JEAN CABOT "lived around." She did not live around because nobody wanted her, however; on the contrary, she lived around because so many people wanted her. Both her father and mother had died when Jean was a baby and so until she was twelve years old she had been brought up by a cousin of her mother's. Then the cousin had married a and had gone to teach the children in China, and China, as you will agree, was no place for an American girl to go to school. Therefore Jean was sent to Boston and put in charge of her uncle, Mr. Robert Cabot. Uncle Bob was delighted with the arrangement, for they were great friends, Jean and this boy-uncle of hers.  
But no sooner did she arrive in Boston and settle down to live on Hill than up rose Uncle Tom Curtis, Jean's other uncle, who lived in Pittsburgh. He made a dreadful fuss because Jean had gone to Uncle Bob's to live. He wanted her out in Pittsburgh, and he wrote that Fräulein Decker, who was his , and had been governess to Jean's own mother, wanted her too.
 
That started Hannah, Uncle Bob's housekeeper.
 
"The very idea," she said, "of that German woman thinking they want Jean in Pittsburgh as much as we want her here in Boston. Didn't I bring up Jean's father, I'd like to know; and her Uncle Bob as well? I guess I can be trusted to bring up another Cabot. It's ridiculous—that's what it is— ree-diculous!" That was Hannah's favorite expression—"Ree-diculous!" "I'd like my job," went on Hannah, "sending that precious child to Pittsburgh where her white dresses would get all grimed up with coal ."
 
But Hannah's scorn of Pittsburgh did not settle the matter.
 
Instead Mr. Carleton, Uncle Tom Curtis's lawyer, came to Boston as fast as he could get there and one afternoon presented himself at Uncle Bob's house on Beacon Hill. Uncle Bob was in the library when he arrived and the two men sat down before the fire, for it was a day in early spring. After they had said a few pleasant things about the weather, and Uncle Bob had inquired for Uncle Tom, they really got started on what they wanted to say and my—how they did talk! It was all good-natured talk, for Uncle Bob liked Uncle Tom Curtis very much; nevertheless Uncle Bob and Uncle Tom's lawyer did talk pretty hard and pretty fast, for they had lots of things to say.
 
At last Uncle Bob Cabot rose from his leather chair and going to the fireplace gave the blazing logs a vicious little .
 
He was becoming . Anybody could see that.
 
"The Curtises have not a more title to the child than I have," he burst out. "You are a lawyer, Carleton, and you know that. I am just as much Jean's uncle as Tom Curtis is; in fact I think I am more her uncle because I am her father's own brother. I'm a Cabot, and so is Jean. I should think that ought to be enough. Who would she live with, if not with the Cabots?"
 
Mr. Carleton cleared his throat.
 
"You certainly have a strong claim to the little girl," he agreed. "But you see my other client puts up an equally convincing story. In fact, he uses almost your identical words. He says he is Jean's mother's own brother, and argues no one can have a closer right than that."
 
"But what does he know about bringing up a little girl? Isn't he an old bachelor?"
 
"You are not married yourself, Mr. Cabot."
 
"Well, no. So I'm not. However, that's neither here nor there. Tom Curtis is fifty if he's a day. He is too old to bring up a child, Carleton."
 
"He complains that you are only thirty, and too young."
 
Mr. Robert Cabot, who was walking excitedly about the room, turned quickly.
 
"But I have Hannah. You do not know Hannah or you would feel differently. It is hard to tell you what Hannah is. You just have to know her. She is the mainspring of my household. Not only does she cook, clean, mend, and market for me; she does a score of things besides. Why, I couldn't live without her. She is one of those motherly souls whose wisdom is of the . She has been in our family since I was a baby. Most of my bringing up, in fact, was due to her and," he added whimsically, " the work of her hands!"
 
Mr. Carleton smiled.
 
"I cannot deny the product is good, Mr. Cabot. But again, all these arguments you put Mr. Tom Curtis also reëchoes in behalf of his German Fräulein. She too has been for years in the Curtis family and brought up their children, and Mr. Curtis feels that since she trained Jean's mother she is the person to train Jean."
 
"Humph!"
 
"The claims seem about equal."
 
"No, they're not. That's where you are wrong. Allowing everything else to be equal even you must grant that there is one serious objection of which you have not spoken. Mr. Tom Curtis lives in Pittsburgh! That is enough to the whole thing. Pittsburgh! Think of bringing up a child in Pittsburgh when she could be brought up in Boston. Boston, my good man, is intellectually—well, of course I do not wish to appear prejudiced, but you will, I am sure, admit that Boston——"
 
Mr. Bob Cabot dropped helplessly into his chair, leaving the sentence unfinished. There seemed to be no words in the English language adequate to express what, in Mr. Bob Cabot's estimation, Boston actually was.
 
Mr. Carleton started to laugh, but after glancing at Mr. Bob Cabot he changed his mind and coughed instead.
 
