Miss Billy ..............................................................................................................................................................1

Eleanor H. Porter.....................................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER I. BILLY WRITES A LETTER ............................................................................................2

CHAPTER II. "THE STRATA"..............................................................................................................4

CHAPTER III. THE STRATAWHEN THE LETTER COMES ........................................................5

CHAPTER IV. BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM ....................................................................................9

CHAPTER V. GETTING READY FOR BILLY ..................................................................................11

CHAPTER VI. THE COMING OF BILLY..........................................................................................14

CHAPTER VII. INTRODUCING SPUNK ...........................................................................................17

CHAPTER VIII. THE ROOMAND BILLY .....................................................................................20

CHAPTER IX. A FAMILY CONCLAVE............................................................................................23

CHAPTER X. AUNT HANNAH ..........................................................................................................25

CHAPTER XI. BERTRAM HAS VISITORS .......................................................................................29

CHAPTER XII. CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN ........................................................................................31

CHAPTER XIII. A SURPRISE ALL AROUND ..................................................................................35

CHAPTER XIV. AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND.................................................................36

CHAPTER XV. WHAT BERTRAM CALLS "THE LIMIT"..............................................................39

CHAPTER XVI. KATE TAKES A HAND..........................................................................................42

CHAPTER XVII. A PINKRIBBON TRAIL......................................................................................44

CHAPTER XVIII. BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER .................................................................46

CHAPTER XIX. SEEING BILLY OFF ................................................................................................49

CHAPTER XX. BILLY, THE MYTH..................................................................................................51

CHAPTER XXI. BILLY, THE REALITY ............................................................................................54

CHAPTER XXII. HUGH CALDERWELL..........................................................................................57

CHAPTER XXIII. BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING ..........................................................62

CHAPTER XXIV. CYRIL, THE ENIGMA ..........................................................................................65

CHAPTER XXV. THE OLD ROOMAND BILLY ..........................................................................67

CHAPTER XXVI. "MUSIC HATH CHARMS"..................................................................................69

CHAPTER XXVII. MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS ................................................72

CHAPTER XXVIII. "I'M GOING TO WIN" ........................................................................................75

CHAPTER XXIX. "I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY"..........................................................................78

CHAPTER XXX. MARIE FINDS A FRIEND .....................................................................................79

CHAPTER XXXI. THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE............................................................................82

CHAPTER XXXII. CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY..................................................................83

CHAPTER XXXIII. WILLIAM IS WORRIED ....................................................................................86

CHAPTER XXXIV. CLASS DAY.......................................................................................................88

CHAPTER XXXV. SISTER KATE AGAIN ........................................................................................91

CHAPTER XXXVI. WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE ...........................................................95

CHAPTER XXXVII. "WILLIAM'S BROTHER"................................................................................97

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO ....................................................................100

CHAPTER XXXIX. A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER..........................................................................102

CHAPTER XL. WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT .......................................................................................105

CHAPTER XLI. THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT ....................................................................108

CHAPTER XLII. THE "END OF THE STORY"...............................................................................110

Billy Neilson was eighteen years old when the aunt, who had brought her up from babyhood, died. Miss

Benton's death left Billy quite alone in the worldalone, and peculiarly forlorn. To Mr. James Harding, of

Harding Harding, who had charge of Billy's not inconsiderable property, the girl poured out her heart in all its

"Tut, tut, my child, it's not so bad as that, surely," remonstrated the old man, gently. "Why, II care."

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

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 own young, breezy, healthy self attempting to conform to the hushed and

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

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

There was only Aunt Ella, ever, that I knew anything about. She and mother were the only children there

"It's even worse there. He was an only child and an orphan when mother married him. He died when I was

but six months old. After that there was only mother and Aunt Ella, then Aunt Ella alone; and nowno one."

"Why, there's onea man but he isn't really father's people, anyway. But II have been tempted to write to

"The one I'm named for. He was father's boyhood chum. You see that's why I'm 'Billy' instead of being a

proper 'Susie,' or 'Bessie,' or 'Sally Jane.' Father had made up his mind to name his baby 'William' after his

chum, and when I came, Aunt Ella said, he was quite brokenhearted until somebody hit upon the idea of

naming me Billy.' Then he was content, for it seems that he always called his chum 'Billy' anyhow. And

"No. You see father died, and mother and Aunt Ella knew him only very slightly. Mother knew his wife,

"Oh, yes unless he's moved. We've always kept that. Aunt Ella used to say sometimes that she was going to

"Oh, do you know him? That's lovely! And his address IS Beacon Street! I know because I saw it only

"Write him? Of course you'll write him," cried the lawyer. "And we don't need to do much 'looking up' there,

child. I've known the family for years, 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, and two others much younger than he. I've

"Then you do know him! I'm so glad," exclaimed Billy. "You see, he never seemed to me quite real."

"I know about him," corrected the lawyer, smilingly, "though I'll confess I've rather lost track of him lately.

Ned will know. I'll ask Ned. Now go home, my dear, and dry those pretty eyes of yours. Or, better still, come

home with me to tea. II'll telephone up to the house." And he rose stiffly and went into the inner office.

"My dear child, II'm sorry, butbut I'll have to take back that invitation," he blurted out miserably. "My

sisters areare not well this afternoon. Ann has been having a turn with her heart you know Ann's heart

isis bad; and LettyLetty is always nervous at such timesvery nervous. ErI'm so sorry! But

"Indeed I will," smiled Billy, "and thank you just the same; only" her eyes twinkled mischievously"you

don't mind if I do say that it IS lucky that we hadn't gone on planning to have me live with them, Mr.

"Eh? Weller, I think your plan about the Henshaws is very good," he interposed hurriedly. "I'll speak to

NedI'll speak to Ned," he finished, as he ceremoniously bowed the girl from the office.

James Harding kept his word, and spoke to his son that night; but there was little, after all, that Ned could tell

him. Yes, he remembered Billy Henshaw well, but he had not heard of him for years, since Henshaw's

marriage, in fact. He must be forty years old, Ned said; but he was a fine fellow, an exceptionally fine fellow,

and would be sure to deal kindly and wisely by his little orphan namesake; of that Ned was very sure.

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

He did writebut not so soon as Billy wrote; for even as he spoke, Billy, in her lonely little room at the other

end of the town, was laying bare all her homesickness in four long pages to "Dear Uncle William."

Bertram Henshaw called the Beacon Street home "The Strata." This annoyed Cyril, and even William, not a

little; though they reflected that, after all, it was "only Bertram." For the whole of Bertram's twentyfour

years of life it had been like this"It's only Bertram," had been at once the curse and the salvation of his

In this particular case, however, Bertram's vagary of fancy had some excuse. The Beacon Street house, the

"You see, it's like this," Bertram would explain airily to some new acquaintance who expressed surprise at the

name; "if I could slice off the 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 and brimstone and bury us under tons of

ashesonly fancy the condition of mind of those future archaeologists when they struck our house after their

"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 but heavy furniture, the piano, the violin, the flute, the booklined walls, and the

absence of every sort of curtain, cushion, or knickknack. 'Here lived a plain man,' they'd say; 'a scholar, a

"And what next? They'd strike William's stratum next, the third floor. Imagine it! You know William as a

State Street broker, welloff, a widower, tall, angular, slow of speech, a little bald, very much nearsighted,

and the owner of the kindest heart in the world. But really to know William, you must know his rooms.

William collects things. He has always collected thingsand he's saved every one of them. There's a

tradition that at the age of one year he crept into the house with four small round white stones. Anyhow, if he

did, he's got them now. Rest assured of thatand he's forty this year. Miniatures, carved ivories, bugs,

moths, porcelains, jades, stamps, postcards, spoons, baggage tags, theatre programs, playingcardsthere

isn't anything that he doesn't collect. He's on teapots, now. Imagine itWilliam and teapots! And they're all

there in his roomsone glorious mass of confusion. Just fancy those archaeologists trying to make their

"But when they reach me, my stratum, they'll have a worse time yet. You see, _I_ like cushions and comfort,

and I have them everywhere. And I likewell, 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's why I call it all 'The Strata.'"

And "The Strata" it was to all the Henshaws' friends, and even to William and Cyril themselves, in spite of

From babyhood the Henshaw boys had lived in the handsome, roomy house, facing the Public Garden. It had

been their father's boyhood home, as well, and he and his wife had died there, soon after Kate, the only

daughter, had married. At the age of twenty two, William Henshaw, the eldest son, had brought his bride to

the house, and together they had striven to make a home for the two younger orphan boys, Cyril, twelve, and

Bertram, six. But Mrs. William, after a short five years of married life, had died; and since then, the house

Little by little as the years passed, the house and its inmates had fallen 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 peace and exclusiveness of the fourth floor. Below

him, William had long discouraged any meddling with his precious chaos of possessions, and had finally

come to spend nearly all his spare time among them. This left Bertram to undisputed ownership of the second

floor, and right royally did he hold sway there with his paints and brushes and easels, his old armor, rich

hangings, rugs, and cushions, and everywhere his specialtyhis "Face of a Girl." From canvas, plaque, and

panel they looked outthose girlish faces: winsome, wilful, pert, demure, merry, sad, beautiful, even almost

uglythey were all there; and they were growing famous, too. The world of art was beginning to take notice,

and to adjust its spectacles for a more critical glance. This "Face of a Girl" by Henshaw bade fair to be worth

Below Bertram's cheery second floor were the dim old library and drawingrooms, silent, stately, and almost

never used; and below them were the diningroom and the kitchen. Here ruled Dong Ling, the Chinese cook,

Pete wasindeed, it is hard telling what Pete was. He said he was the butler; and he looked the part when he

answered the bell at the great front door. But at other times, when he swept a room, or dusted Master

William's curios, he lookedlike nothing so much as what he was: a fussy, faithful old man, who expected

Thus in all the Beacon Street house, there had not for years been the touch of a woman's hand. Even Kate, the

married sister, had long since given up trying to instruct Dong Ling or to chide Pete, though she still walked

across the Garden from her Commonwealth Avenue home and tripped up the stairs to call in turn upon her

It was on the six o'clock delivery that William Henshaw received the letter from his namesake, Billy. To say

the least, the letter was a great shock to him. He had not quite forgotten Billy's father, who had died so long

ago, it is true, but he had forgotten Billy, entirely. Even as he looked at the disconcerting epistle with its

round, neatly formed letters, he had great difficulty in ferreting out the particular niche in his memory which

contained the fact that Walter Neilson had had a child, and had named it for him.

And this child, this "Billy," this unknown progeny of an all but forgotten 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

"Well, old man, what's up?" It was Bertram's amazed voice from the hall doorway; and indeed, William

Henshaw, redfaced and plainly trembling, seated on the lowest step of the stairway, and gazing, wildeyed,

"What's up!" groaned William, starting to his feet, and waving the letter frantically in the air. "What's up!

Young man, do you want us to take 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,

"What is serious?" demanded Cyril, coming down the stairway. "Can't it wait? Pete has already sounded the

"Well, come," he groaned. "I'll tell you at the table. . . . It seems I've got a namesake," he resumed in a

"Itit's so absurd," he muttered. Then he cleared his throat and read the letter aloud.

"DEAR UNCLE WILLIAM: Do you mind my calling you that? You see I want SOME 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

"Would you mind very much if I came to live with you? That is, between timesI'm going to college, of

course, and after that I'm going to bewell, I haven't decided that part yet. I think I'll consult you. You may

"There! Maybe I ought not to have said that, for perhaps you won't want me to come. I AM noisy, I'll own,

but not so I think you'll mind it much unless some of you have 'nerves' or a 'heart.' You see, Miss Letty and

Miss Annthey're Mr. Harding's sisters, and Mr. Harding is our lawyer, and he will write to you. Well,

where was I? Oh, I knowon Miss Letty's nerves. And, say, do you know, that is where I do geton Miss

Letty's nerves. I do, truly. You see, Mr. Harding very kindly suggested that I live with them, but, mercy! Miss

Letty's nerves won't let you walk except on tiptoe, and Miss Ann's heart won't let you speak except in

whispers. All the chairs and tables have worn little sockets in the carpets, and it's a crime to move them.

There isn't a windowshade in the house that isn't pulled down EXACTLY to the middle sash, except where

the sun shines, and those are pulled way down. Imagine me and Spunk 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 he couldn't live

"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 right away and let you know what train to meet me on. And, oh, sayif you'll wear

a pink in your buttonhole I will, too. Then we'll know each other. My address is just 'Hampden Falls.'

For one long minute there was a blank silence about the Henshaw dinnertable; then the eldest brother,

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

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

"He WOULD liven things up, Cyril; wouldn't he? Such nice smooth floors you've got upstairs to trundle

"Tin nonsense!" retorted Cyril. "Don't be silly, Bertram. That letter wasn't written by a baby. He'd be much

more likely to make himself at home with your paint box, or with some of William's junk."

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

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

"Good heavens! Well, send him to boardingschool, then, or to the penitentiary; anywhere but here!"

"Shucks! Let the kid come," laughed Bertram. "Poor little homesick devil! What's the use? I'll take him in.

"Why, I don't know. He must beerwhy, boys, he's no child," broke off the man suddenly. "Walter

himself died seventeen or eighteen years ago, not more than a year or two after he was married. That child

"And only think how Cyril WAS worrying about those tin carts," laughed Bertram. "Never mindeight or

"And thiser'Spunk'; do you take him, too? But probably he doesn't bother, either," murmured Cyril, with

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

"Well, whatever he is, you will kindly keep Spunk downstairs," said Cyril with decision. "The boy, I

"Hmm; well, judging by his name," murmured Bertram, apologetically, "it may be just possible that Spunk

won't be easily controlled. But maybe he isn't a dog, anyhow. Heersounds something like a parrot to

"Very well," he said coldly. "But please remember that I hold you responsible, Bertram. Whether it's a dog,

or a parrot, oror a monkey, I shall expect you to keep Spunk downstairs. This adopting into the family 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 he turned and

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

"'Talent'! Great Scott!" cut in Bertram. "Half the world has talent of one sort or another; but that doesn't

necessarily make them unable to live with any one else! Really, Will, it's becoming seriousabout Cyril.

He's getting to be, for all the world, like those finicky old maids that that young namesake of yours wrote

"No thanks to Cyril, then," retorted Bertram. "Anyhow, that's one reason why I was for taking the kidto

"But I had to take him, Bert," argued the elder brother, his face growing anxious again. "But Heaven only

knows what I'm going to do with him when I get him. What shall I say to him, anyway? How shall I write? I

"Why not take him at his word and telegraph? I fancy you won't have to say 'come' but once before you see

"Hmm; I might do that," acquiesced William, slowly. "But wasn't there somebodya lawyergoing to

write to me?" he finished, consulting the letter 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 at Harvard, and seems as if he came from

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

James Harding's letter very promptly followed Billy's, though it was not like Billy's at all. It told something

of Billy's property, and mentioned that, according to Mrs. Neilson's will, Billy would not come into control of

her fortune until the age of twentyone years was reached. It dwelt at some length upon the fact of Billy's

loneliness in the world, and expressed the hope that her father's friend could find it in his heart to welcome

the orphan into his home. It mentioned Ned, and the old college friendship, and it closed by saying that the

writer, James Harding, was glad to renew his acquaintance with the good old Henshaw family that he had

known long years ago; and that he hoped soon to hear from William Henshaw himself.

It was a good letterbut it was not well written. James Harding's handwriting was not distinguished for its

legibility, and his correspondents rejoiced that the most of his letters were dictated to his stenographer. In this

case, however, he had elected to use the more personal pen; and it was because of this that William Henshaw,

even after reading the letter, was still unaware of his mistake in supposing his namesake, Billy, to be a boy.

In the main the lawyer had referred to Billy by name, or as "the orphan," or as that "poor, lonely child." And

whenever the more distinctive feminine "her" or "herself" had occurred, the carelessly formed letters had

made them so much like "his" and "himself" that they carried no hint of the truth to a man who had not the

slightest reason for thinking himself in the wrong. It was therefore still for the "boy," Billy, that William

"I'll set the poor lad's heart at rest," he said to Bertram. "I shall answer Harding's letter more at length, of

course. Naturally he wants to know something about me now before he sends Billy along; but there is no

need for the boy to wait before he knows that I'll take him. Of course he won't come yet, till Harding hears

It was just here, however, that William Henshaw met with a surprise, for within twentyfour hours came

William Henshaw did not know that in Hampden Falls Billy's trunk had been packed for days. Billy was

desperate. The house, even with the maid, and with the obliging neighbor and his wife who stayed there

nights, was to Billy nothing but a dismal tomb. Lawyer Harding had fallen suddenly ill; she could not even

tell him that the blessed telegram "Come" had arrived. Hence Billy, lonely, impulsive, and always used to

pleasing herself, had taken matters in hand with a confident grasp, and had determined to wait no longer.

That it was a fearsomely unknown future to which she was so jauntily pledging herself did not trouble the girl

in the least. Billy was romantic. To sally gaily forth with a pink in the buttonhole of her coat to find her

father's friend who was a "Billy" too, seemed to Billy Neilson not only delightful, but eminently sensible, and

an excellent way out of her present homesick loneliness. So she bought the pink and her ticket, and

To the Beacon Street house, Billy's cheerful telegram brought the direst consternation. Even Kate was hastily

"There's nothingsimply nothing that I can do," she declared irritably, when she had heard the story.

"No, no, of course not," sighed William. "But you see, I supposed I'd have time toto get used to things, and

to make arrangements; and this is soso sudden! I hadn't even answered Harding's letter until today; and

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

"What if it was? Just because a foolish eighteenyearold boy tells you to do something, must you, a

"I think it tickled Will's romantic streak," laughed Bertram. "It seemed so sort of alluring to send that one

"Oh, no; it hasn't happened yet," corrected Bertram, cheerfully. "It's just going to happen. William's got to put

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

"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 instant action. He sprang abruptly to his feet.

"Well, whatever we've done, we've done it," he declared sternly; "and now we must do the restand do it

well, too. He's the son of my boyhood's dearest friend, and he shall be made welcome. Now to business!

Bertram sobered instantly, and came erect in his chair. William did not often speak like this; but when he

"Yes, Will. He shall have the little bedroom at the end of the hall. I never used the room much, anyhow, and

"Good! Now there are some other little details to arrange, then I'll go downstairs and tell Pete and Dong

Ling. And, please to understand, we're going to make this lad welcomewelcome, I say!"

The Henshaw household was early astir on the day of Billy's expected arrival, and preparations for the guest's

comfort were well under way before breakfast. The center of activity was in the little room at the end of the

hall on the second floor; though, as Bertram said, the whole Strata felt the "upheaval."

By breakfast time Bertram with the avowed intention of giving "the little chap half a show," had the room

cleared for action; and after that the whole house was called upon for contributions toward the room's

adornment. And most generously did most of the house respond. Even Dong Ling slippered upstairs and

presented a weird Chinese banner which he said he was "velly much glad" to give. As to PetePete was in

his element. Pete loved boys. Had he not served them nearly all his life? Incidentally it may be mentioned

Only Cyril held himself aloof. But that he was not oblivious of the proceedings below him was evidenced by

the somber bass that floated down from his piano strings. Cyril always played according to the mood that was

on him; and when Bertram heard this morning the rhythmic beats of mournfulness, he chuckled and said to

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

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

"I know, butBertram," broke off the elder man, anxiously, from his perch on the stepladder, "would you

"Why, I don't think it makes much difference, so long as they're somewhere," answered Bertram. "And there

"Yes; and it's going to look fine; don't you think?" exulted William. "And you know for the wallspace

"Heredown here! You're going to trust any of those precious treasures of yours down here!"

"Nonsense, Bertram, don't be silly! They'll be safe enough. Besides, they're old, anyhow. I was on spiders

years agowhen I was Billy's age, in fact. I thought he'd like them here. You know boys always like such

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

"Not much you worry about meor anything else," replied William, goodhumoredly. "There! how does

"Fine!eronly rather warlike, maybe, with the guns and that riotous confusion of knives and scimiters

"Do you know? I AM getting interested in that boy," beamed William, with some excitement. "What kind of

"There's no telling. Maybe he's a sissy chap, and will howl at your guns and spiders. Perhaps he'll prefer

"Not much he will," contested the other. "No son of Walter Neilson's could be a sissy. Neilson was the best

halfback in ten years at Harvard, and he was always in for everything going that was worth while. 'Autumn

"All right; but there's still a dark horse in the case, you know. We mustn't forgetSpunk."

"Bert, what do you suppose that creature is? You don't think Cyril can be right, and that it's amonkey?"

"'You never can tell,'" quoted Bertram, merrily. "Of course there ARE other things. If it were you, now, we'd

only have to hunt up the special thing you happened to be collecting at the time, and that would be it: a snake,

a lizard, a toad, or maybe a butterfly. You know you were always lugging those things home when you were

"Yes, I know," sighed William. "But I can't think it's anything like that," 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 his

heart's content. William did not go to the office at all that day, and Bertram did not touch his brushes. Only

Cyril attended to his usual work: practising for a coming concert, and correcting the proofs of his new book,

At ten minutes before five William, anxiouseyed and nervous, found himself at the North Station. Then, and

He wore no pink in his buttonhole. There was no need that he should accede to that silly request, he told

himself. He had only to look for a youth of perhaps eighteen years, who would be alone, a little frightened,

possibly, and who would have a pink in his buttonhole, and probably 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; a homesick, lonely orphan who had appealed to himto him, out of all the

world. Long years ago in his own arms there had been laid a tiny bundle of flannel holding a precious little

red, puckered face. But in a month's time the little face had turned cold and waxen, and the hopes that the

white flannel bundle had carried had died with the baby boy;and that baby would have been a lad grown

by this time, if he had liveda lad not far from the age of this Billy who was coming today, reflected the

man. And the warmth in his heart deepened and glowed the more as he stood waiting at the gate for Billy to

The train from Hampden Falls was late. Not until quite fifteen minutes past five did it roll into the trainshed.

William was just inside the gate now, anxiously scanning every face and form that passed. There were many

halfgrown lads, but there was not one with a pink in his buttonhole until very near the end. Then William

saw hima pleasantfaced, blueeyed boy in a neat gray suit. With a low cry William started forward; but

he saw at once that the grayclad youth was unmistakably one of a merry family party. He looked to be

William hesitated and fell back. This debonair, selfreliant fellow could not be Billy! But as a hasty glance

down the line revealed only half a dozen straggling women, and beyond them, no one, William decided that it

must be Billy; and taking brave hold of his courage, he hurried after the blueeyed youth and tapped him on

"Sorry, sir, but my name is 'Frank'; isn't it, mother?" he added merrily, turning to the lady at his side, who was

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

William looked about him in helpless dismay. All around was a wide, empty space. The long aisle to the

Hampden Falls train was deserted save for the baggagemen loading the trunks and bags on to their trucks.

