MISS BILLY

by Eleanor H. Porter

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. BILLY WRITES A LETTER

II. "THE STRATA"

III. THE STRATA--WHEN THE LETTER COMES

IV. BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM

V. GETTING READY FOR BILLY

VI. THE COMING OF BILLY

VII. INTRODUCING SPUNK

VIII. THE ROOM--AND BILLY

IX. A FAMILY CONCLAVE

X. AUNT HANNAH

XI. BERTRAM HAS VISITORS

XII. CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN

XIII. A SURPRISE ALL AROUND

XIV. AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND

XV. WHAT BERTRAM CALLS "THE LIMIT"

XVI. KATE TAKES A HAND

XVII. A PINK-RIBBON TRAIL

XVIII. BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER

XIX. SEEING BILLY OFF

XX. BILLY, THE MYTH

XXI. BILLY, THE REALITY

XXII. HUGH CALDERWELL

XXIII. BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING

XXIV. CYRIL, THE ENIGMA

XXV. THE OLD ROOM--AND BILLY

XXVI. "MUSIC HATH CHARMS"

XXVII. MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS

XXVIII. "I'M GOING TO WIN"

XXIX. "I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY"

XXX. MARIE FINDS A FRIEND

XXXI. THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE

XXXII. CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

XXXIII. WILLIAM IS WORRIED

XXXIV. CLASS DAY

XXXV. SISTER KATE AGAIN

XXXVI. WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE

XXXVII. "WILLIAM'S BROTHER"

XXXVIII. THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO

XXXIX. A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER

XL. WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT

XLI. THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT

XLII. THE "END OF THE STORY"

MISS BILLY

CHAPTER I

BILLY WRITES A LETTER

Billy Neilson was eighteen years old when the aunt, who had brought herup from babyhood, died. Miss Benton's death left Billy quite alonein the world--alone, and peculiarly forlorn. To Mr. James Harding, of Harding & Harding, who had charge of Billy's not inconsiderableproperty, the girl poured out her heart in all its loneliness two daysafter the funeral. 

"You see, Mr. Harding, there isn't any one--not any one who--cares, " shechoked. 

"Tut, tut, my child, it's not so bad as that, surely, " remonstrated theold man, gently. "Why, I--I care. "

Billy smiled through tear-wet eyes. 

"But I can't LIVE with you, " she said. 

"I'm not so sure of that, either, " retorted the man. "I'm thinking thatLetty and Ann would LIKE to have you with us. "

The girl laughed now outright. She was thinking of Miss Letty, who had"nerves, " and of Miss Ann, who had a "heart"; and she pictured her ownyoung, breezy, healthy self attempting to conform to the hushed andshaded thing that life was, within Lawyer Harding's home. 

"Thank you, but I'm sure they wouldn't, " she objected. "You don't knowhow noisy I am. "

The lawyer stirred restlessly and pondered. 

"But, surely, my dear, isn't there some relative, somewhere?" hedemanded. "How about your mother's people?"

Billy shook her head. Her eyes filled again with tears. 

"There was only Aunt Ella, ever, that I knew anything about. She andmother were the only children there were, and mother died when I was ayear old, you know. "

"But your father's people?"

"It's even worse there. He was an only child and an orphan when mothermarried him. He died when I was but six months old. After that there wasonly mother and Aunt Ella, then Aunt Ella alone; and now--no one. "

"And you know nothing of your father's people?"

"Nothing; that is--almost nothing. "

"Then there is some one?"

Billy smiled. A deeper pink showed in her cheeks. 

"Why, there's one--a man but he isn't really father's people, anyway. But I--I have been tempted to write to him. "

"Who is he?"

"The one I'm named for. He was father's boyhood chum. You see that's whyI'm 'Billy' instead of being a proper 'Susie, ' or 'Bessie, ' or 'SallyJane. ' Father had made up his mind to name his baby 'William' after hischum, and when I came, Aunt Ella said, he was quite broken-hearted untilsomebody hit upon the idea of naming me Billy. ' Then he was content, forit seems that he always called his chum 'Billy' anyhow. And so--'Billy'I am to-day. "

"Do you know this man?"

"No. You see father died, and mother and Aunt Ella knew him only veryslightly. Mother knew his wife, though, Aunt Ella said, and SHE waslovely. "

"Hm--; well, we might look them up, perhaps. You know his address?"

"Oh, yes unless he's moved. We've always kept that. Aunt Ella used tosay sometimes that she was going to write to him some day about me, youknow. "

"What's his name?"

"William Henshaw. He lives in Boston. "

Lawyer Harding snatched off his glasses, and leaned forward in hischair. 

"William Henshaw! Not the Beacon Street Henshaws!" he cried. 

It was Billy's turn to be excited. She, too, leaned forward eagerly. 

"Oh, do you know him? That's lovely! And his address IS Beacon Street! Iknow because I saw it only to-day. You see, I HAVE been tempted to writehim. "

"Write him? Of course you'll write him, " cried the lawyer. "And we don'tneed to do much 'looking up' there, child. I've known the family foryears, and this William was a college mate of my boy's. Nice fellow, too. I've heard Ned speak of him. There were three sons, William, andtwo others much younger than he. I've forgotten their names. "

"Then you do know him! I'm so glad, " exclaimed Billy. "You see, he neverseemed to me quite real. "

"I know about him, " corrected the lawyer, smilingly, "though I'llconfess I've rather lost track of him lately. Ned will know. I'll askNed. Now go home, my dear, and dry those pretty eyes of yours. Or, better still, come home with me to tea. I--I'll telephone up to thehouse. " And he rose stiffly and went into the inner office. 

Some minutes passed before he came back, red of face, and plainlydistressed. 

"My dear child, I--I'm sorry, but--but I'll have to take back thatinvitation, " he blurted out miserably. "My sisters are--are not wellthis afternoon. Ann has been having a turn with her heart--you knowAnn's heart is--is bad; and Letty--Letty is always nervous at suchtimes--very nervous. Er--I'm so sorry! But you'll--excuse it?"

"Indeed I will, " smiled Billy, "and thank you just the same; only"--hereyes twinkled mischievously--"you don't mind if I do say that it ISlucky that we hadn't gone on planning to have me live with them, Mr. Harding!"

"Eh? Well--er, I think your plan about the Henshaws is very good, "he interposed hurriedly. "I'll speak to Ned--I'll speak to Ned, " hefinished, as he ceremoniously bowed the girl from the office. 

James Harding kept his word, and spoke to his son that night; but therewas little, after all, that Ned could tell him. Yes, he remembered BillyHenshaw well, but he had not heard of him for years, since Henshaw'smarriage, in fact. He must be forty years old, Ned said; but he was afine fellow, an exceptionally fine fellow, and would be sure to dealkindly and wisely by his little orphan namesake; of that Ned was verysure. 

"That's good. I'll write him, " declared Mr. James Harding. "I'll writehim tomorrow. "

He did write--but not so soon as Billy wrote; for even as he spoke, Billy, in her lonely little room at the other end of the town, waslaying bare all her homesickness in four long pages to "Dear UncleWilliam. "

CHAPTER II

"THE STRATA"

Bertram Henshaw called the Beacon Street home "The Strata. " This annoyedCyril, and even William, not a little; though they reflected that, afterall, it was "only Bertram. " For the whole of Bertram's twenty-four yearsof life it had been like this--"It's only Bertram, " had been at once thecurse and the salvation of his existence. 

In this particular case, however, Bertram's vagary of fancy had someexcuse. The Beacon Street house, the home of the three brothers, was a"Strata. "

"You see, it's like this, " Bertram would explain airily to some newacquaintance who expressed surprise at the name; "if I could slice offthe front of the house like a loaf of cake, you'd understand it better. But just suppose that old Bunker Hill should suddenly spout fire andbrimstone and bury us under tons of ashes--only fancy the condition ofmind of those future archaeologists when they struck our house aftertheir months of digging!

"What would they find? Listen. First: stratum number one, the top floor;that's Cyril's, you know. They'd note the bare floors, the sparse butheavy furniture, the piano, the violin, the flute, the book-lined walls, and the absence of every sort of curtain, cushion, or knickknack. 'Herelived a plain man, ' they'd say; 'a scholar, a musician, stern, unlovedand unloving; a monk. '

"And what next? They'd strike William's stratum next, the third floor. Imagine it! You know William as a State Street broker, well-off, a widower, tall, angular, slow of speech, a little bald, very muchnearsighted, and the owner of the kindest heart in the world. But reallyto know William, you must know his rooms. William collects things. Hehas always collected things--and he's saved every one of them. There's atradition that at the age of one year he crept into the house with foursmall round white stones. Anyhow, if he did, he's got them now. Restassured of that--and he's forty this year. Miniatures, carved ivories, bugs, moths, porcelains, jades, stamps, postcards, spoons, baggage tags, theatre programs, playing-cards--there isn't anything that he doesn'tcollect. He's on teapots, now. Imagine it--William and teapots! Andthey're all there in his rooms--one glorious mass of confusion. Justfancy those archaeologists trying to make their 'monk' live there!

"But when they reach me, my stratum, they'll have a worse time yet. Yousee, _I_ like cushions and comfort, and I have them everywhere. And Ilike--well, I like lots of things. My rooms don't belong to that monk, not a little bit. And so you see, " Bertram would finish merrily, "that'swhy I call it all 'The Strata. '"

And "The Strata" it was to all the Henshaws' friends, and even toWilliam and Cyril themselves, in spite of their objection to the term. 

From babyhood the Henshaw boys had lived in the handsome, roomy house, facing the Public Garden. It had been their father's boyhood home, aswell, and he and his wife had died there, soon after Kate, the onlydaughter, had married. At the age of twenty-two, William Henshaw, theeldest son, had brought his bride to the house, and together they hadstriven to make a home for the two younger orphan boys, Cyril, twelve, and Bertram, six. But Mrs. William, after a short five years of marriedlife, had died; and since then, the house had known almost nothing of awoman's touch or care. 

Little by little as the years passed, the house and its inmates hadfallen into what had given Bertram his excuse for the name. Cyril, thirty years old now, dignified, reserved, averse to cats, dogs, women, and confusion, had early taken himself and his music to the peaceand exclusiveness of the fourth floor. Below him, William had longdiscouraged any meddling with his precious chaos of possessions, and hadfinally come to spend nearly all his spare time among them. This leftBertram to undisputed ownership of the second floor, and right royallydid he hold sway there with his paints and brushes and easels, hisold armor, rich hangings, rugs, and cushions, and everywhere hisspecialty--his "Face of a Girl. " From canvas, plaque, and panel theylooked out--those girlish faces: winsome, wilful, pert, demure, merry, sad, beautiful, even almost ugly--they were all there; and they weregrowing famous, too. The world of art was beginning to take notice, andto adjust its spectacles for a more critical glance. This "Face of aGirl" by Henshaw bade fair to be worth while. 

Below Bertram's cheery second floor were the dim old library anddrawing-rooms, silent, stately, and almost never used; and below themwere the dining-room and the kitchen. Here ruled Dong Ling, the Chinesecook, and Pete. 

Pete was--indeed, it is hard telling what Pete was. He said he was thebutler; and he looked the part when he answered the bell at the greatfront door. But at other times, when he swept a room, or dusted MasterWilliam's curios, he looked--like nothing so much as what he was: afussy, faithful old man, who expected to die in the service he hadentered fifty years before as a lad. 

Thus in all the Beacon Street house, there had not for years been thetouch of a woman's hand. Even Kate, the married sister, had long sincegiven up trying to instruct Dong Ling or to chide Pete, though she stillwalked across the Garden from her Commonwealth Avenue home and trippedup the stairs to call in turn upon her brothers, Bertram, William, andCyril. 

CHAPTER III

THE STRATA--WHEN THE LETTER COMES

It was on the six o'clock delivery that William Henshaw received theletter from his namesake, Billy. To say the least, the letter was agreat shock to him. He had not quite forgotten Billy's father, who haddied so long ago, it is true, but he had forgotten Billy, entirely. Evenas he looked at the disconcerting epistle with its round, neatly formedletters, he had great difficulty in ferreting out the particular nichein his memory which contained the fact that Walter Neilson had had achild, and had named it for him. 

And this child, this "Billy, " this unknown progeny of an all butforgotten boyhood friend, was asking a home, and with him! Impossible!And William Henshaw peered at the letter as if, at this second reading, its message could not be so monstrous. 

"Well, old man, what's up?" It was Bertram's amazed voice from the halldoorway; and indeed, William Henshaw, red-faced and plainly trembling, seated on the lowest step of the stairway, and gazing, wild-eyed, at theletter in his hand, was somewhat of an amazing sight. "What IS up?"

"What's up!" groaned William, starting to his feet, and waving theletter frantically in the air. "What's up! Young man, do you want us totake in a child to board?--a CHILD?" he repeated in slow horror. 

"Well, hardly, " laughed the other. "Er, perhaps Cyril might like it, though; eh?"

"Come, come, Bertram, be sensible for once, " pleaded his brother, nervously. "This is serious, really serious, I tell you!"

"What is serious?" demanded Cyril, coming down the stairway. "Can't itwait? Pete has already sounded the gong twice for dinner. "

William made a despairing gesture. 

"Well, come, " he groaned. "I'll tell you at the table. .. . It seems I'vegot a namesake, " he resumed in a shaking voice, a few moments later;"Walter Neilson's child. "

"And who's Walter Neilson?" asked Bertram. 

"A boyhood friend. You wouldn't remember him. This letter is from hischild. "

"Well, let's hear it. Go ahead. I fancy we can stand the--LETTER; eh, Cyril?"

Cyril frowned. Cyril did not know, perhaps, how often he frowned atBertram. 

The eldest brother wet his lips. His hand shook as he picked up theletter. 

"It--it's so absurd, " he muttered. Then he cleared his throat and readthe letter aloud. 

"DEAR UNCLE WILLIAM: Do you mind my calling you that? You see I wantSOME one, and there isn't any one now. You are the nearest I've got. Maybe you've forgotten, but I'm named for you. Walter Neilson was myfather, you know. My Aunt Ella has just died. 

"Would you mind very much if I came to live with you? That is, betweentimes--I'm going to college, of course, and after that I'm going tobe--well, I haven't decided that part yet. I think I'll consult you. Youmay have some preference, you know. You can be thinking it up until Icome. 

"There! Maybe I ought not to have said that, for perhaps you won't wantme to come. I AM noisy, I'll own, but not so I think you'll mind it muchunless some of you have 'nerves' or a 'heart. ' You see, Miss Letty andMiss Ann--they're Mr. Harding's sisters, and Mr. Harding is our lawyer, and he will write to you. Well, where was I? Oh, I know--on Miss Letty'snerves. And, say, do you know, that is where I do get--on Miss Letty'snerves. I do, truly. You see, Mr. Harding very kindly suggested thatI live with them, but, mercy! Miss Letty's nerves won't let you walkexcept on tiptoe, and Miss Ann's heart won't let you speak except inwhispers. All the chairs and tables have worn little sockets in thecarpets, and it's a crime to move them. There isn't a window-shade inthe house that isn't pulled down EXACTLY to the middle sash, exceptwhere the sun shines, and those are pulled way down. Imagine me andSpunk living there! Oh, by the way, you don't mind my bringing Spunk, do you? I hope you don't, for I couldn't live without Spunk, and hecouldn't live with out me. 

"Please let me hear from you very soon. I don't mind if you telegraph;and just 'come' would be all you'd have to say. Then I'd get ready rightaway and let you know what train to meet me on. And, oh, say--if you'llwear a pink in your buttonhole I will, too. Then we'll know each other. My address is just 'Hampden Falls. '

"Your awfully homesick namesake, "BILLY HENSHAW NEILSON"

For one long minute there was a blank silence about the Henshawdinner-table; then the eldest brother, looking anxiously from one man tothe other, stammered:

"W-well?"

"Great Scott!" breathed Bertram. 

Cyril said nothing, but his lips were white with their tense pressureagainst each other. 

There was another pause, and again William broke it anxiously. 

"Boys, this isn't helping me out any! What's to be done?"

"'Done'!" flamed Cyril. "Surely, you aren't thinking for a moment ofLETTING that child come here, William!"

Bertram chuckled. 

"He WOULD liven things up, Cyril; wouldn't he? Such nice smooth floorsyou've got up-stairs to trundle little tin carts across!"

"Tin nonsense!" retorted Cyril. "Don't be silly, Bertram. That letterwasn't written by a baby. He'd be much more likely to make himself athome with your paint box, or with some of William's junk. "

"Oh, I say, " expostulated William, "we'll HAVE to keep him out of thosethings, you know. "

Cyril pushed back his chair from the table. 

"'We'll have to keep him out'! William, you can't be in earnest! Youaren't going to let that boy come here, " he cried. 

"But what can I do?" faltered the man. 

"Do? Say 'no, ' of course. As if we wanted a boy to bring up!"

"But I must do something. I--I'm all he's got. He says so. "

"Good heavens! Well, send him to boarding-school, then, or to thepenitentiary; anywhere but here!"

"Shucks! Let the kid come, " laughed Bertram. "Poor little homesickdevil! What's the use? I'll take him in. How old is he, anyhow?"

William frowned, and mused aloud slowly. 

"Why, I don't know. He must be--er--why, boys, he's no child, " broke offthe man suddenly. "Walter himself died seventeen or eighteen years ago, not more than a year or two after he was married. That child must besomewhere around eighteen years old!"

"And only think how Cyril WAS worrying about those tin carts, " laughedBertram. "Never mind--eight or eighteen--let him come. If he's that age, he won't bother much. "

"And this--er--'Spunk'; do you take him, too? But probably he doesn'tbother, either, " murmured Cyril, with smooth sarcasm. 

"Gorry! I forgot Spunk, " acknowledged Bertram. "Say, what in time isSpunk, do you suppose?"

"Dog, maybe, " suggested William. 

"Well, whatever he is, you will kindly keep Spunk down-stairs, " saidCyril with decision. "The boy, I suppose I shall have to endure; but thedog--!"

"Hm-m; well, judging by his name, " murmured Bertram, apologetically, "itmay be just possible that Spunk won't be easily controlled. But maybe heisn't a dog, anyhow. He--er--sounds something like a parrot to me. "

Cyril rose to his feet abruptly. He had eaten almost no dinner. 

"Very well, " he said coldly. "But please remember that I hold youresponsible, Bertram. Whether it's a dog, or a parrot, or--or a monkey, I shall expect you to keep Spunk down-stairs. This adopting into thefamily an unknown boy seems to me very absurd from beginning to end. But if you and William will have it so, of course I've nothing to say. Fortunately my rooms are at the TOP of the house, " he finished, as heturned and left the dining-room. 

For a moment there was silence. The brows of the younger man wereuplifted quizzically. 

"I'm afraid Cyril is bothered, " murmured William then, in a troubledvoice. 

Bertram's face changed. Stern lines came to his boyish mouth. 

"He is always bothered--with anything, lately. "

The elder man sighed. 

"I know, but with his talent--"

"'Talent'! Great Scott!" cut in Bertram. "Half the world has talent ofone sort or another; but that doesn't necessarily make them unableto live with any one else! Really, Will, it's becoming serious--aboutCyril. He's getting to be, for all the world, like those finicky oldmaids that that young namesake of yours wrote about. He'll make uswhisper and walk on tiptoe yet!"

The other smiled. 

"Don't you worry. You aren't in any danger of being kept too quiet, young man. "

"No thanks to Cyril, then, " retorted Bertram. "Anyhow, that's onereason why I was for taking the kid--to mellow up Cyril. He needs it allright. "

"But I had to take him, Bert, " argued the elder brother, his facegrowing anxious again. "But Heaven only knows what I'm going to do withhim when I get him. What shall I say to him, anyway? How shall I write?I don't know how to get up a letter of that sort!"

"Why not take him at his word and telegraph? I fancy you won't have tosay 'come' but once before you see him. He doesn't seem to be a bashfulyouth. "

"Hm-m; I might do that, " acquiesced William, slowly. "But wasn't theresomebody--a lawyer--going to write to me?" he finished, consulting theletter by his plate. "Yes, " he added, after a moment, "a Mr. Harding. Wonder if he's any relation to Ned Harding. I used to know Ned atHarvard, and seems as if he came from Hampden Falls. We'll soon see, atall events. Maybe I'll hear to-morrow. "

"I shouldn't wonder, " nodded Bertram, as he rose from the table. "Anyhow, I wouldn't do anything till I did hear. "

CHAPTER IV

BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM

James Harding's letter very promptly followed Billy's, though it wasnot like Billy's at all. It told something of Billy's property, andmentioned that, according to Mrs. Neilson's will, Billy would notcome into control of her fortune until the age of twenty-one years wasreached. It dwelt at some length upon the fact of Billy's loneliness inthe world, and expressed the hope that her father's friend could find itin his heart to welcome the orphan into his home. It mentioned Ned, andthe old college friendship, and it closed by saying that the writer, James Harding, was glad to renew his acquaintance with the good oldHenshaw family that he had known long years ago; and that he hoped soonto hear from William Henshaw himself. 

It was a good letter--but it was not well written. James Harding'shandwriting was not distinguished for its legibility, and hiscorrespondents rejoiced that the most of his letters were dictated tohis stenographer. In this case, however, he had elected to use the morepersonal pen; and it was because of this that William Henshaw, evenafter reading the letter, was still unaware of his mistake in supposinghis namesake, Billy, to be a boy. 

In the main the lawyer had referred to Billy by name, or as "theorphan, " or as that "poor, lonely child. " And whenever the moredistinctive feminine "her" or "herself" had occurred, the carelesslyformed letters had made them so much like "his" and "himself" that theycarried no hint of the truth to a man who had not the slightest reasonfor thinking himself in the wrong. It was therefore still for the "boy, "Billy, that William Henshaw at once set about making a place in thehome. 

First he telegraphed the single word "Come" to Billy. 

"I'll set the poor lad's heart at rest, " he said to Bertram. "I shallanswer Harding's letter more at length, of course. Naturally he wants toknow something about me now before he sends Billy along; but there is noneed for the boy to wait before he knows that I'll take him. Of coursehe won't come yet, till Harding hears from me. "

It was just here, however, that William Henshaw met with a surprise, forwithin twenty-four hours came Billy's answer, and by telegraph. 

"I'm coming to-morrow. Train due at five P. M. 

"BILLY. "

William Henshaw did not know that in Hampden Falls Billy's trunk hadbeen packed for days. Billy was desperate. The house, even with themaid, and with the obliging neighbor and his wife who stayed therenights, was to Billy nothing but a dismal tomb. Lawyer Harding hadfallen suddenly ill; she could not even tell him that the blessedtelegram "Come" had arrived. Hence Billy, lonely, impulsive, and alwaysused to pleasing herself, had taken matters in hand with a confidentgrasp, and had determined to wait no longer. 

That it was a fearsomely unknown future to which she was so jauntilypledging herself did not trouble the girl in the least. Billy wasromantic. To sally gaily forth with a pink in the buttonhole of hercoat to find her father's friend who was a "Billy" too, seemed to BillyNeilson not only delightful, but eminently sensible, and an excellentway out of her present homesick loneliness. So she bought the pink andher ticket, and impatiently awaited the time to start. 

To the Beacon Street house, Billy's cheerful telegram brought the direstconsternation. Even Kate was hastily summoned to the family conclavethat immediately resulted. 

"There's nothing--simply nothing that I can do, " she declared irritably, when she had heard the story. "Surely, you don't expect ME to take theboy!"

"No, no, of course not, " sighed William. "But you see, I supposed I'dhave time to--to get used to things, and to make arrangements; and thisis so--so sudden! I hadn't even answered Harding's letter until to-day;and he hasn't got that--much less replied to it. "

"But what could you expect after sending that idiotic telegram?"demanded the lady. "'Come, ' indeed!"

"But that's what Billy told me to do. "

"What if it was? Just because a foolish eighteen-year-old boy tellsyou to do something, must you, a supposedly sensible forty-year-old manobey?"

"I think it tickled Will's romantic streak, " laughed Bertram. "It seemedso sort of alluring to send that one word 'Come' out into space, andwatch what happened. "

"Well, he's found out, certainly, " observed Cyril, with grimsatisfaction. 

"Oh, no; it hasn't happened yet, " corrected Bertram, cheerfully. "It'sjust going to happen. William's got to put on the pink first, you know. That's the talisman. "

William reddened. 

"Bertram, don't be foolish. I sha'n't wear any pink. You must knowthat. "

"How'll you find him, then?"

"Why, he'll have one on; that's enough, " settled William. 

"Hm-m; maybe. Then he'll have Spunk, too, " murmured Bertram, mischievously. 

"Spunk!" cried Kate. 

"Yes. He wrote that he hoped we wouldn't mind his bringing Spunk withhim. "

"Who's Spunk?

"We don't know. " Bertram's lips twitched. 

"You don't know! What do you mean?"

"Well, Will thinks it's a dog, and I believe Cyril is anticipating amonkey. I myself am backing it for a parrot. "

"Boys, what have you done!" groaned Kate, falling back in her chair. "What have you done!"

To William her words were like an electric shock stirring him to instantaction. He sprang abruptly to his feet. 

"Well, whatever we've done, we've done it, " he declared sternly;"and now we must do the rest--and do it well, too. He's the son of myboyhood's dearest friend, and he shall be made welcome. Now to business!Bertram, you said you'd take him in. Did you mean it?"

Bertram sobered instantly, and came erect in his chair. William did notoften speak like this; but when he did--

"Yes, Will. He shall have the little bedroom at the end of the hall. Inever used the room much, anyhow, and what few duds I have there shallbe cleared out to-morrow. "

"Good! Now there are some other little details to arrange, then I'llgo down-stairs and tell Pete and Dong Ling. And, please to understand, we're going to make this lad welcome--welcome, I say!"

"Yes, sir, " said Bertram. Neither Kate nor Cyril spoke. 

CHAPTER V

GETTING READY FOR BILLY

The Henshaw household was early astir on the day of Billy's expectedarrival, and preparations for the guest's comfort were well under waybefore breakfast. The center of activity was in the little room at theend of the hall on the second floor; though, as Bertram said, the wholeStrata felt the "upheaval. "

By breakfast time Bertram with the avowed intention of giving "thelittle chap half a show, " had the room cleared for action; and afterthat the whole house was called upon for contributions toward the room'sadornment. And most generously did most of the house respond. Even DongLing slippered up-stairs and presented a weird Chinese banner whichhe said he was "velly much glad" to give. As to Pete--Pete was in hiselement. Pete loved boys. Had he not served them nearly all his life?Incidentally it may be mentioned that he did not care for girls. 

Only Cyril held himself aloof. But that he was not oblivious of theproceedings below him was evidenced by the somber bass that floated downfrom his piano strings. Cyril always played according to the mood thatwas on him; and when Bertram heard this morning the rhythmic beats ofmournfulness, he chuckled and said to William:

"That's Chopin's Funeral March. Evidently Cy thinks this is the deathknell to all his hopes of future peace and happiness. "

"Dear me! I wish Cyril would take some interest, " grieved William. 

"Oh, he takes interest all right, " laughed Bertram, meaningly. "He takesINTEREST!"

"I know, but--Bertram, " broke off the elder man, anxiously, from hisperch on the stepladder, "would you put the rifle over this window, orthe fishing-rod?"

"Why, I don't think it makes much difference, so long as they'resomewhere, " answered Bertram. "And there are these Indian clubs and theswords to be disposed of, you know. "

"Yes; and it's going to look fine; don't you think?" exulted William. "And you know for the wall-space between the windows I'm going to bringdown that case of mine, of spiders. "

Bertram raised his hands in mock surprise. 

"Here--down here! You're going to trust any of those precious treasuresof yours down here!"

William frowned. 

"Nonsense, Bertram, don't be silly! They'll be safe enough. Besides, they're old, anyhow. I was on spiders years ago--when I was Billy's age, in fact. I thought he'd like them here. You know boys always like suchthings. "

"Oh, 'twasn't Billy I was worrying about, " retorted Bertram. "It wasyou--and the spiders. "

"Not much you worry about me--or anything else, " replied William, good-humoredly. "There! how does that look?" he finished, as hecarefully picked his way down the stepladder. 

"Fine!--er--only rather warlike, maybe, with the guns and that riotousconfusion of knives and scimitars over the chiffonier. But then, maybeyou're intending Billy for a soldier; eh?"

"Do you know? I AM getting interested in that boy, " beamed William, withsome excitement. "What kind of things do you suppose he does like?"

"There's no telling. Maybe he's a sissy chap, and will howl at your gunsand spiders. Perhaps he'll prefer autumn leaves and worsted mottoes fordecoration. "

"Not much he will, " contested the other. "No son of Walter Neilson'scould be a sissy. Neilson was the best half-back in ten years atHarvard, and he was always in for everything going that was worth while. 'Autumn leaves and worsted mottoes' indeed! Bah!"

"All right; but there's still a dark horse in the case, you know. Wemustn't forget--Spunk. "

The elder man stirred uneasily. 

"Bert, what do you suppose that creature is? You don't think Cyril canbe right, and that it's a--monkey?"

"'You never can tell, '" quoted Bertram, merrily. "Of course there AREother things. If it were you, now, we'd only have to hunt up the specialthing you happened to be collecting at the time, and that would be it: asnake, a lizard, a toad, or maybe a butterfly. You know you were alwayslugging those things home when you were his age. "

"Yes, I know, " sighed William. "But I can't think it's anything likethat, " he finished, as he turned away. 

There was very little done in the Beacon Street house that day but to"get ready for Billy. " In the kitchen Dong Ling cooked. Everywhere else, except in Cyril's domain, Pete dusted and swept and "puttered" to hisheart's content. William did not go to the office at all that day, andBertram did not touch his brushes. Only Cyril attended to his usualwork: practising for a coming concert, and correcting the proofs of hisnew book, "Music in Russia. "

At ten minutes before five William, anxious-eyed and nervous, foundhimself at the North Station. Then, and not till then, did he draw along breath of relief. 

"There! I think everything's ready, " he sighed to himself. "At last!"

He wore no pink in his buttonhole. There was no need that he shouldaccede to that silly request, he told himself. He had only to look fora youth of perhaps eighteen years, who would be alone, a littlefrightened, possibly, and who would have a pink in his buttonhole, andprobably a dog on a leash. 

As he waited, the man was conscious of a curious warmth at his heart. It was his namesake, Walter Neilson's boy, that he had come to meet; ahomesick, lonely orphan who had appealed to him--to him, out of all theworld. Long years ago in his own arms there had been laid a tiny bundleof flannel holding a precious little red, puckered face. But in amonth's time the little face had turned cold and waxen, and the hopesthat the white flannel bundle had carried had died with the babyboy;--and that baby would have been a lad grown by this time, if he hadlived--a lad not far from the age of this Billy who was coming to-day, reflected the man. And the warmth in his heart deepened and glowed themore as he stood waiting at the gate for Billy to arrive. 

The train from Hampden Falls was late. Not until quite fifteen minutespast five did it roll into the train-shed. Then at once its long line ofpassengers began to sweep toward the iron gate. 

William was just inside the gate now, anxiously scanning every face andform that passed. There were many half-grown lads, but there was not onewith a pink in his buttonhole until very near the end. Then William sawhim--a pleasant-faced, blue-eyed boy in a neat gray suit. With a low cryWilliam started forward; but he saw at once that the gray-clad youth wasunmistakably one of a merry family party. He looked to be anything but alad that was lonely and forlorn. 

William hesitated and fell back. This debonair, self-reliant fellowcould not be Billy! But as a hasty glance down the line revealed onlyhalf a dozen straggling women, and beyond them, no one, William decidedthat it must be Billy; and taking brave hold of his courage, he hurriedafter the blue-eyed youth and tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Er--aren't you Billy?" he stammered. 

The lad stopped and stared. He shook his head slowly. 

"No, sir, " he said. 

"But you must be! Are you sure?"

The boy laughed this time. 

"Sorry, sir, but my name is 'Frank'; isn't it, mother?" he addedmerrily, turning to the lady at his side, who was regarding William veryunfavorably through a pair of gold-bowed spectacles. 

William did not wait for more. With a stammered apology and a flusteredlifting of his hat he backed away. 

But where was Billy?

William looked about him in helpless dismay. All around was a wide, empty space. The long aisle to the Hampden Falls train was desertedsave for the baggage-men loading the trunks and bags on to their trucks. Nowhere was there any one who seemed forlorn or ill at ease except apretty girl with a suit-case, and with a covered basket on her arm, whostood just outside the gate, gazing a little nervously about her. 

William looked twice at this girl. First, because the splash of coloragainst her brown coat had called his attention to the fact that she waswearing a pink; and secondly because she was very pretty, and her darkeyes carried a peculiarly wistful appeal. 

"Too bad Bertram isn't here, " thought William. "He'd be sketching thatface in no time on his cuff. "

The pink had given William almost a pang. He had been so longing to seea pink--though in a different place. He wondered sympathetically if she, too, had come to meet some one who had not appeared. He noticed that shewalked away from the gate once or twice, toward the waiting-room, andpeered anxiously through the glass doors; but always she came back tothe gate as if fearful to be long away from that place. He forgot allabout her very soon, for her movements had given him a sudden idea:perhaps Billy was in the waiting-room. How stupid of him not to think ofit before! Doubtless they had missed each other in the crowd, and Billyhad gone straight to the waiting-room to look for him. And with thisthought William hurried away at once, leaving the girl still standing bythe gate alone. 

He looked everywhere. Systematically he paced up and down between thelong rows of seats, looking for a boy with a pink. He even went out uponthe street, and gazed anxiously in all directions. It occurred to himafter a time that possibly Billy, like himself, had changed his mind atthe last moment, and not worn the pink. Perhaps he had forgotten it, orlost it, or even not been able to get it at all. Very bitterly Williamblamed himself then for disregarding his own part of the suggestedplan. If only he had worn the pink himself!--but he had not; and itwas useless to repine. In the meantime, where was Billy, he wonderedfrantically. 

