strange mixture of recklessness and sadness in his voice； he
began his promised narrative in these words：
〃The first thing you know of me；〃 he said； 〃is what my father's
confession has told you already。 He mentions here that I was a
child； asleep on his breast； when he spoke his last words in this
world； and when a stranger's hand wrote them down for him at his
deathbed。 That stranger's name； as you may have noticed； is
signed on the cover'Alexander Neal； Writer to the Signet；
Edinburgh。' The first recollection I have is of Alexander Neal
beating me with a horsewhip （I dare say I deserved it）； in the
character of my stepfather。〃
〃Have you no recollection of your mother at the same time？〃 asked
Mr。 Brock。
〃Yes； I remember her having shabby old clothes made up to fit me；
and having fine new frocks bought for her two children by her
second husband。 I remember the servants laughing at me in my old
things； and the horsewhip finding its way to my shoulders again
for losing my temper and tearing my shabby clothes。 My next
recollection gets on to a year or two later。 I remember myself
locked up in a lumber…room； with a bit of bread and a mug of
water； wondering what it was that made my mother and my
stepfather seem to hate the very sight of me。 I never settled
that question till yesterday； and then I solved the mystery； when
my father's letter was put into my hands。 My mother knew what had
really happened on board the French timber…ship； and my
stepfather knew what had really happened； and they were both well
aware that the shameful secret which they would fain have kept
from every living creature was a secret which would be one day
revealed to _me。_ There was no help for itthe confession was in
the executor's hands； and there was I； an ill…conditioned brat；
with my mother's negro blood in my face； and my murdering
father's passions in my heart； inheritor of their secret in spite
of them！ I don't wonder at the horsewhip now； or the shabby old
clothes； or the bread and water in the lumber…room。 Natural
penalties all of them； sir； which the child was beginning to pay
already for the father's sin。〃
Mr。 Brock looked at the swarthy； secret face； still obstinately
turned away from him。 〃Is this the stark insensibility of a
vagabond；〃 he asked himself； 〃or the despair； in disguise； of a
miserable man？〃
〃School is my next recollection；〃 the other went on〃a cheap
place in a lost corner of Scotland。 I was left there； with a bad
character to help me at starting。 I spare you the story of the
master's cane in the schoolroom； and the boys' kicks in the
playground。 I dare say there was ingrained ingratitude in my
nature； at any rate； I ran away。 The first person who met me
asked my name。 I was too young and too foolish to know the
importance of concealing it； and； as a matter of course； I was
taken back to school the same evening。 The result taught me a
lesson which I have not forgotten since。 In a day or two more；
like the vagabond I was； I ran away for the second time。 The
school watch…dog had had his instructions； I suppose： he stopped
me before I got outside the gate。 Here is his mark； among the
rest； on the back of my hand。 His master's marks I can't show
you； they are all on my back。 Can you believe in my perversity？
There was a devil in me that no dog
could worry out。 I ran away again as soon as I left my bed； and
this time I got off。 At nightfall I found myself （with a
pocketful of the school oatmeal） lost on a moor。 I lay down on
the fine soft heather； under the lee of a great gray rock。 Do you
think I felt lonely？ Not I！ I was away from the master's cane；
away from my schoolfellows' kicks； away from my mother； away from
my stepfather； and I lay down that night under my good friend the
rock； the happiest boy in all Scotland！〃
Through the wretched childhood which that one significant
circumstance disclosed； Mr。 Brock began to see dimly how little
was really strange； how little really unaccountable； in the
character of the man who was now speaking to him。
〃I slept soundly；〃 Midwinter continued； 〃under my friend the
rock。 When I woke in the morning； I found a sturdy old man with a
fiddle sitting on one side of me； and two performing dogs on the
other。 Experience had made me too sharp to tell the truth when
the man put his first questions。 He didn't press them； he gave me
a good breakfast out of his knapsack； and he let me romp with the
dogs。 'I'll tell you what；' he said； when he had got my
confidence in this manner； 'you want three things； my man： you
want a new father； a new family； and a new name。 I'll be your
father。 I'll let you have the dogs for your brothers； and； if
you'll promise to be very careful of it； I'll give you my own
name into the bargain。 Ozias Midwinter； Junior； you have had a
good breakfast； if you want a good dinner； come along with me！'
He got up； the dogs trotted after him； and I trotted after the
dogs。 Who was my new father？ you will ask。 A half…breed gypsy；
sir； a drunkard； a ruffian； and a thiefand the best friend I
ever had！ Isn't a man your friend who gives you your food； your
