But; long enough absent from his master,
Bobby lay down on the grave, in the stillness of the mid-afternoon.
The robin made a brief call and, as no other birds were about,
hopped upon Bobby's back, perched on his head, and warbled a little
song. It was then that the gate clicked. Dismissing her carriage
and telling the coachman to return at five, Lady Burdett-Coutts
entered the kirkyard.
Bobby trotted around the kirk on the chance of meeting a friend. He
looked up intently at the strange lady for a moment, and she stood
still and looked down at him. She was not a beautiful lady, nor
very young. Indeed, she was a few years older than the Queen, and
the Queen was a widowed grandmother. But she had a sweet dignity
and warm serenity--an unhurried look, as if she had all the time in
the world for a wee dog; and Bobby was an age-whitened muff of a
plaintive terrier that captured her heart at once. Very certain
that this stranger knew and cared about how he felt, Bobby turned
and led her down to Auld Jock's grave. And when she was seated on
the table-tomb he came up to her and let her look at his collar,
and he stood under her caress, although she spoke to him in fey
English, calling him a darling little dog. Then, entirely contented
with her company, he lay down, his eyes fixed upon her and lolling
his tongue.
The sun was on the green and flowery slope of Greyfriars, warming
the weathered tombs and the rear windows of the tenements.
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