Chapter III. I Make Acquaintance of My Uncle

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　Presently there came a great rattling of chains and bolts, andthe door was cautiously opened and shut to again behind me assoon as I had passed."Go into the kitchen and touch naething," said the voice; andwhile the person of the house set himself to replacing thedefences of the door, I groped my way forward and entered thekitchen.The fire had burned up fairly bright, and showed me the barestroom I think I ever put my eyes on. Half-a-dozen dishes stoodupon the shelves; the table was laid for supper with a bowl ofporridge, a horn spoon, and a cup of small beer. Besides what Ihave named, there was not another thing in that great,stone-vaulted, empty chamber but lockfast chests arranged alongthe wall and a corner cupboard with a padlock.As soon as the last chain was up, the man rejoined me. He was amean, stooping, narrow-shouldered, clay-faced creature; and hisage might have been anything between fifty and seventy. Hisnightcap was of flannel, and so was the nightgown that he wore,instead of coat and waistcoat, over his ragged shirt. He waslong unshaved; but what most distressed and even daunted me, hewould neither take his eyes away from me nor look me fairly inthe face. What he was, whether by trade or birth, was more thanI could fathom; but he seemed most like an old, unprofitableserving-man, who should have been left in charge of that bighouse upon board wages."Are ye sharp-set?" he asked, glancing at about the level of myknee. "Ye can eat that drop parritch?"I said I feared it was his own supper."O," said he, "I can do fine wanting it. I'll take the ale,though, for it slockens[1] my cough." He drank the cup abouthalf out, still keeping an eye upon me as he drank; and thensuddenly held out his hand. "Let's see the letter," said he.[1] Moistens.I told him the letter was for Mr. Balfour; not for him."And who do ye think I am?" says he. "Give me Alexander'sletter.""You know my father's name?""It would be strange if I didnae," he returned, "for he was myborn brother; and little as ye seem to like either me or myhouse, 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 andfill your kyte."If I had been some years younger, what with shame, weariness, anddisappointment, I believe I had burst into tears. As it was, Icould find no words, neither black nor white, but handed himthe letter, and sat down to the porridge with as little appetitefor meat as ever a young man had.Meanwhile, my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the letterover and over in his hands."Do ye ken what's in it?" he asked, suddenly."You see for yourself, sir," said I, "that the seal has not beenbroken.""Ay," said he, "but what brought you here?""To give the letter," said I."No," says he, cunningly, "but ye'll have had some hopes, naedoubt?""I confess, sir," said I, "when I was told that I had kinsfolkwell-to-do, I did indeed indulge the hope that they might help mein my life. But I am no beggar; I look for no favours at yourhands, and I want none that are not freely given. For as poor asI appear, I have friends of my own that will be blithe to helpme.""Hoot-toot!" said Uncle Ebenezer, "dinnae fly up in the snuff atme. We'll agree fine yet. And, Davie, my man, if you're donewith that bit parritch, I could just take a sup of it myself.Ay," he continued, as soon as he had ousted me from the stool andspoon, "they're fine, halesome food -- they're grand food,parritch." He murmured a little grace to himself and fell to."Your father was very fond of his meat, I mind; he was a hearty,if not a great eater; but as for me, I could never do mair thanpyke at food." He took a pull at the small beer, which probablyreminded him of hospitable duties, for his next speech ran thus:"If ye're dry ye'll find water behind the door."To this I returned no answer, standing stiffly on my two feet,and looking down upon my uncle with a mighty angry heart. He, onhis part, continued to eat like a man under some pressure oftime, and to throw out little darting glances now at my shoes andnow at my home-spun stockings. Once only, when he had venturedto look a little higher, our eyes met; and no thief taken with ahand in a man's pocket could have shown more lively signals ofdistress. This set me in a muse, whether his timidity arose fromtoo long a disuse of any human company; and whether perhaps, upona little trial, it might pass