nd who was distantly related to
the Henshaw family."

"What's her name?"

"'Mary Jane Arkwright.' Where is that letter?"

"Here it is, on the floor," reported Billy. "Were you going to read it
to me?" she asked, as she picked it up.

"Yes--if you don't mind."

"I'd love to hear it."

"Then I'll read it. It--it rather annoys me in some ways. I thought the
whole family understood that I wasn't living by myself any longer--that
I was living with you. I'm sure I thought I wrote them that, long ago.
But this sounds almost as if they didn't understand it--at least, as if
this girl didn't."

"How old is she?"

"I don't know; but she must be some old, to be coming here to Boston to
study music, alone--singing, I think she said."

"You don't remember her, then?"

Aunt Hannah frowned and paused, the letter half withdrawn from its
envelope.

"No--but that isn't strange. They live West. I haven't seen any of them
for years. I know there are several children--and I suppose I've been
told their names. I know there's a boy--the eldest, I think--who is
quite a singer, and there's a girl who paints, I believe; but I don't
seem to remember a 'Mary Jane.'"

"Never mind! Suppose we let Mary Jane speak for herself," suggested
Billy, dropping her chin into the small pink cup of her hand, and
settling herself to listen.

"Very well," sighed Aunt Hannah; and she opened the letter and began to
read.

"DEAR AUNT HANNAH:--This is to tell you
that I'm coming to Boston to study singing in
the school for Grand Opera, and I'm planning to
look you up. Do you object? I said to a friend
the other day that I'd half a mind to write to Aunt
Hannah and beg a home with her; and my friend
retorted: 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' But
that, of course, I should not think of doing.

"But I know I shall be lonesome, Aunt Hannah,
and I hope you'll let me see you once in a
while, anyway. I plan now to come next week
--I've already got as far as New York, as you see
by the address--and I shall hope to see you
soon.

"All the family would send love, I know.
"M. J. ARKWRIGHT."

"Grand Opera! Oh, how perfectly lovely," cried Billy.

"Yes, but Billy, do you think she is expecting me to invite her to make
her home with me? I shall have to write and explain that I can't--if she
does, of course."

Billy frowned and hesitated.

"Why, it sounded--a li