He heard a step on the porch and turned to see Billy hesitating in the doorway. "Jerry," she whispered softly and glanced behind her as though fearful of seeing her father or Henrietta peering at her over the banisters. He went toward her, the bills still in his hand. "Billy," said he, thrusting the money into his pocket, "what are you doing at this time of night?" And he looked down at her tenderly in the dark where the hall lamp could not reveal his face. Billy hesitated. She had seen the bills again and knew that he was worried. To worry over money matters was an unknown experience to Billy. She felt a delicacy in mentioning her errand. "I—I—I came to see if the moon had set," she faltered. "It’s set," said the Watermelon. "Well," said Billy, "then I will go back." "Good night," said the Watermelon. "Good night," said Billy, and lingered. Then she laid her hand on his arm and spoke in a rush. "Oh, Jerry, please don’t worry. If you want any money, father has heaps. You can have all you want." The Watermelon drew a bit nearer. "Billy, Billy," said he softly. "I think it must be terrible to worry about money," Billy hurried on. "It’s not worth it." "I’m not worrying about money, kid," said the Watermelon with a laugh. "I have a bunch. What made you think I was?" "Twice to-night you’ve counted your money." "Esau’s bowl of pottage," sneered the Watermelon, turning unconsciously to the old familiarity with the Bible. "Say, Billy, if he found he didn’t like his pottage, could he give it back and get his birthright again?" Billy blushed. She was not sure who Esau was. In a dim way she remembered the name and vaguely associated it with the Bible. "Couldn’t he have gotten something else?" she asked judiciously. "No," said the Watermelon. "He had nothing more to sell." "What did he sell?" "His birthright—for a mess of pottage." "Why’d he do that?" "He was stony broke, he wanted something to eat, see, and he sold his all for a mess of pottage. Now, if he found he didn’t like his pottage, could he have given it back and gotten his birthright again?" "Yes, indeed," chirped Billy. "I don’t see why not. But why didn’t he get something better than a mess of pottage?" "Don’t ask me, kid. But, I guess you’re right. No one can keep your birthright unless you’re willing they should." "I usually know more about the Bible," stammered Billy, fearful of the impression her ignorance must have made. "I know about Moses and Ruth." The Watermelon nodded. "You see, I was raised on the Bible," he said kindly. "Yes," agreed Billy, "and I was raised on Mellen’s food." A step was heard on the floor above and she started hastily. "I guess I had better be going," she whispered. "Good night, Jerry." "Good night, Billy." She slipped away and the Watermelon was again alone.