ervous little laugh.

"Isn't that--unusual?" she asked.

Bertram lifted his eyebrows with a quizzical smile.

"Well, they aren't all Marguerite Winthrops," he reminded her.

"Marguerite!" cried Billy. "Oh, is her name Marguerite? I do think
Marguerite is the dearest name!" Billy's eyes and voice were wistful.

"I don't--not the _dearest_. Oh, it's all well enough, of course, but it
can't be compared for a moment to--well, say, 'Billy'!"

Billy smiled, but she shook her head.

"I'm afraid you're not a good judge of names," she objected.

"Yes, I am; though, for that matter, I should love your name, no matter
what it was."

"Even if 'twas 'Mary Jane,' eh?" bantered Billy. "Well, you'll have a
chance to find out how you like that name pretty quick, sir. We're going
to have one here."

"You're going to have a Mary Jane here? Do you mean that Rosa's going
away?"

"Mercy! I hope not," shuddered Billy. "You don't find a Rosa in every
kitchen--and never in employment agencies! My Mary Jane is a niece of
Aunt Hannah's,--or rather, a cousin. She's coming to Boston to study
music, and I've invited her here. We've asked her for a month, though I
presume we shall keep her right along."

Bertram frowned.

"Well, of course, that's very nice for--_Mary Jane_," he sighed with
meaning emphasis.

Billy laughed.

"Don't worry, dear. She won't bother us any."

"Oh, yes, she will," sighed Bertram. "She'll be 'round--lots; you see
if she isn't. Billy, I think sometimes you're almost too kind--to other
folks."

"Never!" laughed Billy. "Besides, what would you have me do when a
lonesome young girl was coming to Boston? Anyhow, _you're_ not the one
to talk, young man. I've known _you_ to take in a lonesome girl and give
her a home," she flashed merrily.

Bertram chuckled.

"Jove! What a time that was!" he exclaimed, regarding his companion with
fond eyes. "And Spunk, too! Is she going to bring a Spunk?"

"Not that I've heard," smiled Billy; "but she _is_ going to wear a
pink."

"Not really, Billy?"

"Of course she is! I told her to. How do you suppose we could know her
when we saw her, if she didn't?" demanded the girl, indignantly. "And
what is more, sir, there will be _two_ pinks worn this time. _I_ sha'n't
do as Uncle William did, and leave off my pink. Only think what long
minutes--that seemed hours of misery--I spent waiting there in that
train-shed, just because I didn't know which man was my Uncle William!"