There was a pounding on the thin partition wall, an oath and a shout "Whaur's the deil o' a dog?" Bobby flew at the insulting clamor, but Auld Jock dragged him back roughly.In a voice made harsh by fear for his little pet, he commanded:
"Haud yer gab or they'll hae ye oot."
Bobby dropped like a shot, cringing at Auld Jock's feet.The most sensitive of four-footed creatures in the world, the Skye terrier is utterly abased by a rebuke from his master.The whole garret was soon in an uproar of vile accusation and shrill denial that spread from cell to cell.
Auld Jock glowered down at Bobby with frightened eyes.In the winters he had lodged there he had lived unmolested only because he had managed to escape notice.Timid old country body that he was, he could not "fecht it oot" with the thieves and beggars and drunkards of the Cowgate.By and by the brawling died down.In the double row of little dens this one alone was silent, and the offending dog was not located.
But when the danger was past, Auld Jock's heart was pounding in his chest.His legs gave way under him, when he got up to fetch the candle from near the door and set it on a projecting brick in the fireplace.By its light he began to read in a small pocket Bible the Psalm that had always fascinated him because he had never been able to understand it.
"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want."So far it was plain and comforting."He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.He leadeth me beside the still waters."Nae, the pastures were brown, or purple and yellow with heather and gorse.Rocks cropped out everywhere, and the peaty tarps were mostly bleak and frozen.The broad Firth was ever ebbing and flowing with the restless sea, and the burns bickering down the glens.The minister of the little hill kirk had said once that in England the pastures were green and the lakes still and bright;but that was a fey, foreign country to which Auld Jock had no desire to go.He wondered, wistfully, if he would feel at home in God's heaven, and if there would be room in that lush silence for a noisy little dog, as there was on the rough Pentland braes.And there his thoughts came back to this cold prison cell in which he could not defend the right of his one faithful little friend to live.He stooped and lifted Bobby into the bed.Humble, and eager to be forgiven for an offense he could not understand, the loving little creature leaped to Auld Jock's arms and lavished frantic endearments upon him.
Lying so together in the dark, man and dog fell into a sleep that was broken by Auld Jock's fitful coughing and the abuse of his neighbors.It was not until the wind had long died to a muffled murmur at the casements, and every other lodger was out, that Auld Jock slept soundly.He awoke late to find Bobby waiting patiently on the floor and the bare cell flooded with white glory.That could mean but one thing.He stumbled dizzily to his feet and threw a sash aback.Over the huddle of high housetops, the University towers and the scattered suburbs beyond, he looked away to the snow-clad slopes of the Pentlands, running up to heaven and shining under the pale winter sunshine.
"The snaw! Eh, Bobby, but it's a bonny sicht to auld een!" he cried, with the simple delight of a child.He stooped to lift Bobby to the wonder of it, when the world suddenly went black and roaring around in his head.Staggering back he crumpled up in a pitiful heap on the floor.
Bobby licked his master's face and hands, and then sat quietly down beside him.So many strange, uncanny things had happened within the last twenty-four hours that the little dog was rapidly outgrowing his irresponsible puppyhood.After a long time Auld Jock opened his eyes and sat up.Bobby put his paws on his master's knees in anxious sympathy.Before the man had got his wits about him the time-gun boomed from the Castle.
Panic-stricken that he should have slept in his bed so late, and then lain senseless on the floor for he knew not how long, Auld Jock got up and struggled into his greatcoat, bonnet and plaid.
In feeling for his woolen mittens he discovered the buns that Mr.
Trail had dropped into his pocket for Bobby.
The old man stared and stared at them in piteous dismay.Mr.
Traill had believed him to be so ill that he "wouldna be oot the morn." It was a staggering thought.
The bells of St.Giles broke into "Over the Hills and Far Away."The melody came to Auld Jock clearly, unbroken by echoes, for the garret was on a level with the cathedral's crown on High Street.
It brought to him again a vision of the Midlothian slopes, but it reminded Bobby that it was dinner-time.He told Auld Jock so by running to the door and back and begging him, by every pretty wile at his command, to go.The old man got to his feet and then fell back, pale and shaken, his heart hammering again.Bobby ate the bun soberly and then sat up against Auld Jock's feet, that dangled helplessly from the bed.The bells died away from the man's ears before they had ceased playing.Both the church and the University bells struck the hour of two then three then four.
Daylight had begun to fail when Auld Jock stirred, sat up, and did a strange thing: taking from his pocket a leather bag-purse that was closed by a draw-string, he counted the few crowns and shillings in it and the many smaller silver and copper coins.
"There's eneugh," he said.There was enough, by careful spending, to pay for food and lodging for a few weeks, to save himself from the charity of the infirmary.By this act he admitted the humiliating and fearful fact that he was very ill.The precious little hoard must be hidden from the chance prowler.He looked for a loose brick in the fireplace, but before he found one, he forgot all about it, and absent-mindedly heaped the coins in a little pile on the open Bible at the back of the bed.
