well sat suddenly erect.

"Aunt Hannah! Is she your aunt, too? Jove! This _is_ a little old world,
after all; isn't it?"

"She isn't my aunt. She's my mother's third cousin. None of us have seen
her for years, but she writes to mother occasionally; and, of course,
for some time now, her letters have been running over full of Billy. She
lives with her, I believe; doesn't she?"

"She does," rejoined Calderwell, with an unexpected chuckle. "I wonder
if you know how she happened to live with her, at first."

"Why, no, I reckon not. What do you mean?"

Calderwell chuckled again.

"Well, I'll tell you. You, being a 'Mary Jane,' ought to appreciate it.
You see, Billy was named for one William Henshaw, her father's chum,
who promptly forgot all about her. At eighteen, Billy, being left quite
alone in the world, wrote to 'Uncle William' and asked to come and live
with him."

"Well?"

"But it wasn't well. William was a forty-year-old widower who lived with
two younger brothers, an old butler, and a Chinese cook in one of those
funny old Beacon Street houses in Boston. 'The Strata,' Bertram called
it. Bright boy--Bertram!"

"The Strata!"

"Yes. I wish you could see that house, Arkwright. It's a regular layer
cake. Cyril--he's the second brother; must be thirty-four or five
now--lives on the top floor in a rugless, curtainless, music-mad
existence--just a plain crank. Below him comes William. William collects
things--everything from tenpenny nails to teapots, I should say, and
they're all there in his rooms. Farther down somewhere comes Bertram.
He's _the_ Bertram Henshaw, you understand; the artist."

"Not the 'Face-of-a-Girl' Henshaw?"

"The same; only of course four years ago he wasn't quite so well known
as he is now. Well, to resume and go on. It was into this house, this
masculine paradise ruled over by Pete and Dong Ling in the kitchen, that
Billy's naive request for a home came."

"Great Scott!" breathed Arkwright, appreciatively.

"Yes. Well, the letter was signed 'Billy.' They took her for a boy,
naturally, and after something of a struggle they agreed to let 'him'
come. For his particular delectation they fixed up a room next to
Bertram with guns and fishing rods, and such ladylike specialties; and
William went to the station to meet the boy."

"With never a suspicion?"

"With never a suspicion."

"Gorry!"

"Well, 'he' came, and 'she' conquered. I guess things were lively for
a while, though. Oh,