"We all grant Boston is without an intellectual peer," he answered with a grave of his head. "Even I, who was born in Indiana, grant that, although out in my state we think we run you a close second. Boston moreover has a background of which we in the West cannot boast—history, you know, and all that sort of thing. It would be a great privilege for little Miss Jean Cabot to receive a home and an education in Boston. There are, however, many fine things in Pittsburgh; it is not all soot, or panting factories."
 
"I suppose not. Jean's mother was a Pittsburgh girl, and certainly she was a wonderful type of woman. Yet you cannot tell what result a Boston environment might have had on such a nature as hers. She might have been even nearer perfection. Yet after all she was quite fine enough for human clay, Carleton, quite fine enough. And the little girl promises to be like her—an sweet, gentle child, and pretty, too—very pretty. To send her to Pittsburgh—hang it all! Why must Tom Curtis live in Pittsburgh?"
 
"Mr. Curtis, as you seem to have forgotten, Mr. Cabot, is the owner of one of the largest plate glass factories in the country. He has built up a fortune by his business and he is no more ready to his life's work to the winds and come to Boston to live than you are to toss aside your own business and move to Pittsburgh. And by the way, speaking of business, Mr. Cabot, if it does not seem an impertinent question, what is your business?"
 
"My business? Well, for a good many years my chief business seemed to be getting over a bad knee I got when playing tackle on the Harvard football eleven. We wiped up the ground with Yale, though, so it was worth it. Of late I spend more or less time in seeing that Hannah does not feed me too well and starve herself. Part of my business, too, is to argue with disagreeable old lawyers like yourself, Carleton." Mr. Bob Cabot . "When I am not doing some of these things and have the surplus time I am incidentally an interior decorator. Oh, I do not go out papering and painting; oh dear, no! I just tell other people how to spend a fortune furnishing their houses. I advise brocade hangings, Italian marbles and every sort of rare and beautiful thing, and since I do not have these luxuries to pay for I find my a tremendously interesting one."
 
"You have set a example in your own house," observed Mr. Carleton, glancing about with .
 
"Oh, I've done a little—not much. I like the old landscape paper in this library; some of my antique furniture, too, is rather nice. I picked up many of the best pieces in the South. The house itself came to me from my father, and I have altered it very little, as I was anxious to keep its old colonial atmosphere. Hannah and I live here most peacefully with a waitress and inside man to help us. With Jean added to the household we shall have just the touch of young life that we need. I am very fond of children, and——"
 
"You seem very certain that Jean is to settle with you, Mr. Cabot. Now let me own up to something; although Mr. Tom Curtis sent me to have this talk with you and pave the way, it chances—no, chance is not the right word—on the contrary it is an fact that Mr. Tom Curtis is at this very moment here in Boston."
 
Mr. Bob Cabot started.
 
"Tom Curtis here!"
 
"Yes. He is putting up at the University Club, and he wanted me to ask you if you would be so good as to dine there with him to-night."
 
"So he has come over to enter the himself, has he? Well, well! Why didn't he come right here? Of course I'll join him. I always liked Tom Curtis. The only things I have against him are that he will live in Pittsburgh—and that he wants Jean."
 
Mr. Carleton rose with satisfaction. At least part of his mission had been successfully . He could afford to overlook the on Pittsburgh which, as it happened, was his home as well as that of Mr. Tom Curtis.
 
"Then I'll call up Mr. Curtis," he said, "and tell him he may expect you. Will seven o'clock be all right?"
 
"Certainly. I suppose I shall not see you again, Carleton?"
 
Mr. Carleton hesitated.
 
"It is just possible that I may drop in on you and Mr. Curtis after dinner."
 
"Oh, I see. A plot."
 
"Not at all. I have some business to settle with Mr. Curtis before I return to Pittsburgh."
 
"Going back to that grimy coal hole, are you?" Mr. Bob Cabot. "How you fellows can live there when you might spend your days in Bost——"
 
The door slammed.
 
Mr. Carleton was gone.
 
Shrugging his shoulders Mr. Bob Cabot glanced at the clock. He had just about time to dash off a necessary letter, dress, and get to the University Club.
 
"Hannah!" he called.
 
A small dark-haired woman appeared in the . She had sharp little black eyes that twinkled a great deal, and she had a mouth that turned up at the corners; furthermore she had a plump figure dressed in gray, and a white tied behind in an enormous and very spirited bow.
 
"Yes, Mr. Bob."
 
"Hannah, Mr. Tom Curtis is in town with a of a lawyer. They have come to see about taking Jean to live in Pittsburgh."
 
"Pittsburgh! My soul, Mr. Bob! You'll not let her go, of course. Pittsburgh, indeed! Don't we know that Boston——"
 
"We certainly do, Hannah. Nobody knows what Boston is better than we do. But Mr. Tom Curtis unfortunately was not born in Boston."
 
"More's the pity! Still, I suppose he cannot be blamed for that. It wasn't really his fault."
 
Mr. Bob Cabot laughed and dropped a big, hand on the shoulder of the woman beside him.
 
"I will try and impress upon him all that he has missed when I see him to-night. I am to dine with him at the University Club at seven."
 
"You're not dining out!" ejaculated Hannah in dismay.
 
"I'm afraid so."
 
