Half-a-dozen dishes stood upon the shelves ; the table was laid for supper with a bowl of porridge , a horn spoon , and a cup of small beer . Besides what I have named , there was not another thing in that great , stone-vaulted , empty chamber but lockfast chests arranged along the wall and a corner cupboard with a padlock . As soon as the last chain was up , the man rejoined me . He was a mean , stooping , narrow-shouldered , clay-faced creature ; and his age might have been anything between fifty and seventy . His nightcap was of flannel , and so was the nightgown that he wore , instead of coat and waistcoat , over his ragged shirt . He was long unshaved ; but what most distressed and even daunted me , he would neither take his eyes away from me nor look me fairly in the face . What he was , whether by trade or birth , was more than I could fathom ; but he seemed most like an old , unprofitable serving-man , who should have been left in charge of that big house upon board wages . `` Are ye sharp-set ? '' he asked , glancing at about the level of my knee . `` Ye can eat that drop parritch ? '' I said I feared it was his own supper . `` O , '' said he , `` I can do fine wanting it . I 'll take the ale , though , for it slockens -LRB- moistens -RRB- my cough . '' He drank the cup about half out , still keeping an eye upon me as he drank ; and then suddenly held out his hand . `` Let 's see the letter , '' said he . I told him the letter was for Mr. Balfour ; not for him . `` And who do ye think I am ? '' says he . `` Give me Alexander 's letter . '' `` You know my father 's name ? ''
`` It would be strange if I didnae , '' he returned , `` for he was my born brother ; and little as ye seem to like either me or my house , or my good XXXXX , I 'm your born uncle , Davie , my man , and you my born nephew .
Alexander Balfour Mr. left moistens nightcap nightgown parritch serving-man wall