fifth birthday" Now, what puzzled me was this: That, as my father was of

course the younger brother, he must either have made some strange error,

or he must have written, before he was yet five, an excellent, clear

manly hand of writing.

I tried to get this out of my head; but though I took down many

interesting authors, old and new, history, poetry, and story-book, this

notion of my father's hand of writing stuck to me; and when at length I

went back into the kitchen, and sat down once more to porridge and small

beer, the first thing I said to Uncle Ebenezer was to ask him if my

father had not been very quick at his book.

"Alexander? No him!" was the reply. "I was far quicker mysel'; I was a

clever chappie when I was young. Why, I could read as soon as he could."

This puzzled me yet more; and a thought coming into my head, I asked if

he and my father had been twins.

He jumped upon his stool, and the horn spoon fell out of his hand upon

the floor. "What gars ye ask that?" he said, and he caught me by the

breast of the jacket, and looked this time straight into my eyes:

his own were little and light, and bright like a bird's, blinking and

winking strangely.

"What do you mean?" I asked, very calmly, for I was far stronger than

he, and not easily frightened. "Take your hand from my jacket. This is

no way to behave."

My uncle seemed to make a great effort upon himself. "Dod man, David,"

he said, "ye should-nae speak to me about your father. That's where the

mistake is." He sat awhile and shook, blinking in his plate: "He was all

the brother that ever I had," he added, but with no heart in his voice;

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