But Bobby's tail
wagged for these unfortunates, too, and some of them had no other
friend in the world beside that uncalculating little dog.
When the morning stream of auld acquaintance had gone by, and none
forgot, Bobby went up to the lodge to sit for an hour with Mistress
Jeanie. There he was called "croodlin' doo"--which was altogether
absurd--by the fond old woman. As neat of plumage, and as busy and
talkative about small domestic matters as the robin, Bobby loved to
watch the wifie stirring savory messes over the fire, watering her
posies, cleaning the fluttering skylark's cage, or just sitting by
the hearth or in the sunny doorway with him, knitting warm
stockings for her rheumatic gude-mon.
Out in the kirkyard Bobby trotted dutifully at the caretaker's
heels. When visitors were about he did not venture to take a nap in
the open unless Mr. Brown was on guard, and, by long and close
companionship with him, the aging man could often tell what Bobby
was dreaming about. At a convulsive movement and a jerk of his head
the caretaker would say to the wifie, if she chanced to be near:
"Leuk at that, noo, wull ye? The sperity bit was takin' thae fou'
vermin." And again, when the muscles of his legs worked
rhythmically, "He's rinnin' wi' the laddies or the braw soldiers on
the braes."
Bobby often woke from a dream with a start, looked dazed, and then
foolish, at the vivid imaginings of sleep. But when, in a doze, he
half stretched himself up on his short, shagged fore paws,
flattened out, and then awoke and lay so, very still, for a time,
it was Mistress Jeanie who said:
"Preserve us a'! The bonny wee was dreamin' o' his maister's deith,
an' noo he's greetin' sair.
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