“No--but that isn't strange. They live West. I haven't seen any of them for years. I know there are several children--and I suppose I've been told their names. I know there's a boy--the eldest, I think--who is quite a singer, and there's a girl who paints, I believe; but I don't seem to remember a 'Mary Jane.'” “Never mind! Suppose we let Mary Jane speak for herself,” suggested Billy, dropping her chin into the small pink cup of her hand, and settling herself to listen. “Very well,” sighed Aunt Hannah; and she opened the letter and began to read. “DEAR AUNT HANNAH:--This is to tell you that I'm coming to Boston to study singing in the school for Grand Opera, and I'm planning to look you up. Do you object? I said to a friend the other day that I'd half a mind to write to Aunt Hannah and beg a home with her; and my friend retorted: 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' But that, of course, I should not think of doing. “But I know I shall be lonesome, Aunt Hannah, and I hope you'll let me see you once in a while, anyway. I plan now to come next week --I've already got as far as New York, as you see by the address--and I shall hope to see you soon. “All the family would send love, I know. “M. J. ARKWRIGHT.” “Grand Opera! Oh, how perfectly lovely,” cried Billy. “Yes, but Billy, do you think she is expecting me to invite her to make her home with me? I shall have to write and explain that I can't--if she does, of course.” Billy frowned and hesitated. “Why, it sounded--a little--that way; but--” Suddenly her face cleared. “Aunt Hannah, I've thought of the very thing. We _will_ take her!” “Oh, Billy, I couldn't think of letting you do that,” demurred Aunt Hannah. “You're very kind--but, oh, no; not that!” “Why not? I think it would be lovely; and we can just as well as not. After Marie is married in December, she can have that room. Until then she can have the little blue room next to me.” “But--but--we don't know anything about her.” “We know she's your niece, and she's lonesome; and we know she's musical. I shall love her for every one of those things. Of course we'll take her!” “But--I don't know anything about her age.” “All the more reason why she should be looked out for, then,” retorted Billy, promptly. “Why, Aunt Hannah, just as if you didn't want to give this lonesome, unprotected young girl a home!” “Oh, I do, of course; but--” “Then it's all settled,” interposed Billy, springing to her feet. “But what if we--we shouldn't like her?” “Nonsense! What if she shouldn't like us?” laughed Billy. “However, if you'd feel better, just ask her to come and stay with us a month. We shall keep her all right, afterwards. See if we don't!” Slowly Aunt Hannah got to her feet. “Very well, dear. I'll write, of course, as you tell me to; and it's lovely of you to do it. Now I'll leave you to your letters. I've hindered you far too long, as it is.”