off, and my uncle change into analtogether different man. From this I was awakened by his sharpvoice."Your father's been long dead?" he asked."Three weeks, sir," said I."He was a secret man, Alexander -- a secret, silent man," hecontinued. "He never said muckle when he was young. He'll neverhave spoken muckle of me?""I never knew, sir, till you told it me yourself, that he had anybrother.""Dear me, dear me!" said Ebenezer. "Nor yet of Shaws, I daresay?""Not so much as the name, sir," said I."To think o' that!" said he. "A strange nature of a man!" Forall that, he seemed singularly satisfied, but whether withhimself, or me, or with this conduct of my father's, was morethan I could read. Certainly, however, he seemed to beoutgrowing that distaste, or ill-will, that he had conceived atfirst against my person; for presently he jumped up, came acrossthe room behind me, and hit me a smack upon the shoulder. "We'llagree fine yet!" he cried. "I'm just as glad I let you in. Andnow come awa' to your bed."To my surprise, he lit no lamp or candle, but set forth into thedark passage, groped his way, breathing deeply, up a flight ofsteps, and paused before a door, which he unlocked. I was closeupon his heels, having stumbled after him as best I might; andthen he bade me go in, for that was my chamber. I did as he bid,but paused after a few steps, and begged a light to go to bedwith."Hoot-toot!" said Uncle Ebenezer, "there's a fine moon.""Neither moon nor star, sir, and pit-mirk,"[2] said I. "I cannaesee the bed."[2] Dark as the pit."Hoot-toot, hoot-toot!" said he. "Lights in a house is a thing Idinnae agree with. I'm unco feared of fires. Good-night to ye,Davie, my man." And before I had time to add a further protest,he pulled the door to, and I heard him lock me in from theoutside.I did not know whether to laugh or cry. The room was as cold asa well, and the bed, when I had found my way to it, as damp as apeat-hag; but by good fortune I had caught up my bundle and myplaid, and rolling myself in the latter, I lay down upon thefloor under lee of the big bedstead, and fell speedily asleep.With the first peep of day I opened my eyes, to find myself in agreat chamber, hung with stamped leather, furnished with fineembroidered furniture, and lit by three fair windows. Ten yearsago, or perhaps twenty, it must have been as pleasant a room tolie 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 thiswas so common a feature in that house, that I believe my unclemust at some time have stood a siege from his indignantneighbours -- perhaps with Jennet Clouston at their head.Meanwhile the sun was shining outside; and being very cold inthat miserable room, I knocked and shouted till my gaoler cameand let me out. He carried me to the back of the house, wherewas a draw-well, and told me to "wash my face there, if Iwanted;" and when that was done, I made the best of my own wayback to the kitchen, where he had lit the fire and was making theporridge. The table was laid with two bowls and two horn spoons,but the same single measure of small beer. Perhaps my eye restedon this particular with some surprise, and perhaps my uncleobserved it; for he spoke up as if in answer to my thought,asking me if I would like to drink ale -- for so he called it.I told him such was my habit, but not to put himself about."Na, na," said he; "I'll deny you nothing in reason."He fetched another cup from the shelf; and then, to my greatsurprise, instead of drawing more beer, he poured an accuratehalf from one cup to the other. There was a kind of nobleness inthis that took my breath away; if my uncle was certainly a miser,he was one of that thorough breed that goes near to make the vicerespectable.When we had made an end of our meal, my uncle Ebenezer unlocked adrawer, and drew out of it a clay pipe and a lump of tobacco,from which he cut one fill before he locked it up again. Then hesat down in the sun at one of the windows and silently smoked.From time to time his eyes came coasting round to me, and he shotout one of his questions. Once it was, "And your mother?" andwhen I had told him that she, too, was dead, "Ay, she was abonnie lassie!" Then, after another long pause, "Whae were thesefriends o' yours?"I told him they were different gentlemen of the name of Campbell;though, indeed, there was only one, and that the minister, thathad ever taken the least note of me; but I began to think myuncle made too light of my