The boy knew that his Uncle Billy was waiting for him, doubtless with much anxiety, but, now that he had reached the cottage, he stood motionless by the door. He was trying to decide what he should do and say on entering. To tell Uncle Billy or not to tell him, that was the question. He had never kept anything from him before; this would be the first secret he had not shared with him. And Uncle Billy had been so good to him, too, so very good! Yes, he thought he had better tell him; he would do it now, before his resolution failed. He raised his hand to lift the latch. Again he hesitated. If he should tell him, that would end it all. The good man would never allow him to act a falsehood. He would have to bid farewell to all his sweet dreams of home, and his high plans for life, and step back into the old routine of helpless poverty and hopeless toil. He felt that he was not quite ready to do that yet; heart, mind, body, all rebelled against it. He would wait and hope for some way out, without the sacrifice of all that he had longed for. His hand fell nerveless to his side. He still stood waiting on the step in the beating rain. But then, it was wrong to keep silent, wrong! wrong! wrong! The word went echoing through his mind like the stern sentence of some high court; conscience again pushed her way to the front, and the struggle in the boy's heart went on with a fierceness that was terrible. Suddenly the door was opened from the inside, and Bachelor Billy stood there, shading his eyes with his hand and peering out into the darkness. "Ralph," he said, "is that yo' a-stannin' there i' the rain? Coom in, lad; coom in wi' ye! Why!" he exclaimed, as the boy entered the room, "ye're a' drippin' wet!" "Yes, Uncle Billy, it's a-rainin' pirty hard; I believe I--I believe I did git wet." The boy's voice sounded strange and hard even to himself. Bachelor Billy looked down into his face questioningly. "What's the matter wi' ye, Ralph? Soun's like as if ye'd been a-cryin'. Anything gone wrong?" "Oh, no. Only I'm tired, that's all, an'--an' wet." "Ye look bad i' the face. Mayhap an' ye're a bit sick?" "No, I ain't sick." "Wull, then, off wi' the wet duddies, an' we'll be a-creepin' awa' to bed." As Ralph proceeded to remove his wet clothing, Bachelor Billy watched him with increasing concern. The boy's face was white and haggard, there were dark crescents under his eyes, his movements were heavy and confused, he seemed hardly to know what he was about. "Has the lawyer said aught to mak' ye unhappy, Ralph?" inquired Billy at last. "No, I ain't seen Mr. Sharpman. He wasn't in. He was in when I first went there, but somebody else was there a-talkin' to 'im, an' I went out to wait, an' w'en I got back again the office was locked, so I didn't see 'im." "Ye've been a lang time gone, lad?" "Yes, I waited aroun', thinkin' maybe he'd come back, but he didn't. I didn't git started for home" till just before it begun to rain."