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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:20:51 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3266-0.txt b/3266-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7823d4c --- /dev/null +++ b/3266-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7780 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy, by Eleanor H. Porter + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Miss Billy + +Author: Eleanor H. Porter + +Release Date: June 3, 2006 [EBook #3266] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson + + + + + +MISS BILLY + + +by Eleanor H. Porter + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + +I. BILLY WRITES A LETTER + +II. “THE STRATA” + +III. THE STRATA--WHEN THE LETTER COMES + +IV. BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM + +V. GETTING READY FOR BILLY + +VI. THE COMING OF BILLY + +VII. INTRODUCING SPUNK + +VIII. THE ROOM--AND BILLY + +IX. A FAMILY CONCLAVE + +X. AUNT HANNAH + +XI. BERTRAM HAS VISITORS + +XII. CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN + +XIII. A SURPRISE ALL AROUND + +XIV. AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND + +XV. WHAT BERTRAM CALLS “THE LIMIT” + +XVI. KATE TAKES A HAND + +XVII. A PINK-RIBBON TRAIL + +XVIII. BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER + +XIX. SEEING BILLY OFF + +XX. BILLY, THE MYTH + +XXI. BILLY, THE REALITY + +XXII. HUGH CALDERWELL + +XXIII. BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING + +XXIV. CYRIL, THE ENIGMA + +XXV. THE OLD ROOM--AND BILLY + +XXVI. “MUSIC HATH CHARMS” + +XXVII. MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS + +XXVIII. “I'M GOING TO WIN” + +XXIX. “I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY” + +XXX. MARIE FINDS A FRIEND + +XXXI. THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE + +XXXII. CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY + +XXXIII. WILLIAM IS WORRIED + +XXXIV. CLASS DAY + +XXXV. SISTER KATE AGAIN + +XXXVI. WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE + +XXXVII. “WILLIAM'S BROTHER” + +XXXVIII. THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO + +XXXIX. A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER + +XL. WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT + +XLI. THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT + +XLII. THE “END OF THE STORY” + + + + +MISS BILLY + + + +CHAPTER I + +BILLY WRITES A LETTER + + + +Billy Neilson was eighteen years old when the aunt, who had brought her +up from babyhood, died. Miss Benton's death left Billy quite alone +in the world--alone, 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 loneliness two days +after the funeral. + +“You see, Mr. Harding, there isn't any one--not any one who--cares,” she +choked. + +“Tut, tut, my child, it's not so bad as that, surely,” remonstrated the +old man, gently. “Why, I--I care.” + +Billy smiled through tear-wet eyes. + +“But I can't LIVE with you,” she said. + +“I'm not so sure of that, either,” retorted the man. “I'm thinking that +Letty and Ann would LIKE to have you with us.” + +The girl laughed now outright. She was thinking of Miss Letty, who had +“nerves,” and of Miss Ann, who had a “heart”; and she pictured her own +young, breezy, healthy self attempting to conform to the hushed and +shaded thing that life was, within Lawyer Harding's home. + +“Thank you, but I'm sure they wouldn't,” she objected. “You don't know +how noisy I am.” + +The lawyer stirred restlessly and pondered. + +“But, surely, my dear, isn't there some relative, somewhere?” he +demanded. “How about your mother's people?” + +Billy shook her head. Her eyes filled again with tears. + +“There was only Aunt Ella, ever, that I knew anything about. She and +mother were the only children there were, and mother died when I was a +year old, you know.” + +“But your father's people?” + +“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 now--no one.” + +“And you know nothing of your father's people?” + +“Nothing; that is--almost nothing.” + +“Then there is some one?” + +Billy smiled. A deeper pink showed in her cheeks. + +“Why, there's one--a man but he isn't really father's people, anyway. +But I--I have been tempted to write to him.” + +“Who is he?” + +“The one I'm named for. He was father's boyhood chum. You see that's 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 broken-hearted 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 so--'Billy' +I am to-day.” + +“Do you know this man?” + +“No. You see father died, and mother and Aunt Ella knew him only very +slightly. Mother knew his wife, though, Aunt Ella said, and SHE was +lovely.” + +“Hm--; well, we might look them up, perhaps. You know his address?” + +“Oh, yes unless he's moved. We've always kept that. Aunt Ella used to +say sometimes that she was going to write to him some day about me, you +know.” + +“What's his name?” + +“William Henshaw. He lives in Boston.” + +Lawyer Harding snatched off his glasses, and leaned forward in his +chair. + +“William Henshaw! Not the Beacon Street Henshaws!” he cried. + +It was Billy's turn to be excited. She, too, leaned forward eagerly. + +“Oh, do you know him? That's lovely! And his address IS Beacon Street! I +know because I saw it only to-day. You see, I HAVE been tempted to write +him.” + +“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 forgotten their names.” + +“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. I--I'll telephone up to the +house.” And he rose stiffly and went into the inner office. + +Some minutes passed before he came back, red of face, and plainly +distressed. + +“My dear child, I--I'm sorry, but--but I'll have to take back that +invitation,” he blurted out miserably. “My sisters are--are not well +this afternoon. Ann has been having a turn with her heart--you know +Ann's heart is--is bad; and Letty--Letty is always nervous at such +times--very nervous. Er--I'm so sorry! But you'll--excuse it?” + +“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. +Harding!” + +“Eh? Well--er, I think your plan about the Henshaws is very good,” + he interposed hurriedly. “I'll speak to Ned--I'll speak to Ned,” 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 write--but not so soon as Billy wrote; for even as he spoke, +Billy, in her lonely little room at the other end of the town, was +laying bare all her homesickness in four long pages to “Dear Uncle +William.” + + + +CHAPTER II + +“THE STRATA” + + +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 twenty-four years +of life it had been like this--“It's only Bertram,” had been at once the +curse and the salvation of his existence. + +In this particular case, however, Bertram's vagary of fancy had some +excuse. The Beacon Street house, the home of the three brothers, was a +“Strata.” + +“You see, it's like this,” Bertram would explain airily to some 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 ashes--only fancy the condition of +mind of those future archaeologists when they struck our house after +their months of digging! + +“What would they find? Listen. First: stratum number one, the top floor; +that's Cyril's, you know. They'd note the bare floors, the sparse but +heavy furniture, the piano, the violin, the flute, the book-lined walls, +and the absence of every sort of curtain, cushion, or knickknack. 'Here +lived a plain man,' they'd say; 'a scholar, a musician, stern, unloved +and unloving; a monk.' + +“And what next? They'd strike William's stratum next, the third floor. +Imagine it! You know William as a State Street broker, well-off, +a widower, tall, angular, slow of speech, a little bald, very 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 things--and 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 that--and he's forty this year. Miniatures, carved ivories, +bugs, moths, porcelains, jades, stamps, postcards, spoons, baggage tags, +theatre programs, playing-cards--there isn't anything that he doesn't +collect. He's on teapots, now. Imagine it--William and teapots! And +they're all there in his rooms--one glorious mass of confusion. Just +fancy those archaeologists trying to make their 'monk' live there! + +“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 +like--well, I like lots of things. My rooms don't belong to that monk, +not a little bit. And so you see,” Bertram would finish merrily, “that'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 their objection to the term. + +From babyhood the Henshaw boys had lived in the handsome, roomy house, +facing the Public Garden. It had been their father's boyhood home, 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 had known almost nothing of a +woman's touch or care. + +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 +specialty--his “Face of a Girl.” From canvas, plaque, and panel they +looked out--those girlish faces: winsome, wilful, pert, demure, merry, +sad, beautiful, even almost ugly--they 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 while. + +Below Bertram's cheery second floor were the dim old library and +drawing-rooms, silent, stately, and almost never used; and below them +were the dining-room and the kitchen. Here ruled Dong Ling, the Chinese +cook, and Pete. + +Pete was--indeed, 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 looked--like nothing so much as what he was: a +fussy, faithful old man, who expected to die in the service he had +entered fifty years before as a lad. + +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 brothers, Bertram, William, and +Cyril. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE STRATA--WHEN THE LETTER COMES + + +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 could not be so monstrous. + +“Well, old man, what's up?” It was Bertram's amazed voice from the hall +doorway; and indeed, William Henshaw, red-faced and plainly trembling, +seated on the lowest step of the stairway, and gazing, wild-eyed, at the +letter in his hand, was somewhat of an amazing sight. “What IS up?” + +“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, I tell you!” + +“What is serious?” demanded Cyril, coming down the stairway. “Can't it +wait? Pete has already sounded the gong twice for dinner.” + +William made a despairing gesture. + +“Well, come,” he groaned. “I'll tell you at the table.... It seems I've +got a namesake,” he resumed in a shaking voice, a few moments later; +“Walter Neilson's child.” + +“And who's Walter Neilson?” asked Bertram. + +“A boyhood friend. You wouldn't remember him. This letter is from his +child.” + +“Well, let's hear it. Go ahead. I fancy we can stand the--LETTER; eh, +Cyril?” + +Cyril frowned. Cyril did not know, perhaps, how often he frowned at +Bertram. + +The eldest brother wet his lips. His hand shook as he picked up the +letter. + +“It--it'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 was my +father, you know. My Aunt Ella has just died. + +“Would you mind very much if I came to live with you? That is, between +times--I'm going to college, of course, and after that I'm going to +be--well, I haven't decided that part yet. I think I'll consult you. You +may have some preference, you know. You can be thinking it up until I +come. + +“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 Ann--they're Mr. Harding's sisters, and Mr. Harding is our lawyer, +and he will write to you. Well, where was I? Oh, I know--on Miss Letty's +nerves. And, say, do you know, that is where I do get--on 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 window-shade 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 with out me. + +“Please let me hear from you very soon. I don't mind if you telegraph; +and just 'come' would be all you'd have to say. Then I'd get ready right +away and let you know what train to meet me on. And, oh, say--if you'll +wear a pink in your buttonhole I will, too. Then we'll know each other. +My address is just 'Hampden Falls.' + +“Your awfully homesick namesake, + +“BILLY HENSHAW NEILSON” + + +For one long minute there was a blank silence about the Henshaw +dinner-table; then the eldest brother, looking anxiously from one man to +the other, stammered: + +“W-well?” + +“Great Scott!” breathed Bertram. + +Cyril said nothing, but his lips were white with their tense pressure +against each other. + +There was another pause, and again William broke it anxiously. + +“Boys, this isn't helping me out any! What's to be done?” + +“'Done'!” flamed Cyril. “Surely, you aren't thinking for a moment of +LETTING that child come here, William!” + +Bertram chuckled. + +“He WOULD liven things up, Cyril; wouldn't he? Such nice smooth floors +you've got up-stairs to trundle little tin carts across!” + +“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.” + +Cyril pushed back his chair from the table. + +“'We'll have to keep him out'! William, you can't be in earnest! You +aren't going to let that boy come here,” he cried. + +“But what can I do?” faltered the man. + +“Do? Say 'no,' of course. As if we wanted a boy to bring up!” + +“But I must do something. I--I'm all he's got. He says so.” + +“Good heavens! Well, send him to boarding-school, then, or to 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. How old is he, anyhow?” + +William frowned, and mused aloud slowly. + +“Why, I don't know. He must be--er--why, boys, he's no child,” broke 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 must be +somewhere around eighteen years old!” + +“And only think how Cyril WAS worrying about those tin carts,” laughed +Bertram. “Never mind--eight or eighteen--let him come. If he's that age, +he won't bother much.” + +“And this--er--'Spunk'; do you take him, too? But probably he doesn't +bother, either,” murmured Cyril, with smooth sarcasm. + +“Gorry! I forgot Spunk,” acknowledged Bertram. “Say, what in time is +Spunk, do you suppose?” + +“Dog, maybe,” suggested William. + +“Well, whatever he is, you will kindly keep Spunk down-stairs,” said +Cyril with decision. “The boy, I suppose I shall have to endure; but the +dog--!” + +“Hm-m; 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. He--er--sounds something like a parrot to me.” + +Cyril rose to his feet abruptly. He had eaten almost no dinner. + +“Very well,” he said coldly. “But please remember that I hold you +responsible, Bertram. Whether it's a dog, or a parrot, or--or a monkey, +I shall expect you to keep Spunk down-stairs. This adopting into 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 left the dining-room. + +For a moment there was silence. The brows of the younger man were +uplifted quizzically. + +“I'm afraid Cyril is bothered,” murmured William then, in a troubled +voice. + +Bertram's face changed. Stern lines came to his boyish mouth. + +“He is always bothered--with anything, lately.” + +The elder man sighed. + +“I know, but with his talent--” + +“'Talent'! Great Scott!” cut in Bertram. “Half the world has talent of +one sort or another; but that doesn't necessarily make them unable +to live with any one else! Really, Will, it's becoming serious--about +Cyril. He's getting to be, for all the world, like those finicky old +maids that that young namesake of yours wrote about. He'll make us +whisper and walk on tiptoe yet!” + +The other smiled. + +“Don't you worry. You aren't in any danger of being kept too quiet, +young man.” + +“No thanks to Cyril, then,” retorted Bertram. “Anyhow, that's one +reason why I was for taking the kid--to mellow up Cyril. He needs it all +right.” + +“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 don't know how to get up a letter of that sort!” + +“Why not take him at his word and telegraph? I fancy you won't have to +say 'come' but once before you see him. He doesn't seem to be a bashful +youth.” + +“Hm-m; I might do that,” acquiesced William, slowly. “But wasn't there +somebody--a lawyer--going 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 Hampden Falls. We'll soon see, at +all events. Maybe I'll hear to-morrow.” + +“I shouldn't wonder,” nodded Bertram, as he rose from the table. +“Anyhow, I wouldn't do anything till I did hear.” + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM + + +James Harding's letter very promptly followed Billy's, though it 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 twenty-one 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 letter--but 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 Henshaw at once set about making a place in the +home. + +First he telegraphed the single word “Come” to Billy. + +“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 from me.” + +It was just here, however, that William Henshaw met with a surprise, for +within twenty-four hours came Billy's answer, and by telegraph. + + +“I'm coming to-morrow. Train due at five P. M. + +“BILLY.” + + +William Henshaw did not know that in Hampden Falls Billy's trunk 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 impatiently awaited the time to start. + +To the Beacon Street house, Billy's cheerful telegram brought the direst +consternation. Even Kate was hastily summoned to the family conclave +that immediately resulted. + +“There's nothing--simply nothing that I can do,” she declared irritably, +when she had heard the story. “Surely, you don't expect ME to take the +boy!” + +“No, no, of course not,” sighed William. “But you see, I supposed I'd +have time to--to get used to things, and to make arrangements; and this +is so--so sudden! I hadn't even answered Harding's letter until to-day; +and he hasn't got that--much less replied to it.” + +“But what could you expect after sending that idiotic telegram?” + demanded the lady. “'Come,' indeed!” + +“But that's what Billy told me to do.” + +“What if it was? Just because a foolish eighteen-year-old boy tells +you to do something, must you, a supposedly sensible forty-year-old man +obey?” + +“I think it tickled Will's romantic streak,” laughed Bertram. “It seemed +so sort of alluring to send that one word 'Come' out into space, and +watch what happened.” + +“Well, he's found out, certainly,” observed Cyril, with grim +satisfaction. + +“Oh, no; it hasn't happened yet,” corrected Bertram, cheerfully. “It's +just going to happen. William's got to put on the pink first, you know. +That's the talisman.” + +William reddened. + +“Bertram, don't be foolish. I sha'n't wear any pink. You must know +that.” + +“How'll you find him, then?” + +“Why, he'll have one on; that's enough,” settled William. + +“Hm-m; maybe. Then he'll have Spunk, too,” murmured Bertram, +mischievously. + +“Spunk!” cried Kate. + +“Yes. He wrote that he hoped we wouldn't mind his bringing Spunk with +him.” + +“Who's Spunk? + +“We don't know.” Bertram's lips twitched. + +“You don't know! What do you mean?” + +“Well, Will thinks it's a dog, and I believe Cyril is anticipating a +monkey. I myself am backing it for a parrot.” + +“Boys, what have you done!” groaned Kate, falling back in her chair. +“What have you done!” + +To William her words were like an electric shock stirring him to 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 rest--and do it well, too. He's the son of my +boyhood's dearest friend, and he shall be made welcome. Now to business! +Bertram, you said you'd take him in. Did you mean it?” + +Bertram sobered instantly, and came erect in his chair. William did not +often speak like this; but when he did-- + +“Yes, Will. He shall have the little bedroom at the end of the hall. I +never used the room much, anyhow, and what few duds I have there shall +be cleared out to-morrow.” + +“Good! Now there are some other little details to arrange, then I'll +go down-stairs and tell Pete and Dong Ling. And, please to understand, +we're going to make this lad welcome--welcome, I say!” + +“Yes, sir,” said Bertram. Neither Kate nor Cyril spoke. + + + +CHAPTER V + +GETTING READY FOR BILLY + + +The Henshaw household was early astir on the day of Billy's 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 up-stairs and presented a weird Chinese banner which +he said he was “velly much glad” to give. As to Pete--Pete was in his +element. Pete loved boys. Had he not served them nearly all his life? +Incidentally it may be mentioned that he did not care for girls. + +Only Cyril held himself aloof. But that he was not oblivious of 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 William: + +“That's Chopin's Funeral March. Evidently Cy thinks this is the death +knell to all his hopes of future peace and happiness.” + +“Dear me! I wish Cyril would take some interest,” grieved William. + +“Oh, he takes interest all right,” laughed Bertram, meaningly. “He takes +INTEREST!” + +“I know, but--Bertram,” broke off the elder man, anxiously, from his +perch on the stepladder, “would you put the rifle over this window, or +the fishing-rod?” + +“Why, I don't think it makes much difference, so long as they're +somewhere,” answered Bertram. “And there are these Indian clubs and the +swords to be disposed of, you know.” + +“Yes; and it's going to look fine; don't you think?” exulted William. +“And you know for the wall-space between the windows I'm going to bring +down that case of mine, of spiders.” + +Bertram raised his hands in mock surprise. + +“Here--down here! You're going to trust any of those precious treasures +of yours down here!” + +William frowned. + +“Nonsense, Bertram, don't be silly! They'll be safe enough. Besides, +they're old, anyhow. I was on spiders years ago--when I was Billy's age, +in fact. I thought he'd like them here. You know boys always like such +things.” + +“Oh, 'twasn't Billy I was worrying about,” retorted Bertram. “It was +you--and the spiders.” + +“Not much you worry about me--or anything else,” replied William, +good-humoredly. “There! how does that look?” he finished, as he +carefully picked his way down the stepladder. + +“Fine!--er--only rather warlike, maybe, with the guns and that riotous +confusion of knives and scimitars over the chiffonier. But then, maybe +you're intending Billy for a soldier; eh?” + +“Do you know? I AM getting interested in that boy,” beamed William, with +some excitement. “What kind of things do you suppose he does like?” + +“There's no telling. Maybe he's a sissy chap, and will howl at your guns +and spiders. Perhaps he'll prefer autumn leaves and worsted mottoes for +decoration.” + +“Not much he will,” contested the other. “No son of Walter Neilson's +could be a sissy. Neilson was the best half-back in ten years at +Harvard, and he was always in for everything going that was worth while. +'Autumn leaves and worsted mottoes' indeed! Bah!” + +“All right; but there's still a dark horse in the case, you know. We +mustn't forget--Spunk.” + +The elder man stirred uneasily. + +“Bert, what do you suppose that creature is? You don't think Cyril can +be right, and that it's a--monkey?” + +“'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 his age.” + +“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, “Music in Russia.” + +At ten minutes before five William, anxious-eyed and nervous, found +himself at the North Station. Then, and not till then, did he draw a +long breath of relief. + +“There! I think everything's ready,” he sighed to himself. “At last!” + +He wore no pink in his buttonhole. There was no need that he 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 him--to 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 +lived--a lad not far from the age of this Billy who was coming to-day, +reflected the man. And the warmth in his heart deepened and glowed the +more as he stood waiting at the gate for Billy to arrive. + +The train from Hampden Falls was late. Not until quite fifteen minutes +past five did it roll into the train-shed. Then at once its long line of +passengers began to sweep toward the iron gate. + +William was just inside the gate now, anxiously scanning every face and +form that passed. There were many half-grown lads, but there was not one +with a pink in his buttonhole until very near the end. Then William saw +him--a pleasant-faced, blue-eyed boy in a neat gray suit. With a low cry +William started forward; but he saw at once that the gray-clad youth was +unmistakably one of a merry family party. He looked to be anything but a +lad that was lonely and forlorn. + +William hesitated and fell back. This debonair, self-reliant 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 blue-eyed youth and tapped him on the shoulder. + +“Er--aren't you Billy?” he stammered. + +The lad stopped and stared. He shook his head slowly. + +“No, sir,” he said. + +“But you must be! Are you sure?” + +The boy laughed this time. + +“Sorry, sir, but my name is 'Frank'; isn't it, mother?” he added +merrily, turning to the lady at his side, who was regarding William very +unfavorably through a pair of gold-bowed spectacles. + +William did not wait for more. With a stammered apology and a flustered +lifting of his hat he backed away. + +But where was Billy? + +William looked about him in helpless dismay. All around was a wide, +empty space. The long aisle to the Hampden Falls train was deserted +save for the baggage-men loading the trunks and bags on to their trucks. +Nowhere was there any one who seemed forlorn or ill at ease except a +pretty girl with a suit-case, 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 carried a peculiarly wistful appeal. + +“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 pink--though in a different place. He wondered sympathetically if she, +too, had come to meet some one who had not appeared. He noticed that she +walked away from the gate once or twice, toward the waiting-room, 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 waiting-room. 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 waiting-room to look for him. And with this +thought William hurried away at once, leaving the girl still standing by +the gate alone. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE COMING OF BILLY + + +After another long search William came back to the train-shed, 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 +self-control. He hesitated a moment, then went straight toward her. + +“I beg your pardon,” he said kindly, lifting his hat, “but I notice that +you have been waiting here some time. Perhaps there is something I can +do for you.” + +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. But--I think there's some mistake. Could you +telephone for me?” Billy Neilson was country-bred, 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. + +William Henshaw smiled. + +“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. I'll wait here.” + +“Oh, then Billy did come!” cried the man in glad surprise, his face +alight. “But where is he? Do YOU know Billy?” + +“I should say I did,” laughed Billy, with the lightness of a long-lost +child who has found a friend. “Why, I am Billy, myself!” + +To William Henshaw the world swam dizzily, and went suddenly mad. +The floor rose, and the roof fell, while cars and people performed +impossible acrobatic feats above, below, and around him. Then, from afar +off, he heard his own voice stammer: + +“You--are--B-Billy!” + +“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 perhaps he made a +mistake in the time. Maybe you know him, anyhow.” + +With one mighty effort William Henshaw pulled himself sharply together. +He even laughed, and tossed his head in a valiant imitation of Billy +herself; but his voice shook. + +“Know him!--I should say I did!” he cried. “Why, I am William Henshaw, +myself.” + +“You!--Uncle William! Why, where's your pink?” + +The man's face was already so red it could not get any redder--but it +tried to do so. + +“Why, er--I--it--er--if you'll just come into the waiting-room a minute, +my dear,” he stuttered miserably, “I--I'll explain--about that. I shall +have to leave you--for a minute,” he plunged on frenziedly, as he led +the way to a seat; “A--matter of business that I must attend to. I'll +be--right back. Wait here, please!” And he almost pushed the girl into a +seat and hurried away. + +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 pretty curve of her cheek, and of her slender throat when she lifted +her head. + +And that was Billy--a GIRL! + +People near him at that moment saw a flushed-faced, 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. + +“Bertram!” he called shakily. + +“Hullo, Will; that you? What's the matter? You're late! Didn't he come?” + +“Come!” groaned William. “Good Lord! Bertram--Billy's a GIRL!” + +“A wh-what?” + +“A girl.” + +“A GIRL!” + +“Yes, yes! Don't stand there repeating what I say in that idiotic +fashion, Bertram. Do something--do something!” + +“'Do something'!” gasped Bertram. “Great Scott, Will! If you want me to +do something, don't knock me silly with a blow like that. Now what did +you say?” + +“I said that Billy is--a--girl. Can't you get that?” demanded William, +despairingly. + +“Well, by Jove!” breathed Bertram. + +“Come, come, think! What shall we do?” + +“Why, bring her home, of course.” + +“Home--home!” chattered William. “Do you think we five men can bring up +a distractingly pretty eighteen-year-old girl with curly cheeks and pink +hair?” + +“With wha-at?” + +“No, no. I mean curly hair and pink cheeks. Bertram, do be sensible,” + begged the man. “This is serious!” + +“Serious! I should say it was! Only fancy what Cy will say! A girl! Holy +smoke! Tote her along--I want to see her!” + +“But I say we can't keep her there with us, Bertram. Don't you see we +can't?” + +“Then take her to Kate's, or to--to 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 me--HOME! I'm her Uncle William.” + +“Lucky Uncle William!” + +“Be still, Bertram!” + +“Well, doesn't she know your--mistake?--that you thought she was a boy?” + +“Heaven forbid!--I hope not,” cried the man, fervently. “I 'most let it +out once, but I think she didn't notice it. You see, we--we were both +surprised.” + +“Well, I should say!” + +“And, Bertram, I can't turn her out--I 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!” + +“Bertram, can't you be serious and help me out?” + +“But what CAN we do?” + +“I don't know. We'll have to think; but for now, get Kate. Telephone +her. Tell her to come right straight over, and that she's got to stay +all night.” + +“All night!” + +“Of course! Billy's got to have a chaperon; hasn't she? Now hurry. We +shall be up right away.” + +“Kate's got company.” + +“Never mind--leave 'em. Tell her she's got to leave 'em. And tell Cyril, +of course, what to expect. And, look a-here, you two behave, now. None +of your nonsense! Now mind. I'm not going to have this child tormented.” + +“I won't bat an eyelid--on my word, I won't,” chuckled Bertram. “But, +oh, I say,--Will!” + +“Yes.” + +“What's Spunk?” + +“Eh?--oh--Great Scott! I forgot Spunk. I don't know. She's got a basket. +He's in that, I suppose. Anyhow, he can't be any more of a bombshell +than his mistress was. Now be quick, and none of your fooling, Bertram. +Tell them all--Pete and Dong Ling. Don't forget. I wouldn't have 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 hook. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +INTRODUCING SPUNK + + +In the soft April twilight Cyril was playing a dreamy waltz when Bertram +knocked, and pushed open the door. + +“Say, old chap, you'll have to quit your mooning this time and sit up +and take notice.” + +“What do you mean?” Cyril stopped playing and turned abruptly. + +“I mean that Will has gone crazy, and I think the rest of us are going +to follow suit.” + +Cyril shrugged his shoulders and whirled about on the piano stool. In a +moment his fingers had slid once more into the dreamy waltz. + +“When you get ready to talk sense, I'll listen,” he said coldly. + +“Oh, very well; if you really want it broken gently, it's this: Will has +met Billy, and Billy is a girl. They're due here now 'most any time.” + +The music stopped with a crash. + +“A--GIRL!” + +“Yes, a girl. Oh, I've been all through that, and I know how you feel. +But as near as I can make out, it's really so. I've had instructions 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 down-stairs so +that we may be decently ready for--whatever comes.” And he turned about +and stalked out of the room, followed by Cyril, who was too stunned to +open his lips. + +Kate came first. She was not stunned. She had a great deal to say. + +“Really, this is a little the most absurd thing I ever heard of,” she +fumed. “What in the world does your brother mean?” + +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 +namesake, is lonesome, and is in need of a home.” + +“But she can't live--here!” + +“Will says she shall.” + +“But that is utter nonsense,” cut in Cyril. + +“For once I agree with you, Cyril,” laughed Bertram; “but William +doesn't.” + +“But how can she do it?” demanded Kate. + +“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 alike--so +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, eighteen-year-old +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 good-natured +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 sane man should have named a girl +'Billy'?” + +“For William, your brother, evidently,” retorted Bertram, dryly. +“Anyhow, he did it, and of course our mistake was a very natural one. +The dickens of it is now that we've got to keep it from her, so Will +says; and how--hush! 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 from Mrs. Hartwell and held out a +cordial hand to each of the men in turn. + +“Oh, you don't know how lovely this is--to 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 good--all of you; and I don't believe there's one of you +that's got nerves or a heart,” she laughed. + +Bertram rallied his wits to respond to the challenge. + +“No heart, Miss Billy? Now isn't that just a bit hard on us--right at +first?” + +“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 kind--the 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 himself wearily on to the sofa near his +sister. Billy still continued to talk. + +“Now when Spunk and I get to training--oh, and you haven't seen Spunk!” + she interrupted herself suddenly. “Why, the introductions aren't half +over. Where is he, Uncle William--the basket?” + +“I--I put it in--in the hall,” mumbled William, starting to rise. + +“No, no; I'll get him,” cried Billy, hurrying from the room. 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 and placed on the floor a very small gray kitten with a very +large pink bow. + +“There, ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Spunk.” + +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 almost unbelievable fluffiness, and spit wrathfully. + +“And so that is Spunk!” choked Bertram. + +“Yes,” said Billy. “This is Spunk.” + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE ROOM--AND BILLY + + +For the first fifteen minutes after Billy's arrival conversation was 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 self-control 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 plunged through the +hall and down the stairway. + +With a motion to Bertram to lead the way with Billy, William frenziedly +gripped his sister's arm, and hissed in her ear for all the world like a +villain in melodrama: + +“Listen! You'll sleep in Bert's room to-night, and Bert will come +up-stairs with me. Get Billy to bed as soon as you can after dinner, +and then come back down to us. We've got to plan what's got to be done. +Sh-h!” And he dragged his sister downstairs. + +In the dining-room there was a slight commotion. Billy stood at her +chair with Spunk in her arms. Before her Pete was standing, dumbly +staring into her eyes. At last he stammered: + +“Ma'am?” + +“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 stared as had Pete; but Mrs. +Hartwell spoke. + +“You don't mean--that that cat--has a chair--at the table!” she gasped. + +“Yes; and isn't it cute of him?” beamed Billy, entirely 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 high-chair, which for long +years had stood unused in the corner. “I'll just squeeze it right in +here,” she finished gleefully, making room for the chair at her side. + +When Bertram, a little red of face, but very grave, entered, the +dining-room 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 as the flaring pink bow +would let him. + +“Isn't he a dear?” Billy was saying. But Bertram noticed that there was +no reply to this question. + +It was a peculiar dinner-party. Only Billy did not feel the strain. Even +Spunk was not entirely happy--his 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, +indeed--but Bertram always talked; and very soon he and Billy had things +pretty much to themselves--that 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 what training would do, +and, of course, Spunk WAS little, now. + +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 the man's aversion that Billy turned in amazement. + +“Why, Mr. Cyril, don't you see? Spunk is trying to say 'How do you do'?” + +“Very likely; but I'm not fond of cats, Miss Billy.” + +“You're not fond--of--cats!” repeated the girl, as if she could not have +heard aright. “Why not?” + +Cyril changed his position. + +“Why, just because I--I'm not,” he retorted lamely. “Isn't there +anything that--that you don't like?” + +Billy considered. + +“Why, not that I know of,” she began, after a moment, “only rainy days +and--tripe. And Spunk isn't a bit like those.” + +Bertram chuckled, and even Cyril smiled--though unwillingly. + +“All the same,” he reiterated, “I don't like cats.” + +“Oh, I'm so sorry,” lamented Billy; and at the grieved hurt in her dark +eyes Bertram came promptly to the rescue. + +“Never mind, Miss Billy. Cyril is only ONE of us, and there is all the +rest of the Strata besides.” + +“The--what?” + +“The Strata. You don't know, of course, but listen, and I'll tell you.” + And he launched gaily forth into his favorite story. + +Billy was duly amused and interested. She laughed and clapped her hands, +and when the story was done she clapped them again. + +“Oh, what a funny house! And how perfectly lovely that I'm going 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 mention a thing about you!” + +Cyril said a sharp word under his breath. Bertram choked over a cough. +Kate threw into William's eyes a look that was at once angry, accusing, +and despairing. Then William spoke. + +“Er--she--it isn't anywhere, my dear,” he stammered; “or rather, it +isn't here. Kate lives up on the Avenue, you see, and is only here +for--for a day or two--just now.” + +“Oh!” murmured Billy. And there was not one in the room at that moment +who did not bless Spunk--for Spunk suddenly leaped to the table before +him; and in the ensuing confusion his mistress quite forgot to question +further concerning Mrs. Hartwell's stratum. + +Dinner over, the three men, with their sister and Billy, trailed +up-stairs to the drawing-rooms. 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 socketed chairs. + +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 summoned. Then she turned and followed Mrs. Hartwell up-stairs. + +It seemed to the three men in the drawing-room 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 +hurried up, two steps at a time. + +“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 choking little cries. + +“I don't know,” quavered Kate. “I haven't the least idea. She was all +right till she got up-stairs here, and I turned on the lights. Then she +gave one shriek and--you know all I know.” + +William advanced hurriedly. + +“Billy, what is the matter? What are you crying for?” he demanded. + +Billy dropped her hands then, and they saw her face. She was not crying. +She was laughing. She was laughing so she could scarcely speak. + +“Oh, you did, you did!” she gurgled. “I thought you did, and now I +know!” + +“Did what? What do you mean?” William's usually gentle voice was sharp. +Even William's nerves were beginning to feel the strain of the last few +hours. + +“Thought I was a--b-boy!” choked Billy. “You called me 'he' once in the +station--I thought you did; but I wasn't sure--not till I saw this room. +But now I know--I know!” And off she went into another hysterical gale +of laughter--Billy'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 despairing eyes. + +In a moment Billy was on her feet, fluttering about the room, touching +this thing, looking at that. Nothing escaped her. + +“I'm to fish--and shoot--and fence!” she crowed. “And, oh!--look at +those knives! U-ugh!... 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. + +Something in Billy's voice stirred Mrs. Hartwell to sudden action. + +“Come, come, this will never do,” she protested authoritatively, +motioning her brothers to leave the room. “Billy is quite tired out, and +needs rest. She mustn't talk another bit to-night.” + +“Of c-course not,” stammered William. And only too glad of an excuse to +withdraw from a very embarrassing situation, the three men called back a +faltering good-night, and precipitately fled down-stairs. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A FAMILY CONCLAVE + + +“Well, William,” greeted Kate, grimly, when she came into the +drawing-room, after putting her charge to bed, “have you had enough, +now?” + +“'Enough'! What do you mean?” + +Kate raised her eyebrows. + +“Why, surely, you're not thinking NOW that you can keep this girl here; +are you?” + +“I don't know why not.” + +“William!” + +“Well, where shall she go? Will you take her?” + +“I? Certainly not,” declared Kate, with decision. “I'm sure I see no +reason why I should.” + +“No more do I see why William should, either,” cut in Cyril. + +“Oh, come, what's the use,” interposed Bertram. “Let her stay. She's a +nice little thing, I'm sure.” + +Cyril and Kate turned sharply. + +“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!” + +Bertram laughed. + +“Oh, well, she would be nice to--er--paint,” he murmured. + +“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 we get?” + +Kate sighed, and looked her dismay. Bertram threw a glance into Cyril's +eyes, and made an expressive gesture. + +“You see,” it seemed to say. “I told you how it would be!” + +“Now whom shall we get?” questioned William again. “We must think.” + +Unattached gentlewomen of suitable age and desirable temper did 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 +doesn't.” + +“The trouble is,” explained Bertram, airily, “we want some one who will +be invisible to every one except the world and Billy, and who will be +inaudible always.” + +“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 room over at the Back Bay.” + +“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 +to-morrow morning I believe I'll run over and see if she can't come +right away.” + +“And may I ask which--er--stratum she--they--will occupy?” smiled +Bertram. + +“You may ask, but I'm afraid you won't find out very soon,” retorted +William, dryly, “if we take as long to decide that matter as we have the +rest of it.” + +“Er--Cyril has the most--UNOCCUPIED space,” volunteered Bertram, +cheerfully. + +“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 wants and wishes +interfere--” + +“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 +things!” + +“Oh, you men!” shrugged Kate, wearily. “Why don't you ask my opinion +sometimes? It seems to me that in this case a woman's wit might be of +some help!” + +“All right, go ahead!” nodded William. + +Kate leaned forward eagerly--Kate loved to “manage.” + +“Go easy, now,” cautioned Bertram, warily. “You know a strata, even one +as solid as ours, won't stand too much of an earthquake!” + +“It isn't an earthquake at all,” sniffed Kate. “It's a very sensible +move all around. Here are these two great drawing-rooms, the library, +and the little reception-room 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 drawing-room, the +library, and the little reception-room for yours, and leave the whole of +the second floor for Billy and Aunt Hannah?” + +“Good for you, Kate,” cried Bertram, appreciatively. “You've hit it +square on the head, and we'll do it. I'll move to-morrow. The light down +here is just as good as it is up-stairs--if you let it in!” + +“Thank you, Bertram, and you, too, Kate,” breathed William, fervently. +“Now, if you don't mind, I believe I'll go to bed. I am tired!” + + + +CHAPTER X + +AUNT HANNAH + + +As soon as possible after breakfast William went to see Aunt Hannah. + +Hannah Stetson was not really William's aunt, though she had been 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, white-haired woman with kind blue eyes, and a lovable smile. +Her cheeks were still faintly pink, and her fine silver-white hair broke +into little kinks and curls about her ears. According to Bertram she +always made one think of “lavender and old lace.” + +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 eighteen-year-old girl +to bring up, Aunt Hannah, and I want you to come down and live with us +to chaperon her.” + +“My grief and conscience, WILLIAM!” gasped the little woman, agitatedly. + +“Yes, yes, I know, Aunt Hannah, everything you would say if you could. +But please skip the hysterics. We've all had them, and Kate has 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 expected that she would do for +him. + +“Why, yes, of course--I'll come,” acquiesced the lady, a little +breathlessly, “if--if you are sure you're going to--keep her.” + +“Good! And remember I said 'now,' please--that I wanted you to come +right away, to-day. Of course Kate can't stay. Just get in half a dozen +women to help you pack, and come.” + +“Half a dozen women in that little room, William--impossible!” + +“Well, I only meant to get enough so you could come right off this +morning.” + +“But I don't need them, William. There are only my clothes and books, +and such things. You know it is a FURNISHED room.” + +“All right, all right, Aunt Hannah. I wanted to make sure you hurried, +that's all. You see, I don't want Billy to suspect just how much she's +upsetting us. I've asked Kate to take her over to her house for the +day, while Bertram is moving down-stairs, and while we're getting you +settled. I--I think you'll like it there, Aunt Hannah,” added William, +anxiously. “Of course Billy's got Spunk, but--” he hesitated, and smiled +a little. + +“Got what?” faltered the other. + +“Spunk. Oh, I don't mean THAT kind,” laughed William, in answer to the +dismayed expression on his aunt's face. “Spunk is a cat.” + +“A cat!--but such a name, William! I--I think we'll change that.” + +“Eh? Oh, you do,” murmured William, with a curious smile. “Very well; 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 four-year-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 Spunk--which remark, oddly enough, did not appear to please Mrs. +Hartwell to the extent that Billy thought that it would. + +At the Beacon Street house Billy was presented at once to Mrs. Stetson. + +“And you are to call me 'Aunt Hannah,' my dear,” said the little woman, +graciously, “just as the boys do.” + +“Thank you,” dimpled Billy, “and you don't know, Aunt Hannah, how good +it seems to me to come into so many relatives, all at once!” + +Upon going up-stairs Billy found her room somewhat changed. It was far +less warlike, and the case of spiders had been taken away. + +“And this will be your stratum, you know,” announced Bertram from the +stairway, “yours and Aunt Hannah's. You're to have this whole floor. +Will and Cyril are above, and I'm down-stairs.” + +“You are? Why, I thought you--were--here.” Billy's face was puzzled. + +“Here? Oh, well, I did have--some things here,” he retorted airily; “but +I took them all away to-day. You see, my stratum is down-stairs, and +it doesn't do to mix the layers. By the way, you haven't been up-stairs +yet; have you? Come on, and I'll show you--and you, too, Aunt Hannah.” + +Billy clapped her hands; but Aunt Hannah shook her head. + +“I'll leave that for younger feet than mine,” she said; adding +whimsically: “It's best sometimes that one doesn't try to step too far +off one's own level, you know.” + +“All right,” laughed the man. “Come on, Miss Billy.” + +On the door at the head of the stairs he tapped twice, lightly. + +“Well, Pete,” called Cyril's voice, none too cordially. + +“Pete, indeed!” scoffed Bertram. “You've got company, young man. Open +the door. Miss Billy is viewing the Strata.” + +The bare floor echoed to a quick tread, then the door opened and Cyril +faced them with a forced smile on his lips. + +“Come in--though I fear there will be little--to see,” he said. + +Bertram assumed a pompous attitude. + +“Ladies and gentlemen; you behold here the lion in his lair.” + +“Be still, Bertram,” ordered Cyril. + +“He is a lion, really,” confided Bertram, in a lower voice; “but as he +prefers it, we'll just call him 'the Musical Man.'” + +“I should think I was some sort of music-box that turned with a crank,” + bristled Cyril. + +Bertram grinned. + +“A--CRANK, did you say? Well, even I wouldn't have quite dared to 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 are--er--so 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, however, that in one is a couch-bed, and in another, two +chairs.” + +Billy listened silently. Her eyes were questioning. She was not +quite sure how to take Bertram's words; and the bare rooms and their +stern-faced master filled her with a vague pity. But the pause that +followed Bertram's nonsense seemed to be waiting for her to fill it. + +“Oh, I should like to hear you--play, Mr. Cyril,” she stammered. Then, +gathering courage. “CAN you play 'The Maiden's Prayer'?” + +Bertram gave a cough, a spasmodic cough that sent him, red-faced, 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; but--sometime,” nodded Billy over her shoulder to Cyril as +she turned away. “I just love that 'Maiden's Prayer'!” + +“Now this is William's stratum,” announced Bertram at the foot of the +stairs. “You will perceive that there is no knocking here; William's +doors are always open.” + +“By all means! Come in--come in,” called William's cheery voice. + +“Oh, my, what a lot of things!” exclaimed Billy. “My--my--what a lot of +things! How Spunk will like this room!” + +Bertram chuckled; then he made a great display of drawing a long breath. + +“In the short time at our disposal,” he began loftily, “it will 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--” + +“Er--yes, 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 wondering-eyed girl at Bertram's side. + +“But there are so many!” breathed Billy. + +“All the more chance then,” smiled William, “that somewhere among them +you'll find something to interest you. Now these Chinese ceramics, +and these bronzes--maybe 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 programs better,” William finished +anxiously. + +Billy did not reply. She was turning round and round, her eyes wide and +amazed. Suddenly she pounced on a beautifully decorated teapot, and held +it up in admiring hands. + +“Oh, what a pretty teapot! And what a cute little plate it sets in!” she +cried. + +The collector fairly bubbled over with joy. + +“That's a Lowestoft--a real Lowestoft!” he crowed. “Not that +hard-paste stuff from the Orient that's CALLED Lowestoft, but the real +thing--English, you know. And that's the tray that goes with it, +too. Wonderful--how I got them both! You know they 'most always get +separated. I paid a cool hundred for them, anyhow.” + +“A hundred dollars for a teapot!” gasped Billy. + +“Yes; and here's a nice little piece of lustre-ware. Pretty--isn't it? +And there's a fine bit of black basalt. And--” + +“Er--Will,” interposed Bertram, meekly. + +“Oh, and here's a Castleford,” cried William, paying no attention 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 surface--they made that with tiny little points set +into the inner side of the mold. The design stands out fine on this. +It's one of the best I ever saw. And, oh--” + +“Er--William,” interposed Bertram again, a little louder this time. “May +I just say--” + +“And did you notice this 'Old Blue'?” hurried on William, eagerly. “Lid +sets down in, you see--that's older than the kind where it sets over the +top. Now here's one--” + +“William,” almost shouted Bertram, “DINNER IS READY! Pete has sounded +the gong twice already!” + +“Eh? Oh, sure enough--sure enough,” acknowledged William, with a +regretful glance at his treasures. “Well, we must go, we must go.” + +“But I haven't seen your stratum at all,” demurred Billy to her guide, +as they went down the stairway. + +“Then there's something left for to-morrow,” promised Bertram; “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 tea--some real tea--and that's more than William has done, with all +his hundred and one teapots!” + + + +CHAPTER XI + +BERTRAM HAS VISITORS + + +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 +very-much-alive small cat will make some difference. As to Spunk's +name--it was not Mrs. Stetson's fault that even that was left +undisturbed. + +Mrs. Stetson early became acquainted with Spunk. She was introduced +to him, indeed, on the night of her arrival--though 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 tearfully. + +“I know; but--er--they do, sometimes,” William had stammered; “and this +is one of the times. Aunt Hannah would never stand for it--never!” + +“Oh, but she doesn't know Spunk,” Billy had observed then, hopefully. +“You just wait until she knows him.” + +Mrs. Stetson began to “know” Spunk the next day. The immediate source 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 was--indeed, no. He rolled it down the stairs, +batted it through the hall to the drawing-room, and then proceeded to +'chasse' with it in and out among the legs of various chairs and tables, +ending in one grand whirl that wound the yarn round and round his small +body, and keeled him over half upon his back. There he blissfully went +to sleep. + +Billy found him after a gleeful following of the slender woollen trail. +Mrs. Stetson was with her--but she was not gleeful. + +“Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,” gurgled Billy, “isn't he just too cute +for anything?” + +Aunt Hannah shook her head. + +“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 arms. + +“But, I--it--I can't--Billy! I don't like that name,” blurted out the +indignant little lady with as much warmth as she ever allowed herself to +show. “It must be changed to--to 'Thomas.'” + +“Changed? Spunk's name changed?” demanded Billy, in a horrified voice. +“Why, Aunt Hannah, it can't be changed; it's HIS, you know.” Then 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 that--and +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 then attacked +the tangled mass of black with skilful fingers. + +“But, I--you--oh, 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 swear-word. + +In Aunt Hannah's black silk lap Spunk stretched luxuriously, and blinked +sleepy eyes; then with a long purr of content he curled himself for +another nap--still Spunk. + +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 +when the knock came. His tone was not quite cordial when he answered. + +“Well?” + +“It's I--Spunk and I. May we come in?” called a confident voice. + +Bertram said a sharp word behind his teeth--but he opened the door. + +“Of course! I was--painting,” he announced. + +“How lovely! And I'll watch you. Oh, my--what a pretty room!” + +“I'm glad you like it.” + +“Indeed I do; I like it ever so much. I shall stay here lots, I know.” + +“Oh, you--will!” For once even Bertram's ready tongue failed to 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.” + +“But I can't--that is, I'm not used to spectators.” + +“Of course you aren't, you poor old lonesomeness! But it isn't going to +be that way, any more, you know, now that I've come. I sha'n't let you +be lonesome.” + +“I could swear to that,” declared the man, with sudden fervor; and for +Billy's peace of mind it was just as well, perhaps, that she did not +know the exact source of that fervency. + +“Now paint,” commanded Billy again. + +Because he did not know what else to do, Bertram picked up a brush; 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, tut--no, no--naughty Spunk! Say, but wasn't that cute?” chuckled +Billy. “Do it again!” + +The artist gave an exasperated sigh. + +“My dear girl,” he protested, “cruel as it may seem to you, this picture +is not a kindergarten game for the edification of small cats. I must +politely ask Spunk to desist.” + +“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.” + +“Thank you,” accepted Bertram; dryly. + +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, +cats--pretty cats like Spunk--were even nicer to paint than girls. + +She rescued Spunk then from the paint-box where he had been holding high +carnival with Bertram's tubes of paint, and demanded if Bertram ever saw +a more delightful, more entrancing, more altogether-to-be-desired +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 up-stairs, he lifted his hands in despair. + +“Great Scott!” he groaned. “If this is a sample of what's coming--I'm +GOING, that's all!” + + + +CHAPTER XII + +CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN + + +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 behind--Billy +remembered her prospective host's aversion to cats. + +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 conclusion--privately expressed to Bertram--that 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 upstairs--Cyril had just escaped from one of +Billy's most determined “attempts,” and Bertram knew it. Bertram's laugh +had puzzled Billy--and it had not quite pleased her. Hence to-day she +did not tell him of her plan to go up-stairs 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 to knock at Cyril's door. + +The door was opened at once. + +“Why--Billy!” cried the man in surprise. + +“Yes, it's Billy. I--I came up to--to get acquainted,” she smiled +winningly. + +“Why, er--you are very kind. Will you--come in?” + +“Thank you; yes. You see, I didn't bring Spunk. I--remembered.” + +Cyril bowed gravely. + +“You are very kind--again,” he said. + +Billy fidgeted in her chair. To her mind she was not “getting on” at +all. She determined on a bold stroke. + +“You see, I thought if--if 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 flushed a confused red. + +“Oh, dear! That is, I mean--I 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 well as I do Uncle William and Mr. Bertram. So there!” + +Cyril laughed. For the first time since he had seen Billy, something +that was very like interest came into his eyes. + +“Oh, you don't,” he retorted. “Now that is--er--very UNkind of you.” + +Billy shook her head. + +“You don't say that as if you meant it,” she accused him, her eyes +gravely studying his face. “Now I'M in earnest. _I_ really want to like +YOU!” + +“Thank you. Then perhaps you won't mind telling me why you don't like +me,” he suggested. + +Again Billy flushed. + +“Why, I--I just don't; that's all,” she faltered. Then she cried +aggrievedly: “There, now! you've made me be impolite; and I didn't mean +to be, truly.” + +“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 +and rainy days.” + +“With--wha-at?” + +“Tripe and rainy days. Those are the only things, if I remember rightly, +that you don't like.” + +The girl stared; then she chuckled. + +“There! I knew I'd like you better if you'd only SAY something,” 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.'” + +Cyril stiffened. + +“Pardon me, but you must be mistaken,” he replied coldly. “I do not play +'The Maiden's Prayer.'” + +“Oh, what a shame! And I do so love it! But you play other things; +I've heard you a little, and Mr. Bertram says you do--in concerts and +things.” + +“Does he?” murmured Cyril, with a slight lifting of his eyebrows. + +“There! Now off you go again all silent and horrid!” chaffed Billy. +“What have I said now? Mr. Cyril--do you know what I think? I believe +you've got NERVES!” Billy's voice was so tragic that the man could but +laugh. + +“Perhaps I have, Miss Billy.” + +“Like Miss Letty's?” + +“I'm not acquainted with the lady.” + +“Gee! wouldn't you two make a pair!” chuckled Billy unexpectedly. “No; +but, really, I mean--do you want people to walk on tiptoe and speak in +whispers?” + +“Sometimes, perhaps.” + +The girl sprang to her feet--but she sighed. + +“Then I'm going. This might be one of the times, you know.” She +hesitated, then walked to the piano. “My, wouldn't I like to play on +that!” she breathed. + +Cyril shuddered. Cyril could imagine what Billy would play--and Cyril +did not like “rag-time,” nor “The Storm.” + +“Oh, do you play?” he asked constrainedly. + +Billy shook her head. + +“Not much. Only little bits of things, you know,” she said wistfully, 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 played--something,” he muttered at last; +“but--'The Maiden's Prayer'!--good heavens!” + +Billy was a little shy with Cyril when he came down to dinner 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 seemed to be leaving him +in peace. + +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 down-stairs. At the first step he started back in amazement. + +“Why, Billy!” he ejaculated. + +The girl was sitting very near the top of the stairway. At his +appearance she got to her feet shamefacedly. + +“Why, Billy, what in the world are you doing there?” + +“Listening.” + +“Listening!” + +“Yes. Do you mind?” + +The man did not answer. He was too surprised to find words at once, and +he was trying to recollect what he had been playing. + +“You see, listening to music this way isn't like listening to--to +talking,” hurried on Billy, feverishly. “It isn't sneaking like that; is +it?” + +“Why--no.” + +“And you don't mind?” + +“Why, surely, I ought not to mind--that,” he admitted. + +“Then I can keep right on as I have done. Thank you,” sighed Billy, in +relief. + +“Keep right on! Have you been here before?” + +“Why, yes, lots of days. And, say, Mr. Cyril, what is that--that 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 own--that I'm writing, you +understand; and I've tried to say--just what you say you heard.” + +“And I did hear it--I did! Oh, won't you play it, please, with the door +open?” + +“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 girl and hurried down the stairs. + +Billy waited until she heard the outer hall door shut; then very softly +she crept through Cyril's open doorway, and crossed the room to the +piano. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A SURPRISE ALL AROUND + + +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 up-stairs to Cyril's rooms, and once at the piano, +Billy forgot everything else. + +One day, however, the inevitable happened: Cyril came home unexpectedly. +The man heard the piano from William's floor, and with a surprised +ejaculation he hurried upstairs two steps at a time. At the door he +stopped in amazement. + +Billy was at the piano, but she was not playing “rag-time,” “The Storm,” + nor yet “The Maiden's Prayer.” There was no music before her, but under +her fingers “big bass notes” very much like Cyril's own, were marching +on and on to victory. Billy's face was rapturously intent and happy. + +“By Jove--Billy!” gasped the man. + +Billy leaped to her feet and whirled around guiltily. + +“Oh, Mr. Cyril--I'm so sorry!” + +“Sorry!--and you play like that!” + +“No, no; I'm not sorry I played. It's because you--found me.” + +Billy's cheeks were a shamed red, but her eyes were defiantly brilliant, +and her chin was at a rebellious tilt. “I wasn't doing any--harm; not if +you weren't here--with your NERVES!” + +The man laughed and came slowly into the room. + +“Billy, who taught you to play?” + +“No one. I can't play. I can only pick out little bits of things in C.” + +“But you do play. I just heard you.” + +Billy shrugged her shoulders. + +“That was nothing. It was only what I had heard. I was trying to make it +sound like--yours.” + +“And, by George! you succeeded,” muttered Cyril under his breath; then +aloud he asked: “Didn't you ever study music?” + +Billy's eyes dimmed. + +“No. That was the only thing Aunt Ella and I didn't think alike about. +She had an old square piano, all tin-panny and thin, you know. I 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 do--get 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. I--I'm afraid +I got stuffy. I hated that piano so! But I was almost ready to give in +when--when Aunt Ella died.” + +“And all you play then is just by ear?” + +“By--ear? I suppose so--if you mean what I hear. Easy things I can play +quick, but--but those chords ARE hard; they skip around so!” + +Cyril smiled oddly. + +“I should say so,” he agreed. “But perhaps there is something else that +I play--that 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 ears--a 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 printed music. But the tune, the rhythm, and the spirit were +there. + +“And there's this,” said Billy; “and this,” she went on, sliding into +one little strain after another--all of which were recognized by the +amazed man at her side. + +“Billy,” he cried, when she had finished and whirled upon him again, +“Billy, would you like to learn to play--really play from notes?” + +“Oh, wouldn't I!” + +“Then you shall! We'll have a piano tomorrow in your rooms for you to +practise on. And--I'll teach you myself.” + +“Oh, thank you, Mr. Cyril--you don't know how I thank you!” exulted +Billy, as she danced from the room to tell Aunt Hannah of this great and +good thing that had come into her life. + +To Billy, this promise of Cyril's to be her teacher was very kind, very +delightful; but it was not in the least a thing at which to marvel. To +Bertram, however, it most certainly was. + +“Well, guess what's happened,” he said to William that night, after he +had heard the news. “I'll believe anything now--anything: 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!” + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND + + +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 had not attended to, Spunk had, he said. + +“You see, it's like this,” he explained to an amused friend one day. +“Billy is taking piano lessons of Cyril, and she is posing for one of my +heads. Naturally, then, such feminine belongings as fancy-work, thread, +thimbles, and hairpins are due to show up at any time either in Cyril's +apartments or mine--to say nothing of William's; and she's in William's +lots--to look for Spunk, if for no other purpose. + +“You must know that Spunk likes William's floor the best of the bunch, +there are so many delightful things to play with. Not that Spunk stays +there--dear 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 to--well, anywhere that he happens to feel like +going. Cyril has found him up-stairs 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 hard-shelled black +bug--dead, of course--that 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 of William's Collection +Number 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 any longer,” he finished. + +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. + +“William, what are you going to do with Billy?” she asked abruptly. + +“Do with her? What do you mean?” returned William with the contented +smile that was so often on his lips these days. “This is Billy's home.” + +“That's the worst of it,” sighed the woman, with a shake of her head. + +“The worst of it! Aunt Hannah, what do you mean? Don't you like Billy?” + +“Yes, yes, William, of course I like Billy. I love her! Who could 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, +or--or somewhere.” + +“And she's going in September,” replied the man. “She'll go to +preparatory school first, and to college, probably.” + +“Yes, but now--right away. She ought to go--somewhere.” + +“Why, yes, for the summer, of course. But those plans aren't 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 +idea--through all the hot June and July--so 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 Bertram would be off more or less. +They always are in the summer.” + +“But, William, you haven't yet got my idea at all,” demurred Aunt +Hannah, with a discouraged shake of her head. “It's away!--away from all +this--from you--that I want to get Billy.” + +“Away! Away from me,” cried the man, with an odd intonation of terror, +as he started forward in his chair. “Why, Aunt Hannah, what are you +talking about?” + +“About Billy. This is no place in which to bring up a young girl--a +young girl who has not one shred of relationship to excuse it.” + +“But she is my namesake, and quite alone in the world, Aunt Hannah; +quite alone--poor child!” + +“My dear William, that is exactly it--she is a child, and yet she is +not. That's where the trouble lies.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“William, Billy has been brought up in a little country town with a +spinster aunt and a whole good-natured, tolerant village for company. +Well, she has accepted you and your entire household, even down to Dong +Ling, on the same basis.” + +“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 quite +too much inclined that way.” + +“Exactly, William. And that only goes to prove what I said before. +Bertram is not a spinster aunt, and neither are any of the rest of you. +But Billy takes you that way.” + +“Takes us that way--as spinster aunts!” + +“Yes. She makes herself as free in this house as she was in her 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 +angle--which certainly doesn't tend to make Billy modest or retiring. +As to you--you know how much she's in your rooms, spending evening after +evening fussing over your collections.” + +“I know; but we're--we're sorting them and making a catalogue,” defended +the man, anxiously. “Besides, I--I like to have her there. She doesn't +bother me a bit.” + +“No; I know she doesn't,” replied Aunt Hannah, with a curious +inflection. “But don't you see, William, that all this isn't going to +quite do? Billy's too young--and too old.” + +“Come, come, Aunt Hannah, is that exactly logical?” + +“It's true, at least.” + +“But, after all, where's the harm? Don't you think that you are just a +little bit too--fastidious? Billy's nothing but a care-free child.” + +“It's the 'free' part that I object to, William. She has taken every one +of you into intimate companionship--even Pete and Dong Ling.” + +“Pete and Dong Ling!” + +“Yes.” Mrs. Stetson's chin came up, and her nostrils dilated a little. +“Billy went to Pete the other day to have him button her shirt-waist +up in the back; and yesterday I found her down-stairs in the kitchen +instructing Dong Ling how to make chocolate fudge!” + +William fell back in his chair. + +“Well, well,” he muttered, “well, well! She is a child, and no mistake!” + He paused, his brows drawn into a troubled frown. “But, Aunt Hannah, +what CAN I do? Of course you could talk to her, but--I don't seem to +quite like that idea.” + +“My grief and conscience--no, no! That isn't what is needed at all. +It would only serve to make her self-conscious; and that's her one +salvation now--that she isn't self-conscious. You see, it's only the +fault of her environment and training, after all. It isn't her heart +that's wrong.” + +“Indeed it isn't!” + +“It will be different when she is older--when 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 live--just +like this, though; certainly not for a time, at least.” + +“No, no, I'm afraid not,” agreed William, perplexedly, rising to his +feet. “But we must think--what can be done.” His step was even slower +than usual as he left the room, and his eyes were troubled. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +WHAT BERTRAM CALLS “THE LIMIT” + + +At half past ten o'clock on the evening following Mrs. Stetson's very +plain talk with William, the telephone bell at the Beacon Street house +rang sharply. Pete answered it. + +“Well?”--Pete never said “hello.” + +“Hello. Is that you, Pete?” called Billy's voice agitatedly. “Is Uncle +William there?” + +“No, Miss Billy.” + +“Oh dear! Well, Mr. Cyril, then?” + +“He's out, too, Miss Billy. And Mr. Bertram--they're all out.” + +“Yes, yes, I know HE'S out,” almost sobbed Billy. “Dear, dear, what +shall I do! Pete, you'll have to come. There isn't any other way!” + +“Yes, Miss; where?” Pete's voice was dubious, but respectful. + +“To the Boylston Street subway--on the Common, you know--North-bound +side. I'll wait for you--but HURRY! You see, I'm all alone here.” + +“Alone! Miss Billy--in the subway at this time of night! But, Miss +Billy, you shouldn't--you can't--you mustn't--” stuttered the old man in +helpless horror. + +“Yes, yes, Pete, but never mind; I am here! And I should think if 'twas +such a dreadful thing you would hurry FAST to get here, so I wouldn't be +alone,” appealed Billy. + +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 +station. + +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 the wind. + +“Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what can this mean?” gasped the man. “Where is +Mrs. Stetson?” + +“At Mrs. Hartwell's--you know she is giving a reception to-night. But +come, we must hurry! I'm after Mr. Bertram.” + +“After Mr. Bertram!” + +“Yes, yes.” + +“Alone?--like this?” + +“But I'm not alone now; I have you. Don't you see?” + +At the blank stupefaction in the man's face, the girl sighed +impatiently. + +“Dear me! I suppose I'll have to explain; but we're losing time--and we +mustn't--we 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 and follow them.” + +“FOLLOW them! MISS BILLY!” + +“I had to, Pete; don't you see? There was no one else. Mr. Cyril and +Uncle William had gone--home, 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 just--followed. +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. But--well, 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 Billy, do!” + +“Home--and leave Mr. Bertram with that Seaver man? No, no!” + +“What CAN ye do?” + +“Do? I can get him to come home with me, of course.” + +The old man made a despairing gesture and looked about him as if 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 know--ye can't know what yer +a-doin'!” + +The girl tossed her head. She was angry now. + +“Pete, if you will not go with me I shall go alone. I am not afraid.” + +“But the hour--the place--you, a young girl! Miss Billy!” 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 in--ladies and gentlemen. Nothing could hurt me, Pete, +and I shall go; but I'd rather you were with me. Why, Pete, we mustn't +leave him. He isn't--he isn't HIMSELF, Pete. He--he's been DRINKING!” + Billy's voice broke, and her face flushed scarlet. She was 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 a-doin', Miss Billy, ye don't--ye don't!” + +“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 turned and ran down the steps. + +Billy blinked a little at the lights which, reflected in the great +plate-glass mirrors, were a million dazzling points that found +themselves again repeated in the sparkling crystal and glittering silver +on the flower-decked tables. All about her Billy saw flushed-faced men, +and bright-eyed women, laughing, chatting, and clinking together their +slender-stemmed wine glasses. But nowhere, as she looked about her, +could Billy descry the man she sought. + +The head waiter came forward with uplifted hand, but Billy did not 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. + +Simultaneously her own and Bertram's eyes met. + +With a sharp word under his breath Bertram sprang to his feet. His +befogged brain had cleared suddenly under the shock of Billy's presence. + +“Billy, for Heaven's sake what are you doing here?” he demanded in a 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, +pallid-faced, and shaking. + +“And you, too, Pete! Great Scott! what does this mean?” he exploded +angrily. + +Pete could only shake his head and glance imploringly at Billy. His dry +lips and tongue refused to articulate even one word. + +“We came--for--you,” choked Billy. “You see, I don't like that Seaver +man.” + +“Well, by Jove! this is the limit!” breathed Bertram. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +KATE TAKES A HAND + + +Undeniably Billy was in disgrace, and none knew it better than 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 +herself with small likelihood of interruption. + +“But, Billy, how could you do such an absurd thing?” she demanded. “The +idea of leaving my house alone, at half-past ten at night, to follow a +couple of men through the streets of Boston, and then with my brothers' +butler make a scene like that in a--a public dining-room!” + +Billy sighed in a discouraged way. + +“Aunt Kate, can't I make you and the rest of them understand that I +didn't start out to do all that? I meant just to speak to Mr. Bertram, +and get him away from that man.” + +“But, my dear child, even that was bad enough!” + +Billy lifted her chin. + +“You don't seem to think, Aunt Kate; Mr. Bertram was--was not sober.” + +“All the more reason then why you should NOT have done what you did!” + +“Why, Aunt Kate, you wouldn't leave him alone in that condition with +that man!” + +It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to sigh. + +“But, Billy,” she contested, wearily, “can't you understand that it +wasn't YOUR place to interfere--you, a young girl?” + +“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 it alone--that is, with Pete.” + +“Pete!” scoffed Mrs. Hartwell. “Pete, indeed!” + +Billy's head came up with a jerk. Billy was very angry now. + +“Aunt Kate, it seems I've done a very terrible thing, but I'm sure 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 and--and +drink too much. But Uncle William hasn't liked him before, not one bit! +I've heard him talk about him--that Mr. Seaver.” + +Mrs. Hartwell raised both her hands, palms outward. + +“Billy, it is useless to talk with you. You are quite impossible. It is +even worse than I expected!” she cried, with wrathful impatience. + +“Worse than you--expected? What do you mean, please?” + +“Worse than I thought it would be--before you came. The idea of 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 mean--that they did not--want 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 +outside of herself. + +“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 everything?” + +“To--upset--everything!” echoed Billy, faintly. “And have I done--that?” + +“Of course you have! How could you help it? To begin with, they 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 the whole thing. + +“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, and what my brothers have done for you.” + +“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?” + +The girl sprang to her feet now. + +“More tractable! Less assertive of my presence!” she cried. “Mrs. +Hartwell, do you mean to say you think I'd STAY after what you've told +me?” + +“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 you to understand how things +were--and are.” + +“And I do understand--and I'm going.” + +Mrs. Hartwell frowned. Her face changed color. + +“Come, come, Billy, this is nonsense. William wants you here. He would +never forgive me if anything I said should send you away. You must not +be angry with, him.” + +Billy turned now like an enraged little tigress. + +“Angry with him! Why, I love him--I love them all! They are the 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 +them know why I'm going?--that I'd hurt them like that? Never!” + +“But, Billy, what are you going to do?” + +“I don't know. I've got to plan it out. I only know now that I'm going, +sure!” And with a choking little cry Billy ran from the room. + +In her own chamber a minute later the tears fell unrestrained. + +“It's home--all the home there is--anywhere!” she sobbed. “But it's got +to go--it's got to go!” + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A PINK-RIBBON TRAIL + + +Mrs. Stetson wore an air of unmistakable relief as she stepped into +William's sitting-room. Even her knock at the half-open door had sounded +almost triumphant. + +“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 see that will make it easier for us.” + +“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 here--for a time. +Though I shall miss her terribly. But, tell me, what is it--what does +she want to do?” + +“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. +The--the dear child seems suddenly to have taken a great fancy to me,” + explained Aunt Hannah, unsteadily. “I never saw her so affectionate.” + +“She is a dear girl--a very dear girl; and she has a warm heart.” + William cleared his throat sonorously, but even that did not clear +his voice. “It was her heart that led her wrong the other night,” he +declared. “Hers was a brave and fearless act--but 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. How did Billy happen to suggest it?” + +“I don't know. I noticed yesterday that she seemed strangely +silent--unhappy, 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 difficulties.” + +“Yes, of course, of course,” muttered William. “It is very fine, very +fine indeed,” he concluded. And again his voice failed quite to match +his words in enthusiasm. + +“Then I'll go and begin to see to my things,” murmured Mrs. Stetson, +rising to her feet. “Billy seems anxious to get away.” + +Billy did, indeed, seem anxious to get away. She announced her 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 gone; and with her had gone Mrs. +Stetson and Spunk. + +The family said they liked it--the quiet, the freedom. They said they +liked to be alone--all but William. He said nothing. + +And yet-- + +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 +red-cheeked, curly-headed young girl whose eyes held a peculiarly +wistful appeal; and Cyril, at his piano up-stairs, sat with idle fingers +until they finally drifted into a simple little melody--the last thing +Billy had been learning. + +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. “I--I made so bold as to bring him in.” + +“Of course,” said William. “Did you feed it?” + +“Yes, sir; Ling did.” + +There was a pause, then Pete spoke, diffidently. + +“I thought, sir, if ye didn't mind, I'd keep it. I'll try to see that it +stays down-stairs, 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.” + +“Yes, I noticed,” said William, stirring with sudden restlessness. “I +noticed.” + +“Yes, sir,” said Pete. And he turned and carried the small gray cat +away. + +The new kitten did not stay down-stairs. Pete tried, it is true, to keep +his promise to watch it; but after he had seen the little animal +carried surreptitiously up-stairs 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 known--until 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 ribbon and +curling white paper--and the end of the trail was in William's room. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER + + +By the middle of June only William and the gray kitten were left 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 loneliness--it reminded +him of Billy. + +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 gray kitten, “Spunkie,” that looked so much like Spunk. + +In reply he received plump white envelopes directed in the round, +schoolboy hand that he remembered so well. In the envelopes 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. + +William frowned at this, and shook his head; yet he knew that it was +true. + +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 interesting as was Hampden Falls. But he went to the +Rangeley Lakes. + +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. + +“Where's Billy? Isn't Billy here?” demanded Bertram. + +“No. She isn't back yet,” replied William. + +“You don't mean to say she's stayed up there all summer!” exclaimed +Cyril. + +“Why, yes, I--I suppose so,” hesitated William. “You see, I haven't +heard but once for a month. I've been down in Maine, you know.” + +William wrote to Billy that night. + +“My dear:--” he said in part. “I hope you'll come home right away. We +want to see SOMETHING of you before you go away again, and you know the +schools will be opening soon. + +“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 how much alike they really +do look.” + +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 came--though this time for a far different reason. + +“Why, boys, she--isn't--coming,” he announced in dismay. + +“Isn't coming!” ejaculated two astonished Voices. + +“No.” + +“Not--at--ALL?” + +“Why, of course, later,” retorted William, with unwonted sharpness. “But +not now. This is what she says.” And he read aloud: + + +“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 way--a lovely place, I'm sure, from the pictures of it. + +“Oh, and another thing; I shall go right from here. Two girls at 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 alone--me, a +'Billy'--unless I sent a special courier ahead to announce that 'Billy' +was a girl. + +“Aunt Hannah has decided to stay here this winter in the old house. 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 be there. + +“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 about having to hunt up a +school for me. + +“With love to all, + +“BILLY.” + + +As had happened once before after a letter from Billy had been read, +there was a long pause. + +“Well, by Jove!” breathed Bertram. + +“It's very sensible, I'm sure,” declared Cyril. “Still, I must confess, +I would have liked to pick out her piano teacher for her.” + +William said nothing--perhaps because he was reading Billy's letter +again. + +At eight o'clock that night Bertram tapped on Cyril's door. + +“What's the trouble?” demanded Cyril in answer to the look on the +other's face. + +Bertram lifted his eyebrows oddly. + +“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 gone--for good.” + +“For good! What do you mean?--that she's not coming back--ever?” + +“Exactly that.” + +“Nonsense! What's put that notion into your head?” + +“Billy's letter first; after that, Pete.” + +“Pete!” + +“Yes. He came to me a few minutes ago, looking as if he had seen 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 +house--not so much as a handkerchief or a hairpin.” + +“Hm-m; that does look--suspicious,” murmured Cyril. “What's up, do you +think?” + +“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.” + +“Hurt?--nonsense! Why, we did everything for her--everything!” + +“Yes, I know--and she tried to do EVERYTHING for us, too,” retorted +Bertram, quizzically, as he turned away. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SEEING BILLY OFF + + +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 Hampden Falls?” + +“I like it there, William; and why shouldn't I stay? Surely there's no +need for me to be here now, with Billy away!” + +“But Billy's coming back!” + +“Of course she's coming back,” laughed Aunt Hannah, “but not 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 wanted--to 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 mistake,--a mistake that she needed to +get away.” + +“Never! We were just right about it,” declared Aunt Hannah, with +conviction. + +“And is Billy--happy?” + +“She seems to be.” + +“Hm-m; 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 him--that 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 might be called a reminder. + +Billy did not write often. She said that she was “too busy to breathe.” + Such letters as did come from her were addressed to William, though 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 earshot--a 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 Falls for a country Christmas. + +For the Easter vacation William was even more insistent--but 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 now. + +William fretted not a little. Even Cyril and Bertram said that it was +“too bad”; that they themselves would like to see the girl--so they +would! + +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 +through the British Isles”; and that their passage was already engaged. + +“And so you see,” she explained, “I shall not have a minute to spare. +There'll be only time to skip home for Aunt Hannah, and to pack the +trunks before it'll be time to start.” + +Bertram looked at Cyril significantly when this letter was read aloud; +and afterward he muttered in Cyril's ear: + +“You see! It's Hampden Falls she calls 'home' now--not the Strata.” + +“Yes, I see,” frowned Cyril. “It does look suspicious.” + +Two days before the date of Billy's expected sailing, William announced +at the breakfast table that he was going away on business; might be gone +until the end of the week. + +“You don't say,” commented Bertram. “I'M going to-morrow, but I'm coming +back in a couple of days.” + +“Hm-m;” 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 by water would be a pleasure, the night was so fine and warm. + +In New York Cyril had little trouble in finding Billy, as he knew the +steamship she was to take. + +“I thought as long as I was in New York to-day I'd just come and say +good-by 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?” + +“Very well, I fancy, though they weren't there when I left,” replied the +man. + +“Oh!--gone away?” + +“Yes. A little matter of business they said; but--well, by Jove!” he +broke off, his gaze on a familiar figure hurrying at that moment toward +them. “There's William now!” + +William, with no eyes but for Billy, came rapidly forward. + +“Well, well, Billy! I thought as long as I happened to be in New York +to-day I'd just run down to the boat and see you and Aunt Hannah off, +and wish--CYRIL! Where did YOU come from?” + +Billy laughed. + +“He just happened to be in town, too, Uncle William, like you,” 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 gesture of defeat. + +“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 +fellow-sinners here, I'll wager they weren't two days behind me in their +planning. So now, own up, boys!” + +William and Cyril, however, did not have to “own up.” Mrs. Stetson +appeared at the moment and created, for them, a very welcome diversion. + +Long minutes later, when the good-byes had become nothing but a flutter +of white handkerchiefs from deck to shore, and shore to deck, William +drew a long sigh. + +“That's a nice little girl, boys, a nice little girl!” he exclaimed. “I +declare! I didn't suppose I'd mind so much her going so far away.” + + + +CHAPTER XX + +BILLY, THE MYTH + + +To all appearances it came about very naturally that Billy 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 devote herself more particularly to her music. + +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 would see. + +Of all this Billy wrote to William--at occasional intervals--but 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 Billy. + +“The idea! It's just as if one didn't have a namesake!” he fumed. + +“Well, did you have one?” Bertram demanded one day. “Really, Will, I'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 word--a message--a scrap of +paper. Billy's a myth, I say!” + +William sighed. + +“Sometimes I don't know but you are right,” he admitted. “Why, it'll +be three years next June since Billy was here. She must be nearly +twenty-one--and we know almost nothing about her.” + +“That's so. I wonder--” Bertram paused, and laughed a little, “I wonder +if NOW she'd play guardian angel to me through the streets of Boston.” + +William threw a keen glance into his brother's face. + +“I don't believe it would be quite necessary, NOW, Bert,” he said +quietly. + +The other flushed a little, but his eyes softened. + +“Maybe not, Will; still--one can always find some use for--a guardian +angel, you know,” he finished, almost under his breath. + +To Cyril Bertram had occasionally spoken, during the last two years, +of their first suspicions concerning Billy's absence. They 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. Hartwell had not once returned to Boston. + +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 +friends--and 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 den after dinner. + +“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.” + +Three men sat suddenly erect in their chairs. + +“Billy?” cried three voices. “Do you know Billy?” + +“To be sure! And you do, too, she says.” + +“Oh, no, we don't,” disputed Bertram, emphatically. “But we WISH we +did!” + +His guest laughed. + +“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 girl--a very charming +girl.” + +“She is my namesake,” announced William, in what Bertram called his +“finest ever” voice that he used only for the choicest bits in his +collections. + +“Yes, she told me,” smiled Calderwell. “'Billy' for 'William.' Odd +idea, too, but clever. It helps to distinguish her even more--though she +doesn't need it, for that matter.” + +“'Doesn't need it,'” echoed William in a puzzled voice. + +“No. Perhaps you don't know, Mr. Henshaw, but Miss Billy is a very +popular young woman. You have reason to be proud of your namesake.” + +“I have always been that,” declared William, with just a touch of +hauteur. + +“Tell us about her,” begged Bertram. “You remember I said that we wished +we did know her.” + +Calderwell smiled. + +“I don't believe, after all, that you do know much about her,” he began +musingly. “Billy is not one who talks much of herself, I fancy, in her +letters.” + +William frowned. This time there was more than a touch of hauteur in his +voice. + +“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 +girl--quite 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 men, +and she has suitors enough to turn any girl's head--but her own.” + +“Suitors!” cried William, plainly aghast. “Why, Billy's nothing but a +child!” + +Calderwell gave an odd smile. + +“How long is it since you've seen--Miss Neilson?” he asked. + +“Two years.” + +“And then only for a few minutes just before she sailed,” amended +Bertram. “We haven't really seen much of her since three years ago.” + +“Hm-m; well, you'll see for yourself soon. You know she's coming home +next month.” + +Not one of the brothers did know it--but not one of them intended that +Calderwell should find out that they did not. + +“Yes, she's coming home,” said William, lifting his chin a little. + +“Oh, yes, next month,” added Bertram, nonchalantly. + +Even Cyril across the room was not to be outdone. + +“Yes. Miss Neilson comes home next month,” he said. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +BILLY, THE REALITY + + +Very early in May came the cheery letter from Billy herself 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. + +William at once began to make plans for his namesake's comfort. + +“But, Will, she didn't say she was coming here,” Bertram reminded him. + +“She didn't need to,” smiled William, confidently. “She just took it for +granted, of course. This is her home.” + +“But it hasn't been--for years. She's called Hampden Falls 'home.'” + +“I know, but that was before,” demurred William, his eyes a little +anxious. “Besides, they've sold the house now, you know. There's nowhere +for her to go but here, Bertram.” + +“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 +preparations for Billy's arrival. + +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 sewing-chair, a stand with a tea tray. And everywhere +were roses, up-stairs and down-stairs, until the air was heavy with +their perfume. In the dining-room Pete was again “swinging back and +forth like a pendulum,” it is true; but it was a cheerful pendulum +to-day, 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 brand-new pink bow of huge +dimensions adorned his fat neck--for the first time in many months. + +“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 as that +kitten when she went abroad. Aunt Hannah said so.” + +“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 Billy--and all the Henshaw +brothers were vaguely conscious of a growing feeling of dislike toward +Calderwell. + +Billy was unmistakably glad to see them--and 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 +had done for her. They knew then, at once, that time had been very kind. + +It was a slim Billy that they saw, with a head royally poised, and 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 of--not 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 +rose-flush still glowed warmly through the clear, smooth skin. The +mouth--Billy's mouth had always been fascinating, Bertram suddenly +decided, as he watched it now. He wanted to paint it--again. 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 liked--to +paint, he said to himself. + +William, too, was watching Billy's mouth; in fact--though he did not +know it--one 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. Cyril--indeed, 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 knew--and disliked--scores. It had +occurred to him suddenly that perhaps it would not be unalloyed bliss to +take this young namesake of William's home with them. + +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 then more like their own Billy--the Billy that they had known. + +“And I'm so glad to be here,” she cried; “and to see you all. America IS +the best place, after all!” + +“And of America, Boston is the Hub, you know,” Bertram reminded her. + +“It is,” nodded Billy. + +“And it hasn't changed a mite, except to grow better. You'll see +to-morrow.” + +“As if I hadn't been counting the days!” she exulted. “And now what have +you been doing--all of you?” + +“Just wait till you see,” laughed Bertram. “They're all spread out for +your inspection.” + +“A new 'Face of a Girl'?” + +“Of course--yards of them!” + +“And heaps of 'Old Blues' and 'black basalts'?” she questioned, turning +to William. + +“Well, a--few,” hesitated William, modestly. + +“And--the music; what of that?” Billy looked now at Cyril. + +“You'll see,” he shrugged. “There's very little, after all--of +anything.” + +Billy gave a wise shake of her head. + +“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 what we would do when we got +to Boston?” + +“Yes, my dear; YOU have.” + +The girl laughed. + +“I accept the amendment,” she retorted with mock submission. “I suppose +it is always I who talk.” + +“It was--when I painted you,” teased Bertram. “By the way, I'll LET you +talk if you'll pose again for me,” he finished eagerly. + +Billy uptilted her nose. + +“Do you think, sir, you deserve it, after that speech?” she demanded. + +“But how about YOUR art--your music?” entreated William. “You have 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 question. He was talking with Aunt +Hannah. + +“Oh, I play--some,” murmured the girl, almost evasively. “But tell me of +yourself, Uncle William, and of what you are doing.” And William needed +no second bidding. + +It was some time later that Billy turned to him with an amazed +exclamation in response to something he had said. + +“Home with you! Why, Uncle William, what do you mean? You didn't really +think you'd got to be troubled with ME any longer!” she cried merrily. + +William's face paled, then flushed. + +“I did not call it 'trouble,' Billy,” he said quietly. His grieved eyes +looked straight into hers and drove the merriment quite away. + +“Oh, I'm so sorry,” she said gently. “And I appreciate your kindness, +indeed I do; but I couldn't--really I couldn't think of such a thing!” + +“And you don't have to think of it,” cut in Bertram, who considered that +the situation was becoming much too serious. “All you have to do is to +come.” + +Billy shook her head. + +“You are so good, all of you! But you didn't--you really didn't think I +WAS--coming!” 