Billy had no appetite for the nice supper that Aunt Saxon had ready
when he came dejectedly home that night. He had passed the parsonage
and seen through the dining-room window that the rich guy was sitting
at the supper table opposite Marilyn laughing and talking with her and
his soul was sick within him. That was his doing! Nobody else but
himself to blame!

Aunt Saxon had apple dumplings with plenty of "goo," black with
cinnamon just the way he loved it, but he only minced at the first
helping and scarcely tasted the second. He chopped a great many
kindling after supper, and filled the woodbox, and thoughtfully wound
the clock. Then instead of going out with his usual "I gotta beat it!"
he sat languidly on the doorstep in the dusk, and when she anxiously
questioned if he were sick he said crossly: "Aw, Gee! Can't ya let a fella alone! I'm all in, can't ya
see it? I'm gonta bed!" and knowing he had said the most
alarming thing in the whole category he slammed upstairs to his own
room and flung himself across his bed.

Aunt Saxon filled with vague fears crept softly up after him, tapping
at his locked door: "Willie, what is the matter? Just tell auntie where the pain is and
I'll get you some medicine that will fix you all up by morning. I'll
get you a hot water bag--!"