Billy did not leave the Strata this time. Before twenty-four hours had
passed, the last cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's possessions
had been carefully carried down the imposing steps of the Beacon
Hill boarding-house under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned
mistress, who found herself now with a month's advance rent and two
vacant “parlors” on her hands. Before another twenty-four hours had
passed her quondam boarder, with a tired sigh, sank into his favorite
morris chair in his old familiar rooms, and looked about him with
contented eyes. Every treasure was in place, from the traditional four
small stones of his babyhood days to the Batterseas Billy had just
brought him. Pete, as of yore, was hovering near with a dust-cloth.
Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the floor below. William Henshaw was
at home again.
This much accomplished, Billy went to see Aunt Hannah.
Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though with tearfully troubled
eyes. She was wearing a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one--sure
sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as all her friends knew.
“I'd begun to think you'd forgotten--me,” she faltered, with a poor
attempt at gayety.
“You've been home three whole days.”
“I know, dearie,” smiled Billy; “and 'twas a shame. But I have been so
busy! My trunks came at last, and I've been helping Uncle William get
settled, too.”
Aunt Hannah looked puzzled.
“Uncle William get settled? You mean--he's changed his room?”
Billy laughed oddly, and threw a swift glance into Aunt Hannah's face.
“Well, yes, he did change,” she murmured; “but he's moved back now into
the old quarters. Er--you haven't heard from Uncle William then, lately,
I take it.”
“No.” Aunt Hannah shook her head abstractedly. “I did see him once,
several weeks ago; but I haven't, since. We had quite a talk, then;
and, Billy, I've been wanting to speak to you,” she hurried on, a little
feverishly. “I didn't like to leave, of course, till you did come home,
as long as you'd said nothing about your plans; but--”
“Leave!” interposed Billy, dazedly. “Leave where? What do you mean?”
“Why, leave here, of course, dear. I mean. I didn't like to get my room
while you were away; but I shall now, of course, at once.”
“Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if I'd let you do that,” laughed Billy.
Aunt Hannah stiffened perceptibly. Her lips looked suddenly thin and
determined. Even the soft little curls above her ears seemed actually to
bristle with resolution.
“Billy,” she began firmly, “we might as well understand each other at
once. I know your good heart, and I appreciate your kindness. But I can
not come to live with you. I shall not. It wouldn't be best. I should
be like an interfering elder brother in your home. I should spoil your
young married life; and if I went away for two months you'd never forget
the utter joy and freedom of those two months with the whole house ali
to yourselves.”
At the beginning of this speech Billy's eyes had still carried their
dancing smile, but as the peroration progressed on to the end, a dawning
surprise, which soon became a puzzled questioning, drove the smile away.
Then Billy sat suddenly erect.
“Why, Aunt Hannah, that's exactly what Uncle William--” Billy stopped,
and regarded Aunt Hannah with quick suspicion. The next moment she burst
into gleeful laughter.
Aunt Hannah looked grieved, and not a little surprised; but Billy did
not seem to notice this.
“Oh, oh, Aunt Hannah--you, too! How perfectly funny!” she gurgled. “To
think you two old blesseds should get your heads together like this!”
Aunt Hannah stirred restively, and pulled the black shawl more closely
about her.
“Indeed, Billy, I don't know what you mean by that,” she sighed, with a
visible effort at self-control; “but I do know that I can not go to live
with you.”
“Bless your heart, dear, I don't want you to,” soothed Billy, with gay
promptness.
“Oh! O-h-h,” stammered Aunt Hannah, surprise, mortification, dismay, and
a grieved hurt bringing a flood of color to her face. It is one thing to
refuse a home, and quite another to have a home refused you.
“Oh! O-h-h, Aunt Hannah,” cried Billy, turning very red in her turn.
“Please, _please_ don't look like that. I didn't mean it that way. I do
want you, dear, only--I want you somewhere else more. I want you--here.”
“Here!” Aunt Hannah looked relieved, but unconvinced.
“Yes. Don't you like it here?”
“Like it! Why, I love it, dear. You know I do. But you don't need this
house now, Billy.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” retorted Billy, airily. “I'm going to keep it up, and I
want you here.
“Fiddlededee, Billy! As if I'd let you keep up this house just for me,”
scorned Aunt Hannah.
“'Tisn't just for you. It's for--for lots of folks.”
“My grief and conscience, Billy! What are you talking about?”
Billy laughed, and settled herself more comfortably on the hassock at
Aunt Hannah's feet.
“Well, I'll tell you. Just now I want it for Tommy Dunn, and the
Greggorys if I can get them, and maybe one or two others. There'll
always be somebody. You see, I had thought I'd have them at the Strata.”
“Tommy Dunn--at the Strata!”
Billy laughed again ruefully.
“O dear! You sound just like Bertram,” she pouted. “He didn't want
Tommy, either, nor any of the rest of them.”
“The rest of them!”
“Well, I could have had a lot more, you know, the Strata is so big,
especially now that Cyril has gone, and left all those empty rooms.
_I_ got real enthusiastic, but Bertram didn't. He just laughed and said
'nonsense!' until he found I was really in earnest; then he--well, he
said 'nonsense,' then, too--only he didn't laugh,” finished Billy, with
a sigh.
Aunt Hannah regarded her with fond, though slightly exasperated eyes.
“Billy, you are, indeed, a most extraordinary young woman--at times.
Surely, with you, a body never knows what to expect--except the
unexpected.”
