"And I am in debt!" she mourned. Her constant reading of the Bible to her grandmother had furnished her with quotations for all the experiences of life. It was a textual knowledge which many preachers would have envied her. It gave her now a vehicle with which to express her woes. "I am like David in the cave," said she. "I am in distress and in debt." "Fifty dollars!" whispered Katy as she walked up and down the garden paths. "I am fifty dollars in debt!" It was true that the squire had insisted that the money must be a gift. But the squire had not the least suspicion of the purpose to which his gift had been devoted. "They have nothing for Alvin," said Katy to herself. "Alvin has had no chance. He will surely pay it back to me. I am certain he will pay it back!" The dew fell damp about her, but still Katy walked on and on, up and down the garden paths. When, finally, she went into the kitchen, her Uncle Edwin looked up at her blinking. In his rugged face was all the kindness and sober steadfastness of the Gaumers. "Sit down once, Katy," said he, neither in command nor in request, but with gentle entreaty. "I want to talk to you a little." Katy sat down on the edge of the old settle. She would listen to no condolences; every fiber in her body bristled at the first sign of sympathy. Sympathy made her cry, and she hated to cry. Katy hated to be anything but cheerful and happy and prosperous and in high hope. Several minutes passed before Uncle Edwin began upon his subject. Though he loved Katy, he stood in awe of her, gentle and weak though she appeared in her black dress. His first question was unfortunately worded. "What are you going to do now, Katy, that gran'mom is gone?" Katy looked at him sharply. She was not well; she was worried and unhappy; she found it easy to misunderstand. "For my living, you mean?" said Katy, cruelly. Uncle Edwin gazed, open-mouthed at his niece. He would have been ludicrous if he had not been so greatly distressed. "Ach, Katy!" protested he, in bewilderment. "What do you mean, then?" Uncle Edwin had at that moment not the faintest idea of what he meant. He hesitated for an instant, then he stammered out an answer. "I mean, Katy, when are you going to school?" The room swam round before Katy's dull eyes. School! She was never going to school; she could not go to school. But a more acute anxiety threatened; the moment when she must give an account of her two hundred dollars was probably at hand. Katy's very heart stood still. "I am not going to school," said she. Again Uncle Edwin's mouth opened. "Why, you are, Katy!" "Do you mean"--wildly Katy seized upon any weapon of defense she could grasp: it was easy to confuse Uncle Edwin's mind--"do you mean when am I going away from here?" Now Uncle Edwin's blue eyes filled with tears.