t so particular about the law as some that
I could name; and finding that the lad owned some decent folk, and was
your born nephew, Mr. Balfour, they asked me to give ye a bit call and
confer upon the matter. And I may tell ye at the off-go, unless we can
agree upon some terms, ye are little likely to set eyes upon him. For my
friends," added Alan, simply, "are no very well off."

My uncle cleared his throat. "I'm no very caring," says he. "He wasnae a
good lad at the best of it, and I've nae call to interfere."

"Ay, ay," said Alan, "I see what ye would be at: pretending ye don't
care, to make the ransom smaller."

"Na," said my uncle, "it's the mere truth. I take nae manner of interest
in the lad, and I'll pay nae ransome, and ye can make a kirk and a mill
of him for what I care."

"Hoot, sir," says Alan. "Blood's thicker than water, in the deil's name!
Ye cannae desert your brother's son for the fair shame of it; and if
ye did, and it came to be kennt, ye wouldnae be very popular in your
country-side, or I'm the more deceived."

"I'm no just very popular the way it is," returned Ebenezer; "and I
dinnae see how it would come to be kennt. No by me, onyway; nor yet by
you or your friends. So that's idle talk, my buckie," says he.

"Then it'll have to be David that tells it," said Alan.

"How that?" says my uncle, sharply.

"Ou, just this, way" says Alan. "My friends would doubtless keep your
nephew as long as there was any likelihood of siller to be made of it,
but if there was nane, I am clearly of opinion they would let him gang
where he pleased, and be damned to him!"

"Ay, but I'm no very caring about that either," said my uncle. "I
wouldnae be muckle made up with that."

"I was thinking that," said Alan.

"And what for why?" asked Ebenezer.

"Why, Mr. Balfour," replied Alan, "by all that I could hear, there were
two ways of it: either ye liked David and would pay to get him back; or
else ye had very good reasons for not wanting him, and would pay for us
to keep him. It seems it's not the first; well then, it's the second;
and blythe am I to ken it, for it should be a pretty penny in my pocket
and the pockets of my friends."

"I dinnae follow ye there," said my uncle.

"No?" said Alan. "Well, see here: you dinnae want the lad back; well,
what do ye want done with him, and how much will ye pay?"

My uncle made no answer, but shifted uneasily on his seat.

"Come, sir," cried Alan. "I would have you