ebody said: "But what does
the 'M. J.' stand for, anyhow?" Nobody answered this, however; perhaps
because Aunt Hannah and Marie appeared just then in the doorway.

Dinner proved to be a lively meal. In the newcomer, Bertram met his
match for wit and satire; and "Mr. Mary Jane," as he was promptly called
by every one but Aunt Hannah, was found to be a most entertaining guest.

After dinner somebody suggested music.

Cyril frowned, and got up abruptly. Still frowning, he turned to a
bookcase near him and began to take down and examine some of the books.

Bertram twinkled and glanced at Billy.

"Which is it, Cyril?" he called with cheerful impertinence; "stool,
piano, or audience that is the matter to-night?"

Only a shrug from Cyril answered.

"You see," explained Bertram, jauntily, to Arkwright, whose eyes were
slightly puzzled, "Cyril never plays unless the piano and the pedals and
the weather and your ears and my watch and his fingers are just right!"

"Nonsense!" scorned Cyril, dropping his book and walking back to his
chair. "I don't feel like playing to-night; that's all."

"You see," nodded Bertram again.

"I see," bowed Arkwright with quiet amusement.

"I believe--Mr. Mary Jane--sings," observed Billy, at this point,
demurely.

"Why, yes, of course," chimed in Aunt Hannah with some nervousness.
"That's what she--I mean he--was coming to Boston for--to study music."

Everybody laughed.

"Won't you sing, please?" asked Billy. "Can you--without your notes? I
have lots of songs if you want them."

For a moment--but only a moment--Arkwright hesitated; then he rose and
went to the piano.

With the easy sureness of the trained musician his fingers dropped to
the keys and slid into preliminary chords and arpeggios to test the
touch of the piano; then, with a sweetness and purity that made every
listener turn in amazed delight, a well-trained tenor began the "Thro'
the leaves the night winds moving," of Schubert's Serenade.

Cyril's chin had lifted at the first tone. He was listening now with
very obvious pleasure. Bertram, too, was showing by his attitude the
keenest appreciation. William and Aunt Hannah, resting back in their
chairs, were contentedly nodding their approval to each other. Marie in
her corner was motionless with rapture. As to Billy--Billy was plainly
oblivious of everything but the song and the singer. She seemed scarcely
to move or to breathe till the song's completion; then there cam