There was a tense moment of silence. William glanced at Bertram; Bertram returned the glance—with interest.
“Er—ah—yes; well, we might go to dinner,” stammered William, after a minute.
“Er—yes,” agreed Bertram. And the three fell into step together.
CHAPTER IV. “JUST LIKE BILLY”
Billy did not leave the Strata this time. Before twenty-four hours had passed, the last cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's possessions had been carefully carried down the imposing steps of the Beacon Hill boarding-house under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned mistress, who found herself now with a month's advance rent and two vacant “parlors” on her hands. Before another twenty-four hours had passed her quondam boarder, with a tired sigh, sank into his favorite morris chair in his old familiar rooms, and looked about him with contented eyes. Every treasure was in place, from the traditional four small stones of his babyhood days to the Batterseas Billy had just brought him. Pete, as of yore, was hovering near with a dust-cloth. Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the floor below. William Henshaw was at home again.
This much accomplished, Billy went to see Aunt Hannah.
Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though with tearfully troubled eyes. She was wearing a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one—sure sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as all her friends knew.
“I'd begun to think you'd forgotten—me,” she faltered, with a poor attempt at gayety.
“You've been home three whole days.”