Shaws and their house

Early morning; in the month of June 1751, I took the key out of my father's house, and without looking back, I walked through the village in the sunny weather.

With a smile on his face, I saw Mr. Campbell, the minister of Essendean, waiting for me at the gate of the garden.

Looking at me, he said, "have you had breakfast? Good! Davie, lad," we walked to the ford.

He asked, "Are you feeling bad to leave Essendean?" I said, "Very well, Sir. I have been happily living here but now I want to see some places of the world, since I've never been anywhere."

"I want to tell you something," he said, “When your mother died and your father was aware that his end was near, he gave me a letter which was for you. He said, "It came from the house of Shaws, near Cramond, and it's where Davie should return, after my house is sold."

I screamed, "What, the house of Shaws?" what business did my father have with the house of Shaws?"

"I don't know," said the minister, "but the name of that family is the name you bear-Balfour of Shaws. It's an old and famous name, Davie, and though your father came here as a schoolmaster it was clear to us all that he was a gentleman of good family and had known better time. Now, lad, here's the letter he gave me."

He handed me the letter, which was addressed in these words: "To Ebenezer Balfour, Esquire, of the house of Shaws, to be delivered by my son, David Balfour."

"Mr. Campbell," I stammered, “would you go, if you were in my shoes?"

"Aye," he answered, "that I would. A big lad like you ought to get to Cramond, which is near Edinburgh, in two days of walking."

I walked on, my head in a whirl, until we came to the ford. Here, Mr. Campbell bid me good bay.

I shouldered my bundle, set out over the ford and up the hill on the farther side. When I came to the top, I took my last look at Essendean and the big trees in the churchyard where my father and mother lay; then, squaring my shoulders, I went down the other side.

He handed me the letter, which was addressed.......

I stood, two days later, on top of a hill, from which all the country fell away before me down to the sea. In the middle of this slope, on a long ridge, I saw the smoking chimneys of Edinburgh.

I followed a road that skirted the city to the west, and got a shepherd to point me the way to Cramond. A little farther on, I began to ask for the house of Shaws. It was a name that surprised everyone I met. People just gaped at it and some seemed almost frightened by it.

I had to find out more about the place. I saw a small cart bumping along a lane, the driver perched on its shaft. I waved him to stop and asked him if he'd heard

of it. He looked at me oddly, like the others. "Aye," he said.

"Is it a great house?" I asked.

"Aye," he said, with narrowed eyes, “it's big enough."

"And what about the folk who live there?"

"Folk?” he cried. "There's no folk there to call folk." "What?" I said. "Not Mr. Ebenezer?"

"Oh, ay," said the man, "there's the laird, to be sure, if it's him you're wanting. What's your business there??

I waved him to stop and asked him if he'd heard of it

"I thought I might get a job there," I answered. "What!" cried the carter, so sharply that his horse started; and then, "Well, my lad," he added, "if ye'll take a word from me, ye'll keep clear of the Shaws!" He drove on, leaving me filled with strange fears. I was tempted, then and there, to turn back. But I'd come so far already that I was bound to go on.

It was nearly sundown when I met a dark, sour- looking woman trudging down a hill. I asked my usual question. She scowled at me, turned sharp about and walked with me back to the summit. She pointed a long finger at a great bulk of building standing on a green in the valley. The house seemed to be a kind of ruin:

"That's the house of Shaws!" the woman cried fiercely. "Blood built it; blood stopped the building of it; blood shall bring it down. I spit upon the ground and crack my thumb at it! Black be its fall! If ye se the laird, tell him this makes the twelve hundred and nineteenth time that Jennet Clouston has cursed him." It was weird and frightening. Her voice had risen to a shriek. She turned as I stood gaping and was gone. My hair stood on end. To have met a witch, and heard her curses, took all the strength out of my legs. I sat down and stared at the house of Shaws.

"That's the house of Shaws!" the woman cried.....

It seemed, from there, like the one wing of a great house that had never been finished. What should have been the inner end stood open on the upper floors and showed against the sky with steps and stairs of un- finished masonry.

I sat there until the sun went down, and then, right up against the yellow sky, I saw a wisp of smoke go mounting. At least, I thought, it meant a fire, and warmth.

I rose and went forward by a faint track in the grass. It brought me to stone uprights, with an unroofed lodge beside them and coats of arms upon the top. Instead of iron gates, a pair of hurdles were tied across with a rope.

The nearer I got to the house, the drearier it seemed. Night had begun to fall. In three of the lower windows, which were very narrow and well barred, the changing light of a little fire began to glimmer.

I went forward quietly. When I got close to the house, I heard a rattle of dishes and someone gave a little, dry cough. There was no other sound, and no dog barked.

The door was a great piece of wood, all studded with nails. I lifted my hand and knocked once. Then I stood and waited. The house had fallen into a dead

Instead of iron gates, a pair of hurdles were tied across with a rope.

silence. A whole minute passed and nothing stirred but bats overhead. I knocked again, and listened, but whoever was in that house kept deadly still and must have held his breath.

I was in two minds whether to run away, but anger got the upper hand and I began instead to rain kicks on the door, and to shout out aloud for Mr Balfour. A moment later and I heard a cough right above me. I jumped back, looked up, and saw a man's head in a tall nightcap and the bell mouth of a blunderbuss

at one of the first storey windows.

"The gun's loaded," said a dry, cracked voice.

"I've come here with a letter," I said, "to Mr. Ebenezer Balfour of Shaws. Is he here?"

"Put it on the doorstep," was the reply, "and be off."

"I'll do no such thing," I cried. "I'll give it to Mr.

Balfour himself. It's a letter of introduction. "Who are ye, yourself?" was the next question.

"They call me David Balfour," I answered. Even in that dim light I saw the man start. "Is your father dead?" he asked. "Ay, he'll be dead, no doubt. And that's what brings ye knocking at my door. Well, I'll let ye in," and he disappeared from the window.

"The gun's loaded," said a dry. cracked wice