down. I may as well confess, Aunt
Hannah, that I've been more than a little disturbed about Bertram of
late. I don't like that Bob Seaver that he is so fond of; and some other
fellows, too, that have been coming here altogether too much during
the last year. Bertram says they're only a little 'Bohemian' in their
tastes. And to me that's the worst of it, for Bertram himself is quite
too much inclined that way."

"Exactly, William. And that only goes to prove what I said before.
Bertram is not a spinster aunt, and neither are any of the rest of you.
But Billy takes you that way."

"Takes us that way--as spinster aunts!"

"Yes. She makes herself as free in this house as she was in her Aunt
Ella's at Hampden Falls. She flies up to Cyril's rooms half a dozen
times a day with some question about her lessons; and I don't know how
long she'd sit at his feet and adoringly listen to his playing if he
didn't sometimes get out of patience and tell her to go and practise
herself. She makes nothing of tripping into Bertram's studio at all
hours of the day; and he's sketched her head at every conceivable
angle--which certainly doesn't tend to make Billy modest or retiring.
As to you--you know how much she's in your rooms, spending evening after
evening fussing over your collections."

"I know; but we're--we're sorting them and making a catalogue," defended
the man, anxiously. "Besides, I--I like to have her there. She doesn't
bother me a bit."

"No; I know she doesn't," replied Aunt Hannah, with a curious
inflection. "But don't you see, William, that all this isn't going to
quite do? Billy's too young--and too old."

"Come, come, Aunt Hannah, is that exactly logical?"

"It's true, at least."

"But, after all, where's the harm? Don't you think that you are just a
little bit too--fastidious? Billy's nothing but a care-free child."

"It's the 'free' part that I object to, William. She has taken every one
of you into intimate companionship--even Pete and Dong Ling."

"Pete and Dong Ling!"

"Yes." Mrs. Stetson's chin came up, and her nostrils dilated a little.
"Billy went to Pete the other day to have him button her shirt-waist
up in the back; and yesterday I found her down-stairs in the kitchen
instructing Dong Ling how to make chocolate fudge!"

William fell back in his chair.

"Well, well," he muttered, "well, well! She is a child, and no mistake!"
He paused, his brows drawn into a troubled frown. "But, Aunt Hannah,
wha