Nowhere was there any one who seemed forlorn or ill at ease except a pretty girl with a suitcase, and with a

covered basket on her arm, who stood just outside the gate, gazing a little nervously about her.

William looked twice at this girl. First, because the splash of color against her brown coat had called his

attention to the fact that she was wearing a pink; and secondly because she was very pretty, and her dark eyes

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

The pink had given William almost a pang. He had been so longing to see a pinkthough in a different

place. He wondered sympathetically if she, too, had come to meet some one who had not appeared. He

noticed that she walked away from the gate once or twice, toward the waitingroom, and peered anxiously

through the glass doors; but always she came back to the gate as if fearful to be long away from that place.

He forgot all about her very soon, for her movements had given him a sudden idea: perhaps Billy was in the

waitingroom. How stupid of him not to think of it before! Doubtless they had missed each other in the

crowd, and Billy had gone straight to the waitingroom to look for him. And with this thought William

He looked everywhere. Systematically he paced up and down between the long rows of seats, looking for a

boy with a pink. He even went out upon the street, and gazed anxiously in all directions. It occurred to him

after a time that possibly Billy, like himself, had changed his mind at the last moment, and not worn the pink.

Perhaps he had forgotten it, or lost it, or even not been able to get it at all. Very bitterly William blamed

himself then for disregarding his own part of the suggested plan. If only he had worn the pink himself!but

he had not; and it was useless to repine. In the meantime, where was Billy, he wondered frantically.

After another long search William came back to the trainshed, vaguely hoping that Billy might even then be

there. The girl was still standing alone by the gate. There was another train on the track now, and the rush of

many feet had swept her a little to one side. She looked frightened now, and almost ready to cry. Still,

William noticed that her chin was lifted bravely, and that she was making a stern effort at selfcontrol. He

"I beg your pardon," he said kindly, lifting his hat, "but I notice that you have been waiting here some time.

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

"Oh, thank you, sir! There IS something you can do for me, if you will be so kind. You see, I can't leave this

place, I'm so afraid he'll come and I'll miss him. ButI think there's some mistake. Could you telephone for

me?" Billy Neilson was countrybred, and in Hampden Falls all men served all other men and women,

whether they were strangers or not; so to Billy this was not an extraordinary request to make, in the least.

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

"Thank you. If you'll call up Mr. William Henshaw, then, of Beacon Street, please, and tell him Billy's come.

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

"I should say I did," laughed Billy, with the lightness of a long lost child who has found a friend. "Why, I

To William Henshaw the world swam dizzily, and went suddenly mad. The floor rose, and the roof fell, while

cars and people performed impossible acrobatic feats above, below, and around him. Then, from afar off, he

"Yes; and I'll wait here, if you'll just tell him, please. He's expecting me, you know, so it's all right, only

With one mighty effort William Henshaw pulled himself sharply together. He even laughed, and tossed his

The man's face was already so red it could not get any redderbut it tried to do so.

"Why, erIiterif you'll just come into the waitingroom a minute, my dear," he stuttered miserably,

"II'll explainabout that. I shall have to leave youfor a minute," he plunged on frenziedly, as he led the

way to a seat; "Amatter of business that I must attend to. I'll beright back. Wait here, please!" And he

At a safe distance William Henshaw turned and looked back. His knees were shaking, and his fingers had

grown cold at their tips. He could see her plainly, as she bent over the basket in her lap. He could see even the

People near him at that moment saw a flushedfaced, nervous appearing man throw up his hands with a

despairing gesture, roll his eyes heavenward, and then plunge into the nearest telephone booth.

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

"Yes, yes! Don't stand there repeating what I say in that idiotic fashion, Bertram. Do somethingdo

"'Do something'!" gasped Bertram. "Great Scott, Will! If you want me to do something, don't knock me silly

"I said that Billy isagirl. Can't you get that?" demanded William, despairingly.

"Homehome!" chattered William. "Do you think we five men can bring up a distractingly pretty

"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! Holy smoke! Tote her alongI want to

"Then take her to Kate's, or toto one of those Young Women's Christian Union things."

"No, no, I can't do that. That's impossible. Don't you understand? She's expecting to go home with

"Heaven forbid!I hope not," cried the man, fervently. "I 'most let it out once, but I think she didn't notice it.

"And, Bertram, I can't turn her outI can't, I tell you. Only fancy my going to her now and saying: 'If you

please, Billy, you can't live at my 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 she has on me, you'd see!"

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

"I don't know. We'll have to think; but for now, get Kate. Telephone her. Tell her to come right straight over,

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

"Never mindleave 'em. Tell her she's got to leave 'em. And tell Cyril, of course, what to expect. And, look

ahere, you two behave, now. None of your nonsense! Now mind. I'm not going to have this child

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

"Eh?ohGreat 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 bombshell than his mistress was. Now be quick, and none of your fooling, Bertram.

Tell them allPete and Dong Ling. Don't forget. I wouldn't have Billy find out for the world! Fix it up with

Kate. You'll have to fix it up with her; that's all!" And there came the sharp click of the receiver against the

In the soft April twilight Cyril was playing a dreamy waltz when Bertram knocked, and pushed open the

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

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

Cyril shrugged his shoulders and whirled about on the piano stool. In a moment his fingers had slid once

"Oh, very well; if you really want it broken gently, it's this: Will has met Billy, and Billy is a girl. They're due

"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 to tell everybody, and I've told. I got Kate on the telephone, and she's coming over.

You KNOW what SHE'LL be. Dong Ling is having what I suppose are Chinese hysterics in the kitchen; and

Pete is swinging back and forth like a pendulum in the dining room, moaning 'Good Lord, deliver us!' at

every breath. I would suggest that you follow me downstairs so that we may be decently ready

forwhatever comes." And he turned about and stalked out of the room, followed by Cyril, who was too

"Really, this is a little the most absurd thing I ever heard of," she fumed. "What in the world does your

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

"As near as I can make out," he replied smoothly, "YOUR brother has fallen under the sway of a pair of great

dark eyes, two pink cheeks, and an unknown quantity of curly hair, all of which in its entirety is his

"Don't know," answered Bertram. "He's established a petticoat propriety in you for a few hours, at least.

Meanwhile, he's going to think. At least, he says he is, and that we've got to help him."

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

"I know that," nodded Bertram; "and I'm with you and Cyril on this. The whole thing is absurd. The idea of

thrusting a silly, eighteenyearold girl here into our lives in this fashion! But you know what Will is when

he's really roused. You might as well try to move a nice goodnatured mountain by saying 'please,' as to try

to stir him under certain circumstances. Most of the time, I'll own, we can twist him around our little fingers.

But not now. You'll see. In the first place, she's the daughter 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

"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 Will says; and

howhush! here they are," he broke off, as there came the sound of wheels stopping before the house.

There followed the click of a key in the lock and the opening of a heavy door; then, full in the glare of the

electric lights stood a plainly nervous 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 I don't need to say to them that you are Billy."

It was over. William drew a long breath, and gave an agonized look into his brothers' eyes. Then Billy turned

"Oh, you don't know how lovely this isto me," she cried softly. "And to think that you were willing I

should come!" The two younger men caught their breath sharply, and tried not to see each other's eyes. "You

look so goodall of you; and I don't believe there's one of you that's got nerves or a heart," she laughed.

"Not a mite, if you take it the way I mean it," dimpled Billy. "Hearts that are all right just keep on pumping,

and you never know they are there. They aren't worth mentioning. It's the other kindthe kind that flutters at

the least noise and jumps at the least bang! And I don't believe any of you mind noises and bangs," she

finished merrily, as she handed her hat and coat to Mrs. Hartwell, who was waiting to receive them.

Bertram laughed. Cyril scowled, and occupied himself in finding a chair. William had already dropped

"Now when Spunk and I get to trainingoh, and you haven't seen Spunk!" she interrupted herself suddenly.

"Why, the introductions aren't half over. Where is he, Uncle Williamthe basket?"

"No, no; I'll get him," cried Billy, hurrying from the room. She returned in a moment, the green covered

basket in her hand. "He's been asleep, I guess. He's slept 'most all the way down, anyhow. He's so used to

being toted 'round in this basket that he doesn't mind it a bit. I take 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 the string. The next moment, with a triumphant flourish, Billy lifted from the basket

The tiny creature winked and blinked, and balanced for a moment on sleepy legs; then at the uncontrollable

shout that burst from Bertram's throat, he faced the man, humped his tiny back, bristled his diminutive tail to

For the first fifteen minutes after Billy's arrival conversation was a fitful thing made up mostly of a merry

monologue on the part of Billy herself, interspersed with somewhat dazed replies from one after another of

her auditors as she talked to them in turn. No one thought to ask if she cared to go up to her room, and during

the entire fifteen minutes Billy sat on the floor with Spunk in her lap. She was still there when the funereal

face of Pete appeared in the doorway. Pete's jaw dropped. It was plain that only the sternest selfcontrol

enabled him to announce dinner, with anything like dignity. But he managed to stammer out the words, and

then turn loftily away. Bertram, who sat near the door, however, saw him raise his hands in horror as he

With a motion to Bertram to lead the way with Billy, William frenziedly gripped his sister's arm, and hissed

"Listen! You'll sleep in Bert's room tonight, and Bert will come upstairs 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. Shh!" And

In the diningroom there was a slight commotion. Billy stood at her chair with Spunk in her arms. Before her

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

It was too much for Bertram. He fled chokingly to the hall. William dropped weakly into his own place. Cyril

"Yes; and isn't it cute of him?" beamed Billy, entirely misconstruing the surprise in the lady's voice. "His

mother always sat at table with us, and behaved beautifully, too. Of course Spunk is little, and makes

mistakes sometimes. But he'll learn. Oh, there's a chair right here," she added, as she spied Bertram's

childhood's highchair, which for long years had stood unused in the corner. "I'll just squeeze it right in

When Bertram, a little red of face, but very grave, entered, the diningroom a moment later, he found the

family seated with Spunk snugly placed between Billy and a plainly disgusted and dismayed brother, Cyril.

The kitten was alert and interested; but he had settled back in his chair, and was looking as absurdly dignified

"Isn't he a dear?" Billy was saying. But Bertram noticed that there was no reply to this question.

It was a peculiar dinnerparty. Only Billy did not feel the strain. Even Spunk was not entirely happyhis

efforts to investigate the table and its contents were too frequently curbed by his mistress for his unalloyed

satisfaction. William, it is true, made a valiant attempt to cause the conversation to be general; but he failed

dismally. Kate was sternly silent, while Cyril was openly repellent. Bertram talked, indeedbut Bertram

always talked; and very soon he and Billy had things pretty much to themselvesthat is, with occasional

interruptions caused by Spunk. Spunk had an inquisitive nose or paw for each new dish placed before his

mistress; and Billy spent much time admonishing him. Billy said she was training him; that it was wonderful

Dinner was half over when there was a slight diversion created by Spunk'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

"You're not fondofcats!" repeated the girl, as if she could not have heard aright. "Why not?"

"Why, just because II'm not," he retorted lamely. "Isn't there anything thatthat you don't like?"

"Why, not that I know of," she began, after a moment, "only rainy days andtripe. And Spunk isn't a bit like

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

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

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

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

"Oh, what a funny house! And how perfectly lovely that I'm going to live in it," she cried. Then straight at

Mrs. Hartwell she hurled a bombshell. "But where is your stratum?" she demanded. "Mr. Bertram didn't

Cyril said a sharp word under his breath. Bertram choked over a cough. Kate threw into William's eyes a look

"Ersheit isn't anywhere, my dear," he stammered; "or rather, it isn't here. Kate lives up on the Avenue,

"Oh!" murmured Billy. And there was not one in the room at that moment who did not bless Spunkfor

Spunk suddenly leaped to the table before him; and in the ensuing confusion his mistress quite forgot to

Dinner over, the three men, with their sister and Billy, trailed upstairs to the drawingrooms. Billy told

them, then, of her life at Hampden Falls. She cried a little at the mention of Aunt Ella; and she portrayed very

vividly the lonely life from which she herself had so gladly escaped. She soon had every one laughing, even

Cyril, over her stories of the lawyer's home that might have been hers, with its gloom and its hush and its

As soon as possible, however, Mrs. Hartwell, with a murmured "I know you must 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 with sleeping quarters; and it was not without

some hesitation that Billy finally placed the kitten in the reluctant hands of Pete, who had been hastily

It seemed to the three men in the drawingroom that almost immediately came the piercing shriek, and the

excited voice of their sister in expostulation. Without waiting for more they leaped to the stairway and

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

Kate was on her feet, her face the picture of distressed amazement. In the low chair by the window Billy sat

where she had flung herself, her hands over her face. Her shoulders were shaking, and from her throat came

"I don't know," quavered Kate. "I haven't the least idea. She was all right till she got upstairs here, and I

Billy dropped her hands then, and they saw her face. She was not crying. She was laughing. She was laughing

"Did what? What do you mean?" William's usually gentle voice was sharp. Even William's nerves were

"Thought I was abboy!" choked Billy. "You called me 'he' once in the stationI thought you did; but I

wasn't surenot till I saw this room. But now I knowI know!" And off she went into another hysterical

gale of laughterBilly's nerves, too, were beginning to respond to the excitement of the last few hours.

As to the three men and the woman, they stood silent, helpless, looking into each other's faces with

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

"I'm to fishand shootand fence!" she crowed. "And, oh!look at those knives! Uugh! . . . And, my!

what are these?" she cried, pouncing on the Indian clubs. "And look at the spiders! Dear, dear, I AM glad

they're dead, anyhow," she shuddered with a nervous laugh that was almost a sob.

"Come, come, this will never do," she protested authoritatively, motioning her brothers to leave the room.

"Billy is quite tired out, and needs rest. She mustn't talk another bit tonight."

"Of ccourse not," stammered William. And only too glad of an excuse to withdraw from a very

embarrassing situation, the three men called back a faltering goodnight, and precipitately fled downstairs.

"Well, William," greeted Kate, grimly, when she came into the drawingroom, after putting her charge to

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

"I? Certainly not," declared Kate, with decision. "I'm sure I see no reason why I should."

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

"Bertram!" The cry was a duet of angry amazement. Then Kate added: "It seems that you, too, have come

under the sway of dark eyes, pink cheeks, and an unknown quantity of curly hair!"

"See here, children," demurred William, a little sternly, "all this is wasting time. There is no way out of it. I

wouldn't be seen turning that homeless child away now. We must keep her; that's settled. The question is,

how shall it be done? We must have some woman friend here to be her companion, of course; but whom shall

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

Unattached gentlewomen of suitable age and desirable temper did not prove to be so numerous among the

Henshaws' acquaintances, however, as to make the selection of a chaperon very easy. Several were thought of

and suggested; but in each case the candidate was found to possess one or more characteristics that made the

idea of her presence utterly abhorrent to some one of the brothers. At last William expostulated:

"See here, boys, we aren't any nearer a settlement than we were in the first place. There isn't any woman, of

course, who would exactly suit all of us; and so we shall just have to be willing to take some one who

"The trouble is," explained Bertram, airily, "we want some one who will be invisible to every one except the

"I don't know but you are right," sighed William. "But suppose we settle on 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 the

comfortable roominess of this house would be very grateful to her after the inconvenience of her stuffy little

"You bet it would!" murmured Bertram, feelingly; but William did not appear to hear him.

"She's amiable, fairly sensible, and always a lady," he went on; "and tomorrow morning I believe I'll run

"You may ask, but I'm afraid you won't find out very soon," retorted William, dryly, "if we take as long to

"Indeed!" retaliated Cyril. "Suppose you let me speak for myself! Of course, 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 Pete there, and

would have Dong Ling probably, if he slept here. However, if you want any of my rooms, don't let my petty

"No, no," interrupted William, in quick conciliation. "We don't want your rooms, Cyril. Aunt Hannah abhors

stairs. Of course I might move, I suppose. My rooms are one flight less; but if I only didn't have so many

"Oh, you men!" shrugged Kate, wearily. "Why don't you ask my opinion sometimes? It seems to me that in

"Go easy, now," cautioned Bertram, warily. "You know a strata, even one as solid as ours, won't stand too

"It isn't an earthquake at all," sniffed Kate. "It's a very sensible move all around. Here are these two great

drawingrooms, the library, and the little receptionroom across the hall, and not one of them is ever used

but this. Of course the women wouldn't like to sleep down here, but why don't you, Bertram, take the back

drawingroom, the library, and the little receptionroom for yours, and leave the whole of the second floor

"Good for you, Kate," cried Bertram, appreciatively. "You've hit it square on the head, and we'll do it. I'll

move tomorrow. The light down here is just as good as it is upstairsif you let it in!"

"Thank you, Bertram, and you, too, Kate," breathed William, fervently. "Now, if you don't mind, I believe I'll

Hannah Stetson was not really William's aunt, though she had been called Aunt Hannah for years. She was

the widow of a distant cousin, and she lived in a snug little room in a Back Bay boarding house. She was a

slender, whitehaired woman with kind blue eyes, and a lovable smile. Her cheeks were still faintly pink, and

her fine silverwhite hair broke into little kinks and curls about her ears. According to Bertram she always

She welcomed William cordially this morning, though with faint surprise in 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 eighteenyearold girl to

bring up, Aunt Hannah, and I want you to come down and live with us to chaperon her."

"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 already used every possible adjective that you could think up. Now it's just this."

And he hurriedly gave Mrs. Stetson a full account of the case, and told her plainly what he hoped and

"Why, yes, of courseI'll come," acquiesced the lady, a little breathlessly, "ifif you are sure you're going

"Good! And remember I said 'now,' pleasethat I wanted you to come right away, today. Of course Kate

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

"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's upsetting us. I've asked Kate to take her over to her house for the day, while

Bertram is moving downstairs, and while we're getting you settled. II think you'll like it there, Aunt

Hannah," added William, anxiously. "Of course Billy's got Spunk, but" he hesitated, and smiled a little.

"Spunk. Oh, I don't mean THAT kind," laughed William, in answer to the dismayed expression on his aunt's

"Eh? Oh, you do," murmured William, with a curious smile. "Very well; be that as it may. Anyhow, you're

coming, and we shall want you all settled by dinner time," he finished, as he picked up his hat to go.

With Kate, Billy spent the long day very contentedly in Kate's beautiful Commonwealth Avenue home. The

two boys, Paul, twelve years old, and Egbert, eight, were a little shy, it is true, and not really of much use as

companions; but there was a little Kate, four years old, who proved to be wonderfully entertaining.

Billy was not much used to children, and she found this fouryear old atom of humanity to be a great source

of interest and amusement. She even told Mrs. Hartwell at parting that little Kate was almost as nice as

Spunkwhich remark, oddly enough, did not appear to please Mrs. Hartwell to the extent that Billy thought

"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 good it seems to me to come into so

Upon going upstairs Billy found her room somewhat changed. It was far less warlike, and the case of

"And this will be your stratum, you know," announced Bertram from the stairway, "yours and Aunt Hannah's.

"Here? Oh, well, I did havesome things here," he retorted airily; "but I took them all away today. You

see, my stratum is downstairs, and it doesn't do to mix the layers. By the way, you haven't been upstairs

"I'll leave that for younger feet than mine," she said; adding whimsically: "It's best sometimes that one doesn't

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

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

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

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

"ACRANK, did you say? Well, even I wouldn't have quite dared to say that, you know!"

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

"Before you is the Man's workshop," he orated. "At your right you see his instruments of tor I mean, his

instruments: a piano, flute, etc. At your left is the desk with its pens, paper, erasers, ink and postage stamps. I

mention these because there areerso few things to mention here. Beyond, through the open door, one

may catch glimpses of still other rooms; but they hold even less than this one holds. Tradition doth assert,

Billy listened silently. Her eyes were questioning. She was not quite sure how to take Bertram's words; and

the bare rooms and their sternfaced master filled her with a vague pity. But the pause that followed

"Oh, I should like to hear youplay, Mr. Cyril," she stammered. Then, gathering courage. "CAN you play

Bertram gave a cough, a spasmodic cough that sent him, redfaced, out into the hall. From there he called:

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

"All right; butsometime," nodded Billy over her shoulder to Cyril as she turned away. "I just love that

"Now this is William's stratum," announced Bertram at the foot of the stairs. "You will perceive that there is

"Oh, my, what a lot of things!" exclaimed Billy. "Mymywhat a lot of things! How Spunk will like this

"In the short time at our disposal," he began loftily, "it will be impossible to point out each particular article

and give its history from the beginning; but somewhere you will find four round white stones, which"

"Eryes, we know all about those white stones," interrupted William, "and you'll please let me talk about

my own things myself!" And he beamed benevolently on the wonderingeyed girl at Bertram's side.

"All the more chance then," smiled William, "that somewhere among them you'll find something to interest

you. Now these Chinese ceramics, and these bronzesmaybe you'd like those," he suggested. And with a

resigned sigh and an exaggerated air of submission, Bertram stepped back and gave way to his brother.

"And there are these miniatures, and these Japanese porcelains. Or perhaps you'd like stamps, or theatre

Billy did not reply. She was turning round and round, her eyes wide and amazed. Suddenly she pounced on a

"That's a Lowestofta real Lowestoft!" he crowed. "Not that hard paste stuff from the Orient that's

CALLED Lowestoft, but the real thingEnglish, you know. And that's the tray that goes with it, too.

Wonderfulhow I got them both! You know they 'most always get separated. I paid a cool hundred for

"Yes; and here's a nice little piece of lustreware. Prettyisn't it? And there's a fine bit of black basalt.

"Oh, and here's a Castleford," cried William, paying no attention to the interruption. "Marked, too; see? 'D. D.

Co., Castleford.' You know there isn't much of that ware marked. This is a beauty, too, I think. You see this

pitted surfacethey made that with tiny little points set into the inner side of the mold. The design stands out

"ErWilliam," interposed Bertram again, a little louder this time. "May I just say"

"And did you notice this 'Old Blue'?" hurried on William, eagerly. "Lid sets down in, you seethat's older

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

"Eh? Oh, sure enoughsure enough," acknowledged William, with a regretful glance at his treasures. "Well,

"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 tomorrow," promised Bertram; "but you must remember, I haven't got any

beautiful 'Old Blues' and 'black basalts,' to say nothing of stamps and baggage tags. But I'll make you some

teasome real teaand that's more than William has done, with all his hundred and one teapots!"

Spunk did not change his name; but that was perhaps the only thing that did not meet with some sort of

change during the weeks that immediately followed Billy's arrival. Given a house, five men, and an

ironbound routine of life, and it is scarcely necessary to say that the advent of a somewhat fussy elderly

woman, an impulsive young girl, and a verymuchalive small cat will make some difference. As to Spunk's

Mrs. Stetson early became acquainted with Spunk. She was introduced to him, indeed, on the night of her

arrivalthough fortunately not at 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 amazed and grieved indignation of the kitten's mistress.

