here's a girl coming,
even if Dong Ling is going. But--but--Oh, my grief and conscience, what
an extraordinary child Billy is, to be sure--but what a dear one!" she
added, wiping a quick tear from her eye. "An Overflow Annex, indeed, for
her 'extra happiness'! Now isn't that just like Billy?"

CHAPTER V. TIGER SKINS

September passed and October came, bringing with it cool days and clear,
crisp evenings royally ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon. According
to Billy everything was just perfect--except, of course, poor Bertram's
arm; and even the fact that that gained so slowly was not without its
advantage (again according to Billy), for it gave Bertram more time to
be with her.

"You see, dear, as long as you _can't_ paint," she told him earnestly,
one day, "why, I'm not really hindering you by keeping you with me so
much."

"You certainly are not," he retorted, with a smile.

"Then I may be just as happy as I like over it," settled Billy,
comfortably.

"As if you ever could hinder me," he ridiculed.

"Oh, yes, I could," nodded Billy, emphatically. "You forget, sir. That
was what worried me so. Everybody, even the newspapers and magazines,
said I _would_ do it, too. They said I'd slay your Art, stifle your
Ambition, destroy your Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally. And
Kate said--"

"Yes. Well, never mind what Kate said," interrupted the man, savagely.

Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful tweak.

"All right; but I'm not going to do it, you know--spoil your career,
sir. You just wait," she continued dramatically. "The minute your arm
gets so you can paint, I myself shall conduct you to your studio, thrust
the brushes into your hand, fill your palette with all the colors of
the rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint! But--until then I'm
going to have you all I like," she finished, with a complete change of
manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good left arm.

"You witch!" laughed the man, fondly. "Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder
me. You'll _be_ my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it. You'll see.
_This_ time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait is going to be a success."

Billy turned quickly.

"Then you are--that is, you haven't--I mean, you're going to--paint it?"

"I just am," avowed the artist. "And this time it'll be a success, too,
with you to help."

Billy drew in her breath tremulously.

"I didn't know but you'd already started it," she faltered.

He shook