“I cannae leave you by yoursel’ in the house,” said he. “I’ll have to lock you out.” The blood came to my face. “If you lock me out,” I said, “it’ll be 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 the floor--“this is no the way to win my favour, David.” “Sir,” says I, “with a proper reverence for your age and our common 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 you were all the uncle, and all the family, I had in the world ten times over, I wouldn’t buy your liking at such prices.” Uncle Ebenezer went and looked out of the window for awhile. I could 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. You use me like a thief; you hate to have me in this house; you let me see it, every word and every minute: it’s not possible that you can like me; and as for me, I’ve spoken to you as I never thought 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, and that 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 couldnae let you leave the way ye came. Bide here quiet, there’s a good lad; just you bide here quiet a bittie, and ye’ll find that we agree.” “Well, sir,” said I, after I had thought the matter out in silence, “I’ll stay awhile. It’s more just I should be helped by my own blood than strangers; and if we don’t agree, I’ll do my best it shall be through no fault of mine.” CHAPTER IV I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS For a day that was begun so ill, the day passed fairly well. We had the porridge cold again at noon, and hot porridge at night; porridge and small beer was my uncle’s diet. He spoke but little, and that in the same way as before, shooting a question at me after a long silence; and when I sought to lead him to talk about my future, slipped out of it again. In a room next door to the kitchen, where he suffered me to go, I found a great number of books, both Latin and English, in which I took great pleasure all the afternoon. Indeed, the time passed so lightly in this good company, that I began to be almost reconciled to my residence at Shaws; and nothing but the sight of my uncle, and his eyes playing hide and seek with mine, revived the force of my distrust.