Six-year-old Ailie slipped a shy finger into her mouth, and looked to the very much more mature five-year old crippled laddie to answer,
“He was i' the kirkyaird.”
“Sittin' upon a stane by 'is ainsel',” added Ailie.
“An' no' hidin', ava. It was juist like he was leevin' there.”
“An' syne, when I drapped oot o' the window he louped at me so bonny, an' I couldna keep up wi' 'im to the gate.”
Wonder of wonders! It was plain that Bobby had made his way back from the hill farm and, from his appearance and manner, as well as from this account, it was equally clear that some happy change in his fortunes had taken place. He sat up on his haunches listening with interest and lolling his tongue! And that was a thing the bereft little dog had not done since his master died. In the first pause in the talk he rose and begged for his dinner.
“Noo, what am I to pay? It took ane, twa, three o' ye to fetch ane sma' dog. A saxpence for the laddie, a saxpence for the lassie, an' a bit meal for Bobby.”
While he was putting the plate down under the settle Mr. Traill heard an amazed whisper “He's gien the doggie a chuckie bane.” The landlord switched the plate from under Bobby's protesting little muzzle and turned to catch the hungry look on the faces of the children. Chicken, indeed, for a little dog, before these ill-fed bairns! Mr. Traill had a brilliant thought.
“Preserve me! I didna think to eat ma ain dinner. I hae so muckle to eat I canna eat it by ma lane.”
The idea of having too much to eat was so preposterously funny that Tammy doubled up with laughter and nearly tumbled over his crutches. Mr. Traill set him upright again.