He had scarcely done so when there was a shuffling noise in the hall, the parlor-door was flung open with a jar, and David staggered towards him--_drunk_! In a moment, John's natural temper conquered him; he jumped to his feet, and said passionately, "How daur ye, sir?
Get out o' my house, you sinfu' lad!" Then, with a great cry he smote his hands together and bowed his head upon them, weeping slow, heavy drops, that came each with a separate pang.

His agony touched David, though he scarcely comprehended it.

Not all at once is the tender conscience seared, and the tender heart hardened.
"Uncle," he said in a maudlin, hesitating way, which it would be a sin to imitate--"Uncle John, I'm not drunk, I'm in trouble; I'm in trouble, Uncle John.

Don't cry about me.

I'm not worth it." Then he sank down upon the sofa, and, after a few more incoherent apologies, dropped into a deep sleep..