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 window-pane, lest we should HAPPEN to come to-night; 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 laughed--but she cried, too; at least, her eyes grew suddenly +moist. Bertram tried to decide afterward whether she laughed till she +cried, or cried till she laughed. + +“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 turn the thoughts away from +the first. + +“We are going to Boston, Aunt Hannah and I. We've got rooms engaged +for just now, but later we're going to take a house and live together. +That's what we're going to do.” + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +HUGH CALDERWELL + + +In the Beacon Street house William mournfully removed the huge pink bow +from Spunkie's neck, and Bertram threw away the roses. Cyril marched +up-stairs with his pile of new music and his book; and Pete, in +obedience to orders, hid the workbasket, the tea table, and the low +sewing-chair. With a great display of a “getting back home” air, Bertram +moved many of his belongings upstairs--but 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 closed then, and remained as they had +for years--silent and deserted. + +Billy with Aunt Hannah had gone directly to their Back Bay hotel. “This +is for just while I'm house-hunting,” the girl had said. But very soon +she had decided to go to Hampden Falls for the summer and postpone her +house-buying until the autumn. Billy was twenty-one 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 with William's namesake. + +“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 shake--if I want to--and +some dirt to dig in.” + +“Well, I'm sure that ought to be easy to find,” smiled Bertram. + +“Oh, but that isn't all,” supplemented Billy. “It must be mostly closets +and piazza. At least, those are the important things.” + +“Well, you might run across a snag there. Why don't you build?” + +Billy gave a gesture of dissent. + +“Too slow. I want it now.” + +Bertram laughed. His eyes narrowed quizzically. + +“From what Calderwell says,” he bantered, “I should judge that there are +plenty of sighing swains who are only too ready to give you a home--and +now.” + +The pink deepened in Billy's cheeks. + +“I said closets and a piazza, dirt to dig, and a furnace to shake,” she +retorted merrily. “I didn't say I wanted a husband.” + +“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. + +“And where is Cyril?” asked Mrs. Stetson, coming into the room at that +moment. + +William stirred restlessly. + +“Well, Cyril couldn't--couldn't come,” stammered William with an uneasy +glance at his brother. + +Billy laughed unexpectedly. + +“It's too bad--about Mr. Cyril's not coming,” she murmured. And again +Bertram caught the twinkle in the downcast eyes. + +To Bertram the twinkle looked interesting, and worth pursuit; but at +the very beginning of the chase Calderwell's card came up, and that +ended--everything, so Bertram declared crossly to himself. + +Billy found her dirt to dig in, and her furnace to shake, in Brookline. +There were closets, too, and a generous expanse of veranda. They 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 many-hued, many-shaped roofs nestling +among towering trees, with the wide sweep of the sky above, and the haze +of faraway hills at the horizon. + +“In fact, it's as nearly perfect as it can be--and not take angel-wings +and fly away,” declared Billy. “I have named it 'Hillside.'” + +Very early in her career as house-owner, 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 household. + +“And now I'm ready to see my friends,” she announced. + +“And I think your friends will be ready to see you,” Bertram assured +her. + +And they were--at 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-year-old +namesake. There were others, too, whom Billy had met abroad; and +there were soft-stepping, sweet-faced old women and an occasional +white-whiskered old man--Aunt Hannah's friends--who found that the young +mistress of Hillside was a charming hostess. There were also the Henshaw +“boys,” and there was always Calderwell--at least, so Bertram declared +to himself sometimes. + +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 his brothers did most of the talking. + +As to Calderwell--Calderwell 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, calf-bound volumes +spread in imposing array on the desk before him. Other hours--many +hours--he spent with Billy. + +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.” + +“Tell you about them! Why, don't you know?” + +She shook her head. + +“No. Cyril says nothing. William little more--about themselves; and you +know what Bertram is. One can hardly separate sense from nonsense with +him.” + +“You don't know, then, how splendidly Bertram has done with his art?” + +“No; only from the most casual hearsay. Has he done well then?” + +“Finely! The public has been his for years, and now the 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 charm.” + +“I'm so glad! And is it still the 'Face of a Girl'?” + +“Yes; only he's doing straight portraiture now as well. It's got to 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, too--a mighty fine fellow. You may not know, perhaps, but three +or four years ago he was--well, not wild, but 'frolicsome,' he would +probably have called it. He got in with a lot of fellows that--well, +that weren't good for a chap of Bertram's temperament.” + +“Like--Mr. Seaver?” + +Calderwell turned sharply. + +“Did YOU know Seaver?” he demanded in obvious surprise. + +“I used to SEE him--with Bertram.” + +“Oh! Well, he WAS one of them, unfortunately. But Bertram shipped him +years ago.” + +Billy gave a sudden radiant smile--but she changed the subject at once. + +“And Mr. William still collects, I suppose,” she observed. + +“Jove! I should say he did! I've forgotten the latest; but he's a fine +fellow, too, like Bertram.” + +“And--Mr. Cyril?” + +Calderwell frowned. + +“That chap's a poser for me, Billy, and no mistake. I can't make him +out!” + +“What's the matter?” + +“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.” + +Billy laughed. + +“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 he doing in his music?” + +The other shrugged his shoulders. + +“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 know--air, light, piano, and audience. He's got another book out, +I'm told--a profound treatise on somebody's something or other--musical, +of course.” + +“And he used to write music; doesn't he do that any more?” + +“I believe so. I hear of it occasionally through musical friends of +mine. They even play it to me sometimes. But I can't stand for much of +it--his stuff--really, Billy.” + +“'Stuff' indeed! And why not?” An odd hostility showed in Billy's eyes. + +Again Calderwell shrugged his shoulders. + +“Don't ask me. I don't know. But they're always dead slow, somber +things, with the wail of a lost spirit shrieking through them.” + +“But I just love lost spirits that wail,” avowed Billy, with more than a +shade of reproach in her voice. + +Calderwell stared; then he shook his head. + +“Not in mine, thank you;” he retorted whimsically. “I prefer my spirits +of a more sane and cheerful sort.” + +The girl laughed, but almost instantly she fell silent. + +“I've been wondering,” she began musingly, after a time, “why some one +of those three men does not--marry.” + +“You wouldn't wonder--if you knew them better,” declared Calderwell. +“Now think. Let's begin at the top of the Strata--by the way, Bertram'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 +William--you 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 heart--that is, what hadn't gone with the +baby a few years before. There was a boy, you know, that died.” + +“Yes, I know,” nodded Billy, quick tears in her eyes. “Aunt Hannah told +me.” + +“Well, that counts out William, then,” said Calderwell, with an air of +finality. + +“But how about Bertram? You haven't settled Bertram,” laughed Billy, +archly. + +“Bertram!” Calderwell's eyes widened. “Billy, can you imagine Bertram's +making love in real earnest to a girl?” + +“Why, I--don't--know; maybe!” Billy tipped her head from side to side as +if she were viewing a picture set up for her inspection. + +“Well, I can't. In the first place, no girl would think he was serious; +or if by any chance she did, she'd soon discover that it was the turn +of her head or the tilt of her chin that he admired--TO PAINT. Now isn't +that so?” + +Billy laughed, but she did not answer. + +“It is, and you know it,” declared Calderwell. “And that settles him. +Now you can see, perhaps, why none of these men--will marry.” + +It was a long minute before Billy spoke. + +“Not a bit of it. I don't see it at all,” she declared with roguish +merriment. “Moreover, I think that some day, some one of them--will +marry, Sir Doubtful!” + +Calderwell threw a quick glance into her eyes. Evidently something he +saw there sent a swift shadow to his own. He waited a moment, then asked +abruptly: + +“Billy, WON'T you marry me?” + +Billy frowned, though her eyes still laughed. + +“Hugh, I told you not to ask me that again,” she demurred. + +“And I told you not to ask impossibilities of me,” he retorted +imperturbably. “Billy, won't you, now--seriously?” + +“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 away, without any more +fuss.” + +Billy sighed impatiently. + +“Hugh, won't you understand that I'm serious?” she cried; then she +turned suddenly, with a peculiar flash in her eyes. + +“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 something--a light +something--that brought the laugh to Billy's lips in spite of herself; +but he was still frowning when he left the house some minutes later, and +the shadow was not gone from his eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING + + +Billy's time was well occupied. There were so many, many things 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 she lent more than her name, giving freely of both time and +money. + +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 +pale-faced 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 walks and fretful pupils. + +“But how in the world do you discover them all--these forlorn specimens +of humanity?” queried Bertram one evening, when he had found Billy +entertaining a freckled-faced messenger-boy with a plate of ice cream +and a big square of cake. + +“Anywhere--everywhere,” smiled Billy. + +“Well, this last candidate for your favor, who has just gone--who's he?” + +“I don't know, beyond that his name is 'Tom,' and that he likes ice +cream.” + +“And you never saw him before?” + +“Never.” + +“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 thought that stone doorstep of yours +was looking a little worn.” + +“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 +to-night, and it occurred to me that he might like a taste; so I gave it +to him.” + +Bertram raised his eyebrows quizzically. + +“Very kind, of course; but--why ice cream?” he questioned. “I thought it +was roast beef and boiled potatoes that was supposed to be handed out to +gaunt-eyed hunger.” + +“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 and see them smile.” + +For a minute Bertram was silent, then he asked abruptly: + +“Billy, why did you leave the Strata?” + +Billy was taken quite by surprise. A pink flush spread to her forehead, +and her tongue stumbled at first over her reply. + +“Why, I--it seemed--you--why, I left to go to Hampden Falls, to be sure. +Don't you remember?” she finished gaily. + +“Oh, yes, I remember THAT,” conceded Bertram with disdainful emphasis. +“But why did you go to Hampden Falls?” + +“Why, it--it was the only place to go--that is, I WANTED to go there,” + she corrected hastily. “Didn't Aunt Hannah tell you that I--I was +homesick to get back there?” + +“Oh, yes, Aunt Hannah SAID that,” observed the man; “but wasn't that +homesickness a little--sudden?” + +Billy blushed pink again. + +“Why, maybe; but--well, homesickness is always more or less sudden; +isn't it?” she parried. + +Bertram laughed, but his eyes grew suddenly almost tender. + +“See here, Billy, you can't bluff worth a cent,” he declared. “You are +much too refreshingly frank for that. Something was the trouble. Now +what was it? Won't you tell me, please?” + +Billy pouted. She hesitated and gazed anywhere but into the challenging +eyes before her. Then very suddenly she looked straight into them. + +“Very well, there WAS a reason for my leaving,” she confessed a little +breathlessly. “I--didn't want to--bother you any more--all of you.” + +“Bother us!” + +“No. I found out. You couldn't paint; Mr. Cyril couldn't play or write; +and--and everything was different because I was there. But I didn't +blame you--no, no!” she assured him hastily. “It was only that I--found +out.” + +“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. + +“You may ask, but I shall not tell,” she declared firmly. + +If Bertram had known Billy just a little better he would have let the +matter drop there; but he did not know Billy, so he asked: + +“Was it anything I did--or said?” + +The girl did not answer. + +“Billy, was it?” Bertram's voice showed terror now. + +Billy laughed unexpectedly. + +“Do you think I'm going to say 'no' to a series of questions, and then +give the whole thing away by my silence when you come to the right one?” + she demanded merrily. “No, sir!” + +“Well, anyhow, it wasn't I, then,” sighed the man in relief; “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 concluded triumphantly. + +The girl eyed him for a moment in silence; then she shook her head. + +“I'm not going to be caught that way, either,” she smiled. “You +know--just what you did in the first place about it: nothing.” + +The man stirred restlessly and pondered. After a long pause he adopted +new tactics. With a searching study of her face to note the slightest +change, he enumerated: + +“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 a glance half-admiring, +half-chagrined, he fell back into his chair. + +“I'll give it up. You've won,” he acknowledged. “But, Billy,”--his +manner changed suddenly--“I wonder if you know just what a hole you left +in the Strata when you went away.” + +“But I couldn't have--in the whole Strata,” objected Billy. “I occupied +only one stratum, and a stratum doesn't go up and down, you know, only +across; and mine was the second floor.” + +Bertram gave a slow shake of his head. + +“I know; but yours was a freak formation,” he maintained gravely. “It +DID go up and down. Honestly, Billy, we did care--lots. Will and I were +inconsolable, and even Cyril played dirges for a week.” + +“Did he?” gurgled Billy, with sudden joyousness. “I'm so glad!” + +“Thank you,” murmured Bertram, disapprovingly. “We hadn't considered it +a subject for exultation.” + +“What? Oh, I didn't mean that! That is--” she stopped helplessly. + +“Oh, never mind about trying to explain,” interposed Bertram. “I fancy +the remedy would be worse than the disease, in this case.” + +“Nonsense! I only meant that I like to be missed--sometimes,” 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.” + +Billy laughed, but her eyes grew tender. + +“Did Uncle William do--that?” she asked. + +“He did--and he did more. Pete told me after a time that you 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 silk button that I recognized as coming from one of your +dresses.” + +“Oh!” said Billy, softly. “Dear Uncle William--and how good he was to +me!” + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +CYRIL, THE ENIGMA + + +Perhaps it was because Billy saw so little of Cyril that it was Cyril +whom she wished particularly to see. William, Bertram, Calderwell--all +her other friends came frequently to the little house on the hill, Billy +told herself; only Cyril held aloof--and it was Cyril that she wanted. + +Billy said that it was his music; that she wanted to hear him play, 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 had shone in the past. + +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 then--very 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 painfully punctilious host. Never had +he been in the least approachable. + +“He treats me exactly as he treated poor little Spunk that first night,” + Billy declared hotly to herself. + +Only once since she came had Billy heard Cyril play, and that 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 clean-cut +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 that had brought to +his face merely a bored smile of acknowledgment. + +Twice she had asked him to play for her; but each time he had begged to +be excused, courteously, but decidedly. + +“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 up-stairs and camp outside his +door, waiting patiently for such crumbs as may fall from his table.” + +“Aren't your metaphors a little mixed?” questioned Cyril irritably. + +“Yes, sir,” acknowledged Bertram with unruffled temper, “but I don't +mind if Billy doesn't. I only meant her to understand that she'd have to +do as she used to do--listen outside your door.” + +Billy's cheeks reddened. + +“But that is what I sha'n't do,” she retorted with spirit. “And, +moreover, I still have hopes that some day he'll play to me.” + +“Maybe,” conceded Bertram, doubtfully; “if the stool and the piano and +the pedals and the weather and his fingers and your ears and my watch +are all just right--then he'll play.” + +“Nonsense!” scowled Cyril. “I'll play, of course, some day. But I'd +rather not today.” And there the matter had ended. Since then Billy had +not asked him to play. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE OLD ROOM--AND BILLY + + +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 a-quiver. 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, whole-souled 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 promptly at the appointed hour they +came. + +“There, this is something like,” exulted Bertram, when the ladies, +divested of their wraps, toasted their feet before the open fire in his +den. + +“Indeed it is, for now I've time to see everything--everything you've +done since I've been gone,” cried Billy, gazing eagerly about her. + +“Hm-m; well, THAT wasn't what I meant,” shrugged Bertram. + +“Of course not; but it's what I meant,” retorted Billy. “And there 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 +time to get his eyes on some old pewter chain with a green stone in it.” + +Billy laughed; but at the look of genuine distress that came 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 her feet, “take me up-stairs, please, and show them to me.” + +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 before a +small cabinet in one of William's rooms. “Oh, oh, how pretty!” + +“Do you like them? I thought you would,” triumphed William, quick joy +driving away the anxious fear in his eyes. “You see, I--I thought of +you when I got them--every 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, chain-linked disks, heavily chased, and set at regular +intervals with a strange, blue-green stone. + +Billy hung above it enraptured. + +“Oh, what a beauty! And this, I suppose, is Bertram's 'pewter chain'! +'Pewter,' indeed!” she scoffed. “Tell me, Uncle William, where did you +get it?” + +And uncle William told, happily, thirstily, drinking in Billy's evident +interest with delight. There were, too, a quaintly-set ring and a +cat's-eye 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 flame-colored 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, sardonyx, lapis lazuli, tourmaline, chrysolite, hyacinth, and +carbuncle. + +“They are lovely, perfectly lovely!” breathed Billy, when the last chain +had slipped through her fingers into William's hand. “I think they are +the very nicest things you ever collected.” + +“So do I,” agreed the man, emphatically. “And they are--different, too.” + +“They are,” said Billy, “very--different.” But she was not looking at +the jewelry: her eyes were on a small shell hairpin and a brown silk +button half hidden behind a Lowestoft teapot. + +On the way down-stairs William stopped a moment at Billy's old rooms. + +“I wish you were here now,” he said wistfully. “They're all ready for +you--these rooms.” + +“Oh, but why don't you use them?--such pretty rooms!” cried Billy, +quickly. + +William gave a gesture of dissent. + +“We have no use for them; besides, they belong to you and Aunt Hannah. +You left your imprint long ago, my dear--we should not feel at home in +them.” + +“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, dropping herself upon the piano stool and dashing into a +brilliant mazourka. + +Billy, like Cyril, had a way of working off her moods at her finger +tips; and to-day 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 down-stairs for a moment to +settle a vexed question concerning the table decorations. + +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 +old-time longing when she had come to that house a lonely, orphan girl, +in search of a home. On and on she played; then with a discordant +note, she suddenly rose from the piano. She was thinking of Kate, and +wondering if, had Kate not “managed” the little room would still be +home. + +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 gray-trousered legs disappearing +around the curve of the landing above. She thought nothing of it until +later when dinner was announced, and Cyril came down-stairs; 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; and it was a question whether Pete +or Dong Ling tried the harder to please. + +After dinner the family gathered in the drawing-room and chatted +pleasantly. Bertram displayed his prettiest and newest pictures, and +Billy played and sung--bright, tuneful little things that she knew Aunt +Hannah and Uncle William liked. If Cyril was pleased or displeased, he +did not show it--but 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 so--what was he doing there? + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +“MUSIC HATH CHARMS” + + +Two days after Thanksgiving Cyril called at Hillside. + +“I've come to hear you play,” he announced abruptly. + +Billy's heart sung within her--but her temper rose. Did he think then +that he had but to beckon and she would come--and at this late day, she +asked herself. Aloud she said: + +“Play? But this is 'so sudden'! Besides, you have heard me.” + +The man made a disdainful gesture. + +“Not that. I mean play--really play. Billy, why haven't you played to me +before?” + +Billy's chin rose perceptibly. + +“Why haven't you asked me?” she parried. + +To Billy's surprise the man answered this with calm directness. + +“Because Calderwell said that you were a dandy player, and I don't care +for dandy players.” + +Billy laughed now. + +“And how do you know I'm not a dandy player, Sir Impertinent?” she +demanded. + +“Because I've heard you--when you weren't.” + +“Thank you,” murmured Billy. + +Cyril shrugged his shoulders. + +“Oh, you know very well what I mean,” he defended. “I've heard you; +that's all.” + +“When?” + +“That doesn't signify.” + +Billy was silent for a moment, her eyes gravely studying his face. Then +she asked: + +“Were you long--on that stairway?” + +“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, down-stairs later, that you'd play it +again; but you didn't. I came to-day to hear it.” + +Again Billy's heart sung within her--but again her temper rose, too. + +“I don't think I feel like it,” she said sweetly, with a shake of her +head. “Not to-day.” + +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 on--the one Billy had sat long ago on the stairs to +hear. + +“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. As was always the case, Cyril's +music had carried her quite out of herself. + +“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she sighed. “You don't know--you can't know +how beautiful it all is--to me!” + +“Thank you. Then surely now you'll play to me,” he returned. + +A look of real distress came to Billy's face. + +“But I can't--not what you heard the other day,” she cried remorsefully. +“You see, I was--only improvising.” + +Cyril turned quickly. + +“Only improvising! Billy, did you ever write it down--any of your +improvising?” + +An embarrassed red flew to Billy's face. + +“Not--not that amounted to--well, that is, some--a little,” she +stammered. + +“Let me see it.” + +“No, no, I couldn't--not YOU!” + +Again the rare smile lighted Cyril's eyes. + +“Billy, let me see that paper--please.” + +Very slowly the girl turned toward the music cabinet. She hesitated, +glanced once more appealingly into Cyril's face, then with nervous 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 she came toward the piano. + +“Thank you,” said Cyril as he reached far out for the music. The next +moment he seated himself again at the piano. + +Twice he played the little song through carefully, slowly. + +“Now, sing it,” he directed. + +Falteringly, in a very faint voice, and with very many breaths taken +where they should not have been taken, Billy obeyed. + +“When we want to show off your song, Billy, we won't ask you to sing +it,” observed the man, dryly, when she had finished. + +Billy laughed and dimpled into a blush. + +“When I want to show off my song I sha'n't be singing it to you for the +first time,” she pouted. + +Cyril did not answer. He was playing over and over certain harmonies in +the music before him. + +“Hm-m; I see you've studied your counterpoint to some purpose,” he +vouchsafed, finally; then: “Where did you get the words?” + +The girl hesitated. The flush had deepened on her face. + +“Well, I--” she stopped and gave an embarrassed laugh. “I'm like the +small boy who made the toys. 'I got them all out of my own head, and +there's wood enough to make another.'” + +“Hm-m; indeed!” grunted the man. “Well, have you made any others?” + +“One--or two, maybe.” + +“Let me see them, please.” + +“I think--we've had enough--for today,” she faltered. + +“I haven't. Besides, if I could have a couple more to go with this, it +would make a very pretty little group of songs.” + +“'To go with this'! What do you mean?” + +“To the publishers, of course.” + +“The PUBLISHERS!” + +“Certainly. Did you think you were going to keep these songs to +yourself?” + +“But they aren't worth it! They can't be--good 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 wood--like this--I advise you to make it +up right away.” + +“But I have already!” cried the girl, excitedly. “There are lots of +little things that I've--that is, there are--some,” she corrected +hastily, at the look that sprang into Cyril's eyes. + +“Oh, there are,” laughed Cyril. “Well, we'll see what--” But he did +not see. He did not even finish his sentence; for Billy's maid, Rosa, +appeared just then with a card. + +“Show Mr. Calderwell in here,” said Billy. Cyril said nothing--aloud; +which was well. His thoughts, just then, were better left unspoken. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS + + +Wonderful days came then to Billy. Four songs, it seemed, had 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 Ju-Ju +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 for parlors.” + +Billy saw a good deal of Cyril now. Already she was at work rewriting +and polishing some of her half-completed melodies, and Cyril was helping +her, by his interest as well as by his criticism. He was, in fact, +at the house very frequently--too 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 different--there +was no disputing that. Calderwell said that he had come “out of his +shell”; and Bertram told Billy that she must have “found his note and +struck it good and hard.” + +Billy was very happy. To the little music teacher, Marie Hawthorn, she +talked more freely, perhaps, than she did to any one else. + +“It's so wonderful, Marie--so 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 mine. Oh, Marie, is it not +wonderful?” + +“It is, dear--and it is not. Your songs could not help reaching +somebody's heart. There's nothing wonderful in that.” + +“Sweet flatterer!” + +“But I mean it. They are beautiful; and so is--Mr. Henshaw's music.” + +“Yes, it is,” murmured Billy, abstractedly. + +There was a long pause, then Marie asked with shy hesitation: + +“Do you think, Miss Billy--that he would care? I listened yesterday when +he was playing to you. I was up here in your room, but when I heard the +music I--I went out, on the stairs and sat down. Was it very--bad of +me?” + +Billy laughed happily. + +“If it was, he can't say anything,” she reassured her. “He's done the +same thing himself--and so have I.” + +“HE has done it!” + +“Yes. It was at his home last Thanksgiving. It was then that he found +out--about my improvising.” + +“Oh-h!” Marie's eyes were wistful. “And he cares so much now for your +music!” + +“Does he? Do you think he does?” demanded Billy. + +“I know he does--and for the one who makes it, too.” + +“Nonsense!” laughed Billy, with pinker cheeks. “It's the music, not the +musician, that pleases him. Mr. Cyril doesn't like women.” + +“He doesn't like women!” + +“No. But don't look so shocked, my dear. Every one who knows Mr. Cyril +knows that.” + +“But I don't think--I believe it,” demurred Marie, gazing straight into +Billy's eyes. “I'm sure I don't believe it.” + +Under the little music teacher's steady gaze Billy flushed again. The +laugh she gave was an embarrassed one, but through it vibrated a pleased +ring. + +“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. + +Some time later Billy played, and it was then that Marie drew a long +sigh. + +“How beautiful it must be to play--like that,” she breathed. + +“As if you, a music teacher, could not play!” laughed Billy. + +“Not like that, dear. You know it is not like that.” + +Billy frowned. + +“But you are so accurate, Marie, and you can read at sight so rapidly!” + +“Oh, yes, like a little machine, I know!” scorned the usually 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 out--all out,” sobbed Marie. “I +felt it coming.” + +“Then perhaps you'll--you'll feel better now,” stammered Billy. She +tried to say more--other 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 this--the +tragedy of it made Billy's heart ache. At Marie's next words, however, +Billy caught her breath in surprise. + +“But you see it wasn't music--it wasn't ever music that I wanted--to +do,” she confessed. + +“It wasn't music! But what--I don't understand,” murmured Billy. + +“No, I suppose not,” sighed the other. “You play so beautifully +yourself.” + +“But I thought you loved music.” + +“I do. I love it dearly--in others. But I can't--I don't want to make it +myself.” + +“But what do you want to do?” + +Marie laughed suddenly. + +“Do you know, my dear, I have half a mind to tell you what I do like to +do--just to make you stare.” + +“Well?” Billy's eyes were wide with interest. + +“I like best of anything to--darn stockings and make puddings.” + +“Marie!” + +“Rank heresy, isn't it?” smiled Marie, tearfully. “But I do, truly. 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-and-butter 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 them--right along--in other people's kitchens.” + +“But why do you--play?” + +“I was brought up to it. You know we had money once, lots of it,” 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 pudding-making, +and after my mud-pie 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. But--well, you know how it is, dear. I +teach, and teach well, perhaps, so far as the mechanical part goes; but +as for the rest--I 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 +made.” + +“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. But--well, is +there anything I could do to help?” + +“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, followed by the amazed, +questioning, sorrowful eyes of Billy. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +“I'M GOING TO WIN” + + +Nearly all of Billy's friends knew that Bertram Henshaw was in love 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 occasions. But to Bertram himself it was very serious. + +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 plaything--no glittering bauble. It +was something big and serious and splendid--because Billy lived in it; +something that demanded all his powers to do, and be--because Billy was +watching; something that might be a Hades of torment or an Elysium of +bliss--according to whether Billy said “no” or “yes.” + +Since Thanksgiving Bertram had known that it was love--this consuming +fire within him; and since Thanksgiving he had known, too, that it +was jealousy--this 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 +drawing-room 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 Cyril--every one knew that Cyril was a woman-hater. +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 great boon of her love. + +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 +words--mere 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 she fail to greet him with a cheery smile. + +Bertram concluded, indeed, after a time, that she was too companionable, +too cheery. He wished she would hesitate, stammer, blush; be a +little shy. He wished that she would display surprise, annoyance, +even--anything but that eternal air of comradeship. And then, one +afternoon in the early twilight of a January day, he freed his mind, +quite unexpectedly. + +“Billy, I wish you WOULDN'T be so--so friendly!” he exclaimed in a 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 on--on our friendship?” she stammered. “That +you fear that I will again--shadow 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. + +Bertram turned quickly. + +“Billy, that was the dearest and loveliest thing a girl ever did--only +I was too great a chump to appreciate it!” finished Bertram in a voice +that was not quite steady. + +“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 +unflattering objection to my--friendliness now?” + +“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 but--a wife! Billy, WON'T you marry me?” + +Again Billy laughed--laughed until she saw the pained anger leap to the +gray eyes before her; then she became grave at once. + +“Bertram, forgive me. I didn't think you could--you can't be--serious!” + +“But I am.” + +Billy shook her head. + +“But you don't love me--not ME, Bertram. It's only the turn of my head +or--or the tilt of my chin that you love--to paint,” she protested, +unconsciously echoing the words Calderwell had said to her weeks before. +“I'm only another 'Face of a Girl.'” + +“You're the only 'Face of a girl' to me now, Billy,” declared the man, +with disarming tenderness. + +“No, no, not that,” demurred Billy, in distress. “You don't mean it. You +only think you do. It couldn't be that. It can't be!” + +“But it is, dear. I think I have loved you ever since that night 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 +again--anywhere. Did you know that?” + +“No; but--I'm glad--so glad!” + +“And I'm glad, too. So you see, I must have loved you then, though +unconsciously, perhaps; and I love you now.” + +“No, no, please don't say that. It can't be--it really can't be. I--I +don't love you--that way, Bertram.” + +The man paled a little. + +“Billy--forgive me for asking, but it's so much to me--is it that there +is--some one else?” His voice shook. + +“No, no, indeed! There is no one.” + +“It's not--Calderwell?” + +Billy's forehead grew pink. She laughed nervously. + +“No, no, never!” + +“But there are others, so many others!” + +“Nonsense, Bertram; there's no one--no one, I assure you!” + +“It's not William, of course, nor Cyril. Cyril hates women.” + +A deeper flush came to Billy's face. Her chin rose a little; and an odd +defiance flashed from her eyes. But almost instantly it was gone, and a +slow smile had come to her lips. + +“Yes, I know. Every one--says that Cyril hates women,” she observed +demurely. + +“Then, Billy, I sha'n't give up!” vowed Bertram, softly. “Sometime you +WILL love me!” + +“No, no, I couldn't. That is, I'm not going to--to marry,” stammered +Billy. + +“Not going to marry!” + +“No. There's my music--you know how I love that, and how much it is to +me. I don't think there'll ever be a man--that I'll love better.” + +Bertram lifted his head. Very slowly he rose till his splendid six feet +of clean-limbed 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 whimsicality that deceived even +Billy's ears. + +“And so it's music--a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean +white paper--that is my only rival,” he cried. “Then I'll warn you, +Billy, I'll warn you. I'm going to win!” And with that he was gone. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +“I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY” + + +Billy did not know whether to be more amazed or amused at Bertram'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 +Bertram, so she calmed herself. + +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 who--but she was not going to marry, +anyway, remembered Billy, suddenly. And with that she began to cry. The +whole thing was so “tiresome,” she declared, and so “absurd.” + +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 +“nonsense.” + +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 was a little hurt, it is true, when Marie only laughed and +answered: + +“But what if the man and the music both happen to be on the same side, +my dear; what then?” + +Marie's voice was wistful, in spite of the laugh--so wistful that it +reminded Billy of their conversation a few weeks before. + +“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 do! Don't tell--anybody!” + +She was so obviously distressed and frightened that Billy was puzzled. + +“There, there, 'twas only a jest, of course,” she soothed her. “But, +really Marie, it is the dear, domestic little mouse like yourself that +ought to be somebody's wife--and that's the kind men are looking for, +too.” + +Marie gave a slow shake of her head. + +“Not the kind of man that is somebody, that does something,” she +objected; “and that's the only kind I could--love. HE wants a wife that +is beautiful and clever, that can do things like himself--LIKE HIMSELF!” + she iterated feverishly. + +Billy opened wide her eyes. + +“Why, Marie, one would think--you already knew--such a man,” she cried. + +The little music teacher changed her position, and turned her eyes away. + +“I do, of course,” she retorted in a merry voice, “lots of them. Don't +you? Come, we've discussed my matrimonial prospects quite long enough,” + she went on lightly. “You know we started with yours. Suppose we go back +to those.” + +“But I haven't any,” demurred Billy, as she turned with a smile to greet +Aunt Hannah, who had just entered the room. “I'm not going to marry; am +I, Aunt Hannah?” + +“Er--what? Marry? My grief and conscience, what a question, Billy! +Of course you're going to marry--when the time comes!” exclaimed Aunt +Hannah. + +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 down-stairs. Billy was angry then, for after the maid was gone, +the merriment in Aunt Hannah's laugh only matched that in Marie's--and +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 convinced--so +far as his own case was concerned--and 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 pleased. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +MARIE FINDS A FRIEND + + +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 electric-light +post. He stopped abruptly. + +“I beg your pardon, but--why, Miss Hawthorn! It is Miss Hawthorn; isn't +it?” + +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 sure--haven't I met you at Miss Neilson's? Are you ill? Can't I do +something for you?” he begged. + +“Yes--no--that 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 do--Mr. Henshaw. I stopped to--rest.” + +The man frowned. + +“But, surely--pardon 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 lesson--to give.” + +“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 well--and just as atrociously. +Come, I insist upon taking you to Miss Neilson's.” + +“No, no, thank you! I really mustn't. I--” She could say no more. 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 step--and 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 very white-faced girl fell over in a deathlike faint +in Cyril Henshaw's arms. + +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, +white-faced and wide-eyed, she resolutely pulled herself half upright, +and announced that she was all well and must go home--home to Marie was +a six-by-nine hall bed-room in a South End lodging house. + +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 stay--oh, lots of weeks.” + +“I--stay here? Why, I can't--indeed, I can't,” protested Marie. + +“But that isn't a bit of a nice way to accept an invitation,” + disapproved Billy. “You should say, 'Thank you, I'd be delighted, I'm +sure, and I'll stay.'” + +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 +know--you must know that I can't do what you ask!” + +“I'm sure I don't see why not,” argued Billy. “I'm merely giving you an +invitation and all you have to do is to accept it.” + +“But the invitation is only the kind way your heart has of covering +another of your many charities,” objected Marie; “besides, I have to +teach. I have my living to earn.” + +“But you can't,” demurred the other. “That's just the trouble. Don't +you see? The doctor said last night that you must not teach again this +winter.” + +“Not teach--again--this winter! No, no, he could not be so cruel as +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 need is rest and care--and +that's exactly what I mean my guest shall have.” + +Quick tears came to the sick girl's eyes. + +“There couldn't be a kinder heart than yours, Miss Billy,” she murmured, +“but I couldn't--I really couldn't be a burden to you like this. I shall +go to some hospital.” + +“But you aren't going to be a burden. You are going to be my friend and +companion.” + +“A companion--and in bed like this?” + +“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 +their white-and-gold frames. At last she drew a deep sigh. + +“Yes, I'll stay,” she breathed rapturously; “but--you must let me help.” + +“Help? Help what?” + +“Help you; your letters, your music-copying, your accounts--anything, +everything. And if you don't let me help,”--the music teacher's +voice was very stern now--“if you don't let me help, I shall go home +just--as--soon--as--I--can--walk!” + +“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 +mischievously, as she left the room. + +Miss Hawthorn sat up the next day. The day following, in one of Billy's +“fluttery wrappers,” as she called them, she walked all about the room. +Very soon she was able to go down-stairs, and in an astonishingly 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 rose-leaf 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 end. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE + + +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 displeased +her at the same time. + +She told herself that she knew very well, of course, what Marie meant: +it was Cyril; he was the man, and the music. But was Cyril 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 +mind--as 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 music--his 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 puzzling--this question, and she did not want to make a mistake. +Then, too, she did not wish to wound Cyril. If the dear man HAD come +out of his icy prison, and were reaching out timid hands to her for +her help, her interest, her love--the 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 Cyril--a little; and +that she probably could care for him a great deal. With this thought, +Billy blushed--already in her own mind she was as good as pledged to +Cyril. + +It was a great change for Billy--this 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 it--and in pursuance of this high ideal she followed Marie into the +kitchen the very next time the little music teacher went out to make one +of her dainty desserts that the family liked so well. + +“I'll just watch, if you don't mind,” announced Billy. + +“Why, of course not,” smiled Marie, “but I thought you didn't like to +make puddings.” + +“I don't,” owned Billy, cheerfully. + +“Then why this--watchfulness?” + +“Nothing, only I thought it might be just as well if I knew how to make +them. You know how Cyril--that is, ALL the Henshaw boys like every kind +you make.” + +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 peculiar +enthusiasm--if they happened to interrupt a tete-a-tete with Cyril. + +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 him--and 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, +determinedly to cultivating Cyril. + +It was then that Billy made a strange and fearsome discovery: there were +some things about Cyril that she did--not--like! + +Billy was inexpressibly shocked. Heretofore he had been so high, so +irreproachable, so god-like!--but heretofore he had been a friend. +Now he was appearing in a new role--though unconsciously, she knew. +Heretofore she had looked at him with eyes that saw only the 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 music--she 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 then Billy stated the case to herself. + +“What passes for 'fascinating mystery' in him now will be plain +moroseness--sometime. He is 'taciturn' now; he'll be--cross, then. It is +'erratic' when he won't play the piano to-day; but a few years from now, +when he refuses some simple request of mine, it will be--stubbornness. +All this it will be--if I don't love him; and I don't. I know I don't. +Besides, we aren't really congenial. I like people around; he doesn't. +I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy days; I abhor them. +There is no doubt of it--life with him would not be one grand harmony; +it would be one jangling discord. I simply cannot marry him. I 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 old--and was a +profound secret, not only to the bridegroom elect, but to all the world +as well--save 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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY + + +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 himself at all, +but like some one else. + +Marie had disagreed with her, it is true, and had said stiffly: + +“I'm sure I thought he seemed very much like himself.” But that had 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 tete-a-tete 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.” + +“What was that?” + +“A very silly reference to that old notion that you and every one else +seem to have that I am a 'woman-hater.'” + +Billy's heart skipped a beat. One thought, pounded through her brain and +dinned itself into her ears--at all costs Cyril must not be allowed to +say that which she so feared; he must be saved from himself. + +“Woman-hater? Why, of course you're a woman-hater,” she cried merrily. +“I'm sure, I--I think it's lovely to be a woman-hater.” + +The man opened wide his eyes; then he frowned angrily. + +“Nonsense, Billy, I know better. Besides, I'm in earnest, and I'm not a +woman-hater.” + +“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 undergone a complete change. He was almost shamefaced as he said: + +“Billy, I suppose I might as well own up. I don't think I did think much +of women until I saw--you.” + +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 change--a great and wonderful +change that I hardly understand myself.” + +“That's it! You don't understand it, I'm sure,” interposed Billy, +feverishly. “It may not be such a change, after all. You may be +deceiving yourself,” she finished hopefully. + +The man sighed. + +“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 should prefer another shade.” + +He paused, and Billy cast distractedly about in her mind for a simple, +natural change of subject. She had just decided to ask him what he +thought of the condition of the Brittany peasants, when he questioned +abruptly, and in a voice that was not quite steady: + +“Billy, what should you say if I should tell you that the avowed +woman-hater had strayed so far from the prescribed path as to--to like +one woman well enough as to want to--marry her?” + +The word was like a match to the gunpowder of Billy's fears. Her +self-control was shattered instantly into bits. + +“Marry? No, no, you wouldn't--you couldn't really be thinking of that,” + she babbled, growing red and white by turns. “Only think how a wife +would--would b-bother you!” + +“Bother me? When I loved her?” + +“But just think--remember! She'd want cushions and rugs and curtains, +and you don't like them; and she'd always be talking and laughing when +you wanted quiet; and she--she'd want to drag you out to plays and +parties and--and everywhere. Indeed, Cyril, I'm sure you'd never like a +wife--long!” Billy stopped only because she had no breath with which to +continue. + +Cyril laughed a little grimly. + +“You don't draw a very attractive picture, Billy. Still, I'm not afraid. +I don't think this particular--wife would do any of those things--to +trouble me.” + +“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 carefully--very +carefully, before you decide.” + +“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 sleigh-ride if she cared to go. + +“Of course she'll go,” declared Cyril, promptly, answering for her. +“It is time I was off anyhow.” To Billy, he said in a low voice: “You +haven't been very encouraging, little girl--in fact, you've been mighty +discouraging. But some day--some other day, I'll try to make clear to +you--many things.” + +Billy greeted Bertram very cordially. It was such a relief--his cheery, +genial companionship! The air, too, was bracing, and all the world +lay under a snow-white blanket of sparkling purity. Everything was so +beautiful, so restful! + +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 good-byes were said; then wistfully Bertram hazarded: + +“Billy, don't you think, sometimes, that I'm gaining--just a little on +that rival of mine--that music?” + +Billy's face clouded. She shook her head gently. + +“Bertram, please don't--when we've had such a beautiful hour together,” + she begged. “It troubles me. If you do, I can't go--again.” + +“But you shall go again,” cried Bertram, bravely smiling straight into +her eyes. “And there sha'n't ever anything in the world trouble you, +either--that I can help!” + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +WILLIAM IS WORRIED + + +Billy's sleigh-ride had been due to the kindness of a belated 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 dirt.” + +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 seemingly exhaustless source of his wisdom. + +“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 quick-growing things, just for this season, until +we can get the more permanent things established.” + +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 fingers--and for Bertram's. And if sometimes in the intimacy of +seed-sowing and plant-setting, 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 assistant--and that was all. + +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 sleigh-ride. 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 smile--and 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 meant--that he would try to convince her (as she had tried to +convince herself) that she would make a good wife for him. + +Billy was very sure that if Cyril could be prevented from speaking his +mind just now, his mind would change in time; hence her determination to +give his mind that opportunity. + +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 taken up her teaching again, much to Billy's distress. + +“But I can't stay here always, like this,” Marie had protested. + +“But I should like to keep you!” Billy had responded, with no less +decision. + +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 little curio-shop. + +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, much-loved daughter, the joy of his life, the +solace of his declining years. + +To no one had William talked of this--and 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 thought he saw in Billy's changed attitude toward himself. + +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 silent--what 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 +worried--and to show it. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +CLASS DAY + + +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. Besides, I've got a scheme +I mean to carry out.” + +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 little house into a fresh-air place +for Boston's slum children!” + +“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.” + +“But you haven't much spare room; have you?” questioned Bertram. + +“No, unfortunately; so I shall have to take only two or three at a time, +and keep them maybe a week or ten days. It's just a sugar plum, Bertram. +Truly it is,” she added whimsically, but with a tender light in her +eyes. + +“But who are these people?” Bertram's face had lost its look of shocked +surprise, and his voice expressed genuine interest. + +“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 fields, and a summer play or +two, perhaps. + +“Then there's a little couple that live in a third-story 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 week. She'll be here all the +time, and he'll come out at night, of course. + +“Another one is a widow with six children. The children are already +provided for by a fresh-air society, but the woman I'm going to take, +and--and give her a whole week of food that she didn't have to 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 +are--really, Bertram, there is no end to them.” + +“I can well believe that,” declared Bertram, with emphasis, “so far as +your generous heart is concerned.” + +Billy colored and looked distressed. + +“But it isn't generosity or charity at all, Bertram,” she protested. +“You are mistaken when you think it is--really! Why, I shall enjoy every +bit of it just as well as they do--and better, perhaps.” + +“But you stay here--in the city--all summer for their sakes.” + +“What if I do? Besides, this isn't the real city,” argued Billy, “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 summer--not 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 much so with William's countenance. + +“William does NOT look well,” she declared one day when she and Billy +were alone together. + +“Sick? Uncle William sick? Oh, I hope not!” cried the girl. + +“I don't know whether it's 'sick' or not,” returned Mrs. Hartwell. “But +it's something. He's troubled. I'm going to speak to him. He's worried +over something; and he's grown terribly thin.” + +“But he's always thin,” reasoned Billy. + +“I know, but not like this--ever. You don't notice it, perhaps, or +realize it, seeing him every day as you do. But I know something +troubles him.” + +“Oh, I hope not,” murmured Billy, with anxious eyes. “We don't want +Uncle William troubled: we all love him too well.” + +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 looking eagerly forward to the occasion. + +“You have seen the Stadium, of course,” said Bertram to Billy, a few +days before the anticipated Friday. + +“Only from across the river.” + +“Is that so? And you've never been here Class Day, either. Good! Then +you've got a treat in store. Just wait and see!” + +And Billy waited--and 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 +Class-Day week. By the time the day itself arrived Billy was almost as +excited as was young Hartwell himself. + +It rained Class-Day 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 +afterward how many times that day remarks like these were made to her: + +“You've been here Class Day before, of course. You've seen the +confetti-throwing!... No? Well, you just wait!” + +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 seats. + +“I wanted them high up, you see,” explained Bertram, “because you can +get the effect so much better. There, here we are!” + +For the first time Billy turned and looked about her. She gave a low cry +of delight. + +“Oh, oh, how beautiful--how wonderfully beautiful!” + +“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 aglow with delight. + +First there was the great amphitheater itself. Only the wide curve of +the horseshoe was roped off for to-day's audience. Beyond lay the two +sides with their tier above tier of empty seats, almost dazzling in +the sunshine. Within the roped-off curve the scene was of kaleidoscopic +beauty. Charmingly gowned young women and carefully groomed young men +were everywhere, stirring, chatting, laughing. Gay-colored parasols and +flower-garden 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 curtain hung from heaven itself. + +At the first sound of the distant band that told of the graduates' +coming, Bertram said almost wistfully: + +“Class Day is the only time when I feel 'out of it.' You see I'm the +first male Henshaw for ages that hasn't been through Harvard; and +to-day, you know, is the time when the old grads come back and do stunts +like the kids--if 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 +enough--and you'll see them as you never saw them before.” + +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 great bowl of the horseshoe curve. + +And how they yelled and cheered--those 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 throats--and did split their gloves--especially +when the black-gowned seniors swept into view. + +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 many-hued 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 wires, they made a fairy lace +work of marvelous beauty. + +“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Billy, her eyes misty with emotion. “I think I never +saw anything in my life so lovely! + +“I thought you'd like it,” gloried Bertram. “You know I said to wait!” + +But even with this, Class Day for Billy was not finished. There 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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +SISTER KATE AGAIN + + +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 that +sorely needed her guiding hand. + +William's thin face, anxious looks, and nervous manner had troubled +her ever since she came. Then one day, very suddenly, had come +enlightenment: William was in love--and with Billy. + +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 longer, she declared. + +On Sunday afternoon Kate asked her eldest brother to take her driving. + +“Not a motor car; I want a horse--that will let me talk,” she said. + +“Certainly,” agreed William, with a smile; but Bertram, who chanced to +hear her, put in the sly comment: “As if ANY horse could prevent--that!” + +On the drive Kate began to talk at once, but she did not plunge 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: + +“William, why don't you take Billy home with you?” + +William stirred uneasily as he always did when anything annoyed him. + +“My dear Kate, there is nothing I should like better to do,” he replied. + +“Then why don't you do it?” + +“I--hope to, sometime.” + +“But why not now?” + +“I'm afraid Billy is not quite--ready.” + +“Nonsense! A young girl like that does not know her own mind lots +of times. Just press the matter a little. Love will work +wonders--sometimes.” + +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. + +“Then you have--seen it--too?” he stammered + +“'Seen it, too,'” laughed Kate, with her confident eyes on William's +flushed face, “I should say I had seen it! Any one could see it.” + +William blushed again. Love to him had always been something sacred; +something that called for hushed voices and twilight. This 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 all. It's worrying you. I can see it +is.” + +Again William stirred uneasily. + +“But, Kate, I can't do anything. I told you before; I don't believe +Billy is--ready.” + +“Nonsense! Ask her.” + +“But Kate, a girl won't marry against her will!” + +“I don't believe it is against her will.” + +“Kate! Honestly?” + +“Honestly! I've watched her.” + +“Then I WILL speak,” cried the man, his face alight, “if--if you think +anything I can say would--help. There is nothing--nothing in all this +world that I so desire, Kate, as to have that little girl back home. And +of course that would do it. She'd live there, you know.” + +“Why, of--course,” 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 have a chance to grow, she +told herself. + +Mrs. Hartwell's next move was to speak to Billy, and she was careful to +do this at once, so that she might pave the way for William. + +She began her conversation with an ingratiating smile and the words: + +“Well, Billy, I've been doing a little detective work on my own +account.” + +“Detective work?” + +“Yes; about William. You know I told you the other day how troubled and +anxious he looked to me. Well, I've found out what's the matter.” + +“What is it?” + +“Yourself.” + +“Myself! Why, Mrs. Hartwell, what can you mean?” + +The elder lady smiled significantly. + +“Oh, it's merely another case, my dear, of 'faint heart never won fair +lady.' I've been helping on the faint heart; that's all.” + +“But I don't understand.” + +“No? I can't believe you quite mean that, my dear. Surely you must know +how earnestly my brother William is longing for you to go back and live +with him.” + +Like William, Billy flushed scarlet. + +“Mrs. Hartwell, certainly no one could know better than YOURSELF why +that is quite impossible,” she frowned. + +The other colored confusedly. + +“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.” + +To Mrs. Hartwell's blank amazement, Billy laughed outright. + +“'William's suit'!” she quoted merrily. “Why, Mrs. Hartwell, there isn't +any 'suit' to it. Uncle William doesn't want me to marry him!” + +“Indeed he does.” + +Billy stopped laughing, and sat suddenly erect. + +“MRS. HARTWELL!” + +“Billy, is it possible that you did not know this?” + +“Indeed I don't know it, and--excuse me, but I don't think you do, +either.” + +“But I do. I've talked with him, and he's very much in earnest,” 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 him--I know +you do!” + +“Why, of course I care for him--but not--that way.” + +“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 BE--if you only will--in 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 not supposed she could make so +touching an appeal. + +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. “I--I am taken quite by surprise. I shall have to think it +out--alone.” + +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 to you for love and comfort +and rest.” + +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 now--what must she do; what could she do? She +loved no one--of 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” William--if she married him. + +“If she married him.” The words startled her. “If she married him.”... +Well, what of it? She would go to live at the Strata, of course; and +there would be Cyril and Bertram. It might be awkward, and yet--she did +not believe Cyril was in love with anything but his music; and as to +Bertram--it 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 companion--a 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 sure--much 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 Uncle--that 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 it hard for him, she +promised herself. She would be William's wife. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE + + +In spite of his sister's confident assurance that the time was ripe 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 carrying out of his promise to +speak to his namesake. + +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 +Bertram--what then? Might not his own untimely haste in the matter +forever put an end to the chance of her caring for him? + +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 Bertram and all +the Strata glad by loving him in return. + +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 vine-shaded +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 you. I--I have wanted to say it for +some time.” + +“Why, of--of course,” stammered the girl, falling back in her seat. And +again William noticed that odd fluttering of the slim little hands. + +For a time no one spoke, then William began softly, his eyes on the +distant sky-line still faintly aglow with the sunset's reflection. + +“Billy, I want to tell you a story. Long years ago there was a man 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 baby--went away, after a time, and carried with him all +the plans--and 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 great bare rooms that echoed sighs and sobs. + +“Perhaps it was this--the bareness of the rooms--that 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 business--hours which once had been all too +short to devote to the young wife and the baby boy. + +“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 then--but perhaps you are tired of the story, +Billy.” William turned with questioning eyes. + +“No, oh, no,” faltered Billy. “It is beautiful, but so--sad!” + +“But the saddest part is done--I hope,” said William, softly. “Let me +tell you. A wonderful thing happened then. Suddenly, right out of a dull +gray sky of hopelessness, dropped a little brown-eyed 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 brown-eyed girl; and +he hoped that he could keep her. But just as he was beginning to bask +in this new light--it went out. As suddenly as they had come, the little +brown-eyed girl and the gray cat went away. Why, the man did not know. +He knew only that the ache had come back, doubly intense, and that 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 sighs and sobs of the +past.” + +“And I will finish it,” choked Billy, holding out both her hands. “It +sha'n't ache--they sha'n't echo!” + +The man leaned forward eagerly, unbelievingly, and caught the hands in +his own. + +“Billy, do you mean it? Then you will--come?” + +“Yes, yes! I didn't know--I didn't think. I never supposed it was like +that! Of course I'll come!” And in a moment she was sobbing in his arms. + +“Billy!” breathed William rapturously, as he touched his lips to 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 came--Billy herself had +begun to speak. + +“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 self-controlled. But you know I am young, and +you'll have to be patient.” + +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 could not have heard aright. + +“Er--you said--” he questioned faintly. + +“I say when I'm your wife I hope I'll learn to be more self-controlled,” + laughed Billy, nervously. “You see I just thought I ought to remind you +that I am young, and that you'll have to be patient.” + +William stammered something--a 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 away--if 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 do? + +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 ask you to marry me.” + +Very valiantly then William summoned his wits and tried to act his part. +He told himself, too, that it would not be a hard one; that he 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 was--as if +he, at his age, were a fit match for a girl of twenty-one! + +And then he looked at Billy. The girl was plainly nervous. There was a +deep flush on her cheeks and a brilliant sparkle in her eyes. She +was talking rapidly--almost incoherently at times--and 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 “yes” to the man she loves. + +William went home that night in a daze. To himself he said that he had +gone out in search of a daughter, and had come back with a wife. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +“WILLIAM'S BROTHER” + + +It was decided that for the present, the engagement should not 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 plans were a little more definite. + +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 have been more or less pleased +if she had finished it. + +Cyril received the information moodily, and lapsed at once into a fit +of abstraction from which he roused himself hardly enough to offer +perfunctory congratulations and best wishes. + +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 and +taciturn aloofness. + +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 little--very little, that night; but in the morning he went +straight to Billy. + +Billy was shocked. She had never seen the smiling, self-reliant, +debonair Bertram like this. + +“Billy, is this true?” he demanded. The dull misery in his voice told +Billy that he knew the answer before he asked the question. + +“Yes, yes; but, Bertram, please--please don't take it like this!” she +implored. + +“How would you have me take it?” + +“Why, just--just sensibly. You know I told you that--that the other +never could be--never.” + +“I know YOU said so; but I--believed otherwise.” + +“But I told you--I did not love you--that way.” + +Bertram winced. He rose to his feet abruptly. + +“I know you did, Billy. I'm a fool, of course, to think that I could +ever--change it. I shouldn't have come here, either, this morning. But +I--had to. Good-by!” His face, as he held out his hand, was tragic with +renunciation. + +“Why, Bertram, you aren't going--now--like this!” cried the girl. +“You've just come!” + +The man turned almost impatiently. + +“And do you think I can stay--like this? Billy, won't you say good-by?” + he asked in a softer voice, again with outstretched hand. + +Billy shook her head. She ignored the hand, and resolutely backed away. + +“No, not like that. You are angry with me,” she grieved. “Besides, you +make it sound as if--if you were going away.” + +“I am going away.” + +“Bertram!” There was terror as well as dismay in Billy's voice. + +Again the man turned sharply. + +“Billy, why are you making this thing so hard for me?” he asked 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 before--for 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? I should feel lost +without--you!” Billy was almost crying now. + +Bertram looked up quickly. An odd change had come to his face. For a +moment he gazed silently into Billy's agitated countenance; then he +asked in a low voice: + +“Billy, did you think that after you and William were married I should +still continue to live at--the Strata?” + +“Why, of course you will!” cried the girl, indignantly. “Why, Bertram, +you'll be my brother then--my real brother; and one of the very chiefest +things I'm anticipating when I go there to live is the good times you +and I will have together when I'm William's wife!” + +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 you--love William?” + +Billy flushed with anger. + +“You have no right to ask such a question. Of course I love William.” + +“Of course you do--we all love William. William is, in fact, a most +lovable man. But William's wife should, perhaps, love him a little +differently from--all of us.” + +“And she will, certainly,” retorted the girl, with a quick lifting of +her chin. “Bertram, I don't think you have any right to--to make such +insinuations.” + +“And I won't make them any more,” replied Bertram, gravely. “I just +wanted you to make sure that you--knew.” + +“I shall make sure, and I shall know,” said Billy, firmly--so firmly +that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince herself as well +as others. + +There was a long pause, then the man asked diffidently: + +“And so you are very sure that--that you want me to--stay?” + +“Indeed I do! Besides,--don't you remember?--there are all my people 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 +course, if you don't want to--” + +“But I do want to,” cried Bertram, heartily, a gleam of the old +cheerfulness springing to his eyes. “I'm dying to!” + +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 +light-heartedness. He was once more “only Bertram.” She hesitated, then +said with stern decision: + +“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 that--that _I_ shall change, +then--then you must go. But if you will stay as WILLIAM'S BROTHER +then--I'll be more than glad to have you.” + +“I'll stay--as William's brother,” agreed Bertram; and Billy did not +notice the quick indrawing of his breath nor the close shutting of his +lips after the words were spoken. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO + + +By the middle of July the routine of Billy's days was well established. +Marie had been for a week a welcome addition to the family, and she +was proving to be of invaluable aid in entertaining Billy's guests. The +overworked widow and the little lodging-house 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 last remonstrated with him. + +“But I didn't mean them to take ALL your time,” she protested. + +“Don't they like it? Do they see too much of me?” he demanded. + +“No, no! They love it, of course. You must know that. Nobody else 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 here all summer, of course. You always go away some, you know, +for a vacation.” + +“But I'm having a vacation here, doing this,” laughed Bertram. “I'm sure +I'm getting sea air down to the beaches and mountain air out to the +Blue Hills. And as for excitement--if 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 Roller-coaster--just show it to me; that's +all!” + +Billy laughed. + +“They told me about it--Marie 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. + +Bertram shrugged his shoulders. + +“If it's Roller-coasters and Chute-the-chutes 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 to-morrow, please, when I asked them what +we should do next. What surprises me is that they like such things--such +hair-raising things. When I first saw them, black-gowned and +stiff-backed, 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 now--really, Billy, why do you suppose they have taken +such a fancy to these kiddish stunts--those two staid women?” + +Billy laughed, but her eyes softened. + +“I don't know unless it's because all their lives they've been 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 Tommy--he'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, fervently, just as Marie, the widow, and the “spinster lady” + entered the room. + +Billy told herself these days that she was very happy--very 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 to Billy--yet. + +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. + +“To William?--you are engaged to William?” + +“Why--yes.” + +“But I thought--surely it was--don't you mean--Mr. Cyril?” + +“No, I don't,” laughed Billy. “And certainly I ought to know.” + +“And you don't--care for him?” + +“I hope not--if I'm going to marry William.” + +So light was Billy's voice and manner that Marie dared one more +question. + +“And he--doesn't care--for you?” + +“I hope not--if William is going to marry me,” laughed Billy again. + +“Oh-h!” breathed Marie, with an odd intonation of relief. “Then I'm +glad--so glad! And I hope you'll be very, very happy, dear.” + +Billy looked into Marie's glowing face and was pleased: there seemed to +be so few, so very few faces into which she had looked and found entire +approbation of her engagement to William. + +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 had. + +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 +him--yet 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 forehead--for which consideration Billy was grateful: +Billy decided that she would not like to be kissed on the lips. + +After some days of puzzling over the matter Billy concluded that it was +self-consciousness that caused all the trouble. With William she was +self-conscious. 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 present--just while she was “getting used to things”--she would try +to forget, sometimes, that she was going to be William's wife. + +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 he overstepped +the role which he had promised to play--William's brother. + +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 +beginning to taste the sweets of fame. + +Thus, by all these interests, did Billy try “to get used to things.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER + + +Of all Billy's guests, Marie was very plainly the happiest. She was 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 her like this before. + +“Verily, Marie,” she teased one day, “have you found an exhaustless +supply of stockings to mend, or a never-done pudding to make--which?” + +“Why? What do you mean?” + +“Oh, nothing. I was only wondering just what had brought that new light +to your eyes.” + +“Is there a new light?” + +“There certainly is.” + +“It must be because I'm so happy, then,” sighed Marie; “because you're +so good to me.” + +“Is that all?” + +“Isn't that enough?” Marie's tone was evasive. + +“No.” Billy shook her head mischievously. “Marie, what is it?” + +“It's nothing--really, it's nothing,” protested Marie, hurrying out 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 opportunity. She was alone again with Marie. + +“Marie, who is he?” she asked abruptly. + +“He? Who?” + +“The man who is to wear the stockings and eat the pudding.” + +The little music teacher flushed very red, but she managed to display +something that might pass for surprise. + +“BILLY!” + +“Come, dear,” coaxed Billy, winningly. “Tell me about it. I'm so +interested!” + +“But there isn't anything to tell--really there isn't.” + +“Who is he?” + +“He isn't anybody--that is, he doesn't know he's anybody,” amended +Marie. + +Billy laughed softly. + +“Oh, doesn't he! Hasn't he ever shown--that he cared?” + +“No; that is--perhaps he has, only I thought then--that it was--another +girl.” + +“Another girl! So there's another girl in the case?” + +“Yes. I mean, no,” corrected Marie, suddenly beginning to realize what +she was saying. “Really, it wasn't anything--it isn't anything!” she +protested. + +“Hm-m,” murmured Billy, archly. “Oh, I'm getting on some! He did show, +once, that he cared; but you thought it was another girl, and you +coldly looked the other way. Now, there ISN'T any other girl, you find, +and--Marie, tell me the rest!” + +Marie shook her head emphatically, and pulled herself gently away 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 away. + +During the days that followed, Billy speculated not a little on Marie's +half-told 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 self-conscious with William; she could not forget +that she was one day to be his wife. She could not bring back the dear +old freedom of comradeship with him. + +Billy was alarmed now. She had begun to ask herself searching questions. +What should she do if never, never should she get used to the 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 tried--as she had now--and 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 idea. + +It was a half-sheet 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 Henshaw.” + +For a moment Billy stared at the name perplexedly--then in a flash came +the remembrance of Marie's words; and Billy breathed: “Henshaw!--the +man--BERTRAM!” + +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 cared--HER 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 was--Marie's. + +Billy was frightened then, so fierce was this strange new something that +rose within her--this overpowering something that seemed to blot out all +the world, and leave only--Bertram. 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!... And she had not known what it all +meant--poor blind child that she was! + +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 he--Billy 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. +It was all so clear--so woefully clear! + +With an aching heart Billy asked herself what now was to be done. +For herself, turn whichever way she could, she could see nothing 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 +William--Billy 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 must not be told. Her +promise to William must be kept. + + + +CHAPTER XL + +WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT + + +Before September passed all Billy's friends said that her summer's +self-appointed 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 shadow-like +now. Her eyes had found again the wistful appeal of her girlhood, only +now they carried something that was almost fear, as well. The rose-flush +had gone from her cheeks, and pathetic little hollows had appeared, +making the round young chin below look almost pointed. Certainly Billy +did seem to be ill. + +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. + +William sighed. + +“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!” + +“I know she has; but she isn't now.” + +“What's the trouble?” + +“That's what we don't know.” + +“You've had the doctor?” + +“Of course; two or three of them--though much against Billy's will. +But--they didn't help us.” + +“What did they say?” + +“They could find nothing except perhaps a little temporary stomach +trouble, or something of that kind, which they all agreed was no just +cause for her present condition.” + +“But what did they say it was?” + +“Why, they said it seemed like nervousness, or as if something was +troubling her. They asked if she weren't under some sort of strain.” + +“Well, is she? Does anything trouble her?” + +“Not that I know of. Anyhow, if there is anything, none of us can find +out what it is.” + +Kate frowned. She threw a quick look into her brother's face. + +“William,” she began hesitatingly, “forgive me, but--Billy is quite +happy in--her engagement, I suppose.” + +The man flushed painfully, and sighed. + +“I've thought of that, of course. In fact, it was the first thing I +did think of. I even began to watch her rather closely, and once +I--questioned her a little.” + +“What did she say?” + +“She seemed so frightened and distressed that I didn't say much myself. +I couldn't. I had but just begun when her eyes filled with tears, 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 question her, that I had to +stop.” + +“What has she done this summer? Where has she been?” + +“She hasn't been anywhere. Didn't I write you? She's kept open house for +a lot of her less fortunate friends--a sort of vacation home, you know; +and--and I must say she's given them a world of happiness, too.” + +“But wasn't that hard for her?” + +“It didn't seem to be. She appeared to enjoy it immensely, 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, +except Miss Hawthorn.” + +“But Billy must have had the care and the excitement.” + +“Perhaps--to 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 done the whole thing +together.” + +“But what HAS Billy done to make her like this?” + +“I don't know. She's done lots for me, in all sorts of ways--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 afraid--to do something for me. Kate, I'm +really worried. What do you suppose is the matter?” + +Kate shook her head. The puzzled frown had come back to her face. + +“I can't imagine,” she began slowly. “Of course, when I told her you +loved her and--” + +“When you told her wha-at?” exploded the usually low-voiced William, +with sudden sharpness. + +“When I told her that you loved her, William. You see, I--” + +William sprang to his feet. + +“Told her that I loved her!” he cried, aghast. “Good heavens, Kate, do +you mean to say that YOU told her THAT.” + +“Why, y-yes.” + +“And may I ask where you got your information?” + +“Why, William Henshaw, what a question! I got it from yourself, of +course,” defended Kate. + +“From ME!” William's face expressed sheer amazement. + +“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 +place.” + +William lifted his head. + +“What do you mean?” + +“Why, nothing, only that I--I told her a little of how--how 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 she went away in +that wily, impulsive fashion.” + +William bit his lip, but he did not speak. Kate was plunging on +feverishly, and in the face of the greater revelation he let the lesser +one drop. + +“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 will. NOW don't you +recollect it?” + +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: + +“Kate, will you kindly tell me just what you DID do?” + +“Why, I didn't do so very much. I just tried to help, that's all. 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.” + +“'So very much'!” groaned William, starting to his feet. “Great Scott!” + +“Why, William, what do you mean? Where are you going?” + +“I'm going--to--Billy,” retorted William with slow distinctness. +“And I'm going to try to get there--before--you--CAN!” And with this +extraordinary shot--for William--he left the house. + +William went to Billy as fast as steam could carry him. He found her in +her little drawing-room 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 deserted. + +“To talk to--me?” murmured Billy, as she wonderingly came to his side, a +startled questioning in her wide dark eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT + + +William did not re-enter the house after his talk with Billy on the +veranda. + +“I will go down the steps and around by the rose garden to the street, +dear,” he said. “I'd rather not go in now. Just make my adieus, please, +and say that I couldn't stay any longer. And now--good-by.” His eyes as +they looked down at her, were moist and very tender. His lips trembled a +little, but they smiled, and there was a look of new-born peace and joy +on his face. + +Billy, too, was smiling, though wistfully. The frightened questioning +had gone from her eyes, leaving only infinite tenderness. + +“You are sure it--it is all right--now?” she stammered. + +“Very sure, little girl; and it's the first time it has been right for +weeks. Billy, that was very dear of you, and I love you for it; but +think how near--how perilously near you came to lifelong misery!” + +“But I thought--you wanted me--so much,” she smiled shyly. + +“And I did, and I do--for a daughter. You don't doubt that NOW?” + +“No, oh, no,” laughed Billy, softly; and to her face came a happy look +of relief as she finished: “And I'll be so glad to be--the daughter!” + +For some minutes after the man had gone, Billy stood by the steps where +he had left her. She was still there when Bertram came to the veranda +door and spoke to her. + +“Billy, I saw William go by the window, so I knew you were alone. May I +speak to you?” + +The girl turned with a start. + +“Why, of course! What is it?--but I thought you were playing. Where is +Marie?” + +“The game is finished; besides--Billy, why are you always asking +me lately where Marie is, as if I were her keeper, or she mine?” he +demanded, with a touch of nervous irritation. + +“Why, nothing, Bertram,” smiled Billy, a little wearily; “only that you +were playing together a few minutes ago, and I wondered where she had +gone.” + +“'A few minutes ago'!” echoed Bertram with sudden bitterness. “Evidently +the time passed swiftly with you, Billy. William was out here MORE than +an hour.” + +“Why--Bertram!” + +“Yes, I know. I've no business to say that, of course,” sighed the man; +“but, Billy, that's why I came out--because I must speak to you this +once. Won't you come and sit down, please?” he implored despairingly. + +“Why, Bertram,” murmured Billy again, faintly, as she turned toward the +vine-shaded corner and sat down. Her eyes were startled. A swift color +had come to her cheeks. + +“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 me--that you let me speak now. Billy, I can't stand it. +I've tried, but it's no use. I've got to go away, and it's right that I +should. I'm not the only one that thinks so, either. Marie does, too.” + +“MARIE!” + +“Yes. I talked it all over with her. She's known for a long time how +it's been with me; how I cared--for you.” + +“Marie! You've told Marie that?” gasped Billy. + +“Yes. Surely you don't mind Marie's knowing,” went on Bertram, +dejectedly. “And she's been so good to me, and tried to--help me.” + +Bertram was not looking at Billy now. If he had been he would have seen +the incredulous joy come into her face. His eyes were moodily fixed on +the floor. + +“And so, Billy, I've come to tell you. I'm going away,” he continued, +after a moment. “I've got to go. I thought once, when I first 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 that--that +it would be I to whom you'd turn--some day. And so I stayed. But I +stayed honorably, Billy! YOU know that! You know that I haven't once +forgotten--not once, that I was only William's brother. I promised you +I'd be that--and I have been; haven't I?” + +Billy nodded silently. Her face was turned away. + +“But, Billy, I can't do it any longer. I've got to ask for my promise +back, and then, of course, I can't stay.” + +“But you--you don't have to go--away,” murmured the girl, faintly. + +Bertram sprang to his feet. His face was white. + +“Billy,” he cried, standing tall and straight before her, “Billy, I +love every touch of your hand, every glance of your eye, every word that +falls from your lips. Do you think I can stay--now? I want my promise +back! When I'm no longer William's brother--then I'll go!” + +“But you don't have to have it back--that is, you don't have to have it +at all,” stammered Billy, flushing adorably. She, too, was on her feet +now. + +“Billy, what do you mean?” + +“Don't you see? I--I 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. + +“But--William?” he questioned, unbelievingly. + +“It WAS a mistake, just as you thought. We know now--both of us. We +don't either of us care for the other--that way. And--Bertram, I think +it HAS been you--all the time, only I didn't know!” + +“Billy, Billy!” choked Bertram in a voice shaken with emotion. He opened +his arms then, wide--and Billy walked straight into them. + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +THE “END OF THE STORY” + + +It was two days after Billy's new happiness had come to her that Cyril +came home. He went very soon to see Billy. + +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. + +“Billy, do you think any girl would marry--me?” he demanded. + +“Why, Cyril!” + +“There, now, please don't begin that,” he begged fretfully. “I realize, +of course, that I'm a very unlikely subject for matrimony. You made me +understand that clearly enough last winter!” + +“Last--winter?” + +Cyril raised his eyebrows. + +“Oh, I came to you for a little encouragement, and to make a +confession,” he said. “I made the confession--but I didn't get the +encouragement.” + +Billy changed color. She thought she knew what he meant, but at the +same time she couldn't understand why he should wish to refer to that +conversation now. + +“A--confession?” she repeated, hesitatingly. + +“Yes. I told you that I'd begun to doubt my being such a woman-hater, +after all. I intimated that YOU'D begun the softening process, and that +then I'd found a certain other young woman who had--well, who had kept +up the good work.” + +“Oh!” cried Billy suddenly, with a peculiar intonation. “Oh-h!” Then she +laughed softly. + +“Well, that was the confession,” resumed Cyril. “Then I came out +flat-footed and said that I wanted to marry her--but there is where I +didn't get the encouragement!” + +“Indeed! I'm afraid I wasn't very considerate,” stammered Billy. + +“No, you weren't,” agreed Cyril, moodily. “I didn't know but now--” his +voice softened a little--“with this new happiness of yours and Bertram's +that--you might find a little encouragement for me.” + +“And I will,” cried Billy, promptly. “Tell me about her.” + +“I did--last winter,” reproached the man, “and you were sure I was +deceiving myself. You drew the gloomiest sort of picture of the misery I +would take with a wife.” + +“I did?” Billy was laughing very merrily now. + +“Yes. You said she'd always be talking and laughing when I wanted to be +quiet, and that she'd want to drag me out to parties and plays when +I wanted to stay at home; and--oh, lots of things. I tried to make +it clear to you that--that 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. “I--I +didn't know--WHAT--I was--talking 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 of course a wonderful +musician. YOU couldn't choose any one else!” + +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 wrong--I DON'T want that kind of +wife. I don't want a brilliant one, and--now, Billy, this sounds like +horrible heresy, I know, but it's true--I don't care whether she can +play, or not; but I should prefer that she shouldn't play--much!” + +“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 AM domestic!” he +finished a little defiantly. + +“I should say you were,” laughed Billy. “And have you found her?--this +little woman who is to do nothing but sit and sew in the circle of the +shaded lamp?” + +“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 that--that I +hope she likes that sort of thing.” + +“And--does she?” + +“Yes; that is, I think she does,” smiled Cyril. “Anyhow, she told me +once that--that the things she liked best to do in all the world were to +mend stockings and to make puddings.” + +Billy sprang to her feet with a little cry. Now, indeed, had Cyril kept +his promise and made “many things clear” to her. + +“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 the summerhouse sat Marie--sewing. + +“Go, Cyril; she's waiting for you,” smiled Billy, mistily. “The light's +only the sun, to be sure, and maybe there isn't a whole basket of sewing +there. But--SHE'S there!” + +“You've--guessed, then!” breathed Cyril. + +“I've not guessed--I know. And--it's all right.” + +“You mean--?” Only Cyril's pleading eyes finished the question. + +“Yes, I'm sure she does,” nodded Billy. And then she added under her +breath as the man passed swiftly down the steps: “'Marie Henshaw' +indeed! So 'twas Cyril all the time--and never Bertram--who was the +inspiration of that bit of paper give-away!” + +When she turned back into the room she came face to face with Bertram. + +“I spoke, dear, but you didn't hear,” he said, as he hurried forward +with outstretched hands. + +“Bertram,” greeted Billy, with surprising irrelevance, “'and they all +lived happily ever after'--they DID! Isn't that always the ending to the +story--a love story?” + +“Of course,” said Bertram with emphasis;--“OUR love story!” + +“And theirs,” supplemented Billy, softly; but Bertram did not hear that. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy, by Eleanor H. 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Porter + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy, by Eleanor H. Porter + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Miss Billy + +Author: Eleanor H. Porter + +Release Date: June 3, 2006 [EBook #3266] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + MISS BILLY + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Eleanor H. Porter + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>MISS BILLY</b></big> </a><br /> + <br /> <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> + CHAPTER III </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> + CHAPTER VI </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> + CHAPTER X </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> + CHAPTER XIV </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> + CHAPTER XVIII </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> + CHAPTER XXII </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> + CHAPTER XXVI </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> + CHAPTER XXX </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0036"> + CHAPTER XXXVI </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII + </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII </a> <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0041"> + CHAPTER XLI </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + MISS BILLY + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + BILLY WRITES A LETTER + </h3> + <p> + 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 + world—alone, 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 loneliness two days + after the funeral. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Mr. Harding, there isn't any one—not any one who—cares,” + she choked. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut, my child, it's not so bad as that, surely,” remonstrated the + old man, gently. “Why, I—I care.” + </p> + <p> + Billy smiled through tear-wet eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But I can't LIVE with you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so sure of that, either,” retorted the man. “I'm thinking that + Letty and Ann would LIKE to have you with us.” + </p> + <p> + 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 shaded + thing that life was, within Lawyer Harding's home. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, but I'm sure they wouldn't,” she objected. “You don't know how + noisy I am.” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer stirred restlessly and pondered. + </p> + <p> + “But, surely, my dear, isn't there some relative, somewhere?” he demanded. + “How about your mother's people?” + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. Her eyes filled again with tears. + </p> + <p> + “There was only Aunt Ella, ever, that I knew anything about. She and + mother were the only children there were, and mother died when I was a + year old, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “But your father's people?” + </p> + <p> + “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 now—no one.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know nothing of your father's people?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; that is—almost nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there is some one?” + </p> + <p> + Billy smiled. A deeper pink showed in her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Why, there's one—a man but he isn't really father's people, anyway. + But I—I have been tempted to write to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “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 broken-hearted 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 so—'Billy' + I am to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know this man?” + </p> + <p> + “No. You see father died, and mother and Aunt Ella knew him only very + slightly. Mother knew his wife, though, Aunt Ella said, and SHE was + lovely.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm—; well, we might look them up, perhaps. You know his address?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes unless he's moved. We've always kept that. Aunt Ella used to say + sometimes that she was going to write to him some day about me, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “What's his name?” + </p> + <p> + “William Henshaw. He lives in Boston.” + </p> + <p> + Lawyer Harding snatched off his glasses, and leaned forward in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “William Henshaw! Not the Beacon Street Henshaws!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + It was Billy's turn to be excited. She, too, leaned forward eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you know him? That's lovely! And his address IS Beacon Street! I + know because I saw it only to-day. You see, I HAVE been tempted to write + him.” + </p> + <p> + “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 forgotten their names.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do know him! I'm so glad,” exclaimed Billy. “You see, he never + seemed to me quite real.” + </p> + <p> + “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. I—I'll telephone up to the house.” And he rose + stiffly and went into the inner office. + </p> + <p> + Some minutes passed before he came back, red of face, and plainly + distressed. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child, I—I'm sorry, but—but I'll have to take back + that invitation,” he blurted out miserably. “My sisters are—are not + well this afternoon. Ann has been having a turn with her heart—you + know Ann's heart is—is bad; and Letty—Letty is always nervous + at such times—very nervous. Er—I'm so sorry! But you'll—excuse + it?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + Harding!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Well—er, I think your plan about the Henshaws is very good,” he + interposed hurriedly. “I'll speak to Ned—I'll speak to Ned,” he + finished, as he ceremoniously bowed the girl from the office. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That's good. I'll write him,” declared Mr. James Harding. “I'll write him + tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + He did write—but not so soon as Billy wrote; for even as he spoke, + Billy, in her lonely little room at the other end of the town, was laying + bare all her homesickness in four long pages to “Dear Uncle William.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + “THE STRATA” + </h3> + <p> + 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 twenty-four years + of life it had been like this—“It's only Bertram,” had been at once + the curse and the salvation of his existence. + </p> + <p> + In this particular case, however, Bertram's vagary of fancy had some + excuse. The Beacon Street house, the home of the three brothers, was a + “Strata.” + </p> + <p> + “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 ashes—only fancy the condition of mind of + those future archaeologists when they struck our house after their months + of digging! + </p> + <p> + “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 book-lined walls, + and the absence of every sort of curtain, cushion, or knickknack. 'Here + lived a plain man,' they'd say; 'a scholar, a musician, stern, unloved and + unloving; a monk.' + </p> + <p> + “And what next? They'd strike William's stratum next, the third floor. + Imagine it! You know William as a State Street broker, well-off, a + widower, tall, angular, slow of speech, a little bald, very 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 things—and 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 that—and he's forty this year. Miniatures, carved + ivories, bugs, moths, porcelains, jades, stamps, postcards, spoons, + baggage tags, theatre programs, playing-cards—there isn't anything + that he doesn't collect. He's on teapots, now. Imagine it—William + and teapots! And they're all there in his rooms—one glorious mass of + confusion. Just fancy those archaeologists trying to make their 'monk' + live there! + </p> + <p> + “But when they reach me, my stratum, they'll have a worse time yet. You + see, <i>I</i> like cushions and comfort, and I have them everywhere. And I + like—well, I like lots of things. My rooms don't belong to that + monk, not a little bit. And so you see,” Bertram would finish merrily, + “that's why I call it all 'The Strata.'” + </p> + <p> + And “The Strata” it was to all the Henshaws' friends, and even to William + and Cyril themselves, in spite of their objection to the term. + </p> + <p> + 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 had known almost nothing of a woman's + touch or care. + </p> + <p> + 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 specialty—his “Face of a + Girl.” From canvas, plaque, and panel they looked out—those girlish + faces: winsome, wilful, pert, demure, merry, sad, beautiful, even almost + ugly—they 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 while. + </p> + <p> + Below Bertram's cheery second floor were the dim old library and + drawing-rooms, silent, stately, and almost never used; and below them were + the dining-room and the kitchen. Here ruled Dong Ling, the Chinese cook, + and Pete. + </p> + <p> + Pete was—indeed, 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 looked—like nothing so much as what he was: a + fussy, faithful old man, who expected to die in the service he had entered + fifty years before as a lad. + </p> + <p> + 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 brothers, Bertram, William, and Cyril. