room again, her eyes full of
tears.

"It's Pete," she choked. "Eliza says he can't live but a few minutes.
He wants to see me once more. What shall I do? John's got Peggy out with
Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Greggory. It was so nice to-day I made them go.
But I must get there some way--Pete is calling for me. Uncle William is
going, and I told Eliza where she might reach Bertram; but what shall
_I_ do? How shall I go?"

Calderwell was on his feet at once.

"I'll get a taxi. Don't worry--we'll get there. Poor old soul--of course
he wants to see you! Get on your things. I'll have it here in no time,"
he finished, hurrying to the telephone.

"Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got _you_ here," sobbed Billy, stumbling
blindly toward the stairway. "I'll be ready in two minutes."

And she was; but neither then, nor a little later when she and
Calderwell drove hurriedly away from the house, did Billy once remember
that Miss Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call that afternoon to see
Mrs. Bertram Henshaw and a roomful of Billy pictures.

Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy at the door of the
modest little home where Eliza's mother lived.

"Yes, you're in time, ma'am," sobbed Eliza; "and, oh, I'm so glad you've
come. He's been askin' and askin' for ye."

From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William was there, but not Mr.
Bertram. They had not been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril.

Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration that came into Pete's
eyes as she entered the room where he lay.

"Miss Billy--my Miss Billy! You were so good-to come," he whispered
faintly.

Billy choked back a sob.

"Of course I'd come, Pete," she said gently, taking one of the thin,
worn hands into both her soft ones.

It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. Four o'clock came, and
five, and he was still with them. Often he opened his eyes and smiled.
Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or Billy, or to one of the
weeping women at the foot of the bed. That the presence of his beloved
master and mistress meant much to him was plain to be seen.

"I'm so sorry," he faltered once, "about that pretty dress--I spoiled,
Miss Billy. But you know--my hands--"

"I know, I know," soothed Billy; "but don't worry. It wasn't spoiled,
Pete. It's all fixed now."

"Oh, I'm so glad," sighed the sick man. After another long interval of
silence he turned to William.

"Them socks--the medium thin ones--you'd oughter be puttin'