CHAPTER VI

THE COMING OF BILLY

After another long search William came back to the train-shed, vaguelyhoping that Billy might even then be there. The girl was still standingalone by the gate. There was another train on the track now, andthe rush of many feet had swept her a little to one side. She lookedfrightened now, and almost ready to cry. Still, William noticed thather chin was lifted bravely, and that she was making a stern effort atself-control. He hesitated a moment, then went straight toward her. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said kindly, lifting his hat, "but I notice thatyou have been waiting here some time. Perhaps there is something I cando for you. "

A rosy color swept to the girl's face. Her eyes lost their frightenedappeal, and smiled frankly into his. 

"Oh, thank you, sir! There IS something you can do for me, if you willbe so kind. You see, I can't leave this place, I'm so afraid he'llcome and I'll miss him. But--I think there's some mistake. Could youtelephone for me?" Billy Neilson was country-bred, and in Hampden Fallsall men served all other men and women, whether they were strangers ornot; so to Billy this was not an extraordinary request to make, in theleast. 

William Henshaw smiled. 

"Certainly; I shall be very glad to telephone for you. Just tell me whomyou want, and what you want to say. "

"Thank you. If you'll call up Mr. William Henshaw, then, of BeaconStreet, please, and tell him Billy's come. I'll wait here. "

"Oh, then Billy did come!" cried the man in glad surprise, his facealight. "But where is he? Do YOU know Billy?"

"I should say I did, " laughed Billy, with the lightness of a long-lostchild who has found a friend. "Why, I am Billy, myself!"

To William Henshaw the world swam dizzily, and went suddenly mad. The floor rose, and the roof fell, while cars and people performedimpossible acrobatic feats above, below, and around him. Then, from afaroff, he heard his own voice stammer:

"You--are--B-Billy!"

"Yes; and I'll wait here, if you'll just tell him, please. He'sexpecting me, you know, so it's all right, only perhaps he made amistake in the time. Maybe you know him, anyhow. "

With one mighty effort William Henshaw pulled himself sharply together. He even laughed, and tossed his head in a valiant imitation of Billyherself; but his voice shook. 

"Know him!--I should say I did!" he cried. "Why, I am William Henshaw, myself. "

"You!--Uncle William! Why, where's your pink?"

The man's face was already so red it could not get any redder--but ittried to do so. 

"Why, er--I--it--er--if you'll just come into the waiting-room a minute, my dear, " he stuttered miserably, "I--I'll explain--about that. I shallhave to leave you--for a minute, " he plunged on frenziedly, as he ledthe way to a seat; "A--matter of business that I must attend to. I'llbe--right back. Wait here, please!" And he almost pushed the girl into aseat and hurried away. 

At a safe distance William Henshaw turned and looked back. His kneeswere shaking, and his fingers had grown cold at their tips. He could seeher plainly, as she bent over the basket in her lap. He could see eventhe pretty curve of her cheek, and of her slender throat when she liftedher head. 

And that was Billy--a GIRL!

People near him at that moment saw a flushed-faced, nervous-appearingman throw up his hands with a despairing gesture, roll his eyesheavenward, and then plunge into the nearest telephone booth. 

In due time William Henshaw had his brother Bertram at the other end ofthe wire. 

"Bertram!" he called shakily. 

"Hullo, Will; that you? What's the matter? You're late! Didn't he come?"

"Come!" groaned William. "Good Lord! Bertram--Billy's a GIRL!"

"A wh-what?"

"A girl. "

"A GIRL!"

"Yes, yes! Don't stand there repeating what I say in that idioticfashion, Bertram. Do something--do something!"

"'Do something'!" gasped Bertram. "Great Scott, Will! If you want me todo something, don't knock me silly with a blow like that. Now what didyou say?"

"I said that Billy is--a--girl. Can't you get that?" demanded William, despairingly. 

"Well, by Jove!" breathed Bertram. 

"Come, come, think! What shall we do?"

"Why, bring her home, of course. "

"Home--home!" chattered William. "Do you think we five men can bring upa distractingly pretty eighteen-year-old girl with curly cheeks and pinkhair?"

"With wha-at?"

"No, no. I mean curly hair and pink cheeks. Bertram, do be sensible, "begged the man. "This is serious!"

"Serious! I should say it was! Only fancy what Cy will say! A girl! Holysmoke! Tote her along--I want to see her!"

"But I say we can't keep her there with us, Bertram. Don't you see wecan't?"

"Then take her to Kate's, or to--to one of those Young Women's ChristianUnion things. "

"No, no, I can't do that. That's impossible. Don't you understand? She'sexpecting to go home with me--HOME! I'm her Uncle William. "

"Lucky Uncle William!"

"Be still, Bertram!"

"Well, doesn't she know your--mistake?--that you thought she was a boy?"

"Heaven forbid!--I hope not, " cried the man, fervently. "I 'most let itout once, but I think she didn't notice it. You see, we--we were bothsurprised. "

"Well, I should say!"

"And, Bertram, I can't turn her out--I can't, I tell you. Only fancy mygoing to her now and saying: 'If you please, Billy, you can't live atmy house, after all. I thought you were a boy, you know!' Great Scott!Bert, if she'd once turned those big brown eyes of hers on you as shehas on me, you'd see!"

"I'd be delighted, I'm sure, " sung a merry voice across the wires. "Sounds real interesting!"

"Bertram, can't you be serious and help me out?"

"But what CAN we do?"

"I don't know. We'll have to think; but for now, get Kate. Telephoneher. Tell her to come right straight over, and that she's got to stayall night. "

"All night!"

"Of course! Billy's got to have a chaperon; hasn't she? Now hurry. Weshall be up right away. "

"Kate's got company. "

"Never mind--leave 'em. Tell her she's got to leave 'em. And tell Cyril, of course, what to expect. And, look a-here, you two behave, now. Noneof your nonsense! Now mind. I'm not going to have this child tormented. "

"I won't bat an eyelid--on my word, I won't, " chuckled Bertram. "But, oh, I say, --Will!"

"Yes. "

"What's Spunk?"

"Eh?--oh--Great Scott! I forgot Spunk. I don't know. She's got a basket. He's in that, I suppose. Anyhow, he can't be any more of a bombshellthan his mistress was. Now be quick, and none of your fooling, Bertram. Tell them all--Pete and Dong Ling. Don't forget. I wouldn't have Billyfind out for the world! Fix it up with Kate. You'll have to fix it upwith her; that's all!" And there came the sharp click of the receiveragainst the hook. 

CHAPTER VII

INTRODUCING SPUNK

In the soft April twilight Cyril was playing a dreamy waltz when Bertramknocked, and pushed open the door. 

"Say, old chap, you'll have to quit your mooning this time and sit upand take notice. "

"What do you mean?" Cyril stopped playing and turned abruptly. 

"I mean that Will has gone crazy, and I think the rest of us are goingto follow suit. "

Cyril shrugged his shoulders and whirled about on the piano stool. In amoment his fingers had slid once more into the dreamy waltz. 

"When you get ready to talk sense, I'll listen, " he said coldly. 

"Oh, very well; if you really want it broken gently, it's this: Will hasmet Billy, and Billy is a girl. They're due here now 'most any time. "

The music stopped with a crash. 

"A--GIRL!"

"Yes, a girl. Oh, I've been all through that, and I know how you feel. But as near as I can make out, it's really so. I've had instructions totell everybody, and I've told. I got Kate on the telephone, and she'scoming over. You KNOW what SHE'LL be. Dong Ling is having what I supposeare Chinese hysterics in the kitchen; and Pete is swinging back andforth like a pendulum in the dining-room, moaning 'Good Lord, deliverus!' at every breath. I would suggest that you follow me down-stairs sothat we may be decently ready for--whatever comes. " And he turned aboutand stalked out of the room, followed by Cyril, who was too stunned toopen his lips. 

Kate came first. She was not stunned. She had a great deal to say. 

"Really, this is a little the most absurd thing I ever heard of, " shefumed. "What in the world does your brother mean?"

That she quite ignored her own relationship to the culprit was not loston Bertram. He made instant response. 

"As near as I can make out, " he replied smoothly, "YOUR brother hasfallen under the sway of a pair of great dark eyes, two pink cheeks, andan unknown quantity of curly hair, all of which in its entirety is hisnamesake, is lonesome, and is in need of a home. "

"But she can't live--here!"

"Will says she shall. "

"But that is utter nonsense, " cut in Cyril. 

"For once I agree with you, Cyril, " laughed Bertram; "but Williamdoesn't. "

"But how can she do it?" demanded Kate. 

"Don't know, " answered Bertram. "He's established a petticoat proprietyin you for a few hours, at least. Meanwhile, he's going to think. Atleast, he says he is, and that we've got to help him. "

"Humph!" snapped Kate. "Well, I can prophesy we sha'n't think alike--soyou'd notice it!"

"I know that, " nodded Bertram; "and I'm with you and Cyril on this. Thewhole thing is absurd. The idea of thrusting a silly, eighteen-year-oldgirl here into our lives in this fashion! But you know what Will is whenhe's really roused. You might as well try to move a nice good-naturedmountain by saying 'please, ' as to try to stir him under certaincircumstances. Most of the time, I'll own, we can twist him around ourlittle fingers. But not now. You'll see. In the first place, she's thedaughter of his dead friend, and she DID write a pathetic little letter. It got to the inside of me, anyhow, when I thought she was a boy. "

"A boy! Who wouldn't think she was a boy?" interposed Cyril. "'Billy, 'indeed! Can you tell me what for any sane man should have named a girl'Billy'?"

"For William, your brother, evidently, " retorted Bertram, dryly. "Anyhow, he did it, and of course our mistake was a very natural one. The dickens of it is now that we've got to keep it from her, so Willsays; and how--hush! here they are, " he broke off, as there came thesound of wheels stopping before the house. 

There followed the click of a key in the lock and the opening of a heavydoor; then, full in the glare of the electric lights stood a plainlynervous man, and a girl with startled, appealing eyes. 

"My dear, " stammered William, "this is my sister, Kate, Mrs. Hartwell;and here are Cyril and Bertram, whom I've told you of. And of course Idon't need to say to them that you are Billy. "

It was over. William drew a long breath, and gave an agonized look intohis brothers' eyes. Then Billy turned from Mrs. Hartwell and held out acordial hand to each of the men in turn. 

"Oh, you don't know how lovely this is--to me, " she cried softly. "Andto think that you were willing I should come!" The two younger mencaught their breath sharply, and tried not to see each other's eyes. "You look so good--all of you; and I don't believe there's one of youthat's got nerves or a heart, " she laughed. 

Bertram rallied his wits to respond to the challenge. 

"No heart, Miss Billy? Now isn't that just a bit hard on us--right atfirst?"

"Not a mite, if you take it the way I mean it, " dimpled Billy. "Heartsthat are all right just keep on pumping, and you never know they arethere. They aren't worth mentioning. It's the other kind--the kind thatflutters at the least noise and jumps at the least bang! And I don'tbelieve any of you mind noises and bangs, " she finished merrily, as shehanded her hat and coat to Mrs. Hartwell, who was waiting to receivethem. 

Bertram laughed. Cyril scowled, and occupied himself in finding a chair. William had already dropped himself wearily on to the sofa near hissister. Billy still continued to talk. 

"Now when Spunk and I get to training--oh, and you haven't seen Spunk!"she interrupted herself suddenly. "Why, the introductions aren't halfover. Where is he, Uncle William--the basket?"

"I--I put it in--in the hall, " mumbled William, starting to rise. 

"No, no; I'll get him, " cried Billy, hurrying from the room. Shereturned in a moment, the green covered basket in her hand. "He's beenasleep, I guess. He's slept 'most all the way down, anyhow. He's so usedto being toted 'round in this basket that he doesn't mind it a bit. Itake him everywhere in it at the Falls. "

There was an electric pause. Four pairs of startled, questioning, fearful eyes were on the basket while Billy fumbled at the knot of thestring. The next moment, with a triumphant flourish, Billy lifted fromthe basket and placed on the floor a very small gray kitten with a verylarge pink bow. 

"There, ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Spunk. "

The tiny creature winked and blinked, and balanced for a moment onsleepy legs; then at the uncontrollable shout that burst from Bertram'sthroat, he faced the man, humped his tiny back, bristled his diminutivetail to almost unbelievable fluffiness, and spit wrathfully. 

"And so that is Spunk!" choked Bertram. 

"Yes, " said Billy. "This is Spunk. "

CHAPTER VIII

THE ROOM--AND BILLY

For the first fifteen minutes after Billy's arrival conversation was afitful thing made up mostly of a merry monologue on the part of Billyherself, interspersed with somewhat dazed replies from one after anotherof her auditors as she talked to them in turn. No one thought to ask ifshe cared to go up to her room, and during the entire fifteen minutesBilly sat on the floor with Spunk in her lap. She was still there whenthe funereal face of Pete appeared in the doorway. Pete's jaw dropped. It was plain that only the sternest self-control enabled him to announcedinner, with anything like dignity. But he managed to stammer out thewords, and then turn loftily away. Bertram, who sat near the door, however, saw him raise his hands in horror as he plunged through thehall and down the stairway. 

With a motion to Bertram to lead the way with Billy, William frenziedlygripped his sister's arm, and hissed in her ear for all the world like avillain in melodrama:

"Listen! You'll sleep in Bert's room to-night, and Bert will comeup-stairs with me. Get Billy to bed as soon as you can after dinner, and then come back down to us. We've got to plan what's got to be done. Sh-h!" And he dragged his sister downstairs. 

In the dining-room there was a slight commotion. Billy stood at herchair with Spunk in her arms. Before her Pete was standing, dumblystaring into her eyes. At last he stammered:

"Ma'am?"

"A chair, please, I said, for Spunk, you know. Spunk always sits at thetable right next to me. "

It was too much for Bertram. He fled chokingly to the hall. Williamdropped weakly into his own place. Cyril stared as had Pete; but Mrs. Hartwell spoke. 

"You don't mean--that that cat--has a chair--at the table!" she gasped. 

"Yes; and isn't it cute of him?" beamed Billy, entirely misconstruingthe surprise in the lady's voice. "His mother always sat at table withus, and behaved beautifully, too. Of course Spunk is little, and makesmistakes sometimes. But he'll learn. Oh, there's a chair right here, "she added, as she spied Bertram's childhood's high-chair, which for longyears had stood unused in the corner. "I'll just squeeze it right inhere, " she finished gleefully, making room for the chair at her side. 

When Bertram, a little red of face, but very grave, entered, thedining-room a moment later, he found the family seated with Spunk snuglyplaced between Billy and a plainly disgusted and dismayed brother, Cyril. The kitten was alert and interested; but he had settled back inhis chair, and was looking as absurdly dignified as the flaring pink bowwould let him. 

"Isn't he a dear?" Billy was saying. But Bertram noticed that there wasno reply to this question. 

It was a peculiar dinner-party. Only Billy did not feel the strain. EvenSpunk was not entirely happy--his efforts to investigate the tableand its contents were too frequently curbed by his mistress for hisunalloyed satisfaction. William, it is true, made a valiant attempt tocause the conversation to be general; but he failed dismally. Katewas sternly silent, while Cyril was openly repellent. Bertram talked, indeed--but Bertram always talked; and very soon he and Billy had thingspretty much to themselves--that is, with occasional interruptions causedby Spunk. Spunk had an inquisitive nose or paw for each new dish placedbefore his mistress; and Billy spent much time admonishing him. Billysaid she was training him; that it was wonderful what training would do, and, of course, Spunk WAS little, now. 

Dinner was half over when there was a slight diversion created bySpunk's conclusion to get acquainted with the silent man at his left. Cyril, however, did not respond to Spunk's advances. So very evident, indeed, was the man's aversion that Billy turned in amazement. 

"Why, Mr. Cyril, don't you see? Spunk is trying to say 'How do you do'?"

"Very likely; but I'm not fond of cats, Miss Billy. "

"You're not fond--of--cats!" repeated the girl, as if she could not haveheard aright. "Why not?"

Cyril changed his position. 

"Why, just because I--I'm not, " he retorted lamely. "Isn't thereanything that--that you don't like?"

Billy considered. 

"Why, not that I know of, " she began, after a moment, "only rainy daysand--tripe. And Spunk isn't a bit like those. "

Bertram chuckled, and even Cyril smiled--though unwillingly. 

"All the same, " he reiterated, "I don't like cats. "

"Oh, I'm so sorry, " lamented Billy; and at the grieved hurt in her darkeyes Bertram came promptly to the rescue. 

"Never mind, Miss Billy. Cyril is only ONE of us, and there is all therest of the Strata besides. "

"The--what?"

"The Strata. You don't know, of course, but listen, and I'll tell you. "And he launched gaily forth into his favorite story. 

Billy was duly amused and interested. She laughed and clapped her hands, and when the story was done she clapped them again. 

"Oh, what a funny house! And how perfectly lovely that I'm going tolive in it, " she cried. Then straight at Mrs. Hartwell she hurled abombshell. "But where is your stratum?" she demanded. "Mr. Bertramdidn't mention a thing about you!"

Cyril said a sharp word under his breath. Bertram choked over a cough. Kate threw into William's eyes a look that was at once angry, accusing, and despairing. Then William spoke. 

"Er--she--it isn't anywhere, my dear, " he stammered; "or rather, itisn't here. Kate lives up on the Avenue, you see, and is only herefor--for a day or two--just now. "

"Oh!" murmured Billy. And there was not one in the room at that momentwho did not bless Spunk--for Spunk suddenly leaped to the table beforehim; and in the ensuing confusion his mistress quite forgot to questionfurther concerning Mrs. Hartwell's stratum. 

Dinner over, the three men, with their sister and Billy, trailedup-stairs to the drawing-rooms. Billy told them, then, of her life atHampden Falls. She cried a little at the mention of Aunt Ella; and sheportrayed very vividly the lonely life from which she herself had sogladly escaped. She soon had every one laughing, even Cyril, over herstories of the lawyer's home that might have been hers, with its gloomand its hush and its socketed chairs. 

As soon as possible, however, Mrs. Hartwell, with a murmured "I know youmust be tired, Billy, " suggested that the girl go up-stairs to her room. "Come, " she added, "I will show you the way. "

There was some delay, even then, for Spunk had to be provided withsleeping quarters; and it was not without some hesitation that Billyfinally placed the kitten in the reluctant hands of Pete, who had beenhastily summoned. Then she turned and followed Mrs. Hartwell up-stairs. 

It seemed to the three men in the drawing-room that almost immediatelycame the piercing shriek, and the excited voice of their sister inexpostulation. Without waiting for more they leaped to the stairway andhurried up, two steps at a time. 

"For heaven's sake, Kate, what is it?" panted William, who had beenoutdistanced by his more agile brothers. 

Kate was on her feet, her face the picture of distressed amazement. Inthe low chair by the window Billy sat where she had flung herself, herhands over her face. Her shoulders were shaking, and from her throatcame choking little cries. 

"I don't know, " quavered Kate. "I haven't the least idea. She was allright till she got up-stairs here, and I turned on the lights. Then shegave one shriek and--you know all I know. "

William advanced hurriedly. 

"Billy, what is the matter? What are you crying for?" he demanded. 

Billy dropped her hands then, and they saw her face. She was not crying. She was laughing. She was laughing so she could scarcely speak. 

"Oh, you did, you did!" she gurgled. "I thought you did, and now Iknow!"

"Did what? What do you mean?" William's usually gentle voice was sharp. Even William's nerves were beginning to feel the strain of the last fewhours. 

"Thought I was a--b-boy!" choked Billy. "You called me 'he' once in thestation--I thought you did; but I wasn't sure--not till I saw this room. But now I know--I know!" And off she went into another hysterical galeof laughter--Billy's nerves, too, were beginning to respond to theexcitement of the last few hours. 

As to the three men and the woman, they stood silent, helpless, lookinginto each other's faces with despairing eyes. 

In a moment Billy was on her feet, fluttering about the room, touchingthis thing, looking at that. Nothing escaped her. 

"I'm to fish--and shoot--and fence!" she crowed. "And, oh!--look atthose knives! U-ugh!. .. And, my! what are these?" she cried, pouncingon the Indian clubs. "And look at the spiders! Dear, dear, I AM gladthey're dead, anyhow, " she shuddered with a nervous laugh that wasalmost a sob. 

Something in Billy's voice stirred Mrs. Hartwell to sudden action. 

"Come, come, this will never do, " she protested authoritatively, motioning her brothers to leave the room. "Billy is quite tired out, andneeds rest. She mustn't talk another bit to-night. "

"Of c-course not, " stammered William. And only too glad of an excuse towithdraw from a very embarrassing situation, the three men called back afaltering good-night, and precipitately fled down-stairs. 

CHAPTER IX

A FAMILY CONCLAVE

"Well, William, " greeted Kate, grimly, when she came into thedrawing-room, after putting her charge to bed, "have you had enough, now?"

"'Enough'! What do you mean?"

Kate raised her eyebrows. 

"Why, surely, you're not thinking NOW that you can keep this girl here;are you?"

"I don't know why not. "

"William!"

"Well, where shall she go? Will you take her?"

"I? Certainly not, " declared Kate, with decision. "I'm sure I see noreason why I should. "

"No more do I see why William should, either, " cut in Cyril. 

"Oh, come, what's the use, " interposed Bertram. "Let her stay. She's anice little thing, I'm sure. "

Cyril and Kate turned sharply. 

"Bertram!" The cry was a duet of angry amazement. Then Kate added: "Itseems that you, too, have come under the sway of dark eyes, pink cheeks, and an unknown quantity of curly hair!"

Bertram laughed. 

"Oh, well, she would be nice to--er--paint, " he murmured. 

"See here, children, " demurred William, a little sternly, "all this iswasting time. There is no way out of it. I wouldn't be seen turning thathomeless child away now. We must keep her; that's settled. The questionis, how shall it be done? We must have some woman friend here to be hercompanion, of course; but whom shall we get?"

Kate sighed, and looked her dismay. Bertram threw a glance into Cyril'seyes, and made an expressive gesture. 

"You see, " it seemed to say. "I told you how it would be!"

"Now whom shall we get?" questioned William again. "We must think. "

Unattached gentlewomen of suitable age and desirable temper did notprove to be so numerous among the Henshaws' acquaintances, however, asto make the selection of a chaperon very easy. Several were thought ofand suggested; but in each case the candidate was found to possessone or more characteristics that made the idea of her presence utterlyabhorrent to some one of the brothers. At last William expostulated:

"See here, boys, we aren't any nearer a settlement than we were in thefirst place. There isn't any woman, of course, who would exactly suitall of us; and so we shall just have to be willing to take some one whodoesn't. "

"The trouble is, " explained Bertram, airily, "we want some one who willbe invisible to every one except the world and Billy, and who will beinaudible always. "

"I don't know but you are right, " sighed William. "But suppose we settleon Aunt Hannah. She seems to be the least objectionable of the lot, and I think she'd come. She's alone in the world, and I believe thecomfortable roominess of this house would be very grateful to her afterthe inconvenience of her stuffy little room over at the Back Bay. "

"You bet it would!" murmured Bertram, feelingly; but William did notappear to hear him. 

"She's amiable, fairly sensible, and always a lady, " he went on; "andto-morrow morning I believe I'll run over and see if she can't comeright away. "

"And may I ask which--er--stratum she--they--will occupy?" smiledBertram. 

"You may ask, but I'm afraid you won't find out very soon, " retortedWilliam, dryly, "if we take as long to decide that matter as we have therest of it. "

"Er--Cyril has the most--UNOCCUPIED space, " volunteered Bertram, cheerfully. 

"Indeed!" retaliated Cyril. "Suppose you let me speak for myself! Ofcourse, so far as truck is concerned, I'm not in it with you and Will. But as for the USE I put my rooms to--! Besides, I already have Petethere, and would have Dong Ling probably, if he slept here. However, if you want any of my rooms, don't let my petty wants and wishesinterfere--"

"No, no, " interrupted William, in quick conciliation. "We don't wantyour rooms, Cyril. Aunt Hannah abhors stairs. Of course I might move, Isuppose. My rooms are one flight less; but if I only didn't have so manythings!"

"Oh, you men!" shrugged Kate, wearily. "Why don't you ask my opinionsometimes? It seems to me that in this case a woman's wit might be ofsome help!"

"All right, go ahead!" nodded William. 

Kate leaned forward eagerly--Kate loved to "manage. "

"Go easy, now, " cautioned Bertram, warily. "You know a strata, even oneas solid as ours, won't stand too much of an earthquake!"

"It isn't an earthquake at all, " sniffed Kate. "It's a very sensiblemove all around. Here are these two great drawing-rooms, the library, and the little reception-room across the hall, and not one of them isever used but this. Of course the women wouldn't like to sleep downhere, but why don't you, Bertram, take the back drawing-room, thelibrary, and the little reception-room for yours, and leave the whole ofthe second floor for Billy and Aunt Hannah?"

"Good for you, Kate, " cried Bertram, appreciatively. "You've hit itsquare on the head, and we'll do it. I'll move to-morrow. The light downhere is just as good as it is up-stairs--if you let it in!"

"Thank you, Bertram, and you, too, Kate, " breathed William, fervently. "Now, if you don't mind, I believe I'll go to bed. I am tired!"

CHAPTER X

AUNT HANNAH

As soon as possible after breakfast William went to see Aunt Hannah. 

Hannah Stetson was not really William's aunt, though she had been calledAunt Hannah for years. She was the widow of a distant cousin, and shelived in a snug little room in a Back Bay boarding-house. She was aslender, white-haired woman with kind blue eyes, and a lovable smile. Her cheeks were still faintly pink, and her fine silver-white hair brokeinto little kinks and curls about her ears. According to Bertram shealways made one think of "lavender and old lace. "

She welcomed William cordially this morning, though with faint surprisein her eyes. 

"Yes, I know I'm an early caller, and an unexpected one, " began William, hurriedly. "And I shall have to plunge straight into the matter, too, for there isn't time to preamble. I've taken an eighteen-year-old girlto bring up, Aunt Hannah, and I want you to come down and live with usto chaperon her. "

"My grief and conscience, WILLIAM!" gasped the little woman, agitatedly. 

"Yes, yes, I know, Aunt Hannah, everything you would say if you could. But please skip the hysterics. We've all had them, and Kate has alreadyused every possible adjective that you could think up. Now it's justthis. " And he hurriedly gave Mrs. Stetson a full account of the case, and told her plainly what he hoped and expected that she would do forhim. 

"Why, yes, of course--I'll come, " acquiesced the lady, a littlebreathlessly, "if--if you are sure you're going to--keep her. "

"Good! And remember I said 'now, ' please--that I wanted you to comeright away, to-day. Of course Kate can't stay. Just get in half a dozenwomen to help you pack, and come. "

"Half a dozen women in that little room, William--impossible!"

"Well, I only meant to get enough so you could come right off thismorning. "

"But I don't need them, William. There are only my clothes and books, and such things. You know it is a FURNISHED room. "

"All right, all right, Aunt Hannah. I wanted to make sure you hurried, that's all. You see, I don't want Billy to suspect just how much she'supsetting us. I've asked Kate to take her over to her house for theday, while Bertram is moving down-stairs, and while we're getting yousettled. I--I think you'll like it there, Aunt Hannah, " added William, anxiously. "Of course Billy's got Spunk, but--" he hesitated, and smileda little. 

"Got what?" faltered the other. 

"Spunk. Oh, I don't mean THAT kind, " laughed William, in answer to thedismayed expression on his aunt's face. "Spunk is a cat. "

"A cat!--but such a name, William! I--I think we'll change that. "

"Eh? Oh, you do, " murmured William, with a curious smile. "Very well; bethat as it may. Anyhow, you're coming, and we shall want you all settledby dinner time, " he finished, as he picked up his hat to go. 

With Kate, Billy spent the long day very contentedly in Kate's beautifulCommonwealth Avenue home. The two boys, Paul, twelve years old, andEgbert, eight, were a little shy, it is true, and not really of much useas companions; but there was a little Kate, four years old, who provedto be wonderfully entertaining. 

Billy was not much used to children, and she found this four-year-oldatom of humanity to be a great source of interest and amusement. Sheeven told Mrs. Hartwell at parting that little Kate was almost as niceas Spunk--which remark, oddly enough, did not appear to please Mrs. Hartwell to the extent that Billy thought that it would. 

At the Beacon Street house Billy was presented at once to Mrs. Stetson. 

"And you are to call me 'Aunt Hannah, ' my dear, " said the little woman, graciously, "just as the boys do. "

"Thank you, " dimpled Billy, "and you don't know, Aunt Hannah, how goodit seems to me to come into so many relatives, all at once!"

Upon going up-stairs Billy found her room somewhat changed. It was farless warlike, and the case of spiders had been taken away. 

"And this will be your stratum, you know, " announced Bertram from thestairway, "yours and Aunt Hannah's. You're to have this whole floor. Will and Cyril are above, and I'm down-stairs. "

"You are? Why, I thought you--were--here. " Billy's face was puzzled. 

"Here? Oh, well, I did have--some things here, " he retorted airily; "butI took them all away to-day. You see, my stratum is down-stairs, andit doesn't do to mix the layers. By the way, you haven't been up-stairsyet; have you? Come on, and I'll show you--and you, too, Aunt Hannah. "

Billy clapped her hands; but Aunt Hannah shook her head. 

"I'll leave that for younger feet than mine, " she said; addingwhimsically: "It's best sometimes that one doesn't try to step too faroff one's own level, you know. "

"All right, " laughed the man. "Come on, Miss Billy. "

On the door at the head of the stairs he tapped twice, lightly. 

"Well, Pete, " called Cyril's voice, none too cordially. 

"Pete, indeed!" scoffed Bertram. "You've got company, young man. Openthe door. Miss Billy is viewing the Strata. "

The bare floor echoed to a quick tread, then the door opened and Cyrilfaced them with a forced smile on his lips. 

"Come in--though I fear there will be little--to see, " he said. 

Bertram assumed a pompous attitude. 

"Ladies and gentlemen; you behold here the lion in his lair. "

"Be still, Bertram, " ordered Cyril. 

"He is a lion, really, " confided Bertram, in a lower voice; "but as heprefers it, we'll just call him 'the Musical Man. '"

"I should think I was some sort of music-box that turned with a crank, "bristled Cyril. 

Bertram grinned. 

"A--CRANK, did you say? Well, even I wouldn't have quite dared to saythat, you know!"

With an impatient gesture Cyril turned on his heel. Bertram fell oncemore into his pompous attitude. 

"Before you is the Man's workshop, " he orated. "At your right you seehis instruments of tor--I mean, his instruments: a piano, flute, etc. At your left is the desk with its pens, paper, erasers, ink and postagestamps. I mention these because there are--er--so few things to mentionhere. Beyond, through the open door, one may catch glimpses of stillother rooms; but they hold even less than this one holds. Traditiondoth assert, however, that in one is a couch-bed, and in another, twochairs. "

Billy listened silently. Her eyes were questioning. She was notquite sure how to take Bertram's words; and the bare rooms and theirstern-faced master filled her with a vague pity. But the pause thatfollowed Bertram's nonsense seemed to be waiting for her to fill it. 

"Oh, I should like to hear you--play, Mr. Cyril, " she stammered. Then, gathering courage. "CAN you play 'The Maiden's Prayer'?"

Bertram gave a cough, a spasmodic cough that sent him, red-faced, outinto the hall. From there he called:

"Can't stop for the animals to perform, Miss Billy. It's 'most dinnertime, and we've got lots to see yet. "

"All right; but--sometime, " nodded Billy over her shoulder to Cyril asshe turned away. "I just love that 'Maiden's Prayer'!"

"Now this is William's stratum, " announced Bertram at the foot of thestairs. "You will perceive that there is no knocking here; William'sdoors are always open. "

"By all means! Come in--come in, " called William's cheery voice. 

"Oh, my, what a lot of things!" exclaimed Billy. "My--my--what a lot ofthings! How Spunk will like this room!"

Bertram chuckled; then he made a great display of drawing a long breath. 

"In the short time at our disposal, " he began loftily, "it will beimpossible to point out each particular article and give its historyfrom the beginning; but somewhere you will find four round white stones, which--"

"Er--yes, we know all about those white stones, " interrupted William, "and you'll please let me talk about my own things myself!" And hebeamed benevolently on the wondering-eyed girl at Bertram's side. 

"But there are so many!" breathed Billy. 

"All the more chance then, " smiled William, "that somewhere among themyou'll find something to interest you. Now these Chinese ceramics, and these bronzes--maybe you'd like those, " he suggested. And with aresigned sigh and an exaggerated air of submission, Bertram stepped backand gave way to his brother. 

"And there are these miniatures, and these Japanese porcelains. Orperhaps you'd like stamps, or theatre programs better, " William finishedanxiously. 

Billy did not reply. She was turning round and round, her eyes wide andamazed. Suddenly she pounced on a beautifully decorated teapot, and heldit up in admiring hands. 

"Oh, what a pretty teapot! And what a cute little plate it sets in!" shecried. 

The collector fairly bubbled over with joy. 

"That's a Lowestoft--a real Lowestoft!" he crowed. "Not thathard-paste stuff from the Orient that's CALLED Lowestoft, but the realthing--English, you know. And that's the tray that goes with it, too. Wonderful--how I got them both! You know they 'most always getseparated. I paid a cool hundred for them, anyhow. "

"A hundred dollars for a teapot!" gasped Billy. 

"Yes; and here's a nice little piece of lustre-ware. Pretty--isn't it?And there's a fine bit of black basalt. And--"

"Er--Will, " interposed Bertram, meekly. 

"Oh, and here's a Castleford, " cried William, paying no attention tothe interruption. "Marked, too; see? 'D. D. & Co. , Castleford. ' You knowthere isn't much of that ware marked. This is a beauty, too, I think. You see this pitted surface--they made that with tiny little points setinto the inner side of the mold. The design stands out fine on this. It's one of the best I ever saw. And, oh--"

"Er--William, " interposed Bertram again, a little louder this time. "MayI just say--"

"And did you notice this 'Old Blue'?" hurried on William, eagerly. "Lidsets down in, you see--that's older than the kind where it sets over thetop. Now here's one--"

"William, " almost shouted Bertram, "DINNER IS READY! Pete has soundedthe gong twice already!"

"Eh? Oh, sure enough--sure enough, " acknowledged William, with aregretful glance at his treasures. "Well, we must go, we must go. "

"But I haven't seen your stratum at all, " demurred Billy to her guide, as they went down the stairway. 

