“Though whatsoever ills betide, I’ll stand for ever by your side,
And naught shall you and me divide
Because you are my friend.”
 T
HE only nice thing about your going away is your coming home again," said Miss Billy to Margaret.
 
The two girls were seated side by side on the floor in Margaret's room, which bore a startling resemblance to a fancy bazaar. The bed was filled with airy masses of silk and gauze, the divan covered with ribbons and gloves and shoes, and the floor strewn with a varied assortment of hats, perfumery flasks, filigree silver and handkerchiefs. Margaret's last trunk had arrived from abroad, and the-251- two girls were spending the morning at that mysterious and delightful task known to all womankind as "unpacking."
 
"It's the next best thing to going away myself," continued Miss Billy, "to have you go; and come home with so much of the foreign atmosphere about you. Your sentences fairly ooze Rhine water, and foreign castles, and pretzels."
 
"Am I as bad as that?" laughed Margaret. "You remember Edward Eggleston's woman, whose topic of conversation was always, 'when I was to Bosting.' Do I give the impression of having been to Bosting?"
 
"Certainly you do," accused Miss Billy. "You've talked of nothing else since your return. Of course I might confess that I've egged you on a little,—a very little,—for politeness' sake. Oh, Peggy dear, it does seem so inexpressibly adorable to have you here again!"
 
"In order that you may tell me I talk too much," laughed Margaret again. "Never-252- mind, Miss Billy. Your turn will come in a few moments, and I know from your eager and glittering eye that you have much to tell yourself. Here is the box I was looking for. I put the little things I got for you when I was abroad all together so that I could have the fun of seeing you open them."
 
"The little things" filled a long pasteboard box, with a queer foreign picture on the label. Margaret tossed it over on her friend's lap. Inside were a number of bundles and packages, two long tubes of pasteboard, and several smaller boxes. Miss Billy's lips trembled with a smile in which tenderness as well as joy was mingled.
 
"I can't tell you——" she began.
 
"Open them quick," commanded Margaret. "I want to see if they're right. Everything in the box was chosen especially for you."
 
Miss Billy obediently untied the packages. Margaret's words were true. Everything in the box had been chosen with a loving care that made the gifts still sweeter. There was a flame--253-coloured shawl of soft clinging crêpe, a gay Roman sash, a string of pale pink corals, four pairs of gloves in various shades of tan, a small gauze fan with ivory sticks, some carved wooden animals from the Black Forest, a set of crystals in purple and white, and best of all—two large photographs of famous paintings—the little Angel of the Lute, and the boy St. John.
 
"Mother has something else for you," said Margaret, delighted at the evident success of her gifts. "She found three long pongee coats for you and Beatrice and me. They are just alike except for the trimming, and she thought it would be fun for us to have them alike."
 
Miss Billy glanced down at the heap of treasures in her lap to hide the grateful tears in her eyes. "I don't know how to thank you," she began unsteadily.
 
"Oh, pshaw," returned Margaret. "You'd better compose some grateful resolutions, in nine or ten whereases, which will express your emotions. I don't remember that I ever wept-254- tears of thankfulness over the things you brought me from Chinatown when you went West. I merely received them as what was due me by all the laws of right and justice. That yellow shawl will make you look like a dream, Billy. I thought of your browny-coppery hair when I bought it."
 
"It isn't the things that I'm grateful for," began Miss Billy smiling through her tears. "It's just that you're home again, I guess. You don't know how much I've missed you, Peggy. You know, dear, it makes lots of difference in the number of friends one has, if one moves from Ashurst Place to Cherry Street."
 
"Why?" asked Margaret innocently.
 
"That's just what I knew you'd say," exclaimed Miss Billy. "A thing like that would never occur to you. But it does occur to the majority of people."
 
"Do you mean to say that your old friends have treated you differently since you—you moved?" demanded Margaret indignantly.
 
-255-
 
"Yes, I do mean that," responded Miss Billy. There was a moment's hesitation before she added proudly, "Of course, Margaret, I don't feel that it has made any difference with me. Only I have to admit to you that it does make a big difference with others."
 
"With whom, for instance?" questioned Margaret. "The Blanchards and their ilk? I thought so. Wilhelmina Lee, you don't dare to tell me that the Blanchard tribe can hurt you?"
 
There was a world of comfort in Margaret's loyal voice, and Miss Billy was forced to smile at her vehemence.
 
"I should be ashamed of you if I thought they could," went on Margaret. "They are such a punk lot—if you'll excuse my English. We met Mrs. Blanchard and the girls in Germany, and they were kind enough to offer us their escort through Europe. Mrs. Blanchard is a regular Old Woman of the Sea, and we were afraid we would either have to commit suicide or murder to get rid of her. She attached her-256-self to mamma, and always called her 'my dear,' before strangers. She introduced papa as 'the Honourable Mr. Van Courtland'—you can imagine how furious that made my respected parent! And as for me, in a burst of affection, one day, she assured me that any one who had seen me six years ago would never have thought I 'would turn out so well!'"
 
The imitation of Mrs. Blanchard's caressing tones was perfect.
 
"She also told us the news of our friends," continued Margaret. "Of course I asked about you, the first thing; and she responded that you were interesting yourself in settlement work. It was such a laudable and praiseworthy undertaking, but she understood that it was apt to be dirty; and—now don't be mad—Miss Billy—a little unmaidenly, for a young girl. Naturally my ire rose, and I replied that I thought it was the loveliest thing that a girl could do; that I had heard about what you had accomplished on Cherry Street, and that the moment-257- I got home I was going to help,—if I wasn't too stupid. You don't mind my telling you all this, do you, Billy?"
 
Margaret's guest was surveying her with shining eyes and eager expression. She did not seem to hear the last question. "Oh, will you? Will you?" she demanded delightedly. "Oh, Peggy, you can help so much if you will."
 
Margaret threw aside the masse............