``Where did you know--Miss Billy?''

``Oh, I don't know her at all. I know of her--
through Aunt Hannah.''

Calderwell sat suddenly erect.

``Aunt Hannah! Is she your aunt, too?
Jove! This _is_ a little old world, after all; isn't
it?''

``She isn't my aunt. She's my mother's third
cousin. None of us have seen her for years, but
she writes to mother occasionally; and, of course,
for some time now, her letters have been running
over full of Billy. She lives with her, I believe;
doesn't she?''

``She does,'' rejoined Calderwell, with an
unexpected chuckle. ``I wonder if you know how she
happened to live with her, at first.''

``Why, no, I reckon not. What do you mean?''

Calderwell chuckled again.

``Well, I'll tell you. You, being a `Mary Jane,'
ought to appreciate it. You see, Billy was named
for one William Henshaw, her father's chum,