"Then there's something left for to-morrow, " promised Bertram; "butyou must remember, I haven't got any beautiful 'Old Blues' and 'blackbasalts, ' to say nothing of stamps and baggage tags. But I'll make yousome tea--some real tea--and that's more than William has done, with allhis hundred and one teapots!"

CHAPTER XI

BERTRAM HAS VISITORS

Spunk did not change his name; but that was perhaps the only thing thatdid not meet with some sort of change during the weeks that immediatelyfollowed Billy's arrival. Given a house, five men, and an ironboundroutine of life, and it is scarcely necessary to say that the adventof a somewhat fussy elderly woman, an impulsive young girl, and avery-much-alive small cat will make some difference. As to Spunk'sname--it was not Mrs. Stetson's fault that even that was leftundisturbed. 

Mrs. Stetson early became acquainted with Spunk. She was introducedto him, indeed, on the night of her arrival--though fortunately notat table: William had seen to it that Spunk did not appear at dinner, though to accomplish this the man had been obliged to face the amazedand grieved indignation of the kitten's mistress. 

"But I don't see how any one CAN object to a nice clean little cat atthe table, " Billy had remonstrated tearfully. 

"I know; but--er--they do, sometimes, " William had stammered; "and thisis one of the times. Aunt Hannah would never stand for it--never!"

"Oh, but she doesn't know Spunk, " Billy had observed then, hopefully. "You just wait until she knows him. "

Mrs. Stetson began to "know" Spunk the next day. The immediate source ofher knowledge was the discovery that Spunk had found her ball of blackknitting yarn, and had delightedly captured it. Not that he was contentto let it remain where it was--indeed, no. He rolled it down the stairs, batted it through the hall to the drawing-room, and then proceeded to'chasse' with it in and out among the legs of various chairs and tables, ending in one grand whirl that wound the yarn round and round his smallbody, and keeled him over half upon his back. There he blissfully wentto sleep. 

Billy found him after a gleeful following of the slender woollen trail. Mrs. Stetson was with her--but she was not gleeful. 

"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah, " gurgled Billy, "isn't he just too cutefor anything?"

Aunt Hannah shook her head. 

"I must confess I don't see it, " she declared. "My dear, just look atthat hopeless snarl!"

"Oh, but it isn't hopeless at all, " laughed Billy. "It's like one ofthose strings they unwind at parties with a present at the end of it. And Spunk is the present, " she added, when she had extricated the smallgray cat. "And you shall hold him, " she finished, graciously entrustingthe sleepy kitten to Mrs. Stetson's unwilling arms. 

"But, I--it--I can't--Billy! I don't like that name, " blurted out theindignant little lady with as much warmth as she ever allowed herself toshow. "It must be changed to--to 'Thomas. '"

"Changed? Spunk's name changed?" demanded Billy, in a horrified voice. "Why, Aunt Hannah, it can't be changed; it's HIS, you know. " Then shelaughed merrily. "'Thomas, ' indeed! Why, you old dear!--just suppose Ishould ask YOU to change your name! Now _I_ like 'Helen Clarabella' lotsbetter than 'Hannah, ' but I'm not going to ask you to change that--andI'm going to love you just as well, even if you are 'Hannah'--see if Idon't! And you'll love Spunk, too, I'm sure you will. Now watch me findthe end of this snarl!" And she danced over to the dumbfounded littlelady in the big chair, gave her an affectionate kiss, and then attackedthe tangled mass of black with skilful fingers. 

"But, I--you--oh, my grief and conscience!" finished the little womanwhose name was not Helen Clarabella. --"Oh, my grief and conscience, "according to Bertram, was Aunt Hannah's deadliest swear-word. 

In Aunt Hannah's black silk lap Spunk stretched luxuriously, and blinkedsleepy eyes; then with a long purr of content he curled himself foranother nap--still Spunk. 

It was some time after luncheon that day that Bertram heard a knock athis studio door. Bertram was busy. His particular pet "Face of a Girl"was to be submitted soon to the judges of a forthcoming Art Exhibition, and it was not yet finished. He was trying to make up now for the manyhours lost during the last few days; and even Bertram, at times, did notlike interruptions. His model had gone, but he was still working rapidlywhen the knock came. His tone was not quite cordial when he answered. 

"Well?"

"It's I--Spunk and I. May we come in?" called a confident voice. 

Bertram said a sharp word behind his teeth--but he opened the door. 

"Of course! I was--painting, " he announced. 

"How lovely! And I'll watch you. Oh, my--what a pretty room!"

"I'm glad you like it. "

"Indeed I do; I like it ever so much. I shall stay here lots, I know. "

"Oh, you--will!" For once even Bertram's ready tongue failed to findfitting response. 

"Yes. Now paint. I want to see you. Aunt Hannah has gone out anyway, andI'm lonesome. I think I'll stay. "

"But I can't--that is, I'm not used to spectators. "

"Of course you aren't, you poor old lonesomeness! But it isn't going tobe that way, any more, you know, now that I've come. I sha'n't let yoube lonesome. "

"I could swear to that, " declared the man, with sudden fervor; and forBilly's peace of mind it was just as well, perhaps, that she did notknow the exact source of that fervency. 

"Now paint, " commanded Billy again. 

Because he did not know what else to do, Bertram picked up a brush; buthe did not paint. The first stroke of his brush against the canvas wasto Spunk a challenge; and Spunk never refused a challenge. With a boundhe was on Bertram's knee, gleeful paw outstretched, batting at the endof the brush. 

"Tut, tut--no, no--naughty Spunk! Say, but wasn't that cute?" chuckledBilly. "Do it again!"

The artist gave an exasperated sigh. 

"My dear girl, " he protested, "cruel as it may seem to you, this pictureis not a kindergarten game for the edification of small cats. I mustpolitely ask Spunk to desist. "

"But he won't!" laughed Billy. "Never mind; we will take it some daywhen he's asleep. Let's not paint any more, anyhow. I've come to seeyour rooms. " And she sprang blithely to her feet. "Dear, dear, what alot of faces!--and all girls, too! How funny! Why don't you paint otherthings? Still, they are rather nice. "

"Thank you, " accepted Bertram; dryly. 

Bertram did not paint any more that afternoon. Billy found much tointerest her, and she asked numberless questions. She was greatlyexcited when she understood the full significance of the omnipresent"Face of a Girl"; and she graciously offered to pose herself for theartist. She spent, indeed, quite half an hour turning her head from sideto side, and demanding "Now how's that?--and that?" Tiring at last ofthis, she suggested Spunk as a substitute, remarking that, after all, cats--pretty cats like Spunk--were even nicer to paint than girls. 

She rescued Spunk then from the paint-box where he had been holding highcarnival with Bertram's tubes of paint, and demanded if Bertram ever sawa more delightful, more entrancing, more altogether-to-be-desiredmodel. She was so artless, so merry, so frankly charmed with it all thatBertram could not find it in his heart to be angry, notwithstandinghis annoyance. But when at four o'clock, she took herself and her catcheerily up-stairs, he lifted his hands in despair. 

"Great Scott!" he groaned. "If this is a sample of what's coming--I'mGOING, that's all!"

CHAPTER XII

CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN

Billy had been a member of the Beacon Street household a week before sherepeated her visit to Cyril at the top of the house. This time Bertramwas not with her. She went alone. Even Spunk was left behind--Billyremembered her prospective host's aversion to cats. 

Billy did not feel that she knew Cyril very well. She had tried severaltimes to chat with him; but she had made so little headway, that shefinally came to the conclusion--privately expressed to Bertram--that Mr. Cyril was bashful. Bertram had only laughed. He had laughed the harderbecause at that moment he could hear Cyril pounding out his angryannoyance on the piano upstairs--Cyril had just escaped from one ofBilly's most determined "attempts, " and Bertram knew it. Bertram's laughhad puzzled Billy--and it had not quite pleased her. Hence to-day shedid not tell him of her plan to go up-stairs and see what she could doherself, alone, to combat this "foolish bashfulness" on the part of Mr. Cyril Henshaw. 

In spite of her bravery, Billy waited quite one whole minute at the topof the stairs before she had the courage to knock at Cyril's door. 

The door was opened at once. 

"Why--Billy!" cried the man in surprise. 

"Yes, it's Billy. I--I came up to--to get acquainted, " she smiledwinningly. 

"Why, er--you are very kind. Will you--come in?"

"Thank you; yes. You see, I didn't bring Spunk. I--remembered. "

Cyril bowed gravely. 

"You are very kind--again, " he said. 

Billy fidgeted in her chair. To her mind she was not "getting on" atall. She determined on a bold stroke. 

"You see, I thought if--if I should come up here, where there wouldn'tbe so many around, we might get acquainted, " she confided; "then I wouldget to like you just as well as I do the others. "

At the odd look that came into the man's face, the girl realizedsuddenly what she had said. Her cheeks flushed a confused red. 

"Oh, dear! That is, I mean--I like you, of course, " she flounderedmiserably; then she broke off with a frank laugh. "There! you see Inever could get out of anything. I might as well own right up. I DON'Tlike you as well as I do Uncle William and Mr. Bertram. So there!"

Cyril laughed. For the first time since he had seen Billy, somethingthat was very like interest came into his eyes. 

"Oh, you don't, " he retorted. "Now that is--er--very UNkind of you. "

Billy shook her head. 

"You don't say that as if you meant it, " she accused him, her eyesgravely studying his face. "Now I'M in earnest. _I_ really want to likeYOU!"

"Thank you. Then perhaps you won't mind telling me why you don't likeme, " he suggested. 

Again Billy flushed. 

"Why, I--I just don't; that's all, " she faltered. Then she criedaggrievedly: "There, now! you've made me be impolite; and I didn't meanto be, truly. "

"Of course not, " assented the man; "and it wasn't impolite, because Iasked you for the information, you know. I may conclude then, " he wenton with an odd twinkle in his eyes, "that I am merely classed with tripeand rainy days. "

"With--wha-at?"

"Tripe and rainy days. Those are the only things, if I remember rightly, that you don't like. "

The girl stared; then she chuckled. 

"There! I knew I'd like you better if you'd only SAY something, " shebeamed. "But let's not talk any more about that. Play to me; won't you?You know you promised me 'The Maiden's Prayer. '"

Cyril stiffened. 

"Pardon me, but you must be mistaken, " he replied coldly. "I do not play'The Maiden's Prayer. '"

"Oh, what a shame! And I do so love it! But you play other things;I've heard you a little, and Mr. Bertram says you do--in concerts andthings. "

"Does he?" murmured Cyril, with a slight lifting of his eyebrows. 

"There! Now off you go again all silent and horrid!" chaffed Billy. "What have I said now? Mr. Cyril--do you know what I think? I believeyou've got NERVES!" Billy's voice was so tragic that the man could butlaugh. 

"Perhaps I have, Miss Billy. "

"Like Miss Letty's?"

"I'm not acquainted with the lady. "

"Gee! wouldn't you two make a pair!" chuckled Billy unexpectedly. "No;but, really, I mean--do you want people to walk on tiptoe and speak inwhispers?"

"Sometimes, perhaps. "

The girl sprang to her feet--but she sighed. 

"Then I'm going. This might be one of the times, you know. " Shehesitated, then walked to the piano. "My, wouldn't I like to play onthat!" she breathed. 

Cyril shuddered. Cyril could imagine what Billy would play--and Cyrildid not like "rag-time, " nor "The Storm. "

"Oh, do you play?" he asked constrainedly. 

Billy shook her head. 

"Not much. Only little bits of things, you know, " she said wistfully, asshe turned toward the door. 

For some minutes after she had gone, Cyril stood where she had left him, his eyes moody and troubled. 

"I suppose I might have played--something, " he muttered at last;"but--'The Maiden's Prayer'!--good heavens!"

Billy was a little shy with Cyril when he came down to dinner thatnight. For the next few days, indeed, she held herself very obviouslyaloof from him. Cyril caught himself wondering once if she were afraidof his "nerves. " He did not try to find out, however; he was tooemphatically content that of her own accord she seemed to be leaving himin peace. 

It must have been a week after Billy's visit to the top of the housethat Cyril stopped his playing very abruptly one day, and opened hisdoor to go down-stairs. At the first step he started back in amazement. 

"Why, Billy!" he ejaculated. 

The girl was sitting very near the top of the stairway. At hisappearance she got to her feet shamefacedly. 

"Why, Billy, what in the world are you doing there?"

"Listening. "

"Listening!"

"Yes. Do you mind?"

The man did not answer. He was too surprised to find words at once, andhe was trying to recollect what he had been playing. 

"You see, listening to music this way isn't like listening to--totalking, " hurried on Billy, feverishly. "It isn't sneaking like that; isit?"

"Why--no. "

"And you don't mind?"

"Why, surely, I ought not to mind--that, " he admitted. 

"Then I can keep right on as I have done. Thank you, " sighed Billy, inrelief. 

"Keep right on! Have you been here before?"

"Why, yes, lots of days. And, say, Mr. Cyril, what is that--that thingthat's all chords with big bass notes that keep saying something so fineand splendid that it marches on and on, getting bigger and grander, justas if there couldn't anything stop it, until it all ends in one greatburst of triumph? Mr. Cyril, what is that?"

"Why, Billy!"--the interest this time in the man's face was notfaint--"I wish I might make others catch my meaning as I have evidentlymade you do it! That's something of my own--that I'm writing, youunderstand; and I've tried to say--just what you say you heard. "

"And I did hear it--I did! Oh, won't you play it, please, with the dooropen?"

"I can't, Billy. I'm sorry, indeed I am. But I've an appointment, andI'm late now. You shall hear it, though, I promise you, and with thedoor wide open, " continued the man, as, with a murmured apology, hepassed the girl and hurried down the stairs. 

Billy waited until she heard the outer hall door shut; then very softlyshe crept through Cyril's open doorway, and crossed the room to thepiano. 

CHAPTER XIII

A SURPRISE ALL AROUND

May came, and with it warm sunny days. There was a little balcony at therear of the second floor, and on this Mrs. Stetson and Billy sat many amorning and sewed. There were occupations that Billy liked better thansewing; but she was dutiful, and she was really fond of Aunt Hannah; soshe accepted as gracefully as possible that good lady's dictum that awoman who could not sew, and sew well, was no lady at all. 

One of the things that Billy liked to do so much better than to sew wasto play on Cyril's piano. She was very careful, however, that Mr. Cyrilhimself did not find this out. Cyril was frequently gone from the house, and almost as frequently Aunt Hannah took naps. At such times it wasvery easy to slip up-stairs to Cyril's rooms, and once at the piano, Billy forgot everything else. 

One day, however, the inevitable happened: Cyril came home unexpectedly. The man heard the piano from William's floor, and with a surprisedejaculation he hurried upstairs two steps at a time. At the door hestopped in amazement. 

Billy was at the piano, but she was not playing "rag-time, " "The Storm, "nor yet "The Maiden's Prayer. " There was no music before her, but underher fingers "big bass notes" very much like Cyril's own, were marchingon and on to victory. Billy's face was rapturously intent and happy. 

"By Jove--Billy!" gasped the man. 

Billy leaped to her feet and whirled around guiltily. 

"Oh, Mr. Cyril--I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry!--and you play like that!"

"No, no; I'm not sorry I played. It's because you--found me. "

Billy's cheeks were a shamed red, but her eyes were defiantly brilliant, and her chin was at a rebellious tilt. "I wasn't doing any--harm; not ifyou weren't here--with your NERVES!"

The man laughed and came slowly into the room. 

"Billy, who taught you to play?"

"No one. I can't play. I can only pick out little bits of things in C. "

"But you do play. I just heard you. "

Billy shrugged her shoulders. 

"That was nothing. It was only what I had heard. I was trying to make itsound like--yours. "

"And, by George! you succeeded, " muttered Cyril under his breath; thenaloud he asked: "Didn't you ever study music?"

Billy's eyes dimmed. 

"No. That was the only thing Aunt Ella and I didn't think alike about. She had an old square piano, all tin-panny and thin, you know. I playedsome on it, and wanted to take lessons; but I didn't want to practiseon that. I wanted a new one. That's what she wouldn't do--get me a newpiano, or let me do it. She said SHE practised on that piano, and thatit was quite good enough for me, especially to learn on. I--I'm afraidI got stuffy. I hated that piano so! But I was almost ready to give inwhen--when Aunt Ella died. "

"And all you play then is just by ear?"

"By--ear? I suppose so--if you mean what I hear. Easy things I can playquick, but--but those chords ARE hard; they skip around so!"

Cyril smiled oddly. 

"I should say so, " he agreed. "But perhaps there is something else thatI play--that you like. Is there?"

"Oh, yes. Now there's that little thing that swings and sways likethis, " cried Billy, dropping herself on to the piano stool and whiskingabout. Billy was not afraid now, nor defiant. She was only eager andhappy again. In a moment a dreamy waltz fell upon Cyril's ears--a waltzthat he often played himself. It was not played correctly, it is true. There were notes, and sometimes whole measures, that were very differentfrom the printed music. But the tune, the rhythm, and the spirit werethere. 

"And there's this, " said Billy; "and this, " she went on, sliding intoone little strain after another--all of which were recognized by theamazed man at her side. 

"Billy, " he cried, when she had finished and whirled upon him again, "Billy, would you like to learn to play--really play from notes?"

"Oh, wouldn't I!"

"Then you shall! We'll have a piano tomorrow in your rooms for you topractise on. And--I'll teach you myself. "

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Cyril--you don't know how I thank you!" exultedBilly, as she danced from the room to tell Aunt Hannah of this great andgood thing that had come into her life. 

To Billy, this promise of Cyril's to be her teacher was very kind, verydelightful; but it was not in the least a thing at which to marvel. ToBertram, however, it most certainly was. 

"Well, guess what's happened, " he said to William that night, after hehad heard the news. "I'll believe anything now--anything: that you'llraffle off your collection of teapots at the next church fair, or thatI shall go to Egypt as a 'Cooky' guide. Listen; Cyril is going to givepiano lessons to Billy!--CYRIL!"

CHAPTER XIV

AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND

Bertram said that the Strata was not a strata any longer. He declaredthat between them, Billy and Spunk had caused such an upheaval thatthere was no telling where one stratum left off and another began. WhatBilly had not attended to, Spunk had, he said. 

"You see, it's like this, " he explained to an amused friend one day. "Billy is taking piano lessons of Cyril, and she is posing for one of myheads. Naturally, then, such feminine belongings as fancy-work, thread, thimbles, and hairpins are due to show up at any time either in Cyril'sapartments or mine--to say nothing of William's; and she's in William'slots--to look for Spunk, if for no other purpose. 

"You must know that Spunk likes William's floor the best of the bunch, there are so many delightful things to play with. Not that Spunk staysthere--dear me, no. He's a sociable little chap, and his usual course isto pounce on a shelf, knock off some object that tickles his fancy, then lug it in his mouth to--well, anywhere that he happens to feel likegoing. Cyril has found him up-stairs with a small miniature, batteredand chewed almost beyond recognition. And Aunt Hannah nearly had a fitone day when he appeared in her room with an enormous hard-shelled blackbug--dead, of course--that he had fished from a case that Pete had leftopen. As for me, I can swear that the little round white stone he wasplaying with in my part of the house was one of William's CollectionNumber One. 

"And that isn't all, " Bertram continued. "Billy brings her music down toshow to me, and lugs my heads all over the rest of the house to showto other folks. And there is always everywhere a knit shawl, for AuntHannah is sure to feel a draught, and Billy keeps shawls handy. So thereyou are! We certainly aren't a strata any longer, " he finished. 

Billy was, indeed, very much at home in the Beacon Street house--toomuch so, Aunt Hannah thought. Aunt Hannah was, in fact, seriouslydisturbed. To William one evening, late in May, she spoke her mind. 

"William, what are you going to do with Billy?" she asked abruptly. 

"Do with her? What do you mean?" returned William with the contentedsmile that was so often on his lips these days. "This is Billy's home. "

"That's the worst of it, " sighed the woman, with a shake of her head. 

"The worst of it! Aunt Hannah, what do you mean? Don't you like Billy?"

"Yes, yes, William, of course I like Billy. I love her! Who could helpit? That's not what I mean. It's of Billy I'm thinking, and of the restof you. She can't stay here like this. She must go away, to school, or--or somewhere. "

"And she's going in September, " replied the man. "She'll go topreparatory school first, and to college, probably. "

"Yes, but now--right away. She ought to go--somewhere. "

"Why, yes, for the summer, of course. But those plans aren't completedyet. Billy and I were talking of it last evening. You know the boys arealways away more or less, but I seldom go until August, and we let Peteand Dong Ling off then for a month and close the house. I told Billy I'dsend you and her anywhere she liked for the whole summer, but she saysno. She prefers to stay here with me. But I don't quite fancy thatidea--through all the hot June and July--so I don't know but I'll get acottage somewhere near at one of the beaches, where I can run back andforth night and morning. Of course, in that case, we take Pete and DongLing with us and close the house right away. I fear Cyril would notfancy it much; but, after all, he and Bertram would be off more or less. They always are in the summer. "

"But, William, you haven't yet got my idea at all, " demurred AuntHannah, with a discouraged shake of her head. "It's away!--away from allthis--from you--that I want to get Billy. "

"Away! Away from me, " cried the man, with an odd intonation of terror, as he started forward in his chair. "Why, Aunt Hannah, what are youtalking about?"

"About Billy. This is no place in which to bring up a young girl--ayoung girl who has not one shred of relationship to excuse it. "

"But she is my namesake, and quite alone in the world, Aunt Hannah;quite alone--poor child!"

"My dear William, that is exactly it--she is a child, and yet she isnot. That's where the trouble lies. "

"What do you mean?"

"William, Billy has been brought up in a little country town with aspinster aunt and a whole good-natured, tolerant village for company. Well, she has accepted you and your entire household, even down to DongLing, on the same basis. "

"Well, I'm sure I'm glad, " asserted the man with genial warmth. "It'sgood for us to have her here. It's good for the boys. She's alreadylivened Cyril up and toned Bertram down. I may as well confess, AuntHannah, that I've been more than a little disturbed about Bertram oflate. I don't like that Bob Seaver that he is so fond of; and some otherfellows, too, that have been coming here altogether too much duringthe last year. Bertram says they're only a little 'Bohemian' in theirtastes. And to me that's the worst of it, for Bertram himself is quitetoo much inclined that way. "

"Exactly, William. And that only goes to prove what I said before. Bertram is not a spinster aunt, and neither are any of the rest of you. But Billy takes you that way. "

"Takes us that way--as spinster aunts!"

"Yes. She makes herself as free in this house as she was in her AuntElla's at Hampden Falls. She flies up to Cyril's rooms half a dozentimes a day with some question about her lessons; and I don't know howlong she'd sit at his feet and adoringly listen to his playing if hedidn't sometimes get out of patience and tell her to go and practiseherself. She makes nothing of tripping into Bertram's studio at allhours of the day; and he's sketched her head at every conceivableangle--which certainly doesn't tend to make Billy modest or retiring. As to you--you know how much she's in your rooms, spending evening afterevening fussing over your collections. "

"I know; but we're--we're sorting them and making a catalogue, " defendedthe man, anxiously. "Besides, I--I like to have her there. She doesn'tbother me a bit. "

"No; I know she doesn't, " replied Aunt Hannah, with a curiousinflection. "But don't you see, William, that all this isn't going toquite do? Billy's too young--and too old. "

"Come, come, Aunt Hannah, is that exactly logical?"

"It's true, at least. "

"But, after all, where's the harm? Don't you think that you are just alittle bit too--fastidious? Billy's nothing but a care-free child. "

"It's the 'free' part that I object to, William. She has taken every oneof you into intimate companionship--even Pete and Dong Ling. "

"Pete and Dong Ling!"

"Yes. " Mrs. Stetson's chin came up, and her nostrils dilated a little. "Billy went to Pete the other day to have him button her shirt-waistup in the back; and yesterday I found her down-stairs in the kitcheninstructing Dong Ling how to make chocolate fudge!"

William fell back in his chair. 

"Well, well, " he muttered, "well, well! She is a child, and no mistake!"He paused, his brows drawn into a troubled frown. "But, Aunt Hannah, what CAN I do? Of course you could talk to her, but--I don't seem toquite like that idea. "

"My grief and conscience--no, no! That isn't what is needed at all. It would only serve to make her self-conscious; and that's her onesalvation now--that she isn't self-conscious. You see, it's only thefault of her environment and training, after all. It isn't her heartthat's wrong. "

"Indeed it isn't!"

"It will be different when she is older--when she has seen a little moreof the world outside Hampden Falls. She'll go to school, of course, andI think she ought to travel a little. Meanwhile, she mustn't live--justlike this, though; certainly not for a time, at least. "

"No, no, I'm afraid not, " agreed William, perplexedly, rising to hisfeet. "But we must think--what can be done. " His step was even slowerthan usual as he left the room, and his eyes were troubled. 

CHAPTER XV

WHAT BERTRAM CALLS "THE LIMIT"

At half past ten o'clock on the evening following Mrs. Stetson's veryplain talk with William, the telephone bell at the Beacon Street houserang sharply. Pete answered it. 

"Well?"--Pete never said "hello. "

"Hello. Is that you, Pete?" called Billy's voice agitatedly. "Is UncleWilliam there?"

"No, Miss Billy. "

"Oh dear! Well, Mr. Cyril, then?"

"He's out, too, Miss Billy. And Mr. Bertram--they're all out. "

"Yes, yes, I know HE'S out, " almost sobbed Billy. "Dear, dear, whatshall I do! Pete, you'll have to come. There isn't any other way!"

"Yes, Miss; where?" Pete's voice was dubious, but respectful. 

"To the Boylston Street subway--on the Common, you know--North-boundside. I'll wait for you--but HURRY! You see, I'm all alone here. "

"Alone! Miss Billy--in the subway at this time of night! But, MissBilly, you shouldn't--you can't--you mustn't--" stuttered the old man inhelpless horror. 

"Yes, yes, Pete, but never mind; I am here! And I should think if 'twassuch a dreadful thing you would hurry FAST to get here, so I wouldn't bealone, " appealed Billy. 

With an inarticulate cry Pete jerked the receiver on to the hook, andstumbled away from the telephone. Five minutes later he had left thehouse and was hurrying through the Common to the Boylston Street subwaystation. 

Billy, a long cloak thrown over her white dress, was waiting for him. Her white slippers tapped the platform nervously, and her hair, underthe light scarf of lace, fluffed into little broken curls as if it hadbeen blown by the wind. 

"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what can this mean?" gasped the man. "Where isMrs. Stetson?"

"At Mrs. Hartwell's--you know she is giving a reception to-night. Butcome, we must hurry! I'm after Mr. Bertram. "

"After Mr. Bertram!"

"Yes, yes. "

"Alone?--like this?"

"But I'm not alone now; I have you. Don't you see?"

At the blank stupefaction in the man's face, the girl sighedimpatiently. 

"Dear me! I suppose I'll have to explain; but we're losing time--and wemustn't--we mustn't!" she cried feverishly. "Listen then, quick. It wasat Mrs. Hartwell's tonight. I'd been watching Mr. Bertram. He waswith that horrid Mr. Seaver, and I never liked him, never! I overheardsomething they said, about some place they were going to, and I didn'tlike what Mr. Seaver said. I tried to speak to Mr. Bertram, but I didn'tget a chance; and the next thing I knew he'd gone with that Seaver man!I saw them just in time to snatch my cloak and follow them. "

"FOLLOW them! MISS BILLY!"

"I had to, Pete; don't you see? There was no one else. Mr. Cyril andUncle William had gone--home, I supposed. I sent back word by the maidto Aunt Hannah that I'd gone ahead; you know the carriage was orderedfor eleven; but I'm afraid she won't have sense to tell Aunt Hannah, shelooked so dazed and frightened when I told her. But I COULDN'T wait tosay more. Well, I hurried out and caught up with Mr. Bertram just asthey were crossing Arlington Street to the Garden. I'd heard them saythey were going to walk, so I knew I could do it. But, Pete, after I gotthere, I didn't dare to speak--I didn't DARE to! So I just--followed. They went straight through the Garden and across the Common to TremontStreet, and on and on until they stopped and went down some stairs, allmarble and lights and mirrors. 'Twas a restaurant, I think. I saw justwhere it was, then I flew back here to telephone for Uncle William. Iknew HE could do something. But--well, you know the rest. I had to takeyou. Now come, quick; I'll show you. "

"But, Miss Billy, I can't! You mustn't; it's impossible, " chattered oldPete. "Come, let me take ye home, Miss Billy, do!"

"Home--and leave Mr. Bertram with that Seaver man? No, no!"

"What CAN ye do?"

"Do? I can get him to come home with me, of course. "

The old man made a despairing gesture and looked about him as if forhelp. He saw then the curious, questioning eyes on all sides; and with aquick change of manner, he touched Miss Billy's arm. 

"Yes; we'll go. Come, " he apparently agreed. But once outside on thebroad expanse before the Subway entrance he stopped again. "Miss Billy, please come home, " he implored. "Ye don't know--ye can't know what yera-doin'!"

The girl tossed her head. She was angry now. 

"Pete, if you will not go with me I shall go alone. I am not afraid. "

"But the hour--the place--you, a young girl! Miss Billy!" remonstratedthe old man agitatedly. 

"It isn't so very late. I've been out lots of times later than thisat home. And as for the place, it's all light and bright, and lots ofpeople were going in--ladies and gentlemen. Nothing could hurt me, Pete, and I shall go; but I'd rather you were with me. Why, Pete, we mustn'tleave him. He isn't--he isn't HIMSELF, Pete. He--he's been DRINKING!"Billy's voice broke, and her face flushed scarlet. She was almostcrying. "Come, you won't refuse now!" she finished, resolutely turningtoward the street. 

And because old Pete could not pick her up bodily and carry her home, he followed close at her heels. At the head of the marble stairs "alllights and mirrors, " however, he made one last plea. 

"Miss Billy, once more I beg of ye, won't ye come home? Ye don't knowwhat yer a-doin', Miss Billy, ye don't--ye don't!"

"I can't go home, " persisted Billy. "I must get Mr. Bertram away fromthat man. Now come; we'll just stand at the door and look in until wesee him. Then I'll go straight to him and speak to him. " And with thatshe turned and ran down the steps. 

Billy blinked a little at the lights which, reflected in the greatplate-glass mirrors, were a million dazzling points that foundthemselves again repeated in the sparkling crystal and glittering silveron the flower-decked tables. All about her Billy saw flushed-faced men, and bright-eyed women, laughing, chatting, and clinking together theirslender-stemmed wine glasses. But nowhere, as she looked about her, could Billy descry the man she sought. 

The head waiter came forward with uplifted hand, but Billy did not seehim. A girl at her left laughed disagreeably, and several men staredwith boldly admiring eyes; but to them, too, Billy paid no heed. Then, halfway across the room she spied Bertram and Seaver sitting together ata small table alone. 

Simultaneously her own and Bertram's eyes met. 

With a sharp word under his breath Bertram sprang to his feet. Hisbefogged brain had cleared suddenly under the shock of Billy's presence. 

"Billy, for Heaven's sake what are you doing here?" he demanded in a lowvoice, as he reached her side. 

"I came for you. I want you to go home with me, please, Mr. Bertram, "whispered Billy, pleadingly. 

The man had not waited for an answer to his question. With a defttouch he had turned Billy toward the door; and even as she finishedher sentence she found herself in the marble hallway confronting Pete, pallid-faced, and shaking. 

"And you, too, Pete! Great Scott! what does this mean?" he explodedangrily. 

Pete could only shake his head and glance imploringly at Billy. His drylips and tongue refused to articulate even one word. 

"We came--for--you, " choked Billy. "You see, I don't like that Seaverman. "

"Well, by Jove! this is the limit!" breathed Bertram. 

CHAPTER XVI

KATE TAKES A HAND

Undeniably Billy was in disgrace, and none knew it better than Billyherself. The whole family had contributed to this knowledge. Aunt Hannahwas inexpressibly shocked; she had not breath even to ejaculate "Mygrief and conscience!" Kate was disgusted; Cyril was coldly reserved;Bertram was frankly angry; even William was vexed, and showed it. Spunk, too, as if in league with the rest, took this opportunity to display oneof his occasional fits of independence; and when Billy, longing for somesort of comfort, called him to her, he settled back on his tiny haunchesand imperturbably winked and blinked his indifference. 

Nearly all the family had had something to say to Billy on the matter, with not entirely satisfactory results, when Kate determined to see whatshe could do. She chose a time when she could have the girl quite toherself with small likelihood of interruption. 

"But, Billy, how could you do such an absurd thing?" she demanded. "Theidea of leaving my house alone, at half-past ten at night, to follow acouple of men through the streets of Boston, and then with my brothers'butler make a scene like that in a--a public dining-room!"

Billy sighed in a discouraged way. 

"Aunt Kate, can't I make you and the rest of them understand that Ididn't start out to do all that? I meant just to speak to Mr. Bertram, and get him away from that man. "

"But, my dear child, even that was bad enough!"

Billy lifted her chin. 

"You don't seem to think, Aunt Kate; Mr. Bertram was--was not sober. "

"All the more reason then why you should NOT have done what you did!"

"Why, Aunt Kate, you wouldn't leave him alone in that condition withthat man!"

It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to sigh. 

"But, Billy, " she contested, wearily, "can't you understand that itwasn't YOUR place to interfere--you, a young girl?"

"I'm sure I don't see what difference that makes. I was the only onethat could do it! Besides, afterward, I did try to get some one else, Uncle William and Mr. Cyril. But when I found I couldn't get them, Ijust had to do it alone--that is, with Pete. "

"Pete!" scoffed Mrs. Hartwell. "Pete, indeed!"

Billy's head came up with a jerk. Billy was very angry now. 

"Aunt Kate, it seems I've done a very terrible thing, but I'm sure Idon't see it that way. I wasn't afraid, and I wasn't in the least bit ofdanger anywhere. I knew my way perfectly, and I did NOT make any 'scene'in that restaurant. I just asked Mr. Bertram to come home with me. Onewould think you WANTED Mr. Bertram to go off with that man and--anddrink too much. But Uncle William hasn't liked him before, not one bit!I've heard him talk about him--that Mr. Seaver. "

Mrs. Hartwell raised both her hands, palms outward. 

