“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.
“There's juist ae thing Domsie cares aboot, an' it's naither meat nor drink, nor siller snuffboxes; it's his college laddies, gettin' them forrit and payin' their fees, an' haudin' them in life till they're dune.”
By this time the kirkyard was listening as one man and with both ears, for it was plain Jamie had an idea.
“Ca' on, Jamie,” encouraged Drumsheugh, who had as yet given no sign.
“He's hed his ain time, hes Domsie, gaein' roond Muirtown market collectin' the bank notes for his scholars an' seein' they hed their bukes' A'm no denyin* that Domsie was greedy in his ain way, and gin the Glen cud gither eneuch money tae foond a bit bursary for puir scholars o' Drumtochty, a wudna say but that he micht be pleased.”