Miss Billy Married | Page 6

in guests, either,'' remarked Cyril,
after a moment's silence.
``I thought her guests were lovely,'' spoke up Marie, in quick defense.
``Of course, most of her social friends are away--in July; but Billy is
never a society girl, you know, in spite of the way Society is always
trying to lionize her and Bertram.''
``Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says it seems as if Billy
needn't have gone out and gathered in the lame and the halt and the

blind.''
``Nonsense!'' cried Marie, with unusual sharpness for her. ``I suppose
she said that just because of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's
crutches.''
``Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking wedding party, you must
admit,'' laughed Cyril; ``what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling,
too! But who were they all, anyway?''
``Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of course--and Pete,''
smiled Marie. ``And wasn't Pete happy? Billy says she'd have had Pete
if she had no one else; that there wouldn't have been any wedding,
anyway, if it hadn't been for his telephoning Aunt Hannah that night.''
``Yes; Will told me.''
``As for Tommy and the others--most of them were those people that
Billy had at her home last summer for a two weeks' vacation-- people,
you know, too poor to give themselves one, and too proud to accept
one from ordinary charity. Billy's been following them up and doing
little things for them ever since--sugarplums and frosting on their cake,
she calls it; and they adore her, of course. I think it was lovely of her to
have them, and they did have such a good time! You should have seen
Tommy when you played that wedding march for Billy to enter the
room. His poor little face was so transfigured with joy that I almost
cried, just to look at him. Billy says he loves music--poor little fellow!''
``Well, I hope they'll be happy, in spite of Kate's doleful prophecies.
Certainly they looked happy enough to-day,'' declared Cyril, patting a
yawn as he rose to his feet. ``I fancy Will and Aunt Hannah are
lonesome, though, about now,'' he added.
``Yes,'' smiled Marie, mistily, as she gathered up her work. ``I know
what Aunt Hannah's doing. She's helping Rosa put the house to rights,
and she's stopping to cry over every slipper and handkerchief of Billy's
she finds. And she'll do that until that funny clock of hers strikes twelve,
then she'll say `Oh, my grief and conscience--midnight!' But the next

minute she'll remember that it's only half-past eleven, after all, and
she'll send Rosa to bed and sit patting Billy's slipper in her lap till it
really is midnight by all the other clocks.''
Cyril laughed appreciatively.
``Well, I know what Will is doing,'' he declared.
``Will is in Bertram's den dozing before the fireplace with Spunkie
curled up in his lap.''
As it happened, both these surmises were not far from right. In the
Strata, the Henshaws' old Beacon Street home, William was sitting
before the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was not dozing. He
was talking.
``Spunkie,'' he was saying, ``your master, Bertram, got married
to-day--and to Miss Billy. He'll be bringing her home one of these
days--your new mistress. And such a mistress! Never did cat or house
have a better!
``Just think; for the first time in years this old place is to know the
touch of a woman's hand --and that's what it hasn't known for almost
twenty years, except for those few short months six years ago when a
dark-eyed girl and a little gray kitten (that was Spunk, your predecessor,
you know) blew in and blew out again before we scarcely knew they
were here. That girl was Miss Billy, and she was a dear then, just as she
is now, only now she's coming here to stay. She's coming home,
Spunkie; and she'll make it a home for you, for me, and for all of us.
Up to now, you know, it hasn't really been a home, for years--just us
men, so. It'll be very different, Spunkie, as you'll soon find out. Now
mind, madam! We must show that we appreciate all this: no tempers,
no tantrums, no showing of claws, no leaving our coats--either yours or
mine--on the drawing-room chairs, no tracking in of mud on clean rugs
and floors! For we're going to have a home, Spunkie--a home!''
At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping Rosa to put the house to
rights, as Marie had said. She was crying, too, over a glove she had

found on Billy's piano; but she was crying over something else, also.
Not only had she lost Billy, but she had lost her home.
To be sure, nothing had been said during that nightmare of a