"Billy, it is useless to talk with you. You are quite impossible. It iseven worse than I expected!" she cried, with wrathful impatience. 

"Worse than you--expected? What do you mean, please?"

"Worse than I thought it would be--before you came. The idea of thosefive men taking a girl to bring up!"

Billy sat very still. She was even holding her breath, though Mrs. Hartwell did not know that. 

"You mean--that they did not--want me?" she asked quietly, so quietlythat Mrs. Hartwell did not realize the sudden tension behind the words. For that matter, Mrs. Hartwell was too angry now to realize anythingoutside of herself. 

"Want you! Billy, it is high time that you understand just how thingsare, and have been, at the house; then perhaps you will conduct yourselfwith an eye a little more to other people's comfort. Can you imaginethree young men like my brothers WANTING to take a strange young womaninto their home to upset everything?"

"To--upset--everything!" echoed Billy, faintly. "And have I done--that?"

"Of course you have! How could you help it? To begin with, they thoughtyou were a boy, and that was bad enough; but William was so anxiousto do right by his dead friend that he insisted upon taking you, muchagainst the will of all the rest of us. Oh, I know this isn't pleasantfor you to hear, " admitted Mrs. Hartwell, in response to the dismayedexpression in Billy's eyes; "but I think it's high time you realizesomething of what those men have sacrificed for you. Now, to resume. When they found you were a girl, what did they do? Did they turn youover to some school or such place, as they should have done? Certainlynot! William would not hear of it. He turned Bertram out of his rooms, put you into them, and established Aunt Hannah as chaperon and me assubstitute until she arrived. But because, through it all, he smiledblandly, you have been blind to the whole thing. 

"And what is the result? His entire household routine is shattered toatoms. You have accepted the whole house as if it were your own. You take Cyril's time to teach you music, and Bertram's to teach youpainting, without a thought of what it means to them. There! I supposeI ought not to have said all this, but I couldn't help it, Billy. Andsurely now, NOW you appreciate a little more what your coming to thishouse has meant, and what my brothers have done for you. "

"I do, certainly, " said Billy, still in that voice that was so oddlysmooth and emotionless. 

"And you'll try to be more tractable, less headstrong, less assertive ofyour presence?"

The girl sprang to her feet now. 

"More tractable! Less assertive of my presence!" she cried. "Mrs. Hartwell, do you mean to say you think I'd STAY after what you've toldme?"

"Stay? Why, of course you'll stay! Don't be silly, child. I didn't tellyou this to make you go. I only wanted you to understand how thingswere--and are. "

"And I do understand--and I'm going. "

Mrs. Hartwell frowned. Her face changed color. 

"Come, come, Billy, this is nonsense. William wants you here. He wouldnever forgive me if anything I said should send you away. You must notbe angry with, him. "

Billy turned now like an enraged little tigress. 

"Angry with him! Why, I love him--I love them all! They are the dearestmen ever, and they've been so good to me!" The girl's voice broke alittle, then went on with a more determined ring. "Do you think I'd havethem know why I'm going?--that I'd hurt them like that? Never!"

"But, Billy, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I've got to plan it out. I only know now that I'm going, sure!" And with a choking little cry Billy ran from the room. 

In her own chamber a minute later the tears fell unrestrained. 

"It's home--all the home there is--anywhere!" she sobbed. "But it's gotto go--it's got to go!"

CHAPTER XVII

A PINK-RIBBON TRAIL

Mrs. Stetson wore an air of unmistakable relief as she stepped intoWilliam's sitting-room. Even her knock at the half-open door had soundedalmost triumphant. 

"William, it does seem as if Fate itself had intervened to help usout, " she began delightedly. "Billy, of her own accord, came to me thismorning, and said that she wanted to go away with me for a little trip. So you see that will make it easier for us. "

"Good! That is fortunate, indeed, " cried William; but his voice did notcarry quite the joy that his words expressed. "I have been disturbedever since your remarks the other day, " he continued wearily; "and ofcourse her extraordinary escapade the next evening did not help mattersany. It is better, I know, that she shouldn't be here--for a time. Though I shall miss her terribly. But, tell me, what is it--what doesshe want to do?"

"She says she guesses she is homesick for Hampden Falls; that she'dlike to go back there for a few weeks this summer if I'll go with her. The--the dear child seems suddenly to have taken a great fancy to me, "explained Aunt Hannah, unsteadily. "I never saw her so affectionate. "

"She is a dear girl--a very dear girl; and she has a warm heart. "William cleared his throat sonorously, but even that did not clearhis voice. "It was her heart that led her wrong the other night, " hedeclared. "Hers was a brave and fearless act--but a very unwise one. Much as I deplore Bertram's intimacy with Seaver, I should hesitate totake the course marked out by Billy. Bertram is not a child. But tell memore of this trip of yours. How did Billy happen to suggest it?"

"I don't know. I noticed yesterday that she seemed strangelysilent--unhappy, in fact. She sat alone in her room the greater part ofthe day, and I could not get her out of it. But this morning she came tomy door as bright as the sun itself and made me the proposition I toldyou of. She says her aunt's house is closed, awaiting its sale; but thatshe would like to open it for awhile this summer, if I'd like to go. Naturally, you can understand that I'd very quickly fall in with a planlike that--one which promised so easily to settle our difficulties. "

"Yes, of course, of course, " muttered William. "It is very fine, veryfine indeed, " he concluded. And again his voice failed quite to matchhis words in enthusiasm. 

"Then I'll go and begin to see to my things, " murmured Mrs. Stetson, rising to her feet. "Billy seems anxious to get away. "

Billy did, indeed, seem anxious to get away. She announced her intendeddeparture at once to the family. She called it a visit to her old home, and she seemed very glad in her preparations. If there was anythingforced in this gayety, no one noticed it, or at least, no one spoke ofit. The family saw very little of Billy, indeed, these days. She saidthat she was busy; that she had packing to do. She stopped takinglessons of Cyril, and visited Bertram's studio only once during thewhole three days before she went away, and then merely to get somethings that belonged to her. On the fourth day, almost before the familyrealized what was happening, she was gone; and with her had gone Mrs. Stetson and Spunk. 

The family said they liked it--the quiet, the freedom. They said theyliked to be alone--all but William. He said nothing. 

And yet--

When Bertram went to his studio that morning he did not pick up hisbrushes until he had sat for long minutes before the sketch of ared-cheeked, curly-headed young girl whose eyes held a peculiarlywistful appeal; and Cyril, at his piano up-stairs, sat with idle fingersuntil they finally drifted into a simple little melody--the last thingBilly had been learning. 

It was Pete who brought in the kitten; and Billy had been gone a wholeweek then. 

"The poor little beast was cryin' at the alleyway door, sir, " heexplained. "I--I made so bold as to bring him in. "

"Of course, " said William. "Did you feed it?"

"Yes, sir; Ling did. "

There was a pause, then Pete spoke, diffidently. 

"I thought, sir, if ye didn't mind, I'd keep it. I'll try to see that itstays down-stairs, sir, out of yer way. "

"That's all right, Pete; keep it, by all means, by all means, " approvedWilliam. 

"Thank ye, sir. Ye see, it's a stray. It hasn't got any home. And, didye notice, sir? it looks like Spunk. "

"Yes, I noticed, " said William, stirring with sudden restlessness. "Inoticed. "

"Yes, sir, " said Pete. And he turned and carried the small gray cataway. 

The new kitten did not stay down-stairs. Pete tried, it is true, to keephis promise to watch it; but after he had seen the little animalcarried surreptitiously up-stairs in Mr. William's arms, he relaxedhis vigilance. Some days later the kitten appeared with a huge pink bowbehind its ears, somewhat awkwardly tied, if it must be confessed. Where it came from, or who put it there was not known--until one day thekitten was found in the hall delightedly chewing at the end of what hadbeen a roll of pink ribbon. Up the stairs led a trail of pink ribbon andcurling white paper--and the end of the trail was in William's room. 

CHAPTER XVIII

BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER

By the middle of June only William and the gray kitten were left withPete and Dong Ling in the Beacon Street house. Cyril had sailed forEngland, and Bertram had gone on a sketching trip with a friend. 

To William the house this summer was unusually lonely; indeed, he foundthe silent, deserted rooms almost unbearable. Even the presence of thelittle gray cat served only to accentuate the loneliness--it remindedhim of Billy. 

William missed Billy. He owned that now even to Pete. He said that hewould be glad when she came back. To himself he said that he wished hehad not fallen in quite so readily with Aunt Hannah's notion of gettingthe child away. It was all nonsense, he declared. All she needed was alittle curbing and directing, both of which could just as well have beendone there at home. But she had gone, and it could not be helped now. The only thing left for him to do was to see that it did not occuragain. When Billy came back she should stay, except for necessaryabsences for school, of course. All this William settled in his own mindquite to his own satisfaction, entirely forgetting, strange to say, thatit had been Billy's own suggestion that she go away. 

Very promptly William wrote to Billy. He told her how he missed her, andsaid that he had stopped trying to sort and catalogue his collectionsuntil she should be there to help him. He told her, too, after a time, of the gray kitten, "Spunkie, " that looked so much like Spunk. 

In reply he received plump white envelopes directed in the round, schoolboy hand that he remembered so well. In the envelopes wereletters, cheery and entertaining, like Billy herself. They thanked himfor all his many kindnesses, and they told him something of what Billywas doing. They showed unbounded interest in the new kitten, and in allelse that William wrote about; but they hinted very plainly that he hadbetter not wait for her to help him out on the catalogue, for it wouldsoon be autumn, and she would be in school. 

William frowned at this, and shook his head; yet he knew that it wastrue. 

In August William closed the Beacon street house and went to theRangeley Lakes on a camping trip. He told himself that he would notgo had it not been for a promise given to an old college friend monthsbefore. True, he had been anticipating this trip all winter; but itoccurred to him now that it would be much more interesting to go toHampden Falls and see Billy. He had been to the Rangeley Lakes, and hehad not been to Hampden Falls; besides, there would be Ned Harding andthose queer old maids with their shaded house and socketed chairs tosee. In short, to William, at the moment, there seemed no place quiteso absorbingly interesting as was Hampden Falls. But he went to theRangeley Lakes. 

In September Cyril came back from Europe, and Bertram from theAdirondacks where he had been spending the month of August. Williamalready had arrived, and with Pete and Dong Ling had opened the house. 

"Where's Billy? Isn't Billy here?" demanded Bertram. 

"No. She isn't back yet, " replied William. 

"You don't mean to say she's stayed up there all summer!" exclaimedCyril. 

"Why, yes, I--I suppose so, " hesitated William. "You see, I haven'theard but once for a month. I've been down in Maine, you know. "

William wrote to Billy that night. 

"My dear:--" he said in part. "I hope you'll come home right away. Wewant to see SOMETHING of you before you go away again, and you know theschools will be opening soon. 

"By the way, it has just occurred to me as I write that perhaps, afterall, you won't have to go quite away. There are plenty of good schoolsfor young ladies right in and near Boston, which I am sure you couldattend, and still live at home. Suppose you come back then as soon asyou can, and we'll talk it up. And that reminds me, I wonder how Spunkwill get along with Spunkie. Spunkie has been boarding out all August ata cat home, but he seems glad to get back to us. I am anxious to see thetwo little chaps together, just to find out how much alike they reallydo look. "

Very promptly came Billy's answer; but William's face, after he had readthe letter, was almost as blank as it had been on that April day whenBilly's first letter came--though this time for a far different reason. 

"Why, boys, she--isn't--coming, " he announced in dismay. 

"Isn't coming!" ejaculated two astonished Voices. 

"No. "

"Not--at--ALL?"

"Why, of course, later, " retorted William, with unwonted sharpness. "Butnot now. This is what she says. " And he read aloud:

"DEAR UNCLE WILLIAM:--You poor dear man! Did you think I'd really letyou spend your time and your thought over hunting up a school for me, after all the rest you have done for me? Not a bit of it! Why, AuntHannah and I have been buried under school catalogues all summer, andI have studied them all until I know just which has turkey dinnerson Sundays, and which ice cream at least twice a week. And it's allsettled, too, long ago. I'm going to a girls' school up the Hudson alittle way--a lovely place, I'm sure, from the pictures of it. 

"Oh, and another thing; I shall go right from here. Two girls at HampdenFalls are going, and I shall go with them. Isn't that a fine chancefor me? You see it would never do, anyway, for me to go alone--me, a'Billy'--unless I sent a special courier ahead to announce that 'Billy'was a girl. 

"Aunt Hannah has decided to stay here this winter in the old house. Shelikes it ever so much, and I don't think I shall sell the place justyet, anyway. She will go back, of course, to Boston (after I've gone)to get some things at the house that she'll want, and also to do someshopping. But she'll let you know when she'll be there. 

"I'll write more later, but just now I'm in a terrible rush. I onlywrite this note to set your poor heart at rest about having to hunt up aschool for me. 

"With love to all, "BILLY. "

As had happened once before after a letter from Billy had been read, there was a long pause. 

"Well, by Jove!" breathed Bertram. 

"It's very sensible, I'm sure, " declared Cyril. "Still, I must confess, I would have liked to pick out her piano teacher for her. "

William said nothing--perhaps because he was reading Billy's letteragain. 

At eight o'clock that night Bertram tapped on Cyril's door. 

"What's the trouble?" demanded Cyril in answer to the look on theother's face. 

Bertram lifted his eyebrows oddly. 

"I'm not sure whether you'll call it 'trouble' or not, " he replied; "butI think it's safe to say that Billy is gone--for good. "

"For good! What do you mean?--that she's not coming back--ever?"

"Exactly that. "

"Nonsense! What's put that notion into your head?"

"Billy's letter first; after that, Pete. "

"Pete!"

"Yes. He came to me a few minutes ago, looking as if he had seen aghost. It seems he swept Billy's rooms this morning and put them inorder against her coming; and tonight William told him that she wouldn'tbe here at present. Pete came straight to me. He said he didn't daretell Mr. William, but he'd got to tell some one: there wasn't onesingle thing of Miss Billy's left in her rooms nor anywhere else in thehouse--not so much as a handkerchief or a hairpin. "

"Hm-m; that does look--suspicious, " murmured Cyril. "What's up, do youthink?"

"Don't know; but something, sure. Still, of course we may be wrong. We won't say anything to Will about it, anyhow. Poor old chap, 'twouldworry him, specially if he thought Billy's feelings had been hurt. "

"Hurt?--nonsense! Why, we did everything for her--everything!"

"Yes, I know--and she tried to do EVERYTHING for us, too, " retortedBertram, quizzically, as he turned away. 

CHAPTER XIX

SEEING BILLY OFF

Early in October Mrs. Stetson arrived at the Beacon Street house, butshe did not stay long. 

"I've come for just a few things I want, and to do some shopping, " sheexplained. 

"But Aunt Hannah, " remonstrated William, "what is the meaning of this?Why are you staying up there at Hampden Falls?"

"I like it there, William; and why shouldn't I stay? Surely there's noneed for me to be here now, with Billy away!"

"But Billy's coming back!"

"Of course she's coming back, " laughed Aunt Hannah, "but not thiswinter, certainly. Why, William, what's the matter? I'm sure, I thinkit's a beautiful arrangement. Why, don't you remember? It's just what wesaid we wanted--to keep Billy away for awhile. And the best part of itis, it's her own idea from the start. "

"Yes, I know, I know, " frowned William: "but I'm not sure, after all, that that idea of ours wasn't a mistake, --a mistake that she needed toget away. "

"Never! We were just right about it, " declared Aunt Hannah, withconviction. 

"And is Billy--happy?"

"She seems to be. "

"Hm-m; well, THAT'S good, " said William, as he turned to go up to hisroom. But as he climbed the stairs he sighed; and to hear him, one wouldhave thought it anything but good to him--that Billy was happy. 

One by one the weeks passed. Mrs. Stetson had long since gone back toHampden Falls; and Bertram said that the Strata was beginning to looknatural again. There remained now, indeed, only Spunkie, the small graycat, to remind any one of the days that were gone--though, to be sure, there were Billy's letters, if they might be called a reminder. 

Billy did not write often. She said that she was "too busy to breathe. "Such letters as did come from her were addressed to William, though theysoon came to be claimed by the entire family. Bertram and Cyril franklydemanded that William read them aloud; and even Pete always contrived tohave some dusting or "puttering" within earshot--a subterfuge quite wellunderstood, but never reproved by any of the brothers. 

When the Christmas vacation drew near, William wrote that he hopedBilly and Aunt Hannah would spend it with them; but Billy answered thatalthough she appreciated their kindness and thanked them for it, yet shemust decline their invitation, as she had already invited several of thegirls to go home with her to Hampden Falls for a country Christmas. 

For the Easter vacation William was even more insistent--but so wasBilly: she had already accepted an invitation to go home with one ofthe girls, and she did not think it would be at all polite to change herplans now. 

William fretted not a little. Even Cyril and Bertram said that it was"too bad"; that they themselves would like to see the girl--so theywould!

It was in the spring, at the close of school, however, that the heaviestblow fell: Billy was not coming to Boston even then. She wrote that sheand Aunt Hannah were going to "run across the water for a little tripthrough the British Isles"; and that their passage was already engaged. 

"And so you see, " she explained, "I shall not have a minute to spare. There'll be only time to skip home for Aunt Hannah, and to pack thetrunks before it'll be time to start. "

Bertram looked at Cyril significantly when this letter was read aloud;and afterward he muttered in Cyril's ear:

"You see! It's Hampden Falls she calls 'home' now--not the Strata. "

"Yes, I see, " frowned Cyril. "It does look suspicious. "

Two days before the date of Billy's expected sailing, William announcedat the breakfast table that he was going away on business; might be goneuntil the end of the week. 

"You don't say, " commented Bertram. "I'M going to-morrow, but I'm comingback in a couple of days. "

"Hm-m;" murmured William, abstractedly. "Oh, well, I may be back beforethe end of the week. "

Only one meal did Cyril eat alone after his brothers had gone; then hetold Pete that he had decided to take the night boat for New York. Therewas a little matter that called him there, he said, and he believed thetrip by water would be a pleasure, the night was so fine and warm. 

In New York Cyril had little trouble in finding Billy, as he knew thesteamship she was to take. 

"I thought as long as I was in New York to-day I'd just come and saygood-by to you and Aunt Hannah, " he informed her, with an evident aimtoward making his presence appear to be casual. 

"That was good of you!" exclaimed Billy. "And how are Uncle William andMr. Bertram?"

"Very well, I fancy, though they weren't there when I left, " replied theman. 

"Oh!--gone away?"

"Yes. A little matter of business they said; but--well, by Jove!" hebroke off, his gaze on a familiar figure hurrying at that moment towardthem. "There's William now!"

William, with no eyes but for Billy, came rapidly forward. 

"Well, well, Billy! I thought as long as I happened to be in New Yorkto-day I'd just run down to the boat and see you and Aunt Hannah off, and wish--CYRIL! Where did YOU come from?"

Billy laughed. 

"He just happened to be in town, too, Uncle William, like you, " sheexplained. "And I'm sure I think it's lovely of you to be so kind. AuntHannah'll be up right away. She went down to the stateroom to--" Thistime it was Billy who stopped abruptly. The two men facing her could notsee what she saw, and not until their brother Bertram's merry greetingfell on their ears did they understand her sudden silence. 

"And is this the way you meant to run away from us, young lady?" criedBertram. "Not so fast! You see, I happened to be in New York thismorning, and so I--" Something in Billy's face sent a pause to his wordsjust as his eyes spied the two men at the girl's side. For a moment hestared dumbly; then he gave a merry gesture of defeat. 

"It's all up! I might as well confess. I'VE been planning this thing forthree weeks, Billy, ever since your letter came, in fact. As for my twofellow-sinners here, I'll wager they weren't two days behind me in theirplanning. So now, own up, boys!"

William and Cyril, however, did not have to "own up. " Mrs. Stetsonappeared at the moment and created, for them, a very welcome diversion. 

Long minutes later, when the good-byes had become nothing but a flutterof white handkerchiefs from deck to shore, and shore to deck, Williamdrew a long sigh. 

"That's a nice little girl, boys, a nice little girl!" he exclaimed. "Ideclare! I didn't suppose I'd mind so much her going so far away. "

CHAPTER XX

BILLY, THE MYTH

To all appearances it came about very naturally that Billy didnot return to America for some time. During the summer she wroteoccasionally to William, and gave glowing accounts of their travels. Then in September came the letter telling him that they had concluded tostay through the winter in Paris. Billy wrote that she had decided notto go to college. She would take up some studies there in Paris, shesaid, but she would devote herself more particularly to her music. 

When the next summer came there was still something other than Americato claim her attention: the Calderwells had invited her to cruise withthem for three months. Their yacht was a little floating palace ofdelight, Billy declared, not to mention the charm of the unknown landsand waters that she and Aunt Hannah would see. 

Of all this Billy wrote to William--at occasional intervals--but she didnot come home. Even when the next autumn came, there was still Paris todetain her for another long winter of study. 

In the Henshaw house on Beacon Street, William mourned not a little aseach recurring season brought no Billy. 

"The idea! It's just as if one didn't have a namesake!" he fumed. 

"Well, did you have one?" Bertram demanded one day. "Really, Will, I'mbeginning to think she's a myth. Long years ago, from the first ofApril till June we did have two frolicsome sprites here that announcedthemselves as 'Billy' and 'Spunk, ' I'll own. And a year later, by waysdevious and secret, we three managed to see the one called 'Billy' offon a great steamship. Since then, what? A word--a message--a scrap ofpaper. Billy's a myth, I say!"

William sighed. 

"Sometimes I don't know but you are right, " he admitted. "Why, it'llbe three years next June since Billy was here. She must be nearlytwenty-one--and we know almost nothing about her. "

"That's so. I wonder--" Bertram paused, and laughed a little, "I wonderif NOW she'd play guardian angel to me through the streets of Boston. "

William threw a keen glance into his brother's face. 

"I don't believe it would be quite necessary, NOW, Bert, " he saidquietly. 

The other flushed a little, but his eyes softened. 

"Maybe not, Will; still--one can always find some use for--a guardianangel, you know, " he finished, almost under his breath. 

To Cyril Bertram had occasionally spoken, during the last two years, of their first suspicions concerning Billy's absence. They speculatedvaguely, too, as to why she had gone, and if she would ever come back;and they wondered if anything could have wounded her and sent her away. To William they said nothing of all this, however; though they agreedthat they would have asked Kate for her opinion, had she been there. But Kate was not there. As it chanced, a good business opportunity hadcalled Kate's husband to a Western town very soon after Billy herselfhad gone to Hampden Falls; and since the family's removal to the West, Mrs. Hartwell had not once returned to Boston. 

It was in April, three years since Billy's first appearance in theBeacon Street house, that Bertram met his friend, Hugh Calderwell, onthe street one afternoon, and brought him home to dinner. 

Hugh Calderwell was a youth who, Bertram said, had been born with awhole dozen silver spoons in his mouth. And, indeed, it would seem so, if present prosperity were any indication. He was a good-looking youngfellow with a frank manliness that appealed to men, and a deferentialchivalry that appealed to women; a combination that brought him manyfriends--and some enemies. With plenty of money to indulge a passionfor traveling, young Calderwell had spent the most of his time sincegraduation in daring trips into the heart of almost impenetrableforests, or to the top of almost inaccessible mountains, with anoccasional more ordinary trip to give variety. He had now come to thepoint, however, where he was determined to "settle down to somethingthat meant something, " he told the Henshaws, as the four men smoked inBertram's den after dinner. 

"Yes, sir, I have, " he iterated. "And, by the way, the little girlthat has set me to thinking in such good earnest is a friend of yours, too, --Miss Neilson. I met her in Paris. She was on our yacht all lastsummer. "

Three men sat suddenly erect in their chairs. 

"Billy?" cried three voices. "Do you know Billy?"

"To be sure! And you do, too, she says. "

"Oh, no, we don't, " disputed Bertram, emphatically. "But we WISH wedid!"

His guest laughed. 

"Well, I fancy you DO know her, or you wouldn't have answered likethat, " he retorted. "For you just begin to know Miss Billy when you findout that you DON'T know her. She is a charming girl--a very charminggirl. "

"She is my namesake, " announced William, in what Bertram called his"finest ever" voice that he used only for the choicest bits in hiscollections. 

"Yes, she told me, " smiled Calderwell. "'Billy' for 'William. ' Oddidea, too, but clever. It helps to distinguish her even more--though shedoesn't need it, for that matter. "

"'Doesn't need it, '" echoed William in a puzzled voice. 

"No. Perhaps you don't know, Mr. Henshaw, but Miss Billy is a verypopular young woman. You have reason to be proud of your namesake. "

"I have always been that, " declared William, with just a touch ofhauteur. 

"Tell us about her, " begged Bertram. "You remember I said that we wishedwe did know her. "

Calderwell smiled. 

"I don't believe, after all, that you do know much about her, " he beganmusingly. "Billy is not one who talks much of herself, I fancy, in herletters. "

William frowned. This time there was more than a touch of hauteur in hisvoice. 

"MISS NEILSON is not one to show vanity anywhere, " he said, withsuggestive emphasis on the name. 

"Indeed she isn't, " agreed Calderwell, heartily. "She is a finegirl--quite one of the finest I know, in fact. "

There was an uncomfortable silence. Over in the corner Cyril puffed athis cigar with an air almost of boredom. He had not spoken since hisfirst surprised questioning with the others, "Do you know Billy?"William was still frowning. Even Bertram wore a look that was not quitesatisfied. 

"Miss Neilson has spent two winters in Paris now, you know, " resumedCalderwell, after a moment; "and she is very popular both withthe American colony, and with the other students. As for her 'AuntHannah'--they all make a pet of her; but that is, perhaps, because Billyherself is so devoted. "

Again William frowned at the familiar "Billy"; but Calderwell talked onunheeding. 

"After all, I'm not sure but some of us regard 'Aunt Hannah' with scantfavor, occasionally, " he laughed; "something as if she were the dragonthat guarded the princess, you know. Miss Billy IS popular with the men, and she has suitors enough to turn any girl's head--but her own. "

"Suitors!" cried William, plainly aghast. "Why, Billy's nothing but achild!"

Calderwell gave an odd smile. 

"How long is it since you've seen--Miss Neilson?" he asked. 

"Two years. "

"And then only for a few minutes just before she sailed, " amendedBertram. "We haven't really seen much of her since three years ago. "

"Hm-m; well, you'll see for yourself soon. You know she's coming homenext month. "

Not one of the brothers did know it--but not one of them intended thatCalderwell should find out that they did not. 

"Yes, she's coming home, " said William, lifting his chin a little. 

"Oh, yes, next month, " added Bertram, nonchalantly. 

Even Cyril across the room was not to be outdone. 

"Yes. Miss Neilson comes home next month, " he said. 

CHAPTER XXI

BILLY, THE REALITY

Very early in May came the cheery letter from Billy herself announcingthe news of her intended return. 

"And I shall be so glad to see you all, " she wrote in closing. "It seemsso long since I left America. " Then she signed her name with "kindestregards to all"--Billy did not send "love to all" any more. 

William at once began to make plans for his namesake's comfort. 

"But, Will, she didn't say she was coming here, " Bertram reminded him. 

"She didn't need to, " smiled William, confidently. "She just took it forgranted, of course. This is her home. "

"But it hasn't been--for years. She's called Hampden Falls 'home. '"

"I know, but that was before, " demurred William, his eyes a littleanxious. "Besides, they've sold the house now, you know. There's nowherefor her to go but here, Bertram. "

"All right, " acquiesced the younger man, still doubtingly. "Maybe that'sso; maybe! But--" he did not finish his sentence, and his eyes weretroubled as he watched his brother begin to rearrange Billy's rooms. In time, however, so sure was William of Billy's return to the BeaconStreet house, that Bertram ceased to question; and, with almost as muchconfidence as William himself displayed, he devoted his energies to thepreparations for Billy's arrival. 

And what preparations they were! Even Cyril helped this time to theextent of placing on Billy's piano a copy of his latest book, and a pileof new music. Nor were the melodies that floated down from the upperfloor akin to funeral marches; they were perilously near to being alliedto "ragtime. "

At last everything was ready. There was not one more bit of dust tocatch Pete's eye, nor one more adornment that demanded William's carefulhand to adjust. In Billy's rooms new curtains graced the windows and newrugs the floors. In Mrs. Stetson's, too, similar changes had been made. The latest and best "Face of a Girl" smiled at one from aboveBilly's piano, and the very rarest of William's treasures adorned themantelpiece. No guns nor knives nor fishing-rods met the eyes now. Instead, at every turn, there was a hint of feminine tastes: a mirror, aworkbasket, a low sewing-chair, a stand with a tea tray. And everywherewere roses, up-stairs and down-stairs, until the air was heavy withtheir perfume. In the dining-room Pete was again "swinging back andforth like a pendulum, " it is true; but it was a cheerful pendulumto-day, anxious only that no time should be lost. In the kitchen alonewas there unhappiness, and there because Dong Ling had already spoileda whole cake of chocolate in a vain attempt to make Billy's favoritefudge. Even Spunkie, grown now to be sleek, lazy, and majesticallyindifferent, was in holiday attire, for a brand-new pink bow of hugedimensions adorned his fat neck--for the first time in many months. 

"You see, " William had explained to Bertram, "I put on that ribbon againbecause I thought it would make Spunkie seem more homelike, and morelike Spunk. You know there wasn't anything Billy missed so much as thatkitten when she went abroad. Aunt Hannah said so. "

"Yes, I know, " Bertram had laughed; "but still, Spunkie isn't Spunk, youunderstand!" he had finished, with a vision in his eyes of Billy as shehad looked that first night when she had triumphantly lifted from thegreen basket the little gray kitten with its enormous pink bow. Thistime there was no circuitous journeying, no secrecy in the trip to NewYork. Quite as a matter of course the three brother made their plans tomeet Billy, and quite as a matter of course they met her. Perhapsthe only cloud in the horizon of their happiness was the presenceof Calderwell. He, too, had come to meet Billy--and all the Henshawbrothers were vaguely conscious of a growing feeling of dislike towardCalderwell. 

Billy was unmistakably glad to see them--and to see Calderwell. It waswhile she was talking to Calderwell, indeed, that William and Cyril andBertram had an opportunity really to see the girl, and to note what timehad done for her. They knew then, at once, that time had been very kind. 

It was a slim Billy that they saw, with a head royally poised, and achin that was round and soft, and yet knew well its own mind. The eyeswere still appealing, in a way, yet behind the appeal lay unsoundeddepths of--not one of the brothers could quite make up his mind justwhat, yet all the brothers determined to find out. The hair still curleddistractingly behind the pretty ears, and fluffed into burnished bronzewhere the wind had loosened it. The cheeks were paler now, though therose-flush still glowed warmly through the clear, smooth skin. Themouth--Billy's mouth had always been fascinating, Bertram suddenlydecided, as he watched it now. He wanted to paint it--again. It was nottoo large for beauty nor too small for strength. It curved delightfully, and the lower lip had just the fullness and the color that he liked--topaint, he said to himself. 

William, too, was watching Billy's mouth; in fact--though he did notknow it--one never was long near Billy without noticing her mouth, ifshe talked. William thought it pretty, merry, and charmingly kissable;but just now he wished that it would talk to him, and not to Calderwellany longer. Cyril--indeed, Cyril was paying little attention to Billy. He had turned to Aunt Hannah. To tell the truth, it seemed to Cyrilthat, after all, Billy was very much like other merry, thoughtless, rather noisy young women, of whom he knew--and disliked--scores. It hadoccurred to him suddenly that perhaps it would not be unalloyed bliss totake this young namesake of William's home with them. 

It was not until an hour later, when Billy, Aunt Hannah, and theHenshaws had reached the hotel where they were to spend the night, thatthe Henshaw brothers began really to get acquainted with Billy. Sheseemed then more like their own Billy--the Billy that they had known. 

"And I'm so glad to be here, " she cried; "and to see you all. America ISthe best place, after all!"

"And of America, Boston is the Hub, you know, " Bertram reminded her. 

"It is, " nodded Billy. 

"And it hasn't changed a mite, except to grow better. You'll seeto-morrow. "

"As if I hadn't been counting the days!" she exulted. "And now what haveyou been doing--all of you?"

"Just wait till you see, " laughed Bertram. "They're all spread out foryour inspection. "

"A new 'Face of a Girl'?"

"Of course--yards of them!"

"And heaps of 'Old Blues' and 'black basalts'?" she questioned, turningto William. 

"Well, a--few, " hesitated William, modestly. 

"And--the music; what of that?" Billy looked now at Cyril. 

"You'll see, " he shrugged. "There's very little, after all--ofanything. "

Billy gave a wise shake of her head. 

"I know better; and I want to see it all so much. We've talked andtalked of it; haven't we, Aunt Hannah?--of what we would do when we gotto Boston?"

"Yes, my dear; YOU have. "

The girl laughed. 

"I accept the amendment, " she retorted with mock submission. "I supposeit is always I who talk. "

"It was--when I painted you, " teased Bertram. "By the way, I'll LET youtalk if you'll pose again for me, " he finished eagerly. 

Billy uptilted her nose. 

"Do you think, sir, you deserve it, after that speech?" she demanded. 

"But how about YOUR art--your music?" entreated William. "You have saidso little of that in your letters. "

Billy hesitated. For a brief moment she glanced at Cyril. He did notappear to have heard his brother's question. He was talking with AuntHannah. 

"Oh, I play--some, " murmured the girl, almost evasively. "But tell me ofyourself, Uncle William, and of what you are doing. " And William neededno second bidding. 

It was some time later that Billy turned to him with an amazedexclamation in response to something he had said. 

"Home with you! Why, Uncle William, what do you mean? You didn't reallythink you'd got to be troubled with ME any longer!" she cried merrily. 

William's face paled, then flushed. 

