Fiction > Book editions > Leipzig, 1888 - Kidnapped

36 KIDNAPPED.
Now, my uncle seemed so miserly that I was struck
dumb by this sudden generosity, and could find no
words in which to thank him.
"No a word!" said he. "Nae thanks; I want nae
thanks. I do my duty; I'm no saying that everybody
would have done it; but for my part (though I'm a
careful body, too) it's a pleasure to me to do the right
by my brother's son; and it's a pleasure to me to think
that now we'll agree as such near friends should."
I spoke him in return as handsomely as I was
able; but all the while I was wondering what would
come next, and why he had parted with his precious
guineas; for as to the reason he had given, a baby would
have refused it.
Presently, he looked towards me sideways.
"And see here," says he, "tit for tat."
I told him I was ready to prove my gratitude in
any reasonable degree, and then waited, looking for
some monstrous demand. And yet, when at last he
plucked up courage to speak, it was only to tell me
(very properly, as I thought) that he was growing old
and a little broken, and that he would expect me to
help him with the house and the bit garden.
I answered, and expressed my readiness to serve.
"Well," he said, "let's begin." He pulled out of
his pocket a rusty key. "There," says he, "there's the
key of the stair-tower at the far end of the house. Ye
can only win into it from the outside, for that part of
the house is no finished. Gang ye in there, and up
the stairs, and bring me down the chest that's at the
top. There's papers in't," he added.
"Can I have a light, sir?" said I.