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

"I know; buterthey do, sometimes," William had stammered; "and this is one of the times. Aunt Hannah

"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 of her knowledge was the discovery

that Spunk had found her ball of black knitting yarn, and had delightedly captured it. Not that he was content

to let it remain where it wasindeed, no. He rolled it down the stairs, batted it through the hall to the

drawingroom, 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 small body, and keeled him over half

Billy found him after a gleeful following of the slender woollen trail. Mrs. Stetson was with herbut she

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

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

"Oh, but it isn't hopeless at all," laughed Billy. "It's like one of those 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 small gray cat.

"And you shall hold him," she finished, graciously entrusting the sleepy kitten to Mrs. Stetson's unwilling

"But, IitI can'tBilly! I don't like that name," blurted out the indignant little lady with as much warmth

"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 she laughed merrily. "'Thomas,' indeed! Why, you old dear!just

suppose I should ask YOU to change your name! Now _I_ like 'Helen Clarabella' lots better than 'Hannah,'

but I'm not going to ask you to change thatand I'm going to love you just as well, even if you are

'Hannah'see if I don't! And you'll love Spunk, too, I'm sure you will. Now watch me find the end of this

snarl!" And she danced over to the dumbfounded little lady in the big chair, gave her an affectionate kiss, and

"But, Iyouoh, my grief and conscience!" finished the little woman whose name was not Helen

Clarabella."Oh, my grief and conscience," according to Bertram, was Aunt Hannah's deadliest

In Aunt Hannah's black silk lap Spunk stretched luxuriously, and blinked sleepy eyes; then with a long purr

It was some time after luncheon that day that Bertram heard a knock at his 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 many hours lost during the last few days;

and even Bertram, at times, did not like interruptions. His model had gone, but he was still working rapidly

"Oh, youwill!" For once even Bertram's ready tongue failed to find fitting response.

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

"Of course you aren't, you poor old lonesomeness! But it isn't going to be that way, any more, you know, now

"I could swear to that," declared the man, with sudden fervor; and for Billy's peace of mind it was just as

Because he did not know what else to do, Bertram picked up a brush; but he did not paint. The first stroke of

his brush against the canvas was to Spunk a challenge; and Spunk never refused a challenge. With a bound he

was on Bertram's knee, gleeful paw outstretched, batting at the end of the brush.

"Tut, tutno, nonaughty Spunk! Say, but wasn't that cute?" chuckled Billy. "Do it again!"

"My dear girl," he protested, "cruel as it may seem to you, this picture is not a kindergarten game for the

"But he won't!" laughed Billy. "Never mind; we will take it some day when he's asleep. Let's not paint any

more, anyhow. I've come to see your rooms." And she sprang blithely to her feet. "Dear, dear, what a lot of

faces!and all girls, too! How funny! Why don't you paint other things? Still, they are rather nice."

Bertram did not paint any more that afternoon. Billy found much to interest her, and she asked numberless

questions. She was greatly excited when she understood the full significance of the omnipresent "Face of a

Girl"; and she graciously offered to pose herself for the artist. She spent, indeed, quite half an hour turning

her head from side to side, and demanding "Now how's that? and that?" Tiring at last of this, she suggested

Spunk as a substitute, remarking that, after all, catspretty cats like Spunkwere even nicer to paint than

She rescued Spunk then from the paintbox where he had been holding high carnival with Bertram's tubes of

paint, and demanded if Bertram ever saw a more delightful, more entrancing, more altogethertobedesired

model. She was so artless, so merry, so frankly charmed with it all that Bertram could not find it in his heart

to be angry, notwithstanding his annoyance. But when at four o'clock, she took herself and her cat cheerily

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

Billy had been a member of the Beacon Street household a week before she repeated her visit to Cyril at the

top of the house. This time Bertram was not with her. She went alone. Even Spunk was left behindBilly

Billy did not feel that she knew Cyril very well. She had tried several times to chat with him; but she had

made so little headway, that she finally came to the conclusionprivately expressed to Bertramthat Mr.

Cyril was bashful. Bertram had only laughed. He had laughed the harder because at that moment he could

hear Cyril pounding out his angry annoyance on the piano upstairsCyril had just escaped from one of

Billy's most determined "attempts," and Bertram knew it. Bertram's laugh had puzzled Billyand it had not

quite pleased her. Hence today she did not tell him of her plan to go upstairs and see what she could do

herself, 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 top of the stairs before she had the courage

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

"You see, I thought ifif I should come up here, where there wouldn't be so many around, we might get

acquainted," she confided; "then I would get to like you just as well as I do the others."

At the odd look that came into the man's face, the girl realized suddenly what she had said. Her cheeks

"Oh, dear! That is, I meanI like you, of course," she floundered miserably; then she broke off with a frank

laugh. "There! you see I never could get out of anything. I might as well own right up. I DON'T like you as

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

"You don't say that as if you meant it," she accused him, her eyes gravely studying his face. "Now I'M in

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

"Why, II just don't; that's all," she faltered. Then she cried aggrievedly: "There, now! you've made me be

"Of course not," assented the man; "and it wasn't impolite, because I asked you for the information, you

know. I may conclude then," he went on with an odd twinkle in his eyes, "that I am merely classed with tripe

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

"There! I knew I'd like you better if you'd only SAY something," she beamed. "But let's not talk any more

about that. Play to me; won't you? You know you promised me 'The Maiden's Prayer.'"

"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

"There! Now off you go again all silent and horrid!" chaffed Billy. "What have I said now? Mr. Cyrildo

you know what I think? I believe you've got NERVES!" Billy's voice was so tragic that the man could but

"Gee! wouldn't you two make a pair!" chuckled Billy unexpectedly. "No; but, really, I meando you want

"Then I'm going. This might be one of the times, you know." She hesitated, then walked to the piano. "My,

Cyril shuddered. Cyril could imagine what Billy would playand Cyril did not like "ragtime," nor "The

"Not much. Only little bits of things, you know," she said wistfully, as she 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 playedsomething," he muttered at last; "but'The Maiden's Prayer'!good

Billy was a little shy with Cyril when he came down to dinner that night. For the next few days, indeed, she

held herself very obviously aloof from him. Cyril caught himself wondering once if she were afraid of his

"nerves." He did not try to find out, however; he was too emphatically content that of her own accord she

It must have been a week after Billy's visit to the top of the house that Cyril stopped his playing very abruptly

one day, and opened his door to go downstairs. At the first step he started back in amazement.

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

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

"You see, listening to music this way isn't like listening toto talking," hurried on Billy, feverishly. "It isn't

"Why, yes, lots of days. And, say, Mr. Cyril, what is thatthat thing that's all chords with big bass notes that

keep saying something so fine and splendid that it marches on and on, getting bigger and grander, just as if

there couldn't anything stop it, until it all ends in one great burst of triumph? Mr. Cyril, what is that?"

"Why, Billy!"the interest this time in the man's face was not faint"I wish I might make others catch my

meaning as I have evidently made you do it! That's something of my ownthat I'm writing, you understand;

"I can't, Billy. I'm sorry, indeed I am. But I've an appointment, and I'm late now. You shall hear it, though, I

promise you, and with the door wide open," continued the man, as, with a murmured apology, he passed the

Billy waited until she heard the outer hall door shut; then very softly she crept through Cyril's open doorway,

May came, and with it warm sunny days. There was a little balcony at the rear of the second floor, and on this

Mrs. Stetson and Billy sat many a morning and sewed. There were occupations that Billy liked better than

sewing; but she was dutiful, and she was really fond of Aunt Hannah; so she accepted as gracefully as

possible that good lady's dictum that a woman 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 was to play on Cyril's piano. She was very

careful, however, that Mr. Cyril himself did not find this out. Cyril was frequently gone from the house, and

almost as frequently Aunt Hannah took naps. At such times it was very easy to slip upstairs to Cyril's

One day, however, the inevitable happened: Cyril came home unexpectedly. The man heard the piano from

William's floor, and with a surprised ejaculation he hurried upstairs two steps at a time. At the door he

Billy was at the piano, but she was not playing "ragtime," "The Storm," nor yet "The Maiden's Prayer."

There was no music before her, but under her fingers "big bass notes" very much like Cyril's own, were

Billy's cheeks were a shamed red, but her eyes were defiantly brilliant, and her chin was at a rebellious tilt. "I

"That was nothing. It was only what I had heard. I was trying to make it sound likeyours."

"And, by George! you succeeded," muttered Cyril under his breath; then aloud he asked: "Didn't you ever

"No. That was the only thing Aunt Ella and I didn't think alike about. She had an old square piano, all

tinpanny and thin, you know. I played some on it, and wanted to take lessons; but I didn't want to practise

on that. I wanted a new one. That's what she wouldn't doget me a new piano, or let me do it. She said SHE

practised on that piano, and that it was quite good enough for me, especially to learn on. II'm afraid I got

stuffy. I hated that piano so! But I was almost ready to give in whenwhen Aunt Ella died."

"Byear? I suppose soif you mean what I hear. Easy things I can play quick, butbut those chords ARE

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

"Oh, yes. Now there's that little thing that swings and sways like this," cried Billy, dropping herself on to the

piano stool and whisking about. Billy was not afraid now, nor defiant. She was only eager and happy again.

In a moment a dreamy waltz fell upon Cyril's earsa waltz that he often played himself. It was not played

correctly, it is true. There were notes, and sometimes whole measures, that were very different from the

"And there's this," said Billy; "and this," she went on, sliding into one little strain after anotherall of which

"Billy," he cried, when she had finished and whirled upon him again, "Billy, would you like to learn to

"Then you shall! We'll have a piano tomorrow in your rooms for you to practise on. AndI'll teach you

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Cyrilyou don't know how I thank you!" exulted Billy, as she danced from the room to

To Billy, this promise of Cyril's to be her teacher was very kind, very delightful; but it was not in the least a

"Well, guess what's happened," he said to William that night, after he had heard the news. "I'll believe

anything nowanything: that you'll raffle off your collection of teapots at the next church fair, or that I shall

go to Egypt as a 'Cooky' guide. Listen; Cyril is going to give piano lessons to Billy!CYRIL!"

Bertram said that the Strata was not a strata any longer. He declared that between them, Billy and Spunk had

caused such an upheaval that there was no telling where one stratum left off and another began. What Billy

"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 my heads. Naturally, then, such feminine belongings as fancywork, thread,

thimbles, and hairpins are due to show up at any time either in Cyril's apartments or mineto say nothing of

William's; and she's in William's lotsto 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 stays theredear me, no. He's a sociable little chap, and his usual course is to

pounce on a shelf, knock off some object that tickles his fancy, then lug it in his mouth towell, anywhere

that he happens to feel like going. Cyril has found him upstairs with a small miniature, battered and chewed

almost beyond recognition. And Aunt Hannah nearly had a fit one day when he appeared in her room with an

enormous hardshelled black bugdead, of coursethat he had fished from a case that Pete had left open.

As for me, I can swear that the little round white stone he was playing with in my part of the house was one

"And that isn't all," Bertram continued. "Billy brings her music down to show to me, and lugs my heads all

over the rest of the house to show to other folks. And there is always everywhere a knit shawl, for Aunt

Hannah is sure to feel a draught, and Billy keeps shawls handy. So there you are! We certainly aren't a strata

Billy was, indeed, very much at home in the Beacon Street house too much so, Aunt Hannah thought. Aunt

Hannah was, in fact, seriously disturbed. To William one evening, late in May, she spoke her mind.

"Do with her? What do you mean?" returned William with the contented smile that was so often on his lips

"Yes, yes, William, of course I like Billy. I love her! Who could help it? That's not what I mean. It's of Billy

I'm thinking, and of the rest of you. She can't stay here like this. She must go away, to school, oror

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

"Why, yes, for the summer, of course. But those plans aren't completed yet. Billy and I were talking of it last

evening. You know the boys are always away more or less, but I seldom go until August, and we let Pete and

Dong Ling off then for a month and close the house. I told Billy I'd send you and her anywhere she liked for

the whole summer, but she says no. She prefers to stay here with me. But I don't quite fancy that

ideathrough all the hot June and Julyso I don't know but I'll get a cottage somewhere near at one of the

beaches, where I can run back and forth night and morning. Of course, in that case, we take Pete and Dong

Ling with us and close the house right away. I fear Cyril would not fancy it much; but, after all, he and

"But, William, you haven't yet got my idea at all," demurred Aunt Hannah, with a discouraged shake of her

"Away! Away from me," cried the man, with an odd intonation of terror, as he started forward in his chair.

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

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

"My dear William, that is exactly itshe is a child, and yet she is not. That's where the trouble lies."

"William, Billy has been brought up in a little country town with a spinster aunt and a whole goodnatured,

tolerant village for company. Well, she has accepted you and your entire household, even down to Dong

"Well, I'm sure I'm glad," asserted the man with genial warmth. "It's good for us to have her here. It's good

for the boys. She's already livened Cyril up and toned Bertram down. I may as well confess, Aunt Hannah,

that I've been more than a little disturbed about Bertram of late. I don't like that Bob Seaver that he is so fond

of; and some other fellows, too, that have been coming here altogether too much during the last year. Bertram

says they're only a little 'Bohemian' in their tastes. And to me that's the worst of it, for Bertram himself is

"Exactly, William. And that only goes to prove what I said before. Bertram is not a spinster aunt, and neither

"Yes. She makes herself as free in this house as she was in her Aunt Ella's at Hampden Falls. She flies up to

Cyril's rooms half a dozen times a day with some question about her lessons; and I don't know how long she'd

sit at his feet and adoringly listen to his playing if he didn't sometimes get out of patience and tell her to go

and practise herself. She makes nothing of tripping into Bertram's studio at all hours of the day; and he's

sketched her head at every conceivable anglewhich certainly doesn't tend to make Billy modest or retiring.

As to youyou know how much she's in your rooms, spending evening after evening fussing over your

"I know; but we'rewe're sorting them and making a catalogue," defended the man, anxiously. "Besides,

"No; I know she doesn't," replied Aunt Hannah, with a curious inflection. "But don't you see, William, that all

"But, after all, where's the harm? Don't you think that you are just a little bit toofastidious? Billy's nothing

"It's the 'free' part that I object to, William. She has taken every one of you into intimate

"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 shirtwaist up in the back; and yesterday I found her downstairs in the kitchen instructing

"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 to

"My grief and conscienceno, no! That isn't what is needed at all. It would only serve to make her

selfconscious; and that's her one salvation nowthat she isn't selfconscious. You see, it's only the fault of

"It will be different when she is olderwhen she has seen a little more of the world outside Hampden Falls.

She'll go to school, of course, and I think she ought to travel a little. Meanwhile, she mustn't livejust like

"No, no, I'm afraid not," agreed William, perplexedly, rising to his feet. "But we must thinkwhat can be

done." His step was even slower than usual as he left the room, and his eyes were troubled.

At half past ten o'clock on the evening following Mrs. Stetson's very plain talk with William, the telephone

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

"Yes, yes, I know HE'S out," almost sobbed Billy. "Dear, dear, what shall I do! Pete, you'll have to come.

"To the Boylston Street subwayon the Common, you knowNorth bound side. I'll wait for youbut

"Alone! Miss Billyin the subway at this time of night! But, Miss Billy, you shouldn'tyou can'tyou

"Yes, yes, Pete, but never mind; I am here! And I should think if 'twas such a dreadful thing you would hurry

With an inarticulate cry Pete jerked the receiver on to the hook, and stumbled away from the telephone. Five

minutes later he had left the house and was hurrying through the Common to the Boylston Street subway

Billy, a long cloak thrown over her white dress, was waiting for him. Her white slippers tapped the platform

nervously, and her hair, under the light scarf of lace, fluffed into little broken curls as if it had been blown by

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

"At Mrs. Hartwell'syou know she is giving a reception tonight. But come, we must hurry! I'm after Mr.

"Dear me! I suppose I'll have to explain; but we're losing time and we mustn'twe mustn't!" she cried

feverishly. "Listen then, quick. It was at Mrs. Hartwell's tonight. I'd been watching Mr. Bertram. He was with

that horrid Mr. Seaver, and I never liked him, never! I overheard something they said, about some place they

were going to, and I didn't like what Mr. Seaver said. I tried to speak to Mr. Bertram, but I didn't get 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

"I had to, Pete; don't you see? There was no one else. Mr. Cyril and Uncle William had gonehome, I

supposed. I sent back word by the maid to Aunt Hannah that I'd gone ahead; you know the carriage was

ordered for eleven; but I'm afraid she won't have sense to tell Aunt Hannah, she looked so dazed and

frightened when I told her. But I COULDN'T wait to say more. Well, I hurried out and caught up with Mr.

Bertram just as they were crossing Arlington Street to the Garden. I'd heard them say they were going to

walk, so I knew I could do it. But, Pete, after I got there, I didn't dare to speak I didn't DARE to! So I

justfollowed. They went straight through the Garden and across the Common to Tremont Street, and on

and on until they stopped and went down some stairs, all marble and lights and mirrors. 'Twas a restaurant, I

think. I saw just where it was, then I flew back here to telephone for Uncle William. I knew HE could do

something. Butwell, you know the rest. I had to take you. Now come, quick; I'll show you."

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

The old man made a despairing gesture and looked about him as if for help. He saw then the curious,

questioning eyes on all sides; and with a quick change of manner, he touched Miss Billy's arm.

"Yes; we'll go. Come," he apparently agreed. But once outside on the broad expanse before the Subway

entrance he stopped again. "Miss Billy, please come home," he implored. "Ye don't knowye can't know

"But the hourthe placeyou, a young girl! Miss Billy!" remonstrated the old man agitatedly.

"It isn't so very late. I've been out lots of times later than this at home. And as for the place, it's all light and

bright, and lots of people were going inladies and gentlemen. Nothing could hurt me, Pete, and I shall go;

but I'd rather you were with me. Why, Pete, we mustn't leave him. He isn'the isn't HIMSELF, Pete.

Hehe's been DRINKING!" Billy's voice broke, and her face flushed scarlet. She was almost crying.

"Come, you won't refuse now!" she finished, resolutely turning toward 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 "all lights and mirrors," however, he made one last plea.

"Miss Billy, once more I beg of ye, won't ye come home? Ye don't know what yer adoin', Miss Billy, ye

"I can't go home," persisted Billy. "I must get Mr. Bertram away from that man. Now come; we'll just stand

at the door and look in until we see him. Then I'll go straight to him and speak to him." And with that she

Billy blinked a little at the lights which, reflected in the great plateglass mirrors, were a million dazzling

points that found themselves again repeated in the sparkling crystal and glittering silver on the flowerdecked

tables. All about her Billy saw flushedfaced men, and brighteyed women, laughing, chatting, and clinking

together their slenderstemmed wine glasses. But nowhere, as she looked about her, could Billy descry the

The head waiter came forward with uplifted hand, but Billy did not see him. A girl at her left laughed

disagreeably, and several men stared with boldly admiring eyes; but to them, too, Billy paid no heed. Then,

halfway across the room she spied Bertram and Seaver sitting together at a small table alone.

With a sharp word under his breath Bertram sprang to his feet. His befogged brain had cleared suddenly

"Billy, for Heaven's sake what are you doing here?" he demanded in a low voice, 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 deft touch he had turned Billy toward the door;

and even as she finished her sentence she found herself in the marble hallway confronting Pete, pallidfaced,

Pete could only shake his head and glance imploringly at Billy. His dry lips and tongue refused to articulate

Undeniably Billy was in disgrace, and none knew it better than Billy herself. The whole family had

contributed to this knowledge. Aunt Hannah was inexpressibly shocked; she had not breath even to ejaculate

"My grief 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

one of his occasional fits of independence; and when Billy, longing for some sort of comfort, called him to

her, he settled back on his tiny haunches and 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 what she could do. She chose a time when she could have the girl quite to

"But, Billy, how could you do such an absurd thing?" she demanded. "The idea of leaving my house alone, at

halfpast ten at night, to follow a couple of men through the streets of Boston, and then with my brothers'

"Aunt Kate, can't I make you and the rest of them understand that I didn't start out to do all that? I meant just

"But, Billy," she contested, wearily, "can't you understand that it wasn't YOUR place to interfereyou, a

"I'm sure I don't see what difference that makes. I was the only one that 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, I just had to do

"Aunt Kate, it seems I've done a very terrible thing, but I'm sure I don't see it that way. I wasn't afraid, and I

wasn't in the least bit of danger 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. One would think you WANTED Mr. Bertram to

go off with that man andand drink too much. But Uncle William hasn't liked him before, not one bit! I've

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

"Worse than I thought it would bebefore you came. The idea of those five 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 meanthat they did notwant me?" she asked quietly, so quietly that Mrs. Hartwell did not realize

the sudden tension behind the words. For that matter, Mrs. Hartwell was too angry now to realize anything

"Want you! Billy, it is high time that you understand just how things are, and have been, at the house; then

perhaps you will conduct yourself with an eye a little more to other people's comfort. Can you imagine three

young men like my brothers WANTING to take a strange young woman into their home to upset

"Of course you have! How could you help it? To begin with, they thought you were a boy, and that was bad

enough; but William was so anxious to do right by his dead friend that he insisted upon taking you, much

against the will of all the rest of us. Oh, I know this isn't pleasant for you to hear," admitted Mrs. Hartwell, in

response to the dismayed expression in Billy's eyes; "but I think it's high time you realize something 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 you over to some school or such place, as they should have done? Certainly not! 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 as substitute until she arrived. But because, through it all, he smiled blandly, you have been blind to

"And what is the result? His entire household routine is shattered to atoms. 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 you painting,

without a thought of what it means to them. There! I suppose I ought not to have said all this, but I couldn't

help it, Billy. And surely now, NOW you appreciate a little more what your coming to this house has meant,

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

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

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

"Stay? Why, of course you'll stay! Don't be silly, child. I didn't tell you this to make you go. I only wanted

"Come, come, Billy, this is nonsense. William wants you here. He would never forgive me if anything I said

"Angry with him! Why, I love himI love them all! They are the dearest men ever, and they've been so

good to me!" The girl's voice broke a little, then went on with a more determined ring. "Do you think I'd have

"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

"It's homeall the home there isanywhere!" she sobbed. "But it's got to goit's got to go!"

Mrs. Stetson wore an air of unmistakable relief as she stepped into William's sittingroom. Even her knock at

"William, it does seem as if Fate itself had intervened to help us out," she began delightedly. "Billy, of her

own accord, came to me this morning, and said that she wanted to go away with me for a little trip. So you

"Good! That is fortunate, indeed," cried William; but his voice did not carry quite the joy that his words

expressed. "I have been disturbed ever since your remarks the other day," he continued wearily; "and of

course her extraordinary escapade the next evening did not help matters any. It is better, I know, that she

shouldn't be herefor a time. Though I shall miss her terribly. But, tell me, what is itwhat does she want

"She says she guesses she is homesick for Hampden Falls; that she'd like to go back there for a few weeks

this summer if I'll go with her. Thethe dear child seems suddenly to have taken a great fancy to me,"

"She is a dear girla very dear girl; and she has a warm heart." William cleared his throat sonorously, but

even that did not clear his voice. "It was her heart that led her wrong the other night," he declared. "Hers was

a brave and fearless actbut a very unwise one. Much as I deplore Bertram's intimacy with Seaver, I should

hesitate to take the course marked out by Billy. Bertram is not a child. But tell me more of this trip of yours.

