six years ago when a dark-eyed girl and a little
gray kitten (that was Spunk, your predecessor,
you know) blew in and blew out again before we
scarcely knew they were here. That girl was
Miss Billy, and she was a dear then, just as she is
now, only now she's coming here to stay. She's
coming home, Spunkie; and she'll make it a
home for you, for me, and for all of us. Up to
now, you know, it hasn't really been a home, for
years--just us men, so. It'll be very different,
Spunkie, as you'll soon find out. Now mind,
madam! We must show that we appreciate all
this: no tempers, no tantrums, no showing of
claws, no leaving our coats--either yours or
mine--on the drawing-room chairs, no tracking
in of mud on clean rugs and floors! For we're
going to have a home, Spunkie--a home!''

At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping
Rosa to put the house to rights, as Marie had
said. She was crying, too, over a glove she had
found on Billy's piano; but she was crying over
something else, also. Not only had she lost Billy,
but she had lost her home.

To be sure, nothing had been said during that
nightmare of a week of hurry and confusion about
Aunt Hannah's future; but Aunt Hannah knew
very well how it must be. This dear little house
on the side of Corey Hill was Billy's home, and