They were all down on the floor, in the space before the altar, unwashed, uncombed, unconscious of the dirty rags that scarce covered them; quite happy and self-forgetful in the charming friskings and friendly lollings of the well-fed, carefully groomed, beautiful little dog.Ailie, still so excited that she forgot to be shy, put Bobby through his pretty tricks.He rolled over and over, he jumped, he danced to Tammy's whistling of "Bonnie Dundee," he walked on his hind legs and louped at a bonnet, he begged, he lifted his short shagged paw and shook hands.Then he sniffed at the heap of coins, looked up inquiringly at Mr.Traill, and, concluding that here was some property to be guarded, stood by the "siller" as stanchly as a soldier.It was just pure pleasure to watch him.
Very suddenly the Lord Provost changed his mind.A sacred kirk was the very best place of all to settle this little dog's affairs.The offering of these children could not be refused.It should lie there, below the altar, and be consecrated to some other blessed work; and he would do now and here what he had meant to do elsewhere and in a quite different way.He lifted Bobby to the pulpit so that all might see him, and he spoke so that all might understand.
"Are ye kennin' what it is to gie the freedom o' the toon to grand folk?""It's--it's when the bonny Queen comes an' ye gie her the keys to the burgh gates that are no' here ony mair." Tammy, being in Heriot's, was a laddie of learning.
"Weel done, laddie.Lang syne there was a wa' aroond Edinburgh wi' gates in it." Oh yes, all these bairnies knew that, and the fragment of it that was still to be seen outside and above the Grassmarket, with its sentry tower by the old west port."Gin a fey king or ither grand veesitor cam', the Laird Provost an' the maigestrates gied 'im the keys so he could gang in an' oot at 'is pleesure.The wa's are a' doon noo, an' the gates no' here ony mair, but we hae the keys, an' we mak' a show o' gien' 'em to veesitors wha are vera grand or wise or gude, or juist usefu' by the ordinar'.""Maister Gladstane," said Tammy.
"Ay, we honor the Queen's meenisters; an' Miss Nightingale, wha nursed the soldiers i' the war; an' Leddy Burdett-Coutts, wha gies a' her siller an' a' her heart to puir folk an' is aye kind to horses and dogs an' singin' birdies; an' we gie the keys to heroes o' the war wha are brave an' faithfu'.An' noo, there's a wee bit beastie.He's weel-behavin', an' isna makin' a blatterin'
i' an auld kirkyaird.He aye minds what he's bidden to do.He's cheerfu' an' busy, keepin' the proolin' pussies an' vermin frae the sma' birdies i' the nests.He mak's friends o' ilka body, an'
he's faithfu'.For a deid man he lo'ed he's gaun hungry; an' he hasna forgotten 'im or left 'im by 'is lane at nicht for mair years than some o' ye are auld.An' gin ye find 'im lyin' canny, an' ye tak' a keek into 'is bonny brown een, ye can see he's aye greetin'.An' so, ye didna ken why, but ye a' lo'ed the lanely wee--""Bobby!" It was an excited breath of a word from the wide-eyed bairns.
"Bobby! Havers! A bittie dog wadna ken what to do wi' keys."But Glenormiston was smiling, and these sharp witted slum bairns exchanged knowing glances."Whaur's that sma'--?" He dived into this pocket and that, making a great pretense of searching, until he found a narrow band of new leather, with holes in one end and a stout buckle on the other, and riveted fast in the middle of it was a shining brass plate.Tammy read the inscription aloud:
GREYFRIARS BOBBY
FROM THE LORD PROVOST
1867 LicensedThe wonderful collar was passed from hand to hand in awed silence.The children stared and stared at this white-haired and bearded man, who "wasna grand ava," but who talked to them as simply and kindly as a grandfaither.He went right on talking to them in his homely way to put them at their ease, telling them that nobody at all, not even the bonny Queen, could be more than kind and well-behaving and faithful to duty.Wee Bobby was all that, and so "Gin dizzens an' dizzens o' bairns war kennin' 'im, an' wad fetch seven shullin's i' their ha'pennies to a kirk, they could buy the richt for the braw doggie to be leevin', the care o' them a', i' the auld kirkyaird o' Greyfriars.An' he maun hae the collar so the police wull ken 'im an' no' ever tak' 'im up for a puir, gaen-aboot dog."The children quite understood the responsibility they assumed, and their eyes shone with pride at the feeling that, if more fortunate friends failed, this little creature must never be allowed to go hungry.And when he came to die--oh, in a very, very few years, for they must remember that "a doggie isna as lang-leevin' as folk"--they must not forget that Bobby would not be permitted to be buried in the kirkyard.
"We'll gie 'im a grand buryin'," said Tammy."We'll find a green brae by a babblin' burn aneath a snawy hawthorn, whaur the throstle sings an' the blackbird whustles." For the crippled laddie had never forgotten Mr.Traill's description of a proper picnic, and that must, indeed, be a wee dog's heaven.
"Ay, that wull do fair weel." The collar had come back to him by this time, and the Lord Provost buckled it securely about Bobby's neck.
