CHAP. x. THE CHIP-BOXES EMPTY. 191 



her for entering her house, and begged her to let him 

 remain until the rain had ceased. "Not a minit," 

 was the sharp rejoinder ; " ye'll pit my hoose afloat. 

 Ye're a' vermin, an' ye'll pit's in a hobble if ye dinna 

 gang oot !" 



He protested that he had nothing to do with 

 vermin ; but as he spoke he lifted up his hand to 

 wipe something off his cheek. It was a hairy oobit ! 

 He was in a moment alive to the woman's expostula- 

 tions. On looking to his clothes he found that he was 

 a moving mass of insect life. He cleared the room in 

 a bound, regardless of the woman's axe and cudgel. 

 He went into an old shed, threw off his coat and 

 waistcoat, and found them a mass of creeping 

 things. On searching his pockets, he found that all 

 the chip-boxes had given way, and that the whole 

 of the collection which he had made during the last 

 three days was lost. He might have collected the 

 insects from his clothing, but he had nothing to put 

 them in. He now found that he was the lunatic, and 

 not the woman. Before he departed, he apologised 

 to her for the trouble he had caused her, and then he 

 departed homewards, a sadder if not a wiser man. 



After this adventure, he never again resorted to 

 chip-boxes. He used little bottles for holding beetles 

 and various insects. He had also a light flat box, 

 about nine inches square, for containing the more 

 fragile portion of the insect tribe, such as butterflies 

 and moths. Before he pinned them down, he gave 



