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Updated: June 28, 2025
So she slowly returned to the common factors of existence, and in six weeks from the time of Traill's departure, was ready to smile at any moment to the humour of Janet's dry criticisms of life. But to move from her rooms, to disassociate herself from the past with every sorrow and every joy that it contained, was more than she could bring herself to do.
Wild eyed with alarm at mention of the Burgh court, in connection with that beloved little pet, she stammered: "It's it's no' a coort he gaed to. Maister Traill's tak'n Bobby awa' to a braw kirk." Sandy nodded his head. "Ay, that would be the police office in St. Giles. Lassie, tell Mr. Traill I sent the Lord Provost, and if he's needing a witness to ca' on Sandy McGregor."
With these, perhaps a single hour is all that may be required for the seed to open, the shoots to sprout, the plant itself to bear the fruit of action in the fierce light of reality. In Traill's mind the idea was sown when he stood outside the office of Bonsfield & Co. in King Street. The soil was ready then hungry for the seed. It fell lightly unnoticed into the subconscious strata of his mind.
The car was just beginning to move out into the traffic. As it turned, too eager to follow it, she stepped on to the pavement. Traill's eyes caught her then, saw her begin to quicken her steps, break even into a run following their tardy progress as they squeezed a way through the press of other vehicles.
As Bobby unrolled and stretched to an awakening, the farmer got up, took him unaware and thrust him into a covered basket. He had no intention of letting the little creature give him the slip again. Bobby howled at the indignity, and struggled and tore at the stout wickerwork. It went to Mr. Traill's heart to hear him, and to see the gallant little dog so defenseless.
The atmosphere of all that was foreign in everything around her had lifted her above ordinary considerations. Under the stairs, then, they sat, Traill's head almost touching the sloping roof above him. "Well, what do you think you'd like to have?" he asked.
Traill's prediction, that his tongue would get him into trouble with the magistrates, was fulfilled; and then it was because of the least-considered slip in speaking to a boyhood friend who happened to be a Burgh policeman. Many things had tried the landlord of Ye Olde Greyfriars Dining-Rooms.
In the first clash of weapons, she had been well-nigh disarmed, and the sting of the steel in her loosened grip had touched her to that momentary loss of control. It was not so much the fact that she had spoken of Apsley as her house. That piece of boasting would have fallen from Traill's shoulders, shaken off by the shrug with which he would have taken it.
"Monsieur is funning, he would not eat escargots himself." She smiled at Sally, the smile that opens confidence and invites you within; no grudging of it between the teeth, ill-favoured and starved, as we do the thing in this country. "However did you find this lovely little place?" asked Sally, when the girl had gone with Traill's order.
The sergeant put Bobby into Queen Margaret's Chapel, bade him remain there, and went down to the Palace Yard. The chapel on the summit was a convenient place for picking the little dog up on his way to the officers' mess. Then he meant to have his own supper cozily at Mr. Traill's and to negotiate for Bobby.
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