tage, and the
supper which Betsey had prepared for the guest was not needed.

Learning from this that my uncle had a tongue, I asked him who the
stranger was. The answer was only a savage frown. He had no tongue for
me. Neither old Jerry nor his wife was any better informed than I was,
for both assured me they did not know the stranger. Satisfied,
therefore, that my uncle could talk, I was determined to see him
before I went to bed, though it was nearly midnight. Perhaps, also, I
was disposed to adopt this course, because my guardian had given such
bad advice to Mr. Parasyte. I was not insensible to the indulgence
with which I had ever been treated; and seeing that my silent uncle
wished to avoid me, I had generally favored him in doing so. It was
different now. He had given an order or a permission to have me
brutally punished, and I was determined to make him "face the music."

I entered the house, and passing through my uncle's chamber, stood at
the door of the library, which was fastened by the spring lock.

CHAPTER X.

IN WHICH ERNEST HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH HIS UNCLE.

With my resolution still at the highest pitch of firmness, I knocked
at the library door. I expected a storm; it was hardly possible to
avoid one; but I hoped, if I could induce my stern and silent guardian
to speak or to listen, that I might make an impression upon him. There
was no answer to my knock, and I repeated it. Then I heard a stir in
the library, and my uncle opened the door. When he saw me, he was
about to close the door in my face, doubtless regarding my conduct in
knocking at his door as impudent in the highest degree. I was not
disposed to be shut out, and anticipating his purpose, I stepped
nimbly into the room.

"Uncle Amos, I wish to speak with you for a few moments, if you will
be kind enough to hear me," I began, in tones as humble as the veriest
tyrant could have required.

He sat down in his arm-chair, leaned his head upon his hand in such a
way as to cover his face, but made me no reply, either by word or by
sign.

"I would not trouble you if it were not necessary to do so," I
continued. "Will you permit me to tell my story?"

He removed his hand, and gave me an affirmative nod; but it was
evident to me that my presence was the occasion of positive suffering
to him. I knew of no reason why I should be personally disagreeable to
him, and it seemed to me that his aversion was caused wholly by a kind
of obstinac