"And the sewing machine for me," went on Mrs. Lee, "and the range for Maggie, and the pictures and other comforts for us all. We must make Number 12 Cherry Street into a home as soon as possible. We shall store the rest, not sell it, for I feel sure that we shall need it all some day." Miss Billy slid down on to the floor between her mother and father, and patted a hand of each. "Don't look so solemncholy," she said fondly; "moving isn't the worst thing in the world. We have been so comfortable all our lives that we don't know what it is to deprive ourselves of anything. And perhaps it will be a good lesson for us all--at least for Beatrice and Ted and me. Beside, I must confess that I already begin to feel a yearning to take possession of my new home. I believe that I shall like Number 12 Cherry Street." Mrs. Lee smiled dubiously. "It is not a very pleasant house," she said. "And we shall not live as comfortably as we have been living since you can remember. You must not raise your hopes so high that a fall will hurt them. There are many things about the new life that will be hard and uncomfortable and distasteful, and we shall long for our pretty home and our old neighbours many, many times. But we are all together, and we have health and hope, which surely ought to bring happiness. And home is always home, no matter where the house is." "But what will become of our friends?" said Beatrice, in a suspiciously teary tone. "None of them will come to visit us on Cherry Street." "Let them stay away then," advised Miss Billy. "By all means let them stay away," echoed Theodore airily. "But they won't stay away," said Mrs. Lee, putting her arm tenderly about her elder daughter. "The ones we love best will find us, dear, even at Number 12 Cherry Street." Miss Billy turned to the sermon board. "... To renounce where that shall be necessary and not to be embittered...." Her eyes went from her mother's sweet smile to her father's serene face. "They don't _need_ any help," she decided. CHAPTER IV NEW NEIGHBOURS "Now she's cast off her bonny shoon Made o' gilded leather, And she's put on her Hieland brogues To skip amang the heather: And she's cast off her bonny goon Made o' the silk and satin, And she's put on a tartan plaid To row amang the bracken." MARIE JEAN HENNESY was making her morning toilet. The sun was five hours high, but for this Marie Jean cared nothing at all. She finished tying a row of white rags in her hair that gave her a peculiarly spiked and bristling appearance, and then buttoned her velveteen waist here and there, leaving a button over at the top and bringing a mateless buttonhole out at the bottom.