position, and finding myself all alonewith him, I did not wish him to suppose me helpless.He seemed to turn this over in his mind; and then, "Davie, myman," said he, "ye've come to the right bit when ye came to youruncle Ebenezer. I've a great notion of the family, and I mean todo the right by you; but while I'm taking a bit think to mysel'of what's the best thing to put you to -- whether the law, or themeenistry, or maybe the army, whilk is what boys are fondest of-- I wouldnae like the Balfours to be humbled before a wheenHieland Campbells, and I'll ask you to keep your tongue withinyour teeth. Nae letters; nae messages; no kind of word toonybody; or else -- there's my door.""Uncle Ebenezer," said I, "I've no manner of reason to supposeyou mean anything but well by me. For all that, I would have youto know that I have a pride of my own. It was by no will of minethat I came seeking you; and if you show me your door again, I'lltake you at the word."He seemed grievously put out. "Hoots-toots," said he, "ca'cannie, man -- ca' cannie! Bide a day or two. I'm nae warlock,to find a fortune for you in the bottom of a parritch bowl; butjust you give me a day or two, and say naething to naebody, andas sure as sure, I'll do the right by you.""Very well," said I, "enough said. If you want to help me,there's no doubt but I'll be glad of it, and none but I'll begrateful."It seemed to me (too soon, I dare say) that I was getting theupper hand of my uncle; and I began next to say that I must havethe bed and bedclothes aired and put to sun-dry; for nothingwould make me sleep in such a pickle."Is this my house or yours?" said he, in his keen voice, and thenall of a sudden broke off. "Na, na," said he, "I didnae meanthat. What's mine is yours, Davie, my man, and what's yours ismine. Blood's thicker than water; and there's naebody but youand me that ought the name." And then on he rambled about thefamily, and its ancient greatness, and his father that began toenlarge the house, and himself that stopped the building as asinful waste; and this put it in my head to give him JennetClouston's message."The limmer!" he cried. "Twelve hunner and fifteen -- that'severy day since I had the limmer rowpit![3] Dod, David, I'll haveher roasted on red peats before I'm by with it! A witch -- aproclaimed witch! I'll aff and see the session clerk."[3] Sold up.And with that he opened a chest, and got out a very old andwell-preserved blue coat and waistcoat, and a good enough beaverhat, both without lace. These he threw on any way, and taking astaff from the cupboard, locked all up again, and was for settingout, when a thought arrested him."I cannae leave you by yoursel' in the house," said he. "I'llhave to lock you out."The blood came to my face. "If you lock me out," I said, "it'llbe the last you'll see of me in friendship."He turned very pale, and sucked his mouth in."This is no the way" he said, looking wickedly at a corner of thefloor -- "this is no the way to win my favour, David.""Sir," says I, "with a proper reverence for your age and ourcommon blood, I do not value your favour at a boddle's purchase.I was brought up to have a good conceit of myself; and if youwere all the uncle, and all the family, I had in the world tentimes over, I wouldn't buy your liking at such prices."Uncle Ebenezer went and looked out of the window for awhile. Icould see him all trembling and twitching, like a man with palsy.But when he turned round, he had a smile upon his face."Well, well," said he, "we must bear and forbear. I'll no go;that's all that's to be said of it.""Uncle Ebenezer," I said, "I can make nothing out of this. Youuse me like a thief; you hate to have me in this house; you letme see it, every word and every minute: it's not possible thatyou can like me; and as for me, I've spoken to you as I neverthought to speak to any man. Why do you seek to keep me, then?Let me gang back -- let me gang back to the friends I have, andthat like me!""Na, na; na, na," he said, very earnestly. "I like you fine;we'll agree fine yet; and for the honour of the house I couldnaelet you leave the way ye came. Bide here quiet, there's a goodlad; just you bide here quiet a bittie, and ye'll find that weagree.""Well, sir," said I, after I had thought the matter out insilence, "I'll stay awhile. It's more just I should be helped bymy own blood than strangers; and if we don't agree, I'll do mybest it shall be through no fault of mine."