“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!”
Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, your Mary Jane won't probably turn out to be quite such a bombshell as our Billy did—unless she should prove to be a boy,” he added whimsically. “Oh, but Billy, she can't turn out to be such a dear treasure,” finished the man. And at the adoring
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