"I did not call it 'trouble, ' Billy, " he said quietly. His grieved eyeslooked straight into hers and drove the merriment quite away. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, " she said gently. "And I appreciate your kindness, indeed I do; but I couldn't--really I couldn't think of such a thing!"

"And you don't have to think of it, " cut in Bertram, who considered thatthe situation was becoming much too serious. "All you have to do is tocome. "

Billy shook her head. 

"You are so good, all of you! But you didn't--you really didn't think IWAS--coming!" she protested. 

"Indeed we did, " asserted Bertram, promptly; "and we have doneeverything to get ready for you, too, even to rigging up Spunkie tomasquerade as Spunk. I'll warrant that Pete's nose is already flattenedagainst the window-pane, lest we should HAPPEN to come to-night; andthere's no telling how many cakes of chocolate Dong Ling has spoiled bythis time. We left him trying to make fudge, you know. "

Billy laughed--but she cried, too; at least, her eyes grew suddenlymoist. Bertram tried to decide afterward whether she laughed till shecried, or cried till she laughed. 

"No, no, " she demurred tremulously. "I couldn't. I really have neverintended that. "

"But why not? What are you going to do?" questioned William in a voicethat was dazed and hurt. 

The first question Billy ignored. The second she answered with apromptness and a gayety that was meant to turn the thoughts away fromthe first. 

"We are going to Boston, Aunt Hannah and I. We've got rooms engagedfor just now, but later we're going to take a house and live together. That's what we're going to do. "

CHAPTER XXII

HUGH CALDERWELL

In the Beacon Street house William mournfully removed the huge pink bowfrom Spunkie's neck, and Bertram threw away the roses. Cyril marchedup-stairs with his pile of new music and his book; and Pete, inobedience to orders, hid the workbasket, the tea table, and the lowsewing-chair. With a great display of a "getting back home" air, Bertrammoved many of his belongings upstairs--but inside of a week he had movedthem down again, saying that, after all, he believed he liked the firstfloor better. Billy's rooms were closed then, and remained as they hadfor years--silent and deserted. 

Billy with Aunt Hannah had gone directly to their Back Bay hotel. "Thisis for just while I'm house-hunting, " the girl had said. But very soonshe had decided to go to Hampden Falls for the summer and postpone herhouse-buying until the autumn. Billy was twenty-one now, and there weremany matters of business to arrange with Lawyer Harding, concerning herinheritance. It was not until September, therefore, when Billy once morereturned to Boston, that the Henshaw brothers had the opportunity ofrenewing their acquaintance with William's namesake. 

"I want a home, " Billy said to Bertram and William on the night ofher arrival. (As before, Mrs. Stetson and Billy had gone directly to ahotel. ) "I want a real home with a furnace to shake--if I want to--andsome dirt to dig in. "

"Well, I'm sure that ought to be easy to find, " smiled Bertram. 

"Oh, but that isn't all, " supplemented Billy. "It must be mostly closetsand piazza. At least, those are the important things. "

"Well, you might run across a snag there. Why don't you build?"

Billy gave a gesture of dissent. 

"Too slow. I want it now. "

Bertram laughed. His eyes narrowed quizzically. 

"From what Calderwell says, " he bantered, "I should judge that there areplenty of sighing swains who are only too ready to give you a home--andnow. "

The pink deepened in Billy's cheeks. 

"I said closets and a piazza, dirt to dig, and a furnace to shake, " sheretorted merrily. "I didn't say I wanted a husband. "

"And you don't, of course, " interposed William, decidedly. "You are muchtoo young for that. "

"Yes, sir, " agreed Billy demurely; but Bertram was sure he saw a twinkleunder the downcast lashes. 

"And where is Cyril?" asked Mrs. Stetson, coming into the room at thatmoment. 

William stirred restlessly. 

"Well, Cyril couldn't--couldn't come, " stammered William with an uneasyglance at his brother. 

Billy laughed unexpectedly. 

"It's too bad--about Mr. Cyril's not coming, " she murmured. And againBertram caught the twinkle in the downcast eyes. 

To Bertram the twinkle looked interesting, and worth pursuit; but atthe very beginning of the chase Calderwell's card came up, and thatended--everything, so Bertram declared crossly to himself. 

Billy found her dirt to dig in, and her furnace to shake, in Brookline. There were closets, too, and a generous expanse of veranda. They allbelonged to a quaint little house perched on the side of Corey Hill. From the veranda in the rear, and from many of the windows, one lookedout upon a delightful view of many-hued, many-shaped roofs nestlingamong towering trees, with the wide sweep of the sky above, and the hazeof faraway hills at the horizon. 

"In fact, it's as nearly perfect as it can be--and not take angel-wingsand fly away, " declared Billy. "I have named it 'Hillside. '"

Very early in her career as house-owner, Billy decided that howeverdelightful it might be to have a furnace to shake, it would not be atall delightful to shake it; besides, there was the new motor car to run. Billy therefore sought and found a good, strong man who had not only themuscle and the willingness to shake the furnace, but the skill to turnchauffeur at a moment's notice. Best of all, this man had also a wifewho, with a maid to assist her, would take full charge of the house, andthus leave Billy and Mrs. Stetson free from care. All these, togetherwith a canary, and a kitten as near like Spunk as could be obtained, made Billy's household. 

"And now I'm ready to see my friends, " she announced. 

"And I think your friends will be ready to see you, " Bertram assuredher. 

And they were--at least, so it appeared. For at once the little houseperched on the hillside became the Mecca for many of the Henshaws'friends who had known Billy as William's merry, eighteen-year-oldnamesake. There were others, too, whom Billy had met abroad; andthere were soft-stepping, sweet-faced old women and an occasionalwhite-whiskered old man--Aunt Hannah's friends--who found that the youngmistress of Hillside was a charming hostess. There were also the Henshaw"boys, " and there was always Calderwell--at least, so Bertram declaredto himself sometimes. 

Bertram came frequently to the little house on the hill, even morefrequently than William; but Cyril was not seen there so often. He cameonce at first, it is true, and followed Billy from room to room as sheproudly displayed her new home. He showed polite interest in her view, and a perfunctory enjoyment of the tea she prepared for him. But hedid not come again for some time, and when he did come, he sat stifflysilent, while his brothers did most of the talking. 

As to Calderwell--Calderwell seemed suddenly to have lost his interestin impenetrable forests and unclimbable mountains. Nothing moreintricate than the long Beacon Street boulevard, or more inaccessiblethan Corey Hill seemed worth exploring, apparently. According toCalderwell's own version of it, he had "settled down"; he was goingto "be something that was something. " And he did spend sundry of hismorning hours in a Boston law office with ponderous, calf-bound volumesspread in imposing array on the desk before him. Other hours--manyhours--he spent with Billy. 

One day, very soon, in fact, after she arrived in Boston, Billy askedCalderwell about the Henshaws. 

"Tell me about them, " she said. "Tell me what they have been doing allthese years. "

"Tell you about them! Why, don't you know?"

She shook her head. 

"No. Cyril says nothing. William little more--about themselves; and youknow what Bertram is. One can hardly separate sense from nonsense withhim. "

"You don't know, then, how splendidly Bertram has done with his art?"

"No; only from the most casual hearsay. Has he done well then?"

"Finely! The public has been his for years, and now the criticsare tumbling over each other to do him honor. They rave about his'sensitive, brilliant, nervous touch, '--whatever that may be; his'marvelous color sense'; his 'beauty of line and pose. ' And they quarrelover whether it's realism or idealism that constitutes his charm. "

"I'm so glad! And is it still the 'Face of a Girl'?"

"Yes; only he's doing straight portraiture now as well. It's got to bequite the thing to be 'done' by Henshaw; and there's many a fair ladythat has graciously commissioned him to paint her portrait. He's a finefellow, too--a mighty fine fellow. You may not know, perhaps, but threeor four years ago he was--well, not wild, but 'frolicsome, ' he wouldprobably have called it. He got in with a lot of fellows that--well, that weren't good for a chap of Bertram's temperament. "

"Like--Mr. Seaver?"

Calderwell turned sharply. 

"Did YOU know Seaver?" he demanded in obvious surprise. 

"I used to SEE him--with Bertram. "

"Oh! Well, he WAS one of them, unfortunately. But Bertram shipped himyears ago. "

Billy gave a sudden radiant smile--but she changed the subject at once. 

"And Mr. William still collects, I suppose, " she observed. 

"Jove! I should say he did! I've forgotten the latest; but he's a finefellow, too, like Bertram. "

"And--Mr. Cyril?"

Calderwell frowned. 

"That chap's a poser for me, Billy, and no mistake. I can't make himout!"

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know. Probably I'm not 'tuned to his pitch. ' Bertram told meonce that Cyril was very sensitively strung, and never responded untila certain note was struck. Well, I haven't ever found that note, Ireckon. "

Billy laughed. 

"I never heard Bertram say that, but I think I know what he means; andhe's right, too. I begin to realize now what a jangling discord I musthave created when I tried to harmonize with him three years ago! Butwhat is he doing in his music?"

The other shrugged his shoulders. 

"Same thing. Plays occasionally, and plays well, too; but he's soerratic it's difficult to get him to do it. Everything must be just so, you know--air, light, piano, and audience. He's got another book out, I'm told--a profound treatise on somebody's something or other--musical, of course. "

"And he used to write music; doesn't he do that any more?"

"I believe so. I hear of it occasionally through musical friends ofmine. They even play it to me sometimes. But I can't stand for much ofit--his stuff--really, Billy. "

"'Stuff' indeed! And why not?" An odd hostility showed in Billy's eyes. 

Again Calderwell shrugged his shoulders. 

"Don't ask me. I don't know. But they're always dead slow, somberthings, with the wail of a lost spirit shrieking through them. "

"But I just love lost spirits that wail, " avowed Billy, with more than ashade of reproach in her voice. 

Calderwell stared; then he shook his head. 

"Not in mine, thank you;" he retorted whimsically. "I prefer my spiritsof a more sane and cheerful sort. "

The girl laughed, but almost instantly she fell silent. 

"I've been wondering, " she began musingly, after a time, "why some oneof those three men does not--marry. "

"You wouldn't wonder--if you knew them better, " declared Calderwell. "Now think. Let's begin at the top of the Strata--by the way, Bertram'sname for that establishment is mighty clever! First, Cyril: accordingto Bertram Cyril hates 'all kinds of women and other confusion'; and Ifancy Bertram hits it about right. So that settles Cyril. Then there'sWilliam--you know William. Any girl would say William was a dear; butWilliam isn't a MARRYING man. Dad says, "--Calderwell's voice softened alittle--"dad says that William and his young wife were the most devotedcouple that he ever saw; and that when she died she seemed to take withher the whole of William's heart--that is, what hadn't gone with thebaby a few years before. There was a boy, you know, that died. "

"Yes, I know, " nodded Billy, quick tears in her eyes. "Aunt Hannah toldme. "

"Well, that counts out William, then, " said Calderwell, with an air offinality. 

"But how about Bertram? You haven't settled Bertram, " laughed Billy, archly. 

"Bertram!" Calderwell's eyes widened. "Billy, can you imagine Bertram'smaking love in real earnest to a girl?"

"Why, I--don't--know; maybe!" Billy tipped her head from side to side asif she were viewing a picture set up for her inspection. 

"Well, I can't. In the first place, no girl would think he was serious;or if by any chance she did, she'd soon discover that it was the turnof her head or the tilt of her chin that he admired--TO PAINT. Now isn'tthat so?"

Billy laughed, but she did not answer. 

"It is, and you know it, " declared Calderwell. "And that settles him. Now you can see, perhaps, why none of these men--will marry. "

It was a long minute before Billy spoke. 

"Not a bit of it. I don't see it at all, " she declared with roguishmerriment. "Moreover, I think that some day, some one of them--willmarry, Sir Doubtful!"

Calderwell threw a quick glance into her eyes. Evidently something hesaw there sent a swift shadow to his own. He waited a moment, then askedabruptly:

"Billy, WON'T you marry me?"

Billy frowned, though her eyes still laughed. 

"Hugh, I told you not to ask me that again, " she demurred. 

"And I told you not to ask impossibilities of me, " he retortedimperturbably. "Billy, won't you, now--seriously?"

"Seriously, no, Hugh. Please don't let us go all over that again whenwe've done it so many times. "

"No, let's don't, " agreed the man, cheerfully. "And we don't have to, either, if you'll only say 'yes, ' now right away, without any morefuss. "

Billy sighed impatiently. 

"Hugh, won't you understand that I'm serious?" she cried; then sheturned suddenly, with a peculiar flash in her eyes. 

"Hugh, I don't believe Bertram himself could make love any morenonsensically than you can!"

Calderwell laughed, but he frowned, too; and again he threw intoBilly's face that keenly questioning glance. He said something--a lightsomething--that brought the laugh to Billy's lips in spite of herself;but he was still frowning when he left the house some minutes later, andthe shadow was not gone from his eyes. 

CHAPTER XXIII

BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING

Billy's time was well occupied. There were so many, many things shewished to do, and so few, few hours in which to do them. First there washer music. She made arrangements at once to study with one of Boston'sbest piano teachers, and she also made plans to continue her French andGerman. She joined a musical club, a literary club, and a more strictlysocial club; and to numerous church charities and philanthropicenterprises she lent more than her name, giving freely of both time andmoney. 

Friday afternoons, of course, were to be held sacred to the Symphonyconcerts; and on certain Wednesday mornings there was to be a series ofrecitals, in which she was greatly interested. 

For Society with a capital S, Billy cared little; but for sociabilitywith a small s, she cared much; and very wide she opened her doors toher friends, lavishing upon them a wealth of hospitality. Nor didthey all come in carriages or automobiles--these friends. A certainpale-faced little widow over at the South End knew just how good MissNeilson's tea tasted on a crisp October afternoon and Marie Hawthorn, afrail young woman who gave music lessons, knew just how restful was MissNeilson's couch after a weary day of long walks and fretful pupils. 

"But how in the world do you discover them all--these forlorn specimensof humanity?" queried Bertram one evening, when he had found Billyentertaining a freckled-faced messenger-boy with a plate of ice creamand a big square of cake. 

"Anywhere--everywhere, " smiled Billy. 

"Well, this last candidate for your favor, who has just gone--who's he?"

"I don't know, beyond that his name is 'Tom, ' and that he likes icecream. "

"And you never saw him before?"

"Never. "

"Humph! One wouldn't think it, to see his charming air of nonchalantaccustomedness. "

"Oh, but it doesn't take much to make a little fellow like that feel athome, " laughed Billy. 

"And are you in the habit of feeding every one who comes to your house, on ice cream and chocolate cake? I thought that stone doorstep of yourswas looking a little worn. "

"Not a bit of it, " retorted Billy. "This little chap came with a messagejust as I was finishing dinner. The ice cream was particularly goodto-night, and it occurred to me that he might like a taste; so I gave itto him. "

Bertram raised his eyebrows quizzically. 

"Very kind, of course; but--why ice cream?" he questioned. "I thought itwas roast beef and boiled potatoes that was supposed to be handed out togaunt-eyed hunger. "

"It is, " nodded Billy, "and that's why I think sometimes they'd like icecream and chocolate frosting. Besides, to give sugar plums one doesn'thave to unwind yards of red tape, or worry about 'pauperizing the poor. 'To give red flannels and a ton of coal, one must be properly circumspectand consult records and city missionaries, of course; and that's whyit's such a relief sometimes just to hand over a simple little sugarplum and see them smile. "

For a minute Bertram was silent, then he asked abruptly:

"Billy, why did you leave the Strata?"

Billy was taken quite by surprise. A pink flush spread to her forehead, and her tongue stumbled at first over her reply. 

"Why, I--it seemed--you--why, I left to go to Hampden Falls, to be sure. Don't you remember?" she finished gaily. 

"Oh, yes, I remember THAT, " conceded Bertram with disdainful emphasis. "But why did you go to Hampden Falls?"

"Why, it--it was the only place to go--that is, I WANTED to go there, "she corrected hastily. "Didn't Aunt Hannah tell you that I--I washomesick to get back there?"

"Oh, yes, Aunt Hannah SAID that, " observed the man; "but wasn't thathomesickness a little--sudden?"

Billy blushed pink again. 

"Why, maybe; but--well, homesickness is always more or less sudden;isn't it?" she parried. 

Bertram laughed, but his eyes grew suddenly almost tender. 

"See here, Billy, you can't bluff worth a cent, " he declared. "You aremuch too refreshingly frank for that. Something was the trouble. Nowwhat was it? Won't you tell me, please?"

Billy pouted. She hesitated and gazed anywhere but into the challengingeyes before her. Then very suddenly she looked straight into them. 

"Very well, there WAS a reason for my leaving, " she confessed a littlebreathlessly. "I--didn't want to--bother you any more--all of you. "

"Bother us!"

"No. I found out. You couldn't paint; Mr. Cyril couldn't play or write;and--and everything was different because I was there. But I didn'tblame you--no, no!" she assured him hastily. "It was only that I--foundout. "

"And may I ask HOW you obtained this most extraordinary information?"demanded Bertram, savagely. 

Billy shook her head. Her round little chin looked suddenly square anddetermined. 

"You may ask, but I shall not tell, " she declared firmly. 

If Bertram had known Billy just a little better he would have let thematter drop there; but he did not know Billy, so he asked:

"Was it anything I did--or said?"

The girl did not answer. 

"Billy, was it?" Bertram's voice showed terror now. 

Billy laughed unexpectedly. 

"Do you think I'm going to say 'no' to a series of questions, and thengive the whole thing away by my silence when you come to the right one?"she demanded merrily. "No, sir!"

"Well, anyhow, it wasn't I, then, " sighed the man in relief; "foryou just observed that you were not going to say 'no to a series ofquestions'--and that was the first one. So I've found out that much, anyhow, " he concluded triumphantly. 

The girl eyed him for a moment in silence; then she shook her head. 

"I'm not going to be caught that way, either, " she smiled. "Youknow--just what you did in the first place about it: nothing. "

The man stirred restlessly and pondered. After a long pause he adoptednew tactics. With a searching study of her face to note the slightestchange, he enumerated:

"Was it Cyril, then? Will? Aunt Hannah? Kate? It couldn't have beenPete, or Dong Ling!"

Billy still smiled inscrutably. At no name had Bertram detected somuch as the flicker of an eyelid; and with a glance half-admiring, half-chagrined, he fell back into his chair. 

"I'll give it up. You've won, " he acknowledged. "But, Billy, "--hismanner changed suddenly--"I wonder if you know just what a hole you leftin the Strata when you went away. "

"But I couldn't have--in the whole Strata, " objected Billy. "I occupiedonly one stratum, and a stratum doesn't go up and down, you know, onlyacross; and mine was the second floor. "

Bertram gave a slow shake of his head. 

"I know; but yours was a freak formation, " he maintained gravely. "ItDID go up and down. Honestly, Billy, we did care--lots. Will and I wereinconsolable, and even Cyril played dirges for a week. "

"Did he?" gurgled Billy, with sudden joyousness. "I'm so glad!"

"Thank you, " murmured Bertram, disapprovingly. "We hadn't considered ita subject for exultation. "

"What? Oh, I didn't mean that! That is--" she stopped helplessly. 

"Oh, never mind about trying to explain, " interposed Bertram. "I fancythe remedy would be worse than the disease, in this case. "

"Nonsense! I only meant that I like to be missed--sometimes, " retortedBilly, a little nettled. 

"And you rejoice then to have me mope, Cyril play dirges, and Willwander mournfully about the house with Spunkie in his arms! You shouldhave seen William. If his forlornness did not bring tears to your eyes, the grace of the pink bow that lopped behind Spunkie's left ear wouldsurely have brought a copious flow. "

Billy laughed, but her eyes grew tender. 

"Did Uncle William do--that?" she asked. 

"He did--and he did more. Pete told me after a time that you hadnot left one thing in the house, anywhere; but one day, over behindWilliam's most treasured Lowestoft, I found a small shell hairpin, anda flat brown silk button that I recognized as coming from one of yourdresses. "

"Oh!" said Billy, softly. "Dear Uncle William--and how good he was tome!"

CHAPTER XXIV

CYRIL, THE ENIGMA

Perhaps it was because Billy saw so little of Cyril that it was Cyrilwhom she wished particularly to see. William, Bertram, Calderwell--allher other friends came frequently to the little house on the hill, Billytold herself; only Cyril held aloof--and it was Cyril that she wanted. 

Billy said that it was his music; that she wanted to hear him play, andthat she wanted him to hear her. She felt grieved and chagrined. Notonce since she had come had he seemed interested--really interested inher music. He had asked her, it is true, in a perfunctory way whatshe had done, and who her teachers had been. But all the while she wasanswering she had felt that he was not listening; that he did not care. And she cared so much! She knew now that all her practising throughthe long hard months of study, had been for Cyril. Every scale had beensmoothed for his ears, and every phrase had been interpreted with hisapprobation in view. Across the wide waste of waters his face had shonelike a star of promise, beckoning her on and on to heights unknown. .. And now she was here in Boston, but she could not even play thescale, nor interpret the phrase for the ear to which they had been solaboriously attuned; and Cyril's face, in the flesh, was no beckoningstar of promise, but was a thing as cold and relentless as was the wasteof waters across which it had shone in the past. 

Billy did not understand it. She knew, it is true, of Cyril's reputedaversion to women in general and to noise; but she was neither women ingeneral nor noise, she told herself indignantly. She was only the littlemaid, grown three years older, who had sat at his feet and adoringlylistened to all that he had been pleased to say in the old days at thetop of the Strata. And he had been kind then--very kind, Billy declaredstoutly. He had been patient and interested, too, and he had seemed notonly willing, but glad to teach her, while now--

Sometimes Billy thought she would ask him candidly what was the matter. But it was always the old, frank Billy that thought this; the impulsiveBilly, that had gone up to Cyril's rooms years before and cheerfullyannounced that she had come to get acquainted. It was never thesensible, circumspect Billy that Aunt Hannah had for three yearsbeen shaping and coaxing into being. But even this Billy frownedrebelliously, and declared that sometime something should be said thatwould at least give him a chance to explain. 

In all the weeks since Billy's purchase of Hillside, Cyril had beenthere only twice, and it was nearly Thanksgiving now. Billy had seenhim once or twice, also, at the Beacon Street house, when she and AuntHannah had dined there; but on all these occasions he had been eitherthe coldly reserved guest or the painfully punctilious host. Never hadhe been in the least approachable. 

"He treats me exactly as he treated poor little Spunk that first night, "Billy declared hotly to herself. 

Only once since she came had Billy heard Cyril play, and that waswhen she had shared the privilege with hundreds of others at a publicconcert. She had sat then entranced, with her eyes on the clean-cuthandsome profile of the man who played with so sure a skill and power, yet without a note before him. Afterward she had met him face to face, and had tried to tell him how moved she was; but in her agitation, andbecause of a strange shyness that had suddenly come to her, she hadended only in stammering out some flippant banality that had brought tohis face merely a bored smile of acknowledgment. 

Twice she had asked him to play for her; but each time he had begged tobe excused, courteously, but decidedly. 

"It's no use to tease, " Bertram had interposed once, with an airy waveof his hands. "This lion always did refuse to roar to order. If youreally must hear him, you'll have to slip up-stairs and camp outside hisdoor, waiting patiently for such crumbs as may fall from his table. "

"Aren't your metaphors a little mixed?" questioned Cyril irritably. 

"Yes, sir, " acknowledged Bertram with unruffled temper, "but I don'tmind if Billy doesn't. I only meant her to understand that she'd have todo as she used to do--listen outside your door. "

Billy's cheeks reddened. 

"But that is what I sha'n't do, " she retorted with spirit. "And, moreover, I still have hopes that some day he'll play to me. "

"Maybe, " conceded Bertram, doubtfully; "if the stool and the piano andthe pedals and the weather and his fingers and your ears and my watchare all just right--then he'll play. "

"Nonsense!" scowled Cyril. "I'll play, of course, some day. But I'drather not today. " And there the matter had ended. Since then Billy hadnot asked him to play. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE OLD ROOM--AND BILLY

Thanksgiving was to be a great day in the Henshaw family. The Henshawbrothers were to entertain. Billy and Aunt Hannah had been invited todinner; and so joyously hospitable was William's invitation that itwould have included the new kitten and the canary if Billy would haveconsented to bring them. 

Once more Pete swept and garnished the house, and once more Dong Lingspoiled uncounted squares of chocolate trying to make the bafflingfudge. Bertram said that the entire Strata was a-quiver. Not but thatBilly and Aunt Hannah had visited there before, but that this wasdifferent. They were to come at noon this time. This visit was not to bea tantalizing little piece of stiffness an hour and a half long. It wasto be a satisfying, whole-souled matter of half a day's comradeship, almost like old times. So once more the roses graced the rooms, anda flaring pink bow adorned Spunkie's fat neck; and once more Bertramplaced his latest "Face of a Girl" in the best possible light. There wasstill a difference, however, for this time Cyril did not bring any musicdown to the piano, nor display anywhere a copy of his newest book. 

The dinner was to be at three o'clock, but by special invitation theguests were to arrive at twelve; and promptly at the appointed hour theycame. 

"There, this is something like, " exulted Bertram, when the ladies, divested of their wraps, toasted their feet before the open fire in hisden. 

"Indeed it is, for now I've time to see everything--everything you'vedone since I've been gone, " cried Billy, gazing eagerly about her. 

"Hm-m; well, THAT wasn't what I meant, " shrugged Bertram. 

"Of course not; but it's what I meant, " retorted Billy. "And there areother things, too. I expect there are half a dozen new 'Old Blues' andblack basalts that I want to see; eh, Uncle William?" she finished, smiling into the eyes of the man who had been gazing at her with dotingpride for the last five minutes. 

"Ho! Will isn't on teapots now, " quoth Bertram, before his brother hada chance to reply. "You might dangle the oldest 'Old Blue' that ever wasbefore him now, and he'd pay scant attention if he happened at the sametime to get his eyes on some old pewter chain with a green stone in it. "

Billy laughed; but at the look of genuine distress that came intoWilliam's face, she sobered at once. 

"Don't you let him tease you, Uncle William, " she said quickly. "I'm sure pewter chains with green stones in them sound just awfullyinteresting, and I want to see them right away now. Come, " she finished, springing to her feet, "take me up-stairs, please, and show them to me. "

William shook his head and said, "No, no!" protesting that what he hadwere scarcely worth her attention; but even while he talked he rose tohis feet and advanced half eagerly, half reluctantly, toward the door. 

"Nonsense, " said Billy, fondly, as she laid her hand on his arm. "I knowthey are very much worth seeing. Come!" And she led the way from theroom. "Oh, oh!" she exclaimed a few moments later, as she stood before asmall cabinet in one of William's rooms. "Oh, oh, how pretty!"

"Do you like them? I thought you would, " triumphed William, quick joydriving away the anxious fear in his eyes. "You see, I--I thought ofyou when I got them--every one of them. I thought you'd like them. ButI haven't very many, yet, of course. This is the latest one. " And hetenderly lifted from its black velvet mat a curious silver necklace madeof small, flat, chain-linked disks, heavily chased, and set at regularintervals with a strange, blue-green stone. 

Billy hung above it enraptured. 

"Oh, what a beauty! And this, I suppose, is Bertram's 'pewter chain'!'Pewter, ' indeed!" she scoffed. "Tell me, Uncle William, where did youget it?"

And uncle William told, happily, thirstily, drinking in Billy's evidentinterest with delight. There were, too, a quaintly-set ring and acat's-eye brooch; and to each belonged a story which William wasequally glad to tell. There were other treasures, also: buckles, rings, brooches, and necklaces, some of dull gold, some of equally dull silver;but all of odd design and curious workmanship, studded here and therewith bits of red, green, yellow, blue, and flame-colored stones. Verylearnedly then from William's lips fell the new vocabulary that had cometo him with his latest treasures: chrysoprase, carnelian, girasol, onyx, plasma, sardonyx, lapis lazuli, tourmaline, chrysolite, hyacinth, andcarbuncle. 

"They are lovely, perfectly lovely!" breathed Billy, when the last chainhad slipped through her fingers into William's hand. "I think they arethe very nicest things you ever collected. "

"So do I, " agreed the man, emphatically. "And they are--different, too. "

"They are, " said Billy, "very--different. " But she was not looking atthe jewelry: her eyes were on a small shell hairpin and a brown silkbutton half hidden behind a Lowestoft teapot. 

On the way down-stairs William stopped a moment at Billy's old rooms. 

"I wish you were here now, " he said wistfully. "They're all ready foryou--these rooms. "

"Oh, but why don't you use them?--such pretty rooms!" cried Billy, quickly. 

William gave a gesture of dissent. 

"We have no use for them; besides, they belong to you and Aunt Hannah. You left your imprint long ago, my dear--we should not feel at home inthem. "

"Oh, but you should! You mustn't feel like that!" objected Billy, hurriedly crossing the room to the window to hide a sudden nervousnessthat had assailed her. "And here's my piano, too, and open!" shefinished gaily, dropping herself upon the piano stool and dashing into abrilliant mazourka. 

Billy, like Cyril, had a way of working off her moods at her fingertips; and to-day the tripping notes and crashing chords told of anervous excitement that was not all joy. From the doorway Williamwatched her flying fingers with fond pride, and it was very reluctantlythat he acceded to Pete's request to go down-stairs for a moment tosettle a vexed question concerning the table decorations. 

Billy, left alone, still played, but with a difference. The trippingnotes slowed into a weird melody that rose and fell and lost itself inthe exquisite harmony that had been born of the crashing chords. Billywas improvising now, and into her music had crept something of herold-time longing when she had come to that house a lonely, orphan girl, in search of a home. On and on she played; then with a discordantnote, she suddenly rose from the piano. She was thinking of Kate, andwondering if, had Kate not "managed" the little room would still behome. 

So swiftly did Billy cross to the door that the man on the stairsoutside had not time to get quite out of sight. Billy did not see hisface, however; she saw only a pair of gray-trousered legs disappearingaround the curve of the landing above. She thought nothing of it untillater when dinner was announced, and Cyril came down-stairs; thenshe saw that he, and he only, that afternoon wore trousers of thatparticular shade of gray. 

The dinner was a great success. Even the chocolate fudge in the littlecut glass bonbon dishes was perfect; and it was a question whether Peteor Dong Ling tried the harder to please. 

After dinner the family gathered in the drawing-room and chattedpleasantly. Bertram displayed his prettiest and newest pictures, andBilly played and sung--bright, tuneful little things that she knew AuntHannah and Uncle William liked. If Cyril was pleased or displeased, hedid not show it--but Billy had ceased to play for Cyril's ears. She toldherself that she did not care; but she did wonder: was that Cyril on thestairs, and if so--what was he doing there?

CHAPTER XXVI

"MUSIC HATH CHARMS"

Two days after Thanksgiving Cyril called at Hillside. 

"I've come to hear you play, " he announced abruptly. 

Billy's heart sung within her--but her temper rose. Did he think thenthat he had but to beckon and she would come--and at this late day, sheasked herself. Aloud she said:

"Play? But this is 'so sudden'! Besides, you have heard me. "

The man made a disdainful gesture. 

"Not that. I mean play--really play. Billy, why haven't you played to mebefore?"

Billy's chin rose perceptibly. 

"Why haven't you asked me?" she parried. 

To Billy's surprise the man answered this with calm directness. 

"Because Calderwell said that you were a dandy player, and I don't carefor dandy players. "

Billy laughed now. 

"And how do you know I'm not a dandy player, Sir Impertinent?" shedemanded. 

"Because I've heard you--when you weren't. "

"Thank you, " murmured Billy. 

Cyril shrugged his shoulders. 

"Oh, you know very well what I mean, " he defended. "I've heard you;that's all. "

"When?"

"That doesn't signify. "

Billy was silent for a moment, her eyes gravely studying his face. Thenshe asked:

"Were you long--on that stairway?"

"Eh? What? Oh!" Cyril's forehead grew suddenly pink. "Well?" he finisheda little aggressively. 

"Oh, nothing, " smiled the girl. "Of course people who live in glasshouses must not throw stones. "

"Very well then, I did listen, " acknowledged the man, testily. "I likedwhat you were playing. I hoped, down-stairs later, that you'd play itagain; but you didn't. I came to-day to hear it. "

Again Billy's heart sung within her--but again her temper rose, too. 

"I don't think I feel like it, " she said sweetly, with a shake of herhead. "Not to-day. "

For a brief moment Cyril stared frowningly; then his face lighted withhis rare smile. 

"I'm fairly checkmated, " he said, rising to his feet and going straightto the piano. 

For long minutes he played, modulating from one enchanting compositionto another, and finishing with the one "all chords with big bass notes"that marched on and on--the one Billy had sat long ago on the stairs tohear. 

"There! Now will you play for me?" he asked, rising to his feet, andturning reproachful eyes upon her. 

Billy, too, rose to her feet. Her face was flushed and her eyes wereshining. Her lips quivered with emotion. As was always the case, Cyril'smusic had carried her quite out of herself. 

"Oh, thank you, thank you, " she sighed. "You don't know--you can't knowhow beautiful it all is--to me!"

"Thank you. Then surely now you'll play to me, " he returned. 

A look of real distress came to Billy's face. 

"But I can't--not what you heard the other day, " she cried remorsefully. "You see, I was--only improvising. "

Cyril turned quickly. 

"Only improvising! Billy, did you ever write it down--any of yourimprovising?"

An embarrassed red flew to Billy's face. 

"Not--not that amounted to--well, that is, some--a little, " shestammered. 

"Let me see it. "

"No, no, I couldn't--not YOU!"

Again the rare smile lighted Cyril's eyes. 

"Billy, let me see that paper--please. "

Very slowly the girl turned toward the music cabinet. She hesitated, glanced once more appealingly into Cyril's face, then with nervous hasteopened the little mahogany door and took from one of the shelves a sheetof manuscript music. But, like a shy child with her first copy book, sheheld it half behind her back as she came toward the piano. 

"Thank you, " said Cyril as he reached far out for the music. The nextmoment he seated himself again at the piano. 

Twice he played the little song through carefully, slowly. 

"Now, sing it, " he directed. 

Falteringly, in a very faint voice, and with very many breaths takenwhere they should not have been taken, Billy obeyed. 

