyes. In most breeds of dogs with the veil you will find
the hairs of the face discolored by tears, but the Skye terrier's
are not, and his eyes are living jewels, as sunny a brown as
cairngorms in pebble brooches, but soft and deep and with an almost
human intelligence."
For the third time that day Bobby's veil was pushed back. One
shocked look by this lover of dogs, and it was dropped. "Get him
back to that grave, man, or he's like to die. His eyes are just two
cairngorms of grief."
In the hush that fell upon the company the senior officer spoke
sharply: "Take him down at once, Sergeant. The whole affair is most
unfortunate, and you will please tender my apologies at the
churchyard and the restaurant, as well as your own, and I will see
the Lord Provost."
The military salute was given to Bobby when he leaped from the
table at the sergeant's call: "Come awa', Bobby. I'll tak' ye to
Auld Jock i' the kirkyaird noo."
He stepped out onto the lawn to wait for his pass. Bobby stood at
his feet, quivering with impatience to be off, but trusting in the
man's given word. The upper air was clear, and the sky studded with
stars. Twenty minutes before the May Light, that guided the ships
into the Firth, could be seen far out on the edge of the ocean, and
in every direction the lamps of the city seemed to fall away in a
shower of sparks, as from a burst meteor.
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