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + THE STRATA—WHEN THE LETTER COMES + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 + could not be so monstrous. + </p> + <p> + “Well, old man, what's up?” It was Bertram's amazed voice from the hall + doorway; and indeed, William Henshaw, red-faced and plainly trembling, + seated on the lowest step of the stairway, and gazing, wild-eyed, at the + letter in his hand, was somewhat of an amazing sight. “What IS up?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, hardly,” laughed the other. “Er, perhaps Cyril might like it, + though; eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, Bertram, be sensible for once,” pleaded his brother, + nervously. “This is serious, really serious, I tell you!” + </p> + <p> + “What is serious?” demanded Cyril, coming down the stairway. “Can't it + wait? Pete has already sounded the gong twice for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + William made a despairing gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Well, come,” he groaned. “I'll tell you at the table.... It seems I've + got a namesake,” he resumed in a shaking voice, a few moments later; + “Walter Neilson's child.” + </p> + <p> + “And who's Walter Neilson?” asked Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “A boyhood friend. You wouldn't remember him. This letter is from his + child.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let's hear it. Go ahead. I fancy we can stand the—LETTER; eh, + Cyril?” + </p> + <p> + Cyril frowned. Cyril did not know, perhaps, how often he frowned at + Bertram. + </p> + <p> + The eldest brother wet his lips. His hand shook as he picked up the + letter. + </p> + <p> + “It—it's so absurd,” he muttered. Then he cleared his throat and + read the letter aloud. + </p> + <p> + “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 was my father, you + know. My Aunt Ella has just died. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind very much if I came to live with you? That is, between + times—I'm going to college, of course, and after that I'm going to + be—well, I haven't decided that part yet. I think I'll consult you. + You may have some preference, you know. You can be thinking it up until I + come. + </p> + <p> + “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 Ann—they're Mr. Harding's sisters, and Mr. Harding is our + lawyer, and he will write to you. Well, where was I? Oh, I know—on + Miss Letty's nerves. And, say, do you know, that is where I do get—on + 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 window-shade 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 with + out me. + </p> + <p> + “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, say—if you'll + wear a pink in your buttonhole I will, too. Then we'll know each other. My + address is just 'Hampden Falls.' + </p> + <p> + “Your awfully homesick namesake, + </p> + <p> + “BILLY HENSHAW NEILSON” + </p> + <p> + For one long minute there was a blank silence about the Henshaw + dinner-table; then the eldest brother, looking anxiously from one man to + the other, stammered: + </p> + <p> + “W-well?” + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott!” breathed Bertram. + </p> + <p> + Cyril said nothing, but his lips were white with their tense pressure + against each other. + </p> + <p> + There was another pause, and again William broke it anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Boys, this isn't helping me out any! What's to be done?” + </p> + <p> + “'Done'!” flamed Cyril. “Surely, you aren't thinking for a moment of + LETTING that child come here, William!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “He WOULD liven things up, Cyril; wouldn't he? Such nice smooth floors + you've got up-stairs to trundle little tin carts across!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say,” expostulated William, “we'll HAVE to keep him out of those + things, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril pushed back his chair from the table. + </p> + <p> + “'We'll have to keep him out'! William, you can't be in earnest! You + aren't going to let that boy come here,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “But what can I do?” faltered the man. + </p> + <p> + “Do? Say 'no,' of course. As if we wanted a boy to bring up!” + </p> + <p> + “But I must do something. I—I'm all he's got. He says so.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! Well, send him to boarding-school, then, or to the + penitentiary; anywhere but here!” + </p> + <p> + “Shucks! Let the kid come,” laughed Bertram. “Poor little homesick devil! + What's the use? I'll take him in. How old is he, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + William frowned, and mused aloud slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't know. He must be—er—why, 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 + must be somewhere around eighteen years old!” + </p> + <p> + “And only think how Cyril WAS worrying about those tin carts,” laughed + Bertram. “Never mind—eight or eighteen—let him come. If he's + that age, he won't bother much.” + </p> + <p> + “And this—er—'Spunk'; do you take him, too? But probably he + doesn't bother, either,” murmured Cyril, with smooth sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + “Gorry! I forgot Spunk,” acknowledged Bertram. “Say, what in time is + Spunk, do you suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Dog, maybe,” suggested William. + </p> + <p> + “Well, whatever he is, you will kindly keep Spunk down-stairs,” said Cyril + with decision. “The boy, I suppose I shall have to endure; but the dog—!” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; 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. He—er—sounds something like a parrot to + me.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril rose to his feet abruptly. He had eaten almost no dinner. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he said coldly. “But please remember that I hold you + responsible, Bertram. Whether it's a dog, or a parrot, or—or a + monkey, I shall expect you to keep Spunk down-stairs. This adopting into + 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 left the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + For a moment there was silence. The brows of the younger man were uplifted + quizzically. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid Cyril is bothered,” murmured William then, in a troubled + voice. + </p> + <p> + Bertram's face changed. Stern lines came to his boyish mouth. + </p> + <p> + “He is always bothered—with anything, lately.” + </p> + <p> + The elder man sighed. + </p> + <p> + “I know, but with his talent—” + </p> + <p> + “'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 serious—about Cyril. + He's getting to be, for all the world, like those finicky old maids that + that young namesake of yours wrote about. He'll make us whisper and walk + on tiptoe yet!” + </p> + <p> + The other smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry. You aren't in any danger of being kept too quiet, young + man.” + </p> + <p> + “No thanks to Cyril, then,” retorted Bertram. “Anyhow, that's one reason + why I was for taking the kid—to mellow up Cyril. He needs it all + right.” + </p> + <p> + “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 don't know + how to get up a letter of that sort!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not take him at his word and telegraph? I fancy you won't have to say + 'come' but once before you see him. He doesn't seem to be a bashful + youth.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; I might do that,” acquiesced William, slowly. “But wasn't there + somebody—a lawyer—going 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 Hampden Falls. We'll soon + see, at all events. Maybe I'll hear to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder,” nodded Bertram, as he rose from the table. “Anyhow, + I wouldn't do anything till I did hear.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM + </h3> + <p> + 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 twenty-one 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. + </p> + <p> + It was a good letter—but 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 Henshaw at once set about making a place in the home. + </p> + <p> + First he telegraphed the single word “Come” to Billy. + </p> + <p> + “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 from me.” + </p> + <p> + It was just here, however, that William Henshaw met with a surprise, for + within twenty-four hours came Billy's answer, and by telegraph. + </p> + <p> + “I'm coming to-morrow. Train due at five P. M. + </p> + <p> + “BILLY.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 impatiently awaited the time to start. + </p> + <p> + To the Beacon Street house, Billy's cheerful telegram brought the direst + consternation. Even Kate was hastily summoned to the family conclave that + immediately resulted. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing—simply nothing that I can do,” she declared + irritably, when she had heard the story. “Surely, you don't expect ME to + take the boy!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, of course not,” sighed William. “But you see, I supposed I'd have + time to—to get used to things, and to make arrangements; and this is + so—so sudden! I hadn't even answered Harding's letter until to-day; + and he hasn't got that—much less replied to it.” + </p> + <p> + “But what could you expect after sending that idiotic telegram?” demanded + the lady. “'Come,' indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “But that's what Billy told me to do.” + </p> + <p> + “What if it was? Just because a foolish eighteen-year-old boy tells you to + do something, must you, a supposedly sensible forty-year-old man obey?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it tickled Will's romantic streak,” laughed Bertram. “It seemed + so sort of alluring to send that one word 'Come' out into space, and watch + what happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he's found out, certainly,” observed Cyril, with grim satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; it hasn't happened yet,” corrected Bertram, cheerfully. “It's + just going to happen. William's got to put on the pink first, you know. + That's the talisman.” + </p> + <p> + William reddened. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, don't be foolish. I sha'n't wear any pink. You must know that.” + </p> + <p> + “How'll you find him, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he'll have one on; that's enough,” settled William. + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; maybe. Then he'll have Spunk, too,” murmured Bertram, + mischievously. + </p> + <p> + “Spunk!” cried Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He wrote that he hoped we wouldn't mind his bringing Spunk with + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's Spunk? + </p> + <p> + “We don't know.” Bertram's lips twitched. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know! What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Will thinks it's a dog, and I believe Cyril is anticipating a + monkey. I myself am backing it for a parrot.” + </p> + <p> + “Boys, what have you done!” groaned Kate, falling back in her chair. “What + have you done!” + </p> + <p> + To William her words were like an electric shock stirring him to instant + action. He sprang abruptly to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, whatever we've done, we've done it,” he declared sternly; “and now + we must do the rest—and do it well, too. He's the son of my + boyhood's dearest friend, and he shall be made welcome. Now to business! + Bertram, you said you'd take him in. Did you mean it?” + </p> + <p> + Bertram sobered instantly, and came erect in his chair. William did not + often speak like this; but when he did— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Will. He shall have the little bedroom at the end of the hall. I + never used the room much, anyhow, and what few duds I have there shall be + cleared out to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Now there are some other little details to arrange, then I'll go + down-stairs and tell Pete and Dong Ling. And, please to understand, we're + going to make this lad welcome—welcome, I say!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Bertram. Neither Kate nor Cyril spoke. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + GETTING READY FOR BILLY + </h3> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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 up-stairs and presented a weird Chinese banner which he said he + was “velly much glad” to give. As to Pete—Pete was in his element. + Pete loved boys. Had he not served them nearly all his life? Incidentally + it may be mentioned that he did not care for girls. + </p> + <p> + 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 William: + </p> + <p> + “That's Chopin's Funeral March. Evidently Cy thinks this is the death + knell to all his hopes of future peace and happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! I wish Cyril would take some interest,” grieved William. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he takes interest all right,” laughed Bertram, meaningly. “He takes + INTEREST!” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but—Bertram,” broke off the elder man, anxiously, from his + perch on the stepladder, “would you put the rifle over this window, or the + fishing-rod?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't think it makes much difference, so long as they're + somewhere,” answered Bertram. “And there are these Indian clubs and the + swords to be disposed of, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and it's going to look fine; don't you think?” exulted William. “And + you know for the wall-space between the windows I'm going to bring down + that case of mine, of spiders.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram raised his hands in mock surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Here—down here! You're going to trust any of those precious + treasures of yours down here!” + </p> + <p> + William frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Bertram, don't be silly! They'll be safe enough. Besides, + they're old, anyhow. I was on spiders years ago—when I was Billy's + age, in fact. I thought he'd like them here. You know boys always like + such things.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, 'twasn't Billy I was worrying about,” retorted Bertram. “It was you—and + the spiders.” + </p> + <p> + “Not much you worry about me—or anything else,” replied William, + good-humoredly. “There! how does that look?” he finished, as he carefully + picked his way down the stepladder. + </p> + <p> + “Fine!—er—only rather warlike, maybe, with the guns and that + riotous confusion of knives and scimitars over the chiffonier. But then, + maybe you're intending Billy for a soldier; eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know? I AM getting interested in that boy,” beamed William, with + some excitement. “What kind of things do you suppose he does like?” + </p> + <p> + “There's no telling. Maybe he's a sissy chap, and will howl at your guns + and spiders. Perhaps he'll prefer autumn leaves and worsted mottoes for + decoration.” + </p> + <p> + “Not much he will,” contested the other. “No son of Walter Neilson's could + be a sissy. Neilson was the best half-back in ten years at Harvard, and he + was always in for everything going that was worth while. 'Autumn leaves + and worsted mottoes' indeed! Bah!” + </p> + <p> + “All right; but there's still a dark horse in the case, you know. We + mustn't forget—Spunk.” + </p> + <p> + The elder man stirred uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Bert, what do you suppose that creature is? You don't think Cyril can be + right, and that it's a—monkey?” + </p> + <p> + “'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 his age.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” sighed William. “But I can't think it's anything like + that,” he finished, as he turned away. + </p> + <p> + 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, “Music in + Russia.” + </p> + <p> + At ten minutes before five William, anxious-eyed and nervous, found + himself at the North Station. Then, and not till then, did he draw a long + breath of relief. + </p> + <p> + “There! I think everything's ready,” he sighed to himself. “At last!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 him—to 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 lived—a + lad not far from the age of this Billy who was coming to-day, reflected + the man. And the warmth in his heart deepened and glowed the more as he + stood waiting at the gate for Billy to arrive. + </p> + <p> + The train from Hampden Falls was late. Not until quite fifteen minutes + past five did it roll into the train-shed. Then at once its long line of + passengers began to sweep toward the iron gate. + </p> + <p> + William was just inside the gate now, anxiously scanning every face and + form that passed. There were many half-grown lads, but there was not one + with a pink in his buttonhole until very near the end. Then William saw + him—a pleasant-faced, blue-eyed boy in a neat gray suit. With a low + cry William started forward; but he saw at once that the gray-clad youth + was unmistakably one of a merry family party. He looked to be anything but + a lad that was lonely and forlorn. + </p> + <p> + William hesitated and fell back. This debonair, self-reliant 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 + blue-eyed youth and tapped him on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Er—aren't you Billy?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + The lad stopped and stared. He shook his head slowly. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But you must be! Are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + The boy laughed this time. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, sir, but my name is 'Frank'; isn't it, mother?” he added merrily, + turning to the lady at his side, who was regarding William very + unfavorably through a pair of gold-bowed spectacles. + </p> + <p> + William did not wait for more. With a stammered apology and a flustered + lifting of his hat he backed away. + </p> + <p> + But where was Billy? + </p> + <p> + 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 + baggage-men 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 suit-case, and with a covered basket on her arm, who stood just outside + the gate, gazing a little nervously about her. + </p> + <p> + 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 carried a peculiarly wistful appeal. + </p> + <p> + “Too bad Bertram isn't here,” thought William. “He'd be sketching that + face in no time on his cuff.” + </p> + <p> + The pink had given William almost a pang. He had been so longing to see a + pink—though in a different place. He wondered sympathetically if + she, too, had come to meet some one who had not appeared. He noticed that + she walked away from the gate once or twice, toward the waiting-room, 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 waiting-room. 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 waiting-room to look for him. And with this thought + William hurried away at once, leaving the girl still standing by the gate + alone. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + THE COMING OF BILLY + </h3> + <p> + After another long search William came back to the train-shed, 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 self-control. He + hesitated a moment, then went straight toward her. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he said kindly, lifting his hat, “but I notice that + you have been waiting here some time. Perhaps there is something I can do + for you.” + </p> + <p> + A rosy color swept to the girl's face. Her eyes lost their frightened + appeal, and smiled frankly into his. + </p> + <p> + “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. But—I think there's some mistake. Could you telephone + for me?” Billy Neilson was country-bred, 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. + </p> + <p> + William Henshaw smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; I shall be very glad to telephone for you. Just tell me whom + you want, and what you want to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. If you'll call up Mr. William Henshaw, then, of Beacon Street, + please, and tell him Billy's come. I'll wait here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then Billy did come!” cried the man in glad surprise, his face + alight. “But where is he? Do YOU know Billy?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say I did,” laughed Billy, with the lightness of a long-lost + child who has found a friend. “Why, I am Billy, myself!” + </p> + <p> + 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 + heard his own voice stammer: + </p> + <p> + “You—are—B-Billy!” + </p> + <p> + “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 perhaps he made a mistake in the + time. Maybe you know him, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + With one mighty effort William Henshaw pulled himself sharply together. He + even laughed, and tossed his head in a valiant imitation of Billy herself; + but his voice shook. + </p> + <p> + “Know him!—I should say I did!” he cried. “Why, I am William + Henshaw, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You!—Uncle William! Why, where's your pink?” + </p> + <p> + The man's face was already so red it could not get any redder—but it + tried to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Why, er—I—it—er—if you'll just come into the + waiting-room a minute, my dear,” he stuttered miserably, “I—I'll + explain—about that. I shall have to leave you—for a minute,” + he plunged on frenziedly, as he led the way to a seat; “A—matter of + business that I must attend to. I'll be—right back. Wait here, + please!” And he almost pushed the girl into a seat and hurried away. + </p> + <p> + 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 + pretty curve of her cheek, and of her slender throat when she lifted her + head. + </p> + <p> + And that was Billy—a GIRL! + </p> + <p> + People near him at that moment saw a flushed-faced, nervous-appearing man + throw up his hands with a despairing gesture, roll his eyes heavenward, + and then plunge into the nearest telephone booth. + </p> + <p> + In due time William Henshaw had his brother Bertram at the other end of + the wire. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram!” he called shakily. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Will; that you? What's the matter? You're late! Didn't he come?” + </p> + <p> + “Come!” groaned William. “Good Lord! Bertram—Billy's a GIRL!” + </p> + <p> + “A wh-what?” + </p> + <p> + “A girl.” + </p> + <p> + “A GIRL!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes! Don't stand there repeating what I say in that idiotic fashion, + Bertram. Do something—do something!” + </p> + <p> + “'Do something'!” gasped Bertram. “Great Scott, Will! If you want me to do + something, don't knock me silly with a blow like that. Now what did you + say?” + </p> + <p> + “I said that Billy is—a—girl. Can't you get that?” demanded + William, despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by Jove!” breathed Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, think! What shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, bring her home, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Home—home!” chattered William. “Do you think we five men can bring + up a distractingly pretty eighteen-year-old girl with curly cheeks and + pink hair?” + </p> + <p> + “With wha-at?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I mean curly hair and pink cheeks. Bertram, do be sensible,” + begged the man. “This is serious!” + </p> + <p> + “Serious! I should say it was! Only fancy what Cy will say! A girl! Holy + smoke! Tote her along—I want to see her!” + </p> + <p> + “But I say we can't keep her there with us, Bertram. Don't you see we + can't?” + </p> + <p> + “Then take her to Kate's, or to—to one of those Young Women's + Christian Union things.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I can't do that. That's impossible. Don't you understand? She's + expecting to go home with me—HOME! I'm her Uncle William.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucky Uncle William!” + </p> + <p> + “Be still, Bertram!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, doesn't she know your—mistake?—that you thought she was + a boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid!—I hope not,” cried the man, fervently. “I 'most let + it out once, but I think she didn't notice it. You see, we—we were + both surprised.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should say!” + </p> + <p> + “And, Bertram, I can't turn her out—I 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!” + </p> + <p> + “I'd be delighted, I'm sure,” sung a merry voice across the wires. “Sounds + real interesting!” + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, can't you be serious and help me out?” + </p> + <p> + “But what CAN we do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. We'll have to think; but for now, get Kate. Telephone her. + Tell her to come right straight over, and that she's got to stay all + night.” + </p> + <p> + “All night!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course! Billy's got to have a chaperon; hasn't she? Now hurry. We + shall be up right away.” + </p> + <p> + “Kate's got company.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind—leave 'em. Tell her she's got to leave 'em. And tell + Cyril, of course, what to expect. And, look a-here, you two behave, now. + None of your nonsense! Now mind. I'm not going to have this child + tormented.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't bat an eyelid—on my word, I won't,” chuckled Bertram. “But, + oh, I say,—Will!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What's Spunk?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?—oh—Great Scott! I forgot Spunk. I don't know. She's got a + basket. He's in that, I suppose. Anyhow, he can't be any more of a + bombshell than his mistress was. Now be quick, and none of your fooling, + Bertram. Tell them all—Pete and Dong Ling. Don't forget. I wouldn't + have 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 hook. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + INTRODUCING SPUNK + </h3> + <p> + In the soft April twilight Cyril was playing a dreamy waltz when Bertram + knocked, and pushed open the door. + </p> + <p> + “Say, old chap, you'll have to quit your mooning this time and sit up and + take notice.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” Cyril stopped playing and turned abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that Will has gone crazy, and I think the rest of us are going to + follow suit.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril shrugged his shoulders and whirled about on the piano stool. In a + moment his fingers had slid once more into the dreamy waltz. + </p> + <p> + “When you get ready to talk sense, I'll listen,” he said coldly. + </p> + <p> + “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 here now 'most any time.” + </p> + <p> + The music stopped with a crash. + </p> + <p> + “A—GIRL!” + </p> + <p> + “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 down-stairs so that we may be + decently ready for—whatever comes.” And he turned about and stalked + out of the room, followed by Cyril, who was too stunned to open his lips. + </p> + <p> + Kate came first. She was not stunned. She had a great deal to say. + </p> + <p> + “Really, this is a little the most absurd thing I ever heard of,” she + fumed. “What in the world does your brother mean?” + </p> + <p> + That she quite ignored her own relationship to the culprit was not lost on + Bertram. He made instant response. + </p> + <p> + “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 + namesake, is lonesome, and is in need of a home.” + </p> + <p> + “But she can't live—here!” + </p> + <p> + “Will says she shall.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is utter nonsense,” cut in Cyril. + </p> + <p> + “For once I agree with you, Cyril,” laughed Bertram; “but William + doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can she do it?” demanded Kate. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” snapped Kate. “Well, I can prophesy we sha'n't think alike—so + you'd notice it!” + </p> + <p> + “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, eighteen-year-old + 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 good-natured + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “A boy! Who wouldn't think she was a boy?” interposed Cyril. “'Billy,' + indeed! Can you tell me what for any sane man should have named a girl + 'Billy'?” + </p> + <p> + “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 how—hush! + here they are,” he broke off, as there came the sound of wheels stopping + before the house. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + It was over. William drew a long breath, and gave an agonized look into + his brothers' eyes. Then Billy turned from Mrs. Hartwell and held out a + cordial hand to each of the men in turn. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don't know how lovely this is—to 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 good—all of you; and I don't believe there's one of you + that's got nerves or a heart,” she laughed. + </p> + <p> + Bertram rallied his wits to respond to the challenge. + </p> + <p> + “No heart, Miss Billy? Now isn't that just a bit hard on us—right at + first?” + </p> + <p> + “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 kind—the 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. + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed. Cyril scowled, and occupied himself in finding a chair. + William had already dropped himself wearily on to the sofa near his + sister. Billy still continued to talk. + </p> + <p> + “Now when Spunk and I get to training—oh, and you haven't seen + Spunk!” she interrupted herself suddenly. “Why, the introductions aren't + half over. Where is he, Uncle William—the basket?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I put it in—in the hall,” mumbled William, starting to + rise. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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 and + placed on the floor a very small gray kitten with a very large pink bow. + </p> + <p> + “There, ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Spunk.” + </p> + <p> + 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 + almost unbelievable fluffiness, and spit wrathfully. + </p> + <p> + “And so that is Spunk!” choked Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Billy. “This is Spunk.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE ROOM—AND BILLY + </h3> + <p> + 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 self-control 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 plunged through the hall and down the + stairway. + </p> + <p> + With a motion to Bertram to lead the way with Billy, William frenziedly + gripped his sister's arm, and hissed in her ear for all the world like a + villain in melodrama: + </p> + <p> + “Listen! You'll sleep in Bert's room to-night, and Bert will come + up-stairs with me. Get Billy to bed as soon as you can after dinner, and + then come back down to us. We've got to plan what's got to be done. Sh-h!” + And he dragged his sister downstairs. + </p> + <p> + In the dining-room there was a slight commotion. Billy stood at her chair + with Spunk in her arms. Before her Pete was standing, dumbly staring into + her eyes. At last he stammered: + </p> + <p> + “Ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + “A chair, please, I said, for Spunk, you know. Spunk always sits at the + table right next to me.” + </p> + <p> + It was too much for Bertram. He fled chokingly to the hall. William + dropped weakly into his own place. Cyril stared as had Pete; but Mrs. + Hartwell spoke. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean—that that cat—has a chair—at the table!” + she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “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 high-chair, which for long years had stood + unused in the corner. “I'll just squeeze it right in here,” she finished + gleefully, making room for the chair at her side. + </p> + <p> + When Bertram, a little red of face, but very grave, entered, the + dining-room 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 as the flaring pink bow would let + him. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he a dear?” Billy was saying. But Bertram noticed that there was no + reply to this question. + </p> + <p> + It was a peculiar dinner-party. Only Billy did not feel the strain. Even + Spunk was not entirely happy—his 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, indeed—but + Bertram always talked; and very soon he and Billy had things pretty much + to themselves—that 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 what training would do, and, + of course, Spunk WAS little, now. + </p> + <p> + 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 + the man's aversion that Billy turned in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mr. Cyril, don't you see? Spunk is trying to say 'How do you do'?” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely; but I'm not fond of cats, Miss Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not fond—of—cats!” repeated the girl, as if she could + not have heard aright. “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + Cyril changed his position. + </p> + <p> + “Why, just because I—I'm not,” he retorted lamely. “Isn't there + anything that—that you don't like?” + </p> + <p> + Billy considered. + </p> + <p> + “Why, not that I know of,” she began, after a moment, “only rainy days and—tripe. + And Spunk isn't a bit like those.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram chuckled, and even Cyril smiled—though unwillingly. + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” he reiterated, “I don't like cats.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm so sorry,” lamented Billy; and at the grieved hurt in her dark + eyes Bertram came promptly to the rescue. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Miss Billy. Cyril is only ONE of us, and there is all the + rest of the Strata besides.” + </p> + <p> + “The—what?” + </p> + <p> + “The Strata. You don't know, of course, but listen, and I'll tell you.” + And he launched gaily forth into his favorite story. + </p> + <p> + Billy was duly amused and interested. She laughed and clapped her hands, + and when the story was done she clapped them again. + </p> + <p> + “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 mention a + thing about you!” + </p> + <p> + Cyril said a sharp word under his breath. Bertram choked over a cough. + Kate threw into William's eyes a look that was at once angry, accusing, + and despairing. Then William spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Er—she—it isn't anywhere, my dear,” he stammered; “or rather, + it isn't here. Kate lives up on the Avenue, you see, and is only here for—for + a day or two—just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” murmured Billy. And there was not one in the room at that moment who + did not bless Spunk—for Spunk suddenly leaped to the table before + him; and in the ensuing confusion his mistress quite forgot to question + further concerning Mrs. Hartwell's stratum. + </p> + <p> + Dinner over, the three men, with their sister and Billy, trailed up-stairs + to the drawing-rooms. 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 + socketed chairs. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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 summoned. Then she turned and followed Mrs. Hartwell up-stairs. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to the three men in the drawing-room 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 + hurried up, two steps at a time. + </p> + <p> + “For heaven's sake, Kate, what is it?” panted William, who had been + outdistanced by his more agile brothers. + </p> + <p> + 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 + choking little cries. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” quavered Kate. “I haven't the least idea. She was all + right till she got up-stairs here, and I turned on the lights. Then she + gave one shriek and—you know all I know.” + </p> + <p> + William advanced hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, what is the matter? What are you crying for?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Billy dropped her hands then, and they saw her face. She was not crying. + She was laughing. She was laughing so she could scarcely speak. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you did, you did!” she gurgled. “I thought you did, and now I know!” + </p> + <p> + “Did what? What do you mean?” William's usually gentle voice was sharp. + Even William's nerves were beginning to feel the strain of the last few + hours. + </p> + <p> + “Thought I was a—b-boy!” choked Billy. “You called me 'he' once in + the station—I thought you did; but I wasn't sure—not till I + saw this room. But now I know—I know!” And off she went into another + hysterical gale of laughter—Billy's nerves, too, were beginning to + respond to the excitement of the last few hours. + </p> + <p> + As to the three men and the woman, they stood silent, helpless, looking + into each other's faces with despairing eyes. + </p> + <p> + In a moment Billy was on her feet, fluttering about the room, touching + this thing, looking at that. Nothing escaped her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm to fish—and shoot—and fence!” she crowed. “And, oh!—look + at those knives! U-ugh!... 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. + </p> + <p> + Something in Billy's voice stirred Mrs. Hartwell to sudden action. + </p> + <p> + “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 to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Of c-course not,” stammered William. And only too glad of an excuse to + withdraw from a very embarrassing situation, the three men called back a + faltering good-night, and precipitately fled down-stairs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + A FAMILY CONCLAVE + </h3> + <p> + “Well, William,” greeted Kate, grimly, when she came into the + drawing-room, after putting her charge to bed, “have you had enough, now?” + </p> + <p> + “'Enough'! What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Kate raised her eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Why, surely, you're not thinking NOW that you can keep this girl here; + are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why not.” + </p> + <p> + “William!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, where shall she go? Will you take her?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Certainly not,” declared Kate, with decision. “I'm sure I see no + reason why I should.” + </p> + <p> + “No more do I see why William should, either,” cut in Cyril. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, what's the use,” interposed Bertram. “Let her stay. She's a + nice little thing, I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril and Kate turned sharply. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, she would be nice to—er—paint,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “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 we get?” + </p> + <p> + Kate sighed, and looked her dismay. Bertram threw a glance into Cyril's + eyes, and made an expressive gesture. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” it seemed to say. “I told you how it would be!” + </p> + <p> + “Now whom shall we get?” questioned William again. “We must think.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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 + doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + “The trouble is,” explained Bertram, airily, “we want some one who will be + invisible to every one except the world and Billy, and who will be + inaudible always.” + </p> + <p> + “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 room over at the Back Bay.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet it would!” murmured Bertram, feelingly; but William did not + appear to hear him. + </p> + <p> + “She's amiable, fairly sensible, and always a lady,” he went on; “and + to-morrow morning I believe I'll run over and see if she can't come right + away.” + </p> + <p> + “And may I ask which—er—stratum she—they—will + occupy?” smiled Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “You may ask, but I'm afraid you won't find out very soon,” retorted + William, dryly, “if we take as long to decide that matter as we have the + rest of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—Cyril has the most—UNOCCUPIED space,” volunteered Bertram, + cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “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 wants and wishes interfere—” + </p> + <p> + “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 + things!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you men!” shrugged Kate, wearily. “Why don't you ask my opinion + sometimes? It seems to me that in this case a woman's wit might be of some + help!” + </p> + <p> + “All right, go ahead!” nodded William. + </p> + <p> + Kate leaned forward eagerly—Kate loved to “manage.” + </p> + <p> + “Go easy, now,” cautioned Bertram, warily. “You know a strata, even one as + solid as ours, won't stand too much of an earthquake!” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't an earthquake at all,” sniffed Kate. “It's a very sensible move + all around. Here are these two great drawing-rooms, the library, and the + little reception-room 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 drawing-room, the library, and the + little reception-room for yours, and leave the whole of the second floor + for Billy and Aunt Hannah?” + </p> + <p> + “Good for you, Kate,” cried Bertram, appreciatively. “You've hit it square + on the head, and we'll do it. I'll move to-morrow. The light down here is + just as good as it is up-stairs—if you let it in!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Bertram, and you, too, Kate,” breathed William, fervently. + “Now, if you don't mind, I believe I'll go to bed. I am tired!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + AUNT HANNAH + </h3> + <p> + As soon as possible after breakfast William went to see Aunt Hannah. + </p> + <p> + 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, white-haired woman with kind blue eyes, and a lovable smile. Her + cheeks were still faintly pink, and her fine silver-white hair broke into + little kinks and curls about her ears. According to Bertram she always + made one think of “lavender and old lace.” + </p> + <p> + She welcomed William cordially this morning, though with faint surprise in + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know I'm an early caller, and an unexpected one,” began William, + hurriedly. “And I shall have to plunge straight into the matter, too, for + there isn't time to preamble. I've taken an eighteen-year-old girl to + bring up, Aunt Hannah, and I want you to come down and live with us to + chaperon her.” + </p> + <p> + “My grief and conscience, WILLIAM!” gasped the little woman, agitatedly. + </p> + <p> + “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 expected that she would do for him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, of course—I'll come,” acquiesced the lady, a little + breathlessly, “if—if you are sure you're going to—keep her.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! And remember I said 'now,' please—that I wanted you to come + right away, to-day. Of course Kate can't stay. Just get in half a dozen + women to help you pack, and come.” + </p> + <p> + “Half a dozen women in that little room, William—impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I only meant to get enough so you could come right off this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't need them, William. There are only my clothes and books, and + such things. You know it is a FURNISHED room.” + </p> + <p> + “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 down-stairs, and while we're getting you settled. + I—I think you'll like it there, Aunt Hannah,” added William, + anxiously. “Of course Billy's got Spunk, but—” he hesitated, and + smiled a little. + </p> + <p> + “Got what?” faltered the other. + </p> + <p> + “Spunk. Oh, I don't mean THAT kind,” laughed William, in answer to the + dismayed expression on his aunt's face. “Spunk is a cat.” + </p> + <p> + “A cat!—but such a name, William! I—I think we'll change + that.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Billy was not much used to children, and she found this four-year-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 Spunk—which + remark, oddly enough, did not appear to please Mrs. Hartwell to the extent + that Billy thought that it would. + </p> + <p> + At the Beacon Street house Billy was presented at once to Mrs. Stetson. + </p> + <p> + “And you are to call me 'Aunt Hannah,' my dear,” said the little woman, + graciously, “just as the boys do.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” dimpled Billy, “and you don't know, Aunt Hannah, how good it + seems to me to come into so many relatives, all at once!” + </p> + <p> + Upon going up-stairs Billy found her room somewhat changed. It was far + less warlike, and the case of spiders had been taken away. + </p> + <p> + “And this will be your stratum, you know,” announced Bertram from the + stairway, “yours and Aunt Hannah's. You're to have this whole floor. Will + and Cyril are above, and I'm down-stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “You are? Why, I thought you—were—here.” Billy's face was + puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Here? Oh, well, I did have—some things here,” he retorted airily; + “but I took them all away to-day. You see, my stratum is down-stairs, and + it doesn't do to mix the layers. By the way, you haven't been up-stairs + yet; have you? Come on, and I'll show you—and you, too, Aunt + Hannah.” + </p> + <p> + Billy clapped her hands; but Aunt Hannah shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I'll leave that for younger feet than mine,” she said; adding + whimsically: “It's best sometimes that one doesn't try to step too far off + one's own level, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” laughed the man. “Come on, Miss Billy.” + </p> + <p> + On the door at the head of the stairs he tapped twice, lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Pete,” called Cyril's voice, none too cordially. + </p> + <p> + “Pete, indeed!” scoffed Bertram. “You've got company, young man. Open the + door. Miss Billy is viewing the Strata.” + </p> + <p> + The bare floor echoed to a quick tread, then the door opened and Cyril + faced them with a forced smile on his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Come in—though I fear there will be little—to see,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Bertram assumed a pompous attitude. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen; you behold here the lion in his lair.” + </p> + <p> + “Be still, Bertram,” ordered Cyril. + </p> + <p> + “He is a lion, really,” confided Bertram, in a lower voice; “but as he + prefers it, we'll just call him 'the Musical Man.'” + </p> + <p> + “I should think I was some sort of music-box that turned with a crank,” + bristled Cyril. + </p> + <p> + Bertram grinned. + </p> + <p> + “A—CRANK, did you say? Well, even I wouldn't have quite dared to say + that, you know!” + </p> + <p> + With an impatient gesture Cyril turned on his heel. Bertram fell once more + into his pompous attitude. + </p> + <p> + “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 are—er—so 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, however, that in one is a couch-bed, and in another, two + chairs.” + </p> + <p> + Billy listened silently. Her eyes were questioning. She was not quite sure + how to take Bertram's words; and the bare rooms and their stern-faced + master filled her with a vague pity. But the pause that followed Bertram's + nonsense seemed to be waiting for her to fill it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I should like to hear you—play, Mr. Cyril,” she stammered. + Then, gathering courage. “CAN you play 'The Maiden's Prayer'?” + </p> + <p> + Bertram gave a cough, a spasmodic cough that sent him, red-faced, out into + the hall. From there he called: + </p> + <p> + “Can't stop for the animals to perform, Miss Billy. It's 'most dinner + time, and we've got lots to see yet.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; but—sometime,” nodded Billy over her shoulder to Cyril + as she turned away. “I just love that 'Maiden's Prayer'!” + </p> + <p> + “Now this is William's stratum,” announced Bertram at the foot of the + stairs. “You will perceive that there is no knocking here; William's doors + are always open.” + </p> + <p> + “By all means! Come in—come in,” called William's cheery voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my, what a lot of things!” exclaimed Billy. “My—my—what a + lot of things! How Spunk will like this room!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram chuckled; then he made a great display of drawing a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Er—yes, 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 wondering-eyed girl at Bertram's side. + </p> + <p> + “But there are so many!” breathed Billy. + </p> + <p> + “All the more chance then,” smiled William, “that somewhere among them + you'll find something to interest you. Now these Chinese ceramics, and + these bronzes—maybe 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. + </p> + <p> + “And there are these miniatures, and these Japanese porcelains. Or perhaps + you'd like stamps, or theatre programs better,” William finished + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + Billy did not reply. She was turning round and round, her eyes wide and + amazed. Suddenly she pounced on a beautifully decorated teapot, and held + it up in admiring hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a pretty teapot! And what a cute little plate it sets in!” she + cried. + </p> + <p> + The collector fairly bubbled over with joy. + </p> + <p> + “That's a Lowestoft—a real Lowestoft!” he crowed. “Not that + hard-paste stuff from the Orient that's CALLED Lowestoft, but the real + thing—English, you know. And that's the tray that goes with it, too. + Wonderful—how I got them both! You know they 'most always get + separated. I paid a cool hundred for them, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “A hundred dollars for a teapot!” gasped Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and here's a nice little piece of lustre-ware. Pretty—isn't + it? And there's a fine bit of black basalt. And—” + </p> + <p> + “Er—Will,” interposed Bertram, meekly. + </p> + <p> + “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 surface—they made that with tiny little points set + into the inner side of the mold. The design stands out fine on this. It's + one of the best I ever saw. And, oh—” + </p> + <p> + “Er—William,” interposed Bertram again, a little louder this time. + “May I just say—” + </p> + <p> + “And did you notice this 'Old Blue'?” hurried on William, eagerly. “Lid + sets down in, you see—that's older than the kind where it sets over + the top. Now here's one—” + </p> + <p> + “William,” almost shouted Bertram, “DINNER IS READY! Pete has sounded the + gong twice already!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Oh, sure enough—sure enough,” acknowledged William, with a + regretful glance at his treasures. “Well, we must go, we must go.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven't seen your stratum at all,” demurred Billy to her guide, as + they went down the stairway. + </p> + <p> + “Then there's something left for to-morrow,” 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 tea—some real tea—and that's more than William has done, + with all his hundred and one teapots!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + BERTRAM HAS VISITORS + </h3> + <p> + 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 + very-much-alive small cat will make some difference. As to Spunk's name—it + was not Mrs. Stetson's fault that even that was left undisturbed. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Stetson early became acquainted with Spunk. She was introduced to + him, indeed, on the night of her arrival—though 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. + </p> + <p> + “But I don't see how any one CAN object to a nice clean little cat at the + table,” Billy had remonstrated tearfully. + </p> + <p> + “I know; but—er—they do, sometimes,” William had stammered; + “and this is one of the times. Aunt Hannah would never stand for it—never!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but she doesn't know Spunk,” Billy had observed then, hopefully. “You + just wait until she knows him.” + </p> + <p> + 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 was—indeed, no. He rolled it down the stairs, + batted it through the hall to the drawing-room, and then proceeded to + 'chasse' with it in and out among the legs of various chairs and tables, + ending in one grand whirl that wound the yarn round and round his small + body, and keeled him over half upon his back. There he blissfully went to + sleep. + </p> + <p> + Billy found him after a gleeful following of the slender woollen trail. + Mrs. Stetson was with her—but she was not gleeful. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,” gurgled Billy, “isn't he just too cute for + anything?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I must confess I don't see it,” she declared. “My dear, just look at that + hopeless snarl!” + </p> + <p> + “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 arms. + </p> + <p> + “But, I—it—I can't—Billy! I don't like that name,” + blurted out the indignant little lady with as much warmth as she ever + allowed herself to show. “It must be changed to—to 'Thomas.'” + </p> + <p> + “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>I</i> like 'Helen Clarabella' + lots better than 'Hannah,' but I'm not going to ask you to change that—and + 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 then attacked the + tangled mass of black with skilful fingers. + </p> + <p> + “But, I—you—oh, 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 swear-word. + </p> + <p> + In Aunt Hannah's black silk lap Spunk stretched luxuriously, and blinked + sleepy eyes; then with a long purr of content he curled himself for + another nap—still Spunk. + </p> + <p> + 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 when + the knock came. His tone was not quite cordial when he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “It's I—Spunk and I. May we come in?” called a confident voice. + </p> + <p> + Bertram said a sharp word behind his teeth—but he opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Of course! I was—painting,” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “How lovely! And I'll watch you. Oh, my—what a pretty room!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do; I like it ever so much. I shall stay here lots, I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you—will!” For once even Bertram's ready tongue failed to find + fitting response. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Now paint. I want to see you. Aunt Hannah has gone out anyway, and + I'm lonesome. I think I'll stay.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can't—that is, I'm not used to spectators.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you aren't, you poor old lonesomeness! But it isn't going to be + that way, any more, you know, now that I've come. I sha'n't let you be + lonesome.” + </p> + <p> + “I could swear to that,” declared the man, with sudden fervor; and for + Billy's peace of mind it was just as well, perhaps, that she did not know + the exact source of that fervency. + </p> + <p> + “Now paint,” commanded Billy again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut—no, no—naughty Spunk! Say, but wasn't that cute?” + chuckled Billy. “Do it again!” + </p> + <p> + The artist gave an exasperated sigh. + </p> + <p> + “My dear girl,” he protested, “cruel as it may seem to you, this picture + is not a kindergarten game for the edification of small cats. I must + politely ask Spunk to desist.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” accepted Bertram; dryly. + </p> + <p> + 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, cats—pretty + cats like Spunk—were even nicer to paint than girls. + </p> + <p> + She rescued Spunk then from the paint-box 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 altogether-to-be-desired 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 up-stairs, + he lifted his hands in despair. + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott!” he groaned. “If this is a sample of what's coming—I'm + GOING, that's all!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN + </h3> + <p> + 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 behind—Billy + remembered her prospective host's aversion to cats. + </p> + <p> + 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 conclusion—privately expressed to Bertram—that + 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 upstairs—Cyril had just escaped from one of + Billy's most determined “attempts,” and Bertram knew it. Bertram's laugh + had puzzled Billy—and it had not quite pleased her. Hence to-day she + did not tell him of her plan to go up-stairs and see what she could do + herself, alone, to combat this “foolish bashfulness” on the part of Mr. + Cyril Henshaw. + </p> + <p> + In spite of her bravery, Billy waited quite one whole minute at the top of + the stairs before she had the courage to knock at Cyril's door. + </p> + <p> + The door was opened at once. + </p> + <p> + “Why—Billy!” cried the man in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's Billy. I—I came up to—to get acquainted,” she + smiled winningly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, er—you are very kind. Will you—come in?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; yes. You see, I didn't bring Spunk. I—remembered.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril bowed gravely. + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind—again,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Billy fidgeted in her chair. To her mind she was not “getting on” at all. + She determined on a bold stroke. + </p> + <p> + “You see, I thought if—if 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.” + </p> + <p> + At the odd look that came into the man's face, the girl realized suddenly + what she had said. Her cheeks flushed a confused red. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! That is, I mean—I 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 well as I do Uncle William and Mr. Bertram. So there!” + </p> + <p> + Cyril laughed. For the first time since he had seen Billy, something that + was very like interest came into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don't,” he retorted. “Now that is—er—very UNkind of + you.” + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “You don't say that as if you meant it,” she accused him, her eyes gravely + studying his face. “Now I'M in earnest. <i>I</i> really want to like YOU!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Then perhaps you won't mind telling me why you don't like me,” + he suggested. + </p> + <p> + Again Billy flushed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I—I just don't; that's all,” she faltered. Then she cried + aggrievedly: “There, now! you've made me be impolite; and I didn't mean to + be, truly.” + </p> + <p> + “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 and + rainy days.” + </p> + <p> + “With—wha-at?” + </p> + <p> + “Tripe and rainy days. Those are the only things, if I remember rightly, + that you don't like.” + </p> + <p> + The girl stared; then she chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + Cyril stiffened. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, but you must be mistaken,” he replied coldly. “I do not play + 'The Maiden's Prayer.'” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a shame! And I do so love it! But you play other things; I've + heard you a little, and Mr. Bertram says you do—in concerts and + things.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he?” murmured Cyril, with a slight lifting of his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “There! Now off you go again all silent and horrid!” chaffed Billy. “What + have I said now? Mr. Cyril—do you know what I think? I believe + you've got NERVES!” Billy's voice was so tragic that the man could but + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I have, Miss Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Like Miss Letty's?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not acquainted with the lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee! wouldn't you two make a pair!” chuckled Billy unexpectedly. “No; + but, really, I mean—do you want people to walk on tiptoe and speak + in whispers?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + The girl sprang to her feet—but she sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'm going. This might be one of the times, you know.” She hesitated, + then walked to the piano. “My, wouldn't I like to play on that!” she + breathed. + </p> + <p> + Cyril shuddered. Cyril could imagine what Billy would play—and Cyril + did not like “rag-time,” nor “The Storm.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you play?” he asked constrainedly. + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Not much. Only little bits of things, you know,” she said wistfully, as + she turned toward the door. + </p> + <p> + For some minutes after she had gone, Cyril stood where she had left him, + his eyes moody and troubled. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I might have played—something,” he muttered at last; “but—'The + Maiden's Prayer'!—good heavens!” + </p> + <p> + 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 seemed to be leaving him in peace. + </p> + <p> + 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 + down-stairs. At the first step he started back in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Billy!” he ejaculated. + </p> + <p> + The girl was sitting very near the top of the stairway. At his appearance + she got to her feet shamefacedly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Billy, what in the world are you doing there?” + </p> + <p> + “Listening.” + </p> + <p> + “Listening!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Do you mind?” + </p> + <p> + The man did not answer. He was too surprised to find words at once, and he + was trying to recollect what he had been playing. + </p> + <p> + “You see, listening to music this way isn't like listening to—to + talking,” hurried on Billy, feverishly. “It isn't sneaking like that; is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—no.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, surely, I ought not to mind—that,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + “Then I can keep right on as I have done. Thank you,” sighed Billy, in + relief. + </p> + <p> + “Keep right on! Have you been here before?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, lots of days. And, say, Mr. Cyril, what is that—that + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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 own—that I'm writing, you understand; and + I've tried to say—just what you say you heard.” + </p> + <p> + “And I did hear it—I did! Oh, won't you play it, please, with the + door open?” + </p> + <p> + “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 girl + and hurried down the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Billy waited until she heard the outer hall door shut; then very softly + she crept through Cyril's open doorway, and crossed the room to the piano. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + A SURPRISE ALL AROUND + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 up-stairs to Cyril's rooms, and once at the piano, Billy + forgot everything else. + </p> + <p> + 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 + stopped in amazement. + </p> + <p> + Billy was at the piano, but she was not playing “rag-time,” “The Storm,” + nor yet “The Maiden's Prayer.” There was no music before her, but under + her fingers “big bass notes” very much like Cyril's own, were marching on + and on to victory. Billy's face was rapturously intent and happy. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove—Billy!” gasped the man. + </p> + <p> + Billy leaped to her feet and whirled around guiltily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Cyril—I'm so sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry!—and you play like that!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; I'm not sorry I played. It's because you—found me.” + </p> + <p> + Billy's cheeks were a shamed red, but her eyes were defiantly brilliant, + and her chin was at a rebellious tilt. “I wasn't doing any—harm; not + if you weren't here—with your NERVES!” + </p> + <p> + The man laughed and came slowly into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, who taught you to play?” + </p> + <p> + “No one. I can't play. I can only pick out little bits of things in C.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do play. I just heard you.” + </p> + <p> + Billy shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “That was nothing. It was only what I had heard. I was trying to make it + sound like—yours.” + </p> + <p> + “And, by George! you succeeded,” muttered Cyril under his breath; then + aloud he asked: “Didn't you ever study music?” + </p> + <p> + Billy's eyes dimmed. + </p> + <p> + “No. That was the only thing Aunt Ella and I didn't think alike about. She + had an old square piano, all tin-panny and thin, you know. I 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 do—get 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. I—I'm afraid I got + stuffy. I hated that piano so! But I was almost ready to give in when—when + Aunt Ella died.” + </p> + <p> + “And all you play then is just by ear?” + </p> + <p> + “By—ear? I suppose so—if you mean what I hear. Easy things I + can play quick, but—but those chords ARE hard; they skip around so!” + </p> + <p> + Cyril smiled oddly. + </p> + <p> + “I should say so,” he agreed. “But perhaps there is something else that I + play—that you like. Is there?” + </p> + <p> + “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 ears—a 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 + printed music. But the tune, the rhythm, and the spirit were there. + </p> + <p> + “And there's this,” said Billy; “and this,” she went on, sliding into one + little strain after another—all of which were recognized by the + amazed man at her side. + </p> + <p> + “Billy,” he cried, when she had finished and whirled upon him again, + “Billy, would you like to learn to play—really play from notes?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, wouldn't I!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you shall! We'll have a piano tomorrow in your rooms for you to + practise on. And—I'll teach you myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you, Mr. Cyril—you don't know how I thank you!” exulted + Billy, as she danced from the room to tell Aunt Hannah of this great and + good thing that had come into her life. + </p> + <p> + To Billy, this promise of Cyril's to be her teacher was very kind, very + delightful; but it was not in the least a thing at which to marvel. To + Bertram, however, it most certainly was. + </p> + <p> + “Well, guess what's happened,” he said to William that night, after he had + heard the news. “I'll believe anything now—anything: 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!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND + </h3> + <p> + 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 had + not attended to, Spunk had, he said. + </p> + <p> + “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 fancy-work, thread, + thimbles, and hairpins are due to show up at any time either in Cyril's + apartments or mine—to say nothing of William's; and she's in + William's lots—to look for Spunk, if for no other purpose. + </p> + <p> + “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 + there—dear 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 to—well, anywhere that he happens to feel + like going. Cyril has found him up-stairs 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 hard-shelled black bug—dead, + of course—that 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 of William's Collection Number One. + </p> + <p> + “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 any longer,” he finished. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “William, what are you going to do with Billy?” she asked abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Do with her? What do you mean?” returned William with the contented smile + that was so often on his lips these days. “This is Billy's home.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the worst of it,” sighed the woman, with a shake of her head. + </p> + <p> + “The worst of it! Aunt Hannah, what do you mean? Don't you like Billy?” + </p> + <p> + “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, or—or + somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “And she's going in September,” replied the man. “She'll go to preparatory + school first, and to college, probably.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but now—right away. She ought to go—somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “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 idea—through + all the hot June and July—so 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 Bertram would be off more or less. They always are in + the summer.” + </p> + <p> + “But, William, you haven't yet got my idea at all,” demurred Aunt Hannah, + with a discouraged shake of her head. “It's away!—away from all this—from + you—that I want to get Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Away! Away from me,” cried the man, with an odd intonation of terror, as + he started forward in his chair. “Why, Aunt Hannah, what are you talking + about?” + </p> + <p> + “About Billy. This is no place in which to bring up a young girl—a + young girl who has not one shred of relationship to excuse it.” + </p> + <p> + “But she is my namesake, and quite alone in the world, Aunt Hannah; quite + alone—poor child!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear William, that is exactly it—she is a child, and yet she is + not. That's where the trouble lies.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “William, Billy has been brought up in a little country town with a + spinster aunt and a whole good-natured, tolerant village for company. + Well, she has accepted you and your entire household, even down to Dong + Ling, on the same basis.” + </p> + <p> + “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 quite too much inclined that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, William. And that only goes to prove what I said before. Bertram + is not a spinster aunt, and neither are any of the rest of you. But Billy + takes you that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Takes us that way—as spinster aunts!” + </p> + <p> + “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 angle—which + certainly doesn't tend to make Billy modest or retiring. As to you—you + know how much she's in your rooms, spending evening after evening fussing + over your collections.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; but we're—we're sorting them and making a catalogue,” + defended the man, anxiously. “Besides, I—I like to have her there. + She doesn't bother me a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I know she doesn't,” replied Aunt Hannah, with a curious inflection. + “But don't you see, William, that all this isn't going to quite do? + Billy's too young—and too old.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, Aunt Hannah, is that exactly logical?” + </p> + <p> + “It's true, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “But, after all, where's the harm? Don't you think that you are just a + little bit too—fastidious? Billy's nothing but a care-free child.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the 'free' part that I object to, William. She has taken every one + of you into intimate companionship—even Pete and Dong Ling.” + </p> + <p> + “Pete and Dong Ling!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Mrs. Stetson's chin came up, and her nostrils dilated a little. + “Billy went to Pete the other day to have him button her shirt-waist up in + the back; and yesterday I found her down-stairs in the kitchen instructing + Dong Ling how to make chocolate fudge!” + </p> + <p> + William fell back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “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 quite + like that idea.” + </p> + <p> + “My grief and conscience—no, no! That isn't what is needed at all. + It would only serve to make her self-conscious; and that's her one + salvation now—that she isn't self-conscious. You see, it's only the + fault of her environment and training, after all. It isn't her heart + that's wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it isn't!” + </p> + <p> + “It will be different when she is older—when 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 live—just + like this, though; certainly not for a time, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I'm afraid not,” agreed William, perplexedly, rising to his feet. + “But we must think—what can be done.” His step was even slower than + usual as he left the room, and his eyes were troubled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT BERTRAM CALLS “THE LIMIT” + </h3> + <p> + At half past ten o'clock on the evening following Mrs. Stetson's very + plain talk with William, the telephone bell at the Beacon Street house + rang sharply. Pete answered it. + </p> + <p> + “Well?”—Pete never said “hello.” + </p> + <p> + “Hello. Is that you, Pete?” called Billy's voice agitatedly. “Is Uncle + William there?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Miss Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear! Well, Mr. Cyril, then?” + </p> + <p> + “He's out, too, Miss Billy. And Mr. Bertram—they're all out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I know HE'S out,” almost sobbed Billy. “Dear, dear, what shall + I do! Pete, you'll have to come. There isn't any other way!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss; where?” Pete's voice was dubious, but respectful. + </p> + <p> + “To the Boylston Street subway—on the Common, you know—North-bound + side. I'll wait for you—but HURRY! You see, I'm all alone here.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone! Miss Billy—in the subway at this time of night! But, Miss + Billy, you shouldn't—you can't—you mustn't—” stuttered + the old man in helpless horror. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, Pete, but never mind; I am here! And I should think if 'twas + such a dreadful thing you would hurry FAST to get here, so I wouldn't be + alone,” appealed Billy. + </p> + <p> + 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 station. + </p> + <p> + 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 the wind. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what can this mean?” gasped the man. “Where is + Mrs. Stetson?” + </p> + <p> + “At Mrs. Hartwell's—you know she is giving a reception to-night. But + come, we must hurry! I'm after Mr. Bertram.” + </p> + <p> + “After Mr. Bertram!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone?—like this?” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not alone now; I have you. Don't you see?” + </p> + <p> + At the blank stupefaction in the man's face, the girl sighed impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! I suppose I'll have to explain; but we're losing time—and + we mustn't—we 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 and follow them.” + </p> + <p> + “FOLLOW them! MISS BILLY!” + </p> + <p> + “I had to, Pete; don't you see? There was no one else. Mr. Cyril and Uncle + William had gone—home, 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 just—followed. + 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. But—well, you know the rest. I had to take + you. Now come, quick; I'll show you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Miss Billy, I can't! You mustn't; it's impossible,” chattered old + Pete. “Come, let me take ye home, Miss Billy, do!” + </p> + <p> + “Home—and leave Mr. Bertram with that Seaver man? No, no!” + </p> + <p> + “What CAN ye do?” + </p> + <p> + “Do? I can get him to come home with me, of course.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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 know—ye can't know what yer + a-doin'!” + </p> + <p> + The girl tossed her head. She was angry now. + </p> + <p> + “Pete, if you will not go with me I shall go alone. I am not afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “But the hour—the place—you, a young girl! Miss Billy!” + remonstrated the old man agitatedly. + </p> + <p> + “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 in—ladies and gentlemen. Nothing could hurt me, Pete, and + I shall go; but I'd rather you were with me. Why, Pete, we mustn't leave + him. He isn't—he isn't HIMSELF, Pete. He—he's been DRINKING!” + Billy's voice broke, and her face flushed scarlet. She was almost crying. + “Come, you won't refuse now!” she finished, resolutely turning toward the + street. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Billy, once more I beg of ye, won't ye come home? Ye don't know what + yer a-doin', Miss Billy, ye don't—ye don't!” + </p> + <p> + “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 turned + and ran down the steps. + </p> + <p> + Billy blinked a little at the lights which, reflected in the great + plate-glass mirrors, were a million dazzling points that found themselves + again repeated in the sparkling crystal and glittering silver on the + flower-decked tables. All about her Billy saw flushed-faced men, and + bright-eyed women, laughing, chatting, and clinking together their + slender-stemmed wine glasses. But nowhere, as she looked about her, could + Billy descry the man she sought. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Simultaneously her own and Bertram's eyes met. + </p> + <p> + With a sharp word under his breath Bertram sprang to his feet. His + befogged brain had cleared suddenly under the shock of Billy's presence. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, for Heaven's sake what are you doing here?” he demanded in a low + voice, as he reached her side. + </p> + <p> + “I came for you. I want you to go home with me, please, Mr. Bertram,” + whispered Billy, pleadingly. + </p> + <p> + 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, pallid-faced, + and shaking. + </p> + <p> + “And you, too, Pete! Great Scott! what does this mean?” he exploded + angrily. + </p> + <p> + Pete could only shake his head and glance imploringly at Billy. His dry + lips and tongue refused to articulate even one word. + </p> + <p> + “We came—for—you,” choked Billy. “You see, I don't like that + Seaver man.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, by Jove! this is the limit!” breathed Bertram. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + KATE TAKES A HAND + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 + herself with small likelihood of interruption. + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, how could you do such an absurd thing?” she demanded. “The + idea of leaving my house alone, at half-past ten at night, to follow a + couple of men through the streets of Boston, and then with my brothers' + butler make a scene like that in a—a public dining-room!” + </p> + <p> + Billy sighed in a discouraged way. + </p> + <p> + “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 to speak to Mr. Bertram, and get + him away from that man.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear child, even that was bad enough!” + </p> + <p> + Billy lifted her chin. + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem to think, Aunt Kate; Mr. Bertram was—was not sober.” + </p> + <p> + “All the more reason then why you should NOT have done what you did!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Aunt Kate, you wouldn't leave him alone in that condition with that + man!” + </p> + <p> + It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to sigh. + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy,” she contested, wearily, “can't you understand that it wasn't + YOUR place to interfere—you, a young girl?” + </p> + <p> + “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 it alone—that is, with Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “Pete!” scoffed Mrs. Hartwell. “Pete, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + Billy's head came up with a jerk. Billy was very angry now. + </p> + <p> + “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 and—and drink too + much. But Uncle William hasn't liked him before, not one bit! I've heard + him talk about him—that Mr. Seaver.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hartwell raised both her hands, palms outward. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, it is useless to talk with you. You are quite impossible. It is + even worse than I expected!” she cried, with wrathful impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Worse than you—expected? What do you mean, please?” + </p> + <p> + “Worse than I thought it would be—before you came. The idea of those + five men taking a girl to bring up!” + </p> + <p> + Billy sat very still. She was even holding her breath, though Mrs. + Hartwell did not know that. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—that they did not—want 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 outside of herself. + </p> + <p> + “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 everything?” + </p> + <p> + “To—upset—everything!” echoed Billy, faintly. “And have I done—that?” + </p> + <p> + “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 the whole thing. + </p> + <p> + “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, and + what my brothers have done for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, certainly,” said Billy, still in that voice that was so oddly + smooth and emotionless. + </p> + <p> + “And you'll try to be more tractable, less headstrong, less assertive of + your presence?” + </p> + <p> + The girl sprang to her feet now. + </p> + <p> + “More tractable! Less assertive of my presence!” she cried. “Mrs. + Hartwell, do you mean to say you think I'd STAY after what you've told + me?” + </p> + <p> + “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 you to understand how things were—and + are.” + </p> + <p> + “And I do understand—and I'm going.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hartwell frowned. Her face changed color. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, Billy, this is nonsense. William wants you here. He would + never forgive me if anything I said should send you away. You must not be + angry with, him.” + </p> + <p> + Billy turned now like an enraged little tigress. + </p> + <p> + “Angry with him! Why, I love him—I 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 + them know why I'm going?—that I'd hurt them like that? Never!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, what are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I've got to plan it out. I only know now that I'm going, + sure!” And with a choking little cry Billy ran from the room. + </p> + <p> + In her own chamber a minute later the tears fell unrestrained. + </p> + <p> + “It's home—all the home there is—anywhere!” she sobbed. “But + it's got to go—it's got to go!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + A PINK-RIBBON TRAIL + </h3> + <p> + Mrs. Stetson wore an air of unmistakable relief as she stepped into + William's sitting-room. Even her knock at the half-open door had sounded + almost triumphant. + </p> + <p> + “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 see + that will make it easier for us.” + </p> + <p> + “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 here—for a time. Though I + shall miss her terribly. But, tell me, what is it—what does she want + to do?” + </p> + <p> + “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. The—the + dear child seems suddenly to have taken a great fancy to me,” explained + Aunt Hannah, unsteadily. “I never saw her so affectionate.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a dear girl—a very dear girl; and she has a warm heart.” + William cleared his throat sonorously, but even that did not clear his + voice. “It was her heart that led her wrong the other night,” he declared. + “Hers was a brave and fearless act—but 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. How did Billy happen to suggest it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I noticed yesterday that she seemed strangely silent—unhappy, + 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 difficulties.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course, of course,” muttered William. “It is very fine, very fine + indeed,” he concluded. And again his voice failed quite to match his words + in enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll go and begin to see to my things,” murmured Mrs. Stetson, + rising to her feet. “Billy seems anxious to get away.” + </p> + <p> + 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 + gone; and with her had gone Mrs. Stetson and Spunk. + </p> + <p> + The family said they liked it—the quiet, the freedom. They said they + liked to be alone—all but William. He said nothing. + </p> + <p> + And yet— + </p> + <p> + 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 + red-cheeked, curly-headed young girl whose eyes held a peculiarly wistful + appeal; and Cyril, at his piano up-stairs, sat with idle fingers until + they finally drifted into a simple little melody—the last thing + Billy had been learning. + </p> + <p> + It was Pete who brought in the kitten; and Billy had been gone a whole + week then. + </p> + <p> + “The poor little beast was cryin' at the alleyway door, sir,” he + explained. “I—I made so bold as to bring him in.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said William. “Did you feed it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; Ling did.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, then Pete spoke, diffidently. + </p> + <p> + “I thought, sir, if ye didn't mind, I'd keep it. I'll try to see that it + stays down-stairs, sir, out of yer way.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, Pete; keep it, by all means, by all means,” approved + William. + </p> + <p> + “Thank ye, sir. Ye see, it's a stray. It hasn't got any home. And, did ye + notice, sir? it looks like Spunk.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I noticed,” said William, stirring with sudden restlessness. “I + noticed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Pete. And he turned and carried the small gray cat away. + </p> + <p> + The new kitten did not stay down-stairs. Pete tried, it is true, to keep + his promise to watch it; but after he had seen the little animal carried + surreptitiously up-stairs 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 known—until 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 ribbon and curling white paper—and + the end of the trail was in William's room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 loneliness—it reminded + him of Billy. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 gray kitten, “Spunkie,” that looked so much like Spunk. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + William frowned at this, and shook his head; yet he knew that it was true. + </p> + <p> + 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 interesting as was + Hampden Falls. But he went to the Rangeley Lakes. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Billy? Isn't Billy here?” demanded Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “No. She isn't back yet,” replied William. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say she's stayed up there all summer!” exclaimed Cyril. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I—I suppose so,” hesitated William. “You see, I haven't + heard but once for a month. I've been down in Maine, you know.” + </p> + <p> + William wrote to Billy that night. + </p> + <p> + “My dear:—” he said in part. “I hope you'll come home right away. We + want to see SOMETHING of you before you go away again, and you know the + schools will be opening soon. + </p> + <p> + “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 how much alike they really do look.” + </p> + <p> + 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 came—though this time for a far different + reason. + </p> + <p> + “Why, boys, she—isn't—coming,” he announced in dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't coming!” ejaculated two astonished Voices. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Not—at—ALL?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, later,” retorted William, with unwonted sharpness. “But + not now. This is what she says.” And he read aloud: + </p> + <p> + “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 way—a + lovely place, I'm sure, from the pictures of it. + </p> + <p> + “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 alone—me, a + 'Billy'—unless I sent a special courier ahead to announce that + 'Billy' was a girl. + </p> + <p> + “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 be there. + </p> + <p> + “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 about having to hunt up a school + for me. + </p> + <p> + “With love to all, + </p> + <p> + “BILLY.” + </p> + <p> + As had happened once before after a letter from Billy had been read, there + was a long pause. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by Jove!” breathed Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “It's very sensible, I'm sure,” declared Cyril. “Still, I must confess, I + would have liked to pick out her piano teacher for her.” + </p> + <p> + William said nothing—perhaps because he was reading Billy's letter + again. + </p> + <p> + At eight o'clock that night Bertram tapped on Cyril's door. + </p> + <p> + “What's the trouble?” demanded Cyril in answer to the look on the other's + face. + </p> + <p> + Bertram lifted his eyebrows oddly. + </p> + <p> + “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 gone—for good.” + </p> + <p> + “For good! What do you mean?—that she's not coming back—ever?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly that.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! What's put that notion into your head?” + </p> + <p> + “Billy's letter first; after that, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “Pete!” + </p> + <p> + “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 house—not so + much as a handkerchief or a hairpin.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; that does look—suspicious,” murmured Cyril. “What's up, do + you think?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurt?—nonsense! Why, we did everything for her—everything!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know—and she tried to do EVERYTHING for us, too,” retorted + Bertram, quizzically, as he turned away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <h3> + SEEING BILLY OFF + </h3> + <p> + Early in October Mrs. Stetson arrived at the Beacon Street house, but she + did not stay long. + </p> + <p> + “I've come for just a few things I want, and to do some shopping,” she + explained. + </p> + <p> + “But Aunt Hannah,” remonstrated William, “what is the meaning of this? Why + are you staying up there at Hampden Falls?” + </p> + <p> + “I like it there, William; and why shouldn't I stay? Surely there's no + need for me to be here now, with Billy away!” + </p> + <p> + “But Billy's coming back!” + </p> + <p> + “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 + wanted—to keep Billy away for awhile. And the best part of it is, + it's her own idea from the start.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, I know,” frowned William: “but I'm not sure, after all, that + that idea of ours wasn't a mistake,—a mistake that she needed to get + away.” + </p> + <p> + “Never! We were just right about it,” declared Aunt Hannah, with + conviction. + </p> + <p> + “And is Billy—happy?” + </p> + <p> + “She seems to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; 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 him—that Billy was happy. + </p> + <p> + 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 might be called a reminder. + </p> + <p> + 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 earshot—a subterfuge quite + well understood, but never reproved by any of the brothers. + </p> + <p> + 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 Falls for a country Christmas. + </p> + <p> + For the Easter vacation William was even more insistent—but 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 + now. + </p> + <p> + William fretted not a little. Even Cyril and Bertram said that it was “too + bad”; that they themselves would like to see the girl—so they would! + </p> + <p> + 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 + through the British Isles”; and that their passage was already engaged. + </p> + <p> + “And so you see,” she explained, “I shall not have a minute to spare. + There'll be only time to skip home for Aunt Hannah, and to pack the trunks + before it'll be time to start.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram looked at Cyril significantly when this letter was read aloud; and + afterward he muttered in Cyril's ear: + </p> + <p> + “You see! It's Hampden Falls she calls 'home' now—not the Strata.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see,” frowned Cyril. “It does look suspicious.” + </p> + <p> + Two days before the date of Billy's expected sailing, William announced at + the breakfast table that he was going away on business; might be gone + until the end of the week. + </p> + <p> + “You don't say,” commented Bertram. “I'M going to-morrow, but I'm coming + back in a couple of days.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m;” murmured William, abstractedly. “Oh, well, I may be back before + the end of the week.” + </p> + <p> + 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 by water would be a pleasure, the night was so fine and warm. + </p> + <p> + In New York Cyril had little trouble in finding Billy, as he knew the + steamship she was to take. + </p> + <p> + “I thought as long as I was in New York to-day I'd just come and say + good-by to you and Aunt Hannah,” he informed her, with an evident aim + toward making his presence appear to be casual. + </p> + <p> + “That was good of you!” exclaimed Billy. “And how are Uncle William and + Mr. Bertram?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I fancy, though they weren't there when I left,” replied the + man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—gone away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. A little matter of business they said; but—well, by Jove!” he + broke off, his gaze on a familiar figure hurrying at that moment toward + them. “There's William now!” + </p> + <p> + William, with no eyes but for Billy, came rapidly forward. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, Billy! I thought as long as I happened to be in New York + to-day I'd just run down to the boat and see you and Aunt Hannah off, and + wish—CYRIL! Where did YOU come from?” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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 gesture of defeat. + </p> + <p> + “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 + fellow-sinners here, I'll wager they weren't two days behind me in their + planning. So now, own up, boys!” + </p> + <p> + William and Cyril, however, did not have to “own up.” Mrs. Stetson + appeared at the moment and created, for them, a very welcome diversion. + </p> + <p> + Long minutes later, when the good-byes had become nothing but a flutter of + white handkerchiefs from deck to shore, and shore to deck, William drew a + long sigh. + </p> + <p> + “That's a nice little girl, boys, a nice little girl!” he exclaimed. “I + declare! I didn't suppose I'd mind so much her going so far away.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <h3> + BILLY, THE MYTH + </h3> + <p> + 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 + devote herself more particularly to her music. + </p> + <p> + 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 would see. + </p> + <p> + Of all this Billy wrote to William—at occasional intervals—but + she did not come home. Even when the next autumn came, there was still + Paris to detain her for another long winter of study. + </p> + <p> + In the Henshaw house on Beacon Street, William mourned not a little as + each recurring season brought no Billy. + </p> + <p> + “The idea! It's just as if one didn't have a namesake!” he fumed. + </p> + <p> + “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 word—a message—a scrap + of paper. Billy's a myth, I say!” + </p> + <p> + William sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I don't know but you are right,” he admitted. “Why, it'll be + three years next June since Billy was here. She must be nearly twenty-one—and + we know almost nothing about her.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so. I wonder—” Bertram paused, and laughed a little, “I + wonder if NOW she'd play guardian angel to me through the streets of + Boston.” + </p> + <p> + William threw a keen glance into his brother's face. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it would be quite necessary, NOW, Bert,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + The other flushed a little, but his eyes softened. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe not, Will; still—one can always find some use for—a + guardian angel, you know,” he finished, almost under his breath. + </p> + <p> + 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. Hartwell + had not once returned to Boston. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 friends—and + 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 den after dinner. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Three men sat suddenly erect in their chairs. + </p> + <p> + “Billy?” cried three voices. “Do you know Billy?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure! And you do, too, she says.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, we don't,” disputed Bertram, emphatically. “But we WISH we did!” + </p> + <p> + His guest laughed. + </p> + <p> + “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 girl—a very charming girl.” + </p> + <p> + “She is my namesake,” announced William, in what Bertram called his + “finest ever” voice that he used only for the choicest bits in his + collections. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she told me,” smiled Calderwell. “'Billy' for 'William.' Odd idea, + too, but clever. It helps to distinguish her even more—though she + doesn't need it, for that matter.” + </p> + <p> + “'Doesn't need it,'” echoed William in a puzzled voice. + </p> + <p> + “No. Perhaps you don't know, Mr. Henshaw, but Miss Billy is a very popular + young woman. You have reason to be proud of your namesake.” + </p> + <p> + “I have always been that,” declared William, with just a touch of hauteur. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us about her,” begged Bertram. “You remember I said that we wished + we did know her.” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe, after all, that you do know much about her,” he began + musingly. “Billy is not one who talks much of herself, I fancy, in her + letters.” + </p> + <p> + William frowned. This time there was more than a touch of hauteur in his + voice. + </p> + <p> + “MISS NEILSON is not one to show vanity anywhere,” he said, with + suggestive emphasis on the name. