“I have no manner of inclination to rowt out my name to the countryside,” said Alan; “but what brings me here is another story, being more of your affairs than mine; and if ye’re sure it’s what ye would like, I’ll set it to a tune and sing it to you.”
“And what is’t?” asked my uncle.
“David,” says Alan.
“What was that?” cried my uncle, in a mighty changed voice.
“Shall I give ye the rest of the name, then?” said Alan.
There was a pause; and then, “I’m thinking I’ll better let ye in,” says my uncle, doubtfully.
“I daresay that,” said Alan; “but the point is, Would I go? Now I will tell you what I am thinking. I am thinking that it is here upon this doorstep that we must confer upon this business; and it shall be here or nowhere at all whatever; for I would have you to understand that I am as stiffnecked as yoursel’, and a gentleman of better family.”
This change of note disconcerted Ebenezer; he was a little while digesting it, and then says he, “Weel, weel, what must be must,” and shut the window. But it took him a long time to get down stairs, and a still longer to undo the fastenings, repenting (I daresay) and taken with fresh claps of fear at every second step and every bolt and bar. At last, however, we heard the creak of the hinges, and it seems my uncle slipped gingerly out and (seeing