"When we want to show off your song, Billy, we won't ask you to singit, " observed the man, dryly, when she had finished. 

Billy laughed and dimpled into a blush. 

"When I want to show off my song I sha'n't be singing it to you for thefirst time, " she pouted. 

Cyril did not answer. He was playing over and over certain harmonies inthe music before him. 

"Hm-m; I see you've studied your counterpoint to some purpose, " hevouchsafed, finally; then: "Where did you get the words?"

The girl hesitated. The flush had deepened on her face. 

"Well, I--" she stopped and gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm like thesmall boy who made the toys. 'I got them all out of my own head, andthere's wood enough to make another. '"

"Hm-m; indeed!" grunted the man. "Well, have you made any others?"

"One--or two, maybe. "

"Let me see them, please. "

"I think--we've had enough--for today, " she faltered. 

"I haven't. Besides, if I could have a couple more to go with this, itwould make a very pretty little group of songs. "

"'To go with this'! What do you mean?"

"To the publishers, of course. "

"The PUBLISHERS!"

"Certainly. Did you think you were going to keep these songs toyourself?"

"But they aren't worth it! They can't be--good enough!" Unbelieving joywas in Billy's voice. 

"No? Well, we'll let others decide that, " observed Cyril, with a shrug. "All is, if you've got any more wood--like this--I advise you to make itup right away. "

"But I have already!" cried the girl, excitedly. "There are lots oflittle things that I've--that is, there are--some, " she correctedhastily, at the look that sprang into Cyril's eyes. 

"Oh, there are, " laughed Cyril. "Well, we'll see what--" But he didnot see. He did not even finish his sentence; for Billy's maid, Rosa, appeared just then with a card. 

"Show Mr. Calderwell in here, " said Billy. Cyril said nothing--aloud;which was well. His thoughts, just then, were better left unspoken. 

CHAPTER XXVII

MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS

Wonderful days came then to Billy. Four songs, it seemed, had beenpronounced by competent critics decidedly "worth it"--unmistakably "goodenough"; and they were to be brought out as soon as possible. 

"Of course you understand, " explained Cyril, "that there's no 'hit'expected. Thank heaven they aren't that sort! And there's no great moneyin it, either. You'd have to write a masterpiece like 'She's my Ju-JuBaby' or some such gem to get the 'hit' and the money. But the songs arefine, and they'll take with cultured hearers. We'll get them introducedby good singers, of course, and they'll be favorites soon for theconcert stage, and for parlors. "

Billy saw a good deal of Cyril now. Already she was at work rewritingand polishing some of her half-completed melodies, and Cyril was helpingher, by his interest as well as by his criticism. He was, in fact, at the house very frequently--too frequently, indeed, to suit eitherBertram or Calderwell. Even William frowned sometimes when his cozychats with Billy were interrupted by Cyril's appearing with a roll ofnew music for her to "try"; though William told himself that he oughtto be thankful if there was anything that could make Cyril morecompanionable, less reserved and morose. And Cyril WAS different--therewas no disputing that. Calderwell said that he had come "out of hisshell"; and Bertram told Billy that she must have "found his note andstruck it good and hard. "

Billy was very happy. To the little music teacher, Marie Hawthorn, shetalked more freely, perhaps, than she did to any one else. 

"It's so wonderful, Marie--so wonderfully wonderful, " she said oneday, "to sit here in my own room and sing a little song that comes fromsomewhere, anywhere, out of the sky itself. Then by and by, that littlesong will fly away, away, over land and sea; and some day it will touchsomebody's heart just as it has touched mine. Oh, Marie, is it notwonderful?"

"It is, dear--and it is not. Your songs could not help reachingsomebody's heart. There's nothing wonderful in that. "

"Sweet flatterer!"

"But I mean it. They are beautiful; and so is--Mr. Henshaw's music. "

"Yes, it is, " murmured Billy, abstractedly. 

There was a long pause, then Marie asked with shy hesitation:

"Do you think, Miss Billy--that he would care? I listened yesterday whenhe was playing to you. I was up here in your room, but when I heard themusic I--I went out, on the stairs and sat down. Was it very--bad ofme?"

Billy laughed happily. 

"If it was, he can't say anything, " she reassured her. "He's done thesame thing himself--and so have I. "

"HE has done it!"

"Yes. It was at his home last Thanksgiving. It was then that he foundout--about my improvising. "

"Oh-h!" Marie's eyes were wistful. "And he cares so much now for yourmusic!"

"Does he? Do you think he does?" demanded Billy. 

"I know he does--and for the one who makes it, too. "

"Nonsense!" laughed Billy, with pinker cheeks. "It's the music, not themusician, that pleases him. Mr. Cyril doesn't like women. "

"He doesn't like women!"

"No. But don't look so shocked, my dear. Every one who knows Mr. Cyrilknows that. "

"But I don't think--I believe it, " demurred Marie, gazing straight intoBilly's eyes. "I'm sure I don't believe it. "

Under the little music teacher's steady gaze Billy flushed again. Thelaugh she gave was an embarrassed one, but through it vibrated a pleasedring. 

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet and moving restlesslyabout the room. With the next breath she had changed the subject to onefar removed from Mr. Cyril and his likes and dislikes. 

Some time later Billy played, and it was then that Marie drew a longsigh. 

"How beautiful it must be to play--like that, " she breathed. 

"As if you, a music teacher, could not play!" laughed Billy. 

"Not like that, dear. You know it is not like that. "

Billy frowned. 

"But you are so accurate, Marie, and you can read at sight so rapidly!"

"Oh, yes, like a little machine, I know!" scorned the usually gentleMarie, bitterly. "Don't they have a thing of metal that adds figureslike magic? Well, I'm like that. I see g and I play g; I see d and Iplay d; I see f and I play f; and after I've seen enough g's and d's andf's and played them all, the thing is done. I've played. "

"Why, Marie! Marie, my dear!" The second exclamation was very tender, for Marie was crying. 

"There! I knew I should some day have it out--all out, " sobbed Marie. "Ifelt it coming. "

"Then perhaps you'll--you'll feel better now, " stammered Billy. Shetried to say more--other words that would have been a real comfort; buther tongue refused to speak them. She knew so well, so woefully well, how very wooden and mechanical the little music teacher's playingalways had been. But that Marie should realize it herself like this--thetragedy of it made Billy's heart ache. At Marie's next words, however, Billy caught her breath in surprise. 

"But you see it wasn't music--it wasn't ever music that I wanted--todo, " she confessed. 

"It wasn't music! But what--I don't understand, " murmured Billy. 

"No, I suppose not, " sighed the other. "You play so beautifullyyourself. "

"But I thought you loved music. "

"I do. I love it dearly--in others. But I can't--I don't want to make itmyself. "

"But what do you want to do?"

Marie laughed suddenly. 

"Do you know, my dear, I have half a mind to tell you what I do like todo--just to make you stare. "

"Well?" Billy's eyes were wide with interest. 

"I like best of anything to--darn stockings and make puddings. "

"Marie!"

"Rank heresy, isn't it?" smiled Marie, tearfully. "But I do, truly. Ilove to weave the threads evenly in and out, and see a big hole close. As for the puddings I don't mean the common bread-and-butter kind, butthe ones that have whites of eggs and fruit, and pretty quivery jelliesall ruby and amber lights, you know. "

"You dear little piece of domesticity, " laughed Billy. "Then why in theworld don't you do these things?"

"I can't, in my own kitchen; I can't afford a kitchen to do them in. AndI just couldn't do them--right along--in other people's kitchens. "

"But why do you--play?"

"I was brought up to it. You know we had money once, lots of it, " sighedMarie, as if she were deploring a misfortune. "And mother was determinedto have me musical. Even then, as a little tot, I liked pudding-making, and after my mud-pie days I was always begging mother to let me go downinto the kitchen, to cook. But she wouldn't allow it, ever. She engagedthe most expensive masters and set me practising, always practising. I simply had to learn music; and I learned it like the adding machine. Then afterward, when father died, and then mother, and the money flewaway, why, of course I had to do something, so naturally I turned tothe music. It was all I could do. But--well, you know how it is, dear. Iteach, and teach well, perhaps, so far as the mechanical part goes; butas for the rest--I am always longing for a cozy corner with a basket ofstockings to mend, or a kitchen where there is a pudding waiting to bemade. "

"You poor dear!" cried Billy. "I've a pair of stockings now that needsattention, and I've been just longing for one of your 'quivery jelliesall ruby and amber lights' ever since you mentioned them. But--well, isthere anything I could do to help?"

"Nothing, thank you, " sighed Marie, rising wearily to her feet, andcovering her eyes with her hand for a moment. "My head aches shockingly, but I've got to go this minute and instruct little Jennie Knowls how toplay the wonderful scale of G with a black key in it. Besides, you dohelp me, you have helped me, you are always helping me, dear, " she addedremorsefully; "and it's wicked of me to make that shadow come to youreyes. Please don't think of it, or of me, any more. " And with achoking little sob she hurried from the room, followed by the amazed, questioning, sorrowful eyes of Billy. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

"I'M GOING TO WIN"

Nearly all of Billy's friends knew that Bertram Henshaw was in love withBilly Neilson before Billy herself knew it. Not that they regarded itas anything serious--"it's only Bertram" was still said of him on almostall occasions. But to Bertram himself it was very serious. 

The world to Bertram, indeed, had come to assume a vastly differentaspect from what it had displayed in times past. Heretofore it had beena plaything which like a juggler's tinsel ball might be tossed from handto hand at will. Now it was no plaything--no glittering bauble. Itwas something big and serious and splendid--because Billy lived in it;something that demanded all his powers to do, and be--because Billy waswatching; something that might be a Hades of torment or an Elysium ofbliss--according to whether Billy said "no" or "yes. "

Since Thanksgiving Bertram had known that it was love--this consumingfire within him; and since Thanksgiving he had known, too, that itwas jealousy--this fierce hatred of Calderwell. He was ashamed of thehatred. He told himself that it was unmanly, unkind, and unreasonable;and he vowed that he would overcome it. At times he even fancied thathe had overcome it; but always the sight of Calderwell in Billy's littledrawing-room or of even the man's card on Billy's silver tray was enoughto show him that he had not. 

There were others, too, who annoyed Bertram not a little, foremost ofthese being his own brothers. Still he was not really worried aboutWilliam and Cyril, he told himself. William he did not consider to be amarrying man; and Cyril--every one knew that Cyril was a woman-hater. He was doubtless attracted now only by Billy's music. There was noreal rivalry to be feared from William and Cyril. But there was alwaysCalderwell, and Calderwell was serious. Bertram decided, therefore, after some weeks of feverish unrest, that the only road to peace laythrough a frank avowal of his feelings, and a direct appeal to Billy togive him the great boon of her love. 

Just here, however, Bertram met with an unexpected difficulty. He couldnot find words with which to make his avowal or to present his appeal. He was surprised and annoyed. Never before had he been at a loss forwords--mere words. And it was not that he lacked opportunity. Hewalked, drove, and talked with Billy, and always she was companionable, attentive to what he had to say. Never was she cold or reserved. Neverdid she fail to greet him with a cheery smile. 

Bertram concluded, indeed, after a time, that she was too companionable, too cheery. He wished she would hesitate, stammer, blush; be alittle shy. He wished that she would display surprise, annoyance, even--anything but that eternal air of comradeship. And then, oneafternoon in the early twilight of a January day, he freed his mind, quite unexpectedly. 

"Billy, I wish you WOULDN'T be so--so friendly!" he exclaimed in a voicethat was almost sharp. 

Billy laughed at first, but the next moment a shamed distress drove themerriment quite out of her face. 

"You mean that I presume on--on our friendship?" she stammered. "Thatyou fear that I will again--shadow your footsteps?" It was the firsttime since the memorable night itself that Billy had ever in Bertram'spresence referred to her young guardianship of his welfare. She realizednow, suddenly, that she had just been giving the man before her somevery "sisterly advice, " and the thought sent a confused red to hercheeks. 

Bertram turned quickly. 

"Billy, that was the dearest and loveliest thing a girl ever did--onlyI was too great a chump to appreciate it!" finished Bertram in a voicethat was not quite steady. 

"Thank you, " smiled the girl, with a slow shake of her head and arelieved look in her eyes; "but I'm afraid I can't quite agree to that. "The next moment she had demanded mischievously: "Why, then, pray, thisunflattering objection to my--friendliness now?"

"Because I don't want you for a friend, or a sister, or anything elsethat's related, " stormed Bertram, with sudden vehemence. "I don't wantyou for anything but--a wife! Billy, WON'T you marry me?"

Again Billy laughed--laughed until she saw the pained anger leap to thegray eyes before her; then she became grave at once. 

"Bertram, forgive me. I didn't think you could--you can't be--serious!"

"But I am. "

Billy shook her head. 

"But you don't love me--not ME, Bertram. It's only the turn of my heador--or the tilt of my chin that you love--to paint, " she protested, unconsciously echoing the words Calderwell had said to her weeks before. "I'm only another 'Face of a Girl. '"

"You're the only 'Face of a girl' to me now, Billy, " declared the man, with disarming tenderness. 

"No, no, not that, " demurred Billy, in distress. "You don't mean it. Youonly think you do. It couldn't be that. It can't be!"

"But it is, dear. I think I have loved you ever since that night longago when I saw your dear, startled face appealing to me from beyondSeaver's hateful smile. And, Billy, I never went once with Seaveragain--anywhere. Did you know that?"

"No; but--I'm glad--so glad!"

"And I'm glad, too. So you see, I must have loved you then, thoughunconsciously, perhaps; and I love you now. "

"No, no, please don't say that. It can't be--it really can't be. I--Idon't love you--that way, Bertram. "

The man paled a little. 

"Billy--forgive me for asking, but it's so much to me--is it that thereis--some one else?" His voice shook. 

"No, no, indeed! There is no one. "

"It's not--Calderwell?"

Billy's forehead grew pink. She laughed nervously. 

"No, no, never!"

"But there are others, so many others!"

"Nonsense, Bertram; there's no one--no one, I assure you!"

"It's not William, of course, nor Cyril. Cyril hates women. "

A deeper flush came to Billy's face. Her chin rose a little; and an odddefiance flashed from her eyes. But almost instantly it was gone, and aslow smile had come to her lips. 

"Yes, I know. Every one--says that Cyril hates women, " she observeddemurely. 

"Then, Billy, I sha'n't give up!" vowed Bertram, softly. "Sometime youWILL love me!"

"No, no, I couldn't. That is, I'm not going to--to marry, " stammeredBilly. 

"Not going to marry!"

"No. There's my music--you know how I love that, and how much it is tome. I don't think there'll ever be a man--that I'll love better. "

Bertram lifted his head. Very slowly he rose till his splendid six feetof clean-limbed strength and manly beauty towered away above the lowchair in which Billy sat. His mouth showed new lines about the corners, and his eyes looked down very tenderly at the girl beside him; buthis voice, when he spoke, had a light whimsicality that deceived evenBilly's ears. 

"And so it's music--a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on cleanwhite paper--that is my only rival, " he cried. "Then I'll warn you, Billy, I'll warn you. I'm going to win!" And with that he was gone. 

CHAPTER XXIX

"I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY"

Billy did not know whether to be more amazed or amused at Bertram'sproposal of marriage. She was vexed; she was very sure of that. To marryBertram? Absurd!. .. Then she reflected that, after all, it was onlyBertram, so she calmed herself. 

Still, it was annoying. She liked Bertram, she had always liked him. Hewas a nice boy, and a most congenial companion. He never bored her, asdid some others; and he was always thoughtful of cushions and footstoolsand cups of tea when one was tired. He was, in fact, an ideal friend, just the sort she wanted; and it was such a pity that he must spoil itall now with this silly sentimentality! And of course he had spoiled itall. There was no going back now to their old friendliness. He would bemorose or silly by turns, according to whether she frowned or smiled;or else he would take himself off in a tragic sort of way that was verydisturbing. He had said, to be sure, that he would "win. " Win, indeed!As if she could marry Bertram! When she married, her choice would fallupon a man, not a boy; a big, grave, earnest man to whom the world meantsomething; a man who loved music, of course; a man who would single herout from all the world, and show to her, and to her only, the depthand tenderness of his love; a man who--but she was not going to marry, anyway, remembered Billy, suddenly. And with that she began to cry. Thewhole thing was so "tiresome, " she declared, and so "absurd. "

Billy rather dreaded her next meeting with Bertram. She feared--she knewnot what. But, as it turned out, she need not have feared anything, forhe met her tranquilly, cheerfully, as usual; and he did nothing and saidnothing that he might not have done and said before that twilight chattook place. 

Billy was relieved. She concluded that, after all, Bertram was goingto be sensible. She decided that she, too, would be sensible. She wouldaccept him on this, his chosen plane, and she would think no more of his"nonsense. "

Billy threw herself then even more enthusiastically into her belovedwork. She told Marie that after all was said and done, there could notbe any man that would tip the scales one inch with music on the otherside. She was a little hurt, it is true, when Marie only laughed andanswered:

"But what if the man and the music both happen to be on the same side, my dear; what then?"

Marie's voice was wistful, in spite of the laugh--so wistful that itreminded Billy of their conversation a few weeks before. 

"But it is you, Marie, who want the stockings to darn and the puddingsto make, " she retorted playfully. "Not I! And, do you know? I believe Ishall turn matchmaker yet, and find you a man; and the chiefest of hisqualifications shall be that he's wretchedly hard on his hose, and thathe adores puddings. "

"No, no, Miss Billy, don't, please!" begged the other, in quick terror. "Forget all I said the other day; please do! Don't tell--anybody!"

She was so obviously distressed and frightened that Billy was puzzled. 

"There, there, 'twas only a jest, of course, " she soothed her. "But, really Marie, it is the dear, domestic little mouse like yourself thatought to be somebody's wife--and that's the kind men are looking for, too. "

Marie gave a slow shake of her head. 

"Not the kind of man that is somebody, that does something, " sheobjected; "and that's the only kind I could--love. HE wants a wife thatis beautiful and clever, that can do things like himself--LIKE HIMSELF!"she iterated feverishly. 

Billy opened wide her eyes. 

"Why, Marie, one would think--you already knew--such a man, " she cried. 

The little music teacher changed her position, and turned her eyes away. 

"I do, of course, " she retorted in a merry voice, "lots of them. Don'tyou? Come, we've discussed my matrimonial prospects quite long enough, "she went on lightly. "You know we started with yours. Suppose we go backto those. "

"But I haven't any, " demurred Billy, as she turned with a smile to greetAunt Hannah, who had just entered the room. "I'm not going to marry; amI, Aunt Hannah?"

"Er--what? Marry? My grief and conscience, what a question, Billy!Of course you're going to marry--when the time comes!" exclaimed AuntHannah. 

Billy laughed and shook her head vigorously. But even as she openedher lips to reply, Rosa appeared and announced that Mr. Calderwell waswaiting down-stairs. Billy was angry then, for after the maid was gone, the merriment in Aunt Hannah's laugh only matched that in Marie's--andthe intonation was unmistakable. 

"Well, I'm not!" declared Billy with pink cheeks and much indignation, as she left the room. And as if to convince herself, Marie, Aunt Hannah, and all the world that such was the case, she refused Calderwell sodecidedly that night when he, for the half-dozenth time, laid his handand heart at her feet, that even Calderwell himself was convinced--sofar as his own case was concerned--and left town the next day. 

Bertram told Aunt Hannah afterward that he understood Mr. Calderwellhad gone to parts unknown. To himself Bertram shamelessly owned that themore "unknown" they were, the better he himself would be pleased. 

CHAPTER XXX

MARIE FINDS A FRIEND

It was on a very cold January afternoon, and Cyril was hurrying up thehill toward Billy's house, when he was startled to see a slender youngwoman sitting on a curbstone with her head against an electric-lightpost. He stopped abruptly. 

"I beg your pardon, but--why, Miss Hawthorn! It is Miss Hawthorn; isn'tit?"

Under his questioning eyes the girl's pale face became so painfullyscarlet that in sheer pity the man turned his eyes away. He thought hehad seen women blush before, but he decided now that he had not. 

"I'm sure--haven't I met you at Miss Neilson's? Are you ill? Can't I dosomething for you?" he begged. 

"Yes--no--that is, I AM Miss Hawthorn, and I've met you at MissNeilson's, " stammered the girl, faintly. "But there isn't anything, thank you, that you can do--Mr. Henshaw. I stopped to--rest. "

The man frowned. 

"But, surely--pardon me, Miss Hawthorn, but I can't think it yourusual custom to choose an icy curbstone for a resting place, with thethermometer down to zero. You must be ill. Let me take you to MissNeilson's. "

"No, no, thank you, " cried the girl, struggling to her feet, the vividred again flooding her face. "I have a lesson--to give. "

"Nonsense! You're not fit to give a lesson. Besides, they are allfolderol, anyway, half of them. A dozen lessons, more or less, won'tmake any difference; they'll play just as well--and just as atrociously. Come, I insist upon taking you to Miss Neilson's. "

"No, no, thank you! I really mustn't. I--" She could say no more. Astrong, yet very gentle hand had taken firm hold of her arm in sucha way as half to support her. A force quite outside of herself wascarrying her forward step by step--and Miss Hawthorn was not used tostrong, gentle hands, nor yet to a force quite outside of herself. Neither was she accustomed to walk arm in arm with Mr. Cyril Henshaw toMiss Billy's door. When she reached there her cheeks were like red rosesfor color, and her eyes were like the stars for brightness. Yet a minutelater, confronted by Miss Billy's astonished eyes, the stars and theroses fled, and a very white-faced girl fell over in a deathlike faintin Cyril Henshaw's arms. 

Marie was put to bed in the little room next to Billy's, and wasperemptorily hushed when faint remonstrance was made. The next morning, white-faced and wide-eyed, she resolutely pulled herself half upright, and announced that she was all well and must go home--home to Marie wasa six-by-nine hall bed-room in a South End lodging house. 

Very gently Billy pushed her back on the pillow and laid a detaininghand on her arm. 

"No, dear. Now, please be sensible and listen to reason. You are myguest. You did not know it, perhaps, for I'm afraid the invitation got alittle delayed. But you're to stay--oh, lots of weeks. "

"I--stay here? Why, I can't--indeed, I can't, " protested Marie. 

"But that isn't a bit of a nice way to accept an invitation, "disapproved Billy. "You should say, 'Thank you, I'd be delighted, I'msure, and I'll stay. '"

In spite of herself the little music teacher laughed, and in the laughher tense muscles relaxed. 

"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what is one to do with you? Surely youknow--you must know that I can't do what you ask!"

"I'm sure I don't see why not, " argued Billy. "I'm merely giving you aninvitation and all you have to do is to accept it. "

"But the invitation is only the kind way your heart has of coveringanother of your many charities, " objected Marie; "besides, I have toteach. I have my living to earn. "

"But you can't, " demurred the other. "That's just the trouble. Don'tyou see? The doctor said last night that you must not teach again thiswinter. "

"Not teach--again--this winter! No, no, he could not be so cruel asthat!"

"It wasn't cruel, dear; it was kind. You would be ill if you attemptedit. Now you'll get better. He says all you need is rest and care--andthat's exactly what I mean my guest shall have. "

Quick tears came to the sick girl's eyes. 

"There couldn't be a kinder heart than yours, Miss Billy, " she murmured, "but I couldn't--I really couldn't be a burden to you like this. I shallgo to some hospital. "

"But you aren't going to be a burden. You are going to be my friend andcompanion. "

"A companion--and in bed like this?"

"Well, THAT wouldn't be impossible, " smiled Billy; "but, as it happensyou won't have to put that to the test, for you'll soon be up anddressed. The doctor says so. Now surely you will stay. "

There was a long pause. The little music teacher's eyes had left Billy'sface and were circling the room, wistfully lingering on the hangings offilmy lace, the dainty wall covering, and the exquisite water colors intheir white-and-gold frames. At last she drew a deep sigh. 

"Yes, I'll stay, " she breathed rapturously; "but--you must let me help. "

"Help? Help what?"

"Help you; your letters, your music-copying, your accounts--anything, everything. And if you don't let me help, "--the music teacher'svoice was very stern now--"if you don't let me help, I shall go homejust--as--soon--as--I--can--walk!"

"Dear me!" dimpled Billy. "And is that all? Well, you shall help, and toyour heart's content, too. In fact, I'm not at all sure that I sha'n'tkeep you darning stockings and making puddings all the time, " she addedmischievously, as she left the room. 

Miss Hawthorn sat up the next day. The day following, in one of Billy's"fluttery wrappers, " as she called them, she walked all about the room. Very soon she was able to go down-stairs, and in an astonishingly shorttime she fitted into the daily life as if she had always been there. Shewas, moreover, of such assistance to Billy that even she herself couldsee the value of her work; and so she stayed, content. 

The little music teacher saw a good deal of Billy's friends then, particularly of the Henshaw brothers; and very glad was Billy to see thecomradeship growing between them. She had known that William wouldbe kind to the orphan girl, but she had feared that Marie would notunderstand Bertram's nonsense or Cyril's reserve. But very soon Bertramhad begged, and obtained, permission to try to reproduce on canvas thesheen of the fine, fair hair, and the veiled bloom of the rose-leaf skinthat were Marie's greatest charms; and already Cyril had unbent from hisusual stiffness enough to play to her twice. So Billy's fears on thatscore were at an end. 

CHAPTER XXXI

THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE

Many times during those winter days Billy thought of Marie's words: "Butwhat if the man and the music both happen to be on the same side?" Theyworried her, to some extent, and, curiously, they pleased and displeasedher at the same time. 

She told herself that she knew very well, of course, what Marie meant:it was Cyril; he was the man, and the music. But was Cyril beginningto care for her; and did she want him to? Very seriously one day Billyasked herself these questions; very calmly she argued the matter in hermind--as was Billy's way. 

She was proud, certainly, of what her influence had apparently done forCyril. She was gratified that to her he was showing the real depth andbeauty of his nature. It WAS flattering to feel that she, and only she, had thus won the regard of a professional woman-hater. Then, besidesall this, there was his music--his glorious music. Think of the blissof living ever with that! Imagine life with a man whose soul would be soperfectly attuned to hers that existence would be one grand harmony!Ah, that, truly, would be the ideal marriage! But she had planned not tomarry. Billy frowned now, and tapped her foot nervously. It was, indeed, most puzzling--this question, and she did not want to make a mistake. Then, too, she did not wish to wound Cyril. If the dear man HAD comeout of his icy prison, and were reaching out timid hands to her forher help, her interest, her love--the tragedy of it, if he met withno response!. .. . This vision of Cyril with outstretched hands, and ofherself with cold, averted eyes was the last straw in the balance withBilly. She decided suddenly that she did care for Cyril--a little; andthat she probably could care for him a great deal. With this thought, Billy blushed--already in her own mind she was as good as pledged toCyril. 

It was a great change for Billy--this sudden leap from girlhood andirresponsibility to womanhood and care; but she took it fearlessly, resolutely. If she was to be Cyril's wife she must make herself fitfor it--and in pursuance of this high ideal she followed Marie into thekitchen the very next time the little music teacher went out to make oneof her dainty desserts that the family liked so well. 

"I'll just watch, if you don't mind, " announced Billy. 

"Why, of course not, " smiled Marie, "but I thought you didn't like tomake puddings. "

"I don't, " owned Billy, cheerfully. 

"Then why this--watchfulness?"

"Nothing, only I thought it might be just as well if I knew how to makethem. You know how Cyril--that is, ALL the Henshaw boys like every kindyou make. "

The egg in Marie's hand slipped from her fingers and crashed untidilyon the shelf. With a gleeful laugh Billy welcomed the diversion. She hadnot meant to speak so plainly. It was one thing to try to fit herselfto be Cyril's wife, and quite another to display those efforts so openlybefore the world. 

The pudding was made at last, but Marie proved to be a nervous teacher. Her hand shook, and her memory almost failed her at one or two criticalpoints. Billy laughingly said that it must be stage fright, owing tothe presence of herself as spectator; and with this Marie promptly, andsomewhat effusively, agreed. 

So very busy was Billy during the next few days, acquiring her newdomesticity, that she did not notice how little she was seeing of Cyril. Then she suddenly realized it, and asked herself the reason for it. Cyril was at the house certainly, just as frequently as he had been; butshe saw that a new shyness in herself had developed which was causingher to be restless in his presence, and was leading her to like betterto have Marie or Aunt Hannah in the room when he called. She discovered, too, that she welcomed William, and even Bertram, with peculiarenthusiasm--if they happened to interrupt a tete-a-tete with Cyril. 

Billy was disturbed at this. She told herself that this shyness was notstrange, perhaps, inasmuch as her ideas in regard to love and marriagehad undergone so abrupt a change; but it must be overcome. If she was tobe Cyril's wife, she must like to be with him--and of course she reallydid like to be with him, for she had enjoyed his companionship verymuch during all these past weeks. She set herself therefore, now, determinedly to cultivating Cyril. 

It was then that Billy made a strange and fearsome discovery: there weresome things about Cyril that she did--not--like!

Billy was inexpressibly shocked. Heretofore he had been so high, soirreproachable, so god-like!--but heretofore he had been a friend. Now he was appearing in a new role--though unconsciously, she knew. Heretofore she had looked at him with eyes that saw only the delightfuland marvelous unfolding of a coldly reserved nature under the warmth ofher own encouraging smile. Now she looked at him with eyes that saw onlythe possibilities of that same nature when it should have been unfoldedin a lifelong companionship. And what she saw frightened her. There wasstill the music--she acknowledged that; but it had come to Billy withoverwhelming force that music, after all, was not everything. The mancounted, as well. Very frankly then Billy stated the case to herself. 

"What passes for 'fascinating mystery' in him now will be plainmoroseness--sometime. He is 'taciturn' now; he'll be--cross, then. It is'erratic' when he won't play the piano to-day; but a few years from now, when he refuses some simple request of mine, it will be--stubbornness. All this it will be--if I don't love him; and I don't. I know I don't. Besides, we aren't really congenial. I like people around; he doesn't. I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy days; I abhor them. There is no doubt of it--life with him would not be one grand harmony;it would be one jangling discord. I simply cannot marry him. I shallhave to break the engagement!"

Billy spoke with regretful sorrow. It was evident that she grieved tobring pain to Cyril. Then suddenly the gloom left her face: she hadremembered that the "engagement" was just three weeks old--and was aprofound secret, not only to the bridegroom elect, but to all the worldas well--save herself!

Billy was very happy after that. She sang about the house all day, andshe danced sometimes from room to room, so light were her feet and herheart. She made no more puddings with Marie's supervision, but she wasparticularly careful to have the little music teacher or Aunt Hannahwith her when Cyril called. She made up her mind, it is true, that shehad been mistaken, and that Cyril did not love her; still she wished tobe on the safe side, and she became more and more averse to being leftalone with him for any length of time. 

CHAPTER XXXII

CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

Long before spring Billy was forced to own to herself that her fanciedsecurity from lovemaking on the part of Cyril no longer existed. Shebegan to suspect that there was reason for her fears. Cyril certainlywas "different. " He was more approachable, less reserved, even withMarie and Aunt Hannah. He was not nearly so taciturn, either, and hewas much more gracious about his playing. Even Marie dared to ask himfrequently for music, and he never refused her request. Three times hehad taken Billy to some play that she wanted to see, and he had invitedMarie, too, besides Aunt Hannah, which had pleased Billy very much. He had been at the same time so genial and so gallant that Billy haddeclared to Marie afterward that he did not seem like himself at all, but like some one else. 

Marie had disagreed with her, it is true, and had said stiffly:

"I'm sure I thought he seemed very much like himself. " But that had notchanged Billy's opinion at all. 

To Billy's mind, nothing but love could so have softened the stern Cyrilshe had known. She was, therefore, all the more careful these days toavoid a tete-a-tete with him, though she was not always successful, particularly owing to Marie's unaccountable perverseness in so oftenhaving letters to write or work to do, just when Billy most wantedher to make a safe third with herself and Cyril. It was upon such anoccasion, after Marie had abruptly left them alone together, that Cyrilhad observed, a little sharply:

"Billy, I wish you wouldn't say again what you said ten minutes ago whenMiss Marie was here. "

"What was that?"

"A very silly reference to that old notion that you and every one elseseem to have that I am a 'woman-hater. '"

Billy's heart skipped a beat. One thought, pounded through her brain anddinned itself into her ears--at all costs Cyril must not be allowed tosay that which she so feared; he must be saved from himself. 

"Woman-hater? Why, of course you're a woman-hater, " she cried merrily. "I'm sure, I--I think it's lovely to be a woman-hater. "

The man opened wide his eyes; then he frowned angrily. 

"Nonsense, Billy, I know better. Besides, I'm in earnest, and I'm not awoman-hater. "

"Oh, but every one says you are, " chattered Billy. "And, after all, youknow it IS distinguishing!"

With a disdainful exclamation the man sprang to his feet. For a time hepaced the room in silence, watched by Billy's fearful eyes; then he cameback and dropped into the low chair at Billy's side. His whole mannerhad undergone a complete change. He was almost shamefaced as he said:

"Billy, I suppose I might as well own up. I don't think I did think muchof women until I saw--you. "

Billy swallowed and wet her lips. She tried to speak; but before shecould form the words the man went on with his remarks; and Billy did notknow whether to be the more relieved or frightened thereat. 

"But you see now it's different. That's why I don't like to sail anylonger under false colors. There's been a change--a great and wonderfulchange that I hardly understand myself. "

"That's it! You don't understand it, I'm sure, " interposed Billy, feverishly. "It may not be such a change, after all. You may bedeceiving yourself, " she finished hopefully. 

The man sighed. 

"I can't wonder you think so, of course, " he almost groaned. "I wasafraid it would be like that. When one's been painted black all one'slife, it's not easy to change one's color, of course. "

"Oh, but I didn't say that black wasn't a very nice color, " stammeredBilly, a little wildly. 

"Thank you. " Cyril's heavy brows rose and fell the fraction of an inch. "Still, I must confess that just now I should prefer another shade. "

He paused, and Billy cast distractedly about in her mind for a simple, natural change of subject. She had just decided to ask him what hethought of the condition of the Brittany peasants, when he questionedabruptly, and in a voice that was not quite steady:

"Billy, what should you say if I should tell you that the avowedwoman-hater had strayed so far from the prescribed path as to--to likeone woman well enough as to want to--marry her?"

