Arkwright had not settled this question to his own satisfaction when
Aunt Hannah came in at half-past five, and he was conscious of a vague
disappointment as he rose to greet her. Billy, however, turned an
untroubled face to the newcomer.

"We're doing finely, Aunt Hannah," she cried. Then, suddenly, she flung
a laughing question to the man. "How about it, sir? Are we going to put
on the title-page: 'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'--or will you unveil
the mystery for us now?"

"Have you guessed it?" he bantered.

"No--unless it's 'Methuselah John.' We did think of that the other day."

"Wrong again!" he laughed.

"Then it'll have to be 'Mary Jane,'" retorted Billy, with calm
naughtiness, refusing to meet Aunt Hannah's beseechingly reproving eyes.
Then suddenly she chuckled. "It would be a combination, wouldn't it?
'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright. Music by Billy Neilson'! We'd have
sighing swains writing to 'Dear Miss Arkwright,' telling how touching
were _her_ words; and lovelorn damsels thanking _Mr_. Neilson for _his_
soul-inspiring music!"

"Billy, my dear!" remonstrated Aunt Hannah, faintly.

"Yes, yes, I know; that was bad--and I won't again, truly," promised
Billy. But her eyes danced, and the next moment she had whirled about on
the piano stool and dashed into a Chopin waltz. The room itself, then,
seemed to be full of the twinkling feet of elves.

CHAPTER XVI. A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT

Immediately after breakfast the next morning, Billy was summoned to the
telephone.

"Oh, good morning, Uncle William," she called, in answer to the
masculine voice that replied to her "Hullo."

"Billy, are you very busy this morning?"

"No, indeed--not if you want me."

"Well, I do, my dear." Uncle William's voice was troubled. "I want you
to go with me, if you can, to see a Mrs. Greggory. She's got a teapot I
want. It's a genuine Lowestoft, Harlow says. Will you go?"

"Of course I will! What time?"

"Eleven if you can, at Park Street. She's at the West End. I don't dare
to put it off for fear I'll lose it. Harlow says others will have to
know of it, of course. You see, she's just made up her mind to sell it,
and asked him to find a customer. I wouldn't trouble you, but he says
they're peculiar--the daughter, especially--and may need some careful
handling. That's why I wanted you--though I wanted you to see the
tea-pot, too,--it'll be yours some day, you know."

Billy, all alone at her end of the line,