"I don't know. I noticed yesterday that she seemed strangely silentunhappy, in fact. She sat alone in her

room the greater part of the day, and I could not get her out of it. But this morning she came to my door as

bright as the sun itself and made me the proposition I told you of. She says her aunt's house is closed,

awaiting its sale; but that she 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 plan like that one which promised so easily to settle our

"Yes, of course, of course," muttered William. "It is very fine, very fine indeed," he concluded. And again his

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

Billy did, indeed, seem anxious to get away. She announced her intended departure 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 anything forced in

this gayety, no one noticed it, or at least, no one spoke of it. The family saw very little of Billy, indeed, these

days. She said that she was busy; that she had packing to do. She stopped taking lessons of Cyril, and visited

Bertram's studio only once during the whole three days before she went away, and then merely to get some

things that belonged to her. On the fourth day, almost before the family realized what was happening, she was

The family said they liked itthe quiet, the freedom. They said they liked to be aloneall but William. He

When Bertram went to his studio that morning he did not pick up his brushes until he had sat for long

minutes before the sketch of a redcheeked, curlyheaded young girl whose eyes held a peculiarly wistful

appeal; and Cyril, at his piano upstairs, sat with idle fingers until they finally drifted into a simple little

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

"The poor little beast was cryin' at the alleyway door, sir," he explained. "II made so bold as to bring him

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

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

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

The new kitten did not stay downstairs. Pete tried, it is true, to keep his promise to watch it; but after he had

seen the little animal carried surreptitiously upstairs in Mr. William's arms, he relaxed his vigilance. Some

days later the kitten appeared with a huge pink bow behind its ears, somewhat awkwardly tied, if it must be

confessed. Where it came from, or who put it there was not knownuntil one day the kitten was found in the

hall delightedly chewing at the end of what had been a roll of pink ribbon. Up the stairs led a trail of pink

By the middle of June only William and the gray kitten were left with Pete and Dong Ling in the Beacon

Street house. Cyril had sailed for England, and Bertram had gone on a sketching trip with a friend.

To William the house this summer was unusually lonely; indeed, he found the silent, deserted rooms almost

unbearable. Even the presence of the little gray cat served only to accentuate the lonelinessit reminded him

William missed Billy. He owned that now even to Pete. He said that he would be glad when she came back.

To himself he said that he wished he had not fallen in quite so readily with Aunt Hannah's notion of getting

the child away. It was all nonsense, he declared. All she needed was a little curbing and directing, both of

which could just as well have been done 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 occur again. When Billy came back she should

stay, except for necessary absences for school, of course. All this William settled in his own mind quite to his

own satisfaction, entirely forgetting, strange to say, that it had been Billy's own suggestion that she go away.

Very promptly William wrote to Billy. He told her how he missed her, and said that he had stopped trying to

sort and catalogue his collections until she should be there to help him. He told her, too, after a time, of the

In reply he received plump white envelopes directed in the round, schoolboy hand that he remembered so

well. In the envelopes were letters, cheery and entertaining, like Billy herself. They thanked him for all his

many kindnesses, and they told him something of what Billy was doing. They showed unbounded interest in

the new kitten, and in all else that William wrote about; but they hinted very plainly that he had better not

wait for her to help him out on the catalogue, for it would soon be autumn, and she would be in school.

In August William closed the Beacon street house and went to the Rangeley Lakes on a camping trip. He told

himself that he would not go had it not been for a promise given to an old college friend months before. True,

he had been anticipating this trip all winter; but it occurred to him now that it would be much more

interesting to go to Hampden Falls and see Billy. He had been to the Rangeley Lakes, and he had not been to

Hampden Falls; besides, there would be Ned Harding and those queer old maids with their shaded house and

socketed chairs to see. In short, to William, at the moment, there seemed no place quite so absorbingly

In September Cyril came back from Europe, and Bertram from the Adirondacks where he had been spending

the month of August. William already had arrived, and with Pete and Dong Ling had opened the house.

"Why, yes, II suppose so," hesitated William. "You see, I haven't heard but once for a month. I've been

"My dear:" he said in part. "I hope you'll come home right away. We want to see SOMETHING of you

"By the way, it has just occurred to me as I write that perhaps, after all, you won't have to go quite away.

There are plenty of good schools for young ladies right in and near Boston, which I am sure you could attend,

and still live at home. Suppose you come back then as soon as you can, and we'll talk it up. And that reminds

me, I wonder how Spunk will get along with Spunkie. Spunkie has been boarding out all August at a cat

home, but he seems glad to get back to us. I am anxious to see the two little chaps together, just to find out

Very promptly came Billy's answer; but William's face, after he had read the letter, was almost as blank as it

had been on that April day when Billy's first letter camethough this time for a far different reason.

"Why, of course, later," retorted William, with unwonted sharpness. "But not now. This is what she says."

"DEAR UNCLE WILLIAM:You poor dear man! Did you think I'd really let you 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, Aunt

Hannah and I have been buried under school catalogues all summer, and I have studied them all until I know

just which has turkey dinners on Sundays, and which ice cream at least twice a week. And it's all settled, too,

long ago. I'm going to a girls' school up the Hudson a little waya lovely place, I'm sure, from the pictures

"Oh, and another thing; I shall go right from here. Two girls at Hampden Falls are going, and I shall go with

them. Isn't that a fine chance for me? You see it would never do, anyway, for me to go aloneme, 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. She likes it ever so much, and I don't

think I shall sell the place just yet, 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 some shopping. But she'll let you know when she'll

"I'll write more later, but just now I'm in a terrible rush. I only write this note to set your poor heart at rest

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

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

"I'm not sure whether you'll call it 'trouble' or not," he replied; "but I think it's safe to say that Billy is

"Yes. He came to me a few minutes ago, looking as if he had seen a ghost. It seems he swept Billy's rooms

this morning and put them in order against her coming; and tonight William told him that she wouldn't be

here at present. Pete came straight to me. He said he didn't dare tell Mr. William, but he'd got to tell some

one: there wasn't one single thing of Miss Billy's left in her rooms nor anywhere else in the housenot so

"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, 'twould worry him, specially if he thought Billy's feelings had been hurt."

"Yes, I knowand she tried to do EVERYTHING for us, too," retorted Bertram, quizzically, as he turned

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

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

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

"I like it there, William; and why shouldn't I stay? Surely there's no need for me to be here now, with Billy

"Of course she's coming back," laughed Aunt Hannah, "but not this winter, certainly. Why, William, what's

the matter? I'm sure, I think it's a beautiful arrangement. Why, don't you remember? It's just what we said we

wantedto keep Billy away for awhile. And the best part of it is, 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

"Hmm; well, THAT'S good," said William, as he turned to go up to his room. But as he climbed the stairs

he sighed; and to hear him, one would have thought it anything but good to himthat Billy was happy.

One by one the weeks passed. Mrs. Stetson had long since gone back to Hampden Falls; and Bertram said

that the Strata was beginning to look natural again. There remained now, indeed, only Spunkie, the small gray

cat, to remind any one of the days that were gone though, to be sure, there were Billy's letters, if they

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 they soon came to be claimed by the entire family. Bertram and Cyril frankly

demanded that William read them aloud; and even Pete always contrived to have some dusting or "puttering"

within earshota subterfuge quite well understood, but never reproved by any of the brothers.

When the Christmas vacation drew near, William wrote that he hoped Billy and Aunt Hannah would spend it

with them; but Billy answered that although she appreciated their kindness and thanked them for it, yet she

must decline their invitation, as she had already invited several of the girls to go home with her to Hampden

For the Easter vacation William was even more insistentbut so was Billy: she had already accepted an

invitation to go home with one of the girls, and she did not think it would be at all polite to change her plans

William fretted not a little. Even Cyril and Bertram said that it was "too bad"; that they themselves would like

It was in the spring, at the close of school, however, that the heaviest blow fell: Billy was not coming to

Boston even then. She wrote that she and Aunt Hannah were going to "run across the water for a little trip

"And so you see," she explained, "I shall not have a minute to spare. There'll be only time to skip home for

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

Two days before the date of Billy's expected sailing, William announced at the breakfast table that he was

"You don't say," commented Bertram. "I'M going tomorrow, but I'm coming back in a couple of days."

"Hmm;" murmured William, abstractedly. "Oh, well, I may be back before the end of the week."

Only one meal did Cyril eat alone after his brothers had gone; then he told Pete that he had decided to take

the night boat for New York. There was a little matter that called him there, he said, and he believed the trip

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

"I thought as long as I was in New York today I'd just come and say goodby to you and Aunt Hannah," he

informed her, with an evident aim toward making his presence appear to be casual.

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

"Yes. A little matter of business they said; butwell, by Jove!" he broke off, his gaze on a familiar figure

"Well, well, Billy! I thought as long as I happened to be in New York today I'd just run down to the boat

"He just happened to be in town, too, Uncle William, like you," she explained. "And I'm sure I think it's

lovely of you to be so kind. Aunt Hannah'll be up right away. She went down to the stateroom to" This

time it was Billy who stopped abruptly. The two men facing her could not see what she saw, and not until

their brother Bertram's merry greeting fell on their ears did they understand her sudden silence.

"And is this the way you meant to run away from us, young lady?" cried Bertram. "Not so fast! You see, I

happened to be in New York this morning, and so I" Something in Billy's face sent a pause to his words

just as his eyes spied the two men at the girl's side. For a moment he stared dumbly; then he gave a merry

"It's all up! I might as well confess. I'VE been planning this thing for three weeks, Billy, ever since your letter

came, in fact. As for my two fellowsinners here, I'll wager they weren't two days behind me in their

William and Cyril, however, did not have to "own up." Mrs. Stetson appeared at the moment and created, for

Long minutes later, when the goodbyes had become nothing but a flutter of white handkerchiefs from deck

"That's a nice little girl, boys, a nice little girl!" he exclaimed. "I declare! I didn't suppose I'd mind so much

To all appearances it came about very naturally that Billy did not return to America for some time. During the

summer she wrote occasionally to William, and gave glowing accounts of their travels. Then in September

came the letter telling him that they had concluded to stay through the winter in Paris. Billy wrote that she

had decided not to go to college. She would take up some studies there in Paris, she said, but she would

When the next summer came there was still something other than America to claim her attention: the

Calderwells had invited her to cruise with them for three months. Their yacht was a little floating palace of

delight, Billy declared, not to mention the charm of the unknown lands and waters that she and Aunt Hannah

Of all this Billy wrote to Williamat occasional intervalsbut she did not come home. Even when the next

autumn came, there was still Paris to detain her for another long winter of study.

In the Henshaw house on Beacon Street, William mourned not a little as each recurring season brought no

"Well, did you have one?" Bertram demanded one day. "Really, Will, I'm beginning to think she's a myth.

Long years ago, from the first of April till June we did have two frolicsome sprites here that announced

themselves as 'Billy' and 'Spunk,' I'll own. And a year later, by ways devious and secret, we three managed to

see the one called 'Billy' off on a great steamship. Since then, what? A worda messagea scrap of paper.

"Sometimes I don't know but you are right," he admitted. "Why, it'll be three years next June since Billy was

"That's so. I wonder" Bertram paused, and laughed a little, "I wonder if NOW she'd play guardian angel to

"Maybe not, Will; stillone can always find some use fora guardian angel, you know," he finished,

To Cyril Bertram had occasionally spoken, during the last two years, of their first suspicions concerning

Billy's absence. They speculated vaguely, 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 agreed that they would have asked Kate for her opinion, had she been there. But

Kate was not there. As it chanced, a good business opportunity had called Kate's husband to a Western town

very soon after Billy herself had gone to Hampden Falls; and since the family's removal to the West, Mrs.

It was in April, three years since Billy's first appearance in the Beacon Street house, that Bertram met his

friend, Hugh Calderwell, on the street one afternoon, and brought him home to dinner.

Hugh Calderwell was a youth who, Bertram said, had been born with a whole dozen silver spoons in his

mouth. And, indeed, it would seem so, if present prosperity were any indication. He was a good looking

young fellow with a frank manliness that appealed to men, and a deferential chivalry that appealed to women;

a combination that brought him many friendsand some enemies. With plenty of money to indulge a

passion for traveling, young Calderwell had spent the most of his time since graduation in daring trips into

the heart of almost impenetrable forests, or to the top of almost inaccessible mountains, with an occasional

more ordinary trip to give variety. He had now come to the point, however, where he was determined to

"settle down to something that meant something," he told the Henshaws, as the four men smoked in Bertram's

"Yes, sir, I have," he iterated. "And, by the way, the little girl that 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 last summer."

"Well, I fancy you DO know her, or you wouldn't have answered like that," he retorted. "For you just begin to

know Miss Billy when you find out that you DON'T know her. She is a charming girla very charming

"She is my namesake," announced William, in what Bertram called his "finest ever" voice that he used only

"Yes, she told me," smiled Calderwell. "'Billy' for 'William.' Odd idea, too, but clever. It helps to distinguish

"No. Perhaps you don't know, Mr. Henshaw, but Miss Billy is a very popular young woman. You have reason

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

"I don't believe, after all, that you do know much about her," he began musingly. "Billy is not one who talks

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

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

There was an uncomfortable silence. Over in the corner Cyril puffed at his cigar with an air almost of

boredom. He had not spoken since his first surprised questioning with the others, "Do you know Billy?"

William was still frowning. Even Bertram wore a look that was not quite satisfied.

"Miss Neilson has spent two winters in Paris now, you know," resumed Calderwell, after a moment; "and she

is very popular both with the American colony, and with the other students. As for her 'Aunt Hannah'they

all make a pet of her; but that is, perhaps, because Billy herself is so devoted."

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

"After all, I'm not sure but some of us regard 'Aunt Hannah' with scant favor, occasionally," he laughed;

"something as if she were the dragon that guarded the princess, you know. Miss Billy IS popular with the

"And then only for a few minutes just before she sailed," amended Bertram. "We haven't really seen much of

"Hmm; well, you'll see for yourself soon. You know she's coming home next month."

Not one of the brothers did know itbut not one of them intended that Calderwell should find out that they

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

"And I shall be so glad to see you all," she wrote in closing. "It seems so long since I left America." Then she

signed her name with "kindest regards to all"Billy did not send "love to all" any more.

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

"I know, but that was before," demurred William, his eyes a little anxious. "Besides, they've sold the house

"All right," acquiesced the younger man, still doubtingly. "Maybe that's so; maybe! But" he did not finish

his sentence, and his eyes were troubled as he watched his brother begin to rearrange Billy's rooms. In time,

however, so sure was William of Billy's return to the Beacon Street house, that Bertram ceased to question;

and, with almost as much confidence as William himself displayed, he devoted his energies to the

And what preparations they were! Even Cyril helped this time to the extent of placing on Billy's piano a copy

of his latest book, and a pile of new music. Nor were the melodies that floated down from the upper floor

akin to funeral marches; they were perilously near to being allied to "ragtime."

At last everything was ready. There was not one more bit of dust to catch Pete's eye, nor one more adornment

that demanded William's careful hand to adjust. In Billy's rooms new curtains graced the windows and new

rugs the floors. In Mrs. Stetson's, too, similar changes had been made. The latest and best "Face of a Girl"

smiled at one from above Billy's piano, and the very rarest of William's treasures adorned the mantelpiece.

No guns nor knives nor fishing rods met the eyes now. Instead, at every turn, there was a hint of feminine

tastes: a mirror, a workbasket, a low sewingchair, a stand with a tea tray. And everywhere were roses,

upstairs and downstairs, until the air was heavy with their perfume. In the diningroom Pete was again

"swinging back and forth like a pendulum," it is true; but it was a cheerful pendulum today, anxious only

that no time should be lost. In the kitchen alone was there unhappiness, and there because Dong Ling had

already spoiled a whole cake of chocolate in a vain attempt to make Billy's favorite fudge. Even Spunkie,

grown now to be sleek, lazy, and majestically indifferent, was in holiday attire, for a brandnew pink bow of

"You see," William had explained to Bertram, "I put on that ribbon again because I thought it would make

Spunkie seem more homelike, and more like Spunk. You know there wasn't anything Billy missed so much

"Yes, I know," Bertram had laughed; "but still, Spunkie isn't Spunk, you understand!" he had finished, with a

vision in his eyes of Billy as she had looked that first night when she had triumphantly lifted from the green

basket the little gray kitten with its enormous pink bow. This time there was no circuitous journeying, no

secrecy in the trip to New York. Quite as a matter of course the three brother made their plans to meet Billy,

and quite as a matter of course they met her. Perhaps the only cloud in the horizon of their happiness was the

presence of Calderwell. He, too, had come to meet Billyand all the Henshaw brothers were vaguely

Billy was unmistakably glad to see themand to see Calderwell. It was while she was talking to Calderwell,

indeed, that William and Cyril and Bertram had an opportunity really to see the girl, and to note what time

It was a slim Billy that they saw, with a head royally poised, and a chin that was round and soft, and yet knew

well its own mind. The eyes were still appealing, in a way, yet behind the appeal lay unsounded depths

ofnot one of the brothers could quite make up his mind just what, yet all the brothers determined to find

out. The hair still curled distractingly behind the pretty ears, and fluffed into burnished bronze where the

wind had loosened it. The cheeks were paler now, though the roseflush still glowed warmly through the

clear, smooth skin. The mouthBilly's mouth had always been fascinating, Bertram suddenly decided, as he

watched it now. He wanted to paint itagain. It was not too large for beauty nor too small for strength. It

curved delightfully, and the lower lip had just the fullness and the color that he likedto paint, he said to

William, too, was watching Billy's mouth; in factthough he did not know itone never was long near

Billy without noticing her mouth, if she talked. William thought it pretty, merry, and charmingly kissable; but

just now he wished that it would talk to him, and not to Calderwell any longer. Cyrilindeed, Cyril was

paying little attention to Billy. He had turned to Aunt Hannah. To tell the truth, it seemed to Cyril that, after

all, Billy was very much like other merry, thoughtless, rather noisy young women, of whom he knewand

dislikedscores. It had occurred to him suddenly that perhaps it would not be unalloyed bliss to take this

It was not until an hour later, when Billy, Aunt Hannah, and the Henshaws had reached the hotel where they

were to spend the night, that the Henshaw brothers began really to get acquainted with Billy. She seemed

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

"As if I hadn't been counting the days!" she exulted. "And now what have you been doingall of you?"

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

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

"I know better; and I want to see it all so much. We've talked and talked of it; haven't we, Aunt Hannah?of

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

"It waswhen I painted you," teased Bertram. "By the way, I'll LET you talk if you'll pose again for me," he

"But how about YOUR artyour music?" entreated William. "You have said so little of that in your letters."

Billy hesitated. For a brief moment she glanced at Cyril. He did not appear to have heard his brother's

"Oh, I playsome," murmured the girl, almost evasively. "But tell me of yourself, Uncle William, and of

It was some time later that Billy turned to him with an amazed exclamation in response to something he had

"Home with you! Why, Uncle William, what do you mean? You didn't really think you'd got to be troubled

"I did not call it 'trouble,' Billy," he said quietly. His grieved eyes looked straight into hers and drove the

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said gently. "And I appreciate your kindness, indeed I do; but I couldn'treally I

"And you don't have to think of it," cut in Bertram, who considered that the situation was becoming much too

"You are so good, all of you! But you didn'tyou really didn't think I WAScoming!" she protested.

"Indeed we did," asserted Bertram, promptly; "and we have done everything to get ready for you, too, even to

rigging up Spunkie to masquerade as Spunk. I'll warrant that Pete's nose is already flattened against the

windowpane, lest we should HAPPEN to come tonight; and there's no telling how many cakes of

chocolate Dong Ling has spoiled by this time. We left him trying to make fudge, you know."

Billy laughedbut she cried, too; at least, her eyes grew suddenly moist. Bertram tried to decide afterward

"No, no," she demurred tremulously. "I couldn't. I really have never intended that."

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

The first question Billy ignored. The second she answered with a promptness and a gayety that was meant to

"We are going to Boston, Aunt Hannah and I. We've got rooms engaged for just now, but later we're going to

In the Beacon Street house William mournfully removed the huge pink bow from Spunkie's neck, and

Bertram threw away the roses. Cyril marched upstairs with his pile of new music and his book; and Pete, in

obedience to orders, hid the workbasket, the tea table, and the low sewingchair. With a great display of a

"getting back home" air, Bertram moved many of his belongings upstairsbut inside of a week he had

moved them down again, saying that, after all, he believed he liked the first floor better. Billy's rooms were

Billy with Aunt Hannah had gone directly to their Back Bay hotel. "This is for just while I'm househunting,"

the girl had said. But very soon she had decided to go to Hampden Falls for the summer and postpone her

housebuying until the autumn. Billy was twentyone now, and there were many matters of business to

arrange with Lawyer Harding, concerning her inheritance. It was not until September, therefore, when Billy

once more returned to Boston, that the Henshaw brothers had the opportunity of renewing their acquaintance

"I want a home," Billy said to Bertram and William on the night of her arrival. (As before, Mrs. Stetson and

Billy had gone directly to a hotel.) "I want a real home with a furnace to shakeif I want toand some dirt

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

"From what Calderwell says," he bantered, "I should judge that there are plenty of sighing swains who are

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

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

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

"Well, Cyril couldn'tcouldn't come," stammered William with an uneasy glance at his brother.

"It's too badabout Mr. Cyril's not coming," she murmured. And again Bertram caught the twinkle in the

To Bertram the twinkle looked interesting, and worth pursuit; but at the very beginning of the chase

Calderwell's card came up, and that endedeverything, 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 all belonged 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 looked out upon a delightful view of manyhued,

manyshaped roofs nestling among towering trees, with the wide sweep of the sky above, and the haze of

"In fact, it's as nearly perfect as it can beand not take angel wings and fly away," declared Billy. "I have

Very early in her career as houseowner, Billy decided that however delightful it might be to have a furnace

to shake, it would not be at all 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 the muscle and the willingness to shake the

furnace, but the skill to turn chauffeur at a moment's notice. Best of all, this man had also a wife who, with a

maid to assist her, would take full charge of the house, and thus leave Billy and Mrs. Stetson free from care.