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed she isn't,” agreed Calderwell, heartily. “She is a fine girl—quite + one of the finest I know, in fact.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Again William frowned at the familiar “Billy”; but Calderwell talked on + unheeding. + </p> + <p> + “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 men, + and she has suitors enough to turn any girl's head—but her own.” + </p> + <p> + “Suitors!” cried William, plainly aghast. “Why, Billy's nothing but a + child!” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell gave an odd smile. + </p> + <p> + “How long is it since you've seen—Miss Neilson?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Two years.” + </p> + <p> + “And then only for a few minutes just before she sailed,” amended Bertram. + “We haven't really seen much of her since three years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; well, you'll see for yourself soon. You know she's coming home next + month.” + </p> + <p> + Not one of the brothers did know it—but not one of them intended + that Calderwell should find out that they did not. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she's coming home,” said William, lifting his chin a little. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, next month,” added Bertram, nonchalantly. + </p> + <p> + Even Cyril across the room was not to be outdone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Miss Neilson comes home next month,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <h3> + BILLY, THE REALITY + </h3> + <p> + Very early in May came the cheery letter from Billy herself announcing the + news of her intended return. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + William at once began to make plans for his namesake's comfort. + </p> + <p> + “But, Will, she didn't say she was coming here,” Bertram reminded him. + </p> + <p> + “She didn't need to,” smiled William, confidently. “She just took it for + granted, of course. This is her home.” + </p> + <p> + “But it hasn't been—for years. She's called Hampden Falls 'home.'” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but that was before,” demurred William, his eyes a little + anxious. “Besides, they've sold the house now, you know. There's nowhere + for her to go but here, Bertram.” + </p> + <p> + “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 + preparations for Billy's arrival. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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 sewing-chair, + a stand with a tea tray. And everywhere were roses, up-stairs and + down-stairs, until the air was heavy with their perfume. In the + dining-room Pete was again “swinging back and forth like a pendulum,” it + is true; but it was a cheerful pendulum to-day, 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 + brand-new pink bow of huge dimensions adorned his fat neck—for the + first time in many months. + </p> + <p> + “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 as that kitten + when she went abroad. Aunt Hannah said so.” + </p> + <p> + “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 Billy—and all the Henshaw brothers were + vaguely conscious of a growing feeling of dislike toward Calderwell. + </p> + <p> + Billy was unmistakably glad to see them—and 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 had done for her. They knew then, at once, that time had been very + kind. + </p> + <p> + 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 of—not + 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 rose-flush still + glowed warmly through the clear, smooth skin. The mouth—Billy's + mouth had always been fascinating, Bertram suddenly decided, as he watched + it now. He wanted to paint it—again. 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 liked—to paint, he said to + himself. + </p> + <p> + William, too, was watching Billy's mouth; in fact—though he did not + know it—one 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. Cyril—indeed, 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 knew—and disliked—scores. It had + occurred to him suddenly that perhaps it would not be unalloyed bliss to + take this young namesake of William's home with them. + </p> + <p> + 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 then more + like their own Billy—the Billy that they had known. + </p> + <p> + “And I'm so glad to be here,” she cried; “and to see you all. America IS + the best place, after all!” + </p> + <p> + “And of America, Boston is the Hub, you know,” Bertram reminded her. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” nodded Billy. + </p> + <p> + “And it hasn't changed a mite, except to grow better. You'll see + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I hadn't been counting the days!” she exulted. “And now what have + you been doing—all of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Just wait till you see,” laughed Bertram. “They're all spread out for + your inspection.” + </p> + <p> + “A new 'Face of a Girl'?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—yards of them!” + </p> + <p> + “And heaps of 'Old Blues' and 'black basalts'?” she questioned, turning to + William. + </p> + <p> + “Well, a—few,” hesitated William, modestly. + </p> + <p> + “And—the music; what of that?” Billy looked now at Cyril. + </p> + <p> + “You'll see,” he shrugged. “There's very little, after all—of + anything.” + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a wise shake of her head. + </p> + <p> + “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 what we would do when we got to + Boston?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear; YOU have.” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I accept the amendment,” she retorted with mock submission. “I suppose it + is always I who talk.” + </p> + <p> + “It was—when I painted you,” teased Bertram. “By the way, I'll LET + you talk if you'll pose again for me,” he finished eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Billy uptilted her nose. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think, sir, you deserve it, after that speech?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “But how about YOUR art—your music?” entreated William. “You have + said so little of that in your letters.” + </p> + <p> + Billy hesitated. For a brief moment she glanced at Cyril. He did not + appear to have heard his brother's question. He was talking with Aunt + Hannah. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I play—some,” murmured the girl, almost evasively. “But tell me + of yourself, Uncle William, and of what you are doing.” And William needed + no second bidding. + </p> + <p> + It was some time later that Billy turned to him with an amazed exclamation + in response to something he had said. + </p> + <p> + “Home with you! Why, Uncle William, what do you mean? You didn't really + think you'd got to be troubled with ME any longer!” she cried merrily. + </p> + <p> + William's face paled, then flushed. + </p> + <p> + “I did not call it 'trouble,' Billy,” he said quietly. His grieved eyes + looked straight into hers and drove the merriment quite away. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm so sorry,” she said gently. “And I appreciate your kindness, + indeed I do; but I couldn't—really I couldn't think of such a + thing!” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't have to think of it,” cut in Bertram, who considered that + the situation was becoming much too serious. “All you have to do is to + come.” + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “You are so good, all of you! But you didn't—you really didn't think + I WAS—coming!” she protested. + </p> + <p> + “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 + window-pane, lest we should HAPPEN to come to-night; 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.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed—but she cried, too; at least, her eyes grew suddenly + moist. Bertram tried to decide afterward whether she laughed till she + cried, or cried till she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she demurred tremulously. “I couldn't. I really have never + intended that.” + </p> + <p> + “But why not? What are you going to do?” questioned William in a voice + that was dazed and hurt. + </p> + <p> + The first question Billy ignored. The second she answered with a + promptness and a gayety that was meant to turn the thoughts away from the + first. + </p> + <p> + “We are going to Boston, Aunt Hannah and I. We've got rooms engaged for + just now, but later we're going to take a house and live together. That's + what we're going to do.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <h3> + HUGH CALDERWELL + </h3> + <p> + In the Beacon Street house William mournfully removed the huge pink bow + from Spunkie's neck, and Bertram threw away the roses. Cyril marched + up-stairs with his pile of new music and his book; and Pete, in obedience + to orders, hid the workbasket, the tea table, and the low sewing-chair. + With a great display of a “getting back home” air, Bertram moved many of + his belongings upstairs—but 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 closed then, and remained as they had for years—silent + and deserted. + </p> + <p> + Billy with Aunt Hannah had gone directly to their Back Bay hotel. “This is + for just while I'm house-hunting,” the girl had said. But very soon she + had decided to go to Hampden Falls for the summer and postpone her + house-buying until the autumn. Billy was twenty-one 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 with William's namesake. + </p> + <p> + “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 shake—if I want to—and + some dirt to dig in.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm sure that ought to be easy to find,” smiled Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but that isn't all,” supplemented Billy. “It must be mostly closets + and piazza. At least, those are the important things.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you might run across a snag there. Why don't you build?” + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a gesture of dissent. + </p> + <p> + “Too slow. I want it now.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed. His eyes narrowed quizzically. + </p> + <p> + “From what Calderwell says,” he bantered, “I should judge that there are + plenty of sighing swains who are only too ready to give you a home—and + now.” + </p> + <p> + The pink deepened in Billy's cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I said closets and a piazza, dirt to dig, and a furnace to shake,” she + retorted merrily. “I didn't say I wanted a husband.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't, of course,” interposed William, decidedly. “You are much + too young for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” agreed Billy demurely; but Bertram was sure he saw a twinkle + under the downcast lashes. + </p> + <p> + “And where is Cyril?” asked Mrs. Stetson, coming into the room at that + moment. + </p> + <p> + William stirred restlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Cyril couldn't—couldn't come,” stammered William with an + uneasy glance at his brother. + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + “It's too bad—about Mr. Cyril's not coming,” she murmured. And again + Bertram caught the twinkle in the downcast eyes. + </p> + <p> + To Bertram the twinkle looked interesting, and worth pursuit; but at the + very beginning of the chase Calderwell's card came up, and that ended—everything, + so Bertram declared crossly to himself. + </p> + <p> + 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 many-hued, many-shaped roofs nestling among towering + trees, with the wide sweep of the sky above, and the haze of faraway hills + at the horizon. + </p> + <p> + “In fact, it's as nearly perfect as it can be—and not take + angel-wings and fly away,” declared Billy. “I have named it 'Hillside.'” + </p> + <p> + Very early in her career as house-owner, 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 + household. + </p> + <p> + “And now I'm ready to see my friends,” she announced. + </p> + <p> + “And I think your friends will be ready to see you,” Bertram assured her. + </p> + <p> + And they were—at 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-year-old namesake. There + were others, too, whom Billy had met abroad; and there were soft-stepping, + sweet-faced old women and an occasional white-whiskered old man—Aunt + Hannah's friends—who found that the young mistress of Hillside was a + charming hostess. There were also the Henshaw “boys,” and there was always + Calderwell—at least, so Bertram declared to himself sometimes. + </p> + <p> + 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 his brothers did most of the talking. + </p> + <p> + As to Calderwell—Calderwell 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, calf-bound volumes spread in imposing + array on the desk before him. Other hours—many hours—he spent + with Billy. + </p> + <p> + One day, very soon, in fact, after she arrived in Boston, Billy asked + Calderwell about the Henshaws. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about them,” she said. “Tell me what they have been doing all + these years.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you about them! Why, don't you know?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No. Cyril says nothing. William little more—about themselves; and + you know what Bertram is. One can hardly separate sense from nonsense with + him.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know, then, how splendidly Bertram has done with his art?” + </p> + <p> + “No; only from the most casual hearsay. Has he done well then?” + </p> + <p> + “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 charm.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad! And is it still the 'Face of a Girl'?” + </p> + <p> + “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, + too—a mighty fine fellow. You may not know, perhaps, but three or + four years ago he was—well, not wild, but 'frolicsome,' he would + probably have called it. He got in with a lot of fellows that—well, + that weren't good for a chap of Bertram's temperament.” + </p> + <p> + “Like—Mr. Seaver?” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell turned sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Did YOU know Seaver?” he demanded in obvious surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I used to SEE him—with Bertram.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Well, he WAS one of them, unfortunately. But Bertram shipped him + years ago.” + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a sudden radiant smile—but she changed the subject at + once. + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. William still collects, I suppose,” she observed. + </p> + <p> + “Jove! I should say he did! I've forgotten the latest; but he's a fine + fellow, too, like Bertram.” + </p> + <p> + “And—Mr. Cyril?” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell frowned. + </p> + <p> + “That chap's a poser for me, Billy, and no mistake. I can't make him out!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed. + </p> + <p> + “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 he doing in his music?” + </p> + <p> + The other shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “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 know—air, + light, piano, and audience. He's got another book out, I'm told—a + profound treatise on somebody's something or other—musical, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “And he used to write music; doesn't he do that any more?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe so. I hear of it occasionally through musical friends of mine. + They even play it to me sometimes. But I can't stand for much of it—his + stuff—really, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “'Stuff' indeed! And why not?” An odd hostility showed in Billy's eyes. + </p> + <p> + Again Calderwell shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask me. I don't know. But they're always dead slow, somber things, + with the wail of a lost spirit shrieking through them.” + </p> + <p> + “But I just love lost spirits that wail,” avowed Billy, with more than a + shade of reproach in her voice. + </p> + <p> + Calderwell stared; then he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Not in mine, thank you;” he retorted whimsically. “I prefer my spirits of + a more sane and cheerful sort.” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed, but almost instantly she fell silent. + </p> + <p> + “I've been wondering,” she began musingly, after a time, “why some one of + those three men does not—marry.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't wonder—if you knew them better,” declared Calderwell. + “Now think. Let's begin at the top of the Strata—by the way, + Bertram'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 William—you 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 heart—that is, what + hadn't gone with the baby a few years before. There was a boy, you know, + that died.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” nodded Billy, quick tears in her eyes. “Aunt Hannah told + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that counts out William, then,” said Calderwell, with an air of + finality. + </p> + <p> + “But how about Bertram? You haven't settled Bertram,” laughed Billy, + archly. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram!” Calderwell's eyes widened. “Billy, can you imagine Bertram's + making love in real earnest to a girl?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I—don't—know; maybe!” Billy tipped her head from side to + side as if she were viewing a picture set up for her inspection. + </p> + <p> + “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 so?” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed, but she did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “It is, and you know it,” declared Calderwell. “And that settles him. Now + you can see, perhaps, why none of these men—will marry.” + </p> + <p> + It was a long minute before Billy spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. I don't see it at all,” she declared with roguish + merriment. “Moreover, I think that some day, some one of them—will + marry, Sir Doubtful!” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell threw a quick glance into her eyes. Evidently something he saw + there sent a swift shadow to his own. He waited a moment, then asked + abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Billy, WON'T you marry me?” + </p> + <p> + Billy frowned, though her eyes still laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, I told you not to ask me that again,” she demurred. + </p> + <p> + “And I told you not to ask impossibilities of me,” he retorted + imperturbably. “Billy, won't you, now—seriously?” + </p> + <p> + “Seriously, no, Hugh. Please don't let us go all over that again when + we've done it so many times.” + </p> + <p> + “No, let's don't,” agreed the man, cheerfully. “And we don't have to, + either, if you'll only say 'yes,' now right away, without any more fuss.” + </p> + <p> + Billy sighed impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, won't you understand that I'm serious?” she cried; then she turned + suddenly, with a peculiar flash in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, I don't believe Bertram himself could make love any more + nonsensically than you can!” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell laughed, but he frowned, too; and again he threw into Billy's + face that keenly questioning glance. He said something—a light + something—that brought the laugh to Billy's lips in spite of + herself; but he was still frowning when he left the house some minutes + later, and the shadow was not gone from his eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <h3> + BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING + </h3> + <p> + 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 she + lent more than her name, giving freely of both time and money. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 pale-faced + 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 walks and fretful pupils. + </p> + <p> + “But how in the world do you discover them all—these forlorn + specimens of humanity?” queried Bertram one evening, when he had found + Billy entertaining a freckled-faced messenger-boy with a plate of ice + cream and a big square of cake. + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere—everywhere,” smiled Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this last candidate for your favor, who has just gone—who's + he?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, beyond that his name is 'Tom,' and that he likes ice + cream.” + </p> + <p> + “And you never saw him before?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! One wouldn't think it, to see his charming air of nonchalant + accustomedness.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it doesn't take much to make a little fellow like that feel at + home,” laughed Billy. + </p> + <p> + “And are you in the habit of feeding every one who comes to your house, on + ice cream and chocolate cake? I thought that stone doorstep of yours was + looking a little worn.” + </p> + <p> + “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 + to-night, and it occurred to me that he might like a taste; so I gave it + to him.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram raised his eyebrows quizzically. + </p> + <p> + “Very kind, of course; but—why ice cream?” he questioned. “I thought + it was roast beef and boiled potatoes that was supposed to be handed out + to gaunt-eyed hunger.” + </p> + <p> + “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 and + see them smile.” + </p> + <p> + For a minute Bertram was silent, then he asked abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Billy, why did you leave the Strata?” + </p> + <p> + Billy was taken quite by surprise. A pink flush spread to her forehead, + and her tongue stumbled at first over her reply. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I—it seemed—you—why, I left to go to Hampden + Falls, to be sure. Don't you remember?” she finished gaily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I remember THAT,” conceded Bertram with disdainful emphasis. + “But why did you go to Hampden Falls?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it—it was the only place to go—that is, I WANTED to go + there,” she corrected hastily. “Didn't Aunt Hannah tell you that I—I + was homesick to get back there?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Aunt Hannah SAID that,” observed the man; “but wasn't that + homesickness a little—sudden?” + </p> + <p> + Billy blushed pink again. + </p> + <p> + “Why, maybe; but—well, homesickness is always more or less sudden; + isn't it?” she parried. + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed, but his eyes grew suddenly almost tender. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Billy, you can't bluff worth a cent,” he declared. “You are + much too refreshingly frank for that. Something was the trouble. Now what + was it? Won't you tell me, please?” + </p> + <p> + Billy pouted. She hesitated and gazed anywhere but into the challenging + eyes before her. Then very suddenly she looked straight into them. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, there WAS a reason for my leaving,” she confessed a little + breathlessly. “I—didn't want to—bother you any more—all + of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Bother us!” + </p> + <p> + “No. I found out. You couldn't paint; Mr. Cyril couldn't play or write; + and—and everything was different because I was there. But I didn't + blame you—no, no!” she assured him hastily. “It was only that I—found + out.” + </p> + <p> + “And may I ask HOW you obtained this most extraordinary information?” + demanded Bertram, savagely. + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. Her round little chin looked suddenly square and + determined. + </p> + <p> + “You may ask, but I shall not tell,” she declared firmly. + </p> + <p> + If Bertram had known Billy just a little better he would have let the + matter drop there; but he did not know Billy, so he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Was it anything I did—or said?” + </p> + <p> + The girl did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, was it?” Bertram's voice showed terror now. + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I'm going to say 'no' to a series of questions, and then + give the whole thing away by my silence when you come to the right one?” + she demanded merrily. “No, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “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 concluded + triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + The girl eyed him for a moment in silence; then she shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to be caught that way, either,” she smiled. “You know—just + what you did in the first place about it: nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The man stirred restlessly and pondered. After a long pause he adopted new + tactics. With a searching study of her face to note the slightest change, + he enumerated: + </p> + <p> + “Was it Cyril, then? Will? Aunt Hannah? Kate? It couldn't have been Pete, + or Dong Ling!” + </p> + <p> + Billy still smiled inscrutably. At no name had Bertram detected so much as + the flicker of an eyelid; and with a glance half-admiring, half-chagrined, + he fell back into his chair. + </p> + <p> + “I'll give it up. You've won,” he acknowledged. “But, Billy,”—his + manner changed suddenly—“I wonder if you know just what a hole you + left in the Strata when you went away.” + </p> + <p> + “But I couldn't have—in the whole Strata,” objected Billy. “I + occupied only one stratum, and a stratum doesn't go up and down, you know, + only across; and mine was the second floor.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram gave a slow shake of his head. + </p> + <p> + “I know; but yours was a freak formation,” he maintained gravely. “It DID + go up and down. Honestly, Billy, we did care—lots. Will and I were + inconsolable, and even Cyril played dirges for a week.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he?” gurgled Billy, with sudden joyousness. “I'm so glad!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” murmured Bertram, disapprovingly. “We hadn't considered it a + subject for exultation.” + </p> + <p> + “What? Oh, I didn't mean that! That is—” she stopped helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind about trying to explain,” interposed Bertram. “I fancy the + remedy would be worse than the disease, in this case.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! I only meant that I like to be missed—sometimes,” + retorted Billy, a little nettled. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed, but her eyes grew tender. + </p> + <p> + “Did Uncle William do—that?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “He did—and 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 + silk button that I recognized as coming from one of your dresses.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Billy, softly. “Dear Uncle William—and how good he was to + me!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + CYRIL, THE ENIGMA + </h3> + <p> + Perhaps it was because Billy saw so little of Cyril that it was Cyril whom + she wished particularly to see. William, Bertram, Calderwell—all her + other friends came frequently to the little house on the hill, Billy told + herself; only Cyril held aloof—and it was Cyril that she wanted. + </p> + <p> + 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 had shone + in the past. + </p> + <p> + 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 then—very 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— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 painfully punctilious host. Never had he been in the + least approachable. + </p> + <p> + “He treats me exactly as he treated poor little Spunk that first night,” + Billy declared hotly to herself. + </p> + <p> + 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 clean-cut 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 that had brought to his face merely a bored + smile of acknowledgment. + </p> + <p> + Twice she had asked him to play for her; but each time he had begged to be + excused, courteously, but decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “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 up-stairs and camp outside his door, + waiting patiently for such crumbs as may fall from his table.” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't your metaphors a little mixed?” questioned Cyril irritably. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” acknowledged Bertram with unruffled temper, “but I don't mind + if Billy doesn't. I only meant her to understand that she'd have to do as + she used to do—listen outside your door.” + </p> + <p> + Billy's cheeks reddened. + </p> + <p> + “But that is what I sha'n't do,” she retorted with spirit. “And, moreover, + I still have hopes that some day he'll play to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe,” conceded Bertram, doubtfully; “if the stool and the piano and the + pedals and the weather and his fingers and your ears and my watch are all + just right—then he'll play.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” scowled Cyril. “I'll play, of course, some day. But I'd rather + not today.” And there the matter had ended. Since then Billy had not asked + him to play. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <h3> + THE OLD ROOM—AND BILLY + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 a-quiver. 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, whole-souled 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. + </p> + <p> + The dinner was to be at three o'clock, but by special invitation the + guests were to arrive at twelve; and promptly at the appointed hour they + came. + </p> + <p> + “There, this is something like,” exulted Bertram, when the ladies, + divested of their wraps, toasted their feet before the open fire in his + den. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it is, for now I've time to see everything—everything you've + done since I've been gone,” cried Billy, gazing eagerly about her. + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; well, THAT wasn't what I meant,” shrugged Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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 + time to get his eyes on some old pewter chain with a green stone in it.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed; but at the look of genuine distress that came into + William's face, she sobered at once. + </p> + <p> + “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 + her feet, “take me up-stairs, please, and show them to me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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 before a small + cabinet in one of William's rooms. “Oh, oh, how pretty!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you like them? I thought you would,” triumphed William, quick joy + driving away the anxious fear in his eyes. “You see, I—I thought of + you when I got them—every 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, chain-linked disks, heavily chased, and set at regular + intervals with a strange, blue-green stone. + </p> + <p> + Billy hung above it enraptured. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a beauty! And this, I suppose, is Bertram's 'pewter chain'! + 'Pewter,' indeed!” she scoffed. “Tell me, Uncle William, where did you get + it?” + </p> + <p> + And uncle William told, happily, thirstily, drinking in Billy's evident + interest with delight. There were, too, a quaintly-set ring and a + cat's-eye 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 flame-colored 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, sardonyx, + lapis lazuli, tourmaline, chrysolite, hyacinth, and carbuncle. + </p> + <p> + “They are lovely, perfectly lovely!” breathed Billy, when the last chain + had slipped through her fingers into William's hand. “I think they are the + very nicest things you ever collected.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” agreed the man, emphatically. “And they are—different, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “They are,” said Billy, “very—different.” But she was not looking at + the jewelry: her eyes were on a small shell hairpin and a brown silk + button half hidden behind a Lowestoft teapot. + </p> + <p> + On the way down-stairs William stopped a moment at Billy's old rooms. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were here now,” he said wistfully. “They're all ready for you—these + rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but why don't you use them?—such pretty rooms!” cried Billy, + quickly. + </p> + <p> + William gave a gesture of dissent. + </p> + <p> + “We have no use for them; besides, they belong to you and Aunt Hannah. You + left your imprint long ago, my dear—we should not feel at home in + them.” + </p> + <p> + “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, dropping herself upon the piano stool and dashing into a brilliant + mazourka. + </p> + <p> + Billy, like Cyril, had a way of working off her moods at her finger tips; + and to-day 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 down-stairs for a moment to settle a vexed + question concerning the table decorations. + </p> + <p> + 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 old-time + longing when she had come to that house a lonely, orphan girl, in search + of a home. On and on she played; then with a discordant note, she suddenly + rose from the piano. She was thinking of Kate, and wondering if, had Kate + not “managed” the little room would still be home. + </p> + <p> + 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 gray-trousered legs disappearing around + the curve of the landing above. She thought nothing of it until later when + dinner was announced, and Cyril came down-stairs; then she saw that he, + and he only, that afternoon wore trousers of that particular shade of + gray. + </p> + <p> + The dinner was a great success. Even the chocolate fudge in the little cut + glass bonbon dishes was perfect; and it was a question whether Pete or + Dong Ling tried the harder to please. + </p> + <p> + After dinner the family gathered in the drawing-room and chatted + pleasantly. Bertram displayed his prettiest and newest pictures, and Billy + played and sung—bright, tuneful little things that she knew Aunt + Hannah and Uncle William liked. If Cyril was pleased or displeased, he did + not show it—but 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 so—what was he doing there? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <h3> + “MUSIC HATH CHARMS” + </h3> + <p> + Two days after Thanksgiving Cyril called at Hillside. + </p> + <p> + “I've come to hear you play,” he announced abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Billy's heart sung within her—but her temper rose. Did he think then + that he had but to beckon and she would come—and at this late day, + she asked herself. Aloud she said: + </p> + <p> + “Play? But this is 'so sudden'! Besides, you have heard me.” + </p> + <p> + The man made a disdainful gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Not that. I mean play—really play. Billy, why haven't you played to + me before?” + </p> + <p> + Billy's chin rose perceptibly. + </p> + <p> + “Why haven't you asked me?” she parried. + </p> + <p> + To Billy's surprise the man answered this with calm directness. + </p> + <p> + “Because Calderwell said that you were a dandy player, and I don't care + for dandy players.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed now. + </p> + <p> + “And how do you know I'm not a dandy player, Sir Impertinent?” she + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Because I've heard you—when you weren't.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” murmured Billy. + </p> + <p> + Cyril shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know very well what I mean,” he defended. “I've heard you; that's + all.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't signify.” + </p> + <p> + Billy was silent for a moment, her eyes gravely studying his face. Then + she asked: + </p> + <p> + “Were you long—on that stairway?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What? Oh!” Cyril's forehead grew suddenly pink. “Well?” he finished a + little aggressively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing,” smiled the girl. “Of course people who live in glass houses + must not throw stones.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well then, I did listen,” acknowledged the man, testily. “I liked + what you were playing. I hoped, down-stairs later, that you'd play it + again; but you didn't. I came to-day to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + Again Billy's heart sung within her—but again her temper rose, too. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I feel like it,” she said sweetly, with a shake of her + head. “Not to-day.” + </p> + <p> + For a brief moment Cyril stared frowningly; then his face lighted with his + rare smile. + </p> + <p> + “I'm fairly checkmated,” he said, rising to his feet and going straight to + the piano. + </p> + <p> + 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 on—the one Billy had sat long ago on the stairs to + hear. + </p> + <p> + “There! Now will you play for me?” he asked, rising to his feet, and + turning reproachful eyes upon her. + </p> + <p> + Billy, too, rose to her feet. Her face was flushed and her eyes were + shining. Her lips quivered with emotion. As was always the case, Cyril's + music had carried her quite out of herself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she sighed. “You don't know—you can't + know how beautiful it all is—to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Then surely now you'll play to me,” he returned. + </p> + <p> + A look of real distress came to Billy's face. + </p> + <p> + “But I can't—not what you heard the other day,” she cried + remorsefully. “You see, I was—only improvising.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril turned quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Only improvising! Billy, did you ever write it down—any of your + improvising?” + </p> + <p> + An embarrassed red flew to Billy's face. + </p> + <p> + “Not—not that amounted to—well, that is, some—a little,” + she stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I couldn't—not YOU!” + </p> + <p> + Again the rare smile lighted Cyril's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, let me see that paper—please.” + </p> + <p> + 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 she came toward the piano. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Cyril as he reached far out for the music. The next + moment he seated himself again at the piano. + </p> + <p> + Twice he played the little song through carefully, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Now, sing it,” he directed. + </p> + <p> + Falteringly, in a very faint voice, and with very many breaths taken where + they should not have been taken, Billy obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “When we want to show off your song, Billy, we won't ask you to sing it,” + observed the man, dryly, when she had finished. + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed and dimpled into a blush. + </p> + <p> + “When I want to show off my song I sha'n't be singing it to you for the + first time,” she pouted. + </p> + <p> + Cyril did not answer. He was playing over and over certain harmonies in + the music before him. + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; I see you've studied your counterpoint to some purpose,” he + vouchsafed, finally; then: “Where did you get the words?” + </p> + <p> + The girl hesitated. The flush had deepened on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I—” she stopped and gave an embarrassed laugh. “I'm like the + small boy who made the toys. 'I got them all out of my own head, and + there's wood enough to make another.'” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; indeed!” grunted the man. “Well, have you made any others?” + </p> + <p> + “One—or two, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see them, please.” + </p> + <p> + “I think—we've had enough—for today,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't. Besides, if I could have a couple more to go with this, it + would make a very pretty little group of songs.” + </p> + <p> + “'To go with this'! What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “To the publishers, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “The PUBLISHERS!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Did you think you were going to keep these songs to yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “But they aren't worth it! They can't be—good enough!” Unbelieving + joy was in Billy's voice. + </p> + <p> + “No? Well, we'll let others decide that,” observed Cyril, with a shrug. + “All is, if you've got any more wood—like this—I advise you to + make it up right away.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have already!” cried the girl, excitedly. “There are lots of little + things that I've—that is, there are—some,” she corrected + hastily, at the look that sprang into Cyril's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there are,” laughed Cyril. “Well, we'll see what—” But he did + not see. He did not even finish his sentence; for Billy's maid, Rosa, + appeared just then with a card. + </p> + <p> + “Show Mr. Calderwell in here,” said Billy. Cyril said nothing—aloud; + which was well. His thoughts, just then, were better left unspoken. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <h3> + MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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 Ju-Ju + 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 for parlors.” + </p> + <p> + Billy saw a good deal of Cyril now. Already she was at work rewriting and + polishing some of her half-completed melodies, and Cyril was helping her, + by his interest as well as by his criticism. He was, in fact, at the house + very frequently—too 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 different—there was no disputing that. + Calderwell said that he had come “out of his shell”; and Bertram told + Billy that she must have “found his note and struck it good and hard.” + </p> + <p> + Billy was very happy. To the little music teacher, Marie Hawthorn, she + talked more freely, perhaps, than she did to any one else. + </p> + <p> + “It's so wonderful, Marie—so 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 mine. Oh, Marie, is it not + wonderful?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, dear—and it is not. Your songs could not help reaching + somebody's heart. There's nothing wonderful in that.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet flatterer!” + </p> + <p> + “But I mean it. They are beautiful; and so is—Mr. Henshaw's music.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is,” murmured Billy, abstractedly. + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause, then Marie asked with shy hesitation: + </p> + <p> + “Do you think, Miss Billy—that 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 I—I went out, on the stairs and sat down. Was it very—bad + of me?” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed happily. + </p> + <p> + “If it was, he can't say anything,” she reassured her. “He's done the same + thing himself—and so have I.” + </p> + <p> + “HE has done it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It was at his home last Thanksgiving. It was then that he found out—about + my improvising.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh-h!” Marie's eyes were wistful. “And he cares so much now for your + music!” + </p> + <p> + “Does he? Do you think he does?” demanded Billy. + </p> + <p> + “I know he does—and for the one who makes it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” laughed Billy, with pinker cheeks. “It's the music, not the + musician, that pleases him. Mr. Cyril doesn't like women.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't like women!” + </p> + <p> + “No. But don't look so shocked, my dear. Every one who knows Mr. Cyril + knows that.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't think—I believe it,” demurred Marie, gazing straight + into Billy's eyes. “I'm sure I don't believe it.” + </p> + <p> + Under the little music teacher's steady gaze Billy flushed again. The + laugh she gave was an embarrassed one, but through it vibrated a pleased + ring. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Some time later Billy played, and it was then that Marie drew a long sigh. + </p> + <p> + “How beautiful it must be to play—like that,” she breathed. + </p> + <p> + “As if you, a music teacher, could not play!” laughed Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Not like that, dear. You know it is not like that.” + </p> + <p> + Billy frowned. + </p> + <p> + “But you are so accurate, Marie, and you can read at sight so rapidly!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Marie! Marie, my dear!” The second exclamation was very tender, for + Marie was crying. + </p> + <p> + “There! I knew I should some day have it out—all out,” sobbed Marie. + “I felt it coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Then perhaps you'll—you'll feel better now,” stammered Billy. She + tried to say more—other 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 this—the + tragedy of it made Billy's heart ache. At Marie's next words, however, + Billy caught her breath in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “But you see it wasn't music—it wasn't ever music that I wanted—to + do,” she confessed. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't music! But what—I don't understand,” murmured Billy. + </p> + <p> + “No, I suppose not,” sighed the other. “You play so beautifully yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you loved music.” + </p> + <p> + “I do. I love it dearly—in others. But I can't—I don't want to + make it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “But what do you want to do?” + </p> + <p> + Marie laughed suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, my dear, I have half a mind to tell you what I do like to do—just + to make you stare.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Billy's eyes were wide with interest. + </p> + <p> + “I like best of anything to—darn stockings and make puddings.” + </p> + <p> + “Marie!” + </p> + <p> + “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-and-butter kind, but the ones + that have whites of eggs and fruit, and pretty quivery jellies all ruby + and amber lights, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You dear little piece of domesticity,” laughed Billy. “Then why in the + world don't you do these things?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, in my own kitchen; I can't afford a kitchen to do them in. And I + just couldn't do them—right along—in other people's kitchens.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you—play?” + </p> + <p> + “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 pudding-making, + and after my mud-pie 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. But—well, you know how it is, dear. I teach, + and teach well, perhaps, so far as the mechanical part goes; but as for + the rest—I 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 + made.” + </p> + <p> + “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. But—well, is + there anything I could do to help?” + </p> + <p> + “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, followed by the amazed, questioning, + sorrowful eyes of Billy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + “I'M GOING TO WIN” + </h3> + <p> + 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 occasions. But to Bertram himself it was very serious. + </p> + <p> + 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 plaything—no glittering bauble. It was + something big and serious and splendid—because Billy lived in it; + something that demanded all his powers to do, and be—because Billy + was watching; something that might be a Hades of torment or an Elysium of + bliss—according to whether Billy said “no” or “yes.” + </p> + <p> + Since Thanksgiving Bertram had known that it was love—this consuming + fire within him; and since Thanksgiving he had known, too, that it was + jealousy—this 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 + drawing-room or of even the man's card on Billy's silver tray was enough + to show him that he had not. + </p> + <p> + 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 Cyril—every one knew that Cyril was a woman-hater. + 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 + great boon of her love. + </p> + <p> + 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 words—mere + 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 she fail to greet + him with a cheery smile. + </p> + <p> + 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, even—anything + but that eternal air of comradeship. And then, one afternoon in the early + twilight of a January day, he freed his mind, quite unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, I wish you WOULDN'T be so—so friendly!” he exclaimed in a + voice that was almost sharp. + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed at first, but the next moment a shamed distress drove the + merriment quite out of her face. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that I presume on—on our friendship?” she stammered. “That + you fear that I will again—shadow 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. + </p> + <p> + Bertram turned quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, that was the dearest and loveliest thing a girl ever did—only + I was too great a chump to appreciate it!” finished Bertram in a voice + that was not quite steady. + </p> + <p> + “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 unflattering + objection to my—friendliness now?” + </p> + <p> + “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 but—a wife! Billy, WON'T you marry me?” + </p> + <p> + Again Billy laughed—laughed until she saw the pained anger leap to + the gray eyes before her; then she became grave at once. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, forgive me. I didn't think you could—you can't be—serious!” + </p> + <p> + “But I am.” + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “But you don't love me—not ME, Bertram. It's only the turn of my + head or—or the tilt of my chin that you love—to paint,” she + protested, unconsciously echoing the words Calderwell had said to her + weeks before. “I'm only another 'Face of a Girl.'” + </p> + <p> + “You're the only 'Face of a girl' to me now, Billy,” declared the man, + with disarming tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, not that,” demurred Billy, in distress. “You don't mean it. You + only think you do. It couldn't be that. It can't be!” + </p> + <p> + “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 again—anywhere. + Did you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but—I'm glad—so glad!” + </p> + <p> + “And I'm glad, too. So you see, I must have loved you then, though + unconsciously, perhaps; and I love you now.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, please don't say that. It can't be—it really can't be. I—I + don't love you—that way, Bertram.” + </p> + <p> + The man paled a little. + </p> + <p> + “Billy—forgive me for asking, but it's so much to me—is it + that there is—some one else?” His voice shook. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, indeed! There is no one.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not—Calderwell?” + </p> + <p> + Billy's forehead grew pink. She laughed nervously. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, never!” + </p> + <p> + “But there are others, so many others!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Bertram; there's no one—no one, I assure you!” + </p> + <p> + “It's not William, of course, nor Cyril. Cyril hates women.” + </p> + <p> + A deeper flush came to Billy's face. Her chin rose a little; and an odd + defiance flashed from her eyes. But almost instantly it was gone, and a + slow smile had come to her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. Every one—says that Cyril hates women,” she observed + demurely. + </p> + <p> + “Then, Billy, I sha'n't give up!” vowed Bertram, softly. “Sometime you + WILL love me!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I couldn't. That is, I'm not going to—to marry,” stammered + Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Not going to marry!” + </p> + <p> + “No. There's my music—you know how I love that, and how much it is + to me. I don't think there'll ever be a man—that I'll love better.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram lifted his head. Very slowly he rose till his splendid six feet of + clean-limbed 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 whimsicality that deceived even Billy's ears. + </p> + <p> + “And so it's music—a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean + white paper—that is my only rival,” he cried. “Then I'll warn you, + Billy, I'll warn you. I'm going to win!” And with that he was gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <h3> + “I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY” + </h3> + <p> + 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 + Bertram, so she calmed herself. + </p> + <p> + 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 + who—but she was not going to marry, anyway, remembered Billy, + suddenly. And with that she began to cry. The whole thing was so + “tiresome,” she declared, and so “absurd.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 + “nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + 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 + was a little hurt, it is true, when Marie only laughed and answered: + </p> + <p> + “But what if the man and the music both happen to be on the same side, my + dear; what then?” + </p> + <p> + Marie's voice was wistful, in spite of the laugh—so wistful that it + reminded Billy of their conversation a few weeks before. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Miss Billy, don't, please!” begged the other, in quick terror. + “Forget all I said the other day; please do! Don't tell—anybody!” + </p> + <p> + She was so obviously distressed and frightened that Billy was puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “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 wife—and that's the kind men are looking for, + too.” + </p> + <p> + Marie gave a slow shake of her head. + </p> + <p> + “Not the kind of man that is somebody, that does something,” she objected; + “and that's the only kind I could—love. HE wants a wife that is + beautiful and clever, that can do things like himself—LIKE HIMSELF!” + she iterated feverishly. + </p> + <p> + Billy opened wide her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Marie, one would think—you already knew—such a man,” she + cried. + </p> + <p> + The little music teacher changed her position, and turned her eyes away. + </p> + <p> + “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 we go back + to those.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven't any,” demurred Billy, as she turned with a smile to greet + Aunt Hannah, who had just entered the room. “I'm not going to marry; am I, + Aunt Hannah?” + </p> + <p> + “Er—what? Marry? My grief and conscience, what a question, Billy! Of + course you're going to marry—when the time comes!” exclaimed Aunt + Hannah. + </p> + <p> + 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 + down-stairs. Billy was angry then, for after the maid was gone, the + merriment in Aunt Hannah's laugh only matched that in Marie's—and + the intonation was unmistakable. + </p> + <p> + “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 convinced—so far as his + own case was concerned—and left town the next day. + </p> + <p> + 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 pleased. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <h3> + MARIE FINDS A FRIEND + </h3> + <p> + 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 electric-light post. + He stopped abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, but—why, Miss Hawthorn! It is Miss Hawthorn; + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure—haven't I met you at Miss Neilson's? Are you ill? Can't I + do something for you?” he begged. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—no—that 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 do—Mr. Henshaw. I stopped to—rest.” + </p> + <p> + The man frowned. + </p> + <p> + “But, surely—pardon 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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, thank you,” cried the girl, struggling to her feet, the vivid red + again flooding her face. “I have a lesson—to give.” + </p> + <p> + “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 well—and just as atrociously. + Come, I insist upon taking you to Miss Neilson's.” + </p> + <p> + “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 step—and 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 very + white-faced girl fell over in a deathlike faint in Cyril Henshaw's arms. + </p> + <p> + 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, + white-faced and wide-eyed, she resolutely pulled herself half upright, and + announced that she was all well and must go home—home to Marie was a + six-by-nine hall bed-room in a South End lodging house. + </p> + <p> + Very gently Billy pushed her back on the pillow and laid a detaining hand + on her arm. + </p> + <p> + “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 stay—oh, lots of weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “I—stay here? Why, I can't—indeed, I can't,” protested Marie. + </p> + <p> + “But that isn't a bit of a nice way to accept an invitation,” disapproved + Billy. “You should say, 'Thank you, I'd be delighted, I'm sure, and I'll + stay.'” + </p> + <p> + In spite of herself the little music teacher laughed, and in the laugh her + tense muscles relaxed. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what is one to do with you? Surely you know—you + must know that I can't do what you ask!” + </p> + <p> + “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 accept it.” + </p> + <p> + “But the invitation is only the kind way your heart has of covering + another of your many charities,” objected Marie; “besides, I have to + teach. I have my living to earn.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't,” demurred the other. “That's just the trouble. Don't you + see? The doctor said last night that you must not teach again this + winter.” + </p> + <p> + “Not teach—again—this winter! No, no, he could not be so cruel + as that!” + </p> + <p> + “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 need is rest and care—and + that's exactly what I mean my guest shall have.” + </p> + <p> + Quick tears came to the sick girl's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “There couldn't be a kinder heart than yours, Miss Billy,” she murmured, + “but I couldn't—I really couldn't be a burden to you like this. I + shall go to some hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “But you aren't going to be a burden. You are going to be my friend and + companion.” + </p> + <p> + “A companion—and in bed like this?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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 + their white-and-gold frames. At last she drew a deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'll stay,” she breathed rapturously; “but—you must let me + help.” + </p> + <p> + “Help? Help what?” + </p> + <p> + “Help you; your letters, your music-copying, 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 just—as—soon—as—I—can—walk!” + </p> + <p> + “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 + mischievously, as she left the room. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hawthorn sat up the next day. The day following, in one of Billy's + “fluttery wrappers,” as she called them, she walked all about the room. + Very soon she was able to go down-stairs, and in an astonishingly 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 rose-leaf 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 end. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <h3> + THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE + </h3> + <p> + 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 displeased + her at the same time. + </p> + <p> + 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 mind—as + was Billy's way. + </p> + <p> + 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 music—his 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 puzzling—this question, and she did not want to make a mistake. + Then, too, she did not wish to wound Cyril. If the dear man HAD come out + of his icy prison, and were reaching out timid hands to her for her help, + her interest, her love—the 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 Cyril—a little; and that she + probably could care for him a great deal. With this thought, Billy blushed—already + in her own mind she was as good as pledged to Cyril. + </p> + <p> + It was a great change for Billy—this 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 it—and + in pursuance of this high ideal she followed Marie into the kitchen the + very next time the little music teacher went out to make one of her dainty + desserts that the family liked so well. + </p> + <p> + “I'll just watch, if you don't mind,” announced Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course not,” smiled Marie, “but I thought you didn't like to make + puddings.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't,” owned Billy, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Then why this—watchfulness?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, only I thought it might be just as well if I knew how to make + them. You know how Cyril—that is, ALL the Henshaw boys like every + kind you make.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 peculiar enthusiasm—if they + happened to interrupt a tete-a-tete with Cyril. + </p> + <p> + 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 him—and 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, determinedly + to cultivating Cyril. + </p> + <p> + It was then that Billy made a strange and fearsome discovery: there were + some things about Cyril that she did—not—like! + </p> + <p> + Billy was inexpressibly shocked. Heretofore he had been so high, so + irreproachable, so god-like!—but heretofore he had been a friend. + Now he was appearing in a new role—though unconsciously, she knew. + Heretofore she had looked at him with eyes that saw only the 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 music—she 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 then Billy stated the case to herself. + </p> + <p> + “What passes for 'fascinating mystery' in him now will be plain moroseness—sometime. + He is 'taciturn' now; he'll be—cross, then. It is 'erratic' when he + won't play the piano to-day; but a few years from now, when he refuses + some simple request of mine, it will be—stubbornness. All this it + will be—if I don't love him; and I don't. I know I don't. Besides, + we aren't really congenial. I like people around; he doesn't. I like to go + to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy days; I abhor them. There is no doubt + of it—life with him would not be one grand harmony; it would be one + jangling discord. I simply cannot marry him. I shall have to break the + engagement!” + </p> + <p> + 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 old—and was a + profound secret, not only to the bridegroom elect, but to all the world as + well—save herself! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <h3> + CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY + </h3> + <p> + 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 himself at all, but like some one else. + </p> + <p> + Marie had disagreed with her, it is true, and had said stiffly: + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I thought he seemed very much like himself.” But that had not + changed Billy's opinion at all. + </p> + <p> + 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 tete-a-tete 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: + </p> + <p> + “Billy, I wish you wouldn't say again what you said ten minutes ago when + Miss Marie was here.” + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” + </p> + <p> + “A very silly reference to that old notion that you and every one else + seem to have that I am a 'woman-hater.'” + </p> + <p> + Billy's heart skipped a beat. One thought, pounded through her brain and + dinned itself into her ears—at all costs Cyril must not be allowed + to say that which she so feared; he must be saved from himself. + </p> + <p> + “Woman-hater? Why, of course you're a woman-hater,” she cried merrily. + “I'm sure, I—I think it's lovely to be a woman-hater.” + </p> + <p> + The man opened wide his eyes; then he frowned angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Billy, I know better. Besides, I'm in earnest, and I'm not a + woman-hater.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but every one says you are,” chattered Billy. “And, after all, you + know it IS distinguishing!” + </p> + <p> + 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 + undergone a complete change. He was almost shamefaced as he said: + </p> + <p> + “Billy, I suppose I might as well own up. I don't think I did think much + of women until I saw—you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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 change—a great and + wonderful change that I hardly understand myself.” + </p> + <p> + “That's it! You don't understand it, I'm sure,” interposed Billy, + feverishly. “It may not be such a change, after all. You may be deceiving + yourself,” she finished hopefully. + </p> + <p> + The man sighed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I didn't say that black wasn't a very nice color,” stammered + Billy, a little wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” Cyril's heavy brows rose and fell the fraction of an inch. + “Still, I must confess that just now I should prefer another shade.” + </p> + <p> + 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, + and in a voice that was not quite steady: + </p> + <p> + “Billy, what should you say if I should tell you that the avowed + woman-hater had strayed so far from the prescribed path as to—to + like one woman well enough as to want to—marry her?” + </p> + <p> + The word was like a match to the gunpowder of Billy's fears. Her + self-control was shattered instantly into bits. + </p> + <p> + “Marry? No, no, you wouldn't—you couldn't really be thinking of + that,” she babbled, growing red and white by turns. “Only think how a wife + would—would b-bother you!” + </p> + <p> + “Bother me? When I loved her?” + </p> + <p> + “But just think—remember! She'd want cushions and rugs and curtains, + and you don't like them; and she'd always be talking and laughing when you + wanted quiet; and she—she'd want to drag you out to plays and + parties and—and everywhere. Indeed, Cyril, I'm sure you'd never like + a wife—long!” Billy stopped only because she had no breath with + which to continue. + </p> + <p> + Cyril laughed a little grimly. + </p> + <p> + “You don't draw a very attractive picture, Billy. Still, I'm not afraid. I + don't think this particular—wife would do any of those things—to + trouble me.” + </p> + <p> + “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 carefully—very + carefully, before you decide.” + </p> + <p> + “I have looked around, and very carefully, Billy. I know that in all the + world there is just one woman for me.” + </p> + <p> + 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 + sleigh-ride if she cared to go. + </p> + <p> + “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 girl—in fact, you've been mighty + discouraging. But some day—some other day, I'll try to make clear to + you—many things.” + </p> + <p> + Billy greeted Bertram very cordially. It was such a relief—his + cheery, genial companionship! The air, too, was bracing, and all the world + lay under a snow-white blanket of sparkling purity. Everything was so + beautiful, so restful! + </p> + <p> + 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 good-byes were said; then wistfully Bertram hazarded: + </p> + <p> + “Billy, don't you think, sometimes, that I'm gaining—just a little + on that rival of mine—that music?” + </p> + <p> + Billy's face clouded. She shook her head gently. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, please don't—when we've had such a beautiful hour + together,” she begged. “It troubles me. If you do, I can't go—again.” + </p> + <p> + “But you shall go again,” cried Bertram, bravely smiling straight into her + eyes. “And there sha'n't ever anything in the world trouble you, either—that + I can help!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII + </h2> + <h3> + WILLIAM IS WORRIED + </h3> + <p> + Billy's sleigh-ride 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 dirt.” + </p> + <p> + 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 + seemingly exhaustless source of his wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “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 quick-growing things, just for this season, until we can + get the more permanent things established.” + </p> + <p> + 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 fingers—and + for Bertram's. And if sometimes in the intimacy of seed-sowing and + plant-setting, 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 assistant—and that was all. + </p> + <p> + 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 sleigh-ride. 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 smile—and answer “no.” After that, for a time, at least, + her fears would be less. + </p> + <p> + 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 meant—that he would try to convince her (as she had tried to + convince herself) that she would make a good wife for him. + </p> + <p> + Billy was very sure that if Cyril could be prevented from speaking his + mind just now, his mind would change in time; hence her determination to + give his mind that opportunity. + </p> + <p> + 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 taken + up her teaching again, much to Billy's distress. + </p> + <p> + “But I can't stay here always, like this,” Marie had protested. + </p> + <p> + “But I should like to keep you!” Billy had responded, with no less + decision. + </p> + <p> + Marie had been firm, however, and had gone, leaving the little house + lonely without her. + </p> + <p> + 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 + little curio-shop. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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, much-loved daughter, the joy of his life, the solace of + his declining years. + </p> + <p> + To no one had William talked of this—and 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 + thought he saw in Billy's changed attitude toward himself. + </p> + <p> + 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 silent—what 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 worried—and + to show it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV + </h2> + <h3> + CLASS DAY + </h3> + <p> + Early in June Billy announced her intention of not going away at all that + summer. + </p> + <p> + “I don't need it,” she declared. “I have this cool, beautiful house, this + air, this sunshine, this adorable view. Besides, I've got a scheme I mean + to carry out.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Billy,” Bertram cried, aghast, “you don't mean to say that + you are going to turn your beautiful little house into a fresh-air place + for Boston's slum children!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you haven't much spare room; have you?” questioned Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “But who are these people?” Bertram's face had lost its look of shocked + surprise, and his voice expressed genuine interest. + </p> + <p> + “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 fields, and a summer play or two, + perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “Then there's a little couple that live in a third-story 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 week. She'll be here all the time, + and he'll come out at night, of course. + </p> + <p> + “Another one is a widow with six children. The children are already + provided for by a fresh-air society, but the woman I'm going to take, and—and + give her a whole week of food that she didn't have to 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 are—really, + Bertram, there is no end to them.” + </p> + <p> + “I can well believe that,” declared Bertram, with emphasis, “so far as + your generous heart is concerned.” + </p> + <p> + Billy colored and looked distressed. + </p> + <p> + “But it isn't generosity or charity at all, Bertram,” she protested. “You + are mistaken when you think it is—really! Why, I shall enjoy every + bit of it just as well as they do—and better, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “But you stay here—in the city—all summer for their sakes.” + </p> + <p> + “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 summer—not while all these things I + planted are coming up!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed; but for some reason he looked wonderfully happy as he + turned away. + </p> + <p> + 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 much so with William's countenance. + </p> + <p> + “William does NOT look well,” she declared one day when she and Billy were + alone together. + </p> + <p> + “Sick? Uncle William sick? Oh, I hope not!” cried the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether it's 'sick' or not,” returned Mrs. Hartwell. “But + it's something. He's troubled. I'm going to speak to him. He's worried + over something; and he's grown terribly thin.” + </p> + <p> + “But he's always thin,” reasoned Billy. + </p> + <p> + “I know, but not like this—ever. You don't notice it, perhaps, or + realize it, seeing him every day as you do. But I know something troubles + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hope not,” murmured Billy, with anxious eyes. “We don't want Uncle + William troubled: we all love him too well.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Young Hartwell was to deliver the Ivy Oration in the Stadium on Class Day, + and all the Henshaws were looking eagerly forward to the occasion. + </p> + <p> + “You have seen the Stadium, of course,” said Bertram to Billy, a few days + before the anticipated Friday. + </p> + <p> + “Only from across the river.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so? And you've never been here Class Day, either. Good! Then + you've got a treat in store. Just wait and see!” + </p> + <p> + And Billy waited—and 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 + Class-Day week. By the time the day itself arrived Billy was almost as + excited as was young Hartwell himself. + </p> + <p> + It rained Class-Day 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 + afterward how many times that day remarks like these were made to her: + </p> + <p> + “You've been here Class Day before, of course. You've seen the + confetti-throwing!... No? Well, you just wait!” + </p> + <p> + 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 + seats. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted them high up, you see,” explained Bertram, “because you can get + the effect so much better. There, here we are!” + </p> + <p> + For the first time Billy turned and looked about her. She gave a low cry + of delight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh, how beautiful—how wonderfully beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + “You just wait!” crowed Bertram. “If you think this is beautiful, you just + wait!” + </p> + <p> + Billy did not seem to hear him. Her eyes were sweeping the wonderful scene + before her, and her face was aglow with delight. + </p> + <p> + First there was the great amphitheater itself. Only the wide curve of the + horseshoe was roped off for to-day's audience. Beyond lay the two sides + with their tier above tier of empty seats, almost dazzling in the + sunshine. Within the roped-off curve the scene was of kaleidoscopic + beauty. Charmingly gowned young women and carefully groomed young men were + everywhere, stirring, chatting, laughing. Gay-colored parasols and + flower-garden 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 curtain hung from heaven itself. + </p> + <p> + At the first sound of the distant band that told of the graduates' coming, + Bertram said almost wistfully: + </p> + <p> + “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 to-day, you + know, is the time when the old grads come back and do stunts like the kids—if + 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 enough—and you'll see them + as you never saw them before.” + </p> + <p> + 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 + great bowl of the horseshoe curve. + </p> + <p> + And how they yelled and cheered—those 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 throats—and did split their gloves—especially when the + black-gowned seniors swept into view. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 many-hued + packages of confetti and countless rolls of paper ribbon. + </p> + <p> + 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 wires, they made a fairy lace work of + marvelous beauty. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh, oh!” cried Billy, her eyes misty with emotion. “I think I never + saw anything in my life so lovely! + </p> + <p> + “I thought you'd like it,” gloried Bertram. “You know I said to wait!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV + </h2> + <h3> + SISTER KATE AGAIN + </h3> + <p> + 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 that sorely + needed her guiding hand. + </p> + <p> + William's thin face, anxious looks, and nervous manner had troubled her + ever since she came. Then one day, very suddenly, had come enlightenment: + William was in love—and with Billy. + </p> + <p> + 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 longer, + she declared. + </p> + <p> + On Sunday afternoon Kate asked her eldest brother to take her driving. + </p> + <p> + “Not a motor car; I want a horse—that will let me talk,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” agreed William, with a smile; but Bertram, who chanced to + hear her, put in the sly comment: “As if ANY horse could prevent—that!” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “William, why don't you take Billy home with you?” + </p> + <p> + William stirred uneasily as he always did when anything annoyed him. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Kate, there is nothing I should like better to do,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Then why don't you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I—hope to, sometime.” + </p> + <p> + “But why not now?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid Billy is not quite—ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! A young girl like that does not know her own mind lots of + times. Just press the matter a little. Love will work wonders—sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have—seen it—too?” he stammered + </p> + <p> + “'Seen it, too,'” laughed Kate, with her confident eyes on William's + flushed face, “I should say I had seen it! Any one could see it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Now come, William,” resumed Kate, after a moment; “speak to Billy, and + have the matter settled once for all. It's worrying you. I can see it is.” + </p> + <p> + Again William stirred uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “But, Kate, I can't do anything. I told you before; I don't believe Billy + is—ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! Ask her.” + </p> + <p> + “But Kate, a girl won't marry against her will!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it is against her will.” + </p> + <p> + “Kate! Honestly?” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly! I've watched her.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I WILL speak,” cried the man, his face alight, “if—if you + think anything I can say would—help. There is nothing—nothing + in all this world that I so desire, Kate, as to have that little girl back + home. And of course that would do it. She'd live there, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of—course,” 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 have a chance to grow, she told + herself. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hartwell's next move was to speak to Billy, and she was careful to do + this at once, so that she might pave the way for William. + </p> + <p> + She began her conversation with an ingratiating smile and the words: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Billy, I've been doing a little detective work on my own account.” + </p> + <p> + “Detective work?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; about William. You know I told you the other day how troubled and + anxious he looked to me. Well, I've found out what's the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Myself! Why, Mrs. Hartwell, what can you mean?” + </p> + <p> + The elder lady smiled significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's merely another case, my dear, of 'faint heart never won fair + lady.' I've been helping on the faint heart; that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “No? I can't believe you quite mean that, my dear. Surely you must know + how earnestly my brother William is longing for you to go back and live + with him.” + </p> + <p> + Like William, Billy flushed scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hartwell, certainly no one could know better than YOURSELF why that + is quite impossible,” she frowned. + </p> + <p> + The other colored confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Hartwell's blank amazement, Billy laughed outright. + </p> + <p> + “'William's suit'!” she quoted merrily. “Why, Mrs. Hartwell, there isn't + any 'suit' to it. Uncle William doesn't want me to marry him!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed he does.” + </p> + <p> + Billy stopped laughing, and sat suddenly erect. + </p> + <p> + “MRS. HARTWELL!” + </p> + <p> + “Billy, is it possible that you did not know this?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I don't know it, and—excuse me, but I don't think you do, + either.” + </p> + <p> + “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 him—I know you + do!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course I care for him—but not—that way.” + </p> + <p> + “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 BE—if you only will—in 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 not supposed she could make so + touching an appeal. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hartwell, please do not speak of this to any one,” she begged in a + low voice. “I—I am taken quite by surprise. I shall have to think it + out—alone.” + </p> + <p> + 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 to you for love and comfort and rest.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + William loved her. Extraordinary as it seemed, such was the fact; Mrs. + Hartwell said so. And now—what must she do; what could she do? She + loved no one—of 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” William—if + she married him. + </p> + <p> + “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 yet—she did not + believe Cyril was in love with anything but his music; and as to Bertram—it + 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 companion—a 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 + sure—much 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 Uncle—that is, into William's + life the great peace and joy that only she could give. + </p> + <p> + 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 it hard for him, she promised + herself. She would be William's wife. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI + </h2> + <h3> + WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE + </h3> + <p> + 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 carrying out of his promise to speak to his + namesake. + </p> + <p> + 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 Bertram—what + then? Might not his own untimely haste in the matter forever put an end to + the chance of her caring for him? + </p> + <p> + 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 Bertram and all the Strata glad by loving + him in return. + </p> + <p> + 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 vine-shaded + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, don't go,” he said gently, with a touch of his hand on her arm. + “There is something I want to say to you. I—I have wanted to say it + for some time.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of—of course,” stammered the girl, falling back in her seat. + And again William noticed that odd fluttering of the slim little hands. + </p> + <p> + For a time no one spoke, then William began softly, his eyes on the + distant sky-line still faintly aglow with the sunset's reflection. + </p> + <p> + “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 baby—went away, after a time, and carried with him all the + plans—and 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 great bare rooms that echoed sighs and sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was this—the bareness of the rooms—that 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 business—hours which once + had been all too short to devote to the young wife and the baby boy. + </p> + <p> + “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 then—but perhaps you are tired of the story, Billy.” William + turned with questioning eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No, oh, no,” faltered Billy. “It is beautiful, but so—sad!” + </p> + <p> + “But the saddest part is done—I 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 brown-eyed 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 brown-eyed girl; and he hoped + that he could keep her. But just as he was beginning to bask in this new + light—it went out. As suddenly as they had come, the little + brown-eyed girl and the gray cat went away. Why, the man did not know. He + knew only that the ache had come back, doubly intense, and that 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 sighs and sobs of the past.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will finish it,” choked Billy, holding out both her hands. “It + sha'n't ache—they sha'n't echo!” + </p> + <p> + The man leaned forward eagerly, unbelievingly, and caught the hands in his + own. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, do you mean it? Then you will—come?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes! I didn't know—I didn't think. I never supposed it was + like that! Of course I'll come!” And in a moment she was sobbing in his + arms. + </p> + <p> + “Billy!” breathed William rapturously, as he touched his lips to her + forehead. “My own little Billy!” + </p> + <p> + 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 came—Billy herself had begun + to speak. + </p> + <p> + “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 self-controlled. But you know I am young, and you'll + have to be patient.” + </p> + <p> + 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 could not have heard aright. + </p> + <p> + “Er—you said—” he questioned faintly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + William stammered something—a 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 away—if 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 do? + </p> + <p> + 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>I</i> did + not ask you to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + 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 was—as if he, at + his age, were a fit match for a girl of twenty-one! + </p> + <p> + 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 rapidly—almost incoherently at times—and 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 + “yes” to the man she loves. + </p> + <p> + William went home that night in a daze. To himself he said that he had + gone out in search of a daughter, and had come back with a wife. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII + </h2> + <h3> + “WILLIAM'S BROTHER” + </h3> + <p> + 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 plans + were a little more definite. + </p> + <p> + 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 have been more or less pleased if she had + finished it. + </p> + <p> + Cyril received the information moodily, and lapsed at once into a fit of + abstraction from which he roused himself hardly enough to offer + perfunctory congratulations and best wishes. + </p> + <p> + 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 and taciturn aloofness. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Bertram said little—very little, that night; but in the morning he + went straight to Billy. + </p> + <p> + Billy was shocked. She had never seen the smiling, self-reliant, debonair + Bertram like this. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, is this true?” he demanded. The dull misery in his voice told + Billy that he knew the answer before he asked the question. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; but, Bertram, please—please don't take it like this!” she + implored. + </p> + <p> + “How would you have me take it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, just—just sensibly. You know I told you that—that the + other never could be—never.” + </p> + <p> + “I know YOU said so; but I—believed otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “But I told you—I did not love you—that way.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram winced. He rose to his feet abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I know you did, Billy. I'm a fool, of course, to think that I could ever—change + it. I shouldn't have come here, either, this morning. But I—had to. + Good-by!” His face, as he held out his hand, was tragic with renunciation. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bertram, you aren't going—now—like this!” cried the + girl. “You've just come!” + </p> + <p> + The man turned almost impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “And do you think I can stay—like this? Billy, won't you say + good-by?” he asked in a softer voice, again with outstretched hand. + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. She ignored the hand, and resolutely backed away. + </p> + <p> + “No, not like that. You are angry with me,” she grieved. “Besides, you + make it sound as if—if you were going away.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Bertram!” There was terror as well as dismay in Billy's voice. + </p> + <p> + Again the man turned sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, why are you making this thing so hard for me?” he asked in + despair. “Can't you see that I must go?” + </p> + <p> + “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 before—for 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? I should feel lost without—you!” + Billy was almost crying now. + </p> + <p> + Bertram looked up quickly. An odd change had come to his face. For a + moment he gazed silently into Billy's agitated countenance; then he asked + in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Billy, did you think that after you and William were married I should + still continue to live at—the Strata?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course you will!” cried the girl, indignantly. “Why, Bertram, + you'll be my brother then—my real brother; and one of the very + chiefest things I'm anticipating when I go there to live is the good times + you and I will have together when I'm William's wife!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Billy,” he began gently, “you must forgive my saying this, but—are + you quite sure you—love William?” + </p> + <p> + Billy flushed with anger. + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to ask such a question. Of course I love William.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you do—we all love William. William is, in fact, a most + lovable man. But William's wife should, perhaps, love him a little + differently from—all of us.” + </p> + <p> + “And she will, certainly,” retorted the girl, with a quick lifting of her + chin. “Bertram, I don't think you have any right to—to make such + insinuations.” + </p> + <p> + “And I won't make them any more,” replied Bertram, gravely. “I just wanted + you to make sure that you—knew.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall make sure, and I shall know,” said Billy, firmly—so firmly + that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince herself as well + as others. + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause, then the man asked diffidently: + </p> + <p> + “And so you are very sure that—that you want me to—stay?” + </p> + <p> + “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 course, if you don't want to—” + </p> + <p> + “But I do want to,” cried Bertram, heartily, a gleam of the old + cheerfulness springing to his eyes. “I'm dying to!” + </p> + <p> + 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 + light-heartedness. He was once more “only Bertram.” She hesitated, then + said with stern decision: + </p> + <p> + “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 that—that <i>I</i> shall + change, then—then you must go. But if you will stay as WILLIAM'S + BROTHER then—I'll be more than glad to have you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll stay—as William's brother,” agreed Bertram; and Billy did not + notice the quick indrawing of his breath nor the close shutting of his + lips after the words were spoken. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO + </h3> + <p> + 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 lodging-house keeper from the West End + were enjoying Billy's hospitality now; and just to look at their beaming + countenances was an inspiration, Billy said. + </p> + <p> + 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 + last remonstrated with him. + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't mean them to take ALL your time,” she protested. + </p> + <p> + “Don't they like it? Do they see too much of me?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “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 here all summer, of course. You always go away some, you know, + for a vacation.” + </p> + <p> + “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 excitement—if 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 Roller-coaster—just show it to me; that's + all!” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed. + </p> + <p> + “They told me about it—Marie 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. + </p> + <p> + Bertram shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “If it's Roller-coasters and Chute-the-chutes 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 to-morrow, please, when I asked them what we + should do next. What surprises me is that they like such things—such + hair-raising things. When I first saw them, black-gowned and stiff-backed, + 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 now—really, + Billy, why do you suppose they have taken such a fancy to these kiddish + stunts—those two staid women?” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed, but her eyes softened. + </p> + <p> + “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 Tommy—he'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, + fervently, just as Marie, the widow, and the “spinster lady” entered the + room. + </p> + <p> + Billy told herself these days that she was very happy—very 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 to Billy—yet. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “To William?—you are engaged to William?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought—surely it was—don't you mean—Mr. Cyril?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't,” laughed Billy. “And certainly I ought to know.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't—care for him?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not—if I'm going to marry William.” + </p> + <p> + So light was Billy's voice and manner that Marie dared one more question. + </p> + <p> + “And he—doesn't care—for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not—if William is going to marry me,” laughed Billy again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh-h!” breathed Marie, with an odd intonation of relief. “Then I'm glad—so + glad! And I hope you'll be very, very happy, dear.” + </p> + <p> + Billy looked into Marie's glowing face and was pleased: there seemed to be + so few, so very few faces into which she had looked and found entire + approbation of her engagement to William. + </p> + <p> + 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 had. + </p> + <p> + 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 him—yet + 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 + forehead—for which consideration Billy was grateful: Billy decided + that she would not like to be kissed on the lips. + </p> + <p> + After some days of puzzling over the matter Billy concluded that it was + self-consciousness that caused all the trouble. With William she was + self-conscious. 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 present—just + while she was “getting used to things”—she would try to forget, + sometimes, that she was going to be William's wife. + </p> + <p> + 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 he overstepped the role which he had + promised to play—William's brother. + </p> + <p> + 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 + beginning to taste the sweets of fame. + </p> + <p> + Thus, by all these interests, did Billy try “to get used to things.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX + </h2> + <h3> + A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER + </h3> + <p> + 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 her like this before. + </p> + <p> + “Verily, Marie,” she teased one day, “have you found an exhaustless supply + of stockings to mend, or a never-done pudding to make—which?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing. I was only wondering just what had brought that new light to + your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there a new light?” + </p> + <p> + “There certainly is.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be because I'm so happy, then,” sighed Marie; “because you're so + good to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that enough?” Marie's tone was evasive. + </p> + <p> + “No.” Billy shook her head mischievously. “Marie, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's nothing—really, it's nothing,” protested Marie, hurrying out + of the room with a nervous laugh. + </p> + <p> + Billy frowned. She was suspicious before; she was sure now. In less than + twelve hours' time came her opportunity. She was alone again with Marie. + </p> + <p> + “Marie, who is he?” she asked abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “He? Who?” + </p> + <p> + “The man who is to wear the stockings and eat the pudding.” + </p> + <p> + The little music teacher flushed very red, but she managed to display + something that might pass for surprise. + </p> + <p> + “BILLY!” + </p> + <p> + “Come, dear,” coaxed Billy, winningly. “Tell me about it. I'm so + interested!” + </p> + <p> + “But there isn't anything to tell—really there isn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He isn't anybody—that is, he doesn't know he's anybody,” amended + Marie. + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed softly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, doesn't he! Hasn't he ever shown—that he cared?” + </p> + <p> + “No; that is—perhaps he has, only I thought then—that it was—another + girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Another girl! So there's another girl in the case?