The word was like a match to the gunpowder of Billy's fears. Herself-control was shattered instantly into bits. 

"Marry? No, no, you wouldn't--you couldn't really be thinking of that, "she babbled, growing red and white by turns. "Only think how a wifewould--would b-bother you!"

"Bother me? When I loved her?"

"But just think--remember! She'd want cushions and rugs and curtains, and you don't like them; and she'd always be talking and laughing whenyou wanted quiet; and she--she'd want to drag you out to plays andparties and--and everywhere. Indeed, Cyril, I'm sure you'd never like awife--long!" Billy stopped only because she had no breath with which tocontinue. 

Cyril laughed a little grimly. 

"You don't draw a very attractive picture, Billy. Still, I'm not afraid. I don't think this particular--wife would do any of those things--totrouble me. "

"Oh, but you don't know, you can't tell, " argued the girl. "Besides, youhave had so little experience with women that you'd just be sure tomake a mistake at first. You want to look around very carefully--verycarefully, before you decide. "

"I have looked around, and very carefully, Billy. I know that in all theworld there is just one woman for me. "

Billy struggled to her feet. Mingled pain and terror looked from hereyes. She began to speak wildly, incoherently. She wondered afterwardjust what she would have said if Aunt Hannah had not come into the roomat that moment and announced that Bertram was at the door to take herfor a sleigh-ride if she cared to go. 

"Of course she'll go, " declared Cyril, promptly, answering for her. "It is time I was off anyhow. " To Billy, he said in a low voice: "Youhaven't been very encouraging, little girl--in fact, you've been mightydiscouraging. But some day--some other day, I'll try to make clear toyou--many things. "

Billy greeted Bertram very cordially. It was such a relief--his cheery, genial companionship! The air, too, was bracing, and all the worldlay under a snow-white blanket of sparkling purity. Everything was sobeautiful, so restful!

It was not surprising, perhaps, that the very frankness of Billy's joymisled Bertram a little. His blood tingled at her nearness, and his eyesgrew deep and tender as he looked down at her happy face. But of all theeager words that were so near his lips, not one reached the girl's earsuntil the good-byes were said; then wistfully Bertram hazarded:

"Billy, don't you think, sometimes, that I'm gaining--just a little onthat rival of mine--that music?"

Billy's face clouded. She shook her head gently. 

"Bertram, please don't--when we've had such a beautiful hour together, "she begged. "It troubles me. If you do, I can't go--again. "

"But you shall go again, " cried Bertram, bravely smiling straight intoher eyes. "And there sha'n't ever anything in the world trouble you, either--that I can help!"

CHAPTER XXXIII

WILLIAM IS WORRIED

Billy's sleigh-ride had been due to the kindness of a belated winterstorm that had surprised every one the last of March. After that, March, as if ashamed of her untoward behavior, donned her sweetest smiles and"went out" like the proverbial lamb. With the coming of April, and thestirring of life in the trees, Billy, too, began to be restless; and atthe earliest possible moment she made her plans for her long anticipated"digging in the dirt. "

Just here, much to her surprise, she met with wonderful assistance fromBertram. He seemed to know just when and where and how to dig, and hedisplayed suddenly a remarkable knowledge of landscape gardening. (Thatthis knowledge was as recent in its acquirement as it was sudden in itsdisplay, Billy did not know. ) Very learnedly he talked of perennials andannuals; and without hesitation he made out a list of flowering shrubsand plants that would give her a "succession of bloom throughoutthe season. " His words and phrases smacked loudly of the very newestflorists' catalogues, but Billy did not notice that. She only wonderedat the seemingly exhaustless source of his wisdom. 

"I suspect 'twould have been better if we'd begun things last fall, " hetold her frowningly one day. "But there's plenty we can do now anyway;and we'll put in some quick-growing things, just for this season, untilwe can get the more permanent things established. "

And so they worked together, studying, scheming, ordering plantsand seeds, their two heads close together above the gaily coloredcatalogues. Later there was the work itself to be done, and thoughstrong men did the heavier part, there was yet plenty left for Billy'seager fingers--and for Bertram's. And if sometimes in the intimacy ofseed-sowing and plant-setting, the touch of the slenderer fingers senta thrill through the browner ones, Bertram made no sign. He was carefulalways to be the cheerful, helpful assistant--and that was all. 

Billy, it is true, was a little disturbed at being quite so much withBertram. She dreaded a repetition of some such words as had been utteredat the end of the sleigh-ride. She told herself that she had no rightto grieve Bertram, to make it hard for him by being with him; but atthe very next breath, she could but question; did she grieve him? Wasit hard for him to have her with him? Then she would glance at his eagerface and meet his buoyant smile--and answer "no. " After that, for atime, at least, her fears would be less. 

Systematically Billy avoided Cyril these days. She could not forget hispromise to make many things clear to her some day. She thought she knewwhat he meant--that he would try to convince her (as she had tried toconvince herself) that she would make a good wife for him. 

Billy was very sure that if Cyril could be prevented from speaking hismind just now, his mind would change in time; hence her determination togive his mind that opportunity. 

Billy's avoidance of Cyril was the more easily accomplished because shewas for a time taking a complete rest from her music. The new songshad been finished and sent to the publishers. There was no excuse, therefore, for Cyril's coming to the house on that score; and, indeed, he seemed of his own accord to be making only infrequent visits now. Billy was pleased, particularly as Marie was not there to play thirdparty. Marie had taken up her teaching again, much to Billy's distress. 

"But I can't stay here always, like this, " Marie had protested. 

"But I should like to keep you!" Billy had responded, with no lessdecision. 

Marie had been firm, however, and had gone, leaving the little houselonely without her. 

Aside from her work in the garden Billy as resolutely avoided Bertram asshe did Cyril. It was natural, therefore, that at this crisis she shouldturn to William with a peculiar feeling of restfulness. He, at least, would be safe, she told herself. So she frankly welcomed his everyappearance, sung to him, played to him, and took long walks with himto see some wonderful bracelet or necklace that he had discovered in adingy little curio-shop. 

William was delighted. He was very fond of his namesake, and he hadsecretly chafed a little at the way his younger brothers had monopolizedher attention. He was rejoiced now that she seemed to be turning to himfor companionship; and very eagerly he accepted all the time she couldgive him. 

William had, in truth, been growing more and more lonely ever sinceBilly's brief stay beneath his roof years before. Those few short weeksof her merry presence had shown him how very forlorn the house waswithout it. More and more sorrowfully during past years, his thoughtshad gone back to the little white flannel bundle and to the dear hopesit had carried so long ago. If the boy had only lived, thought William, mournfully, there would not now have been that dreary silence in hishome, and that sore ache in his heart. 

Very soon after William had first seen Billy, he began to lay wonderfulplans, and in every plan was Billy. She was not his child by flesh andblood, he acknowledged, but she was his by right of love and neededcare. In fancy he looked straight down the years ahead, and everywherehe saw Billy, a loving, much-loved daughter, the joy of his life, thesolace of his declining years. 

To no one had William talked of this--and to no one did he show thebitterness of his grief when he saw his vision fade into nothingnessthrough Billy's unchanging refusal to live in his home. Only he himselfknew the heartache, the loneliness, the almost unbearable longing ofthe past winter months while Billy had lived at Hillside; and only hehimself knew now the almost overwhelming joy that was his because ofwhat he thought he saw in Billy's changed attitude toward himself. 

Great as was William's joy, however, his caution was greater. He saidnothing to Billy of his new hopes, though he did try to pave the way bydropping an occasional word about the loneliness of the Beacon Streethouse since she went away. There was something else, too, that causedWilliam to be silent--what he thought he saw between Billy and Bertram. That Bertram was in love with Billy, he guessed; but that Billy was notin love with Bertram he very much feared. He hesitated almost to speakor move lest something he should say or do should, just at the criticalmoment, turn matters the wrong way. To William this marriage of Bertramand Billy was an ideal method of solving the problem, as of course Billywould come there to the house to live, and he would have his "daughter"after all. But as the days passed, and he could see no progresson Bertram's part, no change in Billy, he began to be seriouslyworried--and to show it. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

CLASS DAY

Early in June Billy announced her intention of not going away at allthat summer. 

"I don't need it, " she declared. "I have this cool, beautiful house, this air, this sunshine, this adorable view. Besides, I've got a schemeI mean to carry out. "

There was some consternation among Billy's friends when they found outwhat this "scheme" was: sundry of Billy's humbler acquaintances were toshare the house, the air, the sunshine, and the adorable view with her. 

"But, my dear Billy, " Bertram cried, aghast, "you don't mean to say thatyou are going to turn your beautiful little house into a fresh-air placefor Boston's slum children!"

"Not a bit of it, " smiled the girl, "though I'd like to, really, if Icould, " she added, perversely. "But this is quite another thing. It's noslum work, no charity. In the first place my guests aren't quite so pooras that, and they're much too proud to be reached by the avowed charityworker. But they need it just the same. "

"But you haven't much spare room; have you?" questioned Bertram. 

"No, unfortunately; so I shall have to take only two or three at a time, and keep them maybe a week or ten days. It's just a sugar plum, Bertram. Truly it is, " she added whimsically, but with a tender light in hereyes. 

"But who are these people?" Bertram's face had lost its look of shockedsurprise, and his voice expressed genuine interest. 

"Well, to begin with, there's Marie. She'll stay all summer and help meentertain my guests; at the same time her duties won't be arduous, and she'll get a little playtime herself. One week I'm going to have alittle old maid who keeps a lodging house in the West End. For uncountedyears she's been practically tied to a doorbell, with never a whole dayto breathe free. I've made arrangements there for a sister to keep housea whole week, and I'm going to show this little old maid things shehasn't seen for years: the ocean, the green fields, and a summer play ortwo, perhaps. 

"Then there's a little couple that live in a third-story flat in SouthBoston. They're young and like good times; but the man is on a smallsalary, and they have had lots of sickness. He's been out so much hecan't take any vacation, and they wouldn't have any money to go anywhereif he could. Well, I'm going to have them a week. She'll be here all thetime, and he'll come out at night, of course. 

"Another one is a widow with six children. The children are alreadyprovided for by a fresh-air society, but the woman I'm going to take, and--and give her a whole week of food that she didn't have to cookherself. Another one is a woman who is not so very poor, but who haslost her baby, and is blue and discouraged. There are some children, too, one crippled, and a boy who says he's 'just lonesome. ' And thereare--really, Bertram, there is no end to them. "

"I can well believe that, " declared Bertram, with emphasis, "so far asyour generous heart is concerned. "

Billy colored and looked distressed. 

"But it isn't generosity or charity at all, Bertram, " she protested. "You are mistaken when you think it is--really! Why, I shall enjoy everybit of it just as well as they do--and better, perhaps. "

"But you stay here--in the city--all summer for their sakes. "

"What if I do? Besides, this isn't the real city, " argued Billy, "withall these trees and lawns about one. And another thing, " she added, leaning forward confidentially, "I might as well confess, Bertram, youcouldn't hire me to leave the place this summer--not while all thesethings I planted are coming up!"

Bertram laughed; but for some reason he looked wonderfully happy as heturned away. 

On the fifteenth of June Kate and her husband arrived from the West. Ayoung brother of Mr. Hartwell's was to be graduated from Harvard, andKate said they had come on to represent the family, as the elder Mr. AndMrs. Hartwell were not strong enough to undertake the journey. Kate waslooking well and happy. She greeted Billy with effusive cordiality, andopenly expressed her admiration of Hillside. She looked very keenly intoher brothers' face, and seemed well pleased with the appearance of Cyriland Bertram, but not so much so with William's countenance. 

"William does NOT look well, " she declared one day when she and Billywere alone together. 

"Sick? Uncle William sick? Oh, I hope not!" cried the girl. 

"I don't know whether it's 'sick' or not, " returned Mrs. Hartwell. "Butit's something. He's troubled. I'm going to speak to him. He's worriedover something; and he's grown terribly thin. "

"But he's always thin, " reasoned Billy. 

"I know, but not like this--ever. You don't notice it, perhaps, orrealize it, seeing him every day as you do. But I know somethingtroubles him. "

"Oh, I hope not, " murmured Billy, with anxious eyes. "We don't wantUncle William troubled: we all love him too well. "

Mrs. Hartwell did not at once reply; but for a long minute shethoughtfully studied Billy's face as it was bent above the sewing inBilly's hand. When she did speak she had changed the subject. 

Young Hartwell was to deliver the Ivy Oration in the Stadium on ClassDay, and all the Henshaws were looking eagerly forward to the occasion. 

"You have seen the Stadium, of course, " said Bertram to Billy, a fewdays before the anticipated Friday. 

"Only from across the river. "

"Is that so? And you've never been here Class Day, either. Good! Thenyou've got a treat in store. Just wait and see!"

And Billy waited--and she saw. Billy began to see, in fact, before ClassDay. Young Hartwell was a popular fellow, and he was eager to have hisfriends meet Billy and the Henshaws. He was a member of the Instituteof 1770, D. K. E. , Stylus, Signet, Round Table, and Hasty Pudding Clubs, and nearly every one of these had some sort of function planned forClass-Day week. By the time the day itself arrived Billy was almost asexcited as was young Hartwell himself. 

It rained Class-Day morning, but at nine o'clock the sun came out anddrove the clouds away, much to every one's delight. Billy's day beganat noon with the spread given by the Hasty Pudding Club. Billy wonderedafterward how many times that day remarks like these were made to her:

"You've been here Class Day before, of course. You've seen theconfetti-throwing!. .. No? Well, you just wait!"

At ten minutes of four Billy and Mrs. Hartwell, with Mr. Hartwell andBertram as escorts, entered the cool, echoing shadows under the Stadium, and then out in the sunlight they began to climb the broad steps totheir seats. 

"I wanted them high up, you see, " explained Bertram, "because you canget the effect so much better. There, here we are!"

For the first time Billy turned and looked about her. She gave a low cryof delight. 

"Oh, oh, how beautiful--how wonderfully beautiful!"

"You just wait!" crowed Bertram. "If you think this is beautiful, youjust wait!"

Billy did not seem to hear him. Her eyes were sweeping the wonderfulscene before her, and her face was aglow with delight. 

First there was the great amphitheater itself. Only the wide curve ofthe horseshoe was roped off for to-day's audience. Beyond lay the twosides with their tier above tier of empty seats, almost dazzling inthe sunshine. Within the roped-off curve the scene was of kaleidoscopicbeauty. Charmingly gowned young women and carefully groomed young menwere everywhere, stirring, chatting, laughing. Gay-colored parasols andflower-garden hats made here and there brilliant splashes of rainbowtints. Above was an almost cloudless canopy of blue, and at the farhorizon, earth and sky met and made a picture that was like a wondrouspainted curtain hung from heaven itself. 

At the first sound of the distant band that told of the graduates'coming, Bertram said almost wistfully:

"Class Day is the only time when I feel 'out of it. ' You see I'm thefirst male Henshaw for ages that hasn't been through Harvard; andto-day, you know, is the time when the old grads come back and do stuntslike the kids--if they can (and some of them can all right!). They marchin by classes ahead of the seniors, and vie with each other in givingtheir yells. You'll see Cyril and William, if your eyes are sharpenough--and you'll see them as you never saw them before. "

Far down the green field Billy spied now the long black line of movingfigures with a band in the lead. Nearer and nearer it came until, greeted by a mighty roar from thousands of throats, the leaders sweptinto the great bowl of the horseshoe curve. 

And how they yelled and cheered--those men whose first Class Day layfive, ten, fifteen, even twenty or more years behind them, as told bythe banners which they so proudly carried. How they got their headstogether and gave the "Rah! Rah! Rah!" with unswerving eyes on theirleader! How they beat the air with their hats in time to their lustyshouts! And how the throngs above cheered and clapped in answer, untilthey almost split their throats--and did split their gloves--especiallywhen the black-gowned seniors swept into view. 

And when the curving line of black had become one solid mass ofhumanity that filled the bowl from side to side, the vast throng seatedthemselves, and a great hush fell while the Glee Club sang. 

Young Hartwell proved to be a good speaker, and his ringing voicereached even the topmost tier of seats. Billy was charmed andinterested. Everything she saw and heard was but a new source ofenjoyment, and she had quite forgotten the thing for which she was to"wait, " when she saw the ushers passing through the aisles with theirbaskets of many-hued packages of confetti and countless rolls of paperribbon. 

It began then, the merry war between the students below and the throngabove. In a trice the air was filled with shimmering bits of red, blue, white, green, purple, pink, and yellow. From all directions flutteringstreamers that showed every color of the rainbow, were flung to thebreeze until, upheld by the supporting wires, they made a fairy lacework of marvelous beauty. 

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried Billy, her eyes misty with emotion. "I think I neversaw anything in my life so lovely!

"I thought you'd like it, " gloried Bertram. "You know I said to wait!"

But even with this, Class Day for Billy was not finished. There wasstill Hartwell's own spread from six to eight, and after that there werethe President's reception, and dancing in the Memorial Hall and in theGymnasium. There was the Fairyland of the yard, too, softly aglowwith moving throngs of beautiful women and gallant men. But what Billyremembered best of all was the exquisite harmony that came to herthrough the hushed night air when the Glee Club sang Fair Harvard on thesteps of Holworthy Hall. 

CHAPTER XXXV

SISTER KATE AGAIN

It was on the Sunday following Class Day that Mrs. Hartwell carried outher determination to "speak to William. " The West had not taken fromKate her love of managing, and she thought she saw now a matter thatsorely needed her guiding hand. 

William's thin face, anxious looks, and nervous manner had troubledher ever since she came. Then one day, very suddenly, had comeenlightenment: William was in love--and with Billy. 

Mrs. Hartwell watched William very closely after that. She saw his eyesfollow Billy fondly, yet anxiously. She saw his open joy at being withher, and at any little attention, word, or look that the girl gave him. She remembered, too, something that Bertram had said about William'sgrief because Billy would not live at the Strata. She thought she sawsomething else, also: that Billy was fond of William, but that Williamdid not know it; hence his frequent troubled scrutiny of her face. Why these two should play at cross purposes Sister Kate could notunderstand. She smiled, however, confidently: they should not play atcross purposes much longer, she declared. 

On Sunday afternoon Kate asked her eldest brother to take her driving. 

"Not a motor car; I want a horse--that will let me talk, " she said. 

"Certainly, " agreed William, with a smile; but Bertram, who chanced tohear her, put in the sly comment: "As if ANY horse could prevent--that!"

On the drive Kate began to talk at once, but she did not plunge intothe subject nearest her heart until she had adroitly led William into aglowing enumeration of Billy's many charming characteristics; then shesaid:

"William, why don't you take Billy home with you?"

William stirred uneasily as he always did when anything annoyed him. 

"My dear Kate, there is nothing I should like better to do, " he replied. 

"Then why don't you do it?"

"I--hope to, sometime. "

"But why not now?"

"I'm afraid Billy is not quite--ready. "

"Nonsense! A young girl like that does not know her own mind lotsof times. Just press the matter a little. Love will workwonders--sometimes. "

William blushed like a girl. To him her words had but onemeaning--Bertram's love for Billy. William had never spoken of thissuspected love affair to any one. He had even thought that he was theonly one that had discovered it. To hear his sister refer thus lightlyto it came therefore in the nature of a shock to him. 

"Then you have--seen it--too?" he stammered

"'Seen it, too, '" laughed Kate, with her confident eyes on William'sflushed face, "I should say I had seen it! Any one could see it. "

William blushed again. Love to him had always been something sacred;something that called for hushed voices and twilight. This merrydiscussion in the sunlight of even another's love was disconcerting. 

"Now come, William, " resumed Kate, after a moment; "speak to Billy, andhave the matter settled once for all. It's worrying you. I can see itis. "

Again William stirred uneasily. 

"But, Kate, I can't do anything. I told you before; I don't believeBilly is--ready. "

"Nonsense! Ask her. "

"But Kate, a girl won't marry against her will!"

"I don't believe it is against her will. "

"Kate! Honestly?"

"Honestly! I've watched her. "

"Then I WILL speak, " cried the man, his face alight, "if--if you thinkanything I can say would--help. There is nothing--nothing in all thisworld that I so desire, Kate, as to have that little girl back home. Andof course that would do it. She'd live there, you know. "

"Why, of--course, " murmured Kate, with a puzzled frown. There wassomething in this last remark of William's that she did not quiteunderstand. Surely he could not suppose that she had any idea that afterhe had married Billy they would go to live anywhere else;--she thought. For a moment she considered the matter vaguely; then she turned herattention to something else. She was the more ready to do this becauseshe believed that she had said enough for the present: it was well tosow seeds, but it was also well to let them have a chance to grow, shetold herself. 

Mrs. Hartwell's next move was to speak to Billy, and she was careful todo this at once, so that she might pave the way for William. 

She began her conversation with an ingratiating smile and the words:

"Well, Billy, I've been doing a little detective work on my ownaccount. "

"Detective work?"

"Yes; about William. You know I told you the other day how troubled andanxious he looked to me. Well, I've found out what's the matter. "

"What is it?"

"Yourself. "

"Myself! Why, Mrs. Hartwell, what can you mean?"

The elder lady smiled significantly. 

"Oh, it's merely another case, my dear, of 'faint heart never won fairlady. ' I've been helping on the faint heart; that's all. "

"But I don't understand. "

"No? I can't believe you quite mean that, my dear. Surely you must knowhow earnestly my brother William is longing for you to go back and livewith him. "

Like William, Billy flushed scarlet. 

"Mrs. Hartwell, certainly no one could know better than YOURSELF whythat is quite impossible, " she frowned. 

The other colored confusedly. 

"I understand, of course, what you mean. And, Billy, I'll confess thatI've been sorry lots of times, since, that I spoke as I did to you, particularly when I saw how it grieved my brother William to have you goaway. If I blundered then, I'm sorry; and perhaps I did blunder. At allevents, that is only the more reason now why I am so anxious to do whatI can to rectify that old mistake, and plead William's suit. "

To Mrs. Hartwell's blank amazement, Billy laughed outright. 

"'William's suit'!" she quoted merrily. "Why, Mrs. Hartwell, there isn'tany 'suit' to it. Uncle William doesn't want me to marry him!"

"Indeed he does. "

Billy stopped laughing, and sat suddenly erect. 

"MRS. HARTWELL!"

"Billy, is it possible that you did not know this?"

"Indeed I don't know it, and--excuse me, but I don't think you do, either. "

"But I do. I've talked with him, and he's very much in earnest, " urgedMrs. Hartwell, speaking very rapidly. "He says there's nothing in allthe world that he so desires. And, Billy, you do care for him--I knowyou do!"

"Why, of course I care for him--but not--that way. "

"But, Billy, think!" Mrs. Hartwell was very earnest now, and a littlefrightened. She felt that she must bring Billy to terms in some waynow that William had been encouraged to put his fate to the test. "Justremember how good William has always been to you, and think what youhave been, and may BE--if you only will--in his lonely life. Think ofhis great sorrow years ago. Think of this dreary waste of years between. Think how now his heart has turned to you for love and comfort and rest. Billy, you can't turn away!--you can't find it in your heart to turnaway from that dear, good man who loves you so!" Mrs. Hartwell's voiceshook effectively, and even her eyes looked through tears. Mentallyshe was congratulating herself: she had not supposed she could make sotouching an appeal. 

In the chair opposite the girl sat very still. She was pale, and hereyes showed a frightened questioning in their depths. For a long minuteshe said nothing, then she rose dazedly to her feet. 

"Mrs. Hartwell, please do not speak of this to any one, " she begged ina low voice. "I--I am taken quite by surprise. I shall have to think itout--alone. "

Billy did not sleep well that night. Always before her eyes was thevision of William's face; and always in her ears was the echo of Mrs. Hartwell's words: "Remember how good William has always been to you. Think of his great sorrow years ago. Think of this dreary waste of yearsbetween. Think how now his heart has turned to you for love and comfortand rest. "

For a time Billy tossed about on her bed trying to close her eyes tothe vision and her ears to the echo. Then, finding that neither waspossible, she set herself earnestly to thinking the matter out. 

William loved her. Extraordinary as it seemed, such was the fact; Mrs. Hartwell said so. And now--what must she do; what could she do? Sheloved no one--of that she was very sure. She was even beginning tothink that she would never love any one. There were Calderwell, Cyril, Bertram, to say nothing of sundry others, who had loved her, apparently, but whom she could not love. Such being the case, if she were, indeed, incapable of love herself, why should she not make the sacrifice ofgiving up her career, her independence, and in that way bring this greatjoy to Uncle William's heart?. .. Even as she said the "Uncle William"to herself, Billy bit her lip and realized that she must no longer say"Uncle" William--if she married him. 

"If she married him. " The words startled her. "If she married him. ". .. Well, what of it? She would go to live at the Strata, of course; andthere would be Cyril and Bertram. It might be awkward, and yet--she didnot believe Cyril was in love with anything but his music; and as toBertram--it was the same with Bertram and his painting, and he wouldsoon forget that he had ever fancied he loved her. After that he wouldbe simply a congenial friend and companion--a good comrade. As Billythought of it, indeed, one of the pleasantest features of this marriagewith William would be the delightful comradeship of her "brother, "Bertram. 

Billy dwelt then at some length on William's love for her, his longingfor her presence, and his dreary years of loneliness. .. . And he was sogood to her, she recollected; he had always been good to her. He wasolder, to be sure--much older than she; but, after all, it would not beso difficult, so very difficult, to learn to love him. At all events, whatever happened, she would have the supreme satisfaction of knowingthat at least she had brought into dear Uncle--that is, into William'slife the great peace and joy that only she could give. 

It was almost dawn when Billy arrived at this not uncheerful state ofprospective martyrdom. She turned over then with a sigh, and settledherself to sleep. She was relieved that she had decided the question. She was glad that she knew just what to say when William should speak. He was a dear, dear man, and she would not make it hard for him, shepromised herself. She would be William's wife. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE

In spite of his sister's confident assurance that the time was ripe forhim to speak to Billy, William delayed some days before broaching thematter to her. His courage was not so good as it had been when he wastalking with Kate. It seemed now, as it always had, a fearsome thing totry to hasten on this love affair between Billy and Bertram. He couldnot see, in spite of Kate's words, that Billy showed unmistakableevidence at all of being in love with his brother. The more he thoughtof it, in fact, the more he dreaded the carrying out of his promise tospeak to his namesake. 

What should he say, he asked himself. How could he word it? He could notvery well accost her with: "Oh, Billy, I wish you'd please hurry up andmarry Bertram, because then you'd come and live with me. " Neither couldhe plead Bertram's cause directly. Quite probably Bertram would preferto plead his own. Then, too, if Billy really was not in love withBertram--what then? Might not his own untimely haste in the matterforever put an end to the chance of her caring for him?

It was, indeed, a delicate matter, and as William pondered it he wishedhimself well out of it, and that Kate had not spoken. But even ashe formed the wish, William remembered with a thrill Kate's positiveassertion that a word from him would do wonders, and that now was thetime to utter it. He decided then that he would speak; that he mustspeak; but that at the same time he would proceed with a caution thatwould permit a hasty retreat if he saw that his words were not havingthe desired effect. He would begin with a frank confession of hisgrief at her leaving him, and of his longing for her return; then verygradually, if wisdom counseled it, he would go on to speak of Bertram'slove for her, and of his own hope that she would make Bertram and allthe Strata glad by loving him in return. 

Mrs. Hartwell had returned to her Western home before William found justthe opportunity for his talk with Billy. True to his belief that onlyhushed voices and twilight were fitting for such a subject, he waiteduntil he found the girl early one evening alone on her vine-shadedveranda. He noticed that as he seated himself at her side she flushed alittle and half started to rise, with a nervous fluttering of her hands, and a murmured "I'll call Aunt Hannah. " It was then that with suddencourage, he resolved to speak. 

"Billy, don't go, " he said gently, with a touch of his hand on her arm. "There is something I want to say to you. I--I have wanted to say it forsome time. "

"Why, of--of course, " stammered the girl, falling back in her seat. Andagain William noticed that odd fluttering of the slim little hands. 

For a time no one spoke, then William began softly, his eyes on thedistant sky-line still faintly aglow with the sunset's reflection. 

"Billy, I want to tell you a story. Long years ago there was a man whohad a happy home with a young wife and a tiny baby boy in it. I couldnot begin to tell you all the plans that man made for that baby boy. Such a great and good and wonderful being that tiny baby was one day tobecome. But the baby--went away, after a time, and carried with him allthe plans--and he never came back. Behind him he left empty hearts thatached, and great bare rooms that seemed always to be echoing sighs andsobs. And then, one day, such a few years after, the young wife went tofind her baby, and left the man all alone with the heart that ached andthe great bare rooms that echoed sighs and sobs. 

"Perhaps it was this--the bareness of the rooms--that made the man turnto his boyish passion for collecting things. He wanted to fill thoserooms full, full!--so that the sighs and sobs could not be heard; and hewanted to fill his heart, too, with something that would still the ache. And he tried. Already he had his boyish treasures, and these he lined upin brave array, but his rooms still echoed, and his heart still ached;so he built more shelves and bought more cabinets, and set himself tofilling them, hoping at the same time that he might fill all that drearywaste of hours outside of business--hours which once had been all tooshort to devote to the young wife and the baby boy. 

"One by one the years passed, and one by one the shelves and thecabinets were filled. The man fancied, sometimes, that he had succeeded;but in his heart of hearts he knew that the ache was merely dulled, andthat darkness had only to come to set the rooms once more to echoingthe sighs and sobs. And then--but perhaps you are tired of the story, Billy. " William turned with questioning eyes. 

"No, oh, no, " faltered Billy. "It is beautiful, but so--sad!"

"But the saddest part is done--I hope, " said William, softly. "Let metell you. A wonderful thing happened then. Suddenly, right out of a dullgray sky of hopelessness, dropped a little brown-eyed girl and a littlegray cat. All over the house they frolicked, filling every nook andcranny with laughter and light and happiness. And then, like magic, theman lost the ache in his heart, and the rooms lost their echoing sighsand sobs. The man knew, then, that never again could he hope to fill hisheart and life with senseless things of clay and metal. He knew that theone thing he wanted always near him was the little brown-eyed girl; andhe hoped that he could keep her. But just as he was beginning to baskin this new light--it went out. As suddenly as they had come, the littlebrown-eyed girl and the gray cat went away. Why, the man did not know. He knew only that the ache had come back, doubly intense, and that therooms were more gloomy than ever. And now, Billy, "--William's voiceshook a little--"it is for you to finish the story. It is for you to saywhether that man's heart shall ache on and on down to a lonely old age, and whether those rooms shall always echo the sighs and sobs of thepast. "

"And I will finish it, " choked Billy, holding out both her hands. "Itsha'n't ache--they sha'n't echo!"

The man leaned forward eagerly, unbelievingly, and caught the hands inhis own. 

"Billy, do you mean it? Then you will--come?"

"Yes, yes! I didn't know--I didn't think. I never supposed it was likethat! Of course I'll come!" And in a moment she was sobbing in his arms. 

"Billy!" breathed William rapturously, as he touched his lips to herforehead. "My own little Billy!"

It was a few minutes later, when Billy was more calm, that Williamstarted to speak of Bertram. For a moment he had been tempted not tomention his brother, now that his own point had been won so surprisinglyquick; but the new softness in Billy's face had encouraged him, and hedid not like to let the occasion pass when a word from him might do somuch for Bertram. His lips parted, but no words came--Billy herself hadbegun to speak. 

"I'm sure I don't know why I'm crying, " she stammered, dabbing her eyeswith her round moist ball of a handerchief. "I hope when I'm your wifeI'll learn to be more self-controlled. But you know I am young, andyou'll have to be patient. "

As once before at something Billy said, the world to William wentsuddenly mad. His head swam dizzily, and his throat tightened so thathe could scarcely breathe. By sheer force of will he kept his arm aboutBilly's shoulder, and he prayed that she might not know how numb andcold it had grown. Even then he thought he could not have heard aright. 

"Er--you said--" he questioned faintly. 

"I say when I'm your wife I hope I'll learn to be more self-controlled, "laughed Billy, nervously. "You see I just thought I ought to remind youthat I am young, and that you'll have to be patient. "

William stammered something--a hurried something; he wondered afterwardwhat it was. That it must have been satisfactory to Billy was evident, for she began laughingly to talk again. What she said, William scarcelyknew, though he was conscious of making an occasional vague reply. Hewas still floundering in a hopeless sea of confusion and dismay. His owndesire was to get up and say good night at once. He wanted to be aloneto think. He realized, however, with sickening force, that men do notpropose and run away--if they are accepted. And he was accepted; herealized that, too, overwhelmingly. Then he tried to think how it hadhappened, what he had said; how she could so have misunderstood hismeaning. This line of thought he abandoned quickly, however; it could dono good. But what could do good, he asked himself. What could he do?

With blinding force came the answer: he could do nothing. Billy caredfor him. Billy had said "yes. " Billy expected to be his wife. As if hecould say to her now: "I beg your pardon, but 'twas all a mistake. _I_did not ask you to marry me. "

Very valiantly then William summoned his wits and tried to act his part. He told himself, too, that it would not be a hard one; that he lovedBilly dearly, and that he would try to make her happy. He winced alittle at this thought, for he remembered suddenly how old he was--as ifhe, at his age, were a fit match for a girl of twenty-one!

And then he looked at Billy. The girl was plainly nervous. There was adeep flush on her cheeks and a brilliant sparkle in her eyes. Shewas talking rapidly--almost incoherently at times--and her voice wastremulous. Frequent little embarrassed laughs punctuated her sentences, and her fingers toyed with everything that came within reach. Some timebefore she had sprung to her feet and had turned on the electric lights;and when she came back she had not taken her old position at William'sside, but had seated herself in a chair near by. All of which, accordingto William's eyes, meant the maidenly shyness of a girl who has justsaid "yes" to the man she loves. 

