It was so much sweeter than anything he had ever heard of or thought of, this taste of home, so much, so very much!  His heart was like a thistle bloom floating in the air, his feet seemed not to touch the ground; he was walking as a spirit might have walked, buoyed up by thoughts of all things beautiful.  He reached the cottage that for years had been his home, and entered it with a cry of gladness on his lips.

“Oh, Uncle Billy! it was—­it was just like heaven!” He had thrown himself upon a stool at the man’s feet, and sat looking up into the kindly face.

Bachelor Billy did not answer.  He only placed his hand tenderly on the boy’s head, and they both sat, in silence, looking out through the open door, until the pink clouds in the western sky had faded into gray, and the deepening twilight wrapped the landscape, fold on fold, in an ever thickening veil.

By and by Ralph’s tongue was loosened, and he told the story of his visit to Mrs. Burnham.  He gave it with all fulness; he dwelt long and lovingly on his mother’s beauty and affection, on his sister’s pretty ways, on the splendors of their home, on the plans marked out for him.

“An’ just to think of it!” he exclaimed, “after to-morrow, I’ll be there ev’ry day, ev’ry day.  It’s too beautiful to think of, Uncle Billy; I can’t help lookin’ at myself an’ wonderin’ if it’s me.”

“It’s verra fine, but ye’ve a richt to it, lad, an’ ye desarve it, an’ it’s a blessin’ to all o’ ye.”

Again they fell into silence.  The blue smoke from Billy’s pipe went floating into the darkness, and up to their ears came the sound of distant church bells ringing out their music to the night.

Finally, Ralph thought of the appointed meeting at Sharpman’s office, and started to his feet.

“I mus’ hurry now,” he said, “or he’ll think I ain’t a-comin’.”

The proposed visit seemed to worry Bachelor Billy somewhat.  He did not like Sharpman.  He had not had full confidence in him from the beginning.  And since the interview on the day of Ralph’s return from Wilkesbarre, his faith in the pureness of the lawyer’s motives had been greatly shaken.  He had watched the proceedings in Ralph’s case as well as his limited knowledge of the law would allow, and, though he had discovered nothing, thus far, that would injure or compromise the boy, he was in constant fear lest some plan should be developed by which Ralph would be wronged, either in reputation or estate.

He hesitated, therefore, to have the lad fulfil this appointment.

“I guess I’d better go wi’ ye,” he said, “mayhap an’ ye’ll be afeared a-comin’ hame i’ the dark.”

“Oh, no, Uncle Billy!” exclaimed the boy, “they ain’t no use in your walkin’ way down there.  I ain’t a bit afraid, an’ I’ll get home early.  Mr. Sharpman said maybe it wouldn’t be any use for me to go to Wilkesbarre to-morrow at all, and he’d let me know to-night.  No, don’t you go!  I’m a-goin’ to run down the hill so’s to get there quicker; good-by!”