to himself and fell to. "Your father was very fond of his meat, I mind;

he was a hearty, if not a great eater; but as for me, I could never

do mair than pyke at food." He took a pull at the small beer, which

probably reminded him of hospitable duties, for his next speech ran

thus: "If ye're dry ye'll find water behind the door."

To this I returned no answer, standing stiffly on my two feet, and

looking down upon my uncle with a mighty angry heart. He, on his part,

continued to eat like a man under some pressure of time, and to throw

out little darting glances now at my shoes and now at my home-spun

stockings. Once only, when he had ventured to look a little higher, our

eyes met; and no thief taken with a hand in a man's pocket could have

shown more lively signals of distress. This set me in a muse, whether

his timidity arose from too long a disuse of any human company; and

whether perhaps, upon a little trial, it might pass off, and my uncle

change into an altogether different man. From this I was awakened by his

sharp voice.

"Your father's been long dead?" he asked.

"Three weeks, sir," said I.

"He was a secret man, Alexander--a secret, silent man," he continued.

"He never said muckle when he was young. He'll never have spoken muckle

of me?"

"I never knew, sir, till you told it me yourself, that he had any

brother."

"Dear me, dear me!" said Ebenezer. "Nor yet of Shaws, I dare say?"

"Not so much as the name, sir," said I.

"To think o' that!" said he. "A strange nature of a man!" For all that,

he seemed singularly satisfied, but whether with himself, or me, or

<<BackPagesTo menuNext>>