shelter； and your education？ Ozias Midwinter taught me to dance
the Highland fling； to throw somersaults； to walk on stilts； and
to sing songs to his fiddle。 Sometimes we roamed the country； and
performed at fairs。 Sometimes we tried the large towns； and
enlivened bad company over its cups。 I was a nice； lively little
boy of eleven years old； and bad company； the women especially；
took a fancy to me and my nimble feet。 I was vagabond enough to
like the life。 The dogs and I lived together； ate； and drank； and
slept together。 I can't think of those poor little four…footed
brothers of mine； even now； without a choking in the throat。 Many
is the beating we three took together； many is the hard day's
dancing we did together； many is the night we have slept
together； and whimpered together； on the cold hill…side。 I'm not
trying to distress you； sir； I'm only telling you the truth。 The
life with all its hardships was a life that fitted me； and the
half…breed gypsy who gave me his name； ruffian as he was； was a
ruffian I liked。〃
〃A man who beat you！〃 exclaimed Mr。 Brock； in astonishment。
〃Didn't I tell you just now； sir； that I lived with the dogs？ and
did you ever hear of a dog who liked his master the worse for
beating him？ Hundreds of thousands of miserable men； women； and
children would have liked that man （as I liked him） if he had
always given them what he always gave meplenty to eat。 It was
stolen food mostly； and my new gypsy father was generous with it。
He seldom laid the stick on us when he was sober； but it diverted
him to hear us yelp when he was drunk。 He died drunk； and enjoyed
his favorite amusement with his last breath。 One day （when I had
been two years in his service）； after giving us a good dinner out
on the moor； he sat down with his back against a stone； and
called us up to divert himself with his stick。 He made the dogs
yelp first； and then he called to me。 I didn't go very willingly；
he had been drinking harder than usual； and the more he drank the
better he liked his after…dinner amusement。 He was in high
good…humor that day； and he hit me so hard that he toppled over；
in his drunken state； with the force of his own blow。 He fell
with his face in a puddle； and lay there without moving。 I and
the dogs stood at a distance； and looked at him： we thought he
was feigning； to get us near and have another stroke at us。 He
feigned so long that we ventured up to him at last。 It took me
some time to pull him over； he was a heavy man。 When I did get
him on his back； he was dead。 We made all the outcry we could；
but the dogs were little； and I was little； and the place was
lonely； and no help came to us。 I took his fiddle and his stick；
I said to my two brothers； 'Come along； we must get our own
living now；' and we went away heavy…hearted； and left him on the
moor。 Unnatural as it may seem to you； I was sorry for him。 I
kept his ugly name through all my after…wanderings； and I have
enough of the old leaven left in me to like the sound of it
still。 Midwinter or Armadale； never mind my name now； we will
talk of that afterward； you must know the worst of me first。〃
〃Why not the best of you？〃 said Mr。 Brock； gently。
〃Thank you； sir； but I am here to tell the truth。 We will get on；
if you please； to the next chapter in my story。 The dogs and I
did badly； after our master's death； our luck was against us。 I
lost one of my little brothersthe best performer of the two； he
was stolen； and I never recovered him。 My fiddle and my stilts
were taken from me next； by main force； by a tramp who was
stronger than I。 These misfortunes drew Tommy and meI beg your
pardon； sir； I mean the dogcloser together than ever。
I think we had some kind of dim foreboding on both sides that we
had not done with our misfortunes yet； anyhow； it was not very
long before we were parted forever。 We were neither of us thieves
（our master had been satisfied with teaching us to dance）； but we
both committed an invasion of the rights of property； for all
that。 Young creatures； even when they are half starved； cannot
resist taking a run sometimes on a fine morning。 Tommy and I
could not resist taking a run into a gentleman's plantation； the
gentleman preserved his game； and the gentleman's keeper knew his
business。 I heard a gun go off； you can guess the rest。 God
preserve me from ever feeling such misery again as I felt when I
lay down by Tommy； and took him； dead and bloody； in my arms！ The
keeper attempted to part us； I bit him； like the wild animal I
was。 He tried the stick on me next； he might as well have tried
it on one of the trees。 The noise reached the ears of two young
ladies riding near the placedaughters of the gentleman on whose
property I was a trespasser。 They were too well brought up to
lift their voices against the sacred right of preserving game；
but they were kind…hearted girls； and they pitied me； and took me
home with them。 I remember the gentlemen of the house （keen
sportsmen all of them） roaring with laughter as I went by the
windows； crying； with my little dead dog in my arms。 Don't