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I mean, no,” corrected Marie, suddenly beginning to realize what she + was saying. “Really, it wasn't anything—it isn't anything!” she + protested. + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m,” murmured Billy, archly. “Oh, I'm getting on some! He did show, + once, that he cared; but you thought it was another girl, and you coldly + looked the other way. Now, there ISN'T any other girl, you find, and—Marie, + tell me the rest!” + </p> + <p> + Marie shook her head emphatically, and pulled herself gently away from + Billy's grasp. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, please!” she begged. “It really isn't anything. I'm sure I'm + imagining it all!” she cried, as she ran away. + </p> + <p> + During the days that followed, Billy speculated not a little on Marie's + half-told 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. + </p> + <p> + To herself Billy was forced to own that she was not “getting used to + things.” She was still self-conscious with William; she could not forget + that she was one day to be his wife. She could not bring back the dear old + freedom of comradeship with him. + </p> + <p> + 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 + tried—as she had now—and 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 + idea. + </p> + <p> + It was a half-sheet 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 Henshaw.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Billy stared at the name perplexedly—then in a flash + came the remembrance of Marie's words; and Billy breathed: “Henshaw!—the + man—BERTRAM!” + </p> + <p> + Billy dropped the paper then and fled. In her own room, behind locked + doors, she sat down to think. + </p> + <p> + Bertram! It was he for whom Marie cared—HER 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 was—Marie's. + </p> + <p> + Billy was frightened then, so fierce was this strange new something that + rose within her—this overpowering something that seemed to blot out + all the world, and leave only—Bertram. 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!... And she had not known what it all meant—poor + blind child that she was! + </p> + <p> + 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 + he—Billy 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. It + was all so clear—so woefully clear! + </p> + <p> + 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 William—Billy + 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 must not be told. Her promise to William must + be kept. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL + </h2> + <h3> + WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT + </h3> + <p> + Before September passed all Billy's friends said that her summer's + self-appointed task had been too hard for her. In no other way could they + account for the sad change that had come to her. + </p> + <p> + Undeniably Billy looked really ill. Always slender, she was shadow-like + now. Her eyes had found again the wistful appeal of her girlhood, only now + they carried something that was almost fear, as well. The rose-flush had + gone from her cheeks, and pathetic little hollows had appeared, making the + round young chin below look almost pointed. Certainly Billy did seem to be + ill. + </p> + <p> + Late in September William went West on business. Incidentally he called to + see his sister, Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and how is everybody?” asked Kate, cheerily, after the greetings + were over. + </p> + <p> + William sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, 'everybody,' to me, Kate, is pretty badly off. We're worried about + Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Billy! You don't mean she's sick? Why, she's always been the picture of + health!” + </p> + <p> + “I know she has; but she isn't now.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what we don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “You've had the doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course; two or three of them—though much against Billy's will. + But—they didn't help us.” + </p> + <p> + “What did they say?” + </p> + <p> + “They could find nothing except perhaps a little temporary stomach + trouble, or something of that kind, which they all agreed was no just + cause for her present condition.” + </p> + <p> + “But what did they say it was?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, they said it seemed like nervousness, or as if something was + troubling her. They asked if she weren't under some sort of strain.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, is she? Does anything trouble her?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of. Anyhow, if there is anything, none of us can find out + what it is.” + </p> + <p> + Kate frowned. She threw a quick look into her brother's face. + </p> + <p> + “William,” she began hesitatingly, “forgive me, but—Billy is quite + happy in—her engagement, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + The man flushed painfully, and sighed. + </p> + <p> + “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 closely, and once I—questioned + her a little.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “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 question her, that I had to stop.” + </p> + <p> + “What has she done this summer? Where has she been?” + </p> + <p> + “She hasn't been anywhere. Didn't I write you? She's kept open house for a + lot of her less fortunate friends—a sort of vacation home, you know; + and—and I must say she's given them a world of happiness, too.” + </p> + <p> + “But wasn't that hard for her?” + </p> + <p> + “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, except + Miss Hawthorn.” + </p> + <p> + “But Billy must have had the care and the excitement.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—to 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 done the whole thing + together.” + </p> + <p> + “But what HAS Billy done to make her like this?” + </p> + <p> + “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 afraid—to do something for me. Kate, I'm + really worried. What do you suppose is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + Kate shook her head. The puzzled frown had come back to her face. + </p> + <p> + “I can't imagine,” she began slowly. “Of course, when I told her you loved + her and—” + </p> + <p> + “When you told her wha-at?” exploded the usually low-voiced William, with + sudden sharpness. + </p> + <p> + “When I told her that you loved her, William. You see, I—” + </p> + <p> + William sprang to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Told her that I loved her!” he cried, aghast. “Good heavens, Kate, do you + mean to say that YOU told her THAT.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, y-yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And may I ask where you got your information?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, William Henshaw, what a question! I got it from yourself, of + course,” defended Kate. + </p> + <p> + “From ME!” William's face expressed sheer amazement. + </p> + <p> + “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 place.” + </p> + <p> + William lifted his head. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, nothing, only that I—I told her a little of how—how + 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 she went away in + that wily, impulsive fashion.” + </p> + <p> + William bit his lip, but he did not speak. Kate was plunging on + feverishly, and in the face of the greater revelation he let the lesser + one drop. + </p> + <p> + “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 will. NOW don't you recollect it?” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Kate, will you kindly tell me just what you DID do?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “'So very much'!” groaned William, starting to his feet. “Great Scott!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, William, what do you mean? Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going—to—Billy,” retorted William with slow distinctness. + “And I'm going to try to get there—before—you—CAN!” And + with this extraordinary shot—for William—he left the house. + </p> + <p> + William went to Billy as fast as steam could carry him. He found her in + her little drawing-room listlessly watching with Aunt Hannah the game of + chess that Bertram and Marie were playing. + </p> + <p> + “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 + deserted. + </p> + <p> + “To talk to—me?” murmured Billy, as she wonderingly came to his + side, a startled questioning in her wide dark eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI + </h2> + <h3> + THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT + </h3> + <p> + William did not re-enter the house after his talk with Billy on the + veranda. + </p> + <p> + “I will go down the steps and around by the rose garden to the street, + dear,” he said. “I'd rather not go in now. Just make my adieus, please, + and say that I couldn't stay any longer. And now—good-by.” His eyes + as they looked down at her, were moist and very tender. His lips trembled + a little, but they smiled, and there was a look of new-born peace and joy + on his face. + </p> + <p> + Billy, too, was smiling, though wistfully. The frightened questioning had + gone from her eyes, leaving only infinite tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “You are sure it—it is all right—now?” she stammered. + </p> + <p> + “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 near—how perilously near you came to lifelong misery!” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought—you wanted me—so much,” she smiled shyly. + </p> + <p> + “And I did, and I do—for a daughter. You don't doubt that NOW?” + </p> + <p> + “No, oh, no,” laughed Billy, softly; and to her face came a happy look of + relief as she finished: “And I'll be so glad to be—the daughter!” + </p> + <p> + For some minutes after the man had gone, Billy stood by the steps where he + had left her. She was still there when Bertram came to the veranda door + and spoke to her. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, I saw William go by the window, so I knew you were alone. May I + speak to you?” + </p> + <p> + The girl turned with a start. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course! What is it?—but I thought you were playing. Where + is Marie?” + </p> + <p> + “The game is finished; besides—Billy, why are you always asking me + lately where Marie is, as if I were her keeper, or she mine?” he demanded, + with a touch of nervous irritation. + </p> + <p> + “Why, nothing, Bertram,” smiled Billy, a little wearily; “only that you + were playing together a few minutes ago, and I wondered where she had + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “'A few minutes ago'!” echoed Bertram with sudden bitterness. “Evidently + the time passed swiftly with you, Billy. William was out here MORE than an + hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—Bertram!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. I've no business to say that, of course,” sighed the man; + “but, Billy, that's why I came out—because I must speak to you this + once. Won't you come and sit down, please?” he implored despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bertram,” murmured Billy again, faintly, as she turned toward the + vine-shaded corner and sat down. Her eyes were startled. A swift color had + come to her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “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 me—that you let me speak now. Billy, I can't stand it. + I've tried, but it's no use. I've got to go away, and it's right that I + should. I'm not the only one that thinks so, either. Marie does, too.” + </p> + <p> + “MARIE!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I talked it all over with her. She's known for a long time how it's + been with me; how I cared—for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Marie! You've told Marie that?” gasped Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Surely you don't mind Marie's knowing,” went on Bertram, dejectedly. + “And she's been so good to me, and tried to—help me.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram was not looking at Billy now. If he had been he would have seen + the incredulous joy come into her face. His eyes were moodily fixed on the + floor. + </p> + <p> + “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 that—that it + would be I to whom you'd turn—some day. And so I stayed. But I + stayed honorably, Billy! YOU know that! You know that I haven't once + forgotten—not once, that I was only William's brother. I promised + you I'd be that—and I have been; haven't I?” + </p> + <p> + Billy nodded silently. Her face was turned away. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you—you don't have to go—away,” murmured the girl, + faintly. + </p> + <p> + Bertram sprang to his feet. His face was white. + </p> + <p> + “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 stay—now? I want my promise back! + When I'm no longer William's brother—then I'll go!” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't have to have it back—that is, you don't have to have + it at all,” stammered Billy, flushing adorably. She, too, was on her feet + now. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you see? I—I HAVE turned,” she faltered breathlessly, holding + out both her hands. + </p> + <p> + Even then, in spite of the great light that leaped to his eyes, Bertram + advanced only a single step. + </p> + <p> + “But—William?” he questioned, unbelievingly. + </p> + <p> + “It WAS a mistake, just as you thought. We know now—both of us. We + don't either of us care for the other—that way. And—Bertram, I + think it HAS been you—all the time, only I didn't know!” + </p> + <p> + “Billy, Billy!” choked Bertram in a voice shaken with emotion. He opened + his arms then, wide—and Billy walked straight into them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII + </h2> + <h3> + THE “END OF THE STORY” + </h3> + <p> + It was two days after Billy's new happiness had come to her that Cyril + came home. He went very soon to see Billy. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, do you think any girl would marry—me?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cyril!” + </p> + <p> + “There, now, please don't begin that,” he begged fretfully. “I realize, of + course, that I'm a very unlikely subject for matrimony. You made me + understand that clearly enough last winter!” + </p> + <p> + “Last—winter?” + </p> + <p> + Cyril raised his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I came to you for a little encouragement, and to make a confession,” + he said. “I made the confession—but I didn't get the encouragement.” + </p> + <p> + Billy changed color. She thought she knew what he meant, but at the same + time she couldn't understand why he should wish to refer to that + conversation now. + </p> + <p> + “A—confession?” she repeated, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “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 had—well, who had + kept up the good work.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Billy suddenly, with a peculiar intonation. “Oh-h!” Then she + laughed softly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that was the confession,” resumed Cyril. “Then I came out + flat-footed and said that I wanted to marry her—but there is where I + didn't get the encouragement!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! I'm afraid I wasn't very considerate,” stammered Billy. + </p> + <p> + “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 that—you might find a little encouragement for me.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will,” cried Billy, promptly. “Tell me about her.” + </p> + <p> + “I did—last winter,” reproached the man, “and you were sure I was + deceiving myself. You drew the gloomiest sort of picture of the misery I + would take with a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “I did?” Billy was laughing very merrily now. + </p> + <p> + “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; and—oh, lots of things. I tried to make it + clear to you that—that this little woman wasn't that sort. But I + couldn't,” finished Cyril, gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “But of course she isn't,” declared Billy, with quick sympathy. “I—I + didn't know—WHAT—I was—talking 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 of course a wonderful musician. + YOU couldn't choose any one else!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, that's exactly where you're wrong—I DON'T want that kind of + wife. I don't want a brilliant one, and—now, Billy, this sounds like + horrible heresy, I know, but it's true—I don't care whether she can + play, or not; but I should prefer that she shouldn't play—much!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cyril Henshaw!—and you, with your music! As if you could be + contented with a woman like that!” + </p> + <p> + “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 AM domestic!” he finished a + little defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “I should say you were,” laughed Billy. “And have you found her?—this + little woman who is to do nothing but sit and sew in the circle of the + shaded lamp?” + </p> + <p> + “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 that—that I hope she + likes that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “And—does she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that is, I think she does,” smiled Cyril. “Anyhow, she told me once + that—that the things she liked best to do in all the world were to + mend stockings and to make puddings.” + </p> + <p> + Billy sprang to her feet with a little cry. Now, indeed, had Cyril kept + his promise and made “many things clear” to her. + </p> + <p> + “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 the summerhouse sat Marie—sewing. + </p> + <p> + “Go, Cyril; she's waiting for you,” smiled Billy, mistily. “The light's + only the sun, to be sure, and maybe there isn't a whole basket of sewing + there. But—SHE'S there!” + </p> + <p> + “You've—guessed, then!” breathed Cyril. + </p> + <p> + “I've not guessed—I know. And—it's all right.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—?” Only Cyril's pleading eyes finished the question. + </p> + <p> + “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 time—and never Bertram—who was the + inspiration of that bit of paper give-away!” + </p> + <p> + When she turned back into the room she came face to face with Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “I spoke, dear, but you didn't hear,” he said, as he hurried forward with + outstretched hands. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram,” greeted Billy, with surprising irrelevance, “'and they all + lived happily ever after'—they DID! Isn't that always the ending to + the story—a love story?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Bertram with emphasis;—“OUR love story!” + </p> + <p> + “And theirs,” supplemented Billy, softly; but Bertram did not hear that. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy, by Eleanor H. 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Porter + +Release Date: June 3, 2006 [EBook #3266] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson + + + + + +MISS BILLY + + +by Eleanor H. Porter + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + +I. BILLY WRITES A LETTER + +II. "THE STRATA" + +III. THE STRATA--WHEN THE LETTER COMES + +IV. BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM + +V. GETTING READY FOR BILLY + +VI. THE COMING OF BILLY + +VII. INTRODUCING SPUNK + +VIII. THE ROOM--AND BILLY + +IX. A FAMILY CONCLAVE + +X. AUNT HANNAH + +XI. BERTRAM HAS VISITORS + +XII. CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN + +XIII. A SURPRISE ALL AROUND + +XIV. AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND + +XV. WHAT BERTRAM CALLS "THE LIMIT" + +XVI. KATE TAKES A HAND + +XVII. A PINK-RIBBON TRAIL + +XVIII. BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER + +XIX. SEEING BILLY OFF + +XX. BILLY, THE MYTH + +XXI. BILLY, THE REALITY + +XXII. HUGH CALDERWELL + +XXIII. BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING + +XXIV. CYRIL, THE ENIGMA + +XXV. THE OLD ROOM--AND BILLY + +XXVI. "MUSIC HATH CHARMS" + +XXVII. MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS + +XXVIII. "I'M GOING TO WIN" + +XXIX. "I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY" + +XXX. MARIE FINDS A FRIEND + +XXXI. THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE + +XXXII. CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY + +XXXIII. WILLIAM IS WORRIED + +XXXIV. CLASS DAY + +XXXV. SISTER KATE AGAIN + +XXXVI. WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE + +XXXVII. "WILLIAM'S BROTHER" + +XXXVIII. THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO + +XXXIX. A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER + +XL. WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT + +XLI. THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT + +XLII. THE "END OF THE STORY" + + + + +MISS BILLY + + + +CHAPTER I + +BILLY WRITES A LETTER + + + +Billy Neilson was eighteen years old when the aunt, who had brought her +up from babyhood, died. Miss Benton's death left Billy quite alone +in the world--alone, 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 loneliness two days +after the funeral. + +"You see, Mr. Harding, there isn't any one--not any one who--cares," she +choked. + +"Tut, tut, my child, it's not so bad as that, surely," remonstrated the +old man, gently. "Why, I--I care." + +Billy smiled through tear-wet eyes. + +"But I can't LIVE with you," she said. + +"I'm not so sure of that, either," retorted the man. "I'm thinking that +Letty and Ann would LIKE to have you with us." + +The girl laughed now outright. She was thinking of Miss Letty, who had +"nerves," and of Miss Ann, who had a "heart"; and she pictured her own +young, breezy, healthy self attempting to conform to the hushed and +shaded thing that life was, within Lawyer Harding's home. + +"Thank you, but I'm sure they wouldn't," she objected. "You don't know +how noisy I am." + +The lawyer stirred restlessly and pondered. + +"But, surely, my dear, isn't there some relative, somewhere?" he +demanded. "How about your mother's people?" + +Billy shook her head. Her eyes filled again with tears. + +"There was only Aunt Ella, ever, that I knew anything about. She and +mother were the only children there were, and mother died when I was a +year old, you know." + +"But your father's people?" + +"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 now--no one." + +"And you know nothing of your father's people?" + +"Nothing; that is--almost nothing." + +"Then there is some one?" + +Billy smiled. A deeper pink showed in her cheeks. + +"Why, there's one--a man but he isn't really father's people, anyway. +But I--I have been tempted to write to him." + +"Who is he?" + +"The one I'm named for. He was father's boyhood chum. You see that's 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 broken-hearted 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 so--'Billy' +I am to-day." + +"Do you know this man?" + +"No. You see father died, and mother and Aunt Ella knew him only very +slightly. Mother knew his wife, though, Aunt Ella said, and SHE was +lovely." + +"Hm--; well, we might look them up, perhaps. You know his address?" + +"Oh, yes unless he's moved. We've always kept that. Aunt Ella used to +say sometimes that she was going to write to him some day about me, you +know." + +"What's his name?" + +"William Henshaw. He lives in Boston." + +Lawyer Harding snatched off his glasses, and leaned forward in his +chair. + +"William Henshaw! Not the Beacon Street Henshaws!" he cried. + +It was Billy's turn to be excited. She, too, leaned forward eagerly. + +"Oh, do you know him? That's lovely! And his address IS Beacon Street! I +know because I saw it only to-day. You see, I HAVE been tempted to write +him." + +"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 forgotten their names." + +"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. I--I'll telephone up to the +house." And he rose stiffly and went into the inner office. + +Some minutes passed before he came back, red of face, and plainly +distressed. + +"My dear child, I--I'm sorry, but--but I'll have to take back that +invitation," he blurted out miserably. "My sisters are--are not well +this afternoon. Ann has been having a turn with her heart--you know +Ann's heart is--is bad; and Letty--Letty is always nervous at such +times--very nervous. Er--I'm so sorry! But you'll--excuse it?" + +"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. +Harding!" + +"Eh? Well--er, I think your plan about the Henshaws is very good," +he interposed hurriedly. "I'll speak to Ned--I'll speak to Ned," 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 write--but not so soon as Billy wrote; for even as he spoke, +Billy, in her lonely little room at the other end of the town, was +laying bare all her homesickness in four long pages to "Dear Uncle +William." + + + +CHAPTER II + +"THE STRATA" + + +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 twenty-four years +of life it had been like this--"It's only Bertram," had been at once the +curse and the salvation of his existence. + +In this particular case, however, Bertram's vagary of fancy had some +excuse. The Beacon Street house, the home of the three brothers, was a +"Strata." + +"You see, it's like this," Bertram would explain airily to some 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 ashes--only fancy the condition of +mind of those future archaeologists when they struck our house after +their months of digging! + +"What would they find? Listen. First: stratum number one, the top floor; +that's Cyril's, you know. They'd note the bare floors, the sparse but +heavy furniture, the piano, the violin, the flute, the book-lined walls, +and the absence of every sort of curtain, cushion, or knickknack. 'Here +lived a plain man,' they'd say; 'a scholar, a musician, stern, unloved +and unloving; a monk.' + +"And what next? They'd strike William's stratum next, the third floor. +Imagine it! You know William as a State Street broker, well-off, +a widower, tall, angular, slow of speech, a little bald, very 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 things--and 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 that--and he's forty this year. Miniatures, carved ivories, +bugs, moths, porcelains, jades, stamps, postcards, spoons, baggage tags, +theatre programs, playing-cards--there isn't anything that he doesn't +collect. He's on teapots, now. Imagine it--William and teapots! And +they're all there in his rooms--one glorious mass of confusion. Just +fancy those archaeologists trying to make their 'monk' live there! + +"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 +like--well, I like lots of things. My rooms don't belong to that monk, +not a little bit. And so you see," Bertram would finish merrily, "that'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 their objection to the term. + +From babyhood the Henshaw boys had lived in the handsome, roomy house, +facing the Public Garden. It had been their father's boyhood home, 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 had known almost nothing of a +woman's touch or care. + +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 +specialty--his "Face of a Girl." From canvas, plaque, and panel they +looked out--those girlish faces: winsome, wilful, pert, demure, merry, +sad, beautiful, even almost ugly--they 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 while. + +Below Bertram's cheery second floor were the dim old library and +drawing-rooms, silent, stately, and almost never used; and below them +were the dining-room and the kitchen. Here ruled Dong Ling, the Chinese +cook, and Pete. + +Pete was--indeed, 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 looked--like nothing so much as what he was: a +fussy, faithful old man, who expected to die in the service he had +entered fifty years before as a lad. + +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 brothers, Bertram, William, and +Cyril. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE STRATA--WHEN THE LETTER COMES + + +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 could not be so monstrous. + +"Well, old man, what's up?" It was Bertram's amazed voice from the hall +doorway; and indeed, William Henshaw, red-faced and plainly trembling, +seated on the lowest step of the stairway, and gazing, wild-eyed, at the +letter in his hand, was somewhat of an amazing sight. "What IS up?" + +"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, I tell you!" + +"What is serious?" demanded Cyril, coming down the stairway. "Can't it +wait? Pete has already sounded the gong twice for dinner." + +William made a despairing gesture. + +"Well, come," he groaned. "I'll tell you at the table.... It seems I've +got a namesake," he resumed in a shaking voice, a few moments later; +"Walter Neilson's child." + +"And who's Walter Neilson?" asked Bertram. + +"A boyhood friend. You wouldn't remember him. This letter is from his +child." + +"Well, let's hear it. Go ahead. I fancy we can stand the--LETTER; eh, +Cyril?" + +Cyril frowned. Cyril did not know, perhaps, how often he frowned at +Bertram. + +The eldest brother wet his lips. His hand shook as he picked up the +letter. + +"It--it'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 was my +father, you know. My Aunt Ella has just died. + +"Would you mind very much if I came to live with you? That is, between +times--I'm going to college, of course, and after that I'm going to +be--well, I haven't decided that part yet. I think I'll consult you. You +may have some preference, you know. You can be thinking it up until I +come. + +"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 Ann--they're Mr. Harding's sisters, and Mr. Harding is our lawyer, +and he will write to you. Well, where was I? Oh, I know--on Miss Letty's +nerves. And, say, do you know, that is where I do get--on 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 window-shade 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 with out me. + +"Please let me hear from you very soon. I don't mind if you telegraph; +and just 'come' would be all you'd have to say. Then I'd get ready right +away and let you know what train to meet me on. And, oh, say--if you'll +wear a pink in your buttonhole I will, too. Then we'll know each other. +My address is just 'Hampden Falls.' + +"Your awfully homesick namesake, + +"BILLY HENSHAW NEILSON" + + +For one long minute there was a blank silence about the Henshaw +dinner-table; then the eldest brother, looking anxiously from one man to +the other, stammered: + +"W-well?" + +"Great Scott!" breathed Bertram. + +Cyril said nothing, but his lips were white with their tense pressure +against each other. + +There was another pause, and again William broke it anxiously. + +"Boys, this isn't helping me out any! What's to be done?" + +"'Done'!" flamed Cyril. "Surely, you aren't thinking for a moment of +LETTING that child come here, William!" + +Bertram chuckled. + +"He WOULD liven things up, Cyril; wouldn't he? Such nice smooth floors +you've got up-stairs to trundle little tin carts across!" + +"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." + +Cyril pushed back his chair from the table. + +"'We'll have to keep him out'! William, you can't be in earnest! You +aren't going to let that boy come here," he cried. + +"But what can I do?" faltered the man. + +"Do? Say 'no,' of course. As if we wanted a boy to bring up!" + +"But I must do something. I--I'm all he's got. He says so." + +"Good heavens! Well, send him to boarding-school, then, or to 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. How old is he, anyhow?" + +William frowned, and mused aloud slowly. + +"Why, I don't know. He must be--er--why, boys, he's no child," broke 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 must be +somewhere around eighteen years old!" + +"And only think how Cyril WAS worrying about those tin carts," laughed +Bertram. "Never mind--eight or eighteen--let him come. If he's that age, +he won't bother much." + +"And this--er--'Spunk'; do you take him, too? But probably he doesn't +bother, either," murmured Cyril, with smooth sarcasm. + +"Gorry! I forgot Spunk," acknowledged Bertram. "Say, what in time is +Spunk, do you suppose?" + +"Dog, maybe," suggested William. + +"Well, whatever he is, you will kindly keep Spunk down-stairs," said +Cyril with decision. "The boy, I suppose I shall have to endure; but the +dog--!" + +"Hm-m; 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. He--er--sounds something like a parrot to me." + +Cyril rose to his feet abruptly. He had eaten almost no dinner. + +"Very well," he said coldly. "But please remember that I hold you +responsible, Bertram. Whether it's a dog, or a parrot, or--or a monkey, +I shall expect you to keep Spunk down-stairs. This adopting into 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 left the dining-room. + +For a moment there was silence. The brows of the younger man were +uplifted quizzically. + +"I'm afraid Cyril is bothered," murmured William then, in a troubled +voice. + +Bertram's face changed. Stern lines came to his boyish mouth. + +"He is always bothered--with anything, lately." + +The elder man sighed. + +"I know, but with his talent--" + +"'Talent'! Great Scott!" cut in Bertram. "Half the world has talent of +one sort or another; but that doesn't necessarily make them unable +to live with any one else! Really, Will, it's becoming serious--about +Cyril. He's getting to be, for all the world, like those finicky old +maids that that young namesake of yours wrote about. He'll make us +whisper and walk on tiptoe yet!" + +The other smiled. + +"Don't you worry. You aren't in any danger of being kept too quiet, +young man." + +"No thanks to Cyril, then," retorted Bertram. "Anyhow, that's one +reason why I was for taking the kid--to mellow up Cyril. He needs it all +right." + +"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 don't know how to get up a letter of that sort!" + +"Why not take him at his word and telegraph? I fancy you won't have to +say 'come' but once before you see him. He doesn't seem to be a bashful +youth." + +"Hm-m; I might do that," acquiesced William, slowly. "But wasn't there +somebody--a lawyer--going 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 Hampden Falls. We'll soon see, at +all events. Maybe I'll hear to-morrow." + +"I shouldn't wonder," nodded Bertram, as he rose from the table. +"Anyhow, I wouldn't do anything till I did hear." + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM + + +James Harding's letter very promptly followed Billy's, though it 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 twenty-one 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 letter--but 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 Henshaw at once set about making a place in the +home. + +First he telegraphed the single word "Come" to Billy. + +"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 from me." + +It was just here, however, that William Henshaw met with a surprise, for +within twenty-four hours came Billy's answer, and by telegraph. + + +"I'm coming to-morrow. Train due at five P. M. + +"BILLY." + + +William Henshaw did not know that in Hampden Falls Billy's trunk 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 impatiently awaited the time to start. + +To the Beacon Street house, Billy's cheerful telegram brought the direst +consternation. Even Kate was hastily summoned to the family conclave +that immediately resulted. + +"There's nothing--simply nothing that I can do," she declared irritably, +when she had heard the story. "Surely, you don't expect ME to take the +boy!" + +"No, no, of course not," sighed William. "But you see, I supposed I'd +have time to--to get used to things, and to make arrangements; and this +is so--so sudden! I hadn't even answered Harding's letter until to-day; +and he hasn't got that--much less replied to it." + +"But what could you expect after sending that idiotic telegram?" +demanded the lady. "'Come,' indeed!" + +"But that's what Billy told me to do." + +"What if it was? Just because a foolish eighteen-year-old boy tells +you to do something, must you, a supposedly sensible forty-year-old man +obey?" + +"I think it tickled Will's romantic streak," laughed Bertram. "It seemed +so sort of alluring to send that one word 'Come' out into space, and +watch what happened." + +"Well, he's found out, certainly," observed Cyril, with grim +satisfaction. + +"Oh, no; it hasn't happened yet," corrected Bertram, cheerfully. "It's +just going to happen. William's got to put on the pink first, you know. +That's the talisman." + +William reddened. + +"Bertram, don't be foolish. I sha'n't wear any pink. You must know +that." + +"How'll you find him, then?" + +"Why, he'll have one on; that's enough," settled William. + +"Hm-m; maybe. Then he'll have Spunk, too," murmured Bertram, +mischievously. + +"Spunk!" cried Kate. + +"Yes. He wrote that he hoped we wouldn't mind his bringing Spunk with +him." + +"Who's Spunk? + +"We don't know." Bertram's lips twitched. + +"You don't know! What do you mean?" + +"Well, Will thinks it's a dog, and I believe Cyril is anticipating a +monkey. I myself am backing it for a parrot." + +"Boys, what have you done!" groaned Kate, falling back in her chair. +"What have you done!" + +To William her words were like an electric shock stirring him to 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 rest--and do it well, too. He's the son of my +boyhood's dearest friend, and he shall be made welcome. Now to business! +Bertram, you said you'd take him in. Did you mean it?" + +Bertram sobered instantly, and came erect in his chair. William did not +often speak like this; but when he did-- + +"Yes, Will. He shall have the little bedroom at the end of the hall. I +never used the room much, anyhow, and what few duds I have there shall +be cleared out to-morrow." + +"Good! Now there are some other little details to arrange, then I'll +go down-stairs and tell Pete and Dong Ling. And, please to understand, +we're going to make this lad welcome--welcome, I say!" + +"Yes, sir," said Bertram. Neither Kate nor Cyril spoke. + + + +CHAPTER V + +GETTING READY FOR BILLY + + +The Henshaw household was early astir on the day of Billy's 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 up-stairs and presented a weird Chinese banner which +he said he was "velly much glad" to give. As to Pete--Pete was in his +element. Pete loved boys. Had he not served them nearly all his life? +Incidentally it may be mentioned that he did not care for girls. + +Only Cyril held himself aloof. But that he was not oblivious of 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 William: + +"That's Chopin's Funeral March. Evidently Cy thinks this is the death +knell to all his hopes of future peace and happiness." + +"Dear me! I wish Cyril would take some interest," grieved William. + +"Oh, he takes interest all right," laughed Bertram, meaningly. "He takes +INTEREST!" + +"I know, but--Bertram," broke off the elder man, anxiously, from his +perch on the stepladder, "would you put the rifle over this window, or +the fishing-rod?" + +"Why, I don't think it makes much difference, so long as they're +somewhere," answered Bertram. "And there are these Indian clubs and the +swords to be disposed of, you know." + +"Yes; and it's going to look fine; don't you think?" exulted William. +"And you know for the wall-space between the windows I'm going to bring +down that case of mine, of spiders." + +Bertram raised his hands in mock surprise. + +"Here--down here! You're going to trust any of those precious treasures +of yours down here!" + +William frowned. + +"Nonsense, Bertram, don't be silly! They'll be safe enough. Besides, +they're old, anyhow. I was on spiders years ago--when I was Billy's age, +in fact. I thought he'd like them here. You know boys always like such +things." + +"Oh, 'twasn't Billy I was worrying about," retorted Bertram. "It was +you--and the spiders." + +"Not much you worry about me--or anything else," replied William, +good-humoredly. "There! how does that look?" he finished, as he +carefully picked his way down the stepladder. + +"Fine!--er--only rather warlike, maybe, with the guns and that riotous +confusion of knives and scimitars over the chiffonier. But then, maybe +you're intending Billy for a soldier; eh?" + +"Do you know? I AM getting interested in that boy," beamed William, with +some excitement. "What kind of things do you suppose he does like?" + +"There's no telling. Maybe he's a sissy chap, and will howl at your guns +and spiders. Perhaps he'll prefer autumn leaves and worsted mottoes for +decoration." + +"Not much he will," contested the other. "No son of Walter Neilson's +could be a sissy. Neilson was the best half-back in ten years at +Harvard, and he was always in for everything going that was worth while. +'Autumn leaves and worsted mottoes' indeed! Bah!" + +"All right; but there's still a dark horse in the case, you know. We +mustn't forget--Spunk." + +The elder man stirred uneasily. + +"Bert, what do you suppose that creature is? You don't think Cyril can +be right, and that it's a--monkey?" + +"'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 his age." + +"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, "Music in Russia." + +At ten minutes before five William, anxious-eyed and nervous, found +himself at the North Station. Then, and not till then, did he draw a +long breath of relief. + +"There! I think everything's ready," he sighed to himself. "At last!" + +He wore no pink in his buttonhole. There was no need that he 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 him--to 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 +lived--a lad not far from the age of this Billy who was coming to-day, +reflected the man. And the warmth in his heart deepened and glowed the +more as he stood waiting at the gate for Billy to arrive. + +The train from Hampden Falls was late. Not until quite fifteen minutes +past five did it roll into the train-shed. Then at once its long line of +passengers began to sweep toward the iron gate. + +William was just inside the gate now, anxiously scanning every face and +form that passed. There were many half-grown lads, but there was not one +with a pink in his buttonhole until very near the end. Then William saw +him--a pleasant-faced, blue-eyed boy in a neat gray suit. With a low cry +William started forward; but he saw at once that the gray-clad youth was +unmistakably one of a merry family party. He looked to be anything but a +lad that was lonely and forlorn. + +William hesitated and fell back. This debonair, self-reliant 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 blue-eyed youth and tapped him on the shoulder. + +"Er--aren't you Billy?" he stammered. + +The lad stopped and stared. He shook his head slowly. + +"No, sir," he said. + +"But you must be! Are you sure?" + +The boy laughed this time. + +"Sorry, sir, but my name is 'Frank'; isn't it, mother?" he added +merrily, turning to the lady at his side, who was regarding William very +unfavorably through a pair of gold-bowed spectacles. + +William did not wait for more. With a stammered apology and a flustered +lifting of his hat he backed away. + +But where was Billy? + +William looked about him in helpless dismay. All around was a wide, +empty space. The long aisle to the Hampden Falls train was deserted +save for the baggage-men loading the trunks and bags on to their trucks. +Nowhere was there any one who seemed forlorn or ill at ease except a +pretty girl with a suit-case, 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 carried a peculiarly wistful appeal. + +"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 pink--though in a different place. He wondered sympathetically if she, +too, had come to meet some one who had not appeared. He noticed that she +walked away from the gate once or twice, toward the waiting-room, 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 waiting-room. 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 waiting-room to look for him. And with this +thought William hurried away at once, leaving the girl still standing by +the gate alone. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE COMING OF BILLY + + +After another long search William came back to the train-shed, 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 +self-control. He hesitated a moment, then went straight toward her. + +"I beg your pardon," he said kindly, lifting his hat, "but I notice that +you have been waiting here some time. Perhaps there is something I can +do for you." + +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. But--I think there's some mistake. Could you +telephone for me?" Billy Neilson was country-bred, 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. + +William Henshaw smiled. + +"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. I'll wait here." + +"Oh, then Billy did come!" cried the man in glad surprise, his face +alight. "But where is he? Do YOU know Billy?" + +"I should say I did," laughed Billy, with the lightness of a long-lost +child who has found a friend. "Why, I am Billy, myself!" + +To William Henshaw the world swam dizzily, and went suddenly mad. +The floor rose, and the roof fell, while cars and people performed +impossible acrobatic feats above, below, and around him. Then, from afar +off, he heard his own voice stammer: + +"You--are--B-Billy!" + +"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 perhaps he made a +mistake in the time. Maybe you know him, anyhow." + +With one mighty effort William Henshaw pulled himself sharply together. +He even laughed, and tossed his head in a valiant imitation of Billy +herself; but his voice shook. + +"Know him!--I should say I did!" he cried. "Why, I am William Henshaw, +myself." + +"You!--Uncle William! Why, where's your pink?" + +The man's face was already so red it could not get any redder--but it +tried to do so. + +"Why, er--I--it--er--if you'll just come into the waiting-room a minute, +my dear," he stuttered miserably, "I--I'll explain--about that. I shall +have to leave you--for a minute," he plunged on frenziedly, as he led +the way to a seat; "A--matter of business that I must attend to. I'll +be--right back. Wait here, please!" And he almost pushed the girl into a +seat and hurried away. + +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 pretty curve of her cheek, and of her slender throat when she lifted +her head. + +And that was Billy--a GIRL! + +People near him at that moment saw a flushed-faced, 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. + +"Bertram!" he called shakily. + +"Hullo, Will; that you? What's the matter? You're late! Didn't he come?" + +"Come!" groaned William. "Good Lord! Bertram--Billy's a GIRL!" + +"A wh-what?" + +"A girl." + +"A GIRL!" + +"Yes, yes! Don't stand there repeating what I say in that idiotic +fashion, Bertram. Do something--do something!" + +"'Do something'!" gasped Bertram. "Great Scott, Will! If you want me to +do something, don't knock me silly with a blow like that. Now what did +you say?" + +"I said that Billy is--a--girl. Can't you get that?" demanded William, +despairingly. + +"Well, by Jove!" breathed Bertram. + +"Come, come, think! What shall we do?" + +"Why, bring her home, of course." + +"Home--home!" chattered William. "Do you think we five men can bring up +a distractingly pretty eighteen-year-old girl with curly cheeks and pink +hair?" + +"With wha-at?" + +"No, no. I mean curly hair and pink cheeks. Bertram, do be sensible," +begged the man. "This is serious!" + +"Serious! I should say it was! Only fancy what Cy will say! A girl! Holy +smoke! Tote her along--I want to see her!" + +"But I say we can't keep her there with us, Bertram. Don't you see we +can't?" + +"Then take her to Kate's, or to--to 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 me--HOME! I'm her Uncle William." + +"Lucky Uncle William!" + +"Be still, Bertram!" + +"Well, doesn't she know your--mistake?--that you thought she was a boy?" + +"Heaven forbid!--I hope not," cried the man, fervently. "I 'most let it +out once, but I think she didn't notice it. You see, we--we were both +surprised." + +"Well, I should say!" + +"And, Bertram, I can't turn her out--I 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!" + +"Bertram, can't you be serious and help me out?" + +"But what CAN we do?" + +"I don't know. We'll have to think; but for now, get Kate. Telephone +her. Tell her to come right straight over, and that she's got to stay +all night." + +"All night!" + +"Of course! Billy's got to have a chaperon; hasn't she? Now hurry. We +shall be up right away." + +"Kate's got company." + +"Never mind--leave 'em. Tell her she's got to leave 'em. And tell Cyril, +of course, what to expect. And, look a-here, you two behave, now. None +of your nonsense! Now mind. I'm not going to have this child tormented." + +"I won't bat an eyelid--on my word, I won't," chuckled Bertram. "But, +oh, I say,--Will!" + +"Yes." + +"What's Spunk?" + +"Eh?--oh--Great Scott! I forgot Spunk. I don't know. She's got a basket. +He's in that, I suppose. Anyhow, he can't be any more of a bombshell +than his mistress was. Now be quick, and none of your fooling, Bertram. +Tell them all--Pete and Dong Ling. Don't forget. I wouldn't have 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 hook. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +INTRODUCING SPUNK + + +In the soft April twilight Cyril was playing a dreamy waltz when Bertram +knocked, and pushed open the door. + +"Say, old chap, you'll have to quit your mooning this time and sit up +and take notice." + +"What do you mean?" Cyril stopped playing and turned abruptly. + +"I mean that Will has gone crazy, and I think the rest of us are going +to follow suit." + +Cyril shrugged his shoulders and whirled about on the piano stool. In a +moment his fingers had slid once more into the dreamy waltz. + +"When you get ready to talk sense, I'll listen," he said coldly. + +"Oh, very well; if you really want it broken gently, it's this: Will has +met Billy, and Billy is a girl. They're due here now 'most any time." + +The music stopped with a crash. + +"A--GIRL!" + +"Yes, a girl. Oh, I've been all through that, and I know how you feel. +But as near as I can make out, it's really so. I've had instructions 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 down-stairs so +that we may be decently ready for--whatever comes." And he turned about +and stalked out of the room, followed by Cyril, who was too stunned to +open his lips. + +Kate came first. She was not stunned. She had a great deal to say. + +"Really, this is a little the most absurd thing I ever heard of," she +fumed. "What in the world does your brother mean?" + +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 +namesake, is lonesome, and is in need of a home." + +"But she can't live--here!" + +"Will says she shall." + +"But that is utter nonsense," cut in Cyril. + +"For once I agree with you, Cyril," laughed Bertram; "but William +doesn't." + +"But how can she do it?" demanded Kate. + +"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 alike--so +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, eighteen-year-old +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 good-natured +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 sane man should have named a girl +'Billy'?" + +"For William, your brother, evidently," retorted Bertram, dryly. +"Anyhow, he did it, and of course our mistake was a very natural one. +The dickens of it is now that we've got to keep it from her, so Will +says; and how--hush! 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 from Mrs. Hartwell and held out a +cordial hand to each of the men in turn. + +"Oh, you don't know how lovely this is--to 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 good--all of you; and I don't believe there's one of you +that's got nerves or a heart," she laughed. + +Bertram rallied his wits to respond to the challenge. + +"No heart, Miss Billy? Now isn't that just a bit hard on us--right at +first?" + +"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 kind--the 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 himself wearily on to the sofa near his +sister. Billy still continued to talk. + +"Now when Spunk and I get to training--oh, and you haven't seen Spunk!" +she interrupted herself suddenly. "Why, the introductions aren't half +over. Where is he, Uncle William--the basket?" + +"I--I put it in--in the hall," mumbled William, starting to rise. + +"No, no; I'll get him," cried Billy, hurrying from the room. 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 and placed on the floor a very small gray kitten with a very +large pink bow. + +"There, ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Spunk." + +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 almost unbelievable fluffiness, and spit wrathfully. + +"And so that is Spunk!" choked Bertram. + +"Yes," said Billy. "This is Spunk." + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE ROOM--AND BILLY + + +For the first fifteen minutes after Billy's arrival conversation was 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 self-control 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 plunged through the +hall and down the stairway. + +With a motion to Bertram to lead the way with Billy, William frenziedly +gripped his sister's arm, and hissed in her ear for all the world like a +villain in melodrama: + +"Listen! You'll sleep in Bert's room to-night, and Bert will come +up-stairs with me. Get Billy to bed as soon as you can after dinner, +and then come back down to us. We've got to plan what's got to be done. +Sh-h!" And he dragged his sister downstairs. + +In the dining-room there was a slight commotion. Billy stood at her +chair with Spunk in her arms. Before her Pete was standing, dumbly +staring into her eyes. At last he stammered: + +"Ma'am?" + +"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 stared as had Pete; but Mrs. +Hartwell spoke. + +"You don't mean--that that cat--has a chair--at the table!" she gasped. + +"Yes; and isn't it cute of him?" beamed Billy, entirely 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 high-chair, which for long +years had stood unused in the corner. "I'll just squeeze it right in +here," she finished gleefully, making room for the chair at her side. + +When Bertram, a little red of face, but very grave, entered, the +dining-room 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 as the flaring pink bow +would let him. + +"Isn't he a dear?" Billy was saying. But Bertram noticed that there was +no reply to this question. + +It was a peculiar dinner-party. Only Billy did not feel the strain. Even +Spunk was not entirely happy--his 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, +indeed--but Bertram always talked; and very soon he and Billy had things +pretty much to themselves--that 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 what training would do, +and, of course, Spunk WAS little, now. + +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 the man's aversion that Billy turned in amazement. + +"Why, Mr. Cyril, don't you see? Spunk is trying to say 'How do you do'?" + +"Very likely; but I'm not fond of cats, Miss Billy." + +"You're not fond--of--cats!" repeated the girl, as if she could not have +heard aright. "Why not?" + +Cyril changed his position. + +"Why, just because I--I'm not," he retorted lamely. "Isn't there +anything that--that you don't like?" + +Billy considered. + +"Why, not that I know of," she began, after a moment, "only rainy days +and--tripe. And Spunk isn't a bit like those." + +Bertram chuckled, and even Cyril smiled--though unwillingly. + +"All the same," he reiterated, "I don't like cats." + +"Oh, I'm so sorry," lamented Billy; and at the grieved hurt in her dark +eyes Bertram came promptly to the rescue. + +"Never mind, Miss Billy. Cyril is only ONE of us, and there is all the +rest of the Strata besides." + +"The--what?" + +"The Strata. You don't know, of course, but listen, and I'll tell you." +And he launched gaily forth into his favorite story. + +Billy was duly amused and interested. She laughed and clapped her hands, +and when the story was done she clapped them again. + +"Oh, what a funny house! And how perfectly lovely that I'm going 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 mention a thing about you!" + +Cyril said a sharp word under his breath. Bertram choked over a cough. +Kate threw into William's eyes a look that was at once angry, accusing, +and despairing. Then William spoke. + +"Er--she--it isn't anywhere, my dear," he stammered; "or rather, it +isn't here. Kate lives up on the Avenue, you see, and is only here +for--for a day or two--just now." + +"Oh!" murmured Billy. And there was not one in the room at that moment +who did not bless Spunk--for Spunk suddenly leaped to the table before +him; and in the ensuing confusion his mistress quite forgot to question +further concerning Mrs. Hartwell's stratum. + +Dinner over, the three men, with their sister and Billy, trailed +up-stairs to the drawing-rooms. 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 socketed chairs. + +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 summoned. Then she turned and followed Mrs. Hartwell up-stairs. + +It seemed to the three men in the drawing-room 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 +hurried up, two steps at a time. + +"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 choking little cries. + +"I don't know," quavered Kate. "I haven't the least idea. She was all +right till she got up-stairs here, and I turned on the lights. Then she +gave one shriek and--you know all I know." + +William advanced hurriedly. + +"Billy, what is the matter? What are you crying for?" he demanded. + +Billy dropped her hands then, and they saw her face. She was not crying. +She was laughing. She was laughing so she could scarcely speak. + +"Oh, you did, you did!" she gurgled. "I thought you did, and now I +know!" + +"Did what? What do you mean?" William's usually gentle voice was sharp. +Even William's nerves were beginning to feel the strain of the last few +hours. + +"Thought I was a--b-boy!" choked Billy. "You called me 'he' once in the +station--I thought you did; but I wasn't sure--not till I saw this room. +But now I know--I know!" And off she went into another hysterical gale +of laughter--Billy'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 despairing eyes. + +In a moment Billy was on her feet, fluttering about the room, touching +this thing, looking at that. Nothing escaped her. + +"I'm to fish--and shoot--and fence!" she crowed. "And, oh!--look at +those knives! U-ugh!... 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. + +Something in Billy's voice stirred Mrs. Hartwell to sudden action. + +"Come, come, this will never do," she protested authoritatively, +motioning her brothers to leave the room. "Billy is quite tired out, and +needs rest. She mustn't talk another bit to-night." + +"Of c-course not," stammered William. And only too glad of an excuse to +withdraw from a very embarrassing situation, the three men called back a +faltering good-night, and precipitately fled down-stairs. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A FAMILY CONCLAVE + + +"Well, William," greeted Kate, grimly, when she came into the +drawing-room, after putting her charge to bed, "have you had enough, +now?" + +"'Enough'! What do you mean?" + +Kate raised her eyebrows. + +"Why, surely, you're not thinking NOW that you can keep this girl here; +are you?" + +"I don't know why not." + +"William!" + +"Well, where shall she go? Will you take her?" + +"I? Certainly not," declared Kate, with decision. "I'm sure I see no +reason why I should." + +"No more do I see why William should, either," cut in Cyril. + +"Oh, come, what's the use," interposed Bertram. "Let her stay. She's a +nice little thing, I'm sure." + +Cyril and Kate turned sharply. + +"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!" + +Bertram laughed. + +"Oh, well, she would be nice to--er--paint," he murmured. + +"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 we get?" + +Kate sighed, and looked her dismay. Bertram threw a glance into Cyril's +eyes, and made an expressive gesture. + +"You see," it seemed to say. "I told you how it would be!" + +"Now whom shall we get?" questioned William again. "We must think." + +Unattached gentlewomen of suitable age and desirable temper did 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 +doesn't." + +"The trouble is," explained Bertram, airily, "we want some one who will +be invisible to every one except the world and Billy, and who will be +inaudible always." + +"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 room over at the Back Bay." + +"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 +to-morrow morning I believe I'll run over and see if she can't come +right away." + +"And may I ask which--er--stratum she--they--will occupy?" smiled +Bertram. + +"You may ask, but I'm afraid you won't find out very soon," retorted +William, dryly, "if we take as long to decide that matter as we have the +rest of it." + +"Er--Cyril has the most--UNOCCUPIED space," volunteered Bertram, +cheerfully. + +"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 wants and wishes +interfere--" + +"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 +things!" + +"Oh, you men!" shrugged Kate, wearily. "Why don't you ask my opinion +sometimes? It seems to me that in this case a woman's wit might be of +some help!" + +"All right, go ahead!" nodded William. + +Kate leaned forward eagerly--Kate loved to "manage." + +"Go easy, now," cautioned Bertram, warily. "You know a strata, even one +as solid as ours, won't stand too much of an earthquake!" + +"It isn't an earthquake at all," sniffed Kate. "It's a very sensible +move all around. Here are these two great drawing-rooms, the library, +and the little reception-room 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 drawing-room, the +library, and the little reception-room for yours, and leave the whole of +the second floor for Billy and Aunt Hannah?" + +"Good for you, Kate," cried Bertram, appreciatively. "You've hit it +square on the head, and we'll do it. I'll move to-morrow. The light down +here is just as good as it is up-stairs--if you let it in!" + +"Thank you, Bertram, and you, too, Kate," breathed William, fervently. +"Now, if you don't mind, I believe I'll go to bed. I am tired!" + + + +CHAPTER X + +AUNT HANNAH + + +As soon as possible after breakfast William went to see Aunt Hannah. + +Hannah Stetson was not really William's aunt, though she had been 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, white-haired woman with kind blue eyes, and a lovable smile. +Her cheeks were still faintly pink, and her fine silver-white hair broke +into little kinks and curls about her ears. According to Bertram she +always made one think of "lavender and old lace." + +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 eighteen-year-old girl +to bring up, Aunt Hannah, and I want you to come down and live with us +to chaperon her." + +"My grief and conscience, WILLIAM!" gasped the little woman, agitatedly. + +"Yes, yes, I know, Aunt Hannah, everything you would say if you could. +But please skip the hysterics. We've all had them, and Kate has 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 expected that she would do for +him. + +"Why, yes, of course--I'll come," acquiesced the lady, a little +breathlessly, "if--if you are sure you're going to--keep her." + +"Good! And remember I said 'now,' please--that I wanted you to come +right away, to-day. Of course Kate can't stay. Just get in half a dozen +women to help you pack, and come." + +"Half a dozen women in that little room, William--impossible!" + +"Well, I only meant to get enough so you could come right off this +morning." + +"But I don't need them, William. There are only my clothes and books, +and such things. You know it is a FURNISHED room." + +"All right, all right, Aunt Hannah. I wanted to make sure you hurried, +that's all. You see, I don't want Billy to suspect just how much she's +upsetting us. I've asked Kate to take her over to her house for the +day, while Bertram is moving down-stairs, and while we're getting you +settled. I--I think you'll like it there, Aunt Hannah," added William, +anxiously. "Of course Billy's got Spunk, but--" he hesitated, and smiled +a little. + +"Got what?" faltered the other. + +"Spunk. Oh, I don't mean THAT kind," laughed William, in answer to the +dismayed expression on his aunt's face. "Spunk is a cat." + +"A cat!--but such a name, William! I--I think we'll change that." + +"Eh? Oh, you do," murmured William, with a curious smile. "Very well; 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 four-year-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 Spunk--which remark, oddly enough, did not appear to please Mrs. +Hartwell to the extent that Billy thought that it would. + +At the Beacon Street house Billy was presented at once to Mrs. Stetson. + +"And you are to call me 'Aunt Hannah,' my dear," said the little woman, +graciously, "just as the boys do." + +"Thank you," dimpled Billy, "and you don't know, Aunt Hannah, how good +it seems to me to come into so many relatives, all at once!" + +Upon going up-stairs Billy found her room somewhat changed. It was far +less warlike, and the case of spiders had been taken away. + +"And this will be your stratum, you know," announced Bertram from the +stairway, "yours and Aunt Hannah's. You're to have this whole floor. +Will and Cyril are above, and I'm down-stairs." + +"You are? Why, I thought you--were--here." Billy's face was puzzled. + +"Here? Oh, well, I did have--some things here," he retorted airily; "but +I took them all away to-day. You see, my stratum is down-stairs, and +it doesn't do to mix the layers. By the way, you haven't been up-stairs +yet; have you? Come on, and I'll show you--and you, too, Aunt Hannah." + +Billy clapped her hands; but Aunt Hannah shook her head. + +"I'll leave that for younger feet than mine," she said; adding +whimsically: "It's best sometimes that one doesn't try to step too far +off one's own level, you know." + +"All right," laughed the man. "Come on, Miss Billy." + +On the door at the head of the stairs he tapped twice, lightly. + +"Well, Pete," called Cyril's voice, none too cordially. + +"Pete, indeed!" scoffed Bertram. "You've got company, young man. Open +the door. Miss Billy is viewing the Strata." + +The bare floor echoed to a quick tread, then the door opened and Cyril +faced them with a forced smile on his lips. + +"Come in--though I fear there will be little--to see," he said. + +Bertram assumed a pompous attitude. + +"Ladies and gentlemen; you behold here the lion in his lair." + +"Be still, Bertram," ordered Cyril. + +"He is a lion, really," confided Bertram, in a lower voice; "but as he +prefers it, we'll just call him 'the Musical Man.'" + +"I should think I was some sort of music-box that turned with a crank," +bristled Cyril. + +Bertram grinned. + +"A--CRANK, did you say? Well, even I wouldn't have quite dared to 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 are--er--so 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, however, that in one is a couch-bed, and in another, two +chairs." + +Billy listened silently. Her eyes were questioning. She was not +quite sure how to take Bertram's words; and the bare rooms and their +stern-faced master filled her with a vague pity. But the pause that +followed Bertram's nonsense seemed to be waiting for her to fill it. + +"Oh, I should like to hear you--play, Mr. Cyril," she stammered. Then, +gathering courage. "CAN you play 'The Maiden's Prayer'?" + +Bertram gave a cough, a spasmodic cough that sent him, red-faced, 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; but--sometime," nodded Billy over her shoulder to Cyril as +she turned away. "I just love that 'Maiden's Prayer'!" + +"Now this is William's stratum," announced Bertram at the foot of the +stairs. "You will perceive that there is no knocking here; William's +doors are always open." + +"By all means! Come in--come in," called William's cheery voice. + +"Oh, my, what a lot of things!" exclaimed Billy. "My--my--what a lot of +things! How Spunk will like this room!" + +Bertram chuckled; then he made a great display of drawing a long breath. + +"In the short time at our disposal," he began loftily, "it will 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--" + +"Er--yes, 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 wondering-eyed girl at Bertram's side. + +"But there are so many!" breathed Billy. + +"All the more chance then," smiled William, "that somewhere among them +you'll find something to interest you. Now these Chinese ceramics, +and these bronzes--maybe 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 programs better," William finished +anxiously. + +Billy did not reply. She was turning round and round, her eyes wide and +amazed. Suddenly she pounced on a beautifully decorated teapot, and held +it up in admiring hands. + +"Oh, what a pretty teapot! And what a cute little plate it sets in!" she +cried. + +The collector fairly bubbled over with joy. + +"That's a Lowestoft--a real Lowestoft!" he crowed. "Not that +hard-paste stuff from the Orient that's CALLED Lowestoft, but the real +thing--English, you know. And that's the tray that goes with it, +too. Wonderful--how I got them both! You know they 'most always get +separated. I paid a cool hundred for them, anyhow." + +"A hundred dollars for a teapot!" gasped Billy. + +"Yes; and here's a nice little piece of lustre-ware. Pretty--isn't it? +And there's a fine bit of black basalt. And--" + +"Er--Will," interposed Bertram, meekly. + +"Oh, and here's a Castleford," cried William, paying no attention 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 surface--they made that with tiny little points set +into the inner side of the mold. The design stands out fine on this. +It's one of the best I ever saw. And, oh--" + +"Er--William," interposed Bertram again, a little louder this time. "May +I just say--" + +"And did you notice this 'Old Blue'?" hurried on William, eagerly. "Lid +sets down in, you see--that's older than the kind where it sets over the +top. Now here's one--" + +"William," almost shouted Bertram, "DINNER IS READY! Pete has sounded +the gong twice already!" + +"Eh? Oh, sure enough--sure enough," acknowledged William, with a +regretful glance at his treasures. "Well, we must go, we must go." + +"But I haven't seen your stratum at all," demurred Billy to her guide, +as they went down the stairway. + +"Then there's something left for to-morrow," promised Bertram; "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 tea--some real tea--and that's more than William has done, with all +his hundred and one teapots!" + + + +CHAPTER XI + +BERTRAM HAS VISITORS + + +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 +very-much-alive small cat will make some difference. As to Spunk's +name--it was not Mrs. Stetson's fault that even that was left +undisturbed. + +Mrs. Stetson early became acquainted with Spunk. She was introduced +to him, indeed, on the night of her arrival--though 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 tearfully. + +"I know; but--er--they do, sometimes," William had stammered; "and this +is one of the times. Aunt Hannah would never stand for it--never!" + +"Oh, but she doesn't know Spunk," Billy had observed then, hopefully. +"You just wait until she knows him." + +Mrs. Stetson began to "know" Spunk the next day. The immediate source 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 was--indeed, no. He rolled it down the stairs, +batted it through the hall to the drawing-room, and then proceeded to +'chasse' with it in and out among the legs of various chairs and tables, +ending in one grand whirl that wound the yarn round and round his small +body, and keeled him over half upon his back. There he blissfully went +to sleep. + +Billy found him after a gleeful following of the slender woollen trail. +Mrs. Stetson was with her--but she was not gleeful. + +"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," gurgled Billy, "isn't he just too cute +for anything?" + +Aunt Hannah shook her head. + +"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 arms. + +"But, I--it--I can't--Billy! I don't like that name," blurted out the +indignant little lady with as much warmth as she ever allowed herself to +show. "It must be changed to--to 'Thomas.'" + +"Changed? Spunk's name changed?" demanded Billy, in a horrified voice. +"Why, Aunt Hannah, it can't be changed; it's HIS, you know." Then 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 that--and +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 then attacked +the tangled mass of black with skilful fingers. + +"But, I--you--oh, 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 swear-word. + +In Aunt Hannah's black silk lap Spunk stretched luxuriously, and blinked +sleepy eyes; then with a long purr of content he curled himself for +another nap--still Spunk. + +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 +when the knock came. His tone was not quite cordial when he answered. + +"Well?" + +"It's I--Spunk and I. May we come in?" called a confident voice. + +Bertram said a sharp word behind his teeth--but he opened the door. + +"Of course! I was--painting," he announced. + +"How lovely! And I'll watch you. Oh, my--what a pretty room!" + +"I'm glad you like it." + +"Indeed I do; I like it ever so much. I shall stay here lots, I know." + +"Oh, you--will!" For once even Bertram's ready tongue failed to 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." + +"But I can't--that is, I'm not used to spectators." + +"Of course you aren't, you poor old lonesomeness! But it isn't going to +be that way, any more, you know, now that I've come. I sha'n't let you +be lonesome." + +"I could swear to that," declared the man, with sudden fervor; and for +Billy's peace of mind it was just as well, perhaps, that she did not +know the exact source of that fervency. + +"Now paint," commanded Billy again. + +Because he did not know what else to do, Bertram picked up a brush; 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, tut--no, no--naughty Spunk! Say, but wasn't that cute?" chuckled +Billy. "Do it again!" + +The artist gave an exasperated sigh. + +"My dear girl," he protested, "cruel as it may seem to you, this picture +is not a kindergarten game for the edification of small cats. I must +politely ask Spunk to desist." + +"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." + +"Thank you," accepted Bertram; dryly. + +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, +cats--pretty cats like Spunk--were even nicer to paint than girls. + +She rescued Spunk then from the paint-box where he had been holding high +carnival with Bertram's tubes of paint, and demanded if Bertram ever saw +a more delightful, more entrancing, more altogether-to-be-desired +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 up-stairs, he lifted his hands in despair. + +"Great Scott!" he groaned. "If this is a sample of what's coming--I'm +GOING, that's all!" + + + +CHAPTER XII + +CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN + + +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 behind--Billy +remembered her prospective host's aversion to cats. + +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 conclusion--privately expressed to Bertram--that 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 upstairs--Cyril had just escaped from one of +Billy's most determined "attempts," and Bertram knew it. Bertram's laugh +had puzzled Billy--and it had not quite pleased her. Hence to-day she +did not tell him of her plan to go up-stairs 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 to knock at Cyril's door. + +The door was opened at once. + +"Why--Billy!" cried the man in surprise. + +"Yes, it's Billy. I--I came up to--to get acquainted," she smiled +winningly. + +"Why, er--you are very kind. Will you--come in?" + +"Thank you; yes. You see, I didn't bring Spunk. I--remembered." + +Cyril bowed gravely. + +"You are very kind--again," he said. + +Billy fidgeted in her chair. To her mind she was not "getting on" at +all. She determined on a bold stroke. + +"You see, I thought if--if 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 flushed a confused red. + +"Oh, dear! That is, I mean--I 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 well as I do Uncle William and Mr. Bertram. So there!" + +Cyril laughed. For the first time since he had seen Billy, something +that was very like interest came into his eyes. + +"Oh, you don't," he retorted. "Now that is--er--very UNkind of you." + +Billy shook her head. + +"You don't say that as if you meant it," she accused him, her eyes +gravely studying his face. "Now I'M in earnest. _I_ really want to like +YOU!" + +"Thank you. Then perhaps you won't mind telling me why you don't like +me," he suggested. + +Again Billy flushed. + +"Why, I--I just don't; that's all," she faltered. Then she cried +aggrievedly: "There, now! you've made me be impolite; and I didn't mean +to be, truly." + +"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 +and rainy days." + +"With--wha-at?" + +"Tripe and rainy days. Those are the only things, if I remember rightly, +that you don't like." + +The girl stared; then she chuckled. + +"There! I knew I'd like you better if you'd only SAY something," 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.'" + +Cyril stiffened. + +"Pardon me, but you must be mistaken," he replied coldly. "I do not play +'The Maiden's Prayer.'" + +"Oh, what a shame! And I do so love it! But you play other things; +I've heard you a little, and Mr. Bertram says you do--in concerts and +things." + +"Does he?" murmured Cyril, with a slight lifting of his eyebrows. + +"There! Now off you go again all silent and horrid!" chaffed Billy. +"What have I said now? Mr. Cyril--do you know what I think? I believe +you've got NERVES!" Billy's voice was so tragic that the man could but +laugh. + +"Perhaps I have, Miss Billy." + +"Like Miss Letty's?" + +"I'm not acquainted with the lady." + +"Gee! wouldn't you two make a pair!" chuckled Billy unexpectedly. "No; +but, really, I mean--do you want people to walk on tiptoe and speak in +whispers?" + +"Sometimes, perhaps." + +The girl sprang to her feet--but she sighed. + +"Then I'm going. This might be one of the times, you know." She +hesitated, then walked to the piano. "My, wouldn't I like to play on +that!" she breathed. + +Cyril shuddered. Cyril could imagine what Billy would play--and Cyril +did not like "rag-time," nor "The Storm." + +"Oh, do you play?" he asked constrainedly. + +Billy shook her head. + +"Not much. Only little bits of things, you know," she said wistfully, 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 played--something," he muttered at last; +"but--'The Maiden's Prayer'!--good heavens!" + +Billy was a little shy with Cyril when he came down to dinner 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 seemed to be leaving him +in peace. + +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 down-stairs. At the first step he started back in amazement. + +"Why, Billy!" he ejaculated. + +The girl was sitting very near the top of the stairway. At his +appearance she got to her feet shamefacedly. + +"Why, Billy, what in the world are you doing there?" + +"Listening." + +"Listening!" + +"Yes. Do you mind?" + +The man did not answer. He was too surprised to find words at once, and +he was trying to recollect what he had been playing. + +"You see, listening to music this way isn't like listening to--to +talking," hurried on Billy, feverishly. "It isn't sneaking like that; is +it?" + +"Why--no." + +"And you don't mind?" + +"Why, surely, I ought not to mind--that," he admitted. + +"Then I can keep right on as I have done. Thank you," sighed Billy, in +relief. + +"Keep right on! Have you been here before?" + +"Why, yes, lots of days. And, say, Mr. Cyril, what is that--that 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 own--that I'm writing, you +understand; and I've tried to say--just what you say you heard." + +"And I did hear it--I did! Oh, won't you play it, please, with the door +open?" + +"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 girl and hurried down the stairs. + +Billy waited until she heard the outer hall door shut; then very softly +she crept through Cyril's open doorway, and crossed the room to the +piano. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A SURPRISE ALL AROUND + + +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 up-stairs to Cyril's rooms, and once at the piano, +Billy forgot everything else. + +One day, however, the inevitable happened: Cyril came home unexpectedly. +The man heard the piano from William's floor, and with a surprised +ejaculation he hurried upstairs two steps at a time. At the door he +stopped in amazement. + +Billy was at the piano, but she was not playing "rag-time," "The Storm," +nor yet "The Maiden's Prayer." There was no music before her, but under +her fingers "big bass notes" very much like Cyril's own, were marching +on and on to victory. Billy's face was rapturously intent and happy. + +"By Jove--Billy!" gasped the man. + +Billy leaped to her feet and whirled around guiltily. + +"Oh, Mr. Cyril--I'm so sorry!" + +"Sorry!--and you play like that!" + +"No, no; I'm not sorry I played. It's because you--found me." + +Billy's cheeks were a shamed red, but her eyes were defiantly brilliant, +and her chin was at a rebellious tilt. "I wasn't doing any--harm; not if +you weren't here--with your NERVES!" + +The man laughed and came slowly into the room. + +"Billy, who taught you to play?" + +"No one. I can't play. I can only pick out little bits of things in C." + +"But you do play. I just heard you." + +Billy shrugged her shoulders. + +"That was nothing. It was only what I had heard. I was trying to make it +sound like--yours." + +"And, by George! you succeeded," muttered Cyril under his breath; then +aloud he asked: "Didn't you ever study music?" + +Billy's eyes dimmed. + +"No. That was the only thing Aunt Ella and I didn't think alike about. +She had an old square piano, all tin-panny and thin, you know. I 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 do--get 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. I--I'm afraid +I got stuffy. I hated that piano so! But I was almost ready to give in +when--when Aunt Ella died." + +"And all you play then is just by ear?" + +"By--ear? I suppose so--if you mean what I hear. Easy things I can play +quick, but--but those chords ARE hard; they skip around so!" + +Cyril smiled oddly. + +"I should say so," he agreed. "But perhaps there is something else that +I play--that 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 ears--a 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 printed music. But the tune, the rhythm, and the spirit were +there. + +"And there's this," said Billy; "and this," she went on, sliding into +one little strain after another--all of which were recognized by the +amazed man at her side. + +"Billy," he cried, when she had finished and whirled upon him again, +"Billy, would you like to learn to play--really play from notes?" + +"Oh, wouldn't I!" + +"Then you shall! We'll have a piano tomorrow in your rooms for you to +practise on. And--I'll teach you myself." + +"Oh, thank you, Mr. Cyril--you don't know how I thank you!" exulted +Billy, as she danced from the room to tell Aunt Hannah of this great and +good thing that had come into her life. + +To Billy, this promise of Cyril's to be her teacher was very kind, very +delightful; but it was not in the least a thing at which to marvel. To +Bertram, however, it most certainly was. + +"Well, guess what's happened," he said to William that night, after he +had heard the news. "I'll believe anything now--anything: 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!" + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND + + +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 had not attended to, Spunk had, he said. + +"You see, it's like this," he explained to an amused friend one day. +"Billy is taking piano lessons of Cyril, and she is posing for one of my +heads. Naturally, then, such feminine belongings as fancy-work, thread, +thimbles, and hairpins are due to show up at any time either in Cyril's +apartments or mine--to say nothing of William's; and she's in William's +lots--to look for Spunk, if for no other purpose. + +"You must know that Spunk likes William's floor the best of the bunch, +there are so many delightful things to play with. Not that Spunk stays +there--dear 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 to--well, anywhere that he happens to feel like +going. Cyril has found him up-stairs 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 hard-shelled black +bug--dead, of course--that 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 of William's Collection +Number 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 any longer," he finished. + +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. + +"William, what are you going to do with Billy?" she asked abruptly. + +"Do with her? What do you mean?" returned William with the contented +smile that was so often on his lips these days. "This is Billy's home." + +"That's the worst of it," sighed the woman, with a shake of her head. + +"The worst of it! Aunt Hannah, what do you mean? Don't you like Billy?" + +"Yes, yes, William, of course I like Billy. I love her! Who could 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, +or--or somewhere." + +"And she's going in September," replied the man. "She'll go to +preparatory school first, and to college, probably." + +"Yes, but now--right away. She ought to go--somewhere." + +"Why, yes, for the summer, of course. But those plans aren't 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 +idea--through all the hot June and July--so 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 Bertram would be off more or less. +They always are in the summer." + +"But, William, you haven't yet got my idea at all," demurred Aunt +Hannah, with a discouraged shake of her head. "It's away!--away from all +this--from you--that I want to get Billy." + +"Away! Away from me," cried the man, with an odd intonation of terror, +as he started forward in his chair. "Why, Aunt Hannah, what are you +talking about?" + +"About Billy. This is no place in which to bring up a young girl--a +young girl who has not one shred of relationship to excuse it." + +"But she is my namesake, and quite alone in the world, Aunt Hannah; +quite alone--poor child!" + +"My dear William, that is exactly it--she is a child, and yet she is +not. That's where the trouble lies." + +"What do you mean?" + +"William, Billy has been brought up in a little country town with a +spinster aunt and a whole good-natured, tolerant village for company. +Well, she has accepted you and your entire household, even down to Dong +Ling, on the same basis." + +"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 quite +too much inclined that way." + +"Exactly, William. And that only goes to prove what I said before. +Bertram is not a spinster aunt, and neither are any of the rest of you. +But Billy takes you that way." + +"Takes us that way--as spinster aunts!" + +"Yes. She makes herself as free in this house as she was in her 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 +angle--which certainly doesn't tend to make Billy modest or retiring. +As to you--you know how much she's in your rooms, spending evening after +evening fussing over your collections." + +"I know; but we're--we're sorting them and making a catalogue," defended +the man, anxiously. "Besides, I--I like to have her there. She doesn't +bother me a bit." + +"No; I know she doesn't," replied Aunt Hannah, with a curious +inflection. "But don't you see, William, that all this isn't going to +quite do? Billy's too young--and too old." + +"Come, come, Aunt Hannah, is that exactly logical?" + +"It's true, at least." + +"But, after all, where's the harm? Don't you think that you are just a +little bit too--fastidious? Billy's nothing but a care-free child." + +"It's the 'free' part that I object to, William. She has taken every one +of you into intimate companionship--even Pete and Dong Ling." + +"Pete and Dong Ling!" + +"Yes." Mrs. Stetson's chin came up, and her nostrils dilated a little. +"Billy went to Pete the other day to have him button her shirt-waist +up in the back; and yesterday I found her down-stairs in the kitchen +instructing Dong Ling how to make chocolate fudge!" + +William fell back in his chair. + +"Well, well," he muttered, "well, well! She is a child, and no mistake!" +He paused, his brows drawn into a troubled frown. "But, Aunt Hannah, +what CAN I do? Of course you could talk to her, but--I don't seem to +quite like that idea." + +"My grief and conscience--no, no! That isn't what is needed at all. +It would only serve to make her self-conscious; and that's her one +salvation now--that she isn't self-conscious. You see, it's only the +fault of her environment and training, after all. It isn't her heart +that's wrong." + +"Indeed it isn't!" + +"It will be different when she is older--when 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 live--just +like this, though; certainly not for a time, at least." + +"No, no, I'm afraid not," agreed William, perplexedly, rising to his +feet. "But we must think--what can be done." His step was even slower +than usual as he left the room, and his eyes were troubled. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +WHAT BERTRAM CALLS "THE LIMIT" + + +At half past ten o'clock on the evening following Mrs. Stetson's very +plain talk with William, the telephone bell at the Beacon Street house +rang sharply. Pete answered it. + +"Well?"--Pete never said "hello." + +"Hello. Is that you, Pete?" called Billy's voice agitatedly. "Is Uncle +William there?" + +"No, Miss Billy." + +"Oh dear! Well, Mr. Cyril, then?" + +"He's out, too, Miss Billy. And Mr. Bertram--they're all out." + +"Yes, yes, I know HE'S out," almost sobbed Billy. "Dear, dear, what +shall I do! Pete, you'll have to come. There isn't any other way!" + +"Yes, Miss; where?" Pete's voice was dubious, but respectful. + +"To the Boylston Street subway--on the Common, you know--North-bound +side. I'll wait for you--but HURRY! You see, I'm all alone here." + +"Alone! Miss Billy--in the subway at this time of night! But, Miss +Billy, you shouldn't--you can't--you mustn't--" stuttered the old man in +helpless horror. + +"Yes, yes, Pete, but never mind; I am here! And I should think if 'twas +such a dreadful thing you would hurry FAST to get here, so I wouldn't be +alone," appealed Billy. + +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 +station. + +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 the wind. + +"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what can this mean?" gasped the man. "Where is +Mrs. Stetson?" + +"At Mrs. Hartwell's--you know she is giving a reception to-night. But +come, we must hurry! I'm after Mr. Bertram." + +"After Mr. Bertram!" + +"Yes, yes." + +"Alone?--like this?" + +"But I'm not alone now; I have you. Don't you see?" + +At the blank stupefaction in the man's face, the girl sighed +impatiently. + +"Dear me! I suppose I'll have to explain; but we're losing time--and we +mustn't--we 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 and follow them." + +"FOLLOW them! MISS BILLY!" + +"I had to, Pete; don't you see? There was no one else. Mr. Cyril and +Uncle William had gone--home, 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 just--followed. +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. But--well, 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 Billy, do!" + +"Home--and leave Mr. Bertram with that Seaver man? No, no!" + +"What CAN ye do?" + +"Do? I can get him to come home with me, of course." + +The old man made a despairing gesture and looked about him as if 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 know--ye can't know what yer +a-doin'!" + +The girl tossed her head. She was angry now. + +"Pete, if you will not go with me I shall go alone. I am not afraid." + +"But the hour--the place--you, a young girl! Miss Billy!" 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 in--ladies and gentlemen. Nothing could hurt me, Pete, +and I shall go; but I'd rather you were with me. Why, Pete, we mustn't +leave him. He isn't--he isn't HIMSELF, Pete. He--he's been DRINKING!" +Billy's voice broke, and her face flushed scarlet. She was 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 a-doin', Miss Billy, ye don't--ye don't!" + +"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 turned and ran down the steps. + +Billy blinked a little at the lights which, reflected in the great +plate-glass mirrors, were a million dazzling points that found +themselves again repeated in the sparkling crystal and glittering silver +on the flower-decked tables. All about her Billy saw flushed-faced men, +and bright-eyed women, laughing, chatting, and clinking together their +slender-stemmed wine glasses. But nowhere, as she looked about her, +could Billy descry the man she sought. + +The head waiter came forward with uplifted hand, but Billy did not 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. + +Simultaneously her own and Bertram's eyes met. + +With a sharp word under his breath Bertram sprang to his feet. His +befogged brain had cleared suddenly under the shock of Billy's presence. + +"Billy, for Heaven's sake what are you doing here?" he demanded in a 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, +pallid-faced, and shaking. + +"And you, too, Pete! Great Scott! what does this mean?" he exploded +angrily. + +Pete could only shake his head and glance imploringly at Billy. His dry +lips and tongue refused to articulate even one word. + +"We came--for--you," choked Billy. "You see, I don't like that Seaver +man." + +"Well, by Jove! this is the limit!" breathed Bertram. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +KATE TAKES A HAND + + +Undeniably Billy was in disgrace, and none knew it better than 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 +herself with small likelihood of interruption. + +"But, Billy, how could you do such an absurd thing?" she demanded. "The +idea of leaving my house alone, at half-past ten at night, to follow a +couple of men through the streets of Boston, and then with my brothers' +butler make a scene like that in a--a public dining-room!" + +Billy sighed in a discouraged way. + +"Aunt Kate, can't I make you and the rest of them understand that I +didn't start out to do all that? I meant just to speak to Mr. Bertram, +and get him away from that man." + +"But, my dear child, even that was bad enough!" + +Billy lifted her chin. + +"You don't seem to think, Aunt Kate; Mr. Bertram was--was not sober." + +"All the more reason then why you should NOT have done what you did!" + +"Why, Aunt Kate, you wouldn't leave him alone in that condition with +that man!" + +It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to sigh. + +"But, Billy," she contested, wearily, "can't you understand that it +wasn't YOUR place to interfere--you, a young girl?" + +"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 it alone--that is, with Pete." + +"Pete!" scoffed Mrs. Hartwell. "Pete, indeed!" + +Billy's head came up with a jerk. Billy was very angry now. + +"Aunt Kate, it seems I've done a very terrible thing, but I'm sure 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 and--and +drink too much. But Uncle William hasn't liked him before, not one bit! +I've heard him talk about him--that Mr. Seaver." + +Mrs. Hartwell raised both her hands, palms outward. + +"Billy, it is useless to talk with you. You are quite impossible. It is +even worse than I expected!" she cried, with wrathful impatience. + +"Worse than you--expected? What do you mean, please?" + +"Worse than I thought it would be--before you came. The idea of 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 mean--that they did not--want 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 +outside of herself. + +"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 everything?" + +"To--upset--everything!" echoed Billy, faintly. "And have I done--that?" + +"Of course you have! How could you help it? To begin with, they 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 the whole thing. + +"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, and what my brothers have done for you." + +"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?" + +The girl sprang to her feet now. + +"More tractable! Less assertive of my presence!" she cried. "Mrs. +Hartwell, do you mean to say you think I'd STAY after what you've told +me?" + +"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 you to understand how things +were--and are." + +"And I do understand--and I'm going." + +Mrs. Hartwell frowned. Her face changed color. + +"Come, come, Billy, this is nonsense. William wants you here. He would +never forgive me if anything I said should send you away. You must not +be angry with, him." + +Billy turned now like an enraged little tigress. + +"Angry with him! Why, I love him--I love them all! They are the 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 +them know why I'm going?--that I'd hurt them like that? Never!" + +"But, Billy, what are you going to do?" + +"I don't know. I've got to plan it out. I only know now that I'm going, +sure!" And with a choking little cry Billy ran from the room. + +In her own chamber a minute later the tears fell unrestrained. + +"It's home--all the home there is--anywhere!" she sobbed. "But it's got +to go--it's got to go!" + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A PINK-RIBBON TRAIL + + +Mrs. Stetson wore an air of unmistakable relief as she stepped into +William's sitting-room. Even her knock at the half-open door had sounded +almost triumphant. + +"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 see that will make it easier for us." + +"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 here--for a time. +Though I shall miss her terribly. But, tell me, what is it--what does +she want to do?" + +"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. +The--the dear child seems suddenly to have taken a great fancy to me," +explained Aunt Hannah, unsteadily. "I never saw her so affectionate." + +"She is a dear girl--a very dear girl; and she has a warm heart." +William cleared his throat sonorously, but even that did not clear +his voice. "It was her heart that led her wrong the other night," he +declared. "Hers was a brave and fearless act--but 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. How did Billy happen to suggest it?" + +"I don't know. I noticed yesterday that she seemed strangely +silent--unhappy, 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 difficulties." + +"Yes, of course, of course," muttered William. "It is very fine, very +fine indeed," he concluded. And again his voice failed quite to match +his words in enthusiasm. + +"Then I'll go and begin to see to my things," murmured Mrs. Stetson, +rising to her feet. "Billy seems anxious to get away." + +Billy did, indeed, seem anxious to get away. She announced her 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 gone; and with her had gone Mrs. +Stetson and Spunk. + +The family said they liked it--the quiet, the freedom. They said they +liked to be alone--all but William. He said nothing. + +And yet-- + +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 +red-cheeked, curly-headed young girl whose eyes held a peculiarly +wistful appeal; and Cyril, at his piano up-stairs, sat with idle fingers +until they finally drifted into a simple little melody--the last thing +Billy had been learning. + +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. "I--I made so bold as to bring him in." + +"Of course," said William. "Did you feed it?" + +"Yes, sir; Ling did." + +There was a pause, then Pete spoke, diffidently. + +"I thought, sir, if ye didn't mind, I'd keep it. I'll try to see that it +stays down-stairs, 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." + +"Yes, I noticed," said William, stirring with sudden restlessness. "I +noticed." + +"Yes, sir," said Pete. And he turned and carried the small gray cat +away. + +The new kitten did not stay down-stairs. Pete tried, it is true, to keep +his promise to watch it; but after he had seen the little animal +carried surreptitiously up-stairs 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 known--until 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 ribbon and +curling white paper--and the end of the trail was in William's room. