“I don't--not the _dearest_. Oh, it's all well enough, of course, but it can't be compared for a moment to--well, say, 'Billy'!” Billy smiled, but she shook her head. “I'm afraid you're not a good judge of names,” she objected. “Yes, I am; though, for that matter, I should love your name, no matter what it was.” “Even if 'twas 'Mary Jane,' eh?” bantered Billy. “Well, you'll have a chance to find out how you like that name pretty quick, sir. We're going to have one here.” “You're going to have a Mary Jane here? Do you mean that Rosa's going away?” “Mercy! I hope not,” shuddered Billy. “You don't find a Rosa in every kitchen--and never in employment agencies! My Mary Jane is a niece of Aunt Hannah's,--or rather, a cousin. She's coming to Boston to study music, and I've invited her here. We've asked her for a month, though I presume we shall keep her right along.” Bertram frowned. “Well, of course, that's very nice for--_Mary Jane_,” he sighed with meaning emphasis. Billy laughed. “Don't worry, dear. She won't bother us any.” “Oh, yes, she will,” sighed Bertram. “She'll be 'round--lots; you see if she isn't. Billy, I think sometimes you're almost too kind--to other folks.” “Never!” laughed Billy. “Besides, what would you have me do when a lonesome young girl was coming to Boston? Anyhow, _you're_ not the one to talk, young man. I've known _you_ to take in a lonesome girl and give her a home,” she flashed merrily. Bertram chuckled. “Jove! What a time that was!” he exclaimed, regarding his companion with fond eyes. “And Spunk, too! Is she going to bring a Spunk?” “Not that I've heard,” smiled Billy; “but she _is_ going to wear a pink.” “Not really, Billy?” “Of course she is! I told her to. How do you suppose we could know her when we saw her, if she didn't?” demanded the girl, indignantly. “And what is more, sir, there will be _two_ pinks worn this time. _I_ sha'n't do as Uncle William did, and leave off my pink. Only think what long minutes--that seemed hours of misery--I spent waiting there in that train-shed, just because I didn't know which man was my Uncle William!” Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, your Mary Jane won't probably turn out to be quite such a bombshell as our Billy did--unless she should prove to be a boy,” he added whimsically. “Oh, but Billy, she _can't_ turn out to be such a dear treasure,” finished the man. And at the adoring look in his eyes Billy blushed deeply--and promptly forgot all about Mary Jane and her pink. CHAPTER IV. FOR MARY JANE “I have a letter here from Mary Jane, my dear,” announced Aunt Hannah at the luncheon table one day. “Have you?” Billy raised interested eyes from her own letters. “What does she say?”