All these, together with a canary, and a kitten as near like Spunk as could be obtained, made Billy's

And they wereat least, so it appeared. For at once the little house perched on the hillside became the

Mecca for many of the Henshaws' friends who had known Billy as William's merry, eighteen yearold

namesake. There were others, too, whom Billy had met abroad; and there were softstepping, sweetfaced

old women and an occasional whitewhiskered old manAunt Hannah's friendswho found that the young

mistress of Hillside was a charming hostess. There were also the Henshaw "boys," and there was always

Bertram came frequently to the little house on the hill, even more frequently than William; but Cyril was not

seen there so often. He came once at first, it is true, and followed Billy from room to room as she proudly

displayed her new home. He showed polite interest in her view, and a perfunctory enjoyment of the tea she

prepared for him. But he did not come again for some time, and when he did come, he sat stiffly silent, while

As to CalderwellCalderwell seemed suddenly to have lost his interest in impenetrable forests and

unclimbable mountains. Nothing more intricate than the long Beacon Street boulevard, or more inaccessible

than Corey Hill seemed worth exploring, apparently. According to Calderwell's own version of it, he had

"settled down"; he was going to "be something that was something." And he did spend sundry of his morning

hours in a Boston law office with ponderous, calfbound volumes spread in imposing array on the desk

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

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

"No. Cyril says nothing. William little moreabout themselves; and you know what Bertram is. One can

"Finely! The public has been his for years, and now the critics are 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 quarrel over whether it's realism or idealism that constitutes his

"Yes; only he's doing straight portraiture now as well. It's got to be quite the thing to be 'done' by Henshaw;

and there's many a fair lady that has graciously commissioned him to paint her portrait. He's a fine fellow,

tooa mighty fine fellow. You may not know, perhaps, but three or four years ago he waswell, not wild,

but 'frolicsome,' he would probably have called it. He got in with a lot of fellows thatwell, that weren't

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

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

"I don't know. Probably I'm not 'tuned to his pitch.' Bertram told me once that Cyril was very sensitively

strung, and never responded until a certain note was struck. Well, I haven't ever found that note, I reckon."

"I never heard Bertram say that, but I think I know what he means; and he's right, too. I begin to realize now

what a jangling discord I must have created when I tried to harmonize with him three years ago! But what is

"Same thing. Plays occasionally, and plays well, too; but he's so erratic it's difficult to get him to do it.

Everything must be just so, you knowair, light, piano, and audience. He's got another book out, I'm

"I believe so. I hear of it occasionally through musical friends of mine. They even play it to me sometimes.

"Don't ask me. I don't know. But they're always dead slow, somber things, with the wail of a lost spirit

"But I just love lost spirits that wail," avowed Billy, with more than a shade of reproach in her voice.

"Not in mine, thank you;" he retorted whimsically. "I prefer my spirits of a more sane and cheerful sort."

"I've been wondering," she began musingly, after a time, "why some one of those three men does

"You wouldn't wonderif you knew them better," declared Calderwell. "Now think. Let's begin at the top of

the Strataby the way, Bertram's name for that establishment is mighty clever! First, Cyril: according to

Bertram Cyril hates 'all kinds of women and other confusion'; and I fancy Bertram hits it about right. So that

settles Cyril. Then there's Williamyou know William. Any girl would say William was a dear; but William

isn't a MARRYING man. Dad says,"Calderwell's voice softened a little"dad says that William and his

young wife were the most devoted couple that he ever saw; and that when she died she seemed to take with

her the whole of William's heartthat is, what hadn't gone with the baby a few years before. There was a

"Well, that counts out William, then," said Calderwell, with an air of finality.

"Bertram!" Calderwell's eyes widened. "Billy, can you imagine Bertram's making love in real earnest to a

"Why, Idon'tknow; maybe!" Billy tipped her head from side to side as if she were viewing a picture set

"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 turn of her head or the tilt of her chin that he admired TO PAINT. Now isn't that

"It is, and you know it," declared Calderwell. "And that settles him. Now you can see, perhaps, why none of

"Not a bit of it. I don't see it at all," she declared with roguish merriment. "Moreover, I think that some day,

Calderwell threw a quick glance into her eyes. Evidently something he saw there sent a swift shadow to his

"And I told you not to ask impossibilities of me," he retorted imperturbably. "Billy, won't you,

"Seriously, no, Hugh. Please don't let us go all over that again when we'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

"Hugh, won't you understand that I'm serious?" she cried; then she turned suddenly, with a peculiar flash in

"Hugh, I don't believe Bertram himself could make love any more nonsensically than you can!"

Calderwell laughed, but he frowned, too; and again he threw into Billy's face that keenly questioning glance.

He said somethinga light somethingthat brought the laugh to Billy's lips in spite of herself; but he was

still frowning when he left the house some minutes later, and the shadow was not gone from his eyes.

Billy's time was well occupied. There were so many, many things she wished to do, and so few, few hours in

which to do them. First there was her music. She made arrangements at once to study with one of Boston's

best piano teachers, and she also made plans to continue her French and German. She joined a musical club, a

literary club, and a more strictly social club; and to numerous church charities and philanthropic enterprises

Friday afternoons, of course, were to be held sacred to the Symphony concerts; and on certain Wednesday

mornings there was to be a series of recitals, in which she was greatly interested.

For Society with a capital S, Billy cared little; but for sociability with a small s, she cared much; and very

wide she opened her doors to her friends, lavishing upon them a wealth of hospitality. Nor did they all come

in carriages or automobiles these friends. A certain palefaced little widow over at the South End knew

just how good Miss Neilson's tea tasted on a crisp October afternoon and Marie Hawthorn, a frail young

woman who gave music lessons, knew just how restful was Miss Neilson's couch after a weary day of long

"But how in the world do you discover them allthese forlorn specimens of humanity?" queried Bertram

one evening, when he had found Billy entertaining a freckledfaced messengerboy with a plate of ice cream

"Humph! One wouldn't think it, to see his charming air of nonchalant accustomedness."

"Oh, but it doesn't take much to make a little fellow like that feel at home," laughed Billy.

"And are you in the habit of feeding every one who comes to your house, on ice cream and chocolate cake? I

"Not a bit of it," retorted Billy. "This little chap came with a message just as I was finishing dinner. The ice

cream was particularly good tonight, and it occurred to me that he might like a taste; so I gave it to him."

"Very kind, of course; butwhy ice cream?" he questioned. "I thought it was roast beef and boiled potatoes

"It is," nodded Billy, "and that's why I think sometimes they'd like ice cream and chocolate frosting. Besides,

to give sugar plums one doesn't have 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 circumspect and consult records and city

missionaries, of course; and that's why it's such a relief sometimes just to hand over a simple little sugar plum

Billy was taken quite by surprise. A pink flush spread to her forehead, and her tongue stumbled at first over

"Why, Iit seemedyouwhy, I left to go to Hampden Falls, to be sure. Don't you remember?" she

"Oh, yes, I remember THAT," conceded Bertram with disdainful emphasis. "But why did you go to Hampden

"Why, itit was the only place to gothat is, I WANTED to go there," she corrected hastily. "Didn't Aunt

"Oh, yes, Aunt Hannah SAID that," observed the man; "but wasn't that homesickness a littlesudden?"

"Why, maybe; butwell, homesickness is always more or less sudden; isn't it?" she parried.

"See here, Billy, you can't bluff worth a cent," he declared. "You are much too refreshingly frank for that.

Billy pouted. She hesitated and gazed anywhere but into the challenging eyes before her. Then very suddenly

"Very well, there WAS a reason for my leaving," she confessed a little breathlessly. "Ididn't want

"No. I found out. You couldn't paint; Mr. Cyril couldn't play or write; andand everything was different

because I was there. But I didn't blame youno, no!" she assured him hastily. "It was only that Ifound

"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 and determined.

If Bertram had known Billy just a little better he would have let the matter drop there; but he did not know

"Do you think I'm going to say 'no' to a series of questions, and then give the whole thing away by my silence

"Well, anyhow, it wasn't I, then," sighed the man in relief; "for you just observed that you were not going to

say 'no to a series of questions'and that was the first one. So I've found out that much, anyhow," he

"I'm not going to be caught that way, either," she smiled. "You knowjust what you did in the first place

The man stirred restlessly and pondered. After a long pause he adopted new tactics. With a searching study of

"Was it Cyril, then? Will? Aunt Hannah? Kate? It couldn't have been Pete, or Dong Ling!"

Billy still smiled inscrutably. At no name had Bertram detected so much as the flicker of an eyelid; and with

"I'll give it up. You've won," he acknowledged. "But, Billy," his manner changed suddenly"I wonder if

"But I couldn't havein the whole Strata," objected Billy. "I occupied only one stratum, and a stratum

"I know; but yours was a freak formation," he maintained gravely. "It DID go up and down. Honestly, Billy,

we did carelots. Will and I were inconsolable, and even Cyril played dirges for a week."

"Thank you," murmured Bertram, disapprovingly. "We hadn't considered it a subject for exultation."

"Oh, never mind about trying to explain," interposed Bertram. "I fancy the remedy would be worse than the

"Nonsense! I only meant that I like to be missedsometimes," retorted Billy, a little nettled.

"And you rejoice then to have me mope, Cyril play dirges, and Will wander mournfully about the house with

Spunkie in his arms! You should have 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 would surely have brought a copious flow."

"He didand he did more. Pete told me after a time that you had not left one thing in the house, anywhere;

but one day, over behind William's most treasured Lowestoft, I found a small shell hairpin, and a flat brown

Perhaps it was because Billy saw so little of Cyril that it was Cyril whom she wished particularly to see.

William, Bertram, Calderwellall her other friends came frequently to the little house on the hill, Billy told

Billy said that it was his music; that she wanted to hear him play, and that she wanted him to hear her. She

felt grieved and chagrined. Not once since she had come had he seemed interested really interested in her

music. He had asked her, it is true, in a perfunctory way what she had done, and who her teachers had been.

But all the while she was answering 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 through the long hard months of study, had been for Cyril.

Every scale had been smoothed for his ears, and every phrase had been interpreted with his approbation in

view. Across the wide waste of waters his face had shone like 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 the scale, nor interpret the

phrase for the ear to which they had been so laboriously attuned; and Cyril's face, in the flesh, was no

beckoning star of promise, but was a thing as cold and relentless as was the waste of waters across which it

Billy did not understand it. She knew, it is true, of Cyril's reputed aversion to women in general and to noise;

but she was neither women in general nor noise, she told herself indignantly. She was only the little maid,

grown three years older, who had sat at his feet and adoringly listened to all that he had been pleased to say in

the old days at the top of the Strata. And he had been kind thenvery kind, Billy declared stoutly. He had

been patient and interested, too, and he had seemed not only 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 impulsive Billy, that had gone up to Cyril's rooms years before and cheerfully

announced that she had come to get acquainted. It was never the sensible, circumspect Billy that Aunt

Hannah had for three years been shaping and coaxing into being. But even this Billy frowned rebelliously,

and declared that sometime something should be said that would at least give him a chance to explain.

In all the weeks since Billy's purchase of Hillside, Cyril had been there only twice, and it was nearly

Thanksgiving now. Billy had seen him once or twice, also, at the Beacon Street house, when she and Aunt

Hannah had dined there; but on all these occasions he had been either the coldly reserved guest or the

"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 was when she had shared the privilege with

hundreds of others at a public concert. She had sat then entranced, with her eyes on the cleancut handsome

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, and because of a

strange shyness that had suddenly come to her, she had ended only in stammering out some flippant banality

Twice she had asked him to play for her; but each time he had begged to be excused, courteously, but

"It's no use to tease," Bertram had interposed once, with an airy wave of his hands. "This lion always did

refuse to roar to order. If you really must hear him, you'll have to slip upstairs and camp outside his door,

"Yes, sir," acknowledged Bertram with unruffled temper. "but I don't mind if Billy doesn't. I only meant her

"But that is what I sha'n't do," she retorted with spirit. "And, moreover, I still have hopes that some day he'll

"Maybe," conceded Bertram, doubtfully; "if the stool and the piano and the pedals and the weather and his

"Nonsense!" scowled Cyril. "I'll play, of course, some day. But I'd rather not today." And there the matter had

Thanksgiving was to be a great day in the Henshaw family. The Henshaw brothers were to entertain. Billy

and Aunt Hannah had been invited to dinner; and so joyously hospitable was William's invitation that it

would have included the new kitten and the canary if Billy would have consented to bring them.

Once more Pete swept and garnished the house, and once more Dong Ling spoiled uncounted squares of

chocolate trying to make the baffling fudge. Bertram said that the entire Strata was aquiver. Not but that

Billy and Aunt Hannah had visited there before, but that this was different. They were to come at noon this

time. This visit was not to be a tantalizing little piece of stiffness an hour and a half long. It was to be a

satisfying, wholesouled matter of half a day's comradeship, almost like old times. So once more the roses

graced the rooms, and a flaring pink bow adorned Spunkie's fat neck; and once more Bertram placed his

latest "Face of a Girl" in the best possible light. There was still a difference, however, for this time Cyril did

not bring any music down 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 the guests were to arrive at twelve; and

"There, this is something like," exulted Bertram, when the ladies, divested of their wraps, toasted their feet

"Indeed it is, for now I've time to see everythingeverything you've done since I've been gone," cried Billy,

"Of course not; but it's what I meant," retorted Billy. "And there are other things, too. I expect there are half a

dozen new 'Old Blues' and black 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 doting pride for the last five minutes.

"Ho! Will isn't on teapots now," quoth Bertram, before his brother had a chance to reply. "You might dangle

the oldest 'Old Blue' that ever was before him now, and he'd pay scant attention if he happened at the same

Billy laughed; but at the look of genuine distress that came into William'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 awfully interesting, and I want to see them right away now. Come," she finished, springing to

William shook his head and said, "No, no!" protesting that what he had were scarcely worth her attention; but

even while he talked he rose to his feet and advanced half eagerly, half reluctantly, toward the door.

"Nonsense," said Billy, fondly, as she laid her hand on his arm. "I know they are very much worth seeing.

Come!" And she led the way from the room. "Oh, oh!" she exclaimed a few moments later, as she stood

"Do you like them? I thought you would," triumphed William, quick joy driving away the anxious fear in his

eyes. "You see, II thought of you when I got themevery one of them. I thought you'd like them. But I

haven't very many, yet, of course. This is the latest one." And he tenderly lifted from its black velvet mat a

curious silver necklace made of small, flat, chainlinked disks, heavily chased, and set at regular intervals

"Oh, what a beauty! And this, I suppose, is Bertram's 'pewter chain'! 'Pewter,' indeed!" she scoffed. "Tell me,

And uncle William told, happily, thirstily, drinking in Billy's evident interest with delight. There were, too, a

quaintlyset ring and a cat'seye brooch; and to each belonged a story which William was equally 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 there with bits of red,

green, yellow, blue, and flamecolored stones. Very learnedly then from William's lips fell the new

vocabulary that had come to him with his latest treasures: chrysoprase, carnelian, girasol, onyx, plasma,

"They are lovely, perfectly lovely!" breathed Billy, when the last chain had slipped through her fingers into

"They are," said Billy, "verydifferent." But she was not looking at the jewelry: her eyes were on a small

"I wish you were here now," he said wistfully. "They're all ready for youthese rooms."

"We have no use for them; besides, they belong to you and Aunt Hannah. You left your imprint long ago, my

"Oh, but you should! You mustn't feel like that!" objected Billy, hurriedly crossing the room to the window to

hide a sudden nervousness that had assailed her. "And here's my piano, too, and open!" she finished gaily,

Billy, like Cyril, had a way of working off her moods at her finger tips; and today the tripping notes and

crashing chords told of a nervous excitement that was not all joy. From the doorway William watched her

flying fingers with fond pride, and it was very reluctantly that he acceded to Pete's request to go downstairs

Billy, left alone, still played, but with a difference. The tripping notes slowed into a weird melody that rose

and fell and lost itself in the exquisite harmony that had been born of the crashing chords. Billy was

improvising now, and into her music had crept something of her oldtime 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 discordant note, she

suddenly rose from the piano. She was thinking of Kate, and wondering if, had Kate not "managed" the little

So swiftly did Billy cross to the door that the man on the stairs outside had not time to get quite out of sight.

Billy did not see his face, however; she saw only a pair of graytrousered legs disappearing around the curve

of the landing above. She thought nothing of it until later when dinner was announced, and Cyril came

downstairs; then she saw that he, and he only, that afternoon wore trousers of that particular shade of gray.

The dinner was a great success. Even the chocolate fudge in the little cut glass bonbon dishes was perfect;

After dinner the family gathered in the drawingroom and chatted pleasantly. Bertram displayed his prettiest

and newest pictures, and Billy played and sungbright, tuneful little things that she knew Aunt Hannah and

Uncle William liked. If Cyril was pleased or displeased, he did not show itbut Billy had ceased to play for

Cyril's ears. She told herself that she did not care; but she did wonder: was that Cyril on the stairs, and if

Billy's heart sung within herbut her temper rose. Did he think then that he had but to beckon and she would

"Because Calderwell said that you were a dandy player, and I don't care for dandy players."

"Oh, you know very well what I mean," he defended. "I've heard you; that's all."

Billy was silent for a moment, her eyes gravely studying his face. Then she asked:

"Eh? What? Oh!" Cyril's forehead grew suddenly pink. "Well?" he finished a little aggressively.

"Oh, nothing," smiled the girl. "Of course people who live in glass houses must not throw stones."

"Very well then, I did listen," acknowledged the man, testily. "I liked what you were playing. I hoped,

downstairs later, that you'd play it again; but you didn't. I came today to hear it."

"I don't think I feel like it," she said sweetly, with a shake of her head. "Not today."

For a brief moment Cyril stared frowningly; then his face lighted with his rare smile.

"I'm fairly checkmated," he said, rising to his feet and going straight to the piano.

For long minutes he played, modulating from one enchanting composition to another, and finishing with the

one "all chords with big bass notes" that marched on and onthe one Billy had sat long ago on the stairs to

"There! Now will you play for me?" he asked, rising to his feet, and turning reproachful eyes upon her.

Billy, too, rose to her feet. Her face was flushed and her eyes were shining. Her lips quivered with emotion.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," she sighed. "You don't knowyou can't know how beautiful it all isto me!"

"But I can'tnot what you heard the other day," she cried remorsefully. "You see, I wasonly

Very slowly the girl turned toward the music cabinet. She hesitated, glanced once more appealingly into

Cyril's face, then with nervous haste opened the little mahogany door and took from one of the shelves a

sheet of manuscript music. But, like a shy child with her first copy book, she held it half behind her back as

"Thank you," said Cyril as he reached far out for the music. The next moment he seated himself again at the

Falteringly, in a very faint voice, and with very many breaths taken where they should not have been taken,

"When we want to show off your song, Billy, we won't ask you to sing it," observed the man, dryly, when she

"When I want to show off my song I sha'n't be singing it to you for the first time," she pouted.

Cyril did not answer. He was playing over and over certain harmonies in the music before him.

"Hmm; I see you've studied your counterpoint to some purpose," he vouchsafed, finally; then: "Where did

"Well, I" she stopped and gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm like the small boy who made the toys. 'I got

"I haven't. Besides, if I could have a couple more to go with this, it would make a very pretty little group of

"But they aren't worth it! They can't begood enough!" Unbelieving joy was 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

"But I have already!" cried the girl, excitedly. "There are lots of little things that I'vethat is, there

"Oh, there are," laughed Cyril. "Well, we'll see what" But he did not see. He did not even finish his

"Show Mr. Calderwell in here," said Billy. Cyril said nothing aloud; which was well. His thoughts, just

Wonderful days came then to Billy. Four songs, it seemed, had been pronounced by competent critics

decidedly "worth it"unmistakably "good enough"; 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 money in it, either. You'd have to write a masterpiece like 'She's my JuJu Baby' or

some such gem to get the 'hit' and the money. But the songs are fine, and they'll take with cultured hearers.

We'll get them introduced by good singers, of course, and they'll be favorites soon for the concert stage, and

Billy saw a good deal of Cyril now. Already she was at work rewriting and polishing some of her

halfcompleted melodies, and Cyril was helping her, by his interest as well as by his criticism. He was, in

fact, at the house very frequentlytoo frequently, indeed, to suit either Bertram or Calderwell. Even William

frowned sometimes when his cozy chats with Billy were interrupted by Cyril's appearing with a roll of new

music for her to "try"; though William told himself that he ought to be thankful if there was anything that

could make Cyril more companionable, less reserved and morose. And Cyril WAS differentthere was no

disputing that. Calderwell said that he had come "out of his shell"; and Bertram told Billy that she must have

Billy was very happy. To the little music teacher, Marie Hawthorn, she talked more freely, perhaps, than she

"It's so wonderful, Marieso wonderfully wonderful," she said one day, "to sit here in my own room and

sing a little song that comes from somewhere, anywhere, out of the sky itself. Then by and by, that little song

will fly away, away, over land and sea; and some day it will touch somebody's heart just as it has touched

"It is, dearand it is not. Your songs could not help reaching somebody's heart. There's nothing wonderful in

"Do you think, Miss Billythat he would care? I listened yesterday when he was playing to you. I was up

here in your room, but when I heard the music II went out, on the stairs and sat down. Was it verybad of

"If it was, he can't say anything," she reassured her. "He's done the same thing himselfand so have I."

"Yes. It was at his home last Thanksgiving. It was then that he found outabout my improvising."

"Nonsense!" laughed Billy, with pinker cheeks. "It's the music, not the musician, that pleases him. Mr. Cyril

"No. But don't look so shocked, my dear. Every one who knows Mr. Cyril knows that."

"But I don't thinkI believe it," demurred Marie, gazing straight into Billy's eyes. "I'm sure I don't believe

Under the little music teacher's steady gaze Billy flushed again. The laugh she gave was an embarrassed one,

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet and moving restlessly about the room. With the next breath

she had changed the subject to one far removed from Mr. Cyril and his likes and dislikes.

"Oh, yes, like a little machine, I know!" scorned the usually gentle Marie, bitterly. "Don't they have a thing of

metal that adds figures like magic? Well, I'm like that. I see g and I play g; I see d and I play d; I see f and I

play f; and after I've seen enough g's and d's and f'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 outall out," sobbed Marie. "I felt it coming."

"Then perhaps you'llyou'll feel better now," stammered Billy. She tried to say moreother words that

would have been a real comfort; but her tongue refused to speak them. She knew so well, so woefully well,

how very wooden and mechanical the little music teacher's playing always had been. But that Marie should

realize it herself like thisthe tragedy of it made Billy's heart ache. At Marie's next words, however, Billy

"But you see it wasn't musicit wasn't ever music that I wanted to do," she confessed.

"Do you know, my dear, I have half a mind to tell you what I do like to dojust to make you stare."

"Rank heresy, isn't it?" smiled Marie, tearfully. "But I do, truly. I love 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 andbutter kind, but the ones

that have whites of eggs and fruit, and pretty quivery jellies all ruby and amber lights, you know."

"You dear little piece of domesticity," laughed Billy. "Then why in the world don't you do these things?"

