RAB AND HIS FRIENDS 



pinch, knelt down, and presented it to the 

 nose of the Chicken. The laws of physiology 

 and of snuff take their course ; the Chicken 

 sneezes, and Yarrow is free ! 



The young pastoral giant stalks off with 

 Yarrow in his arms comforting him. 



But the bull-terrier's blood is up, and his 

 soul unsatisfied ; he grips the first dog he 

 meets, and discovering she is not a dog, in 

 Homeric phrase, he makes a brief sort of 

 amende^ and is off. The boys, with Bob and 

 me at their head, are after him : down Niddry 

 Street he goes, bent on mischief ; up the 

 Cowgate like an arrow Bob and I, and our 

 small men, panting behind. 



There, under the single arch of the South 

 Bridge, is a huge mastiff, sauntering down 

 the middle of the causeway, as if with his 

 hands in his pockets : he is old, grey, brindled, 

 as big as a little Highland bull, and has 

 the Shaksperian dewlaps shaking as he 

 goes. 



The Chicken makes straight at him, and 



