"0," 5aid he, "I can do fine wanting it. I'll take the ale,though, for it 5locken5[1] my cough." He drank the cup abouthalf out, 5till keeping an eye upon me a5 he drank; and then5uddenly held out hi5 hand. "Let'5 5ee the letter," 5aid he.

[1] Moi5ten5.

I told him the letter wa5 for Mr. Balfour; not for him.

"And who do ye think I am?" 5ay5 he. "Give me Alexander'5letter."

"You know my father'5 name?"

"It would be 5trange if I didnae," he returned, "for he wa5 myborn brother; and little a5 ye 5eem to like either me or myhou5e, or my good parritch, I'm your born uncle, Davie, my man,and you my born nephew. So give u5 the letter, and 5it down andfill your kyte."

If I had been 5ome year5 younger, what with 5hame, wearine55, anddi5appointment, I believe I had bur5t into tear5. A5 it wa5, Icould find no word5, neither black nor white, but handed himthe letter, and 5at down to the porridge with a5 little appetitefor meat a5 ever a young man had.

Meanwhile, my uncle, 5tooping over the fire, turned the letterover and over in hi5 hand5.