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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 upstairs 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 upstairs 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 upstairs.

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 upstairs 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 tonight.”

“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 downstairs.

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 tomorrow 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 tomorrow. The light down here is just as good as it is upstairs—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

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