“Dinna say the bittie dog's lost, Maister Traill. It wad gang to the heart o' ma gudemon.”
“Havers, woman, he's no' lost.” Mr. Traill spoke stoutly enough. “Just go up to the lodge and tell Mr. Brown I'm—weel, I'll just attend to that sma' matter my ainsel'.” With that he took a gay face and a set-up air into the lodge to meet Mr. Brown's glowering eye.
“Whaur's the dog, man? I've been deaved aboot 'im a' the day, but I haena seen the sonsie rascal nor the braw collar the Laird Provost gied 'im. An' syne, wi' the folk comin' to spier for 'im an' swarmin' ower the kirkyaird, ye'd think a warlock was aboot. Bobby isna your dog—”
“Haud yoursel', man. Bobby's a famous dog, with the freedom of Edinburgh given to him, and naething will do but Glenormiston must show him to a company o' grand folk at his bit country place. He's sending in a cart by a groom, and I'm to tak' Bobby out and fetch him hame after a braw dinner on gowd plate. The bairns meant weel, but they could no' give Bobby a washing fit for a veesit with the nobeelity. I had to tak' him to a barber for a shampoo.”
Mr. Brown roared with laughter. “Man, ye hae mair fule notions i' yer heid. Ye'll hae to pay a shullin' or twa to a barber, an' Bobby'll be sae set up there'll be nae leevin' wi' 'im. Sit ye doon an' tell me aboot the collar, man.”
“I can no' stop now to wag my tongue. Here's the gude-wife. I'll just help her get you awa' to your bed.”
It was dark when he returned to the gate, and the Castle wore its luminous crown. The lights from the street lamps flickered on the up-turned, anxious faces. Some of the children had begun to weep. Women offered loud suggestions. There were surmises that Bobby had been run over by a cart in the street, and angry conjectures that he had been stolen. Then Ailie wailed:
“Oh, Maister Traill, the bittie dog's deid!”
“Havers, lassie! I'm ashamed o' ye for a fulish bairn. Bobby's no' deid. Nae doot he's amang the stanes i' the kirkyaird. He's aye scramblin' aboot for vermin an' pussies, an' may hae hurt himsel', an' ye a' ken the bonny wee wadna cry oot i' the kirkyaird. Noo, get to wark, an' dinna stand there greetin' an' waggin' yer tongues. The mithers an' bairns maun juist gang hame an' stap their havers, an' licht a' the candles an' cruisey lamps i' their hames, an' set them i' the windows aboon the kirkyaird. Greyfriars is murky by the ordinar', an' ye couldna find a coo there wi'oot the lichts.”
The crowd suddenly melted away, so eager were they all to have a hand in helping to find the community pet. Then Mr. Traill turned to the boys.