"I have come here with a letter," I said, "to Mr. Ebenezer Balfour of

Shaws. Is he here?"

"From whom is it?" asked the man with the blunderbuss.

"That is neither here nor there," said I, for I was growing very wroth.

"Well," was the reply, "ye can put it down upon the doorstep, and be off

with ye."

"I will do no such thing," I cried. "I will deliver it into Mr.

Balfour's hands, as it was meant I should. It is a letter of

introduction."

"A what?" cried the voice, sharply.

I repeated what I had said.

"Who are ye, yourself?" was the next question, after a considerable

pause.

"I am not ashamed of my name," said I. "They call me David Balfour."

At that, I made sure the man started, for I heard the blunderbuss rattle

on the window-sill; and it was after quite a long pause, and with a

curious change of voice, that the next question followed:

"Is your father dead?"

I was so much surprised at this, that I could find no voice to answer,

but stood staring.

"Ay" the man resumed, "he'll be dead, no doubt; and that'll be what

brings ye chapping to my door." Another pause, and then defiantly,

"Well, man," he said, "I'll let ye in;" and he disappeared from the

window.

CHAPTER III

I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE OF MY UNCLE

Presently there came a great rattling of chains and bolts, and the

door was cautiously opened and shut to again behind me as soon as I had

passed.

"Go into the kitchen and touch naething," said the voice; and while the

person of the house set himself to replacing the defences of the door, I

groped my way forward and entered the kitchen.

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