remember, had he told an untruth to his mother with results which he
would never forget. He must tell her the truth now.

But he would put off the ordeal as long as possible. There could be no
harm in that. Everything was quiet about the house, as his mother was
away. He hurriedly divested himself of his best clothes and put on
his overalls. He took the milk pail and hung it on the fence until he
brought the cows from the pasture. After milking, he did his other
chores. There were no signs of mother. The dusk turned to darkness, yet
no light appeared in the house. Dorian went in and lighted the lamp and
proceeded to get supper.

The mother came presently, carrying a bag of wool. "A big herd of sheep
went by this afternoon," she explained, "and they left a lot of fine
wool on the barbed-wire fences. See, I have gathered enough for a pair
of stockings." She seated herself.

"You're tired," said Dorian.

"Yes."

"Well, you sit and rest; I'll soon have the supper on the table." This
was no difficult task, as the evening meal was usually a very simple
one, and Dorian had frequently prepared it. This evening as the mother
sat there quietly she looked at her son with admiring eyes. What a big
boy he was getting to be! He had always been big, it seemed to her. He
had been a big baby and a big little boy, and now he was a big young
man. He had a big head and big feet, big hands. His nose and mouth were
big, and big freckles dotted his face--yes, and a big heart, as his
mother very well knew. Along with his bigness of limb and body there was