‘Not to tell it.’ ‘Never to show that you knew it, would be better still.’ ‘Yes, it would--’ ‘But, suppose a thing:--suppose you knew that there was a secret; suppose you wanted very much to find it out, and yet would not try to find it out: wouldn’t that be another way of keeping it?’ ‘Yes, it would. If I knew there was a secret, I should like to find it out.’ ‘Well, I am going to try you. There is a secret. I know it; you do not. You have a right to know it some day, but not yet. I mean to tell it you, but I want you to learn a great deal first. I want to keep the secret from hurting you. Just as you would keep things from a baby which would hurt him, I have kept some things from you.’ ‘Is the sword one of them, uncle?’ I asked. ‘You could not do anything with the secret if you did know it,’ my uncle went on, without heeding my question; ‘but there may be designing people who would make a tool of you for their own ends. It is far better you should be ignorant. Now will you keep my secret?--or, in other words, will you trust me?’ I felt a little frightened. My imagination was at work on the formless thing. But I was chiefly afraid of the promise--lest I should anyway break it. ‘I will try to keep the secret--keep it from myself, that is--ain’t it, uncle?’ ‘Yes. That is just what I mean.’ ‘But how long will it be for, uncle?’ ‘I am not quite sure. It will depend on how wise and sensible you grow. Some boys are men at eighteen--some not at forty. The more reasonable and well-behaved you are, the sooner shall I feel at liberty to tell it you.’ He ceased, and I remained silent. I was not astonished. The vague news fell in with all my fancies. The possibility of something pleasant, nay even wonderful and romantic, of course suggested itself, and the hope which thence gilded the delay tended to reconcile me to my ignorance. ‘I think it better you should not go back to Mr Elder’s, Willie,’ said my uncle. I was stunned at the words. Where could a place be found to compare for blessedness with Mr Elder’s school? Not even the great Hall, with its acres of rooms and its age-long history, could rival it. Some moments passed before I could utter a faltering ‘Why?’ ‘That is part of my secret, Willie,’ answered my uncle. ‘I know it will be a disappointment to you, for you have been very happy with Mr Elder.’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ I answered. It was all I could say, for the tears were rolling down my cheeks, and there was a great lump in my throat. ‘I am very sorry indeed to give you pain, Willie,’ he said kindly. ‘It’s not my blame, is it, uncle?’ I sobbed. ‘Not in the least, my boy.’ ‘Oh! then, I don’t mind it so much.’ ‘There’s a brave boy! Now the question is, what to do with you.’ ‘Can’t I stop at home, then?’