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER + + +By the middle of June only William and the gray kitten were left 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 loneliness--it reminded +him of Billy. + +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 gray kitten, "Spunkie," that looked so much like Spunk. + +In reply he received plump white envelopes directed in the round, +schoolboy hand that he remembered so well. In the envelopes 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. + +William frowned at this, and shook his head; yet he knew that it was +true. + +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 interesting as was Hampden Falls. But he went to the +Rangeley Lakes. + +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. + +"Where's Billy? Isn't Billy here?" demanded Bertram. + +"No. She isn't back yet," replied William. + +"You don't mean to say she's stayed up there all summer!" exclaimed +Cyril. + +"Why, yes, I--I suppose so," hesitated William. "You see, I haven't +heard but once for a month. I've been down in Maine, you know." + +William wrote to Billy that night. + +"My dear:--" he said in part. "I hope you'll come home right away. We +want to see SOMETHING of you before you go away again, and you know the +schools will be opening soon. + +"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 how much alike they really +do look." + +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 came--though this time for a far different reason. + +"Why, boys, she--isn't--coming," he announced in dismay. + +"Isn't coming!" ejaculated two astonished Voices. + +"No." + +"Not--at--ALL?" + +"Why, of course, later," retorted William, with unwonted sharpness. "But +not now. This is what she says." And he read aloud: + + +"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 way--a lovely place, I'm sure, from the pictures of it. + +"Oh, and another thing; I shall go right from here. Two girls at 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 alone--me, a +'Billy'--unless I sent a special courier ahead to announce that 'Billy' +was a girl. + +"Aunt Hannah has decided to stay here this winter in the old house. 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 be there. + +"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 about having to hunt up a +school for me. + +"With love to all, + +"BILLY." + + +As had happened once before after a letter from Billy had been read, +there was a long pause. + +"Well, by Jove!" breathed Bertram. + +"It's very sensible, I'm sure," declared Cyril. "Still, I must confess, +I would have liked to pick out her piano teacher for her." + +William said nothing--perhaps because he was reading Billy's letter +again. + +At eight o'clock that night Bertram tapped on Cyril's door. + +"What's the trouble?" demanded Cyril in answer to the look on the +other's face. + +Bertram lifted his eyebrows oddly. + +"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 gone--for good." + +"For good! What do you mean?--that she's not coming back--ever?" + +"Exactly that." + +"Nonsense! What's put that notion into your head?" + +"Billy's letter first; after that, Pete." + +"Pete!" + +"Yes. He came to me a few minutes ago, looking as if he had seen 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 +house--not so much as a handkerchief or a hairpin." + +"Hm-m; that does look--suspicious," murmured Cyril. "What's up, do you +think?" + +"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." + +"Hurt?--nonsense! Why, we did everything for her--everything!" + +"Yes, I know--and she tried to do EVERYTHING for us, too," retorted +Bertram, quizzically, as he turned away. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SEEING BILLY OFF + + +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 Hampden Falls?" + +"I like it there, William; and why shouldn't I stay? Surely there's no +need for me to be here now, with Billy away!" + +"But Billy's coming back!" + +"Of course she's coming back," laughed Aunt Hannah, "but not 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 wanted--to 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 mistake,--a mistake that she needed to +get away." + +"Never! We were just right about it," declared Aunt Hannah, with +conviction. + +"And is Billy--happy?" + +"She seems to be." + +"Hm-m; 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 him--that 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 might be called a reminder. + +Billy did not write often. She said that she was "too busy to breathe." +Such letters as did come from her were addressed to William, though 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 earshot--a 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 Falls for a country Christmas. + +For the Easter vacation William was even more insistent--but 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 now. + +William fretted not a little. Even Cyril and Bertram said that it was +"too bad"; that they themselves would like to see the girl--so they +would! + +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 +through the British Isles"; and that their passage was already engaged. + +"And so you see," she explained, "I shall not have a minute to spare. +There'll be only time to skip home for Aunt Hannah, and to pack the +trunks before it'll be time to start." + +Bertram looked at Cyril significantly when this letter was read aloud; +and afterward he muttered in Cyril's ear: + +"You see! It's Hampden Falls she calls 'home' now--not the Strata." + +"Yes, I see," frowned Cyril. "It does look suspicious." + +Two days before the date of Billy's expected sailing, William announced +at the breakfast table that he was going away on business; might be gone +until the end of the week. + +"You don't say," commented Bertram. "I'M going to-morrow, but I'm coming +back in a couple of days." + +"Hm-m;" 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 by water would be a pleasure, the night was so fine and warm. + +In New York Cyril had little trouble in finding Billy, as he knew the +steamship she was to take. + +"I thought as long as I was in New York to-day I'd just come and say +good-by 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?" + +"Very well, I fancy, though they weren't there when I left," replied the +man. + +"Oh!--gone away?" + +"Yes. A little matter of business they said; but--well, by Jove!" he +broke off, his gaze on a familiar figure hurrying at that moment toward +them. "There's William now!" + +William, with no eyes but for Billy, came rapidly forward. + +"Well, well, Billy! I thought as long as I happened to be in New York +to-day I'd just run down to the boat and see you and Aunt Hannah off, +and wish--CYRIL! Where did YOU come from?" + +Billy laughed. + +"He just happened to be in town, too, Uncle William, like you," 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 gesture of defeat. + +"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 +fellow-sinners here, I'll wager they weren't two days behind me in their +planning. So now, own up, boys!" + +William and Cyril, however, did not have to "own up." Mrs. Stetson +appeared at the moment and created, for them, a very welcome diversion. + +Long minutes later, when the good-byes had become nothing but a flutter +of white handkerchiefs from deck to shore, and shore to deck, William +drew a long sigh. + +"That's a nice little girl, boys, a nice little girl!" he exclaimed. "I +declare! I didn't suppose I'd mind so much her going so far away." + + + +CHAPTER XX + +BILLY, THE MYTH + + +To all appearances it came about very naturally that Billy 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 devote herself more particularly to her music. + +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 would see. + +Of all this Billy wrote to William--at occasional intervals--but 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 Billy. + +"The idea! It's just as if one didn't have a namesake!" he fumed. + +"Well, did you have one?" Bertram demanded one day. "Really, Will, I'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 word--a message--a scrap of +paper. Billy's a myth, I say!" + +William sighed. + +"Sometimes I don't know but you are right," he admitted. "Why, it'll +be three years next June since Billy was here. She must be nearly +twenty-one--and we know almost nothing about her." + +"That's so. I wonder--" Bertram paused, and laughed a little, "I wonder +if NOW she'd play guardian angel to me through the streets of Boston." + +William threw a keen glance into his brother's face. + +"I don't believe it would be quite necessary, NOW, Bert," he said +quietly. + +The other flushed a little, but his eyes softened. + +"Maybe not, Will; still--one can always find some use for--a guardian +angel, you know," he finished, almost under his breath. + +To Cyril Bertram had occasionally spoken, during the last two years, +of their first suspicions concerning Billy's absence. They 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. Hartwell had not once returned to Boston. + +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 +friends--and 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 den after dinner. + +"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." + +Three men sat suddenly erect in their chairs. + +"Billy?" cried three voices. "Do you know Billy?" + +"To be sure! And you do, too, she says." + +"Oh, no, we don't," disputed Bertram, emphatically. "But we WISH we +did!" + +His guest laughed. + +"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 girl--a very charming +girl." + +"She is my namesake," announced William, in what Bertram called his +"finest ever" voice that he used only for the choicest bits in his +collections. + +"Yes, she told me," smiled Calderwell. "'Billy' for 'William.' Odd +idea, too, but clever. It helps to distinguish her even more--though she +doesn't need it, for that matter." + +"'Doesn't need it,'" echoed William in a puzzled voice. + +"No. Perhaps you don't know, Mr. Henshaw, but Miss Billy is a very +popular young woman. You have reason to be proud of your namesake." + +"I have always been that," declared William, with just a touch of +hauteur. + +"Tell us about her," begged Bertram. "You remember I said that we wished +we did know her." + +Calderwell smiled. + +"I don't believe, after all, that you do know much about her," he began +musingly. "Billy is not one who talks much of herself, I fancy, in her +letters." + +William frowned. This time there was more than a touch of hauteur in his +voice. + +"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 +girl--quite 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 men, +and she has suitors enough to turn any girl's head--but her own." + +"Suitors!" cried William, plainly aghast. "Why, Billy's nothing but a +child!" + +Calderwell gave an odd smile. + +"How long is it since you've seen--Miss Neilson?" he asked. + +"Two years." + +"And then only for a few minutes just before she sailed," amended +Bertram. "We haven't really seen much of her since three years ago." + +"Hm-m; well, you'll see for yourself soon. You know she's coming home +next month." + +Not one of the brothers did know it--but not one of them intended that +Calderwell should find out that they did not. + +"Yes, she's coming home," said William, lifting his chin a little. + +"Oh, yes, next month," added Bertram, nonchalantly. + +Even Cyril across the room was not to be outdone. + +"Yes. Miss Neilson comes home next month," he said. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +BILLY, THE REALITY + + +Very early in May came the cheery letter from Billy herself 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. + +William at once began to make plans for his namesake's comfort. + +"But, Will, she didn't say she was coming here," Bertram reminded him. + +"She didn't need to," smiled William, confidently. "She just took it for +granted, of course. This is her home." + +"But it hasn't been--for years. She's called Hampden Falls 'home.'" + +"I know, but that was before," demurred William, his eyes a little +anxious. "Besides, they've sold the house now, you know. There's nowhere +for her to go but here, Bertram." + +"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 +preparations for Billy's arrival. + +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 sewing-chair, a stand with a tea tray. And everywhere +were roses, up-stairs and down-stairs, until the air was heavy with +their perfume. In the dining-room Pete was again "swinging back and +forth like a pendulum," it is true; but it was a cheerful pendulum +to-day, 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 brand-new pink bow of huge +dimensions adorned his fat neck--for the first time in many months. + +"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 as that +kitten when she went abroad. Aunt Hannah said so." + +"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 Billy--and all the Henshaw +brothers were vaguely conscious of a growing feeling of dislike toward +Calderwell. + +Billy was unmistakably glad to see them--and 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 +had done for her. They knew then, at once, that time had been very kind. + +It was a slim Billy that they saw, with a head royally poised, and 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 of--not 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 +rose-flush still glowed warmly through the clear, smooth skin. The +mouth--Billy's mouth had always been fascinating, Bertram suddenly +decided, as he watched it now. He wanted to paint it--again. 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 liked--to +paint, he said to himself. + +William, too, was watching Billy's mouth; in fact--though he did not +know it--one 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. Cyril--indeed, 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 knew--and disliked--scores. It had +occurred to him suddenly that perhaps it would not be unalloyed bliss to +take this young namesake of William's home with them. + +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 then more like their own Billy--the Billy that they had known. + +"And I'm so glad to be here," she cried; "and to see you all. America IS +the best place, after all!" + +"And of America, Boston is the Hub, you know," Bertram reminded her. + +"It is," nodded Billy. + +"And it hasn't changed a mite, except to grow better. You'll see +to-morrow." + +"As if I hadn't been counting the days!" she exulted. "And now what have +you been doing--all of you?" + +"Just wait till you see," laughed Bertram. "They're all spread out for +your inspection." + +"A new 'Face of a Girl'?" + +"Of course--yards of them!" + +"And heaps of 'Old Blues' and 'black basalts'?" she questioned, turning +to William. + +"Well, a--few," hesitated William, modestly. + +"And--the music; what of that?" Billy looked now at Cyril. + +"You'll see," he shrugged. "There's very little, after all--of +anything." + +Billy gave a wise shake of her head. + +"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 what we would do when we got +to Boston?" + +"Yes, my dear; YOU have." + +The girl laughed. + +"I accept the amendment," she retorted with mock submission. "I suppose +it is always I who talk." + +"It was--when I painted you," teased Bertram. "By the way, I'll LET you +talk if you'll pose again for me," he finished eagerly. + +Billy uptilted her nose. + +"Do you think, sir, you deserve it, after that speech?" she demanded. + +"But how about YOUR art--your music?" entreated William. "You have 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 question. He was talking with Aunt +Hannah. + +"Oh, I play--some," murmured the girl, almost evasively. "But tell me of +yourself, Uncle William, and of what you are doing." And William needed +no second bidding. + +It was some time later that Billy turned to him with an amazed +exclamation in response to something he had said. + +"Home with you! Why, Uncle William, what do you mean? You didn't really +think you'd got to be troubled with ME any longer!" she cried merrily. + +William's face paled, then flushed. + +"I did not call it 'trouble,' Billy," he said quietly. His grieved eyes +looked straight into hers and drove the merriment quite away. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said gently. "And I appreciate your kindness, +indeed I do; but I couldn't--really I couldn't think of such a thing!" + +"And you don't have to think of it," cut in Bertram, who considered that +the situation was becoming much too serious. "All you have to do is to +come." + +Billy shook her head. + +"You are so good, all of you! But you didn't--you really didn't think I +WAS--coming!" 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 window-pane, lest we should HAPPEN to come to-night; 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 laughed--but she cried, too; at least, her eyes grew suddenly +moist. Bertram tried to decide afterward whether she laughed till she +cried, or cried till she laughed. + +"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 turn the thoughts away from +the first. + +"We are going to Boston, Aunt Hannah and I. We've got rooms engaged +for just now, but later we're going to take a house and live together. +That's what we're going to do." + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +HUGH CALDERWELL + + +In the Beacon Street house William mournfully removed the huge pink bow +from Spunkie's neck, and Bertram threw away the roses. Cyril marched +up-stairs with his pile of new music and his book; and Pete, in +obedience to orders, hid the workbasket, the tea table, and the low +sewing-chair. With a great display of a "getting back home" air, Bertram +moved many of his belongings upstairs--but 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 closed then, and remained as they had +for years--silent and deserted. + +Billy with Aunt Hannah had gone directly to their Back Bay hotel. "This +is for just while I'm house-hunting," the girl had said. But very soon +she had decided to go to Hampden Falls for the summer and postpone her +house-buying until the autumn. Billy was twenty-one 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 with William's namesake. + +"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 shake--if I want to--and +some dirt to dig in." + +"Well, I'm sure that ought to be easy to find," smiled Bertram. + +"Oh, but that isn't all," supplemented Billy. "It must be mostly closets +and piazza. At least, those are the important things." + +"Well, you might run across a snag there. Why don't you build?" + +Billy gave a gesture of dissent. + +"Too slow. I want it now." + +Bertram laughed. His eyes narrowed quizzically. + +"From what Calderwell says," he bantered, "I should judge that there are +plenty of sighing swains who are only too ready to give you a home--and +now." + +The pink deepened in Billy's cheeks. + +"I said closets and a piazza, dirt to dig, and a furnace to shake," she +retorted merrily. "I didn't say I wanted a husband." + +"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. + +"And where is Cyril?" asked Mrs. Stetson, coming into the room at that +moment. + +William stirred restlessly. + +"Well, Cyril couldn't--couldn't come," stammered William with an uneasy +glance at his brother. + +Billy laughed unexpectedly. + +"It's too bad--about Mr. Cyril's not coming," she murmured. And again +Bertram caught the twinkle in the downcast eyes. + +To Bertram the twinkle looked interesting, and worth pursuit; but at +the very beginning of the chase Calderwell's card came up, and that +ended--everything, so Bertram declared crossly to himself. + +Billy found her dirt to dig in, and her furnace to shake, in Brookline. +There were closets, too, and a generous expanse of veranda. They 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 many-hued, many-shaped roofs nestling +among towering trees, with the wide sweep of the sky above, and the haze +of faraway hills at the horizon. + +"In fact, it's as nearly perfect as it can be--and not take angel-wings +and fly away," declared Billy. "I have named it 'Hillside.'" + +Very early in her career as house-owner, 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 household. + +"And now I'm ready to see my friends," she announced. + +"And I think your friends will be ready to see you," Bertram assured +her. + +And they were--at 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-year-old +namesake. There were others, too, whom Billy had met abroad; and +there were soft-stepping, sweet-faced old women and an occasional +white-whiskered old man--Aunt Hannah's friends--who found that the young +mistress of Hillside was a charming hostess. There were also the Henshaw +"boys," and there was always Calderwell--at least, so Bertram declared +to himself sometimes. + +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 his brothers did most of the talking. + +As to Calderwell--Calderwell 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, calf-bound volumes +spread in imposing array on the desk before him. Other hours--many +hours--he spent with Billy. + +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." + +"Tell you about them! Why, don't you know?" + +She shook her head. + +"No. Cyril says nothing. William little more--about themselves; and you +know what Bertram is. One can hardly separate sense from nonsense with +him." + +"You don't know, then, how splendidly Bertram has done with his art?" + +"No; only from the most casual hearsay. Has he done well then?" + +"Finely! The public has been his for years, and now the 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 charm." + +"I'm so glad! And is it still the 'Face of a Girl'?" + +"Yes; only he's doing straight portraiture now as well. It's got to 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, too--a mighty fine fellow. You may not know, perhaps, but three +or four years ago he was--well, not wild, but 'frolicsome,' he would +probably have called it. He got in with a lot of fellows that--well, +that weren't good for a chap of Bertram's temperament." + +"Like--Mr. Seaver?" + +Calderwell turned sharply. + +"Did YOU know Seaver?" he demanded in obvious surprise. + +"I used to SEE him--with Bertram." + +"Oh! Well, he WAS one of them, unfortunately. But Bertram shipped him +years ago." + +Billy gave a sudden radiant smile--but she changed the subject at once. + +"And Mr. William still collects, I suppose," she observed. + +"Jove! I should say he did! I've forgotten the latest; but he's a fine +fellow, too, like Bertram." + +"And--Mr. Cyril?" + +Calderwell frowned. + +"That chap's a poser for me, Billy, and no mistake. I can't make him +out!" + +"What's the matter?" + +"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." + +Billy laughed. + +"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 he doing in his music?" + +The other shrugged his shoulders. + +"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 know--air, light, piano, and audience. He's got another book out, +I'm told--a profound treatise on somebody's something or other--musical, +of course." + +"And he used to write music; doesn't he do that any more?" + +"I believe so. I hear of it occasionally through musical friends of +mine. They even play it to me sometimes. But I can't stand for much of +it--his stuff--really, Billy." + +"'Stuff' indeed! And why not?" An odd hostility showed in Billy's eyes. + +Again Calderwell shrugged his shoulders. + +"Don't ask me. I don't know. But they're always dead slow, somber +things, with the wail of a lost spirit shrieking through them." + +"But I just love lost spirits that wail," avowed Billy, with more than a +shade of reproach in her voice. + +Calderwell stared; then he shook his head. + +"Not in mine, thank you;" he retorted whimsically. "I prefer my spirits +of a more sane and cheerful sort." + +The girl laughed, but almost instantly she fell silent. + +"I've been wondering," she began musingly, after a time, "why some one +of those three men does not--marry." + +"You wouldn't wonder--if you knew them better," declared Calderwell. +"Now think. Let's begin at the top of the Strata--by the way, Bertram'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 +William--you 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 heart--that is, what hadn't gone with the +baby a few years before. There was a boy, you know, that died." + +"Yes, I know," nodded Billy, quick tears in her eyes. "Aunt Hannah told +me." + +"Well, that counts out William, then," said Calderwell, with an air of +finality. + +"But how about Bertram? You haven't settled Bertram," laughed Billy, +archly. + +"Bertram!" Calderwell's eyes widened. "Billy, can you imagine Bertram's +making love in real earnest to a girl?" + +"Why, I--don't--know; maybe!" Billy tipped her head from side to side as +if she were viewing a picture set up for her inspection. + +"Well, I can't. In the first place, no girl would think he was serious; +or if by any chance she did, she'd soon discover that it was the turn +of her head or the tilt of her chin that he admired--TO PAINT. Now isn't +that so?" + +Billy laughed, but she did not answer. + +"It is, and you know it," declared Calderwell. "And that settles him. +Now you can see, perhaps, why none of these men--will marry." + +It was a long minute before Billy spoke. + +"Not a bit of it. I don't see it at all," she declared with roguish +merriment. "Moreover, I think that some day, some one of them--will +marry, Sir Doubtful!" + +Calderwell threw a quick glance into her eyes. Evidently something he +saw there sent a swift shadow to his own. He waited a moment, then asked +abruptly: + +"Billy, WON'T you marry me?" + +Billy frowned, though her eyes still laughed. + +"Hugh, I told you not to ask me that again," she demurred. + +"And I told you not to ask impossibilities of me," he retorted +imperturbably. "Billy, won't you, now--seriously?" + +"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 away, without any more +fuss." + +Billy sighed impatiently. + +"Hugh, won't you understand that I'm serious?" she cried; then she +turned suddenly, with a peculiar flash in her eyes. + +"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 something--a light +something--that brought the laugh to Billy's lips in spite of herself; +but he was still frowning when he left the house some minutes later, and +the shadow was not gone from his eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING + + +Billy's time was well occupied. There were so many, many things 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 she lent more than her name, giving freely of both time and +money. + +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 +pale-faced 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 walks and fretful pupils. + +"But how in the world do you discover them all--these forlorn specimens +of humanity?" queried Bertram one evening, when he had found Billy +entertaining a freckled-faced messenger-boy with a plate of ice cream +and a big square of cake. + +"Anywhere--everywhere," smiled Billy. + +"Well, this last candidate for your favor, who has just gone--who's he?" + +"I don't know, beyond that his name is 'Tom,' and that he likes ice +cream." + +"And you never saw him before?" + +"Never." + +"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 thought that stone doorstep of yours +was looking a little worn." + +"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 +to-night, and it occurred to me that he might like a taste; so I gave it +to him." + +Bertram raised his eyebrows quizzically. + +"Very kind, of course; but--why ice cream?" he questioned. "I thought it +was roast beef and boiled potatoes that was supposed to be handed out to +gaunt-eyed hunger." + +"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 and see them smile." + +For a minute Bertram was silent, then he asked abruptly: + +"Billy, why did you leave the Strata?" + +Billy was taken quite by surprise. A pink flush spread to her forehead, +and her tongue stumbled at first over her reply. + +"Why, I--it seemed--you--why, I left to go to Hampden Falls, to be sure. +Don't you remember?" she finished gaily. + +"Oh, yes, I remember THAT," conceded Bertram with disdainful emphasis. +"But why did you go to Hampden Falls?" + +"Why, it--it was the only place to go--that is, I WANTED to go there," +she corrected hastily. "Didn't Aunt Hannah tell you that I--I was +homesick to get back there?" + +"Oh, yes, Aunt Hannah SAID that," observed the man; "but wasn't that +homesickness a little--sudden?" + +Billy blushed pink again. + +"Why, maybe; but--well, homesickness is always more or less sudden; +isn't it?" she parried. + +Bertram laughed, but his eyes grew suddenly almost tender. + +"See here, Billy, you can't bluff worth a cent," he declared. "You are +much too refreshingly frank for that. Something was the trouble. Now +what was it? Won't you tell me, please?" + +Billy pouted. She hesitated and gazed anywhere but into the challenging +eyes before her. Then very suddenly she looked straight into them. + +"Very well, there WAS a reason for my leaving," she confessed a little +breathlessly. "I--didn't want to--bother you any more--all of you." + +"Bother us!" + +"No. I found out. You couldn't paint; Mr. Cyril couldn't play or write; +and--and everything was different because I was there. But I didn't +blame you--no, no!" she assured him hastily. "It was only that I--found +out." + +"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. + +"You may ask, but I shall not tell," she declared firmly. + +If Bertram had known Billy just a little better he would have let the +matter drop there; but he did not know Billy, so he asked: + +"Was it anything I did--or said?" + +The girl did not answer. + +"Billy, was it?" Bertram's voice showed terror now. + +Billy laughed unexpectedly. + +"Do you think I'm going to say 'no' to a series of questions, and then +give the whole thing away by my silence when you come to the right one?" +she demanded merrily. "No, sir!" + +"Well, anyhow, it wasn't I, then," sighed the man in relief; "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 concluded triumphantly. + +The girl eyed him for a moment in silence; then she shook her head. + +"I'm not going to be caught that way, either," she smiled. "You +know--just what you did in the first place about it: nothing." + +The man stirred restlessly and pondered. After a long pause he adopted +new tactics. With a searching study of her face to note the slightest +change, he enumerated: + +"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 a glance half-admiring, +half-chagrined, he fell back into his chair. + +"I'll give it up. You've won," he acknowledged. "But, Billy,"--his +manner changed suddenly--"I wonder if you know just what a hole you left +in the Strata when you went away." + +"But I couldn't have--in the whole Strata," objected Billy. "I occupied +only one stratum, and a stratum doesn't go up and down, you know, only +across; and mine was the second floor." + +Bertram gave a slow shake of his head. + +"I know; but yours was a freak formation," he maintained gravely. "It +DID go up and down. Honestly, Billy, we did care--lots. Will and I were +inconsolable, and even Cyril played dirges for a week." + +"Did he?" gurgled Billy, with sudden joyousness. "I'm so glad!" + +"Thank you," murmured Bertram, disapprovingly. "We hadn't considered it +a subject for exultation." + +"What? Oh, I didn't mean that! That is--" she stopped helplessly. + +"Oh, never mind about trying to explain," interposed Bertram. "I fancy +the remedy would be worse than the disease, in this case." + +"Nonsense! I only meant that I like to be missed--sometimes," 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." + +Billy laughed, but her eyes grew tender. + +"Did Uncle William do--that?" she asked. + +"He did--and he did more. Pete told me after a time that you 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 silk button that I recognized as coming from one of your +dresses." + +"Oh!" said Billy, softly. "Dear Uncle William--and how good he was to +me!" + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +CYRIL, THE ENIGMA + + +Perhaps it was because Billy saw so little of Cyril that it was Cyril +whom she wished particularly to see. William, Bertram, Calderwell--all +her other friends came frequently to the little house on the hill, Billy +told herself; only Cyril held aloof--and it was Cyril that she wanted. + +Billy said that it was his music; that she wanted to hear him play, 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 had shone in the past. + +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 then--very 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 painfully punctilious host. Never had +he been in the least approachable. + +"He treats me exactly as he treated poor little Spunk that first night," +Billy declared hotly to herself. + +Only once since she came had Billy heard Cyril play, and that 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 clean-cut +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 that had brought to +his face merely a bored smile of acknowledgment. + +Twice she had asked him to play for her; but each time he had begged to +be excused, courteously, but decidedly. + +"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 up-stairs and camp outside his +door, waiting patiently for such crumbs as may fall from his table." + +"Aren't your metaphors a little mixed?" questioned Cyril irritably. + +"Yes, sir," acknowledged Bertram with unruffled temper, "but I don't +mind if Billy doesn't. I only meant her to understand that she'd have to +do as she used to do--listen outside your door." + +Billy's cheeks reddened. + +"But that is what I sha'n't do," she retorted with spirit. "And, +moreover, I still have hopes that some day he'll play to me." + +"Maybe," conceded Bertram, doubtfully; "if the stool and the piano and +the pedals and the weather and his fingers and your ears and my watch +are all just right--then he'll play." + +"Nonsense!" scowled Cyril. "I'll play, of course, some day. But I'd +rather not today." And there the matter had ended. Since then Billy had +not asked him to play. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE OLD ROOM--AND BILLY + + +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 a-quiver. 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, whole-souled 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 promptly at the appointed hour they +came. + +"There, this is something like," exulted Bertram, when the ladies, +divested of their wraps, toasted their feet before the open fire in his +den. + +"Indeed it is, for now I've time to see everything--everything you've +done since I've been gone," cried Billy, gazing eagerly about her. + +"Hm-m; well, THAT wasn't what I meant," shrugged Bertram. + +"Of course not; but it's what I meant," retorted Billy. "And there 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 +time to get his eyes on some old pewter chain with a green stone in it." + +Billy laughed; but at the look of genuine distress that came 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 her feet, "take me up-stairs, please, and show them to me." + +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 before a +small cabinet in one of William's rooms. "Oh, oh, how pretty!" + +"Do you like them? I thought you would," triumphed William, quick joy +driving away the anxious fear in his eyes. "You see, I--I thought of +you when I got them--every 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, chain-linked disks, heavily chased, and set at regular +intervals with a strange, blue-green stone. + +Billy hung above it enraptured. + +"Oh, what a beauty! And this, I suppose, is Bertram's 'pewter chain'! +'Pewter,' indeed!" she scoffed. "Tell me, Uncle William, where did you +get it?" + +And uncle William told, happily, thirstily, drinking in Billy's evident +interest with delight. There were, too, a quaintly-set ring and a +cat's-eye 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 flame-colored 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, sardonyx, lapis lazuli, tourmaline, chrysolite, hyacinth, and +carbuncle. + +"They are lovely, perfectly lovely!" breathed Billy, when the last chain +had slipped through her fingers into William's hand. "I think they are +the very nicest things you ever collected." + +"So do I," agreed the man, emphatically. "And they are--different, too." + +"They are," said Billy, "very--different." But she was not looking at +the jewelry: her eyes were on a small shell hairpin and a brown silk +button half hidden behind a Lowestoft teapot. + +On the way down-stairs William stopped a moment at Billy's old rooms. + +"I wish you were here now," he said wistfully. "They're all ready for +you--these rooms." + +"Oh, but why don't you use them?--such pretty rooms!" cried Billy, +quickly. + +William gave a gesture of dissent. + +"We have no use for them; besides, they belong to you and Aunt Hannah. +You left your imprint long ago, my dear--we should not feel at home in +them." + +"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, dropping herself upon the piano stool and dashing into a +brilliant mazourka. + +Billy, like Cyril, had a way of working off her moods at her finger +tips; and to-day 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 down-stairs for a moment to +settle a vexed question concerning the table decorations. + +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 +old-time longing when she had come to that house a lonely, orphan girl, +in search of a home. On and on she played; then with a discordant +note, she suddenly rose from the piano. She was thinking of Kate, and +wondering if, had Kate not "managed" the little room would still be +home. + +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 gray-trousered legs disappearing +around the curve of the landing above. She thought nothing of it until +later when dinner was announced, and Cyril came down-stairs; 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; and it was a question whether Pete +or Dong Ling tried the harder to please. + +After dinner the family gathered in the drawing-room and chatted +pleasantly. Bertram displayed his prettiest and newest pictures, and +Billy played and sung--bright, tuneful little things that she knew Aunt +Hannah and Uncle William liked. If Cyril was pleased or displeased, he +did not show it--but 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 so--what was he doing there? + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +"MUSIC HATH CHARMS" + + +Two days after Thanksgiving Cyril called at Hillside. + +"I've come to hear you play," he announced abruptly. + +Billy's heart sung within her--but her temper rose. Did he think then +that he had but to beckon and she would come--and at this late day, she +asked herself. Aloud she said: + +"Play? But this is 'so sudden'! Besides, you have heard me." + +The man made a disdainful gesture. + +"Not that. I mean play--really play. Billy, why haven't you played to me +before?" + +Billy's chin rose perceptibly. + +"Why haven't you asked me?" she parried. + +To Billy's surprise the man answered this with calm directness. + +"Because Calderwell said that you were a dandy player, and I don't care +for dandy players." + +Billy laughed now. + +"And how do you know I'm not a dandy player, Sir Impertinent?" she +demanded. + +"Because I've heard you--when you weren't." + +"Thank you," murmured Billy. + +Cyril shrugged his shoulders. + +"Oh, you know very well what I mean," he defended. "I've heard you; +that's all." + +"When?" + +"That doesn't signify." + +Billy was silent for a moment, her eyes gravely studying his face. Then +she asked: + +"Were you long--on that stairway?" + +"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, down-stairs later, that you'd play it +again; but you didn't. I came to-day to hear it." + +Again Billy's heart sung within her--but again her temper rose, too. + +"I don't think I feel like it," she said sweetly, with a shake of her +head. "Not to-day." + +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 on--the one Billy had sat long ago on the stairs to +hear. + +"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. As was always the case, Cyril's +music had carried her quite out of herself. + +"Oh, thank you, thank you," she sighed. "You don't know--you can't know +how beautiful it all is--to me!" + +"Thank you. Then surely now you'll play to me," he returned. + +A look of real distress came to Billy's face. + +"But I can't--not what you heard the other day," she cried remorsefully. +"You see, I was--only improvising." + +Cyril turned quickly. + +"Only improvising! Billy, did you ever write it down--any of your +improvising?" + +An embarrassed red flew to Billy's face. + +"Not--not that amounted to--well, that is, some--a little," she +stammered. + +"Let me see it." + +"No, no, I couldn't--not YOU!" + +Again the rare smile lighted Cyril's eyes. + +"Billy, let me see that paper--please." + +Very slowly the girl turned toward the music cabinet. She hesitated, +glanced once more appealingly into Cyril's face, then with nervous 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 she came toward the piano. + +"Thank you," said Cyril as he reached far out for the music. The next +moment he seated himself again at the piano. + +Twice he played the little song through carefully, slowly. + +"Now, sing it," he directed. + +Falteringly, in a very faint voice, and with very many breaths taken +where they should not have been taken, Billy obeyed. + +"When we want to show off your song, Billy, we won't ask you to sing +it," observed the man, dryly, when she had finished. + +Billy laughed and dimpled into a blush. + +"When I want to show off my song I sha'n't be singing it to you for the +first time," she pouted. + +Cyril did not answer. He was playing over and over certain harmonies in +the music before him. + +"Hm-m; I see you've studied your counterpoint to some purpose," he +vouchsafed, finally; then: "Where did you get the words?" + +The girl hesitated. The flush had deepened on her face. + +"Well, I--" she stopped and gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm like the +small boy who made the toys. 'I got them all out of my own head, and +there's wood enough to make another.'" + +"Hm-m; indeed!" grunted the man. "Well, have you made any others?" + +"One--or two, maybe." + +"Let me see them, please." + +"I think--we've had enough--for today," she faltered. + +"I haven't. Besides, if I could have a couple more to go with this, it +would make a very pretty little group of songs." + +"'To go with this'! What do you mean?" + +"To the publishers, of course." + +"The PUBLISHERS!" + +"Certainly. Did you think you were going to keep these songs to +yourself?" + +"But they aren't worth it! They can't be--good 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 wood--like this--I advise you to make it +up right away." + +"But I have already!" cried the girl, excitedly. "There are lots of +little things that I've--that is, there are--some," she corrected +hastily, at the look that sprang into Cyril's eyes. + +"Oh, there are," laughed Cyril. "Well, we'll see what--" But he did +not see. He did not even finish his sentence; for Billy's maid, Rosa, +appeared just then with a card. + +"Show Mr. Calderwell in here," said Billy. Cyril said nothing--aloud; +which was well. His thoughts, just then, were better left unspoken. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS + + +Wonderful days came then to Billy. Four songs, it seemed, had 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 Ju-Ju +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 for parlors." + +Billy saw a good deal of Cyril now. Already she was at work rewriting +and polishing some of her half-completed melodies, and Cyril was helping +her, by his interest as well as by his criticism. He was, in fact, +at the house very frequently--too 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 different--there +was no disputing that. Calderwell said that he had come "out of his +shell"; and Bertram told Billy that she must have "found his note and +struck it good and hard." + +Billy was very happy. To the little music teacher, Marie Hawthorn, she +talked more freely, perhaps, than she did to any one else. + +"It's so wonderful, Marie--so 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 mine. Oh, Marie, is it not +wonderful?" + +"It is, dear--and it is not. Your songs could not help reaching +somebody's heart. There's nothing wonderful in that." + +"Sweet flatterer!" + +"But I mean it. They are beautiful; and so is--Mr. Henshaw's music." + +"Yes, it is," murmured Billy, abstractedly. + +There was a long pause, then Marie asked with shy hesitation: + +"Do you think, Miss Billy--that he would care? I listened yesterday when +he was playing to you. I was up here in your room, but when I heard the +music I--I went out, on the stairs and sat down. Was it very--bad of +me?" + +Billy laughed happily. + +"If it was, he can't say anything," she reassured her. "He's done the +same thing himself--and so have I." + +"HE has done it!" + +"Yes. It was at his home last Thanksgiving. It was then that he found +out--about my improvising." + +"Oh-h!" Marie's eyes were wistful. "And he cares so much now for your +music!" + +"Does he? Do you think he does?" demanded Billy. + +"I know he does--and for the one who makes it, too." + +"Nonsense!" laughed Billy, with pinker cheeks. "It's the music, not the +musician, that pleases him. Mr. Cyril doesn't like women." + +"He doesn't like women!" + +"No. But don't look so shocked, my dear. Every one who knows Mr. Cyril +knows that." + +"But I don't think--I believe it," demurred Marie, gazing straight into +Billy's eyes. "I'm sure I don't believe it." + +Under the little music teacher's steady gaze Billy flushed again. The +laugh she gave was an embarrassed one, but through it vibrated a pleased +ring. + +"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. + +Some time later Billy played, and it was then that Marie drew a long +sigh. + +"How beautiful it must be to play--like that," she breathed. + +"As if you, a music teacher, could not play!" laughed Billy. + +"Not like that, dear. You know it is not like that." + +Billy frowned. + +"But you are so accurate, Marie, and you can read at sight so rapidly!" + +"Oh, yes, like a little machine, I know!" scorned the usually 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 out--all out," sobbed Marie. "I +felt it coming." + +"Then perhaps you'll--you'll feel better now," stammered Billy. She +tried to say more--other 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 this--the +tragedy of it made Billy's heart ache. At Marie's next words, however, +Billy caught her breath in surprise. + +"But you see it wasn't music--it wasn't ever music that I wanted--to +do," she confessed. + +"It wasn't music! But what--I don't understand," murmured Billy. + +"No, I suppose not," sighed the other. "You play so beautifully +yourself." + +"But I thought you loved music." + +"I do. I love it dearly--in others. But I can't--I don't want to make it +myself." + +"But what do you want to do?" + +Marie laughed suddenly. + +"Do you know, my dear, I have half a mind to tell you what I do like to +do--just to make you stare." + +"Well?" Billy's eyes were wide with interest. + +"I like best of anything to--darn stockings and make puddings." + +"Marie!" + +"Rank heresy, isn't it?" smiled Marie, tearfully. "But I do, truly. 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-and-butter 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 them--right along--in other people's kitchens." + +"But why do you--play?" + +"I was brought up to it. You know we had money once, lots of it," 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 pudding-making, +and after my mud-pie 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. But--well, you know how it is, dear. I +teach, and teach well, perhaps, so far as the mechanical part goes; but +as for the rest--I 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 +made." + +"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. But--well, is +there anything I could do to help?" + +"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, followed by the amazed, +questioning, sorrowful eyes of Billy. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +"I'M GOING TO WIN" + + +Nearly all of Billy's friends knew that Bertram Henshaw was in love 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 occasions. But to Bertram himself it was very serious. + +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 plaything--no glittering bauble. It +was something big and serious and splendid--because Billy lived in it; +something that demanded all his powers to do, and be--because Billy was +watching; something that might be a Hades of torment or an Elysium of +bliss--according to whether Billy said "no" or "yes." + +Since Thanksgiving Bertram had known that it was love--this consuming +fire within him; and since Thanksgiving he had known, too, that it +was jealousy--this 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 +drawing-room 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 Cyril--every one knew that Cyril was a woman-hater. +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 great boon of her love. + +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 +words--mere 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 she fail to greet him with a cheery smile. + +Bertram concluded, indeed, after a time, that she was too companionable, +too cheery. He wished she would hesitate, stammer, blush; be a +little shy. He wished that she would display surprise, annoyance, +even--anything but that eternal air of comradeship. And then, one +afternoon in the early twilight of a January day, he freed his mind, +quite unexpectedly. + +"Billy, I wish you WOULDN'T be so--so friendly!" he exclaimed in a 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 on--on our friendship?" she stammered. "That +you fear that I will again--shadow 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. + +Bertram turned quickly. + +"Billy, that was the dearest and loveliest thing a girl ever did--only +I was too great a chump to appreciate it!" finished Bertram in a voice +that was not quite steady. + +"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 +unflattering objection to my--friendliness now?" + +"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 but--a wife! Billy, WON'T you marry me?" + +Again Billy laughed--laughed until she saw the pained anger leap to the +gray eyes before her; then she became grave at once. + +"Bertram, forgive me. I didn't think you could--you can't be--serious!" + +"But I am." + +Billy shook her head. + +"But you don't love me--not ME, Bertram. It's only the turn of my head +or--or the tilt of my chin that you love--to paint," she protested, +unconsciously echoing the words Calderwell had said to her weeks before. +"I'm only another 'Face of a Girl.'" + +"You're the only 'Face of a girl' to me now, Billy," declared the man, +with disarming tenderness. + +"No, no, not that," demurred Billy, in distress. "You don't mean it. You +only think you do. It couldn't be that. It can't be!" + +"But it is, dear. I think I have loved you ever since that night 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 +again--anywhere. Did you know that?" + +"No; but--I'm glad--so glad!" + +"And I'm glad, too. So you see, I must have loved you then, though +unconsciously, perhaps; and I love you now." + +"No, no, please don't say that. It can't be--it really can't be. I--I +don't love you--that way, Bertram." + +The man paled a little. + +"Billy--forgive me for asking, but it's so much to me--is it that there +is--some one else?" His voice shook. + +"No, no, indeed! There is no one." + +"It's not--Calderwell?" + +Billy's forehead grew pink. She laughed nervously. + +"No, no, never!" + +"But there are others, so many others!" + +"Nonsense, Bertram; there's no one--no one, I assure you!" + +"It's not William, of course, nor Cyril. Cyril hates women." + +A deeper flush came to Billy's face. Her chin rose a little; and an odd +defiance flashed from her eyes. But almost instantly it was gone, and a +slow smile had come to her lips. + +"Yes, I know. Every one--says that Cyril hates women," she observed +demurely. + +"Then, Billy, I sha'n't give up!" vowed Bertram, softly. "Sometime you +WILL love me!" + +"No, no, I couldn't. That is, I'm not going to--to marry," stammered +Billy. + +"Not going to marry!" + +"No. There's my music--you know how I love that, and how much it is to +me. I don't think there'll ever be a man--that I'll love better." + +Bertram lifted his head. Very slowly he rose till his splendid six feet +of clean-limbed 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 whimsicality that deceived even +Billy's ears. + +"And so it's music--a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean +white paper--that is my only rival," he cried. "Then I'll warn you, +Billy, I'll warn you. I'm going to win!" And with that he was gone. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +"I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY" + + +Billy did not know whether to be more amazed or amused at Bertram'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 +Bertram, so she calmed herself. + +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 who--but she was not going to marry, +anyway, remembered Billy, suddenly. And with that she began to cry. The +whole thing was so "tiresome," she declared, and so "absurd." + +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 +"nonsense." + +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 was a little hurt, it is true, when Marie only laughed and +answered: + +"But what if the man and the music both happen to be on the same side, +my dear; what then?" + +Marie's voice was wistful, in spite of the laugh--so wistful that it +reminded Billy of their conversation a few weeks before. + +"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 do! Don't tell--anybody!" + +She was so obviously distressed and frightened that Billy was puzzled. + +"There, there, 'twas only a jest, of course," she soothed her. "But, +really Marie, it is the dear, domestic little mouse like yourself that +ought to be somebody's wife--and that's the kind men are looking for, +too." + +Marie gave a slow shake of her head. + +"Not the kind of man that is somebody, that does something," she +objected; "and that's the only kind I could--love. HE wants a wife that +is beautiful and clever, that can do things like himself--LIKE HIMSELF!" +she iterated feverishly. + +Billy opened wide her eyes. + +"Why, Marie, one would think--you already knew--such a man," she cried. + +The little music teacher changed her position, and turned her eyes away. + +"I do, of course," she retorted in a merry voice, "lots of them. Don't +you? Come, we've discussed my matrimonial prospects quite long enough," +she went on lightly. "You know we started with yours. Suppose we go back +to those." + +"But I haven't any," demurred Billy, as she turned with a smile to greet +Aunt Hannah, who had just entered the room. "I'm not going to marry; am +I, Aunt Hannah?" + +"Er--what? Marry? My grief and conscience, what a question, Billy! +Of course you're going to marry--when the time comes!" exclaimed Aunt +Hannah. + +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 down-stairs. Billy was angry then, for after the maid was gone, +the merriment in Aunt Hannah's laugh only matched that in Marie's--and +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 convinced--so +far as his own case was concerned--and 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 pleased. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +MARIE FINDS A FRIEND + + +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 electric-light +post. He stopped abruptly. + +"I beg your pardon, but--why, Miss Hawthorn! It is Miss Hawthorn; isn't +it?" + +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 sure--haven't I met you at Miss Neilson's? Are you ill? Can't I do +something for you?" he begged. + +"Yes--no--that 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 do--Mr. Henshaw. I stopped to--rest." + +The man frowned. + +"But, surely--pardon 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 lesson--to give." + +"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 well--and just as atrociously. +Come, I insist upon taking you to Miss Neilson's." + +"No, no, thank you! I really mustn't. I--" She could say no more. 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 step--and 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 very white-faced girl fell over in a deathlike faint +in Cyril Henshaw's arms. + +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, +white-faced and wide-eyed, she resolutely pulled herself half upright, +and announced that she was all well and must go home--home to Marie was +a six-by-nine hall bed-room in a South End lodging house. + +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 stay--oh, lots of weeks." + +"I--stay here? Why, I can't--indeed, I can't," protested Marie. + +"But that isn't a bit of a nice way to accept an invitation," +disapproved Billy. "You should say, 'Thank you, I'd be delighted, I'm +sure, and I'll stay.'" + +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 +know--you must know that I can't do what you ask!" + +"I'm sure I don't see why not," argued Billy. "I'm merely giving you an +invitation and all you have to do is to accept it." + +"But the invitation is only the kind way your heart has of covering +another of your many charities," objected Marie; "besides, I have to +teach. I have my living to earn." + +"But you can't," demurred the other. "That's just the trouble. Don't +you see? The doctor said last night that you must not teach again this +winter." + +"Not teach--again--this winter! No, no, he could not be so cruel as +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 need is rest and care--and +that's exactly what I mean my guest shall have." + +Quick tears came to the sick girl's eyes. + +"There couldn't be a kinder heart than yours, Miss Billy," she murmured, +"but I couldn't--I really couldn't be a burden to you like this. I shall +go to some hospital." + +"But you aren't going to be a burden. You are going to be my friend and +companion." + +"A companion--and in bed like this?" + +"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 +their white-and-gold frames. At last she drew a deep sigh. + +"Yes, I'll stay," she breathed rapturously; "but--you must let me help." + +"Help? Help what?" + +"Help you; your letters, your music-copying, your accounts--anything, +everything. And if you don't let me help,"--the music teacher's +voice was very stern now--"if you don't let me help, I shall go home +just--as--soon--as--I--can--walk!" + +"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 +mischievously, as she left the room. + +Miss Hawthorn sat up the next day. The day following, in one of Billy's +"fluttery wrappers," as she called them, she walked all about the room. +Very soon she was able to go down-stairs, and in an astonishingly 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 rose-leaf 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 end. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE + + +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 displeased +her at the same time. + +She told herself that she knew very well, of course, what Marie meant: +it was Cyril; he was the man, and the music. But was Cyril 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 +mind--as 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 music--his 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 puzzling--this question, and she did not want to make a mistake. +Then, too, she did not wish to wound Cyril. If the dear man HAD come +out of his icy prison, and were reaching out timid hands to her for +her help, her interest, her love--the 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 Cyril--a little; and +that she probably could care for him a great deal. With this thought, +Billy blushed--already in her own mind she was as good as pledged to +Cyril. + +It was a great change for Billy--this 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 it--and in pursuance of this high ideal she followed Marie into the +kitchen the very next time the little music teacher went out to make one +of her dainty desserts that the family liked so well. + +"I'll just watch, if you don't mind," announced Billy. + +"Why, of course not," smiled Marie, "but I thought you didn't like to +make puddings." + +"I don't," owned Billy, cheerfully. + +"Then why this--watchfulness?" + +"Nothing, only I thought it might be just as well if I knew how to make +them. You know how Cyril--that is, ALL the Henshaw boys like every kind +you make." + +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 peculiar +enthusiasm--if they happened to interrupt a tete-a-tete with Cyril. + +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 him--and 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, +determinedly to cultivating Cyril. + +It was then that Billy made a strange and fearsome discovery: there were +some things about Cyril that she did--not--like! + +Billy was inexpressibly shocked. Heretofore he had been so high, so +irreproachable, so god-like!--but heretofore he had been a friend. +Now he was appearing in a new role--though unconsciously, she knew. +Heretofore she had looked at him with eyes that saw only the 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 music--she 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 then Billy stated the case to herself. + +"What passes for 'fascinating mystery' in him now will be plain +moroseness--sometime. He is 'taciturn' now; he'll be--cross, then. It is +'erratic' when he won't play the piano to-day; but a few years from now, +when he refuses some simple request of mine, it will be--stubbornness. +All this it will be--if I don't love him; and I don't. I know I don't. +Besides, we aren't really congenial. I like people around; he doesn't. +I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy days; I abhor them. +There is no doubt of it--life with him would not be one grand harmony; +it would be one jangling discord. I simply cannot marry him. I 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 old--and was a +profound secret, not only to the bridegroom elect, but to all the world +as well--save 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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY + + +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 himself at all, +but like some one else. + +Marie had disagreed with her, it is true, and had said stiffly: + +"I'm sure I thought he seemed very much like himself." But that had 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 tete-a-tete 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." + +"What was that?" + +"A very silly reference to that old notion that you and every one else +seem to have that I am a 'woman-hater.'" + +Billy's heart skipped a beat. One thought, pounded through her brain and +dinned itself into her ears--at all costs Cyril must not be allowed to +say that which she so feared; he must be saved from himself. + +"Woman-hater? Why, of course you're a woman-hater," she cried merrily. +"I'm sure, I--I think it's lovely to be a woman-hater." + +The man opened wide his eyes; then he frowned angrily. + +"Nonsense, Billy, I know better. Besides, I'm in earnest, and I'm not a +woman-hater." + +"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 undergone a complete change. He was almost shamefaced as he said: + +"Billy, I suppose I might as well own up. I don't think I did think much +of women until I saw--you." + +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 change--a great and wonderful +change that I hardly understand myself." + +"That's it! You don't understand it, I'm sure," interposed Billy, +feverishly. "It may not be such a change, after all. You may be +deceiving yourself," she finished hopefully. + +The man sighed. + +"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 should prefer another shade." + +He paused, and Billy cast distractedly about in her mind for a simple, +natural change of subject. She had just decided to ask him what he +thought of the condition of the Brittany peasants, when he questioned +abruptly, and in a voice that was not quite steady: + +"Billy, what should you say if I should tell you that the avowed +woman-hater had strayed so far from the prescribed path as to--to like +one woman well enough as to want to--marry her?" + +The word was like a match to the gunpowder of Billy's fears. Her +self-control was shattered instantly into bits. + +"Marry? No, no, you wouldn't--you couldn't really be thinking of that," +she babbled, growing red and white by turns. "Only think how a wife +would--would b-bother you!" + +"Bother me? When I loved her?" + +"But just think--remember! She'd want cushions and rugs and curtains, +and you don't like them; and she'd always be talking and laughing when +you wanted quiet; and she--she'd want to drag you out to plays and +parties and--and everywhere. Indeed, Cyril, I'm sure you'd never like a +wife--long!" Billy stopped only because she had no breath with which to +continue. + +Cyril laughed a little grimly. + +"You don't draw a very attractive picture, Billy. Still, I'm not afraid. +I don't think this particular--wife would do any of those things--to +trouble me." + +"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 carefully--very +carefully, before you decide." + +"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 sleigh-ride if she cared to go. + +"Of course she'll go," declared Cyril, promptly, answering for her. +"It is time I was off anyhow." To Billy, he said in a low voice: "You +haven't been very encouraging, little girl--in fact, you've been mighty +discouraging. But some day--some other day, I'll try to make clear to +you--many things." + +Billy greeted Bertram very cordially. It was such a relief--his cheery, +genial companionship! The air, too, was bracing, and all the world +lay under a snow-white blanket of sparkling purity. Everything was so +beautiful, so restful! + +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 good-byes were said; then wistfully Bertram hazarded: + +"Billy, don't you think, sometimes, that I'm gaining--just a little on +that rival of mine--that music?" + +Billy's face clouded. She shook her head gently. + +"Bertram, please don't--when we've had such a beautiful hour together," +she begged. "It troubles me. If you do, I can't go--again." + +"But you shall go again," cried Bertram, bravely smiling straight into +her eyes. "And there sha'n't ever anything in the world trouble you, +either--that I can help!" + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +WILLIAM IS WORRIED + + +Billy's sleigh-ride had been due to the kindness of a belated 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 dirt." + +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 seemingly exhaustless source of his wisdom. + +"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 quick-growing things, just for this season, until +we can get the more permanent things established." + +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 fingers--and for Bertram's. And if sometimes in the intimacy of +seed-sowing and plant-setting, 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 assistant--and that was all. + +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 sleigh-ride. 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 smile--and 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 meant--that he would try to convince her (as she had tried to +convince herself) that she would make a good wife for him. + +Billy was very sure that if Cyril could be prevented from speaking his +mind just now, his mind would change in time; hence her determination to +give his mind that opportunity. + +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 taken up her teaching again, much to Billy's distress. + +"But I can't stay here always, like this," Marie had protested. + +"But I should like to keep you!" Billy had responded, with no less +decision. + +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 little curio-shop. + +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, much-loved daughter, the joy of his life, the +solace of his declining years. + +To no one had William talked of this--and 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 thought he saw in Billy's changed attitude toward himself. + +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 silent--what 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 +worried--and to show it. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +CLASS DAY + + +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. Besides, I've got a scheme +I mean to carry out." + +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 little house into a fresh-air place +for Boston's slum children!" + +"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." + +"But you haven't much spare room; have you?" questioned Bertram. + +"No, unfortunately; so I shall have to take only two or three at a time, +and keep them maybe a week or ten days. It's just a sugar plum, Bertram. +Truly it is," she added whimsically, but with a tender light in her +eyes. + +"But who are these people?" Bertram's face had lost its look of shocked +surprise, and his voice expressed genuine interest. + +"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 fields, and a summer play or +two, perhaps. + +"Then there's a little couple that live in a third-story 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 week. She'll be here all the +time, and he'll come out at night, of course. + +"Another one is a widow with six children. The children are already +provided for by a fresh-air society, but the woman I'm going to take, +and--and give her a whole week of food that she didn't have to 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 +are--really, Bertram, there is no end to them." + +"I can well believe that," declared Bertram, with emphasis, "so far as +your generous heart is concerned." + +Billy colored and looked distressed. + +"But it isn't generosity or charity at all, Bertram," she protested. +"You are mistaken when you think it is--really! Why, I shall enjoy every +bit of it just as well as they do--and better, perhaps." + +"But you stay here--in the city--all summer for their sakes." + +"What if I do? Besides, this isn't the real city," argued Billy, "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 summer--not 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 much so with William's countenance. + +"William does NOT look well," she declared one day when she and Billy +were alone together. + +"Sick? Uncle William sick? Oh, I hope not!" cried the girl. + +"I don't know whether it's 'sick' or not," returned Mrs. Hartwell. "But +it's something. He's troubled. I'm going to speak to him. He's worried +over something; and he's grown terribly thin." + +"But he's always thin," reasoned Billy. + +"I know, but not like this--ever. You don't notice it, perhaps, or +realize it, seeing him every day as you do. But I know something +troubles him." + +"Oh, I hope not," murmured Billy, with anxious eyes. "We don't want +Uncle William troubled: we all love him too well." + +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 looking eagerly forward to the occasion. + +"You have seen the Stadium, of course," said Bertram to Billy, a few +days before the anticipated Friday. + +"Only from across the river." + +"Is that so? And you've never been here Class Day, either. Good! Then +you've got a treat in store. Just wait and see!" + +And Billy waited--and 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 +Class-Day week. By the time the day itself arrived Billy was almost as +excited as was young Hartwell himself. + +It rained Class-Day 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 +afterward how many times that day remarks like these were made to her: + +"You've been here Class Day before, of course. You've seen the +confetti-throwing!... No? Well, you just wait!" + +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 seats. + +"I wanted them high up, you see," explained Bertram, "because you can +get the effect so much better. There, here we are!" + +For the first time Billy turned and looked about her. She gave a low cry +of delight. + +"Oh, oh, how beautiful--how wonderfully beautiful!" + +"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 aglow with delight. + +First there was the great amphitheater itself. Only the wide curve of +the horseshoe was roped off for to-day's audience. Beyond lay the two +sides with their tier above tier of empty seats, almost dazzling in +the sunshine. Within the roped-off curve the scene was of kaleidoscopic +beauty. Charmingly gowned young women and carefully groomed young men +were everywhere, stirring, chatting, laughing. Gay-colored parasols and +flower-garden 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 curtain hung from heaven itself. + +At the first sound of the distant band that told of the graduates' +coming, Bertram said almost wistfully: + +"Class Day is the only time when I feel 'out of it.' You see I'm the +first male Henshaw for ages that hasn't been through Harvard; and +to-day, you know, is the time when the old grads come back and do stunts +like the kids--if 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 +enough--and you'll see them as you never saw them before." + +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 great bowl of the horseshoe curve. + +And how they yelled and cheered--those 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 throats--and did split their gloves--especially +when the black-gowned seniors swept into view. + +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 many-hued 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 wires, they made a fairy lace +work of marvelous beauty. + +"Oh, oh, oh!" cried Billy, her eyes misty with emotion. "I think I never +saw anything in my life so lovely! + +"I thought you'd like it," gloried Bertram. "You know I said to wait!" + +But even with this, Class Day for Billy was not finished. There 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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +SISTER KATE AGAIN + + +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 that +sorely needed her guiding hand. + +William's thin face, anxious looks, and nervous manner had troubled +her ever since she came. Then one day, very suddenly, had come +enlightenment: William was in love--and with Billy. + +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 longer, she declared. + +On Sunday afternoon Kate asked her eldest brother to take her driving. + +"Not a motor car; I want a horse--that will let me talk," she said. + +"Certainly," agreed William, with a smile; but Bertram, who chanced to +hear her, put in the sly comment: "As if ANY horse could prevent--that!" + +On the drive Kate began to talk at once, but she did not plunge 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: + +"William, why don't you take Billy home with you?" + +William stirred uneasily as he always did when anything annoyed him. + +"My dear Kate, there is nothing I should like better to do," he replied. + +"Then why don't you do it?" + +"I--hope to, sometime." + +"But why not now?" + +"I'm afraid Billy is not quite--ready." + +"Nonsense! A young girl like that does not know her own mind lots +of times. Just press the matter a little. Love will work +wonders--sometimes." + +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. + +"Then you have--seen it--too?" he stammered + +"'Seen it, too,'" laughed Kate, with her confident eyes on William's +flushed face, "I should say I had seen it! Any one could see it." + +William blushed again. Love to him had always been something sacred; +something that called for hushed voices and twilight. This 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 all. It's worrying you. I can see it +is." + +Again William stirred uneasily. + +"But, Kate, I can't do anything. I told you before; I don't believe +Billy is--ready." + +"Nonsense! Ask her." + +"But Kate, a girl won't marry against her will!" + +"I don't believe it is against her will." + +"Kate! Honestly?" + +"Honestly! I've watched her." + +"Then I WILL speak," cried the man, his face alight, "if--if you think +anything I can say would--help. There is nothing--nothing in all this +world that I so desire, Kate, as to have that little girl back home. And +of course that would do it. She'd live there, you know." + +"Why, of--course," 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 have a chance to grow, she +told herself. + +Mrs. Hartwell's next move was to speak to Billy, and she was careful to +do this at once, so that she might pave the way for William. + +She began her conversation with an ingratiating smile and the words: + +"Well, Billy, I've been doing a little detective work on my own +account." + +"Detective work?" + +"Yes; about William. You know I told you the other day how troubled and +anxious he looked to me. Well, I've found out what's the matter." + +"What is it?" + +"Yourself." + +"Myself! Why, Mrs. Hartwell, what can you mean?" + +The elder lady smiled significantly. + +"Oh, it's merely another case, my dear, of 'faint heart never won fair +lady.' I've been helping on the faint heart; that's all." + +"But I don't understand." + +"No? I can't believe you quite mean that, my dear. Surely you must know +how earnestly my brother William is longing for you to go back and live +with him." + +Like William, Billy flushed scarlet. + +"Mrs. Hartwell, certainly no one could know better than YOURSELF why +that is quite impossible," she frowned. + +The other colored confusedly. + +"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." + +To Mrs. Hartwell's blank amazement, Billy laughed outright. + +"'William's suit'!" she quoted merrily. "Why, Mrs. Hartwell, there isn't +any 'suit' to it. Uncle William doesn't want me to marry him!" + +"Indeed he does." + +Billy stopped laughing, and sat suddenly erect. + +"MRS. HARTWELL!" + +"Billy, is it possible that you did not know this?" + +"Indeed I don't know it, and--excuse me, but I don't think you do, +either." + +"But I do. I've talked with him, and he's very much in earnest," 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 him--I know +you do!" + +"Why, of course I care for him--but not--that way." + +"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 BE--if you only will--in 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 not supposed she could make so +touching an appeal. + +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. "I--I am taken quite by surprise. I shall have to think it +out--alone." + +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 to you for love and comfort +and rest." + +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 now--what must she do; what could she do? She +loved no one--of 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" William--if she married him. + +"If she married him." The words startled her. "If she married him."... +Well, what of it? She would go to live at the Strata, of course; and +there would be Cyril and Bertram. It might be awkward, and yet--she did +not believe Cyril was in love with anything but his music; and as to +Bertram--it 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 companion--a 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 sure--much 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 Uncle--that 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 it hard for him, she +promised herself. She would be William's wife. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE + + +In spite of his sister's confident assurance that the time was ripe 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 carrying out of his promise to +speak to his namesake. + +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 +Bertram--what then? Might not his own untimely haste in the matter +forever put an end to the chance of her caring for him? + +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 Bertram and all +the Strata glad by loving him in return. + +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 vine-shaded +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 you. I--I have wanted to say it for +some time." + +"Why, of--of course," stammered the girl, falling back in her seat. And +again William noticed that odd fluttering of the slim little hands. + +For a time no one spoke, then William began softly, his eyes on the +distant sky-line still faintly aglow with the sunset's reflection. + +"Billy, I want to tell you a story. Long years ago there was a man 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 baby--went away, after a time, and carried with him all +the plans--and 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 great bare rooms that echoed sighs and sobs. + +"Perhaps it was this--the bareness of the rooms--that 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 business--hours which once had been all too +short to devote to the young wife and the baby boy. + +"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 then--but perhaps you are tired of the story, +Billy." William turned with questioning eyes. + +"No, oh, no," faltered Billy. "It is beautiful, but so--sad!" + +"But the saddest part is done--I hope," said William, softly. "Let me +tell you. A wonderful thing happened then. Suddenly, right out of a dull +gray sky of hopelessness, dropped a little brown-eyed 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 brown-eyed girl; and +he hoped that he could keep her. But just as he was beginning to bask +in this new light--it went out. As suddenly as they had come, the little +brown-eyed girl and the gray cat went away. Why, the man did not know. +He knew only that the ache had come back, doubly intense, and that 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 sighs and sobs of the +past." + +"And I will finish it," choked Billy, holding out both her hands. "It +sha'n't ache--they sha'n't echo!" + +The man leaned forward eagerly, unbelievingly, and caught the hands in +his own. + +"Billy, do you mean it? Then you will--come?" + +"Yes, yes! I didn't know--I didn't think. I never supposed it was like +that! Of course I'll come!" And in a moment she was sobbing in his arms. + +"Billy!" breathed William rapturously, as he touched his lips to 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 came--Billy herself had +begun to speak. + +"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 self-controlled. But you know I am young, and +you'll have to be patient." + +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 could not have heard aright. + +"Er--you said--" he questioned faintly. + +"I say when I'm your wife I hope I'll learn to be more self-controlled," +laughed Billy, nervously. "You see I just thought I ought to remind you +that I am young, and that you'll have to be patient." + +William stammered something--a 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 away--if 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 do? + +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 ask you to marry me." + +Very valiantly then William summoned his wits and tried to act his part. +He told himself, too, that it would not be a hard one; that he 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 was--as if +he, at his age, were a fit match for a girl of twenty-one! + +And then he looked at Billy. The girl was plainly nervous. There was a +deep flush on her cheeks and a brilliant sparkle in her eyes. She +was talking rapidly--almost incoherently at times--and 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 "yes" to the man she loves. + +William went home that night in a daze. To himself he said that he had +gone out in search of a daughter, and had come back with a wife. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +"WILLIAM'S BROTHER" + + +It was decided that for the present, the engagement should not 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 plans were a little more definite. + +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 have been more or less pleased +if she had finished it. + +Cyril received the information moodily, and lapsed at once into a fit +of abstraction from which he roused himself hardly enough to offer +perfunctory congratulations and best wishes. + +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 and +taciturn aloofness. + +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 little--very little, that night; but in the morning he went +straight to Billy. + +Billy was shocked. She had never seen the smiling, self-reliant, +debonair Bertram like this. + +"Billy, is this true?" he demanded. The dull misery in his voice told +Billy that he knew the answer before he asked the question. + +"Yes, yes; but, Bertram, please--please don't take it like this!" she +implored. + +"How would you have me take it?" + +"Why, just--just sensibly. You know I told you that--that the other +never could be--never." + +"I know YOU said so; but I--believed otherwise." + +"But I told you--I did not love you--that way." + +Bertram winced. He rose to his feet abruptly. + +"I know you did, Billy. I'm a fool, of course, to think that I could +ever--change it. I shouldn't have come here, either, this morning. But +I--had to. Good-by!" His face, as he held out his hand, was tragic with +renunciation. + +"Why, Bertram, you aren't going--now--like this!" cried the girl. +"You've just come!" + +The man turned almost impatiently. + +"And do you think I can stay--like this? Billy, won't you say good-by?" +he asked in a softer voice, again with outstretched hand. + +Billy shook her head. She ignored the hand, and resolutely backed away. + +"No, not like that. You are angry with me," she grieved. "Besides, you +make it sound as if--if you were going away." + +"I am going away." + +"Bertram!" There was terror as well as dismay in Billy's voice. + +Again the man turned sharply. + +"Billy, why are you making this thing so hard for me?" he asked 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 before--for 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? I should feel lost +without--you!" Billy was almost crying now. + +Bertram looked up quickly. An odd change had come to his face. For a +moment he gazed silently into Billy's agitated countenance; then he +asked in a low voice: + +"Billy, did you think that after you and William were married I should +still continue to live at--the Strata?" + +"Why, of course you will!" cried the girl, indignantly. "Why, Bertram, +you'll be my brother then--my real brother; and one of the very chiefest +things I'm anticipating when I go there to live is the good times you +and I will have together when I'm William's wife!" + +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 you--love William?" + +Billy flushed with anger. + +"You have no right to ask such a question. Of course I love William." + +"Of course you do--we all love William. William is, in fact, a most +lovable man. But William's wife should, perhaps, love him a little +differently from--all of us." + +"And she will, certainly," retorted the girl, with a quick lifting of +her chin. "Bertram, I don't think you have any right to--to make such +insinuations." + +"And I won't make them any more," replied Bertram, gravely. "I just +wanted you to make sure that you--knew." + +"I shall make sure, and I shall know," said Billy, firmly--so firmly +that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince herself as well +as others. + +There was a long pause, then the man asked diffidently: + +"And so you are very sure that--that you want me to--stay?" + +"Indeed I do! Besides,--don't you remember?--there are all my people 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 +course, if you don't want to--" + +"But I do want to," cried Bertram, heartily, a gleam of the old +cheerfulness springing to his eyes. "I'm dying to!" + +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 +light-heartedness. He was once more "only Bertram." She hesitated, then +said with stern decision: + +"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 that--that _I_ shall change, +then--then you must go. But if you will stay as WILLIAM'S BROTHER +then--I'll be more than glad to have you." + +"I'll stay--as William's brother," agreed Bertram; and Billy did not +notice the quick indrawing of his breath nor the close shutting of his +lips after the words were spoken. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO + + +By the middle of July the routine of Billy's days was well established. +Marie had been for a week a welcome addition to the family, and she +was proving to be of invaluable aid in entertaining Billy's guests. The +overworked widow and the little lodging-house 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 last remonstrated with him. + +"But I didn't mean them to take ALL your time," she protested. + +"Don't they like it? Do they see too much of me?" he demanded. + +"No, no! They love it, of course. You must know that. Nobody else 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 here all summer, of course. You always go away some, you know, +for a vacation." + +"But I'm having a vacation here, doing this," laughed Bertram. "I'm sure +I'm getting sea air down to the beaches and mountain air out to the +Blue Hills. And as for excitement--if 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 Roller-coaster--just show it to me; that's +all!" + +Billy laughed. + +"They told me about it--Marie 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. + +Bertram shrugged his shoulders. + +"If it's Roller-coasters and Chute-the-chutes 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 to-morrow, please, when I asked them what +we should do next. What surprises me is that they like such things--such +hair-raising things. When I first saw them, black-gowned and +stiff-backed, 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 now--really, Billy, why do you suppose they have taken +such a fancy to these kiddish stunts--those two staid women?" + +Billy laughed, but her eyes softened. + +"I don't know unless it's because all their lives they've been 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 Tommy--he'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, fervently, just as Marie, the widow, and the "spinster lady" +entered the room. + +Billy told herself these days that she was very happy--very 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 to Billy--yet. + +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. + +"To William?--you are engaged to William?" + +"Why--yes." + +"But I thought--surely it was--don't you mean--Mr. Cyril?" + +"No, I don't," laughed Billy. "And certainly I ought to know." + +"And you don't--care for him?" + +"I hope not--if I'm going to marry William." + +So light was Billy's voice and manner that Marie dared one more +question. + +"And he--doesn't care--for you?" + +"I hope not--if William is going to marry me," laughed Billy again. + +"Oh-h!" breathed Marie, with an odd intonation of relief. "Then I'm +glad--so glad! And I hope you'll be very, very happy, dear." + +Billy looked into Marie's glowing face and was pleased: there seemed to +be so few, so very few faces into which she had looked and found entire +approbation of her engagement to William. + +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 had. + +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 +him--yet 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 forehead--for which consideration Billy was grateful: +Billy decided that she would not like to be kissed on the lips. + +After some days of puzzling over the matter Billy concluded that it was +self-consciousness that caused all the trouble. With William she was +self-conscious. 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 present--just while she was "getting used to things"--she would try +to forget, sometimes, that she was going to be William's wife. + +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 he overstepped +the role which he had promised to play--William's brother. + +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 +beginning to taste the sweets of fame. + +Thus, by all these interests, did Billy try "to get used to things." + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER + + +Of all Billy's guests, Marie was very plainly the happiest. She was 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 her like this before. + +"Verily, Marie," she teased one day, "have you found an exhaustless +supply of stockings to mend, or a never-done pudding to make--which?" + +"Why? What do you mean?" + +"Oh, nothing. I was only wondering just what had brought that new light +to your eyes." + +"Is there a new light?" + +"There certainly is." + +"It must be because I'm so happy, then," sighed Marie; "because you're +so good to me." + +"Is that all?" + +"Isn't that enough?" Marie's tone was evasive. + +"No." Billy shook her head mischievously. "Marie, what is it?" + +"It's nothing--really, it's nothing," protested Marie, hurrying out 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 opportunity. She was alone again with Marie. + +"Marie, who is he?" she asked abruptly. + +"He? Who?" + +"The man who is to wear the stockings and eat the pudding." + +The little music teacher flushed very red, but she managed to display +something that might pass for surprise. + +"BILLY!" + +"Come, dear," coaxed Billy, winningly. "Tell me about it. I'm so +interested!" + +"But there isn't anything to tell--really there isn't." + +"Who is he?" + +"He isn't anybody--that is, he doesn't know he's anybody," amended +Marie. + +Billy laughed softly. + +"Oh, doesn't he! Hasn't he ever shown--that he cared?" + +"No; that is--perhaps he has, only I thought then--that it was--another +girl." + +"Another girl! So there's another girl in the case?" + +"Yes. I mean, no," corrected Marie, suddenly beginning to realize what +she was saying. "Really, it wasn't anything--it isn't anything!" she +protested. + +"Hm-m," murmured Billy, archly. "Oh, I'm getting on some! He did show, +once, that he cared; but you thought it was another girl, and you +coldly looked the other way. Now, there ISN'T any other girl, you find, +and--Marie, tell me the rest!" + +Marie shook her head emphatically, and pulled herself gently away 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 away. + +During the days that followed, Billy speculated not a little on Marie's +half-told 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 self-conscious with William; she could not forget +that she was one day to be his wife. She could not bring back the dear +old freedom of comradeship with him. + +Billy was alarmed now. She had begun to ask herself searching questions. +What should she do if never, never should she get used to the 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 tried--as she had now--and 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 idea. + +It was a half-sheet 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 Henshaw." + +For a moment Billy stared at the name perplexedly--then in a flash came +the remembrance of Marie's words; and Billy breathed: "Henshaw!--the +man--BERTRAM!" + +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 cared--HER 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 was--Marie's. + +Billy was frightened then, so fierce was this strange new something that +rose within her--this overpowering something that seemed to blot out all +the world, and leave only--Bertram. 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!... And she had not known what it all +meant--poor blind child that she was! + +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 he--Billy 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. +It was all so clear--so woefully clear! + +With an aching heart Billy asked herself what now was to be done. +For herself, turn whichever way she could, she could see nothing 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 +William--Billy 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 must not be told. Her +promise to William must be kept. + + + +CHAPTER XL + +WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT + + +Before September passed all Billy's friends said that her summer's +self-appointed 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 shadow-like +now. Her eyes had found again the wistful appeal of her girlhood, only +now they carried something that was almost fear, as well. The rose-flush +had gone from her cheeks, and pathetic little hollows had appeared, +making the round young chin below look almost pointed. Certainly Billy +did seem to be ill. + +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. + +William sighed. + +"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!" + +"I know she has; but she isn't now." + +"What's the trouble?" + +"That's what we don't know." + +"You've had the doctor?" + +"Of course; two or three of them--though much against Billy's will. +But--they didn't help us." + +"What did they say?" + +"They could find nothing except perhaps a little temporary stomach +trouble, or something of that kind, which they all agreed was no just +cause for her present condition." + +"But what did they say it was?" + +"Why, they said it seemed like nervousness, or as if something was +troubling her. They asked if she weren't under some sort of strain." + +"Well, is she? Does anything trouble her?" + +"Not that I know of. Anyhow, if there is anything, none of us can find +out what it is." + +Kate frowned. She threw a quick look into her brother's face. + +"William," she began hesitatingly, "forgive me, but--Billy is quite +happy in--her engagement, I suppose." + +The man flushed painfully, and sighed. + +"I've thought of that, of course. In fact, it was the first thing I +did think of. I even began to watch her rather closely, and once +I--questioned her a little." + +"What did she say?" + +"She seemed so frightened and distressed that I didn't say much myself. +I couldn't. I had but just begun when her eyes filled with tears, 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 question her, that I had to +stop." + +"What has she done this summer? Where has she been?" + +"She hasn't been anywhere. Didn't I write you? She's kept open house for +a lot of her less fortunate friends--a sort of vacation home, you know; +and--and I must say she's given them a world of happiness, too." + +"But wasn't that hard for her?" + +"It didn't seem to be. She appeared to enjoy it immensely, 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, +except Miss Hawthorn." + +"But Billy must have had the care and the excitement." + +"Perhaps--to 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 done the whole thing +together." + +"But what HAS Billy done to make her like this?" + +"I don't know. She's done lots for me, in all sorts of ways--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 afraid--to do something for me. Kate, I'm +really worried. What do you suppose is the matter?" + +Kate shook her head. The puzzled frown had come back to her face. + +"I can't imagine," she began slowly. "Of course, when I told her you +loved her and--" + +"When you told her wha-at?" exploded the usually low-voiced William, +with sudden sharpness. + +"When I told her that you loved her, William. You see, I--" + +William sprang to his feet. + +"Told her that I loved her!" he cried, aghast. "Good heavens, Kate, do +you mean to say that YOU told her THAT." + +"Why, y-yes." + +"And may I ask where you got your information?" + +"Why, William Henshaw, what a question! I got it from yourself, of +course," defended Kate. + +"From ME!" William's face expressed sheer amazement. + +"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 +place." + +William lifted his head. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, nothing, only that I--I told her a little of how--how 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 she went away in +that wily, impulsive fashion." + +William bit his lip, but he did not speak. Kate was plunging on +feverishly, and in the face of the greater revelation he let the lesser +one drop. + +"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 will. NOW don't you +recollect it?" + +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: + +"Kate, will you kindly tell me just what you DID do?" + +"Why, I didn't do so very much. I just tried to help, that's all. 