"I can't, in my own kitchen; I can't afford a kitchen to do them in. And I just couldn't do themright

"I was brought up to it. You know we had money once, lots of it," sighed Marie, as if she were deploring a

misfortune. "And mother was determined to have me musical. Even then, as a little tot, I liked

puddingmaking, and after my mudpie days I was always begging mother to let me go down into the

kitchen, to cook. But she wouldn't allow it, ever. She engaged the 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 flew away, why, of course I had to do

something, so naturally I turned to the music. It was all I could do. Butwell, you know how it is, dear. I

teach, and teach well, perhaps, so far as the mechanical part goes; but as for the restI am always longing

for a cozy corner with a basket of stockings to mend, or a kitchen where there is a pudding waiting to be

"You poor dear!" cried Billy. "I've a pair of stockings now that needs attention, and I've been just longing for

one of your 'quivery jellies all ruby and amber lights' ever since you mentioned them. Butwell, is there

"Nothing, thank you," sighed Marie, rising wearily to her feet, and covering 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 to

play the wonderful scale of G with a black key in it. Besides, you do help me, you have helped me, you are

always helping me, dear," she added remorsefully; "and it's wicked of me to make that shadow come to your

eyes. Please don't think of it, or of me, any more." And with a choking little sob she hurried from the room,

Nearly all of Billy's friends knew that Bertram Henshaw was in love with Billy Neilson before Billy herself

knew it. Not that they regarded it as anything serious"it's only Bertram" was still said of him on almost all

The world to Bertram, indeed, had come to assume a vastly different aspect from what it had displayed in

times past. Heretofore it had been a plaything which like a juggler's tinsel ball might be tossed from hand to

hand at will. Now it was no playthingno glittering bauble. It was something big and serious and

splendidbecause Billy lived in it; something that demanded all his powers to do, and bebecause Billy

was watching; something that might be a Hades of torment or an Elysium of blissaccording to whether

Since Thanksgiving Bertram had known that it was lovethis consuming fire within him; and since

Thanksgiving he had known, too, that it was jealousythis fierce hatred of Calderwell. He was ashamed of

the hatred. He told himself that it was unmanly, unkind, and unreasonable; and he vowed that he would

overcome it. At times he even fancied that he had overcome it; but always the sight of Calderwell in Billy's

little drawingroom or of even the man's card on Billy's silver tray was enough to show him that he had not.

There were others, too, who annoyed Bertram not a little, foremost of these being his own brothers. Still he

was not really worried about William and Cyril, he told himself. William he did not consider to be a marrying

man; and Cyrilevery one knew that Cyril was a womanhater. He was doubtless attracted now only by

Billy's music. There was no real rivalry to be feared from William and Cyril. But there was always

Calderwell, and Calderwell was serious. Bertram decided, therefore, after some weeks of feverish unrest, that

the only road to peace lay through a frank avowal of his feelings, and a direct appeal to Billy to give him the

Just here, however, Bertram met with an unexpected difficulty. He could not 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 for

wordsmere words. And it was not that he lacked opportunity. He walked, drove, and talked with Billy, and

always she was companionable, attentive to what he had to say. Never was she cold or reserved. Never did

Bertram concluded, indeed, after a time, that she was too companionable, too cheery. He wished she would

hesitate, stammer, blush; be a little shy. He wished that she would display surprise, annoyance,

evenanything but that eternal air of comradeship. And then, one afternoon in the early twilight of a January

"Billy, I wish you WOULDN'T be soso friendly!" he exclaimed in a voice that was almost sharp.

Billy laughed at first, but the next moment a shamed distress drove the merriment quite out of her face.

"You mean that I presume onon our friendship?" she stammered. "That you fear that I will againshadow

your footsteps?" It was the first time since the memorable night itself that Billy had ever in Bertram's

presence referred to her young guardianship of his welfare. She realized now, suddenly, that she had just been

giving the man before her some very "sisterly advice," and the thought sent a confused red to her cheeks.

"Billy, that was the dearest and loveliest thing a girl ever did only I was too great a chump to appreciate

"Thank you," smiled the girl, with a slow shake of her head and a relieved 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, this

"Because I don't want you for a friend, or a sister, or anything else that's related," stormed Bertram, with

sudden vehemence. "I don't want you for anything buta wife! Billy, WON'T you marry me?"

Again Billy laughedlaughed until she saw the pained anger leap to the gray eyes before her; then she

"But you don't love menot ME, Bertram. It's only the turn of my head oror the tilt of my chin that you

loveto paint," she protested, unconsciously echoing the words Calderwell had said to her weeks before.

"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. You only think you do. It couldn't be that.

"But it is, dear. I think I have loved you ever since that night long ago when I saw your dear, startled face

appealing to me from beyond Seaver's hateful smile. And, Billy, I never went once with Seaver

"And I'm glad, too. So you see, I must have loved you then, though unconsciously, perhaps; and I love you

"No, no, please don't say that. It can't beit really can't be. II don't love youthat way, Bertram."

"Billyforgive me for asking, but it's so much to meis it that there issome one else?" His voice shook.

A deeper flush came to Billy's face. Her chin rose a little; and an odd defiance flashed from her eyes. But

"Then, Billy, I sha'n't give up!" vowed Bertram, softly. "Sometime you WILL love me!"

"No. There's my musicyou know how I love that, and how much it is to me. I don't think there'll ever be a

Bertram lifted his head. Very slowly he rose till his splendid six feet of cleanlimbed strength and manly

beauty towered away above the low chair in which Billy sat. His mouth showed new lines about the corners,

and his eyes looked down very tenderly at the girl beside him; but his voice, when he spoke, had a light

"And so it's musica cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean white paperthat 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.

Billy did not know whether to be more amazed or amused at Bertram's proposal of marriage. She was vexed;

she was very sure of that. To marry Bertram? Absurd! . . . Then she reflected that, after all, it was only

Still, it was annoying. She liked Bertram, she had always liked him. He was a nice boy, and a most congenial

companion. He never bored her, as did some others; and he was always thoughtful of cushions and footstools

and 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 it all now with this silly sentimentality! And of course he had spoiled it all. There

was no going back now to their old friendliness. He would be morose 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 very disturbing. He

had said, to be sure, that he would "win." Win, indeed! As if she could marry Bertram! When she married,

her choice would fall upon a man, not a boy; a big, grave, earnest man to whom the world meant something;

a man who loved music, of course; a man who would single her out from all the world, and show to her, and

to her only, the depth and tenderness of his love; a man whobut she was not going to marry, anyway,

remembered Billy, suddenly. And with that she began to cry. The whole thing was so "tiresome," she

Billy rather dreaded her next meeting with Bertram. She feared she knew not what. But, as it turned out,

she need not have feared anything, for he met her tranquilly, cheerfully, as usual; and he did nothing and said

nothing that he might not have done and said before that twilight chat took place.

Billy was relieved. She concluded that, after all, Bertram was going to be sensible. She decided that she, too,

would be sensible. She would accept him on this, his chosen plane, and she would think no more of his

Billy threw herself then even more enthusiastically into her beloved work. She told Marie that after all was

said and done, there could not be any man that would tip the scales one inch with music on the other side. She

"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 laughso wistful that it reminded Billy of their conversation a few

"But it is you, Marie, who want the stockings to darn and the puddings to make," she retorted playfully. "Not

I! And, do you know? I believe I shall turn matchmaker yet, and find you a man; and the chiefest of his

qualifications shall be that he's wretchedly hard on his hose, and that he adores puddings."

"No, no, Miss Billy, don't, please!" begged the other, in quick terror. "Forget all I said the other day; please

"There, there, 'twas only a jest, of course," she soothed her. "But, really Marie, it is the dear, domestic little

mouse like yourself that ought to be somebody's wifeand that's the kind men are looking for, too."

"Not the kind of man that is somebody, that does something," she objected; "and that's the only kind I

couldlove. HE wants a wife that is beautiful and clever, that can do things like himselfLIKE

"I do, of course," she retorted in a merry voice, "lots of them. Don't you? Come, we've discussed my

matrimonial prospects quite long enough," she went on lightly. "You know we started with yours. Suppose

"But I haven't any," demurred Billy, as she turned with a smile to greet Aunt Hannah, who had just entered

"Erwhat? Marry? My grief and conscience, what a question, Billy! Of course you're going to

Billy laughed and shook her head vigorously. But even as she opened her lips to reply, Rosa appeared and

announced that Mr. Calderwell was waiting downstairs. Billy was angry then, for after the maid was gone,

the merriment in Aunt Hannah's laugh only matched that in Marie'sand the 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 so

decidedly that night when he, for the half dozenth time, laid his hand and heart at her feet, that even

Calderwell himself was convincedso far as his own case was concernedand left town the next day.

Bertram told Aunt Hannah afterward that he understood Mr. Calderwell had gone to parts unknown. To

himself Bertram shamelessly owned that the more "unknown" they were, the better he himself would be

It was on a very cold January afternoon, and Cyril was hurrying up the hill toward Billy's house, when he was

startled to see a slender young woman sitting on a curbstone with her head against an electriclight post. He

Under his questioning eyes the girl's pale face became so painfully scarlet that in sheer pity the man turned

his eyes away. He thought he had seen women blush before, but he decided now that he had not.

"I'm surehaven't I met you at Miss Neilson's? Are you ill? Can't I do something for you?" he begged.

"Yesnothat is, I AM Miss Hawthorn, and I've met you at Miss Neilson's," stammered the girl, faintly.

"But there isn't anything, thank you, that you can doMr. Henshaw. I stopped to rest."

"But, surelypardon me, Miss Hawthorn, but I can't think it your usual custom to choose an icy curbstone

for a resting place, with the thermometer down to zero. You must be ill. Let me take you to Miss Neilson's."

"No, no, thank you," cried the girl, struggling to her feet, the vivid red again flooding her face. "I have a

"Nonsense! You're not fit to give a lesson. Besides, they are all folderol, anyway, half of them. A dozen

lessons, more or less, won't make any difference; they'll play just as welland just as atrociously. Come, I

"No, no, thank you! I really mustn't. I" She could say no more. A strong, yet very gentle hand had taken

firm hold of her arm in such a way as half to support her. A force quite outside of herself was carrying her

forward step by stepand Miss Hawthorn was not used to strong, gentle hands, nor yet to a force quite

outside of herself. Neither was she accustomed to walk arm in arm with Mr. Cyril Henshaw to Miss Billy's

door. When she reached there her cheeks were like red roses for color, and her eyes were like the stars for

brightness. Yet a minute later, confronted by Miss Billy's astonished eyes, the stars and the roses fled, and a

Marie was put to bed in the little room next to Billy's, and was peremptorily hushed when faint remonstrance

was made. The next morning, whitefaced and wideeyed, she resolutely pulled herself half upright, and

announced that she was all well and must go home home to Marie was a sixbynine hall bedroom in a

Very gently Billy pushed her back on the pillow and laid a detaining hand on her arm.

"No, dear. Now, please be sensible and listen to reason. You are my guest. You did not know it, perhaps, for

I'm afraid the invitation got a little delayed. But you're to stayoh, lots of weeks."

"But that isn't a bit of a nice way to accept an invitation," disapproved Billy. "You should say, 'Thank you, I'd

In spite of herself the little music teacher laughed, and in the laugh her tense muscles relaxed.

"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what is one to do with you? Surely you knowyou must know that I can't do what

"I'm sure I don't see why not," argued Billy. "I'm merely giving you an invitation and all you have to do is to

"But the invitation is only the kind way your heart has of covering another of your many charities," objected

"But you can't," demurred the other. "That's just the trouble. Don't you see? The doctor said last night that

"It wasn't cruel, dear; it was kind. You would be ill if you attempted it. Now you'll get better. He says all you

"There couldn't be a kinder heart than yours, Miss Billy," she murmured, "but I couldn'tI really couldn't be

"But you aren't going to be a burden. You are going to be my friend and companion."

"Well, THAT wouldn't be impossible," smiled Billy; "but, as it happens you won't have to put that to the test,

for you'll soon be up and dressed. The doctor says so. Now surely you will stay."

There was a long pause. The little music teacher's eyes had left Billy's face and were circling the room,

wistfully lingering on the hangings of filmy lace, the dainty wall covering, and the exquisite water colors in

"Help you; your letters, your musiccopying, your accounts anything, everything. And if you don't let me

help,"the music teacher's voice was very stern now"if you don't let me help, I shall go home

"Dear me!" dimpled Billy. "And is that all? Well, you shall help, and to your heart's content, too. In fact, I'm

not at all sure that I sha'n't keep you darning stockings and making puddings all the time," she added

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 downstairs, and in an astonishingly short

time she fitted into the daily life as if she had always been there. She was, moreover, of such assistance to

Billy that even she herself could see 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 the comradeship growing between them. She had known that William would be

kind to the orphan girl, but she had feared that Marie would not understand Bertram's nonsense or Cyril's

reserve. But very soon Bertram had begged, and obtained, permission to try to reproduce on canvas the sheen

of the fine, fair hair, and the veiled bloom of the roseleaf skin that were Marie's greatest charms; and already

Cyril had unbent from his usual stiffness enough to play to her twice. So Billy's fears on that score were at an

Many times during those winter days Billy thought of Marie's words: "But what if the man and the music

both happen to be on the same side?" They worried her, to some extent, and, curiously, they pleased and

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 beginning to care for her; and did she want him to? Very seriously one day Billy asked

herself these questions; very calmly she argued the matter in her mindas was Billy's way.

She was proud, certainly, of what her influence had apparently done for Cyril. She was gratified that to her he

was showing the real depth and beauty of his nature. It WAS flattering to feel that she, and only she, had thus

won the regard of a professional woman hater. Then, besides all this, there was his musichis glorious

music. Think of the bliss of living ever with that! Imagine life with a man whose soul would be so perfectly

attuned to hers that existence would be one grand harmony! Ah, that, truly, would be the ideal marriage! But

she had planned not to marry. Billy frowned now, and tapped her foot nervously. It was, indeed, most

puzzlingthis question, and she did not want to make a mistake. Then, too, she did not wish to wound Cyril.

If the dear man HAD come out of his icy prison, and were reaching out timid hands to her for her help, her

interest, her lovethe tragedy of it, if he met with no response! . . . . This vision of Cyril with outstretched

hands, and of herself with cold, averted eyes was the last straw in the balance with Billy. She decided

suddenly that she did care for Cyrila little; and that she probably could care for him a great deal. With this

thought, Billy blushedalready in her own mind she was as good as pledged to Cyril.

It was a great change for Billythis sudden leap from girlhood and irresponsibility to womanhood and care;

but she took it fearlessly, resolutely. If she was to be Cyril's wife she must make herself fit for itand in

pursuance of this high ideal she followed Marie into the kitchen the very next time the little music teacher

"Why, of course not," smiled Marie, "but I thought you didn't like to make puddings."

"Nothing, only I thought it might be just as well if I knew how to make them. You know how Cyrilthat is,

The egg in Marie's hand slipped from her fingers and crashed untidily on the shelf. With a gleeful laugh Billy

welcomed the diversion. She had not meant to speak so plainly. It was one thing to try to fit herself to be

Cyril's wife, and quite another to display those efforts so openly before 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 critical points. Billy laughingly said that it must be stage fright, owing to the

presence of herself as spectator; and with this Marie promptly, and somewhat effusively, agreed.

So very busy was Billy during the next few days, acquiring her new domesticity, 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; but she saw that a new shyness in herself had developed

which was causing her to be restless in his presence, and was leading her to like better to have Marie or Aunt

Hannah in the room when he called. She discovered, too, that she welcomed William, and even Bertram, with

Billy was disturbed at this. She told herself that this shyness was not strange, perhaps, inasmuch as her ideas

in regard to love and marriage had undergone so abrupt a change; but it must be overcome. If she was to be

Cyril's wife, she must like to be with himand of course she really did like to be with him, for she had

enjoyed his companionship very much during all these past weeks. She set herself therefore, now,

It was then that Billy made a strange and fearsome discovery: there were some things about Cyril that she

Billy was inexpressibly shocked. Heretofore he had been so high, so irreproachable, so godlike!but

heretofore he had been a friend. Now he was appearing in a new rolethough unconsciously, she knew.

Heretofore she had looked at him with eyes that saw only the delightful and marvelous unfolding of a coldly

reserved nature under the warmth of her own encouraging smile. Now she looked at him with eyes that saw

only the possibilities of that same nature when it should have been unfolded in a lifelong companionship.

And what she saw frightened her. There was still the musicshe acknowledged that; but it had come to Billy

with overwhelming force that music, after all, was not everything. The man counted, as well. Very frankly

"What passes for 'fascinating mystery' in him now will be plain morosenesssometime. He is 'taciturn' now;

he'll becross, then. It is 'erratic' when he won't play the piano today; but a few years from now, when he

refuses some simple request of mine, it will bestubbornness. All this it will beif 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 itlife with him would not be one grand

harmony; it would be one jangling discord. I simply cannot marry him. I shall have to break the engagement!

Billy spoke with regretful sorrow. It was evident that she grieved to bring pain to Cyril. Then suddenly the

gloom left her face: she had remembered that the "engagement" was just three weeks oldand was a

profound secret, not only to the bridegroom elect, but to all the world as wellsave herself!

Billy was very happy after that. She sang about the house all day, and she danced sometimes from room to

room, so light were her feet and her heart. She made no more puddings with Marie's supervision, but she was

particularly careful to have the little music teacher or Aunt Hannah with her when Cyril called. She made up

her mind, it is true, that she had been mistaken, and that Cyril did not love her; still she wished to be on the

safe side, and she became more and more averse to being left alone with him for any length of time.

Long before spring Billy was forced to own to herself that her fancied security from lovemaking on the part

of Cyril no longer existed. She began to suspect that there was reason for her fears. Cyril certainly was

"different." He was more approachable, less reserved, even with Marie and Aunt Hannah. He was not nearly

so taciturn, either, and he was much more gracious about his playing. Even Marie dared to ask him frequently

for music, and he never refused her request. Three times he had taken Billy to some play that she wanted to

see, and he had invited Marie, too, besides Aunt Hannah, which had pleased Billy very much. He had been at

the same time so genial and so gallant that Billy had declared to Marie afterward that he did not seem like

"I'm sure I thought he seemed very much like himself." But that had not changed Billy's opinion at all.

To Billy's mind, nothing but love could so have softened the stern Cyril she had known. She was, therefore,

all the more careful these days to avoid a teteatete with him, though she was not always successful,

particularly owing to Marie's unaccountable perverseness in so often having letters to write or work to do,

just when Billy most wanted her to make a safe third with herself and Cyril. It was upon such an occasion,

after Marie had abruptly left them alone together, that Cyril had observed, a little sharply:

"Billy, I wish you wouldn't say again what you said ten minutes ago when Miss Marie was here."

A very silly reference to that old notion that you and every one else seem to have that I am a 'womanhater.'"

Billy's heart skipped a beat. One thought, pounded through her brain and dinned itself into her earsat all

costs Cyril must not be allowed to say that which she so feared; he must be saved from himself.

"Womanhater? Why, of course you're a womanhater," she cried merrily. "I'm sure, II think it's lovely to

"Nonsense, Billy, I know better. Besides, I'm in earnest, and I'm not a womanhater."

"Oh, but every one says you are," chattered Billy. "And, after all, you know it IS distinguishing!"

With a disdainful exclamation the man sprang to his feet. For a time he paced the room in silence, watched by

Billy's fearful eyes; then he came back and dropped into the low chair at Billy's side. His whole manner had

"Billy, I suppose I might as well own up. I don't think I did think much of women until I sawyou."

Billy swallowed and wet her lips. She tried to speak; but before she could form the words the man went on

with his remarks; and Billy did not know 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 any longer under false colors. There's been a

"That's it! You don't understand it, I'm sure," interposed Billy, feverishly. "It may not be such a change, after

"I can't wonder you think so, of course," he almost groaned. "I was afraid it would be like that. When one's

been painted black all one's life, 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," stammered Billy, 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

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 he thought of the condition of the Brittany peasants, when he questioned abruptly,

"Billy, what should you say if I should tell you that the avowed womanhater had strayed so far from the

The word was like a match to the gunpowder of Billy's fears. Her selfcontrol was shattered instantly into

"Marry? No, no, you wouldn'tyou couldn't really be thinking of that," she babbled, growing red and white

"But just thinkremember! She'd want cushions and rugs and curtains, and you don't like them; and she'd

always be talking and laughing when you wanted quiet; and sheshe'd want to drag you out to plays and

parties andand everywhere. Indeed, Cyril, I'm sure you'd never like a wifelong!" Billy stopped only

"You don't draw a very attractive picture, Billy. Still, I'm not afraid. I don't think this particularwife would

"Oh, but you don't know, you can't tell," argued the girl. "Besides, you have had so little experience with

women that you'd just be sure to make a mistake at first. You want to look around very carefullyvery

"I have looked around, and very carefully, Billy. I know that in all the world there is just one woman for me."

Billy struggled to her feet. Mingled pain and terror looked from her eyes. She began to speak wildly,

incoherently. She wondered afterward just what she would have said if Aunt Hannah had not come into the

room at that moment and announced that Bertram was at the door to take her for a sleighride if she cared to

"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: "You haven't been very encouraging, little girlin fact, you've been mighty

discouraging. But some daysome other day, I'll try to make clear to youmany things."

Billy greeted Bertram very cordially. It was such a reliefhis cheery, genial companionship! The air, too,

was bracing, and all the world lay under a snowwhite blanket of sparkling purity. Everything was so

It was not surprising, perhaps, that the very frankness of Billy's joy misled Bertram a little. His blood tingled

at her nearness, and his eyes grew deep and tender as he looked down at her happy face. But of all the eager

words that were so near his lips, not one reached the girl's ears until the goodbyes were said; then wistfully

"Billy, don't you think, sometimes, that I'm gainingjust a little on that rival of minethat music?"

"Bertram, please don'twhen we've had such a beautiful hour together," she begged. "It troubles me. If you

"But you shall go again," cried Bertram, bravely smiling straight into her eyes. "And there sha'n't ever

Billy's sleighride had been due to the kindness of a belated winter storm 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 the stirring of life in the trees, Billy, too, began

to be restless; and at the earliest possible moment she made her plans for her long anticipated "digging in the

Just here, much to her surprise, she met with wonderful assistance from Bertram. He seemed to know just

when and where and how to dig, and he displayed suddenly a remarkable knowledge of landscape gardening.

(That this knowledge was as recent in its acquirement as it was sudden in its display, Billy did not know.)

Very learnedly he talked of perennials and annuals; and without hesitation he made out a list of flowering

shrubs and plants that would give her a "succession of bloom throughout the season." His words and phrases

smacked loudly of the very newest florists' catalogues, but Billy did not notice that. She only wondered at the

"I suspect 'twould have been better if we'd begun things last fall," he told her frowningly one day. "But there's

plenty we can do now anyway; and we'll put in some quickgrowing things, just for this season, until we can

And so they worked together, studying, scheming, ordering plants and seeds, their two heads close together

above the gaily colored catalogues. Later there was the work itself to be done, and though strong men did the

heavier part, there was yet plenty left for Billy's eager fingersand for Bertram's. And if sometimes in the

intimacy of seedsowing and plantsetting, the touch of the slenderer fingers sent a thrill through the

browner ones, Bertram made no sign. He was careful always to be the cheerful, helpful assistantand that

Billy, it is true, was a little disturbed at being quite so much with Bertram. She dreaded a repetition of some

such words as had been uttered at the end of the sleighride. She told herself that she had no right to grieve

Bertram, to make it hard for him by being with him; but at the very next breath, she could but question; did

she grieve him? Was it hard for him to have her with him? Then she would glance at his eager face and meet

his buoyant smileand answer "no." After that, for a time, at least, her fears would be less.

