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This neeborhood is noted for the dogs that are aye passing. On Wednesdays the farm dogs come up from the Grassmarket, and every day there are weel-cared-for dogs from the residence streets, dogs of all conditions across the bridge from High Street, and meeserable waifs from the Cowgate. Stray pussies are about, too.
There's nae coontin' the bairns o' the neeborhood, an' nane o' them are so weel broucht up as they micht be." Mr. Traill commented upon this philosophically: "A bairn is like a dog in mony ways. Tak' a stick to one or the other and he'll misbehave. The children here are poor and neglected, but they're no' vicious like the awfu' imps of the Cowgate, wha'd steal from their blind grandmithers.
I forgot; an' did ye " "Oh, Uncle Billy! what do you think? Guess who I am; guess!" "Why, lad, don't frighten a mon like that. Ye'll wake the neeborhood. Who be ye, then?" "Guess! guess! Oh, you'd never guess! I'm Ralph Burnham; I'm Mrs. Burnham's son!"
Davie, when you're in my neeborhood again on a wet day, come in and dry yoursel' by my fire and tak' another cup o' kindness for auld lang syne. You'll be all the better man for a lesson in morals the bit dog can give you: no' to bite the hand that feeds you." The policeman turned purple. A ripple of merriment ran through the room.
And then, to delay the moment of parting with Bobby, who stopped crying and began to lick his hand in frantic appeal through a hole in the basket, Mr. Traill asked how Bobby came by his name. "It was a leddy o' the neeborhood o' Swanston. She cam' drivin' by Cauldbrae i' her bit cart wi' shaggy Shetlands to it an' stapped at the dairy for a drink o' buttermilk frae the kirn.
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