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." + +"'So very much'!" groaned William, starting to his feet. "Great Scott!" + +"Why, William, what do you mean? Where are you going?" + +"I'm going--to--Billy," retorted William with slow distinctness. +"And I'm going to try to get there--before--you--CAN!" And with this +extraordinary shot--for William--he left the house. + +William went to Billy as fast as steam could carry him. He found her in +her little drawing-room 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 deserted. + +"To talk to--me?" murmured Billy, as she wonderingly came to his side, a +startled questioning in her wide dark eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT + + +William did not re-enter the house after his talk with Billy on the +veranda. + +"I will go down the steps and around by the rose garden to the street, +dear," he said. "I'd rather not go in now. Just make my adieus, please, +and say that I couldn't stay any longer. And now--good-by." His eyes as +they looked down at her, were moist and very tender. His lips trembled a +little, but they smiled, and there was a look of new-born peace and joy +on his face. + +Billy, too, was smiling, though wistfully. The frightened questioning +had gone from her eyes, leaving only infinite tenderness. + +"You are sure it--it is all right--now?" she stammered. + +"Very sure, little girl; and it's the first time it has been right for +weeks. Billy, that was very dear of you, and I love you for it; but +think how near--how perilously near you came to lifelong misery!" + +"But I thought--you wanted me--so much," she smiled shyly. + +"And I did, and I do--for a daughter. You don't doubt that NOW?" + +"No, oh, no," laughed Billy, softly; and to her face came a happy look +of relief as she finished: "And I'll be so glad to be--the daughter!" + +For some minutes after the man had gone, Billy stood by the steps where +he had left her. She was still there when Bertram came to the veranda +door and spoke to her. + +"Billy, I saw William go by the window, so I knew you were alone. May I +speak to you?" + +The girl turned with a start. + +"Why, of course! What is it?--but I thought you were playing. Where is +Marie?" + +"The game is finished; besides--Billy, why are you always asking +me lately where Marie is, as if I were her keeper, or she mine?" he +demanded, with a touch of nervous irritation. + +"Why, nothing, Bertram," smiled Billy, a little wearily; "only that you +were playing together a few minutes ago, and I wondered where she had +gone." + +"'A few minutes ago'!" echoed Bertram with sudden bitterness. "Evidently +the time passed swiftly with you, Billy. William was out here MORE than +an hour." + +"Why--Bertram!" + +"Yes, I know. I've no business to say that, of course," sighed the man; +"but, Billy, that's why I came out--because I must speak to you this +once. Won't you come and sit down, please?" he implored despairingly. + +"Why, Bertram," murmured Billy again, faintly, as she turned toward the +vine-shaded corner and sat down. Her eyes were startled. A swift color +had come to her cheeks. + +"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 me--that you let me speak now. Billy, I can't stand it. +I've tried, but it's no use. I've got to go away, and it's right that I +should. I'm not the only one that thinks so, either. Marie does, too." + +"MARIE!" + +"Yes. I talked it all over with her. She's known for a long time how +it's been with me; how I cared--for you." + +"Marie! You've told Marie that?" gasped Billy. + +"Yes. Surely you don't mind Marie's knowing," went on Bertram, +dejectedly. "And she's been so good to me, and tried to--help me." + +Bertram was not looking at Billy now. If he had been he would have seen +the incredulous joy come into her face. His eyes were moodily fixed on +the floor. + +"And so, Billy, I've come to tell you. I'm going away," he continued, +after a moment. "I've got to go. I thought once, when I first 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 that--that +it would be I to whom you'd turn--some day. And so I stayed. But I +stayed honorably, Billy! YOU know that! You know that I haven't once +forgotten--not once, that I was only William's brother. I promised you +I'd be that--and I have been; haven't I?" + +Billy nodded silently. Her face was turned away. + +"But, Billy, I can't do it any longer. I've got to ask for my promise +back, and then, of course, I can't stay." + +"But you--you don't have to go--away," murmured the girl, faintly. + +Bertram sprang to his feet. His face was white. + +"Billy," he cried, standing tall and straight before her, "Billy, I +love every touch of your hand, every glance of your eye, every word that +falls from your lips. Do you think I can stay--now? I want my promise +back! When I'm no longer William's brother--then I'll go!" + +"But you don't have to have it back--that is, you don't have to have it +at all," stammered Billy, flushing adorably. She, too, was on her feet +now. + +"Billy, what do you mean?" + +"Don't you see? I--I 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. + +"But--William?" he questioned, unbelievingly. + +"It WAS a mistake, just as you thought. We know now--both of us. We +don't either of us care for the other--that way. And--Bertram, I think +it HAS been you--all the time, only I didn't know!" + +"Billy, Billy!" choked Bertram in a voice shaken with emotion. He opened +his arms then, wide--and Billy walked straight into them. + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +THE "END OF THE STORY" + + +It was two days after Billy's new happiness had come to her that Cyril +came home. He went very soon to see Billy. + +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. + +"Billy, do you think any girl would marry--me?" he demanded. + +"Why, Cyril!" + +"There, now, please don't begin that," he begged fretfully. "I realize, +of course, that I'm a very unlikely subject for matrimony. You made me +understand that clearly enough last winter!" + +"Last--winter?" + +Cyril raised his eyebrows. + +"Oh, I came to you for a little encouragement, and to make a +confession," he said. "I made the confession--but I didn't get the +encouragement." + +Billy changed color. She thought she knew what he meant, but at the +same time she couldn't understand why he should wish to refer to that +conversation now. + +"A--confession?" she repeated, hesitatingly. + +"Yes. I told you that I'd begun to doubt my being such a woman-hater, +after all. I intimated that YOU'D begun the softening process, and that +then I'd found a certain other young woman who had--well, who had kept +up the good work." + +"Oh!" cried Billy suddenly, with a peculiar intonation. "Oh-h!" Then she +laughed softly. + +"Well, that was the confession," resumed Cyril. "Then I came out +flat-footed and said that I wanted to marry her--but there is where I +didn't get the encouragement!" + +"Indeed! I'm afraid I wasn't very considerate," stammered Billy. + +"No, you weren't," agreed Cyril, moodily. "I didn't know but now--" his +voice softened a little--"with this new happiness of yours and Bertram's +that--you might find a little encouragement for me." + +"And I will," cried Billy, promptly. "Tell me about her." + +"I did--last winter," reproached the man, "and you were sure I was +deceiving myself. You drew the gloomiest sort of picture of the misery I +would take with a wife." + +"I did?" Billy was laughing very merrily now. + +"Yes. You said she'd always be talking and laughing when I wanted to be +quiet, and that she'd want to drag me out to parties and plays when +I wanted to stay at home; and--oh, lots of things. I tried to make +it clear to you that--that 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. "I--I +didn't know--WHAT--I was--talking 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 of course a wonderful +musician. YOU couldn't choose any one else!" + +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 wrong--I DON'T want that kind of +wife. I don't want a brilliant one, and--now, Billy, this sounds like +horrible heresy, I know, but it's true--I don't care whether she can +play, or not; but I should prefer that she shouldn't play--much!" + +"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 AM domestic!" he +finished a little defiantly. + +"I should say you were," laughed Billy. "And have you found her?--this +little woman who is to do nothing but sit and sew in the circle of the +shaded lamp?" + +"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 that--that I +hope she likes that sort of thing." + +"And--does she?" + +"Yes; that is, I think she does," smiled Cyril. "Anyhow, she told me +once that--that the things she liked best to do in all the world were to +mend stockings and to make puddings." + +Billy sprang to her feet with a little cry. Now, indeed, had Cyril kept +his promise and made "many things clear" to her. + +"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 the summerhouse sat Marie--sewing. + +"Go, Cyril; she's waiting for you," smiled Billy, mistily. "The light's +only the sun, to be sure, and maybe there isn't a whole basket of sewing +there. But--SHE'S there!" + +"You've--guessed, then!" breathed Cyril. + +"I've not guessed--I know. And--it's all right." + +"You mean--?" Only Cyril's pleading eyes finished the question. + +"Yes, I'm sure she does," nodded Billy. And then she added under her +breath as the man passed swiftly down the steps: "'Marie Henshaw' +indeed! So 'twas Cyril all the time--and never Bertram--who was the +inspiration of that bit of paper give-away!" + +When she turned back into the room she came face to face with Bertram. + +"I spoke, dear, but you didn't hear," he said, as he hurried forward +with outstretched hands. + +"Bertram," greeted Billy, with surprising irrelevance, "'and they all +lived happily ever after'--they DID! Isn't that always the ending to the +story--a love story?" + +"Of course," said Bertram with emphasis;--"OUR love story!" + +"And theirs," supplemented Billy, softly; but Bertram did not hear that. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy, by Eleanor H. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.12.12.00*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com + + + + + +MISS BILLY + +by Eleanor H. Porter + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + +I. BILLY WRITES A LETTER + +II. "THE STRATA" + +III. THE STRATA--WHEN THE LETTER COMES + +IV. BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM + +V. GETTING READY FOR BILLY + +VI. THE COMING OF BILLY + +VII. INTRODUCING SPUNK + +VIII. THE ROOM--AND BILLY + +IX. A FAMILY CONCLAVE + +X. AUNT HANNAH + +XI. BERTRAM HAS VISITORS + +XII. CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN + +XIII. A SURPRISE ALL AROUND + +XIV. AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND + +XV. WHAT BERTRAM CALLS "THE LIMIT" + +XVI. KATE TAKES A HAND + +XVII. A PINK-RIBBON TRAIL + +XVIII. BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER + +XIX. SEEING BILLY OFF + +XX. BILLY, THE MYTH + +XXI. BILLY, THE REALITY + +XXII. HUGH CALDERWELL + +XXIII. BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING + +XXIV. CYRIL, THE ENIGMA + +XXV. THE OLD ROOM--AND BILLY + +XXVI. "MUSIC HATH CHARMS" + +XXVII. MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS + +XXVIII. "I'M GOING TO WIN" + +XXIX. "I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY" + +XXX. MARIE FINDS A FRIEND + +XXXI. THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE + +XXXII. CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY + +XXXIII. WILLIAM IS WORRIED + +XXXIV. CLASS DAY + +XXXV. SISTER KATE AGAIN + +XXXVI. WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE + +XXXVII. "WILLIAM'S BROTHER" + +XXXVIII. THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO + +XXXIX. A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER + +XL. WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT + +XLI. THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT + +XLII. THE "END OF THE STORY" + + + + +MISS BILLY + + + +CHAPTER I + +BILLY WRITES A LETTER + + + +Billy Neilson was eighteen years old when the aunt, who had brought +her up from babyhood, died. Miss Benton's death left Billy quite +alone in the world--alone, 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 +loneliness two days after the funeral. + +"You see, Mr. Harding, there isn't any one--not any one who-- +cares," she choked. + +"Tut, tut, my child, it's not so bad as that, surely," remonstrated +the old man, gently. "Why, I--I care." + +Billy smiled through tear-wet eyes. + +"But I can't LIVE with you," she said. + +"I'm not so sure of that, either," retorted the man. "I'm thinking +that Letty and Ann would LIKE to have you with us." + +The girl laughed now outright. She was thinking of Miss Letty, who +had "nerves," and of Miss Ann, who had a "heart"; and she pictured +her own young, breezy, healthy self attempting to conform to the +hushed and shaded thing that life was, within Lawyer Harding's +home. + +"Thank you, but I'm sure they wouldn't," she objected. "You don't +know how noisy I am." + +The lawyer stirred restlessly and pondered. + +"But, surely, my dear, isn't there some relative, somewhere?" he +demanded. "How about your mother's people?" + +Billy shook her head. Her eyes filled again with tears. + +There was only Aunt Ella, ever, that I knew anything about. She +and mother were the only children there were, and mother died when +I was a year old, you know." + +"But your father's people?" + +"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 +now--no one." + +"And you know nothing of your father's people?" + +"Nothing; that is--almost nothing." + +"Then there is some one?" + +Billy smiled. A deeper pink showed in her cheeks. + +"Why, there's one--a man but he isn't really father's people, +anyway. But I--I have been tempted to write to him." + +"Who is he?" + +"The one I'm named for. He was father's boyhood chum. You see +that's 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 broken-hearted 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 so--'Billy' I am to-day." + +"Do you know this man?" + +"No. You see father died, and mother and Aunt Ella knew him only +very slightly. Mother knew his wife, though, Aunt Ella said, and +SHE was lovely." + +"Hm--; well, we might look them up, perhaps. You know his +address?" + +"Oh, yes unless he's moved. We've always kept that. Aunt Ella +used to say sometimes that she was going to write to him some day +about me, you know." + +"What's his name?" + +"William Henshaw. He lives in Boston." + +Lawyer Harding snatched off his glasses, and leaned forward in his +chair. + +"William Henshaw! Not the Beacon Street Henshaws!" he cried. + +It was Billy's turn to be excited. She, too, leaned forward +eagerly. + +"Oh, do you know him? That's lovely! And his address IS Beacon +Street! I know because I saw it only to-day. You see, I HAVE been +tempted to write him." + +"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 forgotten +their names." + +"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. I--I'll telephone up +to the house." And he rose stiffly and went into the inner office. + +Some minutes passed before he came back, red of face, and plainly +distressed. + +"My dear child, I--I'm sorry, but--but I'll have to take back that +invitation," he blurted out miserably. "My sisters are--are not +well this afternoon. Ann has been having a turn with her heart-- +you know Ann's heart is--is bad; and Letty--Letty is always nervous +at such times--very nervous. Er--I'm so sorry! But you'll--excuse +it?" + +"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. Harding!" + +"Eh? Well--er, I think your plan about the Henshaws is very good," +he interposed hurriedly. "I'll speak to Ned--I'll speak to Ned," +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 write--but not so soon as Billy wrote; for even as he spoke, +Billy, in her lonely little room at the other end of the town, was +laying bare all her homesickness in four long pages to "Dear Uncle +William." + + + +CHAPTER II + +"THE STRATA" + + +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 twenty-four years of life it had been like this--"It's +only Bertram," had been at once the curse and the salvation of his +existence. + +In this particular case, however, Bertram's vagary of fancy had +some excuse. The Beacon Street house, the home of the three +brothers, was a "Strata." + +"You see, it's like this," Bertram would explain airily to some 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 ashes--only +fancy the condition of mind of those future archaeologists when +they struck our house after their months of digging! + +"What would they find? Listen. First: stratum number one, the top +floor; that's Cyril's, you know. They'd note the bare floors, the +sparse but heavy furniture, the piano, the violin, the flute, the +book-lined walls, and the absence of every sort of curtain, +cushion, or knickknack. 'Here lived a plain man,' they'd say; 'a +scholar, a musician, stern, unloved and unloving; a monk.' + +"And what next? They'd strike William's stratum next, the third +floor. Imagine it! You know William as a State Street broker, +well-off, a widower, tall, angular, slow of speech, a little bald, +very 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 things--and 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 +that--and he's forty this year. Miniatures, carved ivories, bugs, +moths, porcelains, jades, stamps, postcards, spoons, baggage tags, +theatre programs, playing-cards--there isn't anything that he +doesn't collect. He's on teapots, now. Imagine it--William and +teapots! And they're all there in his rooms--one glorious mass of +confusion. Just fancy those archaeologists trying to make their +'monk' live there! + +"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 like--well, I like lots of things. My rooms don't belong to +that monk, not a little bit. And so you see," Bertram would finish +merrily, "that'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 their objection to the +term. + +From babyhood the Henshaw boys had lived in the handsome, roomy +house, facing the Public Garden. It had been their father's +boyhood home, 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 had known almost nothing of a woman's touch +or care. + +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 specialty--his "Face of a Girl." +From canvas, plaque, and panel they looked out--those girlish +faces: winsome, wilful, pert, demure, merry, sad, beautiful, even +almost ugly--they 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 while. + +Below Bertram's cheery second floor were the dim old library and +drawing-rooms, silent, stately, and almost never used; and below +them were the dining-room and the kitchen. Here ruled Dong Ling, +the Chinese cook, and Pete. + +Pete was--indeed, 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 looked--like nothing so much as +what he was: a fussy, faithful old man, who expected to die in the +service he had entered fifty years before as a lad. + +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 +brothers, Bertram, William, and Cyril. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE STRATA--WHEN THE LETTER COMES + + +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 could not be so monstrous. + +"Well, old man, what's up?" It was Bertram's amazed voice from the +hall doorway; and indeed, William Henshaw, red-faced and plainly +trembling, seated on the lowest step of the stairway, and gazing, +wild-eyed, at the letter in his hand, was somewhat of an amazing +sight. "What IS up?" + +"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, I tell you!" + +"What is serious?" demanded Cyril, coming down the stairway. +"Can't it wait? Pete has already sounded the gong twice for +dinner." + +William made a despairing gesture. + +"Well, come," he groaned. "I'll tell you at the table. . . . It +seems I've got a namesake," he resumed in a shaking voice, a few +moments later; "Walter Neilson's child." + +"And who's Walter Neilson?" asked Bertram. + +"A boyhood friend. You wouldn't remember him. This letter is from +his child." + +"Well, let's hear it. Go ahead. I fancy we can stand the--LETTER; +eh, Cyril?" + +Cyril frowned. Cyril did not know, perhaps, how often he frowned +at Bertram. + +The eldest brother wet his lips. His hand shook as he picked up +the letter. + +"It--it'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 was my father, you know. My Aunt Ella has just died. + +"Would you mind very much if I came to live with you? That is, +between times--I'm going to college, of course, and after that I'm +going to be--well, I haven't decided that part yet. I think I'll +consult you. You may have some preference, you know. You can be +thinking it up until I come. + +"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 Ann--they're Mr. Harding's sisters, and +Mr. Harding is our lawyer, and he will write to you. Well, where +was I? Oh, I know--on Miss Letty's nerves. And, say, do you know, +that is where I do get--on 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 window-shade 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 with out me. + +"Please let me hear from you very soon. I don't mind if you +telegraph; and just 'come' would be all you'd have to say. Then +I'd get ready right away and let you know what train to meet me on. +And, oh, say--if you'll wear a pink in your buttonhole I will, too. +Then we'll know each other. My address is just 'Hampden Falls.' + +"Your awfully homesick namesake, + +"BILLY HENSHAW NEILSON" + + +For one long minute there was a blank silence about the Henshaw +dinner-table; then the eldest brother, looking anxiously from one +man to the other, stammered: + +"W-well?" + +"Great Scott!" breathed Bertram. + +Cyril said nothing, but his lips were white with their tense +pressure against each other. + +There was another pause, and again William broke it anxiously. + +"Boys, this isn't helping me out any! What's to be done?" + +"'Done'!" flamed Cyril. "Surely, you aren't thinking for a moment +of LETTING that child come here, William!" + +Bertram chuckled. + +"He WOULD liven things up, Cyril; wouldn't he? Such nice smooth +floors you've got up-stairs to trundle little tin carts across!" + +"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." + +Cyril pushed back his chair from the table. + +"'We'll have to keep him out'! William, you can't be in earnest! +You aren't going to let that boy come here," he cried. + +"But what can I do?" faltered the man. + +"Do? Say 'no,' of course. As if we wanted a boy to bring up!" + +"But I must do something. I--I'm all he's got. He says so." + +"Good heavens! Well, send him to boarding-school, then, or to 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. How old is he, +anyhow?" + +William frowned, and mused aloud slowly. + +"Why, I don't know. He must be--er--why, boys, he's no child," +broke 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 must be somewhere around eighteen years old!" + +"And only think how Cyril WAS worrying about those tin carts," +laughed Bertram. "Never mind--eight or eighteen--let him come. If +he's that age, he won't bother much." + +"And this--er--'Spunk'; do you take him, too? But probably he +doesn't bother, either," murmured Cyril, with smooth sarcasm. + +"Gorry! I forgot Spunk," acknowledged Bertram. "Say, what in time +is Spunk, do you suppose?" + +"Dog, maybe," suggested William. + +"Well, whatever he is, you will kindly keep Spunk down-stairs," +said Cyril with decision. "The boy, I suppose I shall have to +endure; but the dog--!" + +"Hm-m; 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. He--er--sounds something like a +parrot to me." + +Cyril rose to his feet abruptly. He had eaten almost no dinner. + +"Very well," he said coldly. "But please remember that I hold you +responsible, Bertram. Whether it's a dog, or a parrot, or--or a +monkey, I shall expect you to keep Spunk down-stairs. This +adopting into 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 left the dining-room. + +For a moment there was silence. The brows of the younger man were +uplifted quizzically. + +"I'm afraid Cyril is bothered," murmured William then, in a +troubled voice. + +Bertram's face changed. Stern lines came to his boyish mouth. + +"He is always bothered--with anything, lately." + +The elder man sighed. + +"I know, but with his talent--" + +"'Talent'! Great Scott!" cut in Bertram. "Half the world has +talent of one sort or another; but that doesn't necessarily make +them unable to live with any one else! Really, Will, it's becoming +serious--about Cyril. He's getting to be, for all the world, like +those finicky old maids that that young namesake of yours wrote +about. He'll make us whisper and walk on tiptoe yet!" + +The other smiled. + +"Don't you worry. You aren't in any danger of being kept too +quiet, young man." + +"No thanks to Cyril, then," retorted Bertram. "Anyhow, that's one +reason why I was for taking the kid--to mellow up Cyril. He needs +it all right." + +"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 don't know how to get up a letter of that sort!" + +"Why not take him at his word and telegraph? I fancy you won't +have to say 'come' but once before you see him. He doesn't seem to +be a bashful youth." + +"Hm-m; I might do that," acquiesced William, slowly. "But wasn't +there somebody--a lawyer--going 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 Hampden Falls. We'll soon see, at all events. Maybe I'll +hear to-morrow." + +"I shouldn't wonder," nodded Bertram, as he rose from the table. +"Anyhow, I wouldn't do anything till I did hear." + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BILLY SENDS A TELEGRAM + + +James Harding's letter very promptly followed Billy's, though it +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 +twenty-one 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 letter--but 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 Henshaw at once +set about making a place in the home. + +First he telegraphed the single word "Come" to Billy. + +"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 from me." + +It was just here, however, that William Henshaw met with a +surprise, for within twenty-four hours came Billy's answer, and by +telegraph. + + +"I'm coming to-morrow. Train due at five P. M. + +"BILLY." + + +William Henshaw did not know that in Hampden Falls Billy's trunk +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 +impatiently awaited the time to start. + +To the Beacon Street house, Billy's cheerful telegram brought the +direst consternation. Even Kate was hastily summoned to the family +conclave that immediately resulted. + +"There's nothing--simply nothing that I can do," she declared +irritably, when she had heard the story. "Surely, you don't expect +ME to take the boy!" + +"No, no, of course not," sighed William. "But you see, I supposed +I'd have time to--to get used to things, and to make arrangements; +and this is so--so sudden! I hadn't even answered Harding's letter +until to-day; and he hasn't got that--much less replied to it." + +"But what could you expect after sending that idiotic telegram?" +demanded the lady. "'Come,' indeed!" + +"But that's what Billy told me to do." + +"What if it was? Just because a foolish eighteen-year-old boy +tells you to do something, must you, a supposedly sensible forty- +year-old man obey?" + +"I think it tickled Will's romantic streak," laughed Bertram. "It +seemed so sort of alluring to send that one word 'Come' out into +space, and watch what happened." + +"Well, he's found out, certainly," observed Cyril, with grim +satisfaction. + +"Oh, no; it hasn't happened yet," corrected Bertram, cheerfully. +"It's just going to happen. William's got to put on the pink +first, you know. That's the talisman." + +William reddened. + +"Bertram, don't be foolish. I sha'n't wear any pink. You must +know that." + +"How'll you find him, then?" + +"Why, he'll have one on; that's enough," settled William. + +"Hm-m; maybe. Then he'll have Spunk, too," murmured Bertram, +mischievously. + +"Spunk!" cried Kate. + +"Yes. He wrote that he hoped we wouldn't mind his bringing Spunk +with him." + +"Who's Spunk? + +"We don't know." Bertram's lips twitched. + +"You don't know! What do you mean?" + +"Well, Will thinks it's a dog, and I believe Cyril is anticipating +a monkey. I myself am backing it for a parrot." + +"Boys, what have you done!" groaned Kate, falling back in her +chair. "What have you done!" + +To William her words were like an electric shock stirring him to +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 rest--and do it well, too. He's the son of +my boyhood's dearest friend, and he shall be made welcome. Now to +business! Bertram, you said you'd take him in. Did you mean it?" + +Bertram sobered instantly, and came erect in his chair. William +did not often speak like this; but when he did-- + +"Yes, Will. He shall have the little bedroom at the end of the +hall. I never used the room much, anyhow, and what few duds I have +there shall be cleared out to-morrow." + +"Good! Now there are some other little details to arrange, then +I'll go down-stairs and tell Pete and Dong Ling. And, please to +understand, we're going to make this lad welcome--welcome, I say!" + +"Yes, sir," said Bertram. Neither Kate nor Cyril spoke. + + + +CHAPTER V + +GETTING READY FOR BILLY + + +The Henshaw household was early astir on the day of Billy's +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 up-stairs and presented a weird +Chinese banner which he said he was "velly much glad" to give. As +to Pete--Pete was in his element. Pete loved boys. Had he not +served them nearly all his life? Incidentally it may be mentioned +that he did not care for girls. + +Only Cyril held himself aloof. But that he was not oblivious of +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 +William: + +"That's Chopin's Funeral March. Evidently Cy thinks this is the +death knell to all his hopes of future peace and happiness." + +"Dear me! I wish Cyril would take some interest," grieved William. + +"Oh, he takes interest all right," laughed Bertram, meaningly. "He +takes INTEREST!" + +"I know, but--Bertram," broke off the elder man, anxiously, from +his perch on the stepladder, "would you put the rifle over this +window, or the fishing-rod?" + +"Why, I don't think it makes much difference, so long as they're +somewhere," answered Bertram. "And there are these Indian clubs +and the swords to be disposed of, you know." + +"Yes; and it's going to look fine; don't you think?" exulted +William. "And you know for the wall-space between the windows I'm +going to bring down that case of mine, of spiders." + +Bertram raised his hands in mock surprise. + +"Here--down here! You're going to trust any of those precious +treasures of yours down here!" + +William frowned. + +"Nonsense, Bertram, don't be silly! They'll be safe enough. +Besides, they're old, anyhow. I was on spiders years ago--when I +was Billy's age, in fact. I thought he'd like them here. You know +boys always like such things." + +"Oh, 'twasn't Billy I was worrying about," retorted Bertram. "It +was you--and the spiders." + +"Not much you worry about me--or anything else," replied William, +good-humoredly. "There! how does that look?" he finished, as he +carefully picked his way down the stepladder. + +"Fine!--er--only rather warlike, maybe, with the guns and that +riotous confusion of knives and scimiters over the chiffonier. But +then, maybe you're intending Billy for a soldier; eh?" + +"Do you know? I AM getting interested in that boy," beamed +William, with some excitement. "What kind of things do you suppose +he does like?" + +"There's no telling. Maybe he's a sissy chap, and will howl at +your guns and spiders. Perhaps he'll prefer autumn leaves and +worsted mottoes for decoration." + +"Not much he will," contested the other. "No son of Walter +Neilson's could be a sissy. Neilson was the best half-back in ten +years at Harvard, and he was always in for everything going that +was worth while. 'Autumn leaves and worsted mottoes' indeed! +Bah!" + +"All right; but there's still a dark horse in the case, you know. +We mustn't forget--Spunk." + +The elder man stirred uneasily. + +"Bert, what do you suppose that creature is? You don't think Cyril +can be right, and that it's a--monkey?" + +"'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 +his age." + +"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, "Music in +Russia." + +At ten minutes before five William, anxious-eyed and nervous, found +himself at the North Station. Then, and not till then, did he draw +a long breath of relief. + +"There! I think everything's ready," he sighed to himself. "At +last!" + +He wore no pink in his buttonhole. There was no need that he +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 him--to 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 lived--a lad not far from the +age of this Billy who was coming to-day, reflected the man. And +the warmth in his heart deepened and glowed the more as he stood +waiting at the gate for Billy to arrive. + +The train from Hampden Falls was late. Not until quite fifteen +minutes past five did it roll into the train-shed. Then at once +its long line of passengers began to sweep toward the iron gate. + +William was just inside the gate now, anxiously scanning every face +and form that passed. There were many half-grown lads, but there +was not one with a pink in his buttonhole until very near the end. +Then William saw him--a pleasant-faced, blue-eyed boy in a neat +gray suit. With a low cry William started forward; but he saw at +once that the gray-clad youth was unmistakably one of a merry +family party. He looked to be anything but a lad that was lonely +and forlorn. + +William hesitated and fell back. This debonair, self-reliant +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 blue-eyed youth and tapped him +on the shoulder. + +"Er--aren't you Billy?" he stammered. + +The lad stopped and stared. He shook his head slowly. + +"No, sir," he said. + +"But you must be! Are you sure?" + +The boy laughed this time. + +"Sorry, sir, but my name is 'Frank'; isn't it, mother?" he added +merrily, turning to the lady at his side, who was regarding William +very unfavorably through a pair of gold-bowed spectacles. + +William did not wait for more. With a stammered apology and a +flustered lifting of his hat he backed away. + +But where was Billy? + +William looked about him in helpless dismay. All around was a +wide, empty space. The long aisle to the Hampden Falls train was +deserted save for the baggage-men loading the trunks and bags on to +their trucks. Nowhere was there any one who seemed forlorn or ill +at ease except a pretty girl with a suit-case, 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 carried a peculiarly wistful appeal. + +"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 pink--though in a different place. He wondered +sympathetically if she, too, had come to meet some one who had not +appeared. He noticed that she walked away from the gate once or +twice, toward the waiting-room, 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 waiting-room. 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 waiting-room to look for him. And with this +thought William hurried away at once, leaving the girl still +standing by the gate alone. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE COMING OF BILLY + + +After another long search William came back to the train-shed, +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 self-control. He hesitated a moment, then +went straight toward her. + +"I beg your pardon," he said kindly, lifting his hat, "but I notice +that you have been waiting here some time. Perhaps there is +something I can do for you." + +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. But--I think there's some mistake. +Could you telephone for me?" Billy Neilson was country-bred, 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. + +William Henshaw smiled. + +"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. I'll wait here." + +"Oh, then Billy did come!" cried the man in glad surprise, his face +alight. "But where is he? Do YOU know Billy?" + +"I should say I did," laughed Billy, with the lightness of a long- +lost child who has found a friend. "Why, I am Billy, myself!" + +To William Henshaw the world swam dizzily, and went suddenly mad. +The floor rose, and the roof fell, while cars and people performed +impossible acrobatic feats above, below, and around him. Then, +from afar off, he heard his own voice stammer: + +"You--are--B-Billy!" + +"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 perhaps he made a +mistake in the time. Maybe you know him, anyhow." + +With one mighty effort William Henshaw pulled himself sharply +together. He even laughed, and tossed his head in a valiant +imitation of Billy herself; but his voice shook. + +"Know him!--I should say I did!" he cried. "Why, I am William +Henshaw, myself." + +"You!--Uncle William! Why, where's your pink?" + +The man's face was already so red it could not get any redder--but +it tried to do so. + +"Why, er--I--it--er--if you'll just come into the waiting-room a +minute, my dear," he stuttered miserably, "I--I'll explain--about +that. I shall have to leave you--for a minute," he plunged on +frenziedly, as he led the way to a seat; "A--matter of business +that I must attend to. I'll be--right back. Wait here, please!" +And he almost pushed the girl into a seat and hurried away. + +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 pretty curve of her cheek, and of her slender +throat when she lifted her head. + +And that was Billy--a GIRL! + +People near him at that moment saw a flushed-faced, 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. + +"Bertram!" he called shakily. + +"Hullo, Will; that you? What's the matter? You're late! Didn't +he come?" + +"Come!" groaned William. "Good Lord! Bertram--Billy's a GIRL!" + +"A wh-what?" + +"A girl." + +"A GIRL!" + +"Yes, yes! Don't stand there repeating what I say in that idiotic +fashion, Bertram. Do something--do something!" + +"'Do something'!" gasped Bertram. "Great Scott, Will! If you want +me to do something, don't knock me silly with a blow like that. +Now what did you say?" + +"I said that Billy is--a--girl. Can't you get that?" demanded +William, despairingly. + +"Well, by Jove!" breathed Bertram. + +"Come, come, think! What shall we do?" + +"Why, bring her home, of course." + +"Home--home!" chattered William. "Do you think we five men can +bring up a distractingly pretty eighteen-year-old girl with curly +cheeks and pink hair?" + +"With wha-at?" + +"No, no. I mean curly hair and pink cheeks. Bertram, do be +sensible," begged the man. "This is serious!" + +"Serious! I should say it was! Only fancy what Cy will say! A +girl! Holy smoke! Tote her along--I want to see her!" + +"But I say we can't keep her there with us, Bertram. Don't you see +we can't?" + +"Then take her to Kate's, or to--to 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 me--HOME! I'm her +Uncle William." + +"Lucky Uncle William!" + +"Be still, Bertram!" + +"Well, doesn't she know your--mistake?--that you thought she was a +boy?" + +"Heaven forbid!--I hope not," cried the man, fervently. "I 'most +let it out once, but I think she didn't notice it. You see, we--we +were both surprised." + +"Well, I should say!" + +"And, Bertram, I can't turn her out--I 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!" + +"Bertram, can't you be serious and help me out?" + +"But what CAN we do?" + +"I don't know. We'll have to think; but for now, get Kate. +Telephone her. Tell her to come right straight over, and that +she's got to stay all night." + +"All night!" + +"Of course! Billy's got to have a chaperon; hasn't she? Now +hurry. We shall be up right away." + +"Kate's got company." + +"Never mind--leave 'em. Tell her she's got to leave 'em. And tell +Cyril, of course, what to expect. And, look a-here, you two +behave, now. None of your nonsense! Now mind. I'm not going to +have this child tormented." + +"I won't bat an eyelid--on my word, I won't," chuckled Bertram. +"But, oh, I say,--Will!" + +"Yes." + +"What's Spunk?" + +"Eh?--oh--Great Scott! I forgot Spunk. I don't know. She's got a +basket. He's in that, I suppose. Anyhow, he can't be any more of +a bombshell than his mistress was. Now be quick, and none of your +fooling, Bertram. Tell them all--Pete and Dong Ling. Don't +forget. I wouldn't have 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 hook. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +INTRODUCING SPUNK + + +In the soft April twilight Cyril was playing a dreamy waltz when +Bertram knocked, and pushed open the door. + +"Say, old chap, you'll have to quit your mooning this time and sit +up and take notice." + +"What do you mean?" Cyril stopped playing and turned abruptly. + +"I mean that Will has gone crazy, and I think the rest of us are +going to follow suit." + +Cyril shrugged his shoulders and whirled about on the piano stool. +In a moment his fingers had slid once more into the dreamy waltz. + +"When you get ready to talk sense, I'll listen," he said coldly. + +"Oh, very well; if you really want it broken gently, it's this: +Will has met Billy, and Billy is a girl. They're due here now +'most any time." + +The music stopped with a crash. + +"A--GIRL!" + +"Yes, a girl. Oh, I've been all through that, and I know how you +feel. But as near as I can make out, it's really so. I've had +instructions 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 down-stairs so that we may be decently +ready for--whatever comes." And he turned about and stalked out of +the room, followed by Cyril, who was too stunned to open his lips. + +Kate came first. She was not stunned. She had a great deal to +say. + +"Really, this is a little the most absurd thing I ever heard of," +she fumed. "What in the world does your brother mean?" + +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 namesake, is lonesome, and is in need of a home." + +"But she can't live--here!" + +"Will says she shall." + +"But that is utter nonsense," cut in Cyril. + +"For once I agree with you, Cyril," laughed Bertram; "but William +doesn't." + +"But how can she do it?" demanded Kate. + +"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 +alike--so 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, +eighteen-year-old 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 good-natured 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 sane man should +have named a girl 'Billy'?" + +"For William, your brother, evidently," retorted Bertram, dryly. +"Anyhow, he did it, and of course our mistake was a very natural +one. The dickens of it is now that we've got to keep it from her, +so Will says; and how--hush! 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 from Mrs. Hartwell and +held out a cordial hand to each of the men in turn. + +"Oh, you don't know how lovely this is--to 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 good--all of you; and I don't believe +there's one of you that's got nerves or a heart," she laughed. + +Bertram rallied his wits to respond to the challenge. + +"No heart, Miss Billy? Now isn't that just a bit hard on us--right +at first?" + +"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 +kind--the 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 himself wearily on to the sofa +near his sister. Billy still continued to talk. + +"Now when Spunk and I get to training--oh, and you haven't seen +Spunk!" she interrupted herself suddenly. "Why, the introductions +aren't half over. Where is he, Uncle William--the basket?" + +"I--I put it in--in the hall," mumbled William, starting to rise. + +"No, no; I'll get him," cried Billy, hurrying from the room. 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 and placed on the floor a very small gray +kitten with a very large pink bow. + +"There, ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Spunk." + +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 almost unbelievable fluffiness, and spit +wrathfully. + +"And so that is Spunk!" choked Bertram. + +"Yes," said Billy. "This is Spunk." + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE ROOM--AND BILLY + + +For the first fifteen minutes after Billy's arrival conversation +was 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 self-control 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 plunged through the hall and +down the stairway. + +With a motion to Bertram to lead the way with Billy, William +frenziedly gripped his sister's arm, and hissed in her ear for all +the world like a villain in melodrama: + +"Listen! You'll sleep in Bert's room to-night, and Bert will come +up-stairs with me. Get Billy to bed as soon as you can after +dinner, and then come back down to us. We've got to plan what's +got to be done. Sh-h!" And he dragged his sister downstairs. + +In the dining-room there was a slight commotion. Billy stood at +her chair with Spunk in her arms. Before her Pete was standing, +dumbly staring into her eyes. At last he stammered: + +"Ma'am?" + +"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 stared as had +Pete; but Mrs. Hartwell spoke. + +"You don't mean--that that cat--has a chair--at the table!" she +gasped. + +"Yes; and isn't it cute of him?" beamed Billy, entirely 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 +high-chair, which for long years had stood unused in the corner. +"I'll just squeeze it right in here," she finished gleefully, making +room for the chair at her side. + +When Bertram, a little red of face, but very grave, entered, the +dining-room 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 as +the flaring pink bow would let him. + +"Isn't he a dear?" Billy was saying. But Bertram noticed that +there was no reply to this question. + +It was a peculiar dinner-party. Only Billy did not feel the +strain. Even Spunk was not entirely happy--his 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, indeed--but Bertram +always talked; and very soon he and Billy had things pretty much to +themselves--that 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 what +training would do, and, of course, Spunk WAS little, now. + +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 the man's aversion that Billy turned in +amazement. + +"Why, Mr. Cyril, don't you see? Spunk is trying to say 'How do you +do'?" + +"Very likely; but I'm not fond of cats, Miss Billy." + +"You're not fond--of--cats!" repeated the girl, as if she could not +have heard aright. "Why not?" + +Cyril changed his position. + +"Why, just because I--I'm not," he retorted lamely. "Isn't there +anything that--that you don't like?" + +Billy considered. + +"Why, not that I know of," she began, after a moment, "only rainy +days and--tripe. And Spunk isn't a bit like those." + +Bertram chuckled, and even Cyril smiled--though unwillingly. + +"All the same," he reiterated, "I don't like cats." + +"Oh, I'm so sorry," lamented Billy; and at the grieved hurt in her +dark eyes Bertram came promptly to the rescue. + +"Never mind, Miss Billy. Cyril is only ONE of us, and there is all +the rest of the Strata besides." + +"The--what?" + +"The Strata. You don't know, of course, but listen, and I'll tell +you." And he launched gaily forth into his favorite story. + +Billy was duly amused and interested. She laughed and clapped her +hands, and when the story was done she clapped them again. + +"Oh, what a funny house! And how perfectly lovely that I'm going +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 mention a thing about you!" + +Cyril said a sharp word under his breath. Bertram choked over a +cough. Kate threw into William's eyes a look that was at once +angry, accusing, and despairing. Then William spoke. + +"Er--she--it isn't anywhere, my dear," he stammered; "or rather, it +isn't here. Kate lives up on the Avenue, you see, and is only here +for--for a day or two--just now." + +"Oh!" murmured Billy. And there was not one in the room at that +moment who did not bless Spunk--for Spunk suddenly leaped to the +table before him; and in the ensuing confusion his mistress quite +forgot to question further concerning Mrs. Hartwell's stratum. + +Dinner over, the three men, with their sister and Billy, trailed +up-stairs to the drawing-rooms. 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 socketed chairs. + +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 summoned. Then she turned and followed Mrs. +Hartwell up-stairs. + +It seemed to the three men in the drawing-room 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 hurried up, two steps at a time. + +"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 choking little cries. + +"I don't know," quavered Kate. "I haven't the least idea. She was +all right till she got up-stairs here, and I turned on the lights. +Then she gave one shriek and--you know all I know." + +William advanced hurriedly. + +"Billy, what is the matter? What are you crying for?" he demanded. + +Billy dropped her hands then, and they saw her face. She was not +crying. She was laughing. She was laughing so she could scarcely +speak. + +"Oh, you did, you did!" she gurgled. "I thought you did, and now I +know!" + +"Did what? What do you mean?" William's usually gentle voice was +sharp. Even William's nerves were beginning to feel the strain of +the last few hours. + +"Thought I was a--b-boy!" choked Billy. "You called me 'he' once +in the station--I thought you did; but I wasn't sure--not till I +saw this room. But now I know--I know!" And off she went into +another hysterical gale of laughter--Billy'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 despairing eyes. + +In a moment Billy was on her feet, fluttering about the room, +touching this thing, looking at that. Nothing escaped her. + +"I'm to fish--and shoot--and fence!" she crowed. "And, oh!--look +at those knives! U-ugh! . . . 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. + +Something in Billy's voice stirred Mrs. Hartwell to sudden action. + +"Come, come, this will never do," she protested authoritatively, +motioning her brothers to leave the room. "Billy is quite tired +out, and needs rest. She mustn't talk another bit to-night." + +"Of c-course not," stammered William. And only too glad of an +excuse to withdraw from a very embarrassing situation, the three +men called back a faltering good-night, and precipitately fled +down-stairs. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A FAMILY CONCLAVE + + +"Well, William," greeted Kate, grimly, when she came into the +drawing-room, after putting her charge to bed, "have you had +enough, now?" + +"'Enough'! What do you mean?" + +Kate raised her eyebrows. + +"Why, surely, you're not thinking NOW that you can keep this girl +here; are you?" + +"I don't know why not." + +"William!" + +"Well, where shall she go? Will you take her?" + +"I? Certainly not," declared Kate, with decision. "I'm sure I see +no reason why I should." + +"No more do I see why William should, either," cut in Cyril. + +"Oh, come, what's the use," interposed Bertram. "Let her stay. +She's a nice little thing, I'm sure." + +Cyril and Kate turned sharply. + +"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!" + +Bertram laughed. + +"Oh, well, she would be nice to--er--paint," he murmured. + +"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 we +get?" + +Kate sighed, and looked her dismay. Bertram threw a glance into +Cyril's eyes, and made an expressive gesture. + +"You see," it seemed to say. "I told you how it would be!" + +"Now whom shall we get?" questioned William again. "We must +think." + +Unattached gentlewomen of suitable age and desirable temper did 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 doesn't." + +"The trouble is," explained Bertram, airily, "we want some one who +will be invisible to every one except the world and Billy, and who +will be inaudible always." + +"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 room +over at the Back Bay." + +"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 to-morrow morning I believe I'll run over and see if she can't +come right away." + +"And may I ask which--er--stratum she--they--will occupy?" smiled +Bertram. + +"You may ask, but I'm afraid you won't find out very soon," +retorted William, dryly, "if we take as long to decide that matter +as we have the rest of it." + +"Er--Cyril has the most--UNOCCUPIED space," volunteered Bertram, +cheerfully. + +"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 +wants and wishes interfere--" + +"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 things!" + +"Oh, you men!" shrugged Kate, wearily. "Why don't you ask my +opinion sometimes? It seems to me that in this case a woman's wit +might be of some help!" + +"All right, go ahead!" nodded William. + +Kate leaned forward eagerly--Kate loved to "manage." + +"Go easy, now," cautioned Bertram, warily. "You know a strata, +even one as solid as ours, won't stand too much of an earthquake!" + +"It isn't an earthquake at all," sniffed Kate. "It's a very +sensible move all around. Here are these two great drawing-rooms, +the library, and the little reception-room 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 +drawing-room, the library, and the little reception-room for yours, +and leave the whole of the second floor for Billy and Aunt Hannah?" + +"Good for you, Kate," cried Bertram, appreciatively. "You've hit +it square on the head, and we'll do it. I'll move to-morrow. The +light down here is just as good as it is up-stairs--if you let it +in!" + +"Thank you, Bertram, and you, too, Kate," breathed William, +fervently. "Now, if you don't mind, I believe I'll go to bed. I +am tired!" + + + +CHAPTER X + +AUNT HANNAH + + +As soon as possible after breakfast William went to see Aunt +Hannah. + +Hannah Stetson was not really William's aunt, though she had been +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, white-haired woman with kind blue eyes, +and a lovable smile. Her cheeks were still faintly pink, and her +fine silver-white hair broke into little kinks and curls about her +ears. According to Bertram she always made one think of "lavender +and old lace." + +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 +eighteen-year-old girl to bring up, Aunt Hannah, and I want you to +come down and live with us to chaperon her." + +"My grief and conscience, WILLIAM!" gasped the little woman, +agitatedly. + +"Yes, yes, I know, Aunt Hannah, everything you would say if you +could. But please skip the hysterics. We've all had them, and +Kate has 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 +expected that she would do for him. + +"Why, yes, of course--I'll come," acquiesced the lady, a little +breathlessly, "if--if you are sure you're going to--keep her." + +"Good! And remember I said 'now,' please--that I wanted you to +come right away, to-day. Of course Kate can't stay. Just get in +half a dozen women to help you pack, and come." + +"Half a dozen women in that little room, William--impossible!" + +"Well, I only meant to get enough so you could come right off this +morning." + +"But I don't need them, William. There are only my clothes and +books, and such things. You know it is a FURNISHED room." + +"All right, all right, Aunt Hannah. I wanted to make sure you +hurried, that's all. You see, I don't want Billy to suspect just +how much she's upsetting us. I've asked Kate to take her over to +her house for the day, while Bertram is moving down-stairs, and +while we're getting you settled. I--I think you'll like it there, +Aunt Hannah," added William, anxiously. "Of course Billy's got +Spunk, but--" he hesitated, and smiled a little. + +"Got what?" faltered the other. + +"Spunk. Oh, I don't mean THAT kind," laughed William, in answer to +the dismayed expression on his aunt's face. "Spunk is a cat." + +"A cat!--but such a name, William! I--I think we'll change that." + +"Eh? Oh, you do," murmured William, with a curious smile. "Very +well; 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 four-year- +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 Spunk--which remark, oddly enough, did not +appear to please Mrs. Hartwell to the extent that Billy thought +that it would. + +At the Beacon Street house Billy was presented at once to Mrs. +Stetson. + +"And you are to call me 'Aunt Hannah,' my dear," said the little +woman, graciously, "just as the boys do." + +"Thank you," dimpled Billy, "and you don't know, Aunt Hannah, how +good it seems to me to come into so many relatives, all at once!" + +Upon going up-stairs Billy found her room somewhat changed. It was +far less warlike, and the case of spiders had been taken away. + +"And this will be your stratum, you know," announced Bertram from +the stairway, "yours and Aunt Hannah's. You're to have this whole +floor. Will and Cyril are above, and I'm down-stairs." + +"You are? Why, I thought you--were--here." Billy's face was +puzzled. + +"Here? Oh, well, I did have--some things here," he retorted +airily; "but I took them all away to-day. You see, my stratum is +down-stairs, and it doesn't do to mix the layers. By the way, you +haven't been up-stairs yet; have you? Come on, and I'll show you-- +and you, too, Aunt Hannah." + +Billy clapped her hands; but Aunt Hannah shook her head. + +"I'll leave that for younger feet than mine," she said; adding +whimsically: "It's best sometimes that one doesn't try to step too +far off one's own level, you know." + +"All right," laughed the man. "Come on, Miss Billy." + +On the door at the head of the stairs he tapped twice, lightly. + +"Well, Pete," called Cyril's voice, none too cordially. + +"Pete, indeed!" scoffed Bertram. "You've got company, young man. +Open the door. Miss Billy is viewing the Strata." + +The bare floor echoed to a quick tread, then the door opened and +Cyril faced them with a forced smile on his lips. + +"Come in--though I fear there will be little--to see," he said. + +Bertram assumed a pompous attitude. + +"Ladies and gentlemen; you behold here the lion in his lair." + +"Be still, Bertram," ordered Cyril. + +"He is a lion, really," confided Bertram, in a lower voice; "but as +he prefers it, we'll just call him 'the Musical Man.'" + +"I should think I was some sort of music-box that turned with a +crank," bristled Cyril. + +Bertram grinned. + +"A--CRANK, did you say? Well, even I wouldn't have quite dared to +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 +are--er--so 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, however, +that in one is a couch-bed, and in another, two chairs." + +Billy listened silently. Her eyes were questioning. She was not +quite sure how to take Bertram's words; and the bare rooms and +their stern-faced master filled her with a vague pity. But the +pause that followed Bertram's nonsense seemed to be waiting for her +to fill it. + +"Oh, I should like to hear you--play, Mr. Cyril," she stammered. +Then, gathering courage. "CAN you play 'The Maiden's Prayer'?" + +Bertram gave a cough, a spasmodic cough that sent him, red-faced, +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; but--sometime," nodded Billy over her shoulder to Cyril +as she turned away. "I just love that 'Maiden's Prayer'!" + +"Now this is William's stratum," announced Bertram at the foot of +the stairs. "You will perceive that there is no knocking here; +William's doors are always open." + +"By all means! Come in--come in," called William's cheery voice. + +"Oh, my, what a lot of things!" exclaimed Billy. "My--my--what a +lot of things! How Spunk will like this room!" + +Bertram chuckled; then he made a great display of drawing a long +breath. + +"In the short time at our disposal," he began loftily, "it will 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--" + +"Er--yes, 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 wondering-eyed girl at +Bertram's side. + +"But there are so many!" breathed Billy. + +"All the more chance then," smiled William, "that somewhere among +them you'll find something to interest you. Now these Chinese +ceramics, and these bronzes--maybe 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 programs better," William +finished anxiously. + +Billy did not reply. She was turning round and round, her eyes +wide and amazed. Suddenly she pounced on a beautifully decorated +teapot, and held it up in admiring hands. + +"Oh, what a pretty teapot! And what a cute little plate it sets +in!" she cried. + +The collector fairly bubbled over with joy. + +"That's a Lowestoft--a real Lowestoft!" he crowed. "Not that hard- +paste stuff from the Orient that's CALLED Lowestoft, but the real +thing--English, you know. And that's the tray that goes with it, +too. Wonderful--how I got them both! You know they 'most always +get separated. I paid a cool hundred for them, anyhow." + +"A hundred dollars for a teapot!" gasped Billy. + +"Yes; and here's a nice little piece of lustre-ware. Pretty--isn't +it? And there's a fine bit of black basalt. And--" + +"Er--Will," interposed Bertram, meekly. + +"Oh, and here's a Castleford," cried William, paying no attention +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 surface--they made that with tiny +little points set into the inner side of the mold. The design stands +out fine on this. It's one of the best I ever saw. And, oh--" + +"Er--William," interposed Bertram again, a little louder this time. +"May I just say--" + +"And did you notice this 'Old Blue'?" hurried on William, eagerly. +"Lid sets down in, you see--that's older than the kind where it +sets over the top. Now here's one--" + +"William," almost shouted Bertram, "DINNER IS READY! Pete has +sounded the gong twice already!" + +"Eh? Oh, sure enough--sure enough," acknowledged William, with a +regretful glance at his treasures. "Well, we must go, we must go." + +"But I haven't seen your stratum at all," demurred Billy to her +guide, as they went down the stairway. + +"Then there's something left for to-morrow," promised Bertram; "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 tea--some real tea--and that's more than William +has done, with all his hundred and one teapots!" + + + +CHAPTER XI + +BERTRAM HAS VISITORS + + +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 very-much-alive small cat will make some +difference. As to Spunk's name--it was not Mrs. Stetson's fault +that even that was left undisturbed. + +Mrs. Stetson early became acquainted with Spunk. She was +introduced to him, indeed, on the night of her arrival--though +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 tearfully. + +"I know; but--er--they do, sometimes," William had stammered; "and +this is one of the times. Aunt Hannah would never stand for it-- +never!" + +"Oh, but she doesn't know Spunk," Billy had observed then, +hopefully. "You just wait until she knows him." + +Mrs. Stetson began to "know" Spunk the next day. The immediate +source 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 was--indeed, no. He +rolled it down the stairs, batted it through the hall to the +drawing-room, and then proceeded to 'chasse' with it in and out +among the legs of various chairs and tables, ending in one grand +whirl that wound the yarn round and round his small body, and +keeled him over half upon his back. There he blissfully went to +sleep. + +Billy found him after a gleeful following of the slender woollen +trail. Mrs. Stetson was with her--but she was not gleeful. + +"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," gurgled Billy, "isn't he just too +cute for anything?" + +Aunt Hannah shook her head. + +"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 arms. + +"But, I--it--I can't--Billy! I don't like that name," blurted out +the indignant little lady with as much warmth as she ever allowed +herself to show. "It must be changed to--to 'Thomas.'" + +"Changed? Spunk's name changed?" demanded Billy, in a horrified +voice. "Why, Aunt Hannah, it can't be changed; it's HIS, you +know." Then 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 that--and 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 then attacked the +tangled mass of black with skilful fingers. + +"But, I--you--oh, 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 +swear-word. + +In Aunt Hannah's black silk lap Spunk stretched luxuriously, and +blinked sleepy eyes; then with a long purr of content he curled +himself for another nap--still Spunk. + +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 when the knock came. His tone was +not quite cordial when he answered. + +"Well?" + +"It's I--Spunk and I. May we come in?" called a confident voice. + +Bertram said a sharp word behind his teeth--but he opened the door. + +"Of course! I was--painting," he announced. + +"How lovely! And I'll watch you. Oh, my--what a pretty room!" + +"I'm glad you like it." + +"Indeed I do; I like it ever so much. I shall stay here lots, I +know." + +"Oh, you--will!" For once even Bertram's ready tongue failed to +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." + +"But I can't--that is, I'm not used to spectators." + +"Of course you aren't, you poor old lonesomeness! But it isn't +going to be that way, any more, you know, now that I've come. I +sha'n't let you be lonesome." + +"I could swear to that," declared the man, with sudden fervor; and +for Billy's peace of mind it was just as well, perhaps, that she +did not know the exact source of that fervency. + +"Now paint," commanded Billy again. + +Because he did not know what else to do, Bertram picked up a brush; +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, tut--no, no--naughty Spunk! Say, but wasn't that cute?" +chuckled Billy. "Do it again!" + +The artist gave an exasperated sigh. + +"My dear girl," he protested, "cruel as it may seem to you, this +picture is not a kindergarten game for the edification of small +cats. I must politely ask Spunk to desist." + +"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." + +"Thank you," accepted Bertram; dryly. + +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, cats--pretty cats like +Spunk--were even nicer to paint than girls. + +She rescued Spunk then from the paint-box where he had been holding +high carnival with Bertram's tubes of paint, and demanded if +Bertram ever saw a more delightful, more entrancing, more +altogether-to-be-desired 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 up-stairs, he lifted +his hands in despair. + +"Great Scott!" he groaned. "If this is a sample of what's coming-- +I'm GOING, that's all!" + + + +CHAPTER XII + +CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN + + +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 behind--Billy remembered her prospective host's aversion +to cats. + +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 conclusion--privately expressed to +Bertram--that 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 upstairs--Cyril had +just escaped from one of Billy's most determined "attempts," and +Bertram knew it. Bertram's laugh had puzzled Billy--and it had not +quite pleased her. Hence to-day she did not tell him of her plan +to go up-stairs 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 to knock at Cyril's +door. + +The door was opened at once. + +"Why--Billy!" cried the man in surprise. + +"Yes, it's Billy. I--I came up to--to get acquainted," she smiled +winningly. + +"Why, er--you are very kind. Will you--come in?" + +"Thank you; yes. You see, I didn't bring Spunk. I--remembered." + +Cyril bowed gravely. + +"You are very kind--again," he said. + +Billy fidgeted in her chair. To her mind she was not "getting on" +at all. She determined on a bold stroke. + +"You see, I thought if--if 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 flushed a confused red. + +"Oh, dear! That is, I mean--I 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 well as I do Uncle William and Mr. Bertram. So +there!" + +Cyril laughed. For the first time since he had seen Billy, +something that was very like interest came into his eyes. + +"Oh, you don't," he retorted. "Now that is--er--very UNkind of +you." + +Billy shook her head. + +"You don't say that as if you meant it," she accused him, her eyes +gravely studying his face. "Now I'M in earnest. _I_ really want +to like YOU!" + +"Thank you. Then perhaps you won't mind telling me why you don't +like me," he suggested. + +Again Billy flushed. + +"Why, I--I just don't; that's all," she faltered. Then she cried +aggrievedly: "There, now! you've made me be impolite; and I didn't +mean to be, truly." + +"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 and rainy days." + +"With--wha-at?" + +"Tripe and rainy days. Those are the only things, if I remember +rightly, that you don't like." + +The girl stared; then she chuckled. + +"There! I knew I'd like you better if you'd only SAY something," +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.'" + +Cyril stiffened. + +"Pardon me, but you must be mistaken," he replied coldly. "I do +not play 'The Maiden's Prayer.'" + +"Oh, what a shame! And I do so love it! But you play other +things; I've heard you a little, and Mr. Bertram says you do--in +concerts and things." + +"Does he?" murmured Cyril, with a slight lifting of his eyebrows. + +"There! Now off you go again all silent and horrid!" chaffed +Billy. "What have I said now? Mr. Cyril--do you know what I +think? I believe you've got NERVES!" Billy's voice was so tragic +that the man could but laugh. + +"Perhaps I have, Miss Billy." + +"Like Miss Letty's?" + +"I'm not acquainted with the lady." + +"Gee! wouldn't you two make a pair!" chuckled Billy unexpectedly. +"No; but, really, I mean--do you want people to walk on tiptoe and +speak in whispers?" + +"Sometimes, perhaps." + +The girl sprang to her feet--but she sighed. + +"Then I'm going. This might be one of the times, you know." She +hesitated, then walked to the piano. "My, wouldn't I like to play +on that!" she breathed. + +Cyril shuddered. Cyril could imagine what Billy would play--and +Cyril did not like "rag-time," nor "The Storm." + +"Oh, do you play?" he asked constrainedly. + +Billy shook her head. + +"Not much. Only little bits of things, you know," she said +wistfully, 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 played--something," he muttered at last; +"but--'The Maiden's Prayer'!--good heavens!" + +Billy was a little shy with Cyril when he came down to dinner 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 +seemed to be leaving him in peace. + +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 down-stairs. At the first step he started +back in amazement. + +"Why, Billy!" he ejaculated. + +The girl was sitting very near the top of the stairway. At his +appearance she got to her feet shamefacedly. + +"Why, Billy, what in the world are you doing there?" + +"Listening." + +"Listening!" + +"Yes. Do you mind?" + +The man did not answer. He was too surprised to find words at +once, and he was trying to recollect what he had been playing. + +"You see, listening to music this way isn't like listening to--to +talking," hurried on Billy, feverishly. "It isn't sneaking like +that; is it?" + +"Why--no." + +"And you don't mind?" + +"Why, surely, I ought not to mind--that," he admitted. + +"Then I can keep right on as I have done. Thank you," sighed +Billy, in relief. + +"Keep right on! Have you been here before?" + +"Why, yes, lots of days. And, say, Mr. Cyril, what is that--that +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 own--that I'm +writing, you understand; and I've tried to say--just what you say +you heard." + +"And I did hear it--I did! Oh, won't you play it, please, with the +door open?" + +"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 girl and hurried down the stairs. + +Billy waited until she heard the outer hall door shut; then very +softly she crept through Cyril's open doorway, and crossed the room +to the piano. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A SURPRISE ALL AROUND + + +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 up-stairs to Cyril's rooms, and +once at the piano, Billy forgot everything else. + +One day, however, the inevitable happened: Cyril came home +unexpectedly. The man heard the piano from William's floor, and +with a surprised ejaculation he hurried upstairs two steps at a +time. At the door he stopped in amazement. + +Billy was at the piano, but she was not playing "rag-time," "The +Storm," nor yet "The Maiden's Prayer." There was no music before +her, but under her fingers "big bass notes" very much like Cyril's +own, were marching on and on to victory. Billy's face was +rapturously intent and happy. + +"By Jove--Billy!" gasped the man. + +Billy leaped to her feet and whirled around guiltily. + +"Oh, Mr. Cyril--I'm so sorry!" + +"Sorry!--and you play like that!" + +"No, no; I'm not sorry I played. It's because you--found me." + +Billy's cheeks were a shamed red, but her eyes were defiantly +brilliant, and her chin was at a rebellious tilt. "I wasn't doing +any--harm; not if you weren't here--with your NERVES!" + +The man laughed and came slowly into the room. + +"Billy, who taught you to play?" + +"No one. I can't play. I can only pick out little bits of things +in C." + +"But you do play. I just heard you." + +Billy shrugged her shoulders. + +"That was nothing. It was only what I had heard. I was trying to +make it sound like--yours." + +"And, by George! you succeeded," muttered Cyril under his breath; +then aloud he asked: "Didn't you ever study music?" + +Billy's eyes dimmed. + +"No. That was the only thing Aunt Ella and I didn't think alike +about. She had an old square piano, all tin-panny and thin, you +know. I 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 do--get 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. I--I'm afraid I got stuffy. I hated that +piano so! But I was almost ready to give in when--when Aunt Ella +died." + +"And all you play then is just by ear?" + +"By--ear? I suppose so--if you mean what I hear. Easy things I +can play quick, but--but those chords ARE hard; they skip around +so!" + +Cyril smiled oddly. + +"I should say so," he agreed. "But perhaps there is something else +that I play--that 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 ears--a 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 printed music. +But the tune, the rhythm, and the spirit were there. + +"And there's this," said Billy; "and this," she went on, sliding +into one little strain after another--all of which were recognized +by the amazed man at her side. + +"Billy," he cried, when she had finished and whirled upon him +again, "Billy, would you like to learn to play--really play from +notes?" + +"Oh, wouldn't I!" + +"Then you shall! We'll have a piano tomorrow in your rooms for you +to practise on. And--I'll teach you myself." + +"Oh, thank you, Mr. Cyril--you don't know how I thank you!" exulted +Billy, as she danced from the room to tell Aunt Hannah of this +great and good thing that had come into her life. + +To Billy, this promise of Cyril's to be her teacher was very kind, +very delightful; but it was not in the least a thing at which to +marvel. To Bertram, however, it most certainly was. + +"Well, guess what's happened," he said to William that night, after +he had heard the news. "I'll believe anything now--anything: 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!" + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +AUNT HANNAH SPEAKS HER MIND + + +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 had not attended to, Spunk had, he said. + +"You see, it's like this," he explained to an amused friend one +day. "Billy is taking piano lessons of Cyril, and she is posing +for one of my heads. Naturally, then, such feminine belongings as +fancy-work, thread, thimbles, and hairpins are due to show up at +any time either in Cyril's apartments or mine--to say nothing of +William's; and she's in William's lots--to look for Spunk, if for +no other purpose. + +"You must know that Spunk likes William's floor the best of the +bunch, there are so many delightful things to play with. Not that +Spunk stays there--dear 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 to--well, anywhere +that he happens to feel like going. Cyril has found him up-stairs +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 hard-shelled black bug--dead, +of course--that 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 of William's +Collection Number 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 any longer," he finished. + +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. + +"William, what are you going to do with Billy?" she asked abruptly. + +"Do with her? What do you mean?" returned William with the +contented smile that was so often on his lips these days. "This is +Billy's home." + +"That's the worst of it," sighed the woman, with a shake of her +head. + +"The worst of it! Aunt Hannah, what do you mean? Don't you like +Billy?" + +"Yes, yes, William, of course I like Billy. I love her! Who could +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, or--or somewhere." + +"And she's going in September," replied the man. "She'll go to +preparatory school first, and to college, probably." + +"Yes, but now--right away. She ought to go--somewhere." + +"Why, yes, for the summer, of course. But those plans aren't +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 idea--through all the +hot June and July--so 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 Bertram would be off more or +less. They always are in the summer." + +"But, William, you haven't yet got my idea at all," demurred Aunt +Hannah, with a discouraged shake of her head. "It's away!--away +from all this--from you--that I want to get Billy." + +"Away! Away from me," cried the man, with an odd intonation of +terror, as he started forward in his chair. "Why, Aunt Hannah, +what are you talking about?" + +"About Billy. This is no place in which to bring up a young girl-- +a young girl who has not one shred of relationship to excuse it." + +"But she is my namesake, and quite alone in the world, Aunt Hannah; +quite alone--poor child!" + +"My dear William, that is exactly it--she is a child, and yet she +is not. That's where the trouble lies." + +"What do you mean?" + +"William, Billy has been brought up in a little country town with +a spinster aunt and a whole good-natured, tolerant village for +company. Well, she has accepted you and your entire household, +even down to Dong Ling, on the same basis." + +"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 quite too much inclined that +way." + +"Exactly, William. And that only goes to prove what I said before. +Bertram is not a spinster aunt, and neither are any of the rest of +you. But Billy takes you that way." + +"Takes us that way--as spinster aunts!" + +"Yes. She makes herself as free in this house as she was in her +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 angle--which certainly doesn't tend to +make Billy modest or retiring. As to you--you know how much she's +in your rooms, spending evening after evening fussing over your +collections." + +"I know; but we're--we're sorting them and making a catalogue," +defended the man, anxiously. "Besides, I--I like to have her +there. She doesn't bother me a bit." + +"No; I know she doesn't," replied Aunt Hannah, with a curious +inflection. "But don't you see, William, that all this isn't going +to quite do? Billy's too young--and too old." + +"Come, come, Aunt Hannah, is that exactly logical?" + +"It's true, at least." + +"But, after all, where's the harm? Don't you think that you are +just a little bit too--fastidious? Billy's nothing but a care-free +child." + +"It's the 'free' part that I object to, William. She has taken +every one of you into intimate companionship--even Pete and Dong +Ling." + +"Pete and Dong Ling!" + +"Yes." Mrs. Stetson's chin came up, and her nostrils dilated a +little. "Billy went to Pete the other day to have him button her +shirt-waist up in the back; and yesterday I found her down-stairs +in the kitchen instructing Dong Ling how to make chocolate fudge!" + +William fell back in his chair. + +"Well, well," he muttered, "well, well! She is a child, and no +mistake!" He paused, his brows drawn into a troubled frown. "But, +Aunt Hannah, what CAN I do? Of course you could talk to her, but-- +I don't seem to quite like that idea." + +"My grief and conscience--no, no! That isn't what is needed at +all. It would only serve to make her self-conscious; and that's +her one salvation now--that she isn't self-conscious. You see, +it's only the fault of her environment and training, after all. It +isn't her heart that's wrong." + +"Indeed it isn't!" + +"It will be different when she is older--when 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 live--just like this, though; certainly not for a time, at +least." + +"No, no, I'm afraid not," agreed William, perplexedly, rising to +his feet. "But we must think--what can be done." His step was +even slower than usual as he left the room, and his eyes were +troubled. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +WHAT BERTRAM CALLS "THE LIMIT" + + +At half past ten o'clock on the evening following Mrs. Stetson's +very plain talk with William, the telephone bell at the Beacon +Street house rang sharply. Pete answered it. + +"Well?"--Pete never said "hello." + +"Hello. Is that you, Pete?" called Billy's voice agitatedly. "Is +Uncle William there?" + +"No, Miss Billy." + +"Oh dear! Well, Mr. Cyril, then?" + +"He's out, too, Miss Billy. And Mr. Bertram--they're all out." + +"Yes, yes, I know HE'S out," almost sobbed Billy. "Dear, dear, +what shall I do! Pete, you'll have to come. There isn't any other +way!" + +"Yes, Miss; where?" Pete's voice was dubious, but respectful. + +"To the Boylston Street subway--on the Common, you know--North- +bound side. I'll wait for you--but HURRY! You see, I'm all alone +here." + +"Alone! Miss Billy--in the subway at this time of night! But, +Miss Billy, you shouldn't--you can't--you mustn't--"stuttered the +old man in helpless horror. + +"Yes, yes, Pete, but never mind; I am here! And I should think if +'twas such a dreadful thing you would hurry FAST to get here, so I +wouldn't be alone," appealed Billy. + +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 station. + +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 the wind. + +"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what can this mean?" gasped the man. +"Where is Mrs. Stetson?" + +"At Mrs. Hartwell's--you know she is giving a reception to-night. +But come, we must hurry! I'm after Mr. Bertram." + +"After Mr. Bertram!" + +"Yes, yes." + +"Alone?--like this?" + +"But I'm not alone now; I have you. Don't you see?" + +At the blank stupefaction in the man's face, the girl sighed +impatiently. + +"Dear me! I suppose I'll have to explain; but we're losing time-- +and we mustn't--we 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 and follow them." + +"FOLLOW them! MISS BILLY!" + +"I had to, Pete; don't you see? There was no one else. Mr. Cyril +and Uncle William had gone--home, 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 just--followed. 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. But--well, 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 Billy, do!" + +"Home--and leave Mr. Bertram with that Seaver man? No, no!" + +"What CAN ye do?" + +"Do? I can get him to come home with me, of course." + +The old man made a despairing gesture and looked about him as if +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 know--ye +can't know what yer a-doin'!" + +The girl tossed her head. She was angry now. + +"Pete, if you will not go with me I shall go alone. I am not +afraid." + +"But the hour--the place--you, a young girl! Miss Billy!" +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 in--ladies and gentlemen. Nothing could +hurt me, Pete, and I shall go; but I'd rather you were with me. +Why, Pete, we mustn't leave him. He isn't--he isn't HIMSELF, Pete. +He--he's been DRINKING!" Billy's voice broke, and her face flushed +scarlet. She was 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 a-doin', Miss Billy, ye don't--ye don't!" + +"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 turned and ran down the steps. + +Billy blinked a little at the lights which, reflected in the great +plate-glass mirrors, were a million dazzling points that found +themselves again repeated in the sparkling crystal and glittering +silver on the flower-decked tables. All about her Billy saw +flushed-faced men, and bright-eyed women, laughing, chatting, and +clinking together their slender-stemmed wine glasses. But nowhere, +as she looked about her, could Billy descry the man she sought. + +The head waiter came forward with uplifted hand, but Billy did not +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. + +Simultaneously her own and Bertram's eyes met. + +With a sharp word under his breath Bertram sprang to his feet. His +befogged brain had cleared suddenly under the shock of Billy's +presence. + +"Billy, for Heaven's sake what are you doing here?" he demanded in +a 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, pallid-faced, and shaking. + +"And you, too, Pete! Great Scott! what does this mean?" he +exploded angrily. + +Pete could only shake his head and glance imploringly at Billy. +His dry lips and tongue refused to articulate even one word. + +"We came--for--you," choked Billy. "You see, I don't like that +Seaver man." + +"Well, by Jove! this is the limit!" breathed Bertram. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +KATE TAKES A HAND + + +Undeniably Billy was in disgrace, and none knew it better than +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 herself with small likelihood of +interruption. + +"But, Billy, how could you do such an absurd thing?" she demanded. +"The idea of leaving my house alone, at half-past ten at night, to +follow a couple of men through the streets of Boston, and then with +my brothers' butler make a scene like that in a--a public dining- +room!" + +Billy sighed in a discouraged way. + +"Aunt Kate, can't I make you and the rest of them understand that I +didn't start out to do all that? I meant just to speak to Mr. +Bertram, and get him away from that man." + +"But, my dear child, even that was bad enough!" + +Billy lifted her chin. + +"You don't seem to think, Aunt Kate; Mr. Bertram was--was not +sober." + +"All the more reason then why you should NOT have done what you +did!" + +"Why, Aunt Kate, you wouldn't leave him alone in that condition +with that man!" + +It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to sigh. + +"But, Billy," she contested, wearily, "can't you understand that it +wasn't YOUR place to interfere--you, a young girl?" + +"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 it alone--that is, with Pete." + +"Pete!" scoffed Mrs. Hartwell. "Pete, indeed!" + +Billy's head came up with a jerk. Billy was very angry now. + +"Aunt Kate, it seems I've done a very terrible thing, but I'm sure +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 and--and drink too much. But Uncle William +hasn't liked him before, not one bit! I've heard him talk about +him--that Mr. Seaver." + +Mrs. Hartwell raised both her hands, palms outward. + +"Billy, it is useless to talk with you. You are quite impossible. +It is even worse than I expected!" she cried, with wrathful +impatience. + +"Worse than you--expected? What do you mean, please?" + +"Worse than I thought it would be--before you came. The idea of +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 mean--that they did not--want 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 outside of herself. + +"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 everything?" + +"To--upset--everything!" echoed Billy, faintly. "And have I done-- +that?" + +"Of course you have! How could you help it? To begin with, they +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 the whole thing. + +"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, and what my brothers have +done for you." + +"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?" + +The girl sprang to her feet now. + +"More tractable! Less assertive of my presence!" she cried. "Mrs. +Hartwell, do you mean to say you think I'd STAY after what you've +told me?" + +"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 you to +understand how things were--and are." + +"And I do understand--and I'm going." + +Mrs. Hartwell frowned. Her face changed color. + +"Come, come, Billy, this is nonsense. William wants you here. He +would never forgive me if anything I said should send you away. +You must not be angry with, him." + +Billy turned now like an enraged little tigress. + +"Angry with him! Why, I love him--I love them all! They are the +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 them know why I'm going?--that I'd hurt them +like that? Never!" + +"But, Billy, what are you going to do?" + +"I don't know. I've got to plan it out. I only know now that I'm +going, sure!" And with a choking little cry Billy ran from the +room. + +In her own chamber a minute later the tears fell unrestrained. + +"It's home--all the home there is--anywhere!" she sobbed. "But +it's got to go--it's got to go!" + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A PINK-RIBBON TRAIL + + +Mrs. Stetson wore an air of unmistakable relief as she stepped into +William's sitting-room. Even her knock at the half-open door had +sounded almost triumphant. + +"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 see that will make it easier for us." + +"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 here--for a time. Though I shall miss her terribly. But, tell +me, what is it--what does she want to do?" + +"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. The--the dear child seems suddenly to have taken a great +fancy to me," explained Aunt Hannah, unsteadily. "I never saw her +so affectionate." + +"She is a dear girl--a very dear girl; and she has a warm heart." +William cleared his throat sonorously, but even that did not clear +his voice. "It was her heart that led her wrong the other night," +he declared. "Hers was a brave and fearless act--but 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. How did Billy +happen to suggest it?" + +"I don't know. I noticed yesterday that she seemed strangely +silent--unhappy, 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 difficulties." + +"Yes, of course, of course," muttered William. "It is very fine, +very fine indeed," he concluded. And again his voice failed quite +to match his words in enthusiasm. + +"Then I'll go and begin to see to my things," murmured Mrs. +Stetson, rising to her feet. "Billy seems anxious to get away." + +Billy did, indeed, seem anxious to get away. She announced her +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 gone; and with her had gone Mrs. Stetson and +Spunk. + +The family said they liked it--the quiet, the freedom. They said +they liked to be alone--all but William. He said nothing. + +And yet-- + +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 +red-cheeked, curly-headed young girl whose eyes held a peculiarly +wistful appeal; and Cyril, at his piano up-stairs, sat with idle +fingers until they finally drifted into a simple little melody--the +last thing Billy had been learning. + +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. "I--I made so bold as to bring him in." + +"Of course," said William. "Did you feed it?" + +"Yes, sir; Ling did." + +There was a pause, then Pete spoke, diffidently. + +"I thought, sir, if ye didn't mind, I'd keep it. I'll try to see +that it stays down-stairs, 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." + +"Yes, I noticed," said William, stirring with sudden restlessness. +"I noticed." + +"Yes, sir," said Pete. And he turned and carried the small gray +cat away. + +The new kitten did not stay down-stairs. Pete tried, it is true, +to keep his promise to watch it; but after he had seen the little +animal carried surreptitiously up-stairs 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 +known--until 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 ribbon and curling white paper--and the +end of the trail was in William's room. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +BILLY WRITES ANOTHER LETTER + + +By the middle of June only William and the gray kitten were left +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 +loneliness--it reminded him of Billy. + +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 gray kitten, "Spunkie," that looked so +much like Spunk. + +In reply he received plump white envelopes directed in the round, +schoolboy hand that he remembered so well. In the envelopes 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. + +William frowned at this, and shook his head; yet he knew that it +was true. + +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 interesting +as was Hampden Falls. But he went to the Rangeley Lakes. + +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. + +"Where's Billy? Isn't Billy here?" demanded Bertram. + +"No. She isn't back yet," replied William. + +"You don't mean to say she's stayed up there all summer!" exclaimed +Cyril. + +"Why, yes, I--I suppose so," hesitated William. "You see, I +haven't heard but once for a month. I've been down in Maine, you +know." + +William wrote to Billy that night. + +"My dear:--" he said in part. "I hope you'll come home right away. +We want to see SOMETHING of you before you go away again, and you +know the schools will be opening soon. + +"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 how much alike they really do +look." + +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 came--though this time for a far +different reason. + +"Why, boys, she--isn't--coming," he announced in dismay. + +"Isn't coming!" ejaculated two astonished Voices. + +"No." + +"Not--at--ALL?" + +"Why, of course, later," retorted William, with unwonted sharpness. +"But not now. This is what she says." And he read aloud: + + +"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 way--a lovely place, I'm sure, from +the pictures of it. + +"Oh, and another thing; I shall go right from here. Two girls at +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 alone--me, a 'Billy'--unless I sent a special courier ahead to +announce that 'Billy' was a girl. + +"Aunt Hannah has decided to stay here this winter in the old house. +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 be +there. + +"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 about having to +hunt up a school for me. + +"With love to all, + +"BILLY." + + +As had happened once before after a letter from Billy had been +read, there was a long pause. + +"Well, by Jove!" breathed Bertram. + +"It's very sensible, I'm sure," declared Cyril. "Still, I must +confess, I would have liked to pick out her piano teacher for her." + +William said nothing--perhaps because he was reading Billy's letter +again. + +At eight o'clock that night Bertram tapped on Cyril's door. + +"What's the trouble?" demanded Cyril in answer to the look on the +other's face. + +Bertram lifted his eyebrows oddly. + +"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 gone--for good." + +"For good! What do you mean?--that she's not coming back--ever?" + +"Exactly that." + +"Nonsense! What's put that notion into your head?" + +"Billy's letter first; after that, Pete." + +"Pete!" + +"Yes. He came to me a few minutes ago, looking as if he had seen 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 house--not so much as a handkerchief or a +hairpin." + +"Hm-m; that does look--suspicious," murmured Cyril. "What's up, do +you think?" + +"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." + +"Hurt?--nonsense! Why, we did everything for her--everything!" + +"Yes, I know--and she tried to do EVERYTHING for us, too," retorted +Bertram, quizzically, as he turned away. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SEEING BILLY OFF + + +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 Hampden Falls?" + +"I like it there, William; and why shouldn't I stay? Surely +there's no need for me to be here now, with Billy away!" + +"But Billy's coming back!" + +"Of course she's coming back," laughed Aunt Hannah, "but not 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 wanted--to 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 mistake,--a mistake that she +needed to get away." + +"Never! We were just right about it," declared Aunt Hannah, with +conviction. + +"And is Billy--happy?" + +"She seems to be." + +"Hm-m; 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 him--that 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 might be +called a reminder. + +Billy did not write often. She said that she was "too busy to +breathe." Such letters as did come from her were addressed to +William, though 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 earshot--a 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 Falls +for a country Christmas. + +For the Easter vacation William was even more insistent--but 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 now. + +William fretted not a little. Even Cyril and Bertram said that it +was "too bad"; that they themselves would like to see the girl--so +they would! + +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 through the British Isles"; and that their +passage was already engaged. + +"And so you see," she explained, "I shall not have a minute to +spare. There'll be only time to skip home for Aunt Hannah, and to +pack the trunks before it'll be time to start." + +Bertram looked at Cyril significantly when this letter was read +aloud; and afterward he muttered in Cyril's ear: + +"You see! It's Hampden Falls she calls 'home' now--not the +Strata." + +"Yes, I see," frowned Cyril. "It does look suspicious." + +Two days before the date of Billy's expected sailing, William +announced at the breakfast table that he was going away on +business; might be gone until the end of the week. + +"You don't say," commented Bertram. "I'M going to-morrow, but I'm +coming back in a couple of days." + +"Hm-m;" 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 by water would be a pleasure, the night +was so fine and warm. + +In New York Cyril had little trouble in finding Billy, as he knew +the steamship she was to take. + +"I thought as long as I was in New York to-day I'd just come and +say good-by 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?" + +"Very well, I fancy, though they weren't there when I left," +replied the man. + +"Oh!--gone away?" + +"Yes. A little matter of business they said; but--well, by Jove!" +he broke off, his gaze on a familiar figure hurrying at that moment +toward them. "There's William now!" + +William, with no eyes but for Billy, came rapidly forward. + +"Well, well, Billy! I thought as long as I happened to be in New +York to-day I'd just run down to the boat and see you and Aunt +Hannah off, and wish-- CYRIL! Where did YOU come from?" + +Billy laughed. + +"He just happened to be in town, too, Uncle William, like you," 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 gesture +of defeat. + +"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 fellow-sinners here, I'll wager they weren't two days +behind me in their planning. So now, own up, boys!" + +William and Cyril, however, did not have to "own up." Mrs. Stetson +appeared at the moment and created, for them, a very welcome +diversion. + +Long minutes later, when the good-byes had become nothing but a +flutter of white handkerchiefs from deck to shore, and shore to +deck, William drew a long sigh. + +"That's a nice little girl, boys, a nice little girl!" he +exclaimed. "I declare! I didn't suppose I'd mind so much her going +so far away." + + + +CHAPTER XX + +BILLY, THE MYTH + + +To all appearances it came about very naturally that Billy 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 devote herself more +particularly to her music. + +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 +would see. + +Of all this Billy wrote to William--at occasional intervals--but +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 Billy. + +"The idea! It's just as if one didn't have a namesake!" he fumed. + +"Well, did you have one?" Bertram demanded one day. "Really, Will, +I'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 +word--a message--a scrap of paper. Billy's a myth, I say!" + +William sighed. + +"Sometimes I don't know but you are right," he admitted. "Why, +it'll be three years next June since Billy was here. She must be +nearly twenty-one--and we know almost nothing about her." + +"That's so. I wonder--" Bertram paused, and laughed a little, "I +wonder if NOW she'd play guardian angel to me through the streets +of Boston." + +William threw a keen glance into his brother's face. + +"I don't believe it would be quite necessary, NOW, Bert," he said +quietly. + +The other flushed a little, but his eyes softened. + +"Maybe not, Will; still--one can always find some use for--a +guardian angel, you know," he finished, almost under his breath. + +To Cyril Bertram had occasionally spoken, during the last two +years, of their first suspicions concerning Billy's absence. They +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. Hartwell +had not once returned to Boston. + +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 friends--and 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 den after +dinner. + +"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." + +Three men sat suddenly erect in their chairs. + +"Billy?" cried three voices. "Do you know Billy?" + +"To be sure! And you do, too, she says." + +"Oh, no, we don't," disputed Bertram, emphatically. "But we WISH +we did!" + +His guest laughed. + +"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 girl--a +very charming girl." + +"She is my namesake," announced William, in what Bertram called his +"finest ever" voice that he used only for the choicest bits in his +collections. + +"Yes, she told me," smiled Calderwell. "'Billy' for 'William.' +Odd idea, too, but clever. It helps to distinguish her even more-- +though she doesn't need it, for that matter." + +"'Doesn't need it,'" echoed William in a puzzled voice. + +"No. Perhaps you don't know, Mr. Henshaw, but Miss Billy is a very +popular young woman. You have reason to be proud of your namesake." + +"I have always been that," declared William, with just a touch of +hauteur. + +"Tell us about her," begged Bertram. "You remember I said that we +wished we did know her." + +Calderwell smiled. + +"I don't believe, after all, that you do know much about her," he +began musingly. "Billy is not one who talks much of herself, I +fancy, in her letters." + +William frowned. This time there was more than a touch of hauteur +in his voice. + +"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 +girl--quite 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 men, and she has suitors enough to turn any girl's +head--but her own." + +"Suitors!" cried William, plainly aghast. "Why, Billy's nothing +but a child!" + +Calderwell gave an odd smile. + +"How long is it since you've seen--Miss Neilson?" he asked. + +"Two years." + +"And then only for a few minutes just before she sailed," amended +Bertram. "We haven't really seen much of her since three years +ago." + +"Hm-m; well, you'll see for yourself soon. You know she's coming +home next month." + +Not one of the brothers did know it--but not one of them intended +that Calderwell should find out that they did not. + +"Yes, she's coming home," said William, lifting his chin a little. + +"Oh, yes, next month," added Bertram, nonchalantly. + +Even Cyril across the room was not to be outdone. + +"Yes. Miss Neilson comes home next month," he said. