Fiction > Book editions > London, 1886 - Kidnapped

28                                      KIDNAPPED.
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 caught me by the breast of the jacket, and
looked this time straight into my eyes: his own, which
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 him-
self. "Dod, man David," he said, "ye shouldnae
speak to me about your father. That's where the