Giles, on High Street, floated the melody of "The Bluebells of Scotland." No day was too bleak for bell-ringer McLeod to climb the shaking ladder in the windy tower and play the music bells during the hour that Edinburgh dined.Bobby forgot to dine that day, first in his distracted search, and then in his joy of finding his master.
For, all at once, in the very strangest place, in the very strangest way, Bobby came upon Auld Jock.A rat scurrying out from a foul and narrow passage that gave to the rear of the White Hart Inn, pointed the little dog to a nook hitherto undiscovered by his curious nose.Hidden away between the noisy tavern and the grim, island crag was the old cock-fighting pit of a ruder day.There, in a broken-down carrier's cart, abandoned among the nameless abominations of publichouse refuse, Auld Jock lay huddled in his greatcoat of hodden gray and his shepherd's plaid.On a bundle of clothing tied in a tartan kerchief for a pillow, he lay very still and breathing heavily.
Bobby barked as if he would burst his lungs.He barked so long, so loud, and so furiously, running 'round and 'round the cart and under it and yelping at every turn, that a slatternly scullery maid opened a door and angrily bade him "no' to deave folk wi'
'is blatterin'." Auld Jock she did not see at all in the murky pit or, if she saw him, thought him some drunken foreign sailor from Leith harbor.When she went in, she slammed the door and lighted the gas.
Whether from some instinct of protection of his helpless master in that foul and hostile place, or because barking had proved to be of no use Bobby sat back on his haunches and considered this strange, disquieting thing.It was not like Auld Jock to sleep in the daytime, or so soundly, at any time, that barking would not awaken him.A clever and resourceful dog, Bobby crouched back against the farthest wall, took a running leap to the top of the low boots, dug his claws into the stout, home knitted stockings, and scrambled up over Auld Jock's legs into the cart.In an instant he poked his little black mop of a wet muzzle into his master's face and barked once, sharply, in his ear.
To Bobby's delight Auld Jock sat up and blinked his eyes.The old eyes were brighter, the grizzled face redder than was natural, but such matters were quite outside of the little dog's ken.It was a dazed moment before the man remembered that Bobby should not be there.He frowned down at the excited little creature, who was wagging satisfaction from his nose-tip to the end of his crested tail, in a puzzled effort to remember why.
"Eh, Bobby!" His tone was one of vague reproof."Nae doot ye're fair satisfied wi' yer ainsel'."Bobby's feathered tail drooped, but it still quivered, all ready to wag again at the slightest encouragement.Auld Jock stared at him stupidly, his dizzy head in his hands.A very tired, very draggled little dog, Bobby dropped beside his master, panting, subdued by the reproach, but happy.His soft eyes, veiled by the silvery fringe that fell from his high forehead, were deep brown pools of affection.Auld Jock forgot, by and by, that Bobby should not be there, and felt only the comfort of his companionship.
"Weel, Bobby," he began again, uncertainly.And then, because his Scotch peasant reticence had been quite broken down by Bobby's shameless devotion, so that he told the little dog many things that he cannily concealed from human kind, he confided the strange weakness and dizziness in the head that had overtaken him: "Auld Jock is juist fair silly the day, bonny wee laddie."Down came a shaking, hot old hand in a rough caress, and up a gallant young tail to wave like a banner.All was right with the little dog's world again.But it was plain, even to Bobby, that something had gone wrong with Auld Jock.It was the man who wore the air of a culprit.A Scotch laborer does not lightly confess to feeling "fair silly," nor sleep away the busy hours of daylight.The old man was puzzled and humiliated by this discreditable thing.A human friend would have understood his plight, led the fevered man out of that bleak and fetid cul-de-sac, tucked him into a warm bed, comforted him with a hot drink, and then gone swiftly for skilled help.Bobby knew only that his master had unusual need of love.
Very, very early a dog learns that life is not as ****** a matter to his master as it is to himself.There are times when he reads trouble, that he cannot help or understand, in the man's eye and voice.Then he can only look his love and loyalty, wistfully, as if he felt his own shortcoming in the matter of speech.And if the trouble is so great that the master forgets to eat his dinner; forgets, also, the needs of his faithful little friend, it is the dog's dear privilege to bear neglect and hunger without complaint.Therefore, when Auld Jock lay down again and sank, almost at once, into sodden sleep, Bobby snuggled in the hollow of his master's arm and nuzzled his nose in his master's neck.
