lovely."

"Hm--; well, we might look them up, perhaps. You know his address?"

"Oh, yes unless he's moved. We've always kept that. Aunt Ella used to
say sometimes that she was going to write to him some day about me, you
know."

"What's his name?"

"William Henshaw. He lives in Boston."

Lawyer Harding snatched off his glasses, and leaned forward in his
chair.

"William Henshaw! Not the Beacon Street Henshaws!" he cried.

It was Billy's turn to be excited. She, too, leaned forward eagerly.

"Oh, do you know him? That's lovely! And his address IS Beacon Street! I
know because I saw it only to-day. You see, I HAVE been tempted to write
him."

"Write him? Of course you'll write him," cried the lawyer. "And we don't
need to do much 'looking up' there, child. I've known the family for
years, and this William was a college mate of my boy's. Nice fellow,
too. I've heard Ned speak of him. There were three sons, William, and
two others much younger than he. I've forgotten their names."

"Then you do know him! I'm so glad," exclaimed Billy. "You see, he never