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- by Robert Louis Stevenson
I asked him if he had ever heard tell of a house they called the house of Shaws.He stopped his cart and looked at me, like the others."Ay" said he. "What for?""It's a great house?" I asked."Doubtless," says he. "The house is a big, muckle house.""Ay," said I, "but the folk that are in it?""Folk?" cried he. "Are ye daft? There's nae folk there--to call folk.""What?" say I; "not Mr. Ebenezer?""Ou, ay" says the man; "there's the laird, to be sure, if it's him you're wanting. What'll like be your business, mannie?""I was led to think that I would get a situation," I said, looking as modest as I could."What?" cries the carter, in so sharp a note that his very horse started; and then, "Well, mannie," he added, "it's nane of my affairs; but ye seem a decent-spoken lad; and if ye'll take a word from me, ye'll keep clear of the Shaws."