thing 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--t