ropped eight little
pulleys. Second, he went up into Maida's bedroom and fastened one of
the little pulleys on the sill outside her window. Third, he did the
same thing in Rosie's house, in Arthur's and in Dicky's. Fourth, he
fastened four of the little pulleys at the playroom window in the
Lathrop house.

"Oh, what is he doing?" "I can't think of anything." "Oh, I wish
he'd tell us," came from the children who watched these manoeuvres
from the street.

Fifth, Billy opened another bundle--this time, out came four coils of
a thin rope.

"I know now," Arthur called up to him, "but I won't tell."

Billy grinned.

And, sure enough, "You watch him," was all Arthur would say to the
entreaties of his friends.

Sixth, Billy ran a double line of rope between Maida's and Laura's
window, a second between Rosie's and Laura's, a third between
Arthur's and Laura's, a fourth between Dicky's and Laura's.

Last, Billy opened another bundle. Out dropped four square tin
boxes, each with a cover and a handle.

"I've guessed it! I've guessed it!" Maida and Rosie screamed
together. "It's a telephone."

"That's the answer," Billy confessed. He went from house to house
fastening a box to the lower rope.

"Now when you want to say anything to Laura," he said on his return,
"just write a note, put it in the box, pull on the upper string and
it will sail over to her window. Suppose you all run home and write
something now. I'll go over to Laura's to see how it works."

The children scattered. In a few moments, four excited little faces
appeared at as many windows. The telephone worked perfectly. Billy
handed Mrs. Lathrop the notes to deliver to Laura.

"Oh, Mr. Potter," Mrs. Lathrop said suddenly, "there's a matter that
I wished to speak to you about. That little Flynn girl has lived in
the family of Mr. Jerome Westabrook, hasn't she?"

Billy's eyes "skrinkled up." "Yes, Mrs. Lathrop," he admitted, "she
lived in the Westabrook family for several years."

"So I guessed," Mrs. Lathrop said. "She's a very sweet little girl,"
she went on earnestly for she had been touched by the sight of
Maida's grief the day that she held Laura to the window. "I hope Mr.
Westabrook's own little girl is as sweet."

"She is, Mrs. Lathrop, I assure you she is," Billy said gravely.

"What is the name of the Westabrook child?"

"Elizabeth Fairfax Westabrook."

"What is she like?"

"She's a good deal like Maida," Billy said, his eyes beginning to