Ah! that was very true. To the grand folk who had come to see him,
Bobby was only a nine-days' wonder. His story had touched the
hearts of all orders of society. For a time strangers would come to
see him, and then they would forget all about him or remember him
only fitfully. It was to these poor people around the kirkyard,
themselves forgotten by the more fortunate, that the little dog
must look for his daily meed of affection and companionship. Mr.
Traill spoke to them kindly.
"Bide a wee, noo, an' I'll fetch the doggie doon."
Bobby had slept blissfully nearly all the day, after his exhausting
labors and torturing pains. But with the sunset bugle he fretted to
be let out. Ailie had wept and pleaded, Mrs. Brown had reasoned
with him, and Mr. Brown had scolded, all to the end of persuading
him to sleep in "the hoose the nicht." But when no one was watching
him Bobby crawled from his rug and dragged himself to the door. He
rapped the floor with his tail in delight when Mr. Traill came in
and bundled him up on the rug, so he could lie easily, and carried
him down to the gate.
For quite twenty minutes these neighbors and friends of Bobby filed
by silently, patted the shaggy little head, looked at the grand
plate with Bobby's and the Lord Provost's names upon it, and
believed their own wondering een. Bobby wagged his tail and lolled
his tongue, and now and then he licked the hand of a baby who had
to be lifted by a tall brother to see him.
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