These, having no longer a father to carry them to, he now, their owners unknown, took to the crier, who always pretended to receive them with a suspicion which Gibbie understood as little as the other really felt, and at once advertised them by drum and cry.

What became of them after that, Gibbie never knew.

If they did not find their owners, neither did they find their way back to Gibbie; if their owners were found, the crier never communicated with him on the subject.

Plainly he regarded Gibbie as the favoured jackal, whose privilege it was to hunt for the crier, the royal lion of the city forest.

But he spoke kindly to him, as well he might, and now and then gave him a penny.
The second of the positive merits by which Gibbie found acceptance in the eyes of the police, was a yet more peculiar one, growing out of his love for his father, and his experience in the exercise of that love.