“Oh, never mind about trying to explain,” interposed Bertram. “I fancy the remedy would be worse than the disease, in this case.”
“Nonsense! I only meant that I like to be missed—sometimes,” retorted Billy, a little nettled.
“And you rejoice then to have me mope, Cyril play dirges, and Will wander mournfully about the house with Spunkie in his arms! You should have seen William. If his forlornness did not bring tears to your eyes, the grace of the pink bow that lopped behind Spunkie's left ear would surely have brought a copious flow.”
Billy laughed, but her eyes grew tender.
“Did Uncle William do—that?” she asked.
“He did—and he did more. Pete told me after a time that you had not left one thing in the house, anywhere; but one day, over behind William's most treasured Lowestoft, I found a small shell hairpin, and a flat brown silk button that I recognized as coming from one of your dresses.”
“Oh!” said Billy, softly. “Dear Uncle William—and how good he was to me!”