William went home that night in a daze. To himself he said that he hadgone out in search of a daughter, and had come back with a wife. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

"WILLIAM'S BROTHER"

It was decided that for the present, the engagement should not beknown outside the family. The wedding would not take place immediately, William said, and it was just as well to keep the matter to themselvesuntil plans were a little more definite. 

The members of the family were told at once. Aunt Hannah said "Oh, mygrief and conscience!" three times, and made matters scarcely better byadding apologetically: "Oh, of course it's all right, it's all right, only--" She did not finish her sentence, and William, who had told herthe news, did not know whether he would have been more or less pleasedif she had finished it. 

Cyril received the information moodily, and lapsed at once into a fitof abstraction from which he roused himself hardly enough to offerperfunctory congratulations and best wishes. 

Billy was a little puzzled at Cyril's behavior. She had been sure forsome time that Cyril had ceased to care specially for her, even ifhe ever did fancy that he loved her. She had hoped to keep him fora friend, but of late she had been forced to question even hisfriendliness. He had, in fact, gone back almost to his old reserve andtaciturn aloofness. 

From the West, in response to William's news of the engagement, came acordially pleased note in Kate's scrawling handwriting. Kate, indeed, seemed to be the only member of the family who was genuinely delightedwith the coming marriage. As to Bertram--Bertram appeared to have agedyears in a single night, so drawn and white was his face the morningafter William had told him his plans. 

William had dreaded most of all to tell Bertram. He was very sure thatBertram himself cared for Billy; and it was doubly hard because inWilliam's own mind was a strong conviction that the younger man wasdecidedly the one for her. Realizing, however, that Bertram must betold, William chose a time for the telling when Bertram was smoking inhis den in the twilight, with his face half hidden from sight. 

Bertram said little--very little, that night; but in the morning he wentstraight to Billy. 

Billy was shocked. She had never seen the smiling, self-reliant, debonair Bertram like this. 

"Billy, is this true?" he demanded. The dull misery in his voice toldBilly that he knew the answer before he asked the question. 

"Yes, yes; but, Bertram, please--please don't take it like this!" sheimplored. 

"How would you have me take it?"

"Why, just--just sensibly. You know I told you that--that the othernever could be--never. "

"I know YOU said so; but I--believed otherwise. "

"But I told you--I did not love you--that way. "

Bertram winced. He rose to his feet abruptly. 

"I know you did, Billy. I'm a fool, of course, to think that I couldever--change it. I shouldn't have come here, either, this morning. ButI--had to. Good-by!" His face, as he held out his hand, was tragic withrenunciation. 

"Why, Bertram, you aren't going--now--like this!" cried the girl. "You've just come!"

The man turned almost impatiently. 

"And do you think I can stay--like this? Billy, won't you say good-by?"he asked in a softer voice, again with outstretched hand. 

Billy shook her head. She ignored the hand, and resolutely backed away. 

"No, not like that. You are angry with me, " she grieved. "Besides, youmake it sound as if--if you were going away. "

"I am going away. "

"Bertram!" There was terror as well as dismay in Billy's voice. 

Again the man turned sharply. 

"Billy, why are you making this thing so hard for me?" he asked indespair. "Can't you see that I must go?"

"Indeed, I can't. And you mustn't go, either. There isn't any reasonwhy you should, " urged Billy, talking very fast, and working her fingersnervously. "Things are just the same as they were before--for you. I'mjust going to marry William, but I wasn't ever going to marry you, sothat doesn't change things any for you. Don't you see? Why, Bertram, youmustn't go away! There won't be anybody left. Cyril's going next week, you know; and if you go there won't be anybody left but William andme. Bertram, you mustn't go; don't you see? I should feel lostwithout--you!" Billy was almost crying now. 

Bertram looked up quickly. An odd change had come to his face. For amoment he gazed silently into Billy's agitated countenance; then heasked in a low voice:

"Billy, did you think that after you and William were married I shouldstill continue to live at--the Strata?"

"Why, of course you will!" cried the girl, indignantly. "Why, Bertram, you'll be my brother then--my real brother; and one of the very chiefestthings I'm anticipating when I go there to live is the good times youand I will have together when I'm William's wife!"

Bertram drew in his breath audibly, and caught his lower lip betweenhis teeth. With an abrupt movement he turned his back and walked tothe window. For a full minute he stayed there, watched by the amazed, displeased eyes of the girl. When he came back he sat down quietly inthe chair facing Billy. His countenance was grave and his eyes were alittle troubled; but the haggard look of misery was quite gone. 

"Billy, " he began gently, "you must forgive my saying this, but--are youquite sure you--love William?"

Billy flushed with anger. 

"You have no right to ask such a question. Of course I love William. "

"Of course you do--we all love William. William is, in fact, a mostlovable man. But William's wife should, perhaps, love him a littledifferently from--all of us. "

"And she will, certainly, " retorted the girl, with a quick lifting ofher chin. "Bertram, I don't think you have any right to--to make suchinsinuations. "

"And I won't make them any more, " replied Bertram, gravely. "I justwanted you to make sure that you--knew. "

"I shall make sure, and I shall know, " said Billy, firmly--so firmlythat it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince herself as wellas others. 

There was a long pause, then the man asked diffidently:

"And so you are very sure that--that you want me to--stay?"

"Indeed I do! Besides, --don't you remember?--there are all my people tobe entertained. They must be taken to places, and given motor ridesand picnics. You told me last week that you'd love to help me; but, ofcourse, if you don't want to--"

"But I do want to, " cried Bertram, heartily, a gleam of the oldcheerfulness springing to his eyes. "I'm dying to!"

The girl looked up with quick distrust. For a moment she eyed himwith bent brows. To her mind he had gone back to his old airy, hopefullight-heartedness. He was once more "only Bertram. " She hesitated, thensaid with stern decision:

"Bertram, you know I want you, and you must know that I'm delighted tohave you drop this silly notion of going away. But if this quick changemeans that you are staying with any idea that--that _I_ shall change, then--then you must go. But if you will stay as WILLIAM'S BROTHERthen--I'll be more than glad to have you. "

"I'll stay--as William's brother, " agreed Bertram; and Billy did notnotice the quick indrawing of his breath nor the close shutting of hislips after the words were spoken. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO

By the middle of July the routine of Billy's days was well established. Marie had been for a week a welcome addition to the family, and shewas proving to be of invaluable aid in entertaining Billy's guests. Theoverworked widow and the little lodging-house keeper from the West Endwere enjoying Billy's hospitality now; and just to look at their beamingcountenances was an inspiration, Billy said. 

Cyril had gone abroad. Aunt Hannah was spending a week at the NorthShore with friends. Bertram, true to his promise, was playing thegallant to Billy's guests; and so assiduous was he in his attentionsthat Billy at last remonstrated with him. 

"But I didn't mean them to take ALL your time, " she protested. 

"Don't they like it? Do they see too much of me?" he demanded. 

"No, no! They love it, of course. You must know that. Nobody else couldgive such beautiful times as you've given us. But it's yourself I'mthinking of. You're giving up all your time. Besides, I didn't mean tokeep you here all summer, of course. You always go away some, you know, for a vacation. "

"But I'm having a vacation here, doing this, " laughed Bertram. "I'm sureI'm getting sea air down to the beaches and mountain air out to theBlue Hills. And as for excitement--if you can find anything more wildlyexciting than it was yesterday when Miss Marie and I took the widowand the spinster lady on the Roller-coaster--just show it to me; that'sall!"

Billy laughed. 

"They told me about it--Marie in particular. She said you were lovely tothem, and let them do every single thing they wanted to; and that halfan hour after they got there they were like two children let out ofschool. Dear me, I wish I'd gone. I never stay at home that I don't misssomething, " she finished regretfully. 

Bertram shrugged his shoulders. 

"If it's Roller-coasters and Chute-the-chutes that you want, I fancyyou'll get enough before the week is out, " he sighed laughingly. "Theysaid they'd like to go there to-morrow, please, when I asked them whatwe should do next. What surprises me is that they like such things--suchhair-raising things. When I first saw them, black-gowned andstiff-backed, sitting in your little room here, I thought I should neverdare offer them anything more wildly exciting than a church service ora lecture on psychology, with perhaps a band concert hinted at, providedthe band could be properly instructed beforehand as to tempo andselections. But now--really, Billy, why do you suppose they have takensuch a fancy to these kiddish stunts--those two staid women?"

Billy laughed, but her eyes softened. 

"I don't know unless it's because all their lives they've been tiedto such dead monotony that just the exhilaration of motion is bliss tothem. But you won't always have to risk your neck and your temper inthis fashion, Bertram. Next week my little couple from South Bostoncomes. She adores pictures and stuffed animals. You'll have to do themuseums with her. Then there's little crippled Tommy--he'll be perfectlycontented if you'll put him down where he can hear the band play. Andall you'll have to do when that one stops is to pilot him to the nextone. This IS good of you, Bertram, and I do thank you for it, " finishedBilly, fervently, just as Marie, the widow, and the "spinster lady"entered the room. 

Billy told herself these days that she was very happy--very happyindeed. Was she not engaged to a good man, and did she not also have itin her power to make the long summer days a pleasure to many people?The fact that she had to tell herself that she was happy in order toconvince herself that she was so, did not occur to Billy--yet. 

Not long after Marie arrived, Billy told her of the engagement. Williamwas at the house very frequently, and owing to the intimacy of Marie'srelationship with the family Billy decided to tell her how mattersstood. Marie's reception of the news was somewhat surprising. First shelooked frightened. 

"To William?--you are engaged to William?"

"Why--yes. "

"But I thought--surely it was--don't you mean--Mr. Cyril?"

"No, I don't, " laughed Billy. "And certainly I ought to know. "

"And you don't--care for him?"

"I hope not--if I'm going to marry William. "

So light was Billy's voice and manner that Marie dared one morequestion. 

"And he--doesn't care--for you?"

"I hope not--if William is going to marry me, " laughed Billy again. 

"Oh-h!" breathed Marie, with an odd intonation of relief. "Then I'mglad--so glad! And I hope you'll be very, very happy, dear. "

Billy looked into Marie's glowing face and was pleased: there seemed tobe so few, so very few faces into which she had looked and found entireapprobation of her engagement to William. 

Billy saw a great deal of William now. He was always kind andconsiderate, and he tried to help her entertain her guests; but Billy, grateful as she was to him for his efforts, was relieved when heresigned his place to Bertram. Bertram did, indeed, know so much betterhow to do it. William tried to help her, too, about training her vinesand rosebushes; but of course, even in this, he could not be expected toshow quite the interest that Bertram manifested in every green shoot andopening bud, for he had not helped her plant them, as Bertram had. 

Billy was a little troubled sometimes, that she did not feel more atease with William. She thought it natural that she should feel a littlediffident with him, in the face of his sudden change from an "uncle"to an accepted lover; but she did not see why she should be afraid ofhim--yet she was. She owned that to herself unhappily. And he was sogood!--she owned that, too. He seemed not to have a thought in the worldbut for her comfort and happiness; and there was no end to the tactfullittle things he was always doing for her pleasure. He seemed, also, tohave divined that she did not like to be kissed and caressed; and onlyoccasionally did he kiss her, and then it was merely a sort of fatherlysalute on her forehead--for which consideration Billy was grateful:Billy decided that she would not like to be kissed on the lips. 

After some days of puzzling over the matter Billy concluded that it wasself-consciousness that caused all the trouble. With William she wasself-conscious. If she could only forget that she was some day to beWilliam's wife, the old delightful comradeship would return, andshe would be at ease again with him. In time, after she had becomeaccustomed to the idea of marriage, it would not so confuse her, ofcourse. She loved him dearly, and she wanted to make him happy; but forthe present--just while she was "getting used to things"--she would tryto forget, sometimes, that she was going to be William's wife. 

Billy was happier now. She was always happier after she had thoughtthings out to her own satisfaction. She turned with new zest tothe entertainment of her guests; and with Bertram she planned manydelightful trips for their pleasure. Bertram was a great comfort to herthese days. Never, in word or look, could she see that he oversteppedthe role which he had promised to play--William's brother. 

Billy went back to her music, too. A new melody was running through herhead, and she longed to put it on paper. Already her first little "Groupof Songs" had found friends, and Billy, to a very modest extent, wasbeginning to taste the sweets of fame. 

Thus, by all these interests, did Billy try "to get used to things. "

CHAPTER XXXIX

A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER

Of all Billy's guests, Marie was very plainly the happiest. She was apermanent guest, it is true, while the others came for only a week ortwo at a time; but it was not this, Billy decided, that had brought sobrilliant a sparkle to Marie's eyes, so joyous a laugh to her lips. Thejoyousness was all the more noticeable, because heretofore Marie, whilevery sweet, had been also sad. Her big blue eyes had always carried ahaunting shadow, and her step had lacked the spring belonging to youthand happiness. Certainly, Billy had never seen her like this before. 

"Verily, Marie, " she teased one day, "have you found an exhaustlesssupply of stockings to mend, or a never-done pudding to make--which?"

"Why? What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. I was only wondering just what had brought that new lightto your eyes. "

"Is there a new light?"

"There certainly is. "

"It must be because I'm so happy, then, " sighed Marie; "because you'reso good to me. "

"Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?" Marie's tone was evasive. 

"No. " Billy shook her head mischievously. "Marie, what is it?"

"It's nothing--really, it's nothing, " protested Marie, hurrying out ofthe room with a nervous laugh. 

Billy frowned. She was suspicious before; she was sure now. In less thantwelve hours' time came her opportunity. She was alone again with Marie. 

"Marie, who is he?" she asked abruptly. 

"He? Who?"

"The man who is to wear the stockings and eat the pudding. "

The little music teacher flushed very red, but she managed to displaysomething that might pass for surprise. 

"BILLY!"

"Come, dear, " coaxed Billy, winningly. "Tell me about it. I'm sointerested!"

"But there isn't anything to tell--really there isn't. "

"Who is he?"

"He isn't anybody--that is, he doesn't know he's anybody, " amendedMarie. 

Billy laughed softly. 

"Oh, doesn't he! Hasn't he ever shown--that he cared?"

"No; that is--perhaps he has, only I thought then--that it was--anothergirl. "

"Another girl! So there's another girl in the case?"

"Yes. I mean, no, " corrected Marie, suddenly beginning to realize whatshe was saying. "Really, it wasn't anything--it isn't anything!" sheprotested. 

"Hm-m, " murmured Billy, archly. "Oh, I'm getting on some! He did show, once, that he cared; but you thought it was another girl, and youcoldly looked the other way. Now, there ISN'T any other girl, you find, and--Marie, tell me the rest!"

Marie shook her head emphatically, and pulled herself gently away fromBilly's grasp. 

"No, no, please!" she begged. "It really isn't anything. I'm sure I'mimagining it all!" she cried, as she ran away. 

During the days that followed, Billy speculated not a little on Marie'shalf-told story, and wondered interestedly who the man might be. Shequestioned Marie once again, but the girl would tell nothing more; and, indeed, Billy was so occupied with her own perplexities that she hadlittle time for those of other people. 

To herself Billy was forced to own that she was not "getting used tothings. " She was still self-conscious with William; she could not forgetthat she was one day to be his wife. She could not bring back the dearold freedom of comradeship with him. 

Billy was alarmed now. She had begun to ask herself searching questions. What should she do if never, never should she get used to the ideaof marrying William? How could she marry him if he was still "UncleWilliam, " and never her dear lover in her eyes? Why had she not beenwise enough and brave enough to tell him in the first place that shewas not at all sure that she loved him, but that she would try to do so?Then when she had tried--as she had now--and failed, she could have toldhim honestly the truth, and it would not have been so great a shock tohim as it must be now, if she should tell him. 

Billy had remorsefully come to the conclusion that she could never loveany man well enough to marry him, when one day so small a thing as apiece of paper fluttered into her vision, and showed her the fallacy ofthat idea. 

It was a half-sheet of note paper, and it blew from Marie's balcony tothe lawn below. Billy found it there later, and as she picked it up hereyes fell on a single name in Marie's handwriting inscribed half a dozentimes as if the writer had musingly accompanied her thoughts with herpen; and the name was, "Marie Henshaw. "

For a moment Billy stared at the name perplexedly--then in a flash camethe remembrance of Marie's words; and Billy breathed: "Henshaw!--theman--BERTRAM!"

Billy dropped the paper then and fled. In her own room, behind lockeddoors, she sat down to think. 

Bertram! It was he for whom Marie cared--HER Bertram! And then it cameto Billy with staggering force that he was not HER Bertram at all. Henever could be her Bertram now. He was--Marie's. 

Billy was frightened then, so fierce was this strange new something thatrose within her--this overpowering something that seemed to blot out allthe world, and leave only--Bertram. She knew then, that it had alwaysbeen Bertram to whom she had turned, though she had been blind to thecause of that turning. Always her plans had included him. Always she hadbeen the happiest in his presence; never had she pictured him anywhereelse but at her side. Certainly never had she pictured him as thedevoted lover of another woman!. .. And she had not known what it allmeant--poor blind child that she was!

Very resolutely now Billy set herself to looking matters squarely inthe face. She understood it quite well. All summer Marie and Bertram hadbeen thrown together. No wonder Marie had fallen in love with Bertram, and that he--Billy thought she comprehended now why Bertram had found itso easy for the last few weeks to be William's brother. She, of course, had been the "other girl" whom Marie had once feared that the man loved. It was all so clear--so woefully clear!

With an aching heart Billy asked herself what now was to be done. For herself, turn whichever way she could, she could see nothing butunhappiness. She determined, therefore, with Spartan fortitude, thatto no one else would she bring equal unhappiness. She would be silent. Bertram and Marie loved each other. That matter was settled. As toWilliam--Billy thought of the story William had told her of his lonelylife, --of the plea he had made to her; and her heart ached. Whateverhappened, William must be made happy. William must not be told. Herpromise to William must be kept. 

CHAPTER XL

WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT

Before September passed all Billy's friends said that her summer'sself-appointed task had been too hard for her. In no other way couldthey account for the sad change that had come to her. 

Undeniably Billy looked really ill. Always slender, she was shadow-likenow. Her eyes had found again the wistful appeal of her girlhood, onlynow they carried something that was almost fear, as well. The rose-flushhad gone from her cheeks, and pathetic little hollows had appeared, making the round young chin below look almost pointed. Certainly Billydid seem to be ill. 

Late in September William went West on business. Incidentally he calledto see his sister, Kate. 

"Well, and how is everybody?" asked Kate, cheerily, after the greetingswere over. 

William sighed. 

"Well, 'everybody, ' to me, Kate, is pretty badly off. We're worriedabout Billy. "

"Billy! You don't mean she's sick? Why, she's always been the picture ofhealth!"

"I know she has; but she isn't now. "

"What's the trouble?"

"That's what we don't know. "

"You've had the doctor?"

"Of course; two or three of them--though much against Billy's will. But--they didn't help us. "

"What did they say?"

"They could find nothing except perhaps a little temporary stomachtrouble, or something of that kind, which they all agreed was no justcause for her present condition. "

"But what did they say it was?"

"Why, they said it seemed like nervousness, or as if something wastroubling her. They asked if she weren't under some sort of strain. "

"Well, is she? Does anything trouble her?"

"Not that I know of. Anyhow, if there is anything, none of us can findout what it is. "

Kate frowned. She threw a quick look into her brother's face. 

"William, " she began hesitatingly, "forgive me, but--Billy is quitehappy in--her engagement, I suppose. "

The man flushed painfully, and sighed. 

"I've thought of that, of course. In fact, it was the first thing Idid think of. I even began to watch her rather closely, and onceI--questioned her a little. "

"What did she say?"

"She seemed so frightened and distressed that I didn't say much myself. I couldn't. I had but just begun when her eyes filled with tears, andshe asked me in a frightened little voice if she had done anything todisplease me, anything to make me unhappy; and she seemed so anxiousand grieved and dismayed that I should even question her, that I had tostop. "

"What has she done this summer? Where has she been?"

"She hasn't been anywhere. Didn't I write you? She's kept open house fora lot of her less fortunate friends--a sort of vacation home, you know;and--and I must say she's given them a world of happiness, too. "

"But wasn't that hard for her?"

"It didn't seem to be. She appeared to enjoy it immensely, particularlyat first. Of course she had plenty of help, and that wonderful littleMiss Hawthorn has been a host in herself. They're all gone now, anyway, except Miss Hawthorn. "

"But Billy must have had the care and the excitement. "

"Perhaps--to a certain extent. Though not much, after all. You seeBertram, too, has given up his summer to them, and has been playing thedevoted escort to the whole bunch. Indeed, for the last few weeks of it, since Billy began to seem so ill, he and Miss Hawthorn have schemedto take all the care from Billy, and they have done the whole thingtogether. "

"But what HAS Billy done to make her like this?"

"I don't know. She's done lots for me, in all sorts of ways--cataloguingmy curios, you know, and going with me to hunt up things. In fact, sheseems the happiest when she IS doing something for me. It's come to bea sort of mania with her, I'm afraid--to do something for me. Kate, I'mreally worried. What do you suppose is the matter?"

Kate shook her head. The puzzled frown had come back to her face. 

"I can't imagine, " she began slowly. "Of course, when I told her youloved her and--"

"When you told her wha-at?" exploded the usually low-voiced William, with sudden sharpness. 

"When I told her that you loved her, William. You see, I--"

William sprang to his feet. 

"Told her that I loved her!" he cried, aghast. "Good heavens, Kate, doyou mean to say that YOU told her THAT. "

"Why, y-yes. "

"And may I ask where you got your information?"

"Why, William Henshaw, what a question! I got it from yourself, ofcourse, " defended Kate. 

"From ME!" William's face expressed sheer amazement. 

"Certainly; on that drive when I was East in June, " returned Kate, withdignity. "YOU evidently have forgotten it, but I have not. You told mevery frankly how much you thought of her, and how you longed to have herback there with you, but that she didn't seem to be ready to come. I wassorry for you, and I wanted to do something to help, particularly asit might have been my fault, partly, that she went away, in the firstplace. "

William lifted his head. 

"What do you mean?"

"Why, nothing, only that I--I told her a little of how--how upsettingher arrival had been to everything, and of how much you had done forher, and put yourself out. I said it so she'd appreciate things, ofcourse, but she took it quite differently from what I had intended sheshould take it, and seemed quite cut up about it. Then she went away inthat wily, impulsive fashion. "

William bit his lip, but he did not speak. Kate was plunging onfeverishly, and in the face of the greater revelation he let the lesserone drop. 

"And so that's why I was particularly anxious to bring things aroundright again, " continued Kate. "And that's why I spoke. I thought I'dseen how things were, and on the drive I said so. Then is when I advisedyou to speak to Billy; but you declared that Billy wasn't ready, andthat you couldn't make a girl marry against her will. NOW don't yourecollect it?"

A great light of understanding broke over William's face. He startedto speak, but something evidently stayed the words on his lips. Withcontrolled deliberation he turned and sat down. Then he said:

"Kate, will you kindly tell me just what you DID do?"

"Why, I didn't do so very much. I just tried to help, that's all. AfterI talked with you, and advised you to ask Billy right away to marry you, I went to her. I thought she cared for you already, anyway; but I justwanted to tell her how very much it was to you, and so sort of pave theway. And now comes the part that I started to tell you a little whileago when you caught me up so sharply. I was going to say that when Itold Billy this, she appeared to be surprised, and almost frightened. You see, she hadn't known you cared for her, after all, and so I had achance to help and make it plain to her how you did love her, so thatwhen you spoke everything would be all right. There, that's all. You seeI didn't do so very much. "

"'So very much'!" groaned William, starting to his feet. "Great Scott!"

"Why, William, what do you mean? Where are you going?"

"I'm going--to--Billy, " retorted William with slow distinctness. "And I'm going to try to get there--before--you--CAN!" And with thisextraordinary shot--for William--he left the house. 

William went to Billy as fast as steam could carry him. He found her inher little drawing-room listlessly watching with Aunt Hannah the game ofchess that Bertram and Marie were playing. 

"Billy, you poor, dear child, come here, " he said abruptly, as soon asthe excitement of his unexpected arrival had passed. "I want to talk toyou. " And he led the way to the veranda which he knew would be silentand deserted. 

"To talk to--me?" murmured Billy, as she wonderingly came to his side, astartled questioning in her wide dark eyes. 

CHAPTER XLI

THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT

William did not re-enter the house after his talk with Billy on theveranda. 

"I will go down the steps and around by the rose garden to the street, dear, " he said. "I'd rather not go in now. Just make my adieus, please, and say that I couldn't stay any longer. And now--good-by. " His eyes asthey looked down at her, were moist and very tender. His lips trembled alittle, but they smiled, and there was a look of new-born peace and joyon his face. 

Billy, too, was smiling, though wistfully. The frightened questioninghad gone from her eyes, leaving only infinite tenderness. 

"You are sure it--it is all right--now?" she stammered. 

"Very sure, little girl; and it's the first time it has been right forweeks. Billy, that was very dear of you, and I love you for it; butthink how near--how perilously near you came to lifelong misery!"

"But I thought--you wanted me--so much, " she smiled shyly. 

"And I did, and I do--for a daughter. You don't doubt that NOW?"

"No, oh, no, " laughed Billy, softly; and to her face came a happy lookof relief as she finished: "And I'll be so glad to be--the daughter!"

For some minutes after the man had gone, Billy stood by the steps wherehe had left her. She was still there when Bertram came to the verandadoor and spoke to her. 

"Billy, I saw William go by the window, so I knew you were alone. May Ispeak to you?"

The girl turned with a start. 

"Why, of course! What is it?--but I thought you were playing. Where isMarie?"

"The game is finished; besides--Billy, why are you always askingme lately where Marie is, as if I were her keeper, or she mine?" hedemanded, with a touch of nervous irritation. 

"Why, nothing, Bertram, " smiled Billy, a little wearily; "only that youwere playing together a few minutes ago, and I wondered where she hadgone. "

"'A few minutes ago'!" echoed Bertram with sudden bitterness. "Evidentlythe time passed swiftly with you, Billy. William was out here MORE thanan hour. "

"Why--Bertram!"

"Yes, I know. I've no business to say that, of course, " sighed the man;"but, Billy, that's why I came out--because I must speak to you thisonce. Won't you come and sit down, please?" he implored despairingly. 

"Why, Bertram, " murmured Billy again, faintly, as she turned toward thevine-shaded corner and sat down. Her eyes were startled. A swift colorhad come to her cheeks. 

"Billy, " began the man, in a sternly controlled voice, "please let mespeak this once, and don't try to stop me. You may think, for a moment, that it's disloyal to William if you listen; but it isn't. There's thismuch due to me--that you let me speak now. Billy, I can't stand it. I've tried, but it's no use. I've got to go away, and it's right that Ishould. I'm not the only one that thinks so, either. Marie does, too. "

"MARIE!"

"Yes. I talked it all over with her. She's known for a long time howit's been with me; how I cared--for you. "

"Marie! You've told Marie that?" gasped Billy. 

"Yes. Surely you don't mind Marie's knowing, " went on Bertram, dejectedly. "And she's been so good to me, and tried to--help me. "

Bertram was not looking at Billy now. If he had been he would have seenthe incredulous joy come into her face. His eyes were moodily fixed onthe floor. 

"And so, Billy, I've come to tell you. I'm going away, " he continued, after a moment. "I've got to go. I thought once, when I first talkedwith you of William, that you didn't know your own heart; that youdidn't really care for him. I was even fool enough to think that--thatit would be I to whom you'd turn--some day. And so I stayed. But Istayed honorably, Billy! YOU know that! You know that I haven't onceforgotten--not once, that I was only William's brother. I promised youI'd be that--and I have been; haven't I?"

Billy nodded silently. Her face was turned away. 

"But, Billy, I can't do it any longer. I've got to ask for my promiseback, and then, of course, I can't stay. "

"But you--you don't have to go--away, " murmured the girl, faintly. 

Bertram sprang to his feet. His face was white. 

"Billy, " he cried, standing tall and straight before her, "Billy, Ilove every touch of your hand, every glance of your eye, every word thatfalls from your lips. Do you think I can stay--now? I want my promiseback! When I'm no longer William's brother--then I'll go!"

"But you don't have to have it back--that is, you don't have to have itat all, " stammered Billy, flushing adorably. She, too, was on her feetnow. 

"Billy, what do you mean?"

"Don't you see? I--I HAVE turned, " she faltered breathlessly, holdingout both her hands. 

Even then, in spite of the great light that leaped to his eyes, Bertramadvanced only a single step. 

"But--William?" he questioned, unbelievingly. 

"It WAS a mistake, just as you thought. We know now--both of us. Wedon't either of us care for the other--that way. And--Bertram, I thinkit HAS been you--all the time, only I didn't know!"

"Billy, Billy!" choked Bertram in a voice shaken with emotion. He openedhis arms then, wide--and Billy walked straight into them. 

CHAPTER XLII

THE "END OF THE STORY"

It was two days after Billy's new happiness had come to her that Cyrilcame home. He went very soon to see Billy. 

The girl was surprised at the change in his appearance. He had grownthin and haggard looking, and his eyes were somber. He moved restlesslyabout the room for a time, finally seating himself at the piano andletting his fingers slip from one mournful little melody to another. Then, with a discordant crash, he turned. 

"Billy, do you think any girl would marry--me?" he demanded. 

"Why, Cyril!"

"There, now, please don't begin that, " he begged fretfully. "I realize, of course, that I'm a very unlikely subject for matrimony. You made meunderstand that clearly enough last winter!"

"Last--winter?"

Cyril raised his eyebrows. 

"Oh, I came to you for a little encouragement, and to make aconfession, " he said. "I made the confession--but I didn't get theencouragement. "

Billy changed color. She thought she knew what he meant, but at thesame time she couldn't understand why he should wish to refer to thatconversation now. 

"A--confession?" she repeated, hesitatingly. 

"Yes. I told you that I'd begun to doubt my being such a woman-hater, after all. I intimated that YOU'D begun the softening process, and thatthen I'd found a certain other young woman who had--well, who had keptup the good work. "

"Oh!" cried Billy suddenly, with a peculiar intonation. "Oh-h!" Then shelaughed softly. 

"Well, that was the confession, " resumed Cyril. "Then I came outflat-footed and said that I wanted to marry her--but there is where Ididn't get the encouragement!"

"Indeed! I'm afraid I wasn't very considerate, " stammered Billy. 

"No, you weren't, " agreed Cyril, moodily. "I didn't know but now--" hisvoice softened a little--"with this new happiness of yours and Bertram'sthat--you might find a little encouragement for me. "

"And I will, " cried Billy, promptly. "Tell me about her. "

"I did--last winter, " reproached the man, "and you were sure I wasdeceiving myself. You drew the gloomiest sort of picture of the misery Iwould take with a wife. "

"I did?" Billy was laughing very merrily now. 

"Yes. You said she'd always be talking and laughing when I wanted to bequiet, and that she'd want to drag me out to parties and plays whenI wanted to stay at home; and--oh, lots of things. I tried to makeit clear to you that--that this little woman wasn't that sort. But Icouldn't, " finished Cyril, gloomily. 

"But of course she isn't, " declared Billy, with quick sympathy. "I--Ididn't know--WHAT--I was--talking about, " she added with emphaticdistinctness. Then she smiled to think how little Cyril knew how verytrue those words were. "Tell me about her, " she begged again. "Iknow she must be very lovely and brilliant, and of course a wonderfulmusician. YOU couldn't choose any one else!"

To her surprise Cyril turned abruptly and began to play again. A nervouslittle staccato scherzo fell from his fingers, but it dropped almost atonce into a quieter melody, and ended with something that sounded verymuch like the last strain of "Home, Sweet Home. " Then he wheeled abouton the piano stool. 

"Billy, that's exactly where you're wrong--I DON'T want that kind ofwife. I don't want a brilliant one, and--now, Billy, this sounds likehorrible heresy, I know, but it's true--I don't care whether she canplay, or not; but I should prefer that she shouldn't play--much!"

"Why, Cyril Henshaw!--and you, with your music! As if you could becontented with a woman like that!"

"Oh, I want her to like music, of course, " modified Cyril; "but I don'tcare to have her MAKE it. Billy, do you know? You'll laugh, of course, but my picture of a wife is always one thing: a room with a table anda shaded lamp, and a little woman beside it with the light on her hair, and a great, basket of sewing beside her. You see I AM domestic!" hefinished a little defiantly. 

"I should say you were, " laughed Billy. "And have you found her?--thislittle woman who is to do nothing but sit and sew in the circle of theshaded lamp?"

"Yes, I've found her, but I'm not at all sure she's found me. That'swhere I want your help. Oh, I don't mean, of course, " he added, "thatshe's got to sit under that lamp all the time. It's only that--that Ihope she likes that sort of thing. "

"And--does she?"

"Yes; that is, I think she does, " smiled Cyril. "Anyhow, she told meonce that--that the things she liked best to do in all the world were tomend stockings and to make puddings. "

Billy sprang to her feet with a little cry. Now, indeed, had Cyril kepthis promise and made "many things clear" to her. 

"Cyril, come here, " she cried tremulously, leading the way to the openveranda door. The next moment Cyril was looking across the lawn to thelittle summerhouse in the midst of Billy's rose garden. In full viewwithin the summerhouse sat Marie--sewing. 

"Go, Cyril; she's waiting for you, " smiled Billy, mistily. "The light'sonly the sun, to be sure, and maybe there isn't a whole basket of sewingthere. But--SHE'S there!"

"You've--guessed, then!" breathed Cyril. 

"I've not guessed--I know. And--it's all right. "

"You mean--?" Only Cyril's pleading eyes finished the question. 

"Yes, I'm sure she does, " nodded Billy. And then she added under herbreath as the man passed swiftly down the steps: "'Marie Henshaw'indeed! So 'twas Cyril all the time--and never Bertram--who was theinspiration of that bit of paper give-away!"

When she turned back into the room she came face to face with Bertram. 

"I spoke, dear, but you didn't hear, " he said, as he hurried forwardwith outstretched hands. 

"Bertram, " greeted Billy, with surprising irrelevance, "'and they alllived happily ever after'--they DID! Isn't that always the ending to thestory--a love story?"

"Of course, " said Bertram with emphasis;--"OUR love story!"

"And theirs, " supplemented Billy, softly; but Bertram did not hear that.