Systematically Billy avoided Cyril these days. She could not forget his promise to make many things clear to

her some day. She thought she knew what he meantthat he would try to convince her (as she had tried to

Billy was very sure that if Cyril could be prevented from speaking his mind just now, his mind would change

Billy's avoidance of Cyril was the more easily accomplished because she was for a time taking a complete

rest from her music. The new songs had 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 third party.

Marie had been firm, however, and had gone, leaving the little house lonely without her.

Aside from her work in the garden Billy as resolutely avoided Bertram as she did Cyril. It was natural,

therefore, that at this crisis she should turn to William with a peculiar feeling of restfulness. He, at least,

would be safe, she told herself. So she frankly welcomed his every appearance, sung to him, played to him,

and took long walks with him to see some wonderful bracelet or necklace that he had discovered in a dingy

William was delighted. He was very fond of his namesake, and he had secretly chafed a little at the way his

younger brothers had monopolized her attention. He was rejoiced now that she seemed to be turning to him

for companionship; and very eagerly he accepted all the time she could give him.

William had, in truth, been growing more and more lonely ever since Billy's brief stay beneath his roof years

before. Those few short weeks of her merry presence had shown him how very forlorn the house was without

it. More and more sorrowfully during past years, his thoughts had gone back to the little white flannel bundle

and to the dear hopes it had carried so long ago. If the boy had only lived, thought William, mournfully, there

would not now have been that dreary silence in his home, and that sore ache in his heart.

Very soon after William had first seen Billy, he began to lay wonderful plans, and in every plan was Billy.

She was not his child by flesh and blood, he acknowledged, but she was his by right of love and needed care.

In fancy he looked straight down the years ahead, and everywhere he saw Billy, a loving, muchloved

To no one had William talked of thisand to no one did he show the bitterness of his grief when he saw his

vision fade into nothingness through Billy's unchanging refusal to live in his home. Only he himself knew the

heartache, the loneliness, the almost unbearable longing of the past winter months while Billy had lived at

Hillside; and only he himself knew now the almost overwhelming joy that was his because of what he

Great as was William's joy, however, his caution was greater. He said nothing to Billy of his new hopes,

though he did try to pave the way by dropping an occasional word about the loneliness of the Beacon Street

house since she went away. There was something else, too, that caused William to be silentwhat he

thought he saw between Billy and Bertram. That Bertram was in love with Billy, he guessed; but that Billy

was not in love with Bertram he very much feared. He hesitated almost to speak or move lest something he

should say or do should, just at the critical moment, turn matters the wrong way. To William this marriage of

Bertram and Billy was an ideal method of solving the problem, as of course Billy would 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 progress

on Bertram's part, no change in Billy, he began to be seriously worriedand to show it.

Early in June Billy announced her intention of not going away at all that summer.

"I don't need it," she declared. "I have this cool, beautiful house, this air, this sunshine, this adorable view.

There was some consternation among Billy's friends when they found out what this "scheme" was: sundry of

Billy's humbler acquaintances were to share 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 that you are going to turn your beautiful

"Not a bit of it," smiled the girl, "though I'd like to, really, if I could," she added, perversely. "But this is quite

another thing. It's no slum work, no charity. In the first place my guests aren't quite so poor as that, and

they're much too proud to be reached by the avowed charity worker. But they need it just the same."

"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 her eyes.

"But who are these people?" Bertram's face had lost its look of shocked surprise, and his voice expressed

"Well, to begin with, there's Marie. She'll stay all summer and help me entertain 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 a little old

maid who keeps a lodging house in the West End. For uncounted years she's been practically tied to a

doorbell, with never a whole day to breathe free. I've made arrangements there for a sister to keep house a

whole week, and I'm going to show this little old maid things she hasn't seen for years: the ocean, the green

"Then there's a little couple that live in a thirdstory flat in South Boston. They're young and like good times;

but the man is on a small salary, and they have had lots of sickness. He's been out so much he can't take any

vacation, and they wouldn't have any money to go anywhere if he could. Well, I'm going to have them a

"Another one is a widow with six children. The children are already provided for by a freshair society, but

the woman I'm going to take, andand give her a whole week of food that she didn't have to cook herself.

Another one is a woman who is not so very poor, but who has lost her baby, and is blue and discouraged.

There are some children, too, one crippled, and a boy who says he's 'just lonesome.' And there arereally,

"I can well believe that," declared Bertram, with emphasis, "so far as your generous heart is concerned."

"But it isn't generosity or charity at all, Bertram," she protested. "You are mistaken when you think it

isreally! Why, I shall enjoy every bit of it just as well as they doand better, perhaps."

"What if I do? Besides, this isn't the real city," argued Billy, "with all these trees and lawns about one. And

another thing," she added, leaning forward confidentially, "I might as well confess, Bertram, you couldn't hire

me to leave the place this summernot while all these things I planted are coming up!"

Bertram laughed; but for some reason he looked wonderfully happy as he turned away.

On the fifteenth of June Kate and her husband arrived from the West. A young brother of Mr. Hartwell's was

to be graduated from Harvard, and Kate said they had come on to represent the family, as the elder Mr. and

Mrs. Hartwell were not strong enough to undertake the journey. Kate was looking well and happy. She

greeted Billy with effusive cordiality, and openly expressed her admiration of Hillside. She looked very

keenly into her brothers' face, and seemed well pleased with the appearance of Cyril and Bertram, but not so

"William does NOT look well," she declared one day when she and Billy were alone together.

"I don't know whether it's 'sick' or not," returned Mrs. Hartwell. "But it's something. He's troubled. I'm going

"I know, but not like thisever. You don't notice it, perhaps, or realize it, seeing him every day as you do.

"Oh, I hope not," murmured Billy, with anxious eyes. "We don't want Uncle William troubled: we all love

Mrs. Hartwell did not at once reply; but for a long minute she thoughtfully studied Billy's face as it was bent

above the sewing in Billy's hand. When she did speak she had changed the subject.

Young Hartwell was to deliver the Ivy Oration in the Stadium on Class Day, and all the Henshaws were

"You have seen the Stadium, of course," said Bertram to Billy, a few days before the anticipated Friday.

"Is that so? And you've never been here Class Day, either. Good! Then you've got a treat in store. Just wait

And Billy waitedand she saw. Billy began to see, in fact, before Class Day. Young Hartwell was a popular

fellow, and he was eager to have his friends meet Billy and the Henshaws. He was a member of the Institute

of 1770, D. K. E., Stylus, Signet, Round Table, and Hasty Pudding Clubs, and nearly every one of these had

some sort of function planned for ClassDay week. By the time the day itself arrived Billy was almost as

It rained ClassDay morning, but at nine o'clock the sun came out and drove the clouds away, much to every

one's delight. Billy's day began at noon with the spread given by the Hasty Pudding Club. Billy wondered

"You've been here Class Day before, of course. You've seen the confettithrowing! . . . No? Well, you just

At ten minutes of four Billy and Mrs. Hartwell, with Mr. Hartwell and Bertram as escorts, entered the cool,

echoing shadows under the Stadium, and then out in the sunlight they began to climb the broad steps to their

"I wanted them high up, you see," explained Bertram, "because you can get the effect so much better. There,

For the first time Billy turned and looked about her. She gave a low cry of delight.

"You just wait!" crowed Bertram. "If you think this is beautiful, you just wait!"

Billy did not seem to hear him. Her eyes were sweeping the wonderful scene before her, and her face was

First there was the great amphitheater itself. Only the wide curve of the horseshoe was roped off for today's

audience. Beyond lay the two sides with their tier above tier of empty seats, almost dazzling in the sunshine.

Within the ropedoff curve the scene was of kaleidoscopic beauty. Charmingly gowned young women and

carefully groomed young men were everywhere, stirring, chatting, laughing. Gaycolored parasols and

flowergarden hats made here and there brilliant splashes of rainbow tints. Above was an almost cloudless

canopy of blue, and at the far horizon, earth and sky met and made a picture that was like a wondrous painted

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 the first male Henshaw for ages that hasn't

been through Harvard; and today, you know, is the time when the old grads come back and do stunts like

the kidsif they can (and some of them can all right!). They march in by classes ahead of the seniors, and

vie with each other in giving their yells. You'll see Cyril and William, if your eyes are sharp enoughand

Far down the green field Billy spied now the long black line of moving figures with a band in the lead.

Nearer and nearer it came until, greeted by a mighty roar from thousands of throats, the leaders swept into the

And how they yelled and cheeredthose men whose first Class Day lay five, ten, fifteen, even twenty or

more years behind them, as told by the banners which they so proudly carried. How they got their heads

together and gave the "Rah! Rah! Rah!" with unswerving eyes on their leader! How they beat the air with

their hats in time to their lusty shouts! And how the throngs above cheered and clapped in answer, until they

almost split their throatsand did split their glovesespecially when the blackgowned seniors swept into

And when the curving line of black had become one solid mass of humanity that filled the bowl from side to

side, the vast throng seated themselves, and a great hush fell while the Glee Club sang.

Young Hartwell proved to be a good speaker, and his ringing voice reached even the topmost tier of seats.

Billy was charmed and interested. Everything she saw and heard was but a new source of enjoyment, and she

had quite forgotten the thing for which she was to "wait," when she saw the ushers passing through the aisles

with their baskets of manyhued packages of confetti and countless rolls of paper ribbon.

It began then, the merry war between the students below and the throng above. In a trice the air was filled

with shimmering bits of red, blue, white, green, purple, pink, and yellow. From all directions fluttering

streamers that showed every color of the rainbow, were flung to the breeze until, upheld by the supporting

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried Billy, her eyes misty with emotion. "I think I never saw anything in my life so lovely!

But even with this, Class Day for Billy was not finished. There was still Hartwell's own spread from six to

eight, and after that there were the President's reception, and dancing in the Memorial Hall and in the

Gymnasium. There was the Fairyland of the yard, too, softly aglow with moving throngs of beautiful women

and gallant men. But what Billy remembered best of all was the exquisite harmony that came to her through

the hushed night air when the Glee Club sang Fair Harvard on the steps of Holworthy Hall.

It was on the Sunday following Class Day that Mrs. Hartwell carried out her determination to "speak to

William." The West had not taken from Kate her love of managing, and she thought she saw now a matter

William's thin face, anxious looks, and nervous manner had troubled her ever since she came. Then one day,

Mrs. Hartwell watched William very closely after that. She saw his eyes follow Billy fondly, yet anxiously.

She saw his open joy at being with her, and at any little attention, word, or look that the girl gave him. She

remembered, too, something that Bertram had said about William's grief because Billy would not live at the

Strata. She thought she saw something else, also: that Billy was fond of William, but that William did not

know it; hence his frequent troubled scrutiny of her face. Why these two should play at cross purposes Sister

Kate could not understand. She smiled, however, confidently: they should not play at cross purposes much

"Certainly," agreed William, with a smile; but Bertram, who chanced to hear her, put in the sly comment: "As

On the drive Kate began to talk at once, but she did not plunge into the subject nearest her heart until she had

adroitly led William into a glowing enumeration of Billy's many charming characteristics; then she said:

"Nonsense! A young girl like that does not know her own mind lots of times. Just press the matter a little.

William blushed like a girl. To him her words had but one meaning Bertram's love for Billy. William had

never spoken of this suspected love affair to any one. He had even thought that he was the only one that had

discovered it. To hear his sister refer thus lightly to it came therefore in the nature of a shock to him.

"'Seen it, too,'" laughed Kate, with her confident eyes on William's flushed face, "I should say I had seen it!

William blushed again. Love to him had always been something sacred; something that called for hushed

voices and twilight. This merry discussion in the sunlight of even another's love was disconcerting.

"Now come, William," resumed Kate, after a moment; "speak to Billy, and have the matter settled once for

"But, Kate, I can't do anything. I told you before; I don't believe Billy isready."

"Then I WILL speak," cried the man, his face alight, "ifif you think anything I can say wouldhelp.

There is nothingnothing in all this world that I so desire, Kate, as to have that little girl back home. And of

"Why, ofcourse," murmured Kate, with a puzzled frown. There was something in this last remark of

William's that she did not quite understand. Surely he could not suppose that she had any idea that after he

had married Billy they would go to live anywhere else; she thought. For a moment she considered the

matter vaguely; then she turned her attention to something else. She was the more ready to do this because

she believed that she had said enough for the present: it was well to sow seeds, but it was also well to let them

Mrs. Hartwell's next move was to speak to Billy, and she was careful to do this at once, so that she might

"Yes; about William. You know I told you the other day how troubled and anxious he looked to me. Well,

"Oh, it's merely another case, my dear, of 'faint heart never won fair lady.' I've been helping on the faint heart;

"No? I can't believe you quite mean that, my dear. Surely you must know how earnestly my brother William

"Mrs. Hartwell, certainly no one could know better than YOURSELF why that is quite impossible," she

"I understand, of course, what you mean. And, Billy, I'll confess that I'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 go away. If I

blundered then, I'm sorry; and perhaps I did blunder. At all events, that is only the more reason now why I am

so anxious to do what I can to rectify that old mistake, and plead William's suit."

"'William's suit'!" she quoted merrily. "Why, Mrs. Hartwell, there isn't any 'suit' to it. Uncle William doesn't

"But I do. I've talked with him, and he's very much in earnest," urged Mrs. Hartwell, speaking very rapidly.

"He says there's nothing in all the world that he so desires. And, Billy, you do care for himI know you do!"

"But, Billy, think!" Mrs. Hartwell was very earnest now, and a little frightened. She felt that she must bring

Billy to terms in some way now that William had been encouraged to put his fate to the test. "Just remember

how good William has always been to you, and think what you have been, and may BEif you only

willin his lonely life. Think of his 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 turn away from that dear, good man who loves you so!" Mrs. Hartwell's voice

shook effectively, and even her eyes looked through tears. Mentally she was congratulating herself: she had

In the chair opposite the girl sat very still. She was pale, and her eyes showed a frightened questioning in

their depths. For a long minute she said nothing, then she rose dazedly to her feet.

"Mrs. Hartwell, please do not speak of this to any one," she begged in a low voice. "II am taken quite by

Billy did not sleep well that night. Always before her eyes was the vision 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 years between. Think how now his heart has turned

For a time Billy tossed about on her bed trying to close her eyes to the vision and her ears to the echo. Then,

finding that neither was possible, 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 nowwhat

must she do; what could she do? She loved no oneof that she was very sure. She was even beginning to

think 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 of giving up her career, her independence,

and in that way bring this great joy 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" Williamif 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; and there would be Cyril and Bertram. It might be awkward, and yetshe did not

believe Cyril was in love with anything but his music; and as to Bertramit was the same with Bertram and

his painting, and he would soon forget that he had ever fancied he loved her. After that he would be simply a

congenial friend and companiona good comrade. As Billy thought of it, indeed, one of the pleasantest

features of this marriage with William would be the delightful comradeship of her "brother," Bertram.

Billy dwelt then at some length on William's love for her, his longing for her presence, and his dreary years

of loneliness. . . . And he was so good to her, she recollected; he had always been good to her. He was older,

to be suremuch older than she; but, after all, it would not be so difficult, so very difficult, to learn to love

him. At all events, whatever happened, she would have the supreme satisfaction of knowing that at least she

had brought into dear Unclethat is, into William's life the great peace and joy that only she could give.

It was almost dawn when Billy arrived at this not uncheerful state of prospective martyrdom. She turned over

then with a sigh, and settled herself 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

In spite of his sister's confident assurance that the time was ripe for him to speak to Billy, William delayed

some days before broaching the matter to her. His courage was not so good as it had been when he was

talking with Kate. It seemed now, as it always had, a fearsome thing to try to hasten on this love affair

between Billy and Bertram. He could not see, in spite of Kate's words, that Billy showed unmistakable

evidence at all of being in love with his brother. The more he thought of it, in fact, the more he dreaded the

What should he say, he asked himself. How could he word it? He could not very well accost her with: "Oh,

Billy, I wish you'd please hurry up and marry Bertram, because then you'd come and live with me." Neither

could he plead Bertram's cause directly. Quite probably Bertram would prefer to plead his own. Then, too, if

Billy really was not in love with Bertramwhat then? Might not his own untimely haste in the matter

It was, indeed, a delicate matter, and as William pondered it he wished himself well out of it, and that Kate

had not spoken. But even as he formed the wish, William remembered with a thrill Kate's positive assertion

that a word from him would do wonders, and that now was the time to utter it. He decided then that he would

speak; that he must speak; but that at the same time he would proceed with a caution that would permit a

hasty retreat if he saw that his words were not having the desired effect. He would begin with a frank

confession of his grief at her leaving him, and of his longing for her return; then very gradually, if wisdom

counseled it, he would go on to speak of Bertram's love for her, and of his own hope that she would make

Mrs. Hartwell had returned to her Western home before William found just the opportunity for his talk with

Billy. True to his belief that only hushed voices and twilight were fitting for such a subject, he waited until he

found the girl early one evening alone on her vineshaded veranda. He noticed that as he seated himself at

her side she flushed a little 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 sudden courage, 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

"Why, ofof course," stammered the girl, falling back in her seat. And again William noticed that odd

For a time no one spoke, then William began softly, his eyes on the distant skyline still faintly aglow with

"Billy, I want to tell you a story. Long years ago there was a man who had a happy home with a young wife

and a tiny baby boy in it. I could not 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 to become. But the babywent away, after a

time, and carried with him all the plansand he never came back. Behind him he left empty hearts that

ached, and great bare rooms that seemed always to be echoing sighs and sobs. And then, one day, such a few

years after, the young wife went to find her baby, and left the man all alone with the heart that ached and the

"Perhaps it was thisthe bareness of the roomsthat made the man turn to his boyish passion for collecting

things. He wanted to fill those rooms full, full!so that the sighs and sobs could not be heard; and he wanted

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 up in brave array, but his rooms still echoed, and his heart still ached; so he built

more shelves and bought more cabinets, and set himself to filling them, hoping at the same time that he might

fill all that dreary waste of hours outside of businesshours which once had been all too short to devote to

"One by one the years passed, and one by one the shelves and the cabinets were filled. The man fancied,

sometimes, that he had succeeded; but in his heart of hearts he knew that the ache was merely dulled, and that

darkness had only to come to set the rooms once more to echoing the sighs and sobs. And thenbut perhaps

"But the saddest part is doneI hope," said William, softly. "Let me tell you. A wonderful thing happened

then. Suddenly, right out of a dull gray sky of hopelessness, dropped a little browneyed girl and a little gray

cat. All over the house they frolicked, filling every nook and cranny with laughter and light and happiness.

And then, like magic, the man lost the ache in his heart, and the rooms lost their echoing sighs and sobs. The

man knew, then, that never again could he hope to fill his heart and life with senseless things of clay and

metal. He knew that the one thing he wanted always near him was the little browneyed girl; and he hoped

that he could keep her. But just as he was beginning to bask in this new lightit went out. As suddenly as

they had come, the little browneyed 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 the rooms were more gloomy than ever. And now,

Billy,"William's voice shook a little"it is for you to finish the story. It is for you to say whether that

man's heart shall ache on and on down to a lonely old age, and whether those rooms shall always echo the

"And I will finish it," choked Billy, holding out both her hands. "It sha'n't achethey sha'n't echo!"

"Yes, yes! I didn't knowI didn't think. I never supposed it was like that! Of course I'll come!" And in a

"Billy!" breathed William rapturously, as he touched his lips to her forehead. "My own little Billy!"

It was a few minutes later, when Billy was more calm, that William started to speak of Bertram. For a

moment he had been tempted not to mention his brother, now that his own point had been won so

surprisingly quick; but the new softness in Billy's face had encouraged him, and he did not like to let the

occasion pass when a word from him might do so much for Bertram. His lips parted, but no words

"I'm sure I don't know why I'm crying," she stammered, dabbing her eyes with her round moist ball of a

handerchief. "I hope when I'm your wife I'll learn to be more selfcontrolled. But you know I am young, and

As once before at something Billy said, the world to William went suddenly mad. His head swam dizzily, and

his throat tightened so that he could scarcely breathe. By sheer force of will he kept his arm about Billy's

shoulder, and he prayed that she might not know how numb and cold it had grown. Even then he thought he

"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 you that I am young, and that you'll have to be patient."

William stammered somethinga hurried something; he wondered afterward what it was. That it must have

been satisfactory to Billy was evident, for she began laughingly to talk again. What she said, William

scarcely knew, though he was conscious of making an occasional vague reply. He was still floundering in a

hopeless sea of confusion and dismay. His own desire was to get up and say good night at once. He wanted to

be alone to think. He realized, however, with sickening force, that men do not propose and run awayif they

are accepted. And he was accepted; he realized that, too, overwhelmingly. Then he tried to think how it had

happened, what he had said; how she could so have misunderstood his meaning. This line of thought he

abandoned quickly, however; it could do no good. But what could do good, he asked himself. What could he

With blinding force came the answer: he could do nothing. Billy cared for him. Billy had said "yes." Billy

expected to be his wife. As if he could say to her now: "I beg your pardon, but 'twas all a mistake. _I_ did not

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 loved Billy dearly, and that he would try to make her happy. He winced a little at

this thought, for he remembered suddenly how old he wasas if he, at his age, were a fit match for a girl of

And then he looked at Billy. The girl was plainly nervous. There was a deep flush on her cheeks and a

brilliant sparkle in her eyes. She was talking rapidlyalmost incoherently at timesand her voice was

tremulous. Frequent little embarrassed laughs punctuated her sentences, and her fingers toyed with everything

that came within reach. Some time before 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's side, but had seated herself in a chair

near by. All of which, according to William's eyes, meant the maidenly shyness of a girl who has just said

William went home that night in a daze. To himself he said that he had gone out in search of a daughter, and

It was decided that for the present, the engagement should not be known outside the family. The wedding

would not take place immediately, William said, and it was just as well to keep the matter to themselves until

The members of the family were told at once. Aunt Hannah said "Oh, my grief and conscience!" three times,

and made matters scarcely better by adding apologetically: "Oh, of course it's all right, it's all right, only"

She did not finish her sentence, and William, who had told her the news, did not know whether he would

Cyril received the information moodily, and lapsed at once into a fit of abstraction from which he roused

Billy was a little puzzled at Cyril's behavior. She had been sure for some time that Cyril had ceased to care

specially for her, even if he ever did fancy that he loved her. She had hoped to keep him for a friend, but of

late she had been forced to question even his friendliness. He had, in fact, gone back almost to his old reserve

From the West, in response to William's news of the engagement, came a cordially pleased note in Kate's

scrawling handwriting. Kate, indeed, seemed to be the only member of the family who was genuinely

delighted with the coming marriage. As to Bertram Bertram appeared to have aged years in a single night,

so drawn and white was his face the morning after William had told him his plans.

