Fiction > Book editions > London, 1886 - Kidnapped

I   MAKE   ACQUAINTANCE   OF   MY   UNCLE.               21
was as cold as a well, and the bed, when I had found
my way to it, as damp as a peat-hag; but by good for-
tune I had caught up my bundle and my plaid, and
rolling myself in the latter, I lay down upon the
floor under lee of the big bedstead, and fell speedily
asleep.
With the first peep of day I opened my eyes, to find
myself in a great chamber, hung with stamped leather,
furnished with fine embroidered furniture, and lit by
three fair windows. Ten years ago, or perhaps twenty,
it must have been as pleasant a room to lie down or to
awake in, as a man could wish; but damp, dirt, disuse,
and the mice and spiders had done their worst since
then. Many of the window-panes, besides, were broken;
and indeed this was so common a feature in that house,
that I believe my uncle must at some time have stood
a siege from, his indignant neighbours-perhaps with
Jennet Clouston at their head.
Meanwhile the sun was shining outside; and being
very cold in that miserable room, I knocked and shouted
till my gaoler came and let me out. He carried me to
the back of the house, where was a draw-well, and told
me to "wash my face there, if I wanted;" and when
that was done, I made the best of my own way back to
the kitchen, where he had lit the fire and was making
the porridge. The table was laid with two bowls
and two horn spoons, but the same single measure
of small beer. Perhaps my eye rested on this par-
ticular with some surprise, and perhaps my uncle