The little birds that came and sang in the elm-tree by his window repeated in their songs the story of his fortune.  The kind old sun beamed in upon him with warmest greeting and heartiest approval.

Out-of-doors, the very atmosphere of the May day was redolent with all good cheer, and Ralph took great draughts of it into his lungs as he walked with Bachelor Billy to the little chapel at the foot of the hill, where they were used to going to attend the Sunday morning service.  In the afternoon they went, these two, out by the long way to the breaker.  Ralph looked up at the grim, black monster, and thought of the days gone by; the days of watchfulness, of weariness, of hopeless toil that he had spent shut up within its jarring walls.

But they were over now.  He should never again climb the narrow steps to the screen-room in the darkness of the early morning.  He should never again take his seat on the black bench to bend above the stream of flowing coal, to breathe the thick dust, and listen to the rattling and the roaring all day long.  That time had passed, there was to be no more grinding toil, no more harsh confinement in the heat and dust, no more longing for the bright sunlight and the open air, nor for the things of life that lay beyond his reach.  The night was gone, the morning was come, the May day of his life was dawning, wealth was lying at his feet, rich love was overshadowing him; why should he not be happy?

“Seems jest as though I hadn’t never had any trouble, Uncle Billy,” he said, “as though I’d been kind o’ waitin’ an’ waitin’ all along for jest this, an’ now it’s here, ain’t it?”

“Yes, lad.”

“An’ some way it’s all so quiet an’ smooth like, so peaceful, don’t you know.  She—­she seems to be so glad ’at she needn’t keep me away from her no longer after the trial’s over.  I think she wants me to come, don’t you?  It ain’t like most law-suits, is it?”

“She’s a lovin’ lady, an’ I’m a-thinkin’ they’re a-meanin’ to deal rightly by ye, Ralph.”

There was a pause.  They were sitting on the bank in the shadow of the breaker, and the soft wind was bringing up to them the perfume of apple-blossoms from the orchard down by the road-side.  Silence, indeed, was the only means of giving fitting expression to such quiet joy as pervaded the boy’s heart.

A man, driving along the turnpike with a horse and buggy, turned up the road to the breaker, and stopped in front of Bachelor Billy and the boy.

“Is this Ralph?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the boy, “that’s me.”

“Well, Mrs. Burnham would like to see you.  She sent me over to bring you.  I went to your house, and they said most likely I’d find you up here.  Just jump in and we’ll drive right down.”

Ralph looked up inquiringly at Bachelor Billy.

“Go on, lad,” he said; “when the mither sen’s for ye, ye mus’ go.”  Ralph climbed up into the buggy.