William had dreaded most of all to tell Bertram. He was very sure that Bertram himself cared for Billy; and it

was doubly hard because in William's own mind was a strong conviction that the younger man was decidedly

the one for her. Realizing, however, that Bertram must be told, William chose a time for the telling when

Bertram was smoking in his den in the twilight, with his face half hidden from sight.

Bertram said littlevery little, that night; but in the morning he went straight to Billy.

Billy was shocked. She had never seen the smiling, selfreliant, debonair Bertram like this.

"Billy, is this true?" he demanded. The dull misery in his voice told Billy that he knew the answer before he

"Why, justjust sensibly. You know I told you thatthat the other never could benever."

"I know you did, Billy. I'm a fool, of course, to think that I could everchange it. I shouldn't have come

here, either, this morning. But Ihad to. Goodby!" His face, as he held out his hand, was tragic with

"Why, Bertram, you aren't goingnowlike this!" cried the girl. "You've just come!"

"And do you think I can staylike this? Billy, won't you say goodby?" he asked in a softer voice, again

"No, not like that. You are angry with me," she grieved. "Besides, you make it sound as ifif you were

"Billy, why are you making this thing so hard for me?" he asked in despair. "Can't you see that I must go?"

"Indeed, I can't. And you mustn't go, either. There isn't any reason why you should," urged Billy, talking very

fast, and working her fingers nervously. "Things are just the same as they were beforefor you. I'm just

going to marry William, but I wasn't ever going to marry you, so that doesn't change things any for you. Don't

you see? Why, Bertram, you mustn'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 and me. Bertram, you mustn't go; don't you see?

Bertram looked up quickly. An odd change had come to his face. For a moment he gazed silently into Billy's

"Billy, did you think that after you and William were married I should still continue to live atthe Strata?"

"Why, of course you will!" cried the girl, indignantly. "Why, Bertram, you'll be my brother thenmy real

brother; and one of the very chiefest things I'm anticipating when I go there to live is the good times you and

Bertram drew in his breath audibly, and caught his lower lip between his teeth. With an abrupt movement he

turned his back and walked to the 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 in the chair facing Billy. His countenance

was grave and his eyes were a little troubled; but the haggard look of misery was quite gone.

"Billy," he began gently, "you must forgive my saying this, but are you quite sure youlove William?"

"Of course you dowe all love William. William is, in fact, a most lovable man. But William's wife should,

"And she will, certainly," retorted the girl, with a quick lifting of her chin. "Bertram, I don't think you have

"And I won't make them any more," replied Bertram, gravely. "I just wanted you to make sure that

"I shall make sure, and I shall know," said Billy, firmlyso firmly that it sounded almost as if she were

"Indeed I do! Besides,don't you remember?there are all my people to be entertained. They must be

taken to places, and given motor rides and picnics. You told me last week that you'd love to help me; but, of

"But I do want to," cried Bertram, heartily, a gleam of the old cheerfulness springing to his eyes. "I'm dying

The girl looked up with quick distrust. For a moment she eyed him with bent brows. To her mind he had gone

back to his old airy, hopeful lightheartedness. He was once more "only Bertram." She hesitated, then said

"Bertram, you know I want you, and you must know that I'm delighted to have you drop this silly notion of

going away. But if this quick change means that you are staying with any idea thatthat _I_ shall change,

thenthen you must go. But if you will stay as WILLIAM'S BROTHER thenI'll be more than glad to

"I'll stayas William's brother," agreed Bertram; and Billy did not notice the quick indrawing of his breath

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 she was proving to be of invaluable aid in entertaining Billy's guests. The

overworked widow and the little lodginghouse keeper from the West End were enjoying Billy's hospitality

now; and just to look at their beaming countenances was an inspiration, Billy said.

Cyril had gone abroad. Aunt Hannah was spending a week at the North Shore with friends. Bertram, true to

his promise, was playing the gallant to Billy's guests; and so assiduous was he in his attentions that Billy at

"No, no! They love it, of course. You must know that. Nobody else could give such beautiful times as you've

given us. But it's yourself I'm thinking of. You're giving up all your time. Besides, I didn't mean to keep you

"But I'm having a vacation here, doing this," laughed Bertram. "I'm sure I'm getting sea air down to the

beaches and mountain air out to the Blue Hills. And as for excitementif you can find anything more wildly

exciting than it was yesterday when Miss Marie and I took the widow and the spinster lady on the

"They told me about itMarie in particular. She said you were lovely to them, and let them do every single

thing they wanted to; and that half an hour after they got there they were like two children let out of school.

Dear me, I wish I'd gone. I never stay at home that I don't miss something," she finished regretfully.

"If it's Rollercoasters and Chutethechutes that you want, I fancy you'll get enough before the week is

out," he sighed laughingly. "They said they'd like to go there tomorrow, please, when I asked them what we

should do next. What surprises me is that they like such thingssuch hairraising things. When I first saw

them, blackgowned and stiffbacked, sitting in your little room here, I thought I should never dare offer

them anything more wildly exciting than a church service or a lecture on psychology, with perhaps a band

concert hinted at, provided the band could be properly instructed beforehand as to tempo and selections. But

nowreally, Billy, why do you suppose they have taken such a fancy to these kiddish stuntsthose two

"I don't know unless it's because all their lives they've been tied to such dead monotony that just the

exhilaration of motion is bliss to them. But you won't always have to risk your neck and your temper in this

fashion, Bertram. Next week my little couple from South Boston comes. She adores pictures and stuffed

animals. You'll have to do the museums with her. Then there's little crippled Tommyhe'll be perfectly

contented if you'll put him down where he can hear the band play. And all you'll have to do when that one

stops is to pilot him to the next one. This IS good of you, Bertram, and I do thank you for it," finished Billy,

Billy told herself these days that she was very happyvery happy indeed. Was she not engaged to a good

man, and did she not also have it in 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 to convince herself that she was so, did not occur

Not long after Marie arrived, Billy told her of the engagement. William was at the house very frequently, and

owing to the intimacy of Marie's relationship with the family Billy decided to tell her how matters stood.

Marie's reception of the news was somewhat surprising. First she looked frightened.

"Ohh!" breathed Marie, with an odd intonation of relief. "Then I'm gladso glad! And I hope you'll be

Billy looked into Marie's glowing face and was pleased: there seemed to be so few, so very few faces into

Billy saw a great deal of William now. He was always kind and considerate, and he tried to help her entertain

her guests; but Billy, grateful as she was to him for his efforts, was relieved when he resigned his place to

Bertram. Bertram did, indeed, know so much better how to do it. William tried to help her, too, about training

her vines and rosebushes; but of course, even in this, he could not be expected to show quite the interest that

Bertram manifested in every green shoot and opening bud, for he had not helped her plant them, as Bertram

Billy was a little troubled sometimes, that she did not feel more at ease with William. She thought it natural

that she should feel a little diffident 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 of himyet she was. She owned that to herself

unhappily. And he was so good!she owned that, too. He seemed not to have a thought in the world but for

her comfort and happiness; and there was no end to the tactful little things he was always doing for her

pleasure. He seemed, also, to have divined that she did not like to be kissed and caressed; and only

occasionally did he kiss her, and then it was merely a sort of fatherly salute on her foreheadfor 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 was selfconsciousness that caused all the

trouble. With William she was selfconscious. If she could only forget that she was some day to be William's

wife, the old delightful comradeship would return, and she would be at ease again with him. In time, after she

had become accustomed to the idea of marriage, it would not so confuse her, of course. She loved him dearly,

and she wanted to make him happy; but for the presentjust while she was "getting used to things"she

Billy was happier now. She was always happier after she had thought things out to her own satisfaction. She

turned with new zest to the entertainment of her guests; and with Bertram she planned many delightful trips

for their pleasure. Bertram was a great comfort to her these days. Never, in word or look, could she see that

Billy went back to her music, too. A new melody was running through her head, and she longed to put it on

paper. Already her first little "Group of Songs" had found friends, and Billy, to a very modest extent, was

Of all Billy's guests, Marie was very plainly the happiest. She was a permanent guest, it is true, while the

others came for only a week or two at a time; but it was not this, Billy decided, that had brought so brilliant a

sparkle to Marie's eyes, so joyous a laugh to her lips. The joyousness was all the more noticeable, because

heretofore Marie, while very sweet, had been also sad. Her big blue eyes had always carried a haunting

shadow, and her step had lacked the spring belonging to youth and happiness. Certainly, Billy had never seen

"Verily, Marie," she teased one day, "have you found an exhaustless supply of stockings to mend, or a

"Oh, nothing. I was only wondering just what had brought that new light to your eyes."

"It must be because I'm so happy, then," sighed Marie; "because you're so good to me."

"It's nothingreally, it's nothing," protested Marie, hurrying out of the room with a nervous laugh.

Billy frowned. She was suspicious before; she was sure now. In less than twelve hours' time came her

The little music teacher flushed very red, but she managed to display something that might pass for surprise.

"Yes. I mean, no," corrected Marie, suddenly beginning to realize what she was saying. "Really, it wasn't

"Hmm," murmured Billy, archly. "Oh, I'm getting on some! He did show, once, that he cared; but you

thought it was another girl, and you coldly looked the other way. Now, there ISN'T any other girl, you find,

Marie shook her head emphatically, and pulled herself gently away from Billy's grasp.

"No, no, please!" she begged. "It really isn't anything. I'm sure I'm imagining it all!" she cried, as she ran

During the days that followed, Billy speculated not a little on Marie's halftold story, and wondered

interestedly who the man might be. She questioned Marie once again, but the girl would tell nothing more;

and, indeed, Billy was so occupied with her own perplexities that she had little time for those of other people.

To herself Billy was forced to own that she was not "getting used to things." She was still selfconscious

with William; she could not forget that she was one day to be his wife. She could not bring back the dear old

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 idea of marrying William? How could she marry him if he was still "Uncle

William," and never her dear lover in her eyes? Why had she not been wise enough and brave enough to tell

him in the first place that she was not at all sure that she loved him, but that she would try to do so? Then

when she had triedas she had nowand failed, she could have told him honestly the truth, and it would

not have been so great a shock to him as it must be now, if she should tell him.

Billy had remorsefully come to the conclusion that she could never love any man well enough to marry him,

when one day so small a thing as a piece of paper fluttered into her vision, and showed her the fallacy of that

It was a halfsheet of note paper, and it blew from Marie's balcony to the lawn below. Billy found it there

later, and as she picked it up her eyes fell on a single name in Marie's handwriting inscribed half a dozen

times as if the writer had musingly accompanied her thoughts with her pen; and the name was, "Marie

For a moment Billy stared at the name perplexedlythen in a flash came the remembrance of Marie's words;

Billy dropped the paper then and fled. In her own room, behind locked doors, she sat down to think.

Bertram! It was he for whom Marie caredHER Bertram! And then it came to Billy with staggering force

that he was not HER Bertram at all. He never could be her Bertram now. He wasMarie's.

Billy was frightened then, so fierce was this strange new something that rose within herthis overpowering

something that seemed to blot out all the world, and leave onlyBertram. She knew then, that it had always

been Bertram to whom she had turned, though she had been blind to the cause of that turning. Always her

plans had included him. Always she had been the happiest in his presence; never had she pictured him

anywhere else but at her side. Certainly never had she pictured him as the devoted lover of another woman! . .

Very resolutely now Billy set herself to looking matters squarely in the face. She understood it quite well. All

summer Marie and Bertram had been thrown together. No wonder Marie had fallen in love with Bertram, and

that heBilly thought she comprehended now why Bertram had found it so 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.

With an aching heart Billy asked herself what now was to be done. For herself, turn whichever way she

could, she could see nothing but unhappiness. She determined, therefore, with Spartan fortitude, that to no

one else would she bring equal unhappiness. She would be silent. Bertram and Marie loved each other. That

matter was settled. As to WilliamBilly thought of the story William had told her of his lonely life,of the

plea he had made to her; and her heart ached. Whatever happened, William must be made happy. William

Before September passed all Billy's friends said that her summer's selfappointed task had been too hard for

her. In no other way could they account for the sad change that had come to her.

Undeniably Billy looked really ill. Always slender, she was shadowlike now. Her eyes had found again the

wistful appeal of her girlhood, only now they carried something that was almost fear, as well. The roseflush

had gone from her cheeks, and pathetic little hollows had appeared, making the round young chin below look

Late in September William went West on business. Incidentally he called to see his sister, Kate.

"Well, and how is everybody?" asked Kate, cheerily, after the greetings were over.

"Well, 'everybody,' to me, Kate, is pretty badly off. We're worried about Billy."

"Billy! You don't mean she's sick? Why, she's always been the picture of health!"

"Of course; two or three of themthough much against Billy's will. Butthey didn't help us."

"They could find nothing except perhaps a little temporary stomach trouble, or something of that kind, which

"Why, they said it seemed like nervousness, or as if something was troubling her. They asked if she weren't

"Not that I know of. Anyhow, if there is anything, none of us can find out what it is."

"William," she began hesitatingly, "forgive me, butBilly is quite happy inher engagement, I suppose."

"I've thought of that, of course. In fact, it was the first thing I did think of. I even began to watch her rather

"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, and she asked me in a frightened little voice if she had done anything to displease

me, anything to make me unhappy; and she seemed so anxious and grieved and dismayed that I should even

"She hasn't been anywhere. Didn't I write you? She's kept open house for a lot of her less fortunate

friendsa sort of vacation home, you know; andand I must say she's given them a world of happiness,

"It didn't seem to be. She appeared to enjoy it immensely, particularly at first. Of course she had plenty of

help, and that wonderful little Miss Hawthorn has been a host in herself. They're all gone now, anyway,

"Perhapsto a certain extent. Though not much, after all. You see Bertram, too, has given up his summer to

them, and has been playing the devoted 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 schemed to take all the care from Billy, and they have

"I don't know. She's done lots for me, in all sorts of ways cataloguing my curios, you know, and going

with me to hunt up things. In fact, she seems the happiest when she IS doing something for me. It's come to

be a sort of mania with her, I'm afraidto do something for me. Kate, I'm really worried. What do you

"I can't imagine," she began slowly. "Of course, when I told her you loved her and"

"When you told her whaat?" exploded the usually lowvoiced William, with sudden sharpness.

"Told her that I loved her!" he cried, aghast. "Good heavens, Kate, do you mean to say that YOU told her

"Why, William Henshaw, what a question! I got it from yourself, of course," defended Kate.

"Certainly; on that drive when I was East in June," returned Kate, with dignity. "YOU evidently have

forgotten it, but I have not. You told me very frankly how much you thought of her, and how you longed to

have her back there with you, but that she didn't seem to be ready to come. I was sorry for you, and I wanted

to do something to help, particularly as it might have been my fault, partly, that she went away, in the first

"Why, nothing, only that II told her a little of howhow upsetting her arrival had been to everything, and

of how much you had done for her, and put yourself out. I said it so she'd appreciate things, of course, but she

took it quite differently from what I had intended she should take it, and seemed quite cut up about it. Then

William bit his lip, but he did not speak. Kate was plunging on feverishly, and in the face of the greater

"And so that's why I was particularly anxious to bring things around right again," continued Kate. "And that's

why I spoke. I thought I'd seen how things were, and on the drive I said so. Then is when I advised you to

speak to Billy; but you declared that Billy wasn't ready, and that you couldn't make a girl marry against her

A great light of understanding broke over William's face. He started to speak, but something evidently stayed

the words on his lips. With controlled deliberation he turned and sat down. Then he said:

"Why, I didn't do so very much. I just tried to help, that's all. After I 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 just wanted to

tell her how very much it was to you, and so sort of pave the way. And now comes the part that I started to

tell you a little while ago when you caught me up so sharply. I was going to say that when I told 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 a chance to help and make it plain to her how you did love her, so that when you spoke

everything would be all right. There, that's all. You see I didn't do so very much."

"I'm goingtoBilly," retorted William with slow distinctness. "And I'm going to try to get

therebeforeyouCAN!" And with this extraordinary shotfor Williamhe left the house.

William went to Billy as fast as steam could carry him. He found her in her little drawingroom listlessly

watching with Aunt Hannah the game of chess that Bertram and Marie were playing.

"Billy, you poor, dear child, come here," he said abruptly, as soon as the excitement of his unexpected arrival

had passed. "I want to talk to you." And he led the way to the veranda which he knew would be silent and

"To talk tome?" murmured Billy, as she wonderingly came to his side, a startled questioning in her wide

"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 goodby." His eyes as they

looked down at her, were moist and very tender. His lips trembled a little, but they smiled, and there was a

Billy, too, was smiling, though wistfully. The frightened questioning had gone from her eyes, leaving only

"Very sure, little girl; and it's the first time it has been right for weeks. Billy, that was very dear of you, and I

love you for it; but think how nearhow perilously near you came to lifelong misery!"

"No, oh, no," laughed Billy, softly; and to her face came a happy look of relief as she finished: "And I'll be so

For some minutes after the man had gone, Billy stood by the steps where he had left her. She was still there

"Billy, I saw William go by the window, so I knew you were alone. May I speak to you?"

"The game is finished; besidesBilly, why are you always asking me lately where Marie is, as if I were her

"Why, nothing, Bertram," smiled Billy, a little wearily; "only that you were playing together a few minutes

"'A few minutes ago'!" echoed Bertram with sudden bitterness. "Evidently the time passed swiftly with you,

"Yes, I know. I've no business to say that, of course," sighed the man; "but, Billy, that's why I came

outbecause I must speak to you this once. Won't you come and sit down, please?" he implored

"Why, Bertram," murmured Billy again, faintly, as she turned toward the vineshaded corner and sat down.

"Billy," began the man, in a sternly controlled voice, "please let me speak 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 this much due to

methat 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 I should. I'm not the only one that thinks so, either. Marie does, too."

"Yes. I talked it all over with her. She's known for a long time how it's been with me; how I caredfor you."

"Yes. Surely you don't mind Marie's knowing," went on Bertram, dejectedly. "And she's been so good to me,

Bertram was not looking at Billy now. If he had been he would have seen the incredulous joy come into her

"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 talked with you of William, that you didn't know your own heart; that you didn't

really care for him. I was even fool enough to think thatthat it would be I to whom you'd turnsome day.

And so I stayed. But I stayed honorably, Billy! YOU know that! You know that I haven't once

forgottennot once, that I was only William's brother. I promised you I'd be thatand I have been; haven't

"But, Billy, I can't do it any longer. I've got to ask for my promise back, and then, of course, I can't stay."

"Billy," he cried, standing tall and straight before her, "Billy, I love every touch of your hand, every glance of

your eye, every word that falls from your lips. Do you think I can staynow? I want my promise back!

"But you don't have to have it backthat is, you don't have to have it at all," stammered Billy, flushing

"Don't you see? II HAVE turned," she faltered breathlessly, holding out both her hands.

Even then, in spite of the great light that leaped to his eyes, Bertram advanced only a single step.

"It WAS a mistake, just as you thought. We know nowboth of us. We don't either of us care for the

otherthat way. AndBertram, I think it HAS been youall the time, only I didn't know!"

"Billy, Billy!" choked Bertram in a voice shaken with emotion. He opened his arms then, wideand Billy

It was two days after Billy's new happiness had come to her that Cyril came home. He went very soon to see

The girl was surprised at the change in his appearance. He had grown thin and haggard looking, and his eyes

were somber. He moved restlessly about the room for a time, finally seating himself at the piano and letting

his fingers slip from one mournful little melody to another. Then, with a discordant crash, he turned.

"There, now, please don't begin that," he begged fretfully. "I realize, of course, that I'm a very unlikely

"Oh, I came to you for a little encouragement, and to make a confession," he said. "I made the

Billy changed color. She thought she knew what he meant, but at the same time she couldn't understand why

"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 that then I'd found a certain other young woman who hadwell, who had

"Oh!" cried Billy suddenly, with a peculiar intonation. "Ohh!" Then she laughed softly.

"Well, that was the confession," resumed Cyril. "Then I came out flatfooted and said that I wanted to marry

"No, you weren't," agreed Cyril, moodily. "I didn't know but now" his voice softened a little"with this

new happiness of yours and Bertram's thatyou might find a little encouragement for me."

"I didlast winter," reproached the man, "and you were sure I was deceiving myself. You drew the

"Yes. You said she'd always be talking and laughing when I wanted to be quiet, and that she'd want to drag

me out to parties and plays when I wanted to stay at home; andoh, lots of things. I tried to make it clear to

you thatthat this little woman wasn't that sort. But I couldn't," finished Cyril, gloomily.

"But of course she isn't," declared Billy, with quick sympathy. "II didn't knowWHATI wastalking

about," she added with emphatic distinctness. Then she smiled to think how little Cyril knew how very true

those words were. "Tell me about her," she begged again. "I know she must be very lovely and brilliant, and

To her surprise Cyril turned abruptly and began to play again. A nervous little staccato scherzo fell from his

fingers, but it dropped almost at once into a quieter melody, and ended with something that sounded very

much like the last strain of "Home, Sweet Home." Then he wheeled about on the piano stool.

"Billy, that's exactly where you're wrongI DON'T want that kind of wife. I don't want a brilliant one,

andnow, Billy, this sounds like horrible heresy, I know, but it's trueI don't care whether she can play, or

"Why, Cyril Henshaw!and you, with your music! As if you could be contented with a woman like that!"

"Oh, I want her to like music, of course," modified Cyril; "but I don't care 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 and a 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 should say you were," laughed Billy. "And have you found her? this little woman who is to do nothing

"Yes, I've found her, but I'm not at all sure she's found me. That's where I want your help. Oh, I don't mean,

of course," he added, "that she's got to sit under that lamp all the time. It's only thatthat I hope she likes

"Yes; that is, I think she does," smiled Cyril. "Anyhow, she told me once thatthat the things she liked best

Billy sprang to her feet with a little cry. Now, indeed, had Cyril kept his promise and made "many things

"Cyril, come here," she cried tremulously, leading the way to the open veranda door. The next moment Cyril

was looking across the lawn to the little summerhouse in the midst of Billy's rose garden. In full view within

"Go, Cyril; she's waiting for you," smiled Billy, mistily. "The light's only the sun, to be sure, and maybe there

"Yes, I'm sure she does," nodded Billy. And then she added under her breath as the man passed swiftly down

the steps: "'Marie Henshaw' indeed! So 'twas Cyril all the timeand never Bertram who was the

"I spoke, dear, but you didn't hear," he said, as he hurried forward with outstretched hands.

"Bertram," greeted Billy, with surprising irrelevance, "'and they all lived happily ever after'they DID! Isn't