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +BILLY, THE REALITY + + +Very early in May came the cheery letter from Billy herself +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. + +William at once began to make plans for his namesake's comfort. + +"But, Will, she didn't say she was coming here," Bertram reminded +him. + +"She didn't need to," smiled William, confidently. "She just took +it for granted, of course. This is her home." + +"But it hasn't been--for years. She's called Hampden Falls 'home.'" + +"I know, but that was before," demurred William, his eyes a little +anxious. "Besides, they've sold the house now, you know. There's +nowhere for her to go but here, Bertram." + +"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 preparations for Billy's arrival. + +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 sewing-chair, a +stand with a tea tray. And everywhere were roses, up-stairs and +down-stairs, until the air was heavy with their perfume. In the +dining-room Pete was again "swinging back and forth like a +pendulum," it is true; but it was a cheerful pendulum to-day, +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 brand-new +pink bow of huge dimensions adorned his fat neck--for the first +time in many months. + +"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 as that kitten when she went abroad. Aunt Hannah said so." + +"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 Billy--and all the Henshaw brothers were +vaguely conscious of a growing feeling of dislike toward Calderwell. + +Billy was unmistakably glad to see them--and 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 had done for her. They knew then, at once, that +time had been very kind. + +It was a slim Billy that they saw, with a head royally poised, and +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 of--not 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 rose-flush still glowed warmly +through the clear, smooth skin. The mouth--Billy's mouth had +always been fascinating, Bertram suddenly decided, as he watched it +now. He wanted to paint it--again. 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 liked--to +paint, he said to himself. + +William, too, was watching Billy's mouth; in fact--though he did +not know it--one 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. Cyril--indeed, 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 knew--and disliked--scores. It had occurred to him +suddenly that perhaps it would not be unalloyed bliss to take this +young namesake of William's home with them. + +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 then more like their own Billy--the Billy that +they had known. + +"And I'm so glad to be here," she cried; "and to see you all. +America IS the best place, after all!" + +"And of America, Boston is the Hub, you know," Bertram reminded +her. + +"It is," nodded Billy. + +"And it hasn't changed a mite, except to grow better. You'll see +to-morrow." + +"As if I hadn't been counting the days!" she exulted. "And now +what have you been doing--all of you?" + +"Just wait till you see," laughed Bertram. "They're all spread out +for your inspection." + +"A new 'Face of a Girl'?" + +"Of course--yards of them!" + +"And heaps of 'Old Blues' and 'black basalts'?" she questioned, +turning to William. + +"Well, a--few," hesitated William, modestly. + +"And--the music; what of that?" Billy looked now at Cyril. + +"You'll see," he shrugged. "There's very little, after all--of +anything." + +Billy gave a wise shake of her head. + +"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 what we would do when we +got to Boston?" + +"Yes, my dear; YOU have." + +The girl laughed. + +"I accept the amendment," she retorted with mock submission. "I +suppose it is always I who talk." + +"It was--when I painted you," teased Bertram. "By the way, I'll +LET you talk if you'll pose again for me," he finished eagerly. + +Billy uptilted her nose. + +"Do you think, sir, you deserve it, after that speech?" she +demanded. + +"But how about YOUR art--your music?" entreated William. "You have +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 question. He was talking +with Aunt Hannah. + +"Oh, I play--some," murmured the girl, almost evasively. "But tell +me of yourself, Uncle William, and of what you are doing." And +William needed no second bidding. + +It was some time later that Billy turned to him with an amazed +exclamation in response to something he had said. + +"Home with you! Why, Uncle William, what do you mean? You didn't +really think you'd got to be troubled with ME any longer!" she +cried merrily. + +William's face paled, then flushed. + +"I did not call it 'trouble,' Billy," he said quietly. His grieved +eyes looked straight into hers and drove the merriment quite away. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said gently. "And I appreciate your +kindness, indeed I do; but I couldn't--really I couldn't think of +such a thing!" + +"And you don't have to think of it," cut in Bertram, who considered +that the situation was becoming much too serious. "All you have to +do is to come." + +Billy shook her head. + +"You are so good, all of you! But you didn't--you really didn't +think I WAS--coming!" 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 window-pane, lest we should HAPPEN to come +to-night; 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 laughed--but she cried, too; at least, her eyes grew suddenly +moist. Bertram tried to decide afterward whether she laughed till +she cried, or cried till she laughed. + +"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 turn the thoughts away +from the first. + +"We are going to Boston, Aunt Hannah and I. We've got rooms +engaged for just now, but later we're going to take a house and +live together. That's what we're going to do." + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +HUGH CALDERWELL + + +In the Beacon Street house William mournfully removed the huge pink +bow from Spunkie's neck, and Bertram threw away the roses. Cyril +marched up-stairs with his pile of new music and his book; and +Pete, in obedience to orders, hid the workbasket, the tea table, +and the low sewing-chair. With a great display of a "getting back +home" air, Bertram moved many of his belongings upstairs--but +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 closed then, and remained as they had for years--silent and +deserted. + +Billy with Aunt Hannah had gone directly to their Back Bay hotel. +"This is for just while I'm house-hunting," the girl had said. But +very soon she had decided to go to Hampden Falls for the summer and +postpone her house-buying until the autumn. Billy was twenty-one +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 +with William's namesake. + +"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 shake--if I +want to--and some dirt to dig in." + +"Well, I'm sure that ought to be easy to find," smiled Bertram. + +"Oh, but that isn't all," supplemented Billy. "It must be mostly +closets and piazza. At least, those are the important things." + +"Well, you might run across a snag there. Why don't you build?" + +Billy gave a gesture of dissent. + +"Too slow. I want it now." + +Bertram laughed. His eyes narrowed quizzically. + +"From what Calderwell says," he bantered, "I should judge that +there are plenty of sighing swains who are only too ready to give +you a home--and now." + +The pink deepened in Billy's cheeks. + +"I said closets and a piazza, dirt to dig, and a furnace to shake," +she retorted merrily. "I didn't say I wanted a husband." + +"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. + +"And where is Cyril?" asked Mrs. Stetson, coming into the room at +that moment. + +William stirred restlessly. + +"Well, Cyril couldn't--couldn't come," stammered William with an +uneasy glance at his brother. + +Billy laughed unexpectedly. + +"It's too bad--about Mr. Cyril's not coming," she murmured. And +again Bertram caught the twinkle in the downcast eyes. + +To Bertram the twinkle looked interesting, and worth pursuit; but +at the very beginning of the chase Calderwell's card came up, and +that ended--everything, so Bertram declared crossly to himself. + +Billy found her dirt to dig in, and her furnace to shake, in +Brookline. There were closets, too, and a generous expanse of +veranda. They 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 many-hued, +many-shaped roofs nestling among towering trees, with the wide +sweep of the sky above, and the haze of faraway hills at the +horizon. + +"In fact, it's as nearly perfect as it can be--and not take angel- +wings and fly away," declared Billy. "I have named it 'Hillside.'" + +Very early in her career as house-owner, 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 household. + +"And now I'm ready to see my friends," she announced. + +"And I think your friends will be ready to see you," Bertram +assured her. + +And they were--at 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- +year-old namesake. There were others, too, whom Billy had met +abroad; and there were soft-stepping, sweet-faced old women and an +occasional white-whiskered old man--Aunt Hannah's friends--who +found that the young mistress of Hillside was a charming hostess. +There were also the Henshaw "boys," and there was always +Calderwell--at least, so Bertram declared to himself sometimes. + +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 his brothers did +most of the talking. + +As to Calderwell--Calderwell 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, calf-bound volumes spread in imposing array on the +desk before him. Other hours--many hours--he spent with Billy. + +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." + +"Tell you about them! Why, don't you know?" + +She shook her head. + +"No. Cyril says nothing. William little more--about themselves; +and you know what Bertram is. One can hardly separate sense from +nonsense with him." + +"You don't know, then, how splendidly Bertram has done with his +art?" + +"No; only from the most casual hearsay. Has he done well then?" + +"Finely! The public has been his for years, and now the 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 +charm." + +"I'm so glad! And is it still the 'Face of a Girl'?" + +"Yes; only he's doing straight portraiture now as well. It's got +to 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, too--a mighty fine fellow. You may +not know, perhaps, but three or four years ago he was--well, not +wild, but 'frolicsome,' he would probably have called it. He got +in with a lot of fellows that--well, that weren't good for a chap +of Bertram's temperament." + +"Like--Mr. Seaver?" + +Calderwell turned sharply. + +"Did YOU know Seaver?" he demanded in obvious surprise. + +"I used to SEE him--with Bertram." + +"Oh! Well, he WAS one of them, unfortunately. But Bertram shipped +him years ago." + +Billy gave a sudden radiant smile--but she changed the subject at +once. + +"And Mr. William still collects, I suppose," she observed. + +"Jove! I should say he did! I've forgotten the latest; but he's a +fine fellow, too, like Bertram." + +"And--Mr. Cyril?" + +Calderwell frowned. + +"That chap's a poser for me, Billy, and no mistake. I can't make +him out!" + +"What's the matter?" + +"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." + +Billy laughed. + +"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 he doing in his music?" + +The other shrugged his shoulders. + +"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 know--air, light, piano, and audience. He's got +another book out, I'm told--a profound treatise on somebody's +something or other--musical, of course." + +"And he used to write music; doesn't he do that any more?" + +"I believe so. I hear of it occasionally through musical friends +of mine. They even play it to me sometimes. But I can't stand for +much of it--his stuff--really, Billy." + +"'Stuff' indeed! And why not?" An odd hostility showed in Billy's +eyes. + +Again Calderwell shrugged his shoulders. + +"Don't ask me. I don't know. But they're always dead slow, somber +things, with the wail of a lost spirit shrieking through them." + +"But I just love lost spirits that wail," avowed Billy, with more +than a shade of reproach in her voice. + +Calderwell stared; then he shook his head. + +"Not in mine, thank you;" he retorted whimsically. "I prefer my +spirits of a more sane and cheerful sort." + +The girl laughed, but almost instantly she fell silent. + +"I've been wondering," she began musingly, after a time, "why some +one of those three men does not--marry." + +"You wouldn't wonder--if you knew them better," declared Calderwell. +"Now think. Let's begin at the top of the Strata--by the way, +Bertram'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 William--you 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 heart--that is, what hadn't gone with the baby a few years +before. There was a boy, you know, that died." + +"Yes, I know," nodded Billy, quick tears in her eyes. "Aunt Hannah +told me." + +"Well, that counts out William, then," said Calderwell, with an air +of finality. + +"But how about Bertram? You haven't settled Bertram," laughed +Billy, archly. + +"Bertram!" Calderwell's eyes widened. "Billy, can you imagine +Bertram's making love in real earnest to a girl?" + +"Why, I--don't--know; maybe!" Billy tipped her head from side to +side as if she were viewing a picture set up for her inspection. + +"Well, I can't. In the first place, no girl would think he was +serious; or if by any chance she did, she'd soon discover that it +was the turn of her head or the tilt of her chin that he admired-- +TO PAINT. Now isn't that so?" + +Billy laughed, but she did not answer. + +"It is, and you know it," declared Calderwell. "And that settles +him. Now you can see, perhaps, why none of these men--will marry." + +It was a long minute before Billy spoke. + +"Not a bit of it. I don't see it at all," she declared with +roguish merriment. "Moreover, I think that some day, some one of +them--will marry, Sir Doubtful!" + +Calderwell threw a quick glance into her eyes. Evidently something +he saw there sent a swift shadow to his own. He waited a moment, +then asked abruptly: + +"Billy, WON'T you marry me?" + +Billy frowned, though her eyes still laughed. + +"Hugh, I told you not to ask me that again," she demurred. + +"And I told you not to ask impossibilities of me," he retorted +imperturbably. "Billy, won't you, now--seriously? " + +"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 away, without any +more fuss." + +Billy sighed impatiently. + +"Hugh, won't you understand that I'm serious?" she cried; then she +turned suddenly, with a peculiar flash in her eyes. + +"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 something--a +light something--that brought the laugh to Billy's lips in spite of +herself; but he was still frowning when he left the house some +minutes later, and the shadow was not gone from his eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING + + +Billy's time was well occupied. There were so many, many things +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 she lent more than +her name, giving freely of both time and money. + +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 pale-faced 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 walks and fretful pupils. + +"But how in the world do you discover them all--these forlorn +specimens of humanity?" queried Bertram one evening, when he had +found Billy entertaining a freckled-faced messenger-boy with a +plate of ice cream and a big square of cake. + +"Anywhere--everywhere," smiled Billy. + +"Well, this last candidate for your favor, who has just gone--who's +he?" + +"I don't know, beyond that his name is 'Tom,' and that he likes ice +cream." + +"And you never saw him before?" + +"Never." + +"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 thought that stone +doorstep of yours was looking a little worn." + +"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 to-night, and it occurred to me that he might +like a taste; so I gave it to him." + +Bertram raised his eyebrows quizzically. + +"Very kind, of course; but--why ice cream?" he questioned. "I +thought it was roast beef and boiled potatoes that was supposed to +be handed out to gaunt-eyed hunger." + +"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 and see them +smile." + +For a minute Bertram was silent, then he asked abruptly: + +"Billy, why did you leave the Strata?" + +Billy was taken quite by surprise. A pink flush spread to her +forehead, and her tongue stumbled at first over her reply. + +"Why, I--it seemed--you--why, I left to go to Hampden Falls, to be +sure. Don't you remember?" she finished gaily. + +"Oh, yes, I remember THAT," conceded Bertram with disdainful +emphasis. "But why did you go to Hampden Falls?" + +"Why, it--it was the only place to go--that is, I WANTED to go +there," she corrected hastily. "Didn't Aunt Hannah tell you that +I--I was homesick to get back there?" + +"Oh, yes, Aunt Hannah SAID that," observed the man; "but wasn't +that homesickness a little--sudden?" + +Billy blushed pink again. + +"Why, maybe; but--well, homesickness is always more or less sudden; +isn't it?" she parried. + +Bertram laughed, but his eyes grew suddenly almost tender. + +"See here, Billy, you can't bluff worth a cent," he declared. "You +are much too refreshingly frank for that. Something was the +trouble. Now what was it? Won't you tell me, please?" + +Billy pouted. She hesitated and gazed anywhere but into the +challenging eyes before her. Then very suddenly she looked +straight into them. + +"Very well, there WAS a reason for my leaving," she confessed a +little breathlessly. "I--didn't want to--bother you any more--all +of you." + +"Bother us!" + +"No. I found out. You couldn't paint; Mr. Cyril couldn't play or +write; and--and everything was different because I was there. But +I didn't blame you--no, no!" she assured him hastily. "It was only +that I--found out." + +"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. + +"You may ask, but I shall not tell," she declared firmly. + +If Bertram had known Billy just a little better he would have let +the matter drop there; but he did not know Billy, so he asked: + +"Was it anything I did--or said?" + +The girl did not answer. + +"Billy, was it?" Bertram's voice showed terror now. + +Billy laughed unexpectedly. + +"Do you think I'm going to say 'no' to a series of questions, and +then give the whole thing away by my silence when you come to the +right one?" she demanded merrily. "No, sir!" + +"Well, anyhow, it wasn't I, then," sighed the man in relief; "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 concluded triumphantly. + +The girl eyed him for a moment in silence; then she shook her head. + +"I'm not going to be caught that way, either," she smiled. "You +know--just what you did in the first place about it: nothing." + +The man stirred restlessly and pondered. After a long pause he +adopted new tactics. With a searching study of her face to note +the slightest change, he enumerated: + +"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 a glance half-admiring, +half-chagrined, he fell back into his chair. + +"I'll give it up. You've won," he acknowledged. "But, Billy,"-- +his manner changed suddenly--"I wonder if you know just what a hole +you left in the Strata when you went away." + +"But I couldn't have--in the whole Strata," objected Billy. "I +occupied only one stratum, and a stratum doesn't go up and down, +you know, only across; and mine was the second floor." + +Bertram gave a slow shake of his head. + +"I know; but yours was a freak formation," he maintained gravely. +"It DID go up and down. Honestly, Billy, we did care--lots. Will +and I were inconsolable, and even Cyril played dirges for a week." + +"Did he?" gurgled Billy, with sudden joyousness. "I'm so glad!" + +"Thank you," murmured Bertram, disapprovingly. "We hadn't +considered it a subject for exultation." + +"What? Oh, I didn't mean that! That is--" she stopped helplessly. + +"Oh, never mind about trying to explain," interposed Bertram. "I +fancy the remedy would be worse than the disease, in this case." + +"Nonsense! I only meant that I like to be missed--sometimes," +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." + +Billy laughed, but her eyes grew tender. + +"Did Uncle William do--that?" she asked. + +"He did--and he did more. Pete told me after a time that you 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 silk button that I recognized as coming from one +of your dresses." + +"Oh!" said Billy, softly. "Dear Uncle William--and how good he was +to me!" + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +CYRIL, THE ENIGMA + + +Perhaps it was because Billy saw so little of Cyril that it was +Cyril whom she wished particularly to see. William, Bertram, +Calderwell--all her other friends came frequently to the little +house on the hill, Billy told herself; only Cyril held aloof--and +it was Cyril that she wanted. + +Billy said that it was his music; that she wanted to hear him play, +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 had shone in the past. + +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 then--very 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 painfully punctilious +host. Never had he been in the least approachable. + +"He treats me exactly as he treated poor little Spunk that first +night," Billy declared hotly to herself. + +Only once since she came had Billy heard Cyril play, and that 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 +clean-cut 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 that had brought to his face merely a bored smile +of acknowledgment. + +Twice she had asked him to play for her; but each time he had +begged to be excused, courteously, but decidedly. + +"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 up-stairs and camp +outside his door, waiting patiently for such crumbs as may fall +from his table." + +"Aren't your metaphors a little mixed?" questioned Cyril irritably. + +"Yes, sir," acknowledged Bertram with unruffled temper. "but I +don't mind if Billy doesn't. I only meant her to understand that +she'd have to do as she used to do--listen outside your door." + +Billy's cheeks reddened. + +"But that is what I sha'n't do," she retorted with spirit. "And, +moreover, I still have hopes that some day he'll play to me." + +"Maybe," conceded Bertram, doubtfully; "if the stool and the piano +and the pedals and the weather and his fingers and your ears and my +watch are all just right--then he'll play." + +"Nonsense!" scowled Cyril. "I'll play, of course, some day. But +I'd rather not today." And there the matter had ended. Since then +Billy had not asked him to play. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE OLD ROOM--AND BILLY + + +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 a-quiver. +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, whole-souled +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 promptly at the appointed +hour they came. + +"There, this is something like," exulted Bertram, when the ladies, +divested of their wraps, toasted their feet before the open fire in +his den. + +"Indeed it is, for now I've time to see everything--everything +you've done since I've been gone," cried Billy, gazing eagerly +about her. + +"Hm-m; well, THAT wasn't what I meant," shrugged Bertram. + +"Of course not; but it's what I meant," retorted Billy. "And there +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 time to get his eyes on some old pewter chain +with a green stone in it." + +Billy laughed; but at the look of genuine distress that came 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 her feet, "take me up-stairs, please, +and show them to me." + +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 before a small cabinet in one of William's rooms. "Oh, +oh, how pretty!" + +"Do you like them? I thought you would," triumphed William, quick +joy driving away the anxious fear in his eyes. "You see, I--I +thought of you when I got them--every 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, chain-linked disks, +heavily chased, and set at regular intervals with a strange, blue- +green stone. + +Billy hung above it enraptured. + +"Oh, what a beauty! And this, I suppose, is Bertram's 'pewter +chain'! 'Pewter,' indeed!" she scoffed. "Tell me, Uncle William, +where did you get it?" + +And uncle William told, happily, thirstily, drinking in Billy's +evident interest with delight. There were, too, a quaintly-set +ring and a cat's-eye 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 flame-colored 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, sardonyx, lapis lazuli, tourmaline, chrysolite, hyacinth, +and carbuncle. + +"They are lovely, perfectly lovely!" breathed Billy, when the last +chain had slipped through her fingers into William's hand. "I +think they are the very nicest things you ever collected." + +"So do I," agreed the man, emphatically. "And they are--different, +too." + +"They are," said Billy, "very--different." But she was not looking +at the jewelry: her eyes were on a small shell hairpin and a brown +silk button half hidden behind a Lowestoft teapot. + +On the way down-stairs William stopped a moment at Billy's old +rooms. + +"I wish you were here now," he said wistfully. "They're all ready +for you--these rooms." + +"Oh, but why don't you use them?--such pretty rooms!" cried Billy, +quickly. + +William gave a gesture of dissent. + +"We have no use for them; besides, they belong to you and Aunt +Hannah. You left your imprint long ago, my dear--we should not +feel at home in them." + +"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, dropping herself upon the piano stool +and dashing into a brilliant mazourka. + +Billy, like Cyril, had a way of working off her moods at her finger +tips; and to-day 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 down-stairs for +a moment to settle a vexed question concerning the table +decorations. + +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 old-time longing when she had come to that +house a lonely, orphan girl, in search of a home. On and on she +played; then with a discordant note, she suddenly rose from the +piano. She was thinking of Kate, and wondering if, had Kate not +"managed" the little room would still be home. + +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 gray-trousered legs +disappearing around the curve of the landing above. She thought +nothing of it until later when dinner was announced, and Cyril came +down-stairs; 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; and it was a question +whether Pete or Dong Ling tried the harder to please. + +After dinner the family gathered in the drawing-room and chatted +pleasantly. Bertram displayed his prettiest and newest pictures, +and Billy played and sung--bright, tuneful little things that she +knew Aunt Hannah and Uncle William liked. If Cyril was pleased or +displeased, he did not show it--but 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 so--what was he doing +there? + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +"MUSIC HATH CHARMS" + + +Two days after Thanksgiving Cyril called at Hillside. + +"I've come to hear you play," he announced abruptly. + +Billy's heart sung within her--but her temper rose. Did he think +then that he had but to beckon and she would come--and at this late +day, she asked herself. Aloud she said: + +"Play? But this is 'so sudden'! Besides, you have heard me." + +The man made a disdainful gesture. + +"Not that. I mean play--really play. Billy, why haven't you +played to me before?" + +Billy's chin rose perceptibly. + +"Why haven't you asked me?" she parried. + +To Billy's surprise the man answered this with calm directness. + +"Because Calderwell said that you were a dandy player, and I don't +care for dandy players." + +Billy laughed now. + +"And how do you know I'm not a dandy player, Sir Impertinent?" she +demanded. + +"Because I've heard you--when you weren't." + +"Thank you," murmured Billy. + +Cyril shrugged his shoulders. + +"Oh, you know very well what I mean," he defended. "I've heard +you; that's all." + +"When?" + +"That doesn't signify." + +Billy was silent for a moment, her eyes gravely studying his face. +Then she asked: + +"Were you long--on that stairway?" + +"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, down-stairs later, that +you'd play it again; but you didn't. I came to-day to hear it." + +Again Billy's heart sung within her--but again her temper rose, +too. + +"I don't think I feel like it," she said sweetly, with a shake of +her head. "Not to-day." + +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 on--the one Billy had sat long +ago on the stairs to hear. + +"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. As was always the +case, Cyril's music had carried her quite out of herself. + +"Oh, thank you, thank you," she sighed. "You don't know--you can't +know how beautiful it all is--to me!" + +"Thank you. Then surely now you'll play to me," he returned. + +A look of real distress came to Billy's face. + +"But I can't--not what you heard the other day," she cried +remorsefully. "You see, I was--only improvising." + +Cyril turned quickly. + +"Only improvising! Billy, did you ever write it down--any of your +improvising?" + +An embarrassed red flew to Billy's face. + +"Not--not that amounted to--well, that is, some--a little," she +stammered. + +"Let me see it." + +"No, no, I couldn't--not YOU!" + +Again the rare smile lighted Cyril's eyes. + +"Billy, let me see that paper--please." + +Very slowly the girl turned toward the music cabinet. She +hesitated, glanced once more appealingly into Cyril's face, then +with nervous 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 +she came toward the piano. + +"Thank you," said Cyril as he reached far out for the music. The +next moment he seated himself again at the piano. + +Twice he played the little song through carefully, slowly. + +"Now, sing it," he directed. + +Falteringly, in a very faint voice, and with very many breaths +taken where they should not have been taken, Billy obeyed. + +"When we want to show off your song, Billy, we won't ask you to +sing it," observed the man, dryly, when she had finished. + +Billy laughed and dimpled into a blush. + +"When I want to show off my song I sha'n't be singing it to you for +the first time," she pouted. + +Cyril did not answer. He was playing over and over certain +harmonies in the music before him. + +"Hm-m; I see you've studied your counterpoint to some purpose," he +vouchsafed, finally; then: "Where did you get the words?" + +The girl hesitated. The flush had deepened on her face. + +"Well, I--" she stopped and gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm like +the small boy who made the toys. 'I got them all out of my own +head, and there's wood enough to make another.'" + +"Hm-m; indeed!" grunted the man. "Well, have you made any others?" + +"One--or two, maybe." + +"Let me see them, please." + +"I think--we've had enough--for today," she faltered. + +"I haven't. Besides, if I could have a couple more to go with +this, it would make a very pretty little group of songs." + +"'To go with this'! What do you mean?" + +"To the publishers, of course." + +"The PUBLISHERS!" + +"Certainly. Did you think you were going to keep these songs to +yourself?" + +"But they aren't worth it! They can't be--good 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 wood--like this--I advise +you to make it up right away." + +"But I have already!" cried the girl, excitedly. "There are lots +of little things that I've--that is, there are--some," she +corrected hastily, at the look that sprang into Cyril's eyes. + +"Oh, there are," laughed Cyril. "Well, we'll see what--" But he +did not see. He did not even finish his sentence; for Billy's +maid, Rosa, appeared just then with a card. + +"Show Mr. Calderwell in here," said Billy. Cyril said nothing-- +aloud; which was well. His thoughts, just then, were better left +unspoken. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +MARIE, WHO LONGS TO MAKE PUDDINGS + + +Wonderful days came then to Billy. Four songs, it seemed, had 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 Ju-Ju 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 for parlors." + +Billy saw a good deal of Cyril now. Already she was at work +rewriting and polishing some of her half-completed melodies, and +Cyril was helping her, by his interest as well as by his criticism. +He was, in fact, at the house very frequently--too 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 different--there was no disputing that. +Calderwell said that he had come "out of his shell"; and Bertram +told Billy that she must have "found his note and struck it good +and hard." + +Billy was very happy. To the little music teacher, Marie Hawthorn, +she talked more freely, perhaps, than she did to any one else. + +"It's so wonderful, Marie--so 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 mine. +Oh, Marie, is it not wonderful?" + +"It is, dear--and it is not. Your songs could not help reaching +somebody's heart. There's nothing wonderful in that." + +"Sweet flatterer!" + +"But I mean it. They are beautiful; and so is--Mr. Henshaw's +music." + +"Yes, it is," murmured Billy, abstractedly. + +There was a long pause, then Marie asked with shy hesitation: + +"Do you think, Miss Billy--that he would care? I listened +yesterday when he was playing to you. I was up here in your room, +but when I heard the music I--I went out, on the stairs and sat +down. Was it very--bad of me?" + +Billy laughed happily. + +"If it was, he can't say anything," she reassured her. "He's done +the same thing himself--and so have I." + +"HE has done it!" + +"Yes. It was at his home last Thanksgiving. It was then that he +found out--about my improvising." + +"Oh-h!" Marie's eyes were wistful. "And he cares so much now for +your music!" + +"Does he? Do you think he does?" demanded Billy. + +"I know he does--and for the one who makes it, too." + +"Nonsense!" laughed Billy, with pinker cheeks. "It's the music, +not the musician, that pleases him. Mr. Cyril doesn't like women." + +"He doesn't like women!" + +"No. But don't look so shocked, my dear. Every one who knows Mr. +Cyril knows that." + +"But I don't think--I believe it," demurred Marie, gazing straight +into Billy's eyes. "I'm sure I don't believe it." + +Under the little music teacher's steady gaze Billy flushed again. +The laugh she gave was an embarrassed one, but through it vibrated +a pleased ring. + +"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. + +Some time later Billy played, and it was then that Marie drew a +long sigh. + +"How beautiful it must be to play--like that," she breathed. + +"As if you, a music teacher, could not play!" laughed Billy. + +"Not like that, dear. You know it is not like that." + +Billy frowned. + +"But you are so accurate, Marie, and you can read at sight so +rapidly!" + +"Oh, yes, like a little machine, I know!" scorned the usually +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 out--all out," sobbed +Marie. "I felt it coming." + +"Then perhaps you'll--you'll feel better now," stammered Billy. +She tried to say more--other 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 this--the tragedy of it made Billy's heart ache. +At Marie's next words, however, Billy caught her breath in +surprise. + +"But you see it wasn't music--it wasn't ever music that I wanted-- +to do," she confessed. + +"It wasn't music! But what--I don't understand," murmured Billy. + +"No, I suppose not," sighed the other. "You play so beautifully +yourself." + +"But I thought you loved music." + +"I do. I love it dearly--in others. But I can't--I don't want to +make it myself." + +"But what do you want to do?" + +Marie laughed suddenly. + +"Do you know, my dear, I have half a mind to tell you what I do +like to do--just to make you stare." + +"Well?" Billy's eyes were wide with interest. + +"I like best of anything to--darn stockings and make puddings." + +"Marie!" + +"Rank heresy, isn't it?" smiled Marie, tearfully. "But I do, +truly. 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- +and-butter 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 them--right along--in other people's +kitchens." + +"But why do you--play?" + +"I was brought up to it. You know we had money once, lots of it," +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 pudding-making, and after my mud-pie 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. But--well, you know how it +is, dear. I teach, and teach well, perhaps, so far as the +mechanical part goes; but as for the rest--I 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 made." + +"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. But--well, is there anything I could do to help?" + +"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, followed by the amazed, questioning, sorrowful eyes +of Billy. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +"I'M GOING TO WIN" + + +Nearly all of Billy's friends knew that Bertram Henshaw was in love +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 occasions. But to Bertram himself it was very +serious. + +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 plaything--no glittering +bauble. It was something big and serious and splendid--because +Billy lived in it; something that demanded all his powers to do, +and be--because Billy was watching; something that might be a Hades +of torment or an Elysium of bliss--according to whether Billy said +"no" or "yes." + +Since Thanksgiving Bertram had known that it was love--this +consuming fire within him; and since Thanksgiving he had known, +too, that it was jealousy--this 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 drawing-room 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 Cyril--every one knew that Cyril +was a woman-hater. 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 great +boon of her love. + +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 words--mere 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 she fail to greet him +with a cheery smile. + +Bertram concluded, indeed, after a time, that she was too +companionable, too cheery. He wished she would hesitate, stammer, +blush; be a little shy. He wished that she would display surprise, +annoyance, even--anything but that eternal air of comradeship. And +then, one afternoon in the early twilight of a January day, he +freed his mind, quite unexpectedly. + +"Billy, I wish you WOULDN'T be so--so friendly!" he exclaimed in a +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 on--on our friendship?" she stammered. +"That you fear that I will again--shadow 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. + +Bertram turned quickly. + +"Billy, that was the dearest and loveliest thing a girl ever did-- +only I was too great a chump to appreciate it!" finished Bertram in +a voice that was not quite steady. + +"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 unflattering objection to my--friendliness now?" + +"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 but--a wife! Billy, WON'T you marry +me?" + +Again Billy laughed--laughed until she saw the pained anger leap to +the gray eyes before her; then she became grave at once. + +"Bertram, forgive me. I didn't think you could--you can't be-- +serious!" + +"But I am." + +Billy shook her head. + +"But you don't love me--not ME, Bertram. It's only the turn of my +head or--or the tilt of my chin that you love--to paint," she +protested, unconsciously echoing the words Calderwell had said to +her weeks before. "I'm only another 'Face of a Girl.'" + +"You're the only 'Face of a girl' to me now, Billy," declared the +man, with disarming tenderness. + +"No, no, not that," demurred Billy, in distress. "You don't mean +it. You only think you do. It couldn't be that. It can't be!" + +"But it is, dear. I think I have loved you ever since that night +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 again--anywhere. Did you know that?" + +"No; but--I'm glad--so glad!" + +"And I'm glad, too. So you see, I must have loved you then, though +unconsciously, perhaps; and I love you now." + +"No, no, please don't say that. It can't be--it really can't be. +I--I don't love you--that way, Bertram." + +The man paled a little. + +"Billy--forgive me for asking, but it's so much to me--is it that +there is--some one else?" His voice shook. + +"No, no, indeed! There is no one." + +"It's not--Calderwell?" + +Billy's forehead grew pink. She laughed nervous1y. + +"No, no, never!" + +"But there are others, so many others!" + +"Nonsense, Bertram; there's no one--no one, I assure you!" + +"It's not William, of course, nor Cyril. Cyril hates women." + +A deeper flush came to Billy's face. Her chin rose a little; and +an odd defiance flashed from her eyes. But almost instantly it was +gone, and a slow smile had come to her lips. + +"Yes, I know. Every one--says that Cyril hates women," she +observed demurely. + +"Then, Billy, I sha'n't give up!" vowed Bertram, softly. "Sometime +you WILL love me!" + +"No, no, I couldn't. That is, I'm not going to--to marry," +stammered Billy. + +"Not going to marry!" + +"No. There's my music--you know how I love that, and how much it +is to me. I don't think there'll ever be a man--that I'll love +better." + +Bertram lifted his head. Very slowly he rose till his splendid six +feet of clean-limbed 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 whimsicality +that deceived even Billy's ears. + +"And so it's music--a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on +clean white paper--that is my only rival," he cried. "Then I'll +warn you, Billy, I'll warn you. I'm going to win!" And with that +he was gone. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +"I'M NOT GOING TO MARRY" + + +Billy did not know whether to be more amazed or amused at Bertram'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 Bertram, so she calmed herself. + +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 who--but she was not going to marry, anyway, remembered Billy, +suddenly. And with that she began to cry. The whole thing was so +"tiresome," she declared, and so "absurd." + +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 "nonsense." + +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 was a little hurt, it is true, when +Marie only laughed and answered: + +"But what if the man and the music both happen to be on the same +side, my dear; what then?" + +Marie's voice was wistful, in spite of the laugh--so wistful that +it reminded Billy of their conversation a few weeks before. + +"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 do! Don't tell-- +anybody!" + +She was so obviously distressed and frightened that Billy was +puzzled. + +"There, there, 'twas only a jest, of course," she soothed her. +"But, really Marie, it is the dear, domestic little mouse like +yourself that ought to be somebody's wife--and that's the kind men +are looking for, too." + +Marie gave a slow shake of her head. + +"Not the kind of man that is somebody, that does something," she +objected; "and that's the only kind I could--love. HE wants a wife +that is beautiful and clever, that can do things like himself--LIKE +HIMSELF!" she iterated feverishly. + +Billy opened wide her eyes. + +"Why, Marie, one would think--you already knew--such a man," she +cried. + +The little music teacher changed her position, and turned her eyes +away. + +"I do, of course," she retorted in a merry voice, "lots of them. +Don't you? Come, we've discussed my matrimonial prospects quite +long enough," she went on lightly. "You know we started with +yours. Suppose we go back to those." + +"But I haven't any," demurred Billy, as she turned with a smile to +greet Aunt Hannah, who had just entered the room. "I'm not going +to marry; am I, Aunt Hannah?" + +"Er--what? Marry? My grief and conscience, what a question, +Billy! Of course you're going to marry--when the time comes!" +exclaimed Aunt Hannah. + +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 down-stairs. Billy was angry then, for +after the maid was gone, the merriment in Aunt Hannah's laugh only +matched that in Marie's--and 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 convinced--so far as his own case was +concerned--and 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 +pleased. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +MARIE FINDS A FRIEND + + +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 +electric-light post. He stopped abruptly. + +"I beg your pardon, but--why, Miss Hawthorn! It is Miss Hawthorn; +isn't it?" + +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 sure--haven't I met you at Miss Neilson's? Are you ill? +Can't I do something for you?" he begged. + +"Yes--no--that 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 do--Mr. Henshaw. I stopped to-- +rest." + +The man frowned. + +"But, surely--pardon 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 lesson--to give." + +"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 well--and just as +atrociously. Come, I insist upon taking you to Miss Neilson's." + +"No, no, thank you! I really mustn't. I--" She could say no +more. 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 step--and 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 +very white-faced girl fell over in a deathlike faint in Cyril +Henshaw's arms. + +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, white-faced and wide-eyed, she resolutely pulled herself +half upright, and announced that she was all well and must go home-- +home to Marie was a six-by-nine hall bed-room in a South End +lodging house. + +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 stay--oh, lots of +weeks." + +"I--stay here? Why, I can't--indeed, I can't," protested Marie. + +"But that isn't a bit of a nice way to accept an invitation," +disapproved Billy. "You should say, 'Thank you, I'd be delighted, +I'm sure, and I'll stay.'" + +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 +know--you must know that I can't do what you ask!" + +"I'm sure I don't see why not," argued Billy. "I'm merely giving +you an invitation and all you have to do is to accept it." + +"But the invitation is only the kind way your heart has of covering +another of your many charities," objected Marie; "besides, I have +to teach. I have my living to earn." + +"But you can't," demurred the other. "That's just the trouble. +Don't you see? The doctor said last night that you must not teach +again this winter." + +"Not teach--again--this winter! No, no, he could not be so cruel +as 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 need is rest +and care--and that's exactly what I mean my guest shall have." + +Quick tears came to the sick girl's eyes. + +"There couldn't be a kinder heart than yours, Miss Billy," she +murmured, "but I couldn't--I really couldn't be a burden to you +like this. I shall go to some hospital." + +"But you aren't going to be a burden. You are going to be my +friend and companion." + +"A companion--and in bed like this?" + +"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 their white-and-gold frames. At last she drew a +deep sigh. + +"Yes, I'll stay," she breathed rapturously; "but--you must let me +help." + +"Help? Help what?" + +"Help you; your letters, your music-copying, your accounts-- +anything, everything. And if you don't let me help,"--the music +teacher's voice was very stern now--"if you don't let me help, I +shall go home just--as--soon--as--I--can--walk!" + +"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 mischievously, as she left the room. + +Miss Hawthorn sat up the next day. The day following, in one of +Billy's "fluttery wrappers," as she called them, she walked all +about the room. Very soon she was able to go down-stairs, and in +an astonishingly 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 rose-leaf 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 end. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE + + +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 displeased her at the same time. + +She told herself that she knew very well, of course, what Marie +meant: it was Cyril; he was the man, and the music. But was Cyril +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 mind--as 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 music--his 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 +puzzling--this question, and she did not want to make a mistake. +Then, too, she did not wish to wound Cyril. If the dear man HAD +come out of his icy prison, and were reaching out timid hands to +her for her help, her interest, her love--the 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 Cyril--a little; and that she probably could care +for him a great deal. With this thought, Billy blushed--already in +her own mind she was as good as pledged to Cyril. + +It was a great change for Billy--this 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 it--and in pursuance of this high ideal she followed Marie +into the kitchen the very next time the little music teacher went +out to make one of her dainty desserts that the family liked so +well. + +"I'll just watch, if you don't mind," announced Billy. + +"Why, of course not," smiled Marie, "but I thought you didn't like +to make puddings." + +"I don't," owned Billy, cheerfully. + +"Then why this--watchfulness?" + +"Nothing, only I thought it might be just as well if I knew how to +make them. You know how Cyril--that is, ALL the Henshaw boys like +every kind you make." + +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 peculiar enthusiasm--if they happened to +interrupt a tete-a-tete with Cyril. + +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 +him--and 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, determinedly to cultivating Cyril. + +It was then that Billy made a strange and fearsome discovery: there +were some things about Cyril that she did--not--like! + +Billy was inexpressibly shocked. Heretofore he had been so high, +so irreproachable, so god-like!--but heretofore he had been a +friend. Now he was appearing in a new role--though unconsciously, +she knew. Heretofore she had looked at him with eyes that saw only +the 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 music--she +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 then Billy stated the case to herself. + +"What passes for 'fascinating mystery' in him now will be plain +moroseness--sometime. He is 'taciturn' now; he'll be--cross, then. +It is 'erratic' when he won't play the piano to-day; but a few +years from now, when he refuses some simple request of mine, it +will be--stubbornness. All this it will be--if I don't love him; +and I don't. I know I don't. Besides, we aren't really congenial. +I like people around; he doesn't. I like to go to plays; he +doesn't. He likes rainy days; I abhor them. There is no doubt of +it--life with him would not be one grand harmony; it would be one +jangling discord. I simply cannot marry him. I 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 old--and +was a profound secret, not only to the bridegroom elect, but to all +the world as well--save 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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY + + +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 himself at all, but like some +one else. + +Marie had disagreed with her, it is true, and had said stiffly: + +"I'm sure I thought he seemed very much like himself." But that +had 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 tete-a-tete 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." + +"What was that?" + +A very silly reference to that old notion that you and every one +else seem to have that I am a 'woman-hater.'" + +Billy's heart skipped a beat. One thought, pounded through her +brain and dinned itself into her ears--at all costs Cyril must not +be allowed to say that which she so feared; he must be saved from +himself. + +"Woman-hater? Why, of course you're a woman-hater," she cried +merrily. "I'm sure, I--I think it's lovely to be a woman-hater." + +The man opened wide his eyes; then he frowned angrily. + +"Nonsense, Billy, I know better. Besides, I'm in earnest, and I'm +not a woman-hater." + +"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 undergone a complete change. He was almost +shamefaced as he said: + +"Billy, I suppose I might as well own up. I don't think I did +think much of women until I saw--you." + +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 change--a great and +wonderful change that I hardly understand myself." + +"That's it! You don't understand it, I'm sure," interposed Billy, +feverishly. "It may not be such a change, after all. You may be +deceiving yourself," she finished hopefully. + +The man sighed. + +"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 should prefer another +shade." + +He paused, and Billy cast distractedly about in her mind for a +simple, natural change of subject. She had just decided to ask him +what he thought of the condition of the Brittany peasants, when he +questioned abruptly, and in a voice that was not quite steady: + +"Billy, what should you say if I should tell you that the avowed +woman-hater had strayed so far from the prescribed path as to--to +like one woman well enough as to want to--marry her?" + +The word was like a match to the gunpowder of Billy's fears. Her +self-control was shattered instantly into bits. + +"Marry? No, no, you wouldn't--you couldn't really be thinking of +that," she babbled, growing red and white by turns. "Only think +how a wife would--would b-bother you!" + +"Bother me? When I loved her?" + +"But just think--remember! She'd want cushions and rugs and +curtains, and you don't like them; and she'd always be talking and +laughing when you wanted quiet; and she--she'd want to drag you out +to plays and parties and--and everywhere. Indeed, Cyril, I'm sure +you'd never like a wife--long!" Billy stopped only because she had +no breath with which to continue. + +Cyril laughed a little grimly. + +"You don't draw a very attractive picture, Billy. Still, I'm not +afraid. I don't think this particular--wife would do any of those +things--to trouble me." + +"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 carefully--very carefully, before you decide." + +"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 sleigh-ride if she cared to go. + +"Of course she'll go," declared Cyril, promptly, answering for her. +"It is time I was off anyhow." To Billy, he said in a low voice: +"You haven't been very encouraging, little girl--in fact, you've +been mighty discouraging. But some day--some other day, I'll try +to make clear to you--many things." + +Billy greeted Bertram very cordially. It was such a relief--his +cheery, genial companionship! The air, too, was bracing, and all +the world lay under a snow-white blanket of sparkling purity. +Everything was so beautiful, so restful! + +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 good-byes were said; then +wistfully Bertram hazarded: + +"Billy, don't you think, sometimes, that I'm gaining--just a little +on that rival of mine--that music?" + +Billy's face clouded. She shook her head gently. + +"Bertram, please don't--when we've had such a beautiful hour +together," she begged. "It troubles me. If you do, I can't go-- +again." + +"But you shall go again," cried Bertram, bravely smiling straight +into her eyes. "And there sha'n't ever anything in the world +trouble you, either--that I can help!" + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +WILLIAM IS WORRIED + + +Billy's sleigh-ride had been due to the kindness of a belated +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 dirt." + +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 seemingly exhaustless source of his wisdom. + +"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 quick-growing things, just for +this season, until we can get the more permanent things established." + +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 fingers--and for Bertram's. And if sometimes in the +intimacy of seed-sowing and plant-setting, 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 +assistant--and that was all. + +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 sleigh-ride. 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 +smile--and 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 meant--that he would try to convince her +(as she had tried to convince herself) that she would make a good +wife for him. + +Billy was very sure that if Cyril could be prevented from speaking +his mind just now, his mind would change in time; hence her +determination to give his mind that opportunity. + +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 taken up her teaching +again, much to Billy's distress. + +"But I can't stay here always, like this," Marie had protested. + +"But I should like to keep you!" Billy had responded, with no less +decision. + +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 little curio-shop. + +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, much-loved +daughter, the joy of his life, the solace of his declining years. + +To no one had William talked of this--and 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 thought he saw in Billy's +changed attitude toward himself. + +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 silent--what 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 +worried--and to show it. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +CLASS DAY + + +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. Besides, I've +got a scheme I mean to carry out." + +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 little house into a +fresh-air place for Boston's slum children!" + +"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." + +"But you haven't much spare room; have you?" questioned Bertram. + +"No, unfortunately; so I shall have to take only two or three at a +time, and keep them maybe a week or ten days. It's just a sugar +plum, Bertram. Truly it is," she added whimsically, but with a +tender light in her eyes. + +"But who are these people?" Bertram's face had lost its look of +shocked surprise, and his voice expressed genuine interest. + +"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 fields, and a summer play or two, +perhaps. + +"Then there's a little couple that live in a third-story 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 +week. She'll be here all the time, and he'll come out at night, of +course. + +"Another one is a widow with six children. The children are +already provided for by a fresh-air society, but the woman I'm +going to take, and--and give her a whole week of food that she +didn't have to 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 are--really, Bertram, there is no end +to them." + +"I can well believe that," declared Bertram, with emphasis, "so far +as your generous heart is concerned." + +Billy colored and looked distressed. + +"But it isn't generosity or charity at all, Bertram," she protested. +"You are mistaken when you think it is--really! Why, I shall enjoy +every bit of it just as well as they do--and better, perhaps." + +"But you stay here--in the city--all summer for their sakes." + +"What if I do? Besides, this isn't the real city," argued Billy, +"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 summer--not +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 much so with William's countenance. + +"William does NOT look well," she declared one day when she and +Billy were alone together. + +"Sick? Uncle William sick? Oh, I hope not!" cried the girl. + +"I don't know whether it's 'sick' or not," returned Mrs. Hartwell. +"But it's something. He's troubled. I'm going to speak to him. +He's worried over something; and he's grown terribly thin." + +"But he's always thin," reasoned Billy. + +"I know, but not like this--ever. You don't notice it, perhaps, or +realize it, seeing him every day as you do. But I know something +troubles him." + +"Oh, I hope not," murmured Billy, with anxious eyes. "We don't +want Uncle William troubled: we all love him too well." + +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 looking eagerly forward to the +occasion. + +"You have seen the Stadium, of course," said Bertram to Billy, a +few days before the anticipated Friday. + +"Only from across the river." + +"Is that so? And you've never been here Class Day, either. Good! +Then you've got a treat in store. Just wait and see!" + +And Billy waited--and 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 Class-Day week. By the time the day +itself arrived Billy was almost as excited as was young Hartwell +himself. + +It rained Class-Day 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 afterward how many times that day remarks like these +were made to her: + +"You've been here Class Day before, of course. You've seen the +confetti-throwing! . . . No? Well, you just wait!" + +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 seats. + +"I wanted them high up, you see," explained Bertram, "because you +can get the effect so much better. There, here we are!" + +For the first time Billy turned and looked about her. She gave a +low cry of delight. + +"Oh, oh, how beautiful--how wonderfully beautiful!" + +"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 aglow with delight. + +First there was the great amphitheater itself. Only the wide curve +of the horseshoe was roped off for to-day's audience. Beyond lay +the two sides with their tier above tier of empty seats, almost +dazzling in the sunshine. Within the roped-off curve the scene was +of kaleidoscopic beauty. Charmingly gowned young women and +carefully groomed young men were everywhere, stirring, chatting, +laughing. Gay-colored parasols and flower-garden 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 curtain hung +from heaven itself. + +At the first sound of the distant band that told of the graduates' +coming, Bertram said almost wistfully: + +"Class Day is the only time when I feel 'out of it.' You see I'm +the first male Henshaw for ages that hasn't been through Harvard; +and to-day, you know, is the time when the old grads come back and +do stunts like the kids--if 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 enough--and you'll see them as you +never saw them before." + +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 great bowl of the horseshoe curve. + +And how they yelled and cheered--those 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 throats--and did +split their gloves--especially when the black-gowned seniors swept +into view. + +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 many-hued 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 +wires, they made a fairy lace work of marvelous beauty. + +"Oh, oh, oh!" cried Billy, her eyes misty with emotion. "I think I +never saw anything in my life so lovely! + +"I thought you'd like it," gloried Bertram. "You know I said to +wait!" + +But even with this, Class Day for Billy was not finished. There +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +SISTER KATE AGAIN + + +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 that sorely needed her guiding hand. + +William's thin face, anxious looks, and nervous manner had troubled +her ever since she came. Then one day, very suddenly, had come +enlightenment: William was in love--and with Billy. + +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 +longer, she declared. + +On Sunday afternoon Kate asked her eldest brother to take her +driving. + +"Not a motor car; I want a horse--that will let me talk," she said. + +"Certainly," agreed William, with a smile; but Bertram, who chanced +to hear her, put in the sly comment: "As if ANY horse could +prevent--that!" + +On the drive Kate began to talk at once, but she did not plunge +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: + +"William, why don't you take Billy home with you?" + +William stirred uneasily as he always did when anything annoyed +him. + +"My dear Kate, there is nothing I should like better to do," he +replied. + +"Then why don't you do it?" + +"I--hope to, sometime." + +"But why not now?" + +"I'm afraid Billy is not quite--ready." + +"Nonsense! A young girl like that does not know her own mind lots +of times. Just press the matter a little. Love will work wonders-- +sometimes." + +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. + +"Then you have--seen it--too?" he stammered + +"'Seen it, too,'" laughed Kate, with her confident eyes on +William's flushed face, "I should say I had seen it! Any one could +see it." + +William blushed again. Love to him had always been something +sacred; something that called for hushed voices and twilight. +This 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 all. It's worrying you. I +can see it is." + +Again William stirred uneasily. + +"But, Kate, I can't do anything. I told you before; I don't +believe Billy is--ready." + +"Nonsense! Ask her." + +"But Kate, a girl won't marry against her will!" + +"I don't believe it is against her will." + +"Kate! Honestly?" + +"Honestly! I've watched her." + +"Then I WILL speak," cried the man, his face alight, "if--if you +think anything I can say would--help. There is nothing--nothing in +all this world that I so desire, Kate, as to have that little girl +back home. And of course that would do it. She'd live there, you +know." + +"Why, of--course," 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 +have a chance to grow, she told herself. + +Mrs. Hartwell's next move was to speak to Billy, and she was +careful to do this at once, so that she might pave the way for +William. + +She began her conversation with an ingratiating smile and the +words: + +"Well, Billy, I've been doing a little detective work on my own +account." + +"Detective work?" + +"Yes; about William. You know I told you the other day how +troubled and anxious he looked to me. Well, I've found out what's +the matter." + +"What is it?" + +"Yourself." + +"Myself! Why, Mrs. Hartwell, what can you mean?" + +The elder lady smiled significantly. + +"Oh, it's merely another case, my dear, of 'faint heart never won +fair lady.' I've been helping on the faint heart; that's all." + +"But I don't understand." + +"No? I can't believe you quite mean that, my dear. Surely you +must know how earnestly my brother William is longing for you to go +back and live with him." + +Like William, Billy flushed scarlet. + +"Mrs. Hartwell, certainly no one could know better than YOURSELF +why that is quite impossible," she frowned. + +The other colored confusedly. + +"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." + +To Mrs. Hartwell's blank amazement, Billy laughed outright. + +"'William's suit'!" she quoted merrily. "Why, Mrs. Hartwell, there +isn't any 'suit' to it. Uncle William doesn't want me to marry +him!" + +"Indeed he does." + +Billy stopped laughing, and sat suddenly erect. + +"MRS. HARTWELL!" + +"Billy, is it possible that you did not know this?" + +"Indeed I don't know it, and--excuse me, but I don't think you do, +either." + +"But I do. I've talked with him, and he's very much in earnest," +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 him--I know you do!" + +"Why, of course I care for him--but not--that way." + +"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 BE--if you only will--in 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 not supposed she could make so +touching an appeal. + +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. "I--I am taken quite by surprise. I shall have to +think it out--alone." + +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 +to you for love and comfort and rest." + +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 now--what must she do; what could she +do? She loved no one--of 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" William--if she married him. + +"If she married him." The words startled her. "If she married +him." . . . Well, what of it? She would go to live at the Strata, +of course; and there would be Cyril and Bertram. It might be +awkward, and yet--she did not believe Cyril was in love with +anything but his music; and as to Bertram--it 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 companion--a 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 sure--much 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 Uncle--that 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 it hard for him, she promised herself. She would be William's +wife. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +WILLIAM MEETS WITH A SURPRISE + + +In spite of his sister's confident assurance that the time was ripe +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 carrying out of his promise to speak to his namesake. + +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 Bertram--what then? Might not +his own untimely haste in the matter forever put an end to the +chance of her caring for him? + +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 Bertram and all the Strata glad by +loving him in return. + +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 vine-shaded 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 you. I--I have wanted +to say it for some time." + +"Why, of--of course," stammered the girl, falling back in her seat. +And again William noticed that odd fluttering of the slim little +hands. + +For a time no one spoke, then William began softly, his eyes on the +distant sky-line still faintly aglow with the sunset's reflection. + +"Billy, I want to tell you a story. Long years ago there was a man +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 baby--went away, after a time, and +carried with him all the plans--and 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 great bare rooms that +echoed sighs and sobs. + +"Perhaps it was this--the bareness of the rooms--that 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 business--hours which once had been all too short to +devote to the young wife and the baby boy. + +"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 then--but perhaps you +are tired of the story, Billy." William turned with questioning +eyes. + +"No, oh, no," faltered Billy. "It is beautiful, but so--sad!" + +"But the saddest part is done--I hope," said William, softly. "Let +me tell you. A wonderful thing happened then. Suddenly, right out +of a dull gray sky of hopelessness, dropped a little brown-eyed +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 brown-eyed girl; and +he hoped that he could keep her. But just as he was beginning to +bask in this new light--it went out. As suddenly as they had come, +the little brown-eyed girl and the gray cat went away. Why, the +man did not know. He knew only that the ache had come back, doubly +intense, and that 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 sighs and sobs of the past." + +"And I will finish it," choked Billy, holding out both her hands. +"It sha'n't ache--they sha'n't echo!" + +The man leaned forward eagerly, unbelievingly, and caught the hands +in his own. + +"Billy, do you mean it? Then you will--come?" + +"Yes, yes! I didn't know--I didn't think. I never supposed it was +like that! Of course I'll come!" And in a moment she was sobbing +in his arms. + +"Billy!" breathed William rapturously, as he touched his lips to +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 came--Billy herself had begun to speak. + +"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 self-controlled. But you know I am +young, and you'll have to be patient." + +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 could not +have heard aright. + +"Er--you said--" he questioned faintly. + +"I say when I'm your wife I hope I'll learn to be more self- +controlled," laughed Billy, nervously. "You see I just thought I +ought to remind you that I am young, and that you'll have to be +patient." + +William stammered something--a 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 +away--if 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 do? + +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 ask you to marry me." + +Very valiantly then William summoned his wits and tried to act his +part. He told himself, too, that it would not be a hard one; that +he 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 was--as if he, at his age, were a fit match for a girl of +twenty-one! + +And then he looked at Billy. The girl was plainly nervous. There +was a deep flush on her cheeks and a brilliant sparkle in her eyes. +She was talking rapidly--almost incoherently at times--and 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 "yes" to the man +she loves. + +William went home that night in a daze. To himself he said that he +had gone out in search of a daughter, and had come back with a +wife. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +"WILLIAM'S BROTHER" + + +It was decided that for the present, the engagement should not 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 plans were a little more definite. + +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 +have been more or less pleased if she had finished it. + +Cyril received the information moodily, and lapsed at once into a +fit of abstraction from which he roused himself hardly enough to +offer perfunctory congratulations and best wishes. + +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 +and taciturn aloofness. + +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 little--very little, that night; but in the morning he +went straight to Billy. + +Billy was shocked. She had never seen the smiling, self-reliant, +debonair Bertram like this. + +"Billy, is this true?" he demanded. The dull misery in his voice +told Billy that he knew the answer before he asked the question. + +"Yes, yes; but, Bertram, please--please don't take it like this!" +she implored. + +"How would you have me take it?" + +"Why, just--just sensibly. You know I told you that--that the +other never could be--never." + +"I know YOU said so; but I--believed otherwise." + +"But I told you--I did not love you--that way." + +Bertram winced. He rose to his feet abruptly. + +"I know you did, Billy. I'm a fool, of course, to think that I +could ever--change it. I shouldn't have come here, either, this +morning. But I--had to. Good-by!" His face, as he held out his +hand, was tragic with renunciation. + +"Why, Bertram, you aren't going--now--like this!" cried the girl. +"You've just come!" + +The man turned almost impatiently. + +"And do you think I can stay--like this? Billy, won't you say +good-by?" he asked in a softer voice, again with outstretched hand. + +Billy shook her head. She ignored the hand, and resolutely backed +away. + +"No, not like that. You are angry with me," she grieved. +"Besides, you make it sound as if--if you were going away." + +"I am going away." + +"Bertram!" There was terror as well as dismay in Billy's voice. + +Again the man turned sharply. + +"Billy, why are you making this thing so hard for me?" he asked 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 +before--for 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? I should feel lost without--you!" +Billy was almost crying now. + +Bertram looked up quickly. An odd change had come to his face. +For a moment he gazed silently into Billy's agitated countenance; +then he asked in a low voice: + +"Billy, did you think that after you and William were married I +should still continue to live at--the Strata?" + +"Why, of course you will!" cried the girl, indignantly. "Why, +Bertram, you'll be my brother then--my real brother; and one of the +very chiefest things I'm anticipating when I go there to live is +the good times you and I will have together when I'm William's +wife!" + +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 you--love William?" + +Billy flushed with anger. + +"You have no right to ask such a question. Of course I love +William." + +"Of course you do--we all love William. William is, in fact, a +most lovable man. But William's wife should, perhaps, love him a +little differently from--all of us." + +"And she will, certainly," retorted the girl, with a quick lifting +of her chin. "Bertram, I don't think you have any right to--to +make such insinuations." + +"And I won't make them any more," replied Bertram, gravely. "I +just wanted you to make sure that you--knew." + +"I shall make sure, and I shall know," said Billy, firmly--so +firmly that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince +herself as well as others. + +There was a long pause, then the man asked diffidently: + +"And so you are very sure that--that you want me to--stay?" + +"Indeed I do! Besides,--don't you remember?--there are all my +people 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 course, if you don't want to--" + +"But I do want to," cried Bertram, heartily, a gleam of the old +cheerfulness springing to his eyes. "I'm dying to!" + +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 light-heartedness. He was once more "only Bertram." She +hesitated, then said with stern decision: + +"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 that--that +_I_ shall change, then--then you must go. But if you will stay as +WILLIAM'S BROTHER then--I'll be more than glad to have you." + +"I'll stay--as William's brother," agreed Bertram; and Billy did +not notice the quick indrawing of his breath nor the close shutting +of his lips after the words were spoken. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE ENGAGEMENT OF TWO + + +By the middle of July the routine of Billy's days was well +established. Marie had been for a week a welcome addition to the +family, and she was proving to be of invaluable aid in entertaining +Billy's guests. The overworked widow and the little lodging-house +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 last remonstrated with him. + +"But I didn't mean them to take ALL your time," she protested. + +"Don't they like it? Do they see too much of me?" he demanded. + +"No, no! They love it, of course. You must know that. Nobody +else 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 here all summer, of course. You +always go away some, you know, for a vacation." + +"But I'm having a vacation here, doing this," laughed Bertram. +"I'm sure I'm getting sea air down to the beaches and mountain air +out to the Blue Hills. And as for excitement--if 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 Roller-coaster-- +just show it to me; that's all!" + +Billy laughed. + +"They told me about it--Marie 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. + +Bertram shrugged his shoulders. + +"If it's Roller-coasters and Chute-the-chutes 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 to-morrow, please, +when I asked them what we should do next. What surprises me is +that they like such things--such hair-raising things. When I first +saw them, black-gowned and stiff-backed, 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 +now--really, Billy, why do you suppose they have taken such a fancy +to these kiddish stunts--those two staid women?" + +Billy laughed, but her eyes softened. + +"I don't know unless it's because all their lives they've been 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 Tommy--he'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, fervently, +just as Marie, the widow, and the "spinster lady" entered the room. + +Billy told herself these days that she was very happy--very 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 +to Billy--yet. + +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. + +"To William?--you are engaged to William?" + +"Why--yes." + +"But I thought--surely it was--don't you mean--Mr. Cyril?" + +"No, I don't," laughed Billy. "And certainly I ought to know." + +"And you don't--care for him?" + +"I hope not--if I'm going to marry William." + +So light was Billy's voice and manner that Marie dared one more +question. + +"And he--doesn't care--for you?" + +"I hope not--if William is going to marry me," laughed Billy again. + +"Oh-h!" breathed Marie, with an odd intonation of relief. "Then +I'm glad--so glad! And I hope you'll be very, very happy, dear." + +Billy looked into Marie's glowing face and was pleased: there +seemed to be so few, so very few faces into which she had looked +and found entire approbation of her engagement to William. + +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 had. + +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 him--yet 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 forehead--for +which consideration Billy was grateful: Billy decided that she would +not like to be kissed on the lips. + +After some days of puzzling over the matter Billy concluded that it +was self-consciousness that caused all the trouble. With William +she was self-conscious. 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 present--just while she was "getting +used to things"--she would try to forget, sometimes, that she was +going to be William's wife. + +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 he overstepped the role which he had promised to play-- +William's brother. + +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 beginning to taste the sweets of fame. + +Thus, by all these interests, did Billy try "to get used to things." + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER + + +Of all Billy's guests, Marie was very plainly the happiest. She +was 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 her like this before. + +"Verily, Marie," she teased one day, "have you found an exhaustless +supply of stockings to mend, or a never-done pudding to make-- +which?" + +"Why? What do you mean?" + +"Oh, nothing. I was only wondering just what had brought that new +light to your eyes." + +"Is there a new light?" + +"There certainly is." + +"It must be because I'm so happy, then," sighed Marie; "because +you're so good to me." + +"Is that all?" + +"Isn't that enough?" Marie's tone was evasive. + +"No." Billy shook her head mischievously. "Marie, what is it?" + +"It's nothing--really, it's nothing," protested Marie, hurrying out +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 opportunity. She was alone +again with Marie. + +"Marie, who is he?" she asked abruptly. + +"He? Who?" + +"The man who is to wear the stockings and eat the pudding." + +The little music teacher flushed very red, but she managed to +display something that might pass for surprise. + +"BILLY!" + +"Come, dear," coaxed Billy, winningly. "Tell me about it. I'm so +interested!" + +"But there isn't anything to tell--really there isn't." + +"Who is he?" + +"He isn't anybody--that is, he doesn't know he's anybody," amended +Marie. + +Billy laughed softly. + +"Oh, doesn't he! Hasn't he ever shown--that he cared?" + +"No; that is--perhaps he has, only I thought then--that it was-- +another girl." + +"Another girl! So there's another girl in the case?" + +"Yes. I mean, no," corrected Marie, suddenly beginning to realize +what she was saying. "Really, it wasn't anything--it isn't +anything!" she protested. + +"Hm-m," murmured Billy, archly. "Oh, I'm getting on some! He did +show, once, that he cared; but you thought it was another girl, and +you coldly looked the other way. Now, there ISN'T any other girl, +you find, and--Marie, tell me the rest!" + +Marie shook her head emphatically, and pulled herself gently away +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 away. + +During the days that followed, Billy speculated not a little on +Marie's half-told 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 self-conscious with William; she could +not forget that she was one day to be his wife. She could not +bring back the dear old freedom of comradeship with him. + +Billy was alarmed now. She had begun to ask herself searching +questions. What should she do if never, never should she get used +to the 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 tried--as she had +now--and 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 idea. + +It was a half-sheet 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 +Henshaw." + +For a moment Billy stared at the name perplexedly--then in a flash +came the remembrance of Marie's words; and Billy breathed: +"Henshaw!--the man--BERTRAM!" + +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 cared--HER 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 was--Marie's. + +Billy was frightened then, so fierce was this strange new something +that rose within her--this overpowering something that seemed to +blot out all the world, and leave only--Bertram. 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! . . . And she had not known what it all meant-- +poor blind child that she was! + +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 he--Billy 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. It was all so clear--so +woefully clear! + +With an aching heart Billy asked herself what now was to be done. +For herself, turn whichever way she could, she could see nothing +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 William--Billy 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 must not be told. Her promise to William must +be kept. + + + +CHAPTER XL + +WILLIAM PAYS A VISIT + + +Before September passed all Billy's friends said that her summer's +self-appointed 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 +shadow-like now. Her eyes had found again the wistful appeal of +her girlhood, only now they carried something that was almost fear, +as well. The rose-flush had gone from her cheeks, and pathetic +little hollows had appeared, making the round young chin below look +almost pointed. Certainly Billy did seem to be ill. + +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. + +William sighed. + +"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!" + +"I know she has; but she isn't now." + +"What's the trouble?" + +"That's what we don't know." + +"You've had the doctor?" + +"Of course; two or three of them--though much against Billy's will. +But--they didn't help us." + +"What did they say?" + +"They could find nothing except perhaps a little temporary stomach +trouble, or something of that kind, which they all agreed was no +just cause for her present condition." + +"But what did they say it was?" + +"Why, they said it seemed like nervousness, or as if something was +troubling her. They asked if she weren't under some sort of +strain." + +"Well, is she? Does anything trouble her?" + +"Not that I know of. Anyhow, if there is anything, none of us can +find out what it is." + +Kate frowned. She threw a quick look into her brother's face. + +"William," she began hesitatingly, "forgive me, but--Billy is quite +happy in--her engagement, I suppose." + +The man flushed painfully, and sighed. + +"I've thought of that, of course. In fact, it was the first thing +I did think of. I even began to watch her rather closely, and once +I--questioned her a little." + +"What did she say?" + +"She seemed so frightened and distressed that I didn't say much +myself. I couldn't. I had but just begun when her eyes filled +with tears, 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 +question her, that I had to stop." + +"What has she done this summer? Where has she been?" + +"She hasn't been anywhere. Didn't I write you? She's kept open +house for a lot of her less fortunate friends--a sort of vacation +home, you know; and--and I must say she's given them a world of +happiness, too." + +"But wasn't that hard for her?" + +"It didn't seem to be. She appeared to enjoy it immensely, +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, except Miss Hawthorn." + +"But Billy must have had the care and the excitement." + +"Perhaps--to 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 done the whole thing together." + +"But what HAS Billy done to make her like this?" + +"I don't know. She's done lots for me, in all sorts of ways-- +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 +afraid--to do something for me. Kate, I'm really worried. What do +you suppose is the matter?" + +Kate shook her head. The puzzled frown had come back to her face. + +"I can't imagine," she began slowly. "Of course, when I told her +you loved her and--" + +"When you told her wha-at?" exploded the usually low-voiced +William, with sudden sharpness. + +"When I told her that you loved her, William. You see, I--" + +William sprang to his feet. + +"Told her that I loved her!" he cried, aghast. "Good heavens, +Kate, do you mean to say that YOU told her THAT." + +"Why, y-yes." + +"And may I ask where you got your information?" + +"Why, William Henshaw, what a question! I got it from yourself, of +course," defended Kate. + +"From ME!" William's face expressed sheer amazement. + +"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 place." + +William lifted his head. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, nothing, only that I--I told her a little of how--how +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 she went away in that wily, impulsive fashion." + +William bit his lip, but he did not speak. Kate was plunging on +feverishly, and in the face of the greater revelation he let the +lesser one drop. + +"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 will. NOW don't you recollect it?" + +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: + +"Kate, will you kindly tell me just what you DID do?" + +"Why, I didn't do so very much. I just tried to help, that's all. +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." + +"'So very much'!" groaned William, starting to his feet. "Great +Scott!" + +"Why, William, what do you mean? Where are you going?" + +"I'm going--to--Billy," retorted William with slow distinctness. +"And I'm going to try to get there--before--you--CAN!" And with +this extraordinary shot--for William--he left the house. + +William went to Billy as fast as steam could carry him. He found +her in her little drawing-room 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 deserted. + +"To talk to--me?" murmured Billy, as she wonderingly came to his +side, a startled questioning in her wide dark eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +THE CROOKED MADE STRAIGHT + + +William did not re-enter the house after his talk with Billy on the +veranda. + +"I will go down the steps and around by the rose garden to the +street, dear," he said. "I'd rather not go in now. Just make my +adieus, please, and say that I couldn't stay any longer. And now-- +good-by." His eyes as they looked down at her, were moist and very +tender. His lips trembled a little, but they smiled, and there was +a look of new-born peace and joy on his face. + +Billy, too, was smiling, though wistfully. The frightened +questioning had gone from her eyes, leaving only infinite +tenderness. + +"You are sure it--it is all right--now?" she stammered. + +"Very sure, little girl; and it's the first time it has been right +for weeks. Billy, that was very dear of you, and I love you for +it; but think how near--how perilously near you came to lifelong +misery!" + +"But I thought--you wanted me--so much," she smiled shyly. + +"And I did, and I do--for a daughter. You don't doubt that NOW?" + +"No, oh, no," laughed Billy, softly; and to her face came a happy +look of relief as she finished: "And I'll be so glad to be--the +daughter!" + +For some minutes after the man had gone, Billy stood by the steps +where he had left her. She was still there when Bertram came to +the veranda door and spoke to her. + +"Billy, I saw William go by the window, so I knew you were alone. +May I speak to you?" + +The girl turned with a start. + +"Why, of course! What is it?--but I thought you were playing. +Where is Marie?" + +"The game is finished; besides--Billy, why are you always asking me +lately where Marie is, as if I were her keeper, or she mine?" he +demanded, with a touch of nervous irritation. + +"Why, nothing, Bertram," smiled Billy, a little wearily; "only that +you were playing together a few minutes ago, and I wondered where +she had gone." + +"'A few minutes ago'!" echoed Bertram with sudden bitterness. +"Evidently the time passed swiftly with you, Billy. William was +out here MORE than an hour." + +"Why--Bertram!" + +"Yes, I know. I've no business to say that, of course," sighed the +man; "but, Billy, that's why I came out--because I must speak to +you this once. Won't you come and sit down, please?" he implored +despairingly. + +"Why, Bertram," murmured Billy again, faintly, as she turned toward +the vine-shaded corner and sat down. Her eyes were startled. A +swift color had come to her cheeks. + +"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 me--that you let me speak now. Billy, I +can't stand it. I've tried, but it's no use. I've got to go away, +and it's right that I should. I'm not the only one that thinks so, +either. Marie does, too." + +"MARIE!" + +"Yes. I talked it all over with her. She's known for a long time +how it's been with me; how I cared--for you." + +"Marie! You've told Marie that?" gasped Billy. + +"Yes. Surely you don't mind Marie's knowing," went on Bertram, +dejectedly. "And she's been so good to me, and tried to--help me." + +Bertram was not looking at Billy now. If he had been he would have +seen the incredulous joy come into her face. His eyes were moodily +fixed on the floor. + +"And so, Billy, I've come to tell you. I'm going away," he +continued, after a moment. "I've got to go. I thought once, when +I first 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 that--that it would be I to whom you'd turn--some day. +And so I stayed. But I stayed honorably, Billy! YOU know that! +You know that I haven't once forgotten--not once, that I was only +William's brother. I promised you I'd be that--and I have been; +haven't I?" + +Billy nodded silently. Her face was turned away. + +"But, Billy, I can't do it any longer. I've got to ask for my +promise back, and then, of course, I can't stay." + +"But you--you don't have to go--away," murmured the girl, faintly. + +Bertram sprang to his feet. His face was white. + +"Billy," he cried, standing tall and straight before her, "Billy, I +love every touch of your hand, every glance of your eye, every word +that falls from your lips. Do you think I can stay--now? I want +my promise back! When I'm no longer William's brother--then I'll +go!" + +"But you don't have to have it back--that is, you don't have to +have it at all," stammered Billy, flushing adorably. She, too, was +on her feet now. + +"Billy, what do you mean?" + +"Don't you see? I--I 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. + +"But--William?" he questioned, unbelievingly. + +"It WAS a mistake, just as you thought. We know now--both of us. +We don't either of us care for the other--that way. And--Bertram, +I think it HAS been you--all the time, only I didn't know!" + +"Billy, Billy!" choked Bertram in a voice shaken with emotion. He +opened his arms then, wide--and Billy walked straight into them. + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +THE "END OF THE STORY" + + +It was two days after Billy's new happiness had come to her that +Cyril came home. He went very soon to see Billy. + +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. + +"Billy, do you think any girl would marry--me?" he demanded. + +"Why, Cyril!" + +"There, now, please don't begin that," he begged fretfully. "I +realize, of course, that I'm a very unlikely subject for matrimony. +You made me understand that clearly enough last winter!" + +"Last--winter?" + +Cyril raised his eyebrows. + +"Oh, I came to you for a little encouragement, and to make a +confession," he said. "I made the confession--but I didn't get +the encouragement." + +Billy changed color. She thought she knew what he meant, but at +the same time she couldn't understand why he should wish to refer +to that conversation now. + +"A--confession?" she repeated, hesitatingly. + +"Yes. I told you that I'd begun to doubt my being such a woman- +hater, after all. I intimated that YOU'D begun the softening +process, and that then I'd found a certain other young woman who +had--well, who had kept up the good work." + +"Oh!" cried Billy suddenly, with a peculiar intonation. "Oh-h!" +Then she laughed softly. + +"Well, that was the confession," resumed Cyril. "Then I came out +flat-footed and said that I wanted to marry her--but there is where +I didn't get the encouragement!" + +"Indeed! I'm afraid I wasn't very considerate," stammered Billy. + +"No, you weren't," agreed Cyril, moodily. "I didn't know but now--" +his voice softened a little--"with this new happiness of yours +and Bertram's that--you might find a little encouragement for me." + +"And I will," cried Billy, promptly. "Tell me about her." + +"I did--last winter," reproached the man, "and you were sure I was +deceiving myself. You drew the gloomiest sort of picture of the +misery I would take with a wife." + +"I did?" Billy was laughing very merrily now. + +"Yes. You said she'd always be talking and laughing when I wanted +to be quiet, and that she'd want to drag me out to parties and +plays when I wanted to stay at home; and--oh, lots of things. I +tried to make it clear to you that--that 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. +"I--I didn't know--WHAT--I was--talking 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 +of course a wonderful musician. YOU couldn't choose any one else!" + +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 wrong--I DON'T want that kind +of wife. I don't want a brilliant one, and--now, Billy, this +sounds like horrible heresy, I know, but it's true--I don't care +whether she can play, or not; but I should prefer that she +shouldn't play--much!" + +"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 AM domestic!" he finished a little defiantly. + +"I should say you were," laughed Billy. "And have you found her?-- +this little woman who is to do nothing but sit and sew in the +circle of the shaded lamp?" + +"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 that--that I hope she likes that sort of thing." + +"And--does she?" + +"Yes; that is, I think she does," smiled Cyril. "Anyhow, she told +me once that--that the things she liked best to do in all the world +were to mend stockings and to make puddings." + +Billy sprang to her feet with a little cry. Now, indeed, had Cyril +kept his promise and made "many things clear" to her. + +"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 the summerhouse sat Marie--sewing. + +"Go, Cyril; she's waiting for you," smiled Billy, mistily. "The +light's only the sun, to be sure, and maybe there isn't a whole +basket of sewing there. But--SHE'S there!" + +"You've--guessed, then!" breathed Cyril. + +"I've not guessed--I know. And--it's all right." + +"You mean--?" Only Cyril's pleading eyes finished the question. + +"Yes, I'm sure she does," nodded Billy. And then she added under +her breath as the man passed swiftly down the steps: "'Marie +Henshaw' indeed! So 'twas Cyril all the time--and never Bertram-- +who was the inspiration of that bit of paper give-away!" + +When she turned back into the room she came face to face with +Bertram. + +"I spoke, dear, but you didn't hear," he said, as he hurried +forward with outstretched hands. + +"Bertram," greeted Billy, with surprising irrelevance, "'and they +all lived happily ever after'--they DID! Isn't that always the +ending to the story--a love story?" + +"Of course," said Bertram with emphasis;--"OUR love story!" + +"And theirs," supplemented Billy, softly; but Bertram did not hear +that. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy, by Eleanor H. 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