"Eh, Davie, it's a lang lane that has nae turning.Ye're juist to stand here a' the day an' say to ilka body wha spiers for the dog: 'Ay, sir, Greyfriars Bobby's been leevin' i' the kirkyaird aucht years an' mair, an' Maister Traill's aye fed 'im i' the dining-rooms.Ay, the case was dismissed i' the Burgh coort.The Laird Provost gied a collar to the bit Skye because there's a meddlin' fule or twa amang the Burgh police wha'd be takin' 'im up.The doggie's i' the lodge wi' the caretaker, wha's fair ill, an' he canna be seen the day.But gang aroond the kirk an' ye can see Auld Jock's grave that he's aye guarded.There's nae stave to it, but it's neist to the fa'en table-tomb o' Mistress Jean Grant.A gude day to ye.' Hae ye got a' that, man? Weel, cheer up.Yell hae to say it nae mair than a thousand times or twa, atween noo an' nichtfa'."He went away laughing at the penance that was laid upon his foe.The landlord felt so well satisfied with the world that he took another jaunty crack at the sergeant: "By richts, man, you ought to go to gaol, but I'll just fine you a shulling a month for Bobby's natural lifetime, to give the wee soldier a treat of a steak or a chop once a week."Hands were struck heartily on the bargain, and the two men parted good friends.Now, finding Ailie dropping tears in the dish-water, Mr.Traill sent her flying down to the lodge with instructions to make herself useful to Mrs.
Brown.Then he was himself besieged in his place of business by folk of high and low degree who were disappointed by their failure to see Bobby in the kirkyard.Greyfriars Dining-Rooms had more distinguished visitors in a day than they had had in all the years since Auld Jock died and a little dog fell there at the landlord's feet "a' but deid wi' hunger."Not one of all the grand folk who, inquired for Bobby at the kirkyard or at the restaurant got a glimpse of him that day.But after they were gone the tenement dwellers came up to the gate again, as they had gathered the evening before, and begged that they might just tak' a look at him and his braw collar."The bonny bit is the bairns' ain doggie, an' the Laird Provost himsel' told 'em he wasna to be neglectet," was one mother's plea.
Ah! that was very true.To the grand folk who had come to see him, Bobby was only a nine-days' wonder.His story had touched the hearts of all orders of society.For a time strangers would come to see him, and then they would forget all about him or remember him only fitfully.It was to these poor people around the kirkyard, themselves forgotten by the more fortunate, that the little dog must look for his daily meed of affection and companionship.
Mr.Traill spoke to them kindly.
"Bide a wee, noo, an' I'll fetch the doggie doon."Bobby had slept blissfully nearly all the day, after his exhausting labors and torturing pains.But with the sunset bugle he fretted to be let out.Ailie had wept and pleaded, Mrs.Brown had reasoned with him, and Mr.Brown had scolded, all to the end of persuading him to sleep in "the hoose the nicht." But when no one was watching him Bobby crawled from his rug and dragged himself to the door.He rapped the floor with his tail in delight when Mr.Traill came in and bundled him up on the rug, so he could lie easily, and carried him down to the gate.
For quite twenty minutes these neighbors and friends of Bobby filed by silently, patted the shaggy little head, looked at the grand plate with Bobby's and the Lord Provost's names upon it, and believed their own wondering een.Bobby wagged his tail and lolled his tongue, and now and then he licked the hand of a baby who had to be lifted by a tall brother to see him.Shy kisses were dropped on Bobby's head by toddling bairns, and awkward caresses by rough laddies.Then they all went home quietly, and Mr.Traill carried the little dog around the kirk.
And there, ah! so belated, Auld Jock's grave bore its tribute of flowers.
Wreaths and nosegays, potted daffodils and primroses and daisies, covered the sunken mound so that some of them had to be moved to make room for Bobby.He sniffed and sniffed at them, looked up inquiringly at Mr.Traill; and then snuggled down contentedly among the blossoms.He did not understand their being there any more than he understood the collar about which everybody made such a to-do.The narrow band of leather would disappear under his thatch again, and would be unnoticed by the casual passer-by; the flowers would fade and never be so lavishly renewed; but there was another more wonderful gift, now, that would never fail him.
At nightfall, before the drum and bugle sounded the tattoo to call the scattered garrison in the Castle, there took place a loving ceremony that was never afterward omitted as long as Bobby lived.Every child newly come to the tenements learned it, every weanie lisped it among his first words.Before going to bed each bairn opened a casement.Sometimes a candle was held up--a little star of love, glimmering for a moment on the dark; but always there was a small face peering into the melancholy kirkyard.In midsummer, and at other seasons if the moon rose full and early and the sky was clear, Bobby could be seen on the grave.And when he recovered from these hurts he trotted about, making the circuit below the windows.He could not speak there, because he had been forbidden, but he could wag his tail and look up to show his friendliness.And whether the children saw him or not they knew he was always there after sunset, keeping watch and ward, and "lanely" because his master had gone away to heaven; and so they called out to him sweetly and clearly:
"A gude nicht to ye, Bobby."
