An he was na fearfu' that the truth would owerbalance it, he wadna
gi' a mon a hunderd an' fifty dollars to hold his tongue. I'm doubtfu'
for ye, Ralph, I'm verra doubtfu'."
Ralph had believed Rhyming Joe's story from the beginning, but he felt
that this belief must be confirmed by Uncle Billy in order to put it
beyond question. Now he was satisfied. It only remained to act.
"It's all true," he said; "I know it's all true, an' sumpthin's got to
be done. What shall I do, Uncle Billy?"
The troubled look deepened on the man's face.
"Whether it's fause or true," he replied, "ye s'ould na keep it to
yoursel'. She ought to know. It's only fair to go an' tell the tale to
her an' let her do what she thenks bes'."
"Must I tell Mrs. Burnham? Must I go an' tell her 'at I ain't her
son, an' 'at I can't live with her, an' 'at we can't never be happy
together the way we talked? Oh, Uncle Billy, I can't do that, I
can't!"
He looked up beseechingly into the man's face. Something that he saw
there--pain, disappointment, affection, something, inspired him with
fresh courage, and he started to his feet and dashed the tears from
his eyes.
"Yes, I can do it too!" he exclaimed. "I can do anything 'at's right,
an' that's right. I won't wait; I'll go now."
"Don't haste, lad; wait a bit; listen! If the lady should be gone to
court ye mus' gae there too. If ye canna find her, ye mus' find her
lawyer. One or the ither ye s'ould tell, afoor the verdict comes;
afterwards it might be too late.
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