“Why, Aunt Hannah!--and from you, too!” reproached Billy, mischievously;
but Aunt Hannah had yet more to say.
“Of course Bertram thought it was nonsense. The idea of you, a bride,
filling up your house with--with people like that! Tommy Dunn, indeed!”
“Oh, Bertram said he liked Tommy all right,” sighed Billy; “but he said
that that didn't mean he wanted him for three meals a day. One would
think poor Tommy was a breakfast food! So that is when I thought of
keeping up this house, you see, and that's why I want you here--to take
charge of it. And you'll do that--for me, won't you?”
Aunt Hannah fell back in her chair.
“Why, y-yes, Billy, of course, if--if you want it. But what an
extraordinary idea, child!”
Billy shook her head. A deeper color came to her cheeks, and a softer
glow to her eyes.
“I don't think so, Aunt Hannah. It's only that I'm so happy that some
of it has just got to overflow somewhere, and this is going to be the
overflow house--a sort of safety valve for me, you see. I'm going to
call it the Annex--it will be an annex to our home. And I want to keep
it full, always, of people who--who can make the best use of all that
extra happiness that I can't possibly use myself,” she finished a little
tremulously. “Don't you see?”
“Oh, yes, I _see_,” replied Aunt Hannah, with a fond shake of the head.
“But, really, listen--it's sensible,” urged Billy. “First, there's
Tommy. His mother died last month. He's at a neighbor's now, but they're
going to send him to a Home for Crippled Children; and he's grieving his
heart out over it. I'm going to bring him here to a real home--the kind
that doesn't begin with a capital letter. He adores music, and he's got
real talent, I think. Then there's the Greggorys.”
Aunt Hannah looked dubious.
“You can't get the Greggorys to--to use any of that happiness, Billy.
They're too proud.”
Billy smiled radiantly.
“I know I can't get them to _use_ it, Aunt Hannah, but I believe I can
get them to _give_ it,” she declared triumphantly. “I shall ask Alice
Greggory to teach Tommy music, and I shall ask Mrs. Greggory to teach
him books; and I shall tell them both that I positively need them to
keep you company.”
“Oh, but Billy,” bridled Aunt Hannah, with prompt objection.
“Tut, tut!--I know you'll be willing to be thrown as a little bit of a
sop to the Greggorys' pride,” coaxed Billy. “You just wait till I get
the Overflow Annex in running order. Why, Aunt Hannah, you don't know
how busy you're going to be handing out all that extra happiness that I
can't use!”
“You dear child!” Aunt Hannah smiled mistily. The black shawl had fallen
unheeded to the floor now. “As if anybody ever had any more happiness
than one's self could use!”
“I have,” avowed Billy, promptly, “and it's going to keep growing and
growing, I know.”
“Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!” exclaimed Aunt Hannah,
lifting shocked hands of remonstrance. “Rap on wood--do! How can you
boast like that?”
Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet.
“Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! To be superstitious like
that--you, a good Presbyterian!”
Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly.
“Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't help it.”
“Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah,” teased Billy, with a
remorseless chuckle. “It's really _heathen!_ Bertram told me once that
it dates 'way back to the time of the Druids--appealing to the god of
trees, or something like that--when you rap on wood, you know.”
“Ugh!” shuddered Aunt Hannah. “As if I would, Billy! How is Bertram, by
the by?”
A swift shadow crossed Billy's bright face.
“He's lovely--only his arm.”
“His arm! But I thought that was better.”
“Oh, it is,” drooped Billy, “but it gets along so slowly, and it frets
him dreadfully. You know he never can do anything with his left hand,
he says, and he just hates to have things done for him--though Pete and
Dong Ling are quarreling with each other all the time to do things for
him, and I'm quarreling with both of them to do them for him myself! By
the way, Dong Ling is going to leave us next week. Did you know it?”
“Dong Ling--leave!”
“Yes. Oh, he told Bertram long ago he should go when we were married;
that he had plenty much money, and was going back to China, and not be
Melican man any longer. But I don't think Bertram thought he'd do it.
William says Dong Ling went to Pete, however, after we left, and told
him he wanted to go; that he liked the little Missee plenty well, but
that there'd be too much hen-talk when she got back, and--”
“Why, the impudent creature!”
Billy laughed merrily.
“Yes; Pete was furious, William says, but Dong Ling didn't mean any
disrespect, I'm sure. He just wasn't used to having petticoats around,
and didn't want to take orders from them; that's all.”
“But, Billy, what will you do?”
“Oh, Pete's fixed all that lovely,” returned Billy, nonchalantly. “You
know his niece lives over in South Boston, and it seems she's got a
daughter who's a fine cook and will be glad to come. Mercy! Look at the
time,” she broke off, glancing at the clock. “I shall be late to dinner,
and Dong Ling loathes anybody who's late to his meals--as I found out to
my sorrow the night we got home. Good-by, dear. I'll be out soon again
and fix it all up--about the Annex, you know.” And with a bright smile
she was gone.
“Dear me,” sighed Aunt Hannah, stooping to pick up the black shawl;
“dear me! Of course everything will be all right--there's a girl coming,
even if Dong Ling is going. But--but--Oh, my grief and conscience, what
an extraordinary child Billy is, to be sure--but what a dear one!” she
added, wiping a quick tear from her eye. “An Overflow Annex, indeed, for
her 'extra happiness'! Now isn't that just like Billy?”