Mr. Schultzsky considered. He took off his silk hat, carefully wiped his forehead with a red cotton handkerchief, and replaced the antiquated head-covering. He shuffled his rusty boots and thrust his hands down into the pockets of his shining coat to gain time. His small black eyes glittered craftily as he mentally added, subtracted, and struck off the fraction of a per cent. Then he made his decision, but he said not a word. He took from the recesses of his capacious coat-tails a red card, some tacks and a small hammer. Without another look at Mrs. Casey, and with as little regard for the group of awe-stricken children, he passed around the house to the front door and tacked up the sign. Number 12 Cherry Street was for rent. CHAPTER II MISS BILLY "A girl who has so many wilful ways She would have caused Job's patience to forsake him, Yet is so rich in all that's girlhood's praise, Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze, A little better she would surely make him." MISS Billy was an early riser. She opened her eyes to the sunshine and pure morning air as naturally as a flower. So it came about that at six o'clock of a May morning she was skipping downstairs before any other member of the family had stirred, with a quick springing step that was peculiarly her own. Miss Billy's sprightly locomotion was a constant source of amusement to her family, and of mortification to Miss Billy herself. "It is my misfortune, not my fault," she was wont to say when her brother Theodore described her gait as "galumphing," and her sister Beatrice pleaded with her to study physical culture; "and it's like struggling against Fate to attempt to walk with discretion. I suppose it is merely an 'evening-up' of things, and that Providence gave it to me to offset my lovely disposition." But upon this Spring morning Miss Billy's unfortunate step did not seem to be weighing upon her mind. The glow and thrill of the golden day opening before her sent the warm blood coursing quickly through her veins, and the world seemed made for youth and beauty and happiness. Miss Billy sang softly to herself as she opened the side door and stepped out into the garden. "The garden" was a small shady spot on the north side of the tall city house. It was not a promising place for flowers, but Miss Billy's love for growing things was great, and by dint of much urging and encouragement on her part, a few spring flowers eked out a precarious existence in the barren soil. Above the flower plot was an open bedroom window. Miss Billy's eyes twinkled wickedly, and her soft song changed into the whistled notes of a schoolboy's call. There was a sound as of two bare feet coming down with a thud in the room above her, and in a moment a tall form in gay scarlet pajamas, with a towsled head atop, appeared at the window. "That you, Tom?" whispered a sleepy voice. Miss Billy looked up from the flowers. The violets themselves were not more demure than her own face.