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Her eyes sparkled as she added: "You have so much talent of the right, sorts here that it would be wicked not to employ it in the good cause." What "the good cause" was came out presently, in the church, where she startled even Glenormiston and Mr.
And his manner was so simple that he put the humblest at his ease. There had been no formality about the meeting at all. Glenormiston was standing in a rear doorway of the cathedral near the Regent's Tomb, looking out into the sunny square of Parliament Close, when Mr. Traill and Bobby appeared.
It was true he was nobody's dog; and he was fascinated by soldiers and military music, and so, perhaps "I'll no' be reconciled to parting Eh, man, that's what Auld Jock himsel' said when he was telling me that the bit dog must be returned to the sheep-farm: 'It wull be sair partin'." Tears stood in the unashamed landlord's eyes. Glenormiston was pulling Bobby's silkily fringed ears thoughtfully.
The gude auld days gangin' doon in a muckle dust!" "Ay, the sun will peep into foul places it hasn't seen sin' Queen Mary's day. And, Davie, it would be more according to the gude auld customs you're so fond of to call Mr. William Chambers 'Glenormiston' for his bit country place." "He's no' a laird." "Nae; but he'll be a laird the next time the Queen shows her bonny face north o' the Tweed.
The middle door then gave admittance to the police office; the western opened into the Little Kirk, popularly known as Haddo's Hole. It was into this bare, whitewashed chapel that Glenormiston turned to get some restoration drawings he had left on the pulpit. He was explaining them to Mr.
When she returned to the churchyard, very early one morning, no less a person than the Lord Provost himself was with her. Five years had passed, but Mr. no, Sir William Chambers, Laird of Glenormiston, for he had been knighted by the Queen, was still Lord Provost of Edinburgh. Almost immediately Mr.
To propose to bury a dog in the historic churchyard would scandalize the city. To this objection Glenormiston said, seriously: "The feeling about Bobby is quite exceptional. I would be willing to put the matter to the test of heading a petition." At that the church officers threw up their hands. They preferred to sound public sentiment themselves, and would consider it.
Glenormiston was a man after his own heart, and they were getting along famously; but, oh! it began to seem more and more unlikely that a Lord Provost, who was concerned about such braw things as the restoration of the old cathedral and letting the sun into the ancient tenements, should be much interested in a small, masterless dog.
Glenormiston." On the first reading the landlord's spirits had risen, out of all proportion to the cause, owing to his previous depression. But, after all, the appointment had no official character, since the Regent's Tomb in St. Giles had long been a sort of town pump for the retailing of gossip and for the transaction of trifling affairs of all sorts.
He lay down flat between the two men, with his nose on his paws, and his little tousled head under the Lord Provost's hand. Auld Jock lived again in that recital. Glenormiston, coming from the country of the Ettrick shepherd, knew such lonely figures, and the pathos of old age and waning powers that drove them in to the poor quarters of towns.
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