faced creature; and his age might have
been anything between fifty and seventy. His nightcap was of flannel,
and so was the nightgown that he wore, instead of coat and waistcoat,
over his ragged shirt. He was long unshaved; but what most distressed
and even daunted me, he would neither take his eyes away from me nor
look me fairly in the face. What he was, whether by trade or birth, was
more than I could fathom; but he seemed most like an old, unprofitable
serving-man, who should have been left in charge of that big house upon
board wages.

"Are ye sharp-set?" he asked, glancing at about the level of my knee.
"Ye can eat that drop parritch?"

I said I feared it was his own supper.

"O," said he, "I can do fine wanting it. I'll take the ale, though, for
it slockens[1] my cough." He drank the cup about half out, still keeping
an eye upon me as he drank; and then suddenly held out his hand. "Let's
see the letter," said he.

I told him the letter was for Mr. Balfour; not for him.

"And who do ye think I am?" says he. "Give me Alexander's letter!"

"You know my father's name?"

"It would be strange if I didna," he returned, "for he was my born
brother; and little as ye seem to like either me or my house, or my good
parritch, I'm your born uncle, Davie my man, and you my born nephew. So
give us the letter, and sit down and fill your kyte."

If I had been some years younger, what with shame, weariness, and
disappointment, I believe I had burst into tears. As it was, I could
find no words, neither black nor white, but handed him the letter, and
sat down to the porridge with as little appetite for meat as ever a
young man had.

Meanwhile my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the letter over and
over in his hands.

"Do ye ken what's in it?" he asked suddenly.

"You see for yourself, sir," said I, "that the seal has not been
broken."

"Ay," said he, "but what brought you here?"

"To give the letter," said I.

"No," says he cunningly, "but ye'll have had some hopes, nae doubt?"

"I confess, sir," said I, "when I was told that I had kinsfolk
well-to-do, I did indeed indulge the hope that they might help me in my
life. But I am no beggar; I look for no favours at your hands, and I
want none that are not freely given. For, as poor as I appear, I have
friends of my own that will be blithe to help me."

"Hoot-toot!" said uncle Ebenezer, "dinna fly up in the snuff at me.
We'll agree fine yet. And, Davie my man, if