Billy smiled.
“Didn't like it, I suppose; eh?” she queried shrewdly.
“N-no, I'm afraid he didn't—very well. He said she'd be—one more to be around.”
“There, what did I tell you?” dimpled Billy. “You can see what you're coming to when you do get that shaded lamp and the mending basket!”
A moment later, coming in sight of the house, Billy saw a tall, smooth-shaven man standing on the porch. The man lifted his hat and waved it gayly, baring a slightly bald head to the sun.
“It's Uncle William—bless his heart!” cried Billy. “They're all coming to dinner, then he and Aunt Hannah and Bertram and I are going down to the Hollis Street Theatre and let you and Cyril have a taste of what that shaded lamp is going to be. I hope you won't be lonesome,” she finished mischievously, as the car drew up before the door.
CHAPTER VI. AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
After a week of beautiful autumn weather, Thursday dawned raw and cold. By noon an east wind had made the temperature still more uncomfortable.
At two o'clock Aunt Hannah tapped at Billy's chamber door. She showed a troubled face to the girl who answered her knock.
“Billy, would you mind very much if I asked you to go alone to the Carletons' and to meet Mary Jane?” she inquired anxiously.
“Why, no—that is, of course I should mind, dear, because I always like to have you go to places with me. But it isn't necessary. You aren't sick; are you?”
“N-no, not exactly; but I have been sneezing all the morning, and taking camphor and sugar to break it up—if it is a cold. But it is so raw and Novemberish out, that—”
“Why, of course you sha'n't go, you poor dear! Mercy! don't get one of those dreadful colds on to you before the wedding! Have you felt a draft? Where's another shawl?” Billy turned and cast searching eyes about the room—Billy always kept shawls everywhere for Aunt Hannah's shoulders and feet. Bertram had been known to say,
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