Fiction > Book editions > London, 1886 - Kidnapped

I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE OF MY UNCLE.       17
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.
"Oh," said he," I can do fine wanting it. I'll take
the ale, though, for it slockens* 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 didnae," 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
* Moistens.
O