"You mean," he breathed, "you mean--jest live--with you?" "That was my idea," said Caleb. And then, slowly, the boy's head dropped again, as it had when he bowed to gaze at his uncouth, begrimed clothes. The man thought that he caught the inference of that moment of silence. "We can fix up the matter of clothes later," he made haste to forestall any objection in that direction. "That doesn't amount to anything, anyway." The clear eyes lifted again, steady and wide and very, very grave. "I always knowed it was comin'," said Stephen O'Mara. "I always knowed it was a-comin'--this chance--even when I didn't know _haow_ it would come. Ner I wa'n't thinkin' about my clothes. I reckon I kin learn jest as fast in these as in any. I was jest thinkin' about Miss Sarah. She--she might not like it, hevin' two men folks a-raound the house, under foot." It was Caleb's turn to stand, agape. "Miss Sarah?" he faltered, astonished--and then he remembered. He laughed, unsteadily, with relief. For an instant he had been inexplicably afraid that the boy was going to refuse his offer. "Why, you musn't mind what Sarah said yesterday," he rushed on. "She--she--well, she's a Baptist, Steve, and you know what that means." He leaned forward a little, his voice quite stealthily confidential. "But I can fix that all right," he promised. "I can surely fix that. For I'll tell her--I'll tell her you're a Baptist, too! Will you--will you stay?" And after a time solemnly Steve nodded. Later, when alone, Caleb chuckled mountainously over his reply. "Thet's--thet's what I cal'late I be," he said. CHAPTER V THEN I'LL COME BACK TO YOU On the drive home Wednesday Caleb rehearsed a half score of speeches with which he might apprise his sister Sarah of the step he had taken; but when the time came for him to employ one of them, he forgot the entire lot and had to resort to a bald and stammered statement of the facts, which sounded more like a confession of guilt than anything else. It had grown colder with the storm and directly after a hastily swallowed supper, with many indignant glances for her brother, Sarah had bundled the boy off upstairs to bed, for he had come in out of the rain as sleekly wet as a water-rat, and blue-fingered and blue-lipped from cold. So it happened that they were alone before the fireplace when Caleb made known his decision. "I've never done much of anything for anybody but myself, you know, Sarah," Caleb hesitatingly tried to account for his conduct. "And this seems to me to be as big an opportunity as I'll ever have. You--you like the boy, don't you, so far as you have become acquainted with him?" While he was explaining Caleb wished that his sister would look him in the face, once at least. It was hard to know what she was thinking when she sat like that, staring into the fire. He waited, not without grave misgivings, for her reply. "Yes, I like him," she assented, after a while.