Give me Alexander's letter
If ye're hungry，’he said，‘ ye can eat that porridge．It's grand food，porridge！Let me see the letter！’
‘It's for Mr Balfour，not you，’I replied．
‘And who do ye think I am？Give me Alexander's letter！Ye may not like me or my house or my porridge，but I'm your born uncle，Davie，my man！’
This was the end of all my hopes．I was too tired and miser able to speak，so I silently gave him the letter，and sat down to eat the porridge．
‘Your father's been dead a long time？’he asked，giving me a quick look from his sharp eyes．
‘Three weeks，sir，’I said．
‘He was a secretive man，Alexander
Tarps was．Perhaps he didn't talk much about me？ Or about the house of Shaws？’
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