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Updated: May 7, 2025
And suddenly they were all inside, overwrought Ailie on the floor, clasping the little dog and crying hysterically. "Bobby's no' deid! Bobby's no' deid! Oh, Maister Traill, ye wullna hae to gie 'im up to the police! Tammy's got the seven shullin's in 'is bonnet!" And there was small Tammy, crutches dropped and pouring that offering of love and mercy out at the foot of an altar in old St. Giles.
Brown says wull ye please send Bobby hame. Her gude-mon's frettin' for 'im; an' syne, a' the folk aroond the kirkyaird hae come to the gate to see the bittie dog's braw collar. They wullna believe the Laird Provost gied it to 'im for a chairm gin they dinna see it wi' their gin een." "Why, mannie, Bobby's no' here. He must be in the kirkyard." "Nae, he isna.
The Castle pet had died, and Bobby was altogether too good a dog to be wasted on a moldy auld kirkyard and thrown on a dust-cart when he came to die. Mr. Traill resented the imputation. "He'll no' be thrown on a dust-cart!" The door was shut on the mocking retort "Hoo do ye ken he wullna?" And there was food for gloomy reflection.
He's got a gude heid to 'im, an' wullna be sic a bittie fule anither time." Indeed he had a good head on him! Bobby never needed a second lesson. At Silver Mills and Canon Mills he came out and trotted warily around the dam.
At the same time it has happened just often enough that a good song has come to me so, frae an author that's never been heard of before, that I wullna tak' the chance of missing one. It may be, you'll understand, that some of the songs I canna use are very good. Other singers have taken a song I have rejected and made a great success wi' it. But that means just nothing at a' tae me.
There stood a tall student, a wet towel about his head, and, behind him, the rafters of the dormer-lighted closet were as thickly hung with bunches of dried herbs from the Botanical Garden as any auld witch wife's kitchen. "Oh, are ye kennin' 'im? Isna he bonny an' sonsie? Gie me the shullin' an' twapenny ha' penny we're needin', so the police wullna put 'im awa'." "Losh!
But when the deed was done, and the two stood innocently on the brightly lighted approach to the bridge, Mr. Traill had his misgivings. A well-respected business man and church-member, he felt uneasy to be at the mercy of a laddie who might be boastful. "Geordie, if you tell onybody about this I'll have to give you a licking." "I wullna tell," Geordie reassured him.
And I see no cats, Mr. Brown." "Ye wullna see ony as lang as the wee doggie is leevin' i' the kirkyaird. An' the vermin hae sneekit awa' the first time sin' Queen Mary's day. An' syne there's mair singin' birdies than for mony a year." Mr. Traill had listened, unseen. Now he came forward with a gay challenge in broad Scotch to put the all but routed caretaker at his ease.
"Bobby wullna be lanely here wi' the coos, bairnie, an' i' the morn ye can tak' a bit rope an' haud it in a wee hand so he canna brak awa', an' syne, in a day or twa, he'll be forgettin' Auld Jock. Ay, ye'll hae grand times wi' the sonsie doggie, rinnin' an' loupin' on the braes."
He wullna be gettin' thae things; an' it wad be maist michty, noo, gin ye couldna win the bittie dog awa' frae the reekie auld toon. Gang oot wi' 'im an' rin on the brae an' bid 'im find the nests aneath the whins." In a moment they were out on the heather, and it seemed, indeed, as if Bobby might be won.
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