“Noo, Pitscothrie is no a pairish tae pit beside Drumtochty for ae meenut, but when their Dominie gied up his post, if the bodies didna gather fifty pund for him; they ca'd it a purse o' sovereigns in the _Advertiser_, but that was juist a genteel name for't. “A'm no sayin*,” continued Hillocks, “that it wud be safe tae trust Domsie wi' as mickle siller at a time; he wud be off tae Edinburgh an' spend it on auld bukes, or may be divide it up amang his students. He's careless, is Domsie, an' inclined to be wastefu'; but we micht gie him somethin' tae keep.” “What wud ye say,” suggested Whinnie, when the kirkyard was revolving the matter, “if we got him a coo 'at wud gie him milk and be a bit troke tae occupy his time? What he didna need cud be made into butter and sent tae Muirtown; it wud be a help.” “Ye have an oreeginal mind,” said Jamie, who always on those occasions pitied the woman that was married to Whinnie, “an' a'm sure yir perposal 'll be remembered. Domsie feedin' his coo on the road-side, wi' a Latin buke in his hand, wud be interestin'.” “It's most aggravatin',” broke in Hillocks, who was much annoyed at the turn things had taken, “that ye winna gie me time tae feenish, an' 'ill set Domsie stravaging the roads at the tail o' a coo for his last days.” “It was Jamie,” remonstrated Whinnie. “Haud yir tongue.” Hillocks felt the time was short, and he had an idea that must be ventilated. “A was considerin' that Domsie's snuff-box is gey far thro' wi't A'm judjin' it has seen thirty years, at on y rate, and it was naethin tae boast o' at the beginnin'. A've seen fresh hinges pit on it twice masel. “Now, gin we bocht a snod bit silver boxie ain pit an inscription on't wi' Presented To MR PATRICK JAMIESON, Late Schoolmaster Of Drumtochty, By A Few Friends, it wud be usefu' for ae thing, it wud be bonnie for anither, aye, an' something mair,” and Hillocks grew mysterious. “A legacy, div ye mean,” inquired Jamie, “or what are ye aifter?” “Weel, ye see,” exclaimed Hillocks with much cunning, “there's a man in Kildrummie got a box frae his customers, an' it's never oot o' his hand. When he taps the lid ye can see him reading the inscription, and he's a way o' passin' it tae ye on the slant that's downricht clever. Ye canna help seein' the words.” “Gin we were thinkin' aboot a present tae a coal agent or a potato dealer,” said Jamie, “I wud hae the box wi' the words, but Domsie's a queer body, an' a'm jalousin' that he wud never use yir grand silver box frae the day he got it, an' a'm dootin' it micht be sold fer some laddie to get him better keep at the college. “Besides,” continued Jamie thoughtfully, “a'm no sure that ony man can tak up wi' a new box after fifty. He's got accustomed tae the grip o' the auld box, and he kens whar tae pit in his thumb and finger. A coont that it taks aboot fifteen year tae grow into a snuff-box.