In the Strata, the Henshaws' old Beacon Street home, William was sitting before the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was not dozing.

He was talking.
"Spunkie," he was saying, "your master, Bertram, got married to-day--and to Miss Billy.

He'll be bringing her home one of these days--your new mistress.

And such a mistress! Never did cat or house have a better! "Just think; for the first time in years this old place is to know the touch of a woman's hand--and that's what it hasn't known for almost twenty years, except for those few short months 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.