"Well," said Elizabeth, opening her purse in an expectant way, "I must go, or I shall be late for tea."
"Here's yer shillun," said Mrs. Martin, rather with the air of presenting a not quite deserved tip.
"An' how's wee David? Yon's a rale wee favourite o' mine. Are ye gaun to mak' a minister o' him?"
"Buff? Oh, I don't think we quite know what to make of him."
Mrs. Martin leaned forward. "Hev ye tried a phrenologist?" she asked earnestly.
"No," said Elizabeth, rather startled.
"A sister o' mine hed a boy an' she couldna think what to mak' o' him. He had no—no—whit d'ye ca' it?"
Elizabeth nodded her comprehension.
"Bent?" she suggested.
"Aweel, she tuk him to yin o' thae phrenologists, an' he said he wud be either an auctioneer or a chimist, and," she finished triumphantly, "a chimist he wus!"