“Your father’s been long dead?” he asked.

“Three weeks, sir,” said I.

“He was a secret man, Alexander—­a secret, silent man,” he continued.  “He never said muckle when he was young.  He’ll never have spoken muckle of me?”

“I never knew, sir, till you told it me yourself, that he had any brother.”

“Dear me, dear me!” said Ebenezer.  “Nor yet of Shaws, I dare say?”

“Not so much as the name, sir,” said I.

“To think o’ that!” said he.  “A strange nature of a man!” For all that, he seemed singularly satisfied, but whether with himself, or me, or with this conduct of my father’s, was more than I could read.  Certainly, however, he seemed to be outgrowing that distaste, or ill-will, that he had conceived at first against my person; for presently he jumped up, came across the room behind me, and hit me a smack upon the shoulder.  “We’ll agree fine yet!” he cried.  “I’m just as glad I let you in.  And now come awa’ to your bed.”

To my surprise, he lit no lamp or candle, but set forth into the dark passage, groped his way, breathing deeply, up a flight of steps, and paused before a door, which he unlocked.  I was close upon his heels, having stumbled after him as best I might; and then 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 bed with.

“Hoot-toot!” said Uncle Ebenezer, “there’s a fine moon.”

“Neither moon nor star, sir, and pit-mirk,"* said I.  “I cannae see the bed.”

     * Dark as the pit.

“Hoot-toot, hoot-toot!” said he.  “Lights in a house is a thing I dinnae 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 the outside.

I did not know whether to laugh or cry.  The room 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 fortune 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.