noon
't was but a dream . '' So he sat on , crooning to the dead dog ; and no man approached him . Only Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from afar . It was long past noon when at length he rose , laying the dog 's head reverently down , and tottered away toward that bridge which once the dead thing on the slope had held against a thousand . He crossed it and turned ; there was a look upon his face , half hopeful , half fearful , very piteous to see . `` Wullie , Wullie , to me ! '' he cried ; only the accents , formerly so fiery , were now weak as a dying man 's .