that she wouldn't
be here at present. Pete came straight to me. He said he didn't dare
tell Mr. William, but he'd got to tell some one: there wasn't one
single thing of Miss Billy's left in her rooms nor anywhere else in the
house--not so much as a handkerchief or a hairpin."

"Hm-m; that does look--suspicious," murmured Cyril. "What's up, do you
think?"

"Don't know; but something, sure. Still, of course we may be wrong.
We won't say anything to Will about it, anyhow. Poor old chap, 'twould
worry him, specially if he thought Billy's feelings had been hurt."

"Hurt?--nonsense! Why, we did everything for her--everything!"

"Yes, I know--and she tried to do EVERYTHING for us, too," retorted
Bertram, quizzically, as he turned away.

CHAPTER XIX

SEEING BILLY OFF

Early in October Mrs. Stetson arrived at the Beacon Street house, but
she did not stay long.

"I've come for just a few things I want, and to do some shopping," she
explained.

"But Aunt Hannah," remonstrated William, "what is the meaning of this?
Why are you staying up there at Hampden Falls?"

"I like it there, William; and why shouldn't I stay? Surely there's no
need for me to be here now, with Billy away!"

"But Billy's coming back!"

"Of course she's coming back," laughed Aunt Hannah, "but not this
winter, certainly. Why, William, what's the matter? I'm sure, I think
it's a beautiful arrangement. Why, don't you remember? It's just what we
said we wanted--to keep Billy away for awhile. And the best part of it
is, it's her own idea from the start."

"Yes, I know, I know," frowned William: "but I'm not sure, after all,
that that idea of ours wasn't a mistake,--a mistake that she needed to
get away."

"Never! We were just right about it," declared Aunt Hannah, with
conviction.

"And is Billy--happy?"

"She seems to be."

"Hm-m; well, THAT'S good," said William, as he turned to go up to his
room. But as he climbed the stairs he sighed; and to hear him, one would
have thought it anything but good to him--that Billy was happy.

One by one the weeks passed. Mrs. Stetson had long since gone back to
Hampden Falls; and Bertram said that the Strata was beginning to look
natural again. There remained now, indeed, only Spunkie, the small gray
cat, to remind any one of the days that were gone--though, to be sure,
there were Billy's letters, if they might be called a reminder.

Billy did not write often. She said that she was "too busy to brea