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Chapter 4
Itriedtogetthisoutofmyhead;butthoughItookdownmanyinterestingauthors,oldandnew,history,poetry,andstory-book,thisnotionofmyfather’shandofwritingstucktome;andwhenatlengthIwentbackintothekitchen,andsatdownoncemoretoporridgeandsmallbeer,thefirstthingIsaidtoUncleEbenezerwastoaskhimifmyfatherhadnotbeenveryquickathisbook.
“Alexander?Nohim!”wasthereply.“Iwasfarquickermysel’;IwasacleverchappiewhenIwasyoung.Why,Icouldreadassoonashecould.”
Thispuzzledmeyetmore;andathoughtcomingintomyhead,Iaskedifheandmyfatherhadbeentwins.
Hejumpeduponhisstool,andthehornspoonfelloutofhishanduponthefloor.“Whatgarsyeaskthat?”hesaid,andhecaughtmebythebreastofthejacket,andlookedthistimestraightintomyeyes:hisownwerelittleandlight,andbrightlikeabird’s,blinkingandwinkingstrangely.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iasked,verycalmly,forIwasfarstrongerthanhe,andnoteasilyfrightened.“Takeyourhandfrommyjacket.Thisisnowaytobehave.”
Myuncleseemedtomakeagreateffortuponhimself.“Dodman,David,”hesaid,“yeshould-naespeaktomeaboutyourfather.That’swherethemistakeis.”Hesatawhileandshook,blinkinginhisplate:“HewasallthebrotherthateverIhad,”headded,butwithnoheartinhisvoice;andthenhecaughtuphisspoonandfelltosupperagain,butstillshaking.