"Oh, Mr. Bob! And fried chicken for dinner—just the way you like it, too."
 
"I'm sorry, Hannah."
 
"And me browning all those sweet potatoes!"
 
"I'm lots more disappointed than you are—truly I am. It can't be helped, though. Now let me finish this letter and you go and lay out my dress shirt and studs and things, or I'll be late."
 
Hannah from the room.
 
"I made you a Brown Betty pudding, too, Mr. Bob!" she called over her shoulder. "But no matter. There is no evil without some good; your trousers are freshly pressed and handsome as pictures—if I do say it as shouldn't. I'll lay 'em out for you, and your dinner coat as well. But to think of that pudding! Why couldn't Mr. Curtis have invited you the night the beef was ."
 
on the stroke of seven Uncle Bob Cabot presented himself at the University Club, where Uncle Tom Curtis was waiting for him, and the two men grasped hands cordially. How big Uncle Tom Curtis looked and, despite Hannah's remarks, how and how clean! And what a nice smile he had! The dinner was good. The was done to a turn, and there was just enough on the mushrooms. As for the potatoes, even Hannah herself couldn't have improved upon them. An old Harvard "grad" came over from the next table and greeted Uncle Tom Curtis, telling him he did not look a day older than when he was in college, and in spite of his gray hairs Uncle Tom Curtis seemed to believe it. Then they talked of the last Harvard boat race; the winning eleven; the D. K. E. with its ; and the old professors. And after the other man had left the waiter brought coffee which was deliciously hot and cheese that was exactly ripe enough. Uncle Tom Curtis seemed to have no end of stories at which Uncle Bob Cabot laughed until he was very red in the face, and Uncle Bob told some stories and Uncle Tom Curtis sat back in his chair and laughed and wiped his eyes and mopped his forehead. Then Uncle Bob said that of course the Club was all very well, but he should insist on Uncle Tom's tossing his things into his grip and coming over to Beacon Hill with him to finish up his Boston visit.
 
They did not talk about Jean any more that night, but the next morning after breakfast they went at the discussion and were just in the midst of it when who should walk in but Jean herself. She had been spending two or three days with a friend of her mother who lived in the suburbs.
 
"Uncle Bob!" she called as she dashed her hat and muff down upon the settle in the hall. "Uncle Bob! Oh, I had a perfectly lovely time. And what do you think! Mrs. Chandler has three darling Irish terrier puppies, and she is going to give me one if you are willing that I should have it. You do like puppies, don't you? I know you'd like these anyway; they are so blinky, and fat, and little."
 
Tossing her coat on top of the hat and muff she ran up the front stairs and into the library.
 
"Why, Uncle Tom Curtis!" she cried. "Whatever brought you here?"
 
Fluttering to the big man's side she gave him a hug and at the same time dropped a butterfly kiss on the top of his shiny bald head. The next instant she was perched on the arm of Uncle Bob's chair, eyeing her two uncles expectantly.
 
"You both look so hot and so—well, almost cross, you know. What is the matter?"
 
"We are talking about you, honey," ventured Uncle Bob after a short, uneasy silence.
 
"About me! And it makes you look as solemn and up as this? Whatever have I done? Did Mrs. Chandler telephone you about the puppy? Don't worry. I do not mind if I don't have it—really I don't."
 
"No, dear, it wasn't the puppy. You shall have all the puppies you want so far as I'm concerned," Uncle Bob answered, stroking the tiny hand that nestled in his. "No, your Uncle Tom and I were talking about where you are to live."
 
"But I thought I was to live here."
 
"I thought so too," agreed Uncle Bob. "Uncle Tom, though, is not satisfied with that arrangement. He says he wants you to come and live with him."
 
"But I couldn't leave you, Uncle Bob—you know that; at least, not for all the time. If there were only two of me and I could live with each of you how nice it would be. Of course I'd love to be with Uncle Tom sometimes. Why couldn't I live with one of you part of the time and with the other the rest of the year? I'd rather be here in the summer, though, I think, because it's near the ocean."
 
How simple the great over which the two men had argued suddenly seemed!
 
"Jean has settled it herself!" Uncle Tom exclaimed. "It shall be Pittsburgh winters and Boston summers. I wonder we didn't solve it that way in the beginning."
 
So everybody was pleased. Even Hannah admitted that if that was the best that could be done she would put up with it; but she made Uncle Tom Curtis promise to lay in a big supply of soap.
 
"You must scrub her face and hands three times a day, and at least once between meals if she is to live in Pittsburgh," remarked she. "And please remember to have the grime soaked out of her white dresses, Mr. Curtis. Borax and a little ammonia will do it," she concluded seriously.
 
"We will wash not only the clothes in ammonia water, but Jean if you say so, Hannah," promised Uncle Tom.
 
At this everybody laughed.
 
Then by and by they had , and Uncle Tom Curtis said it was a much better meal than he had had at the Club the night before; and Hannah said that maybe Pittsburgh was not so black as it was painted; and Uncle Bob said he'd send the inside man to the Chandlers' to get the puppy that very afternoon. And he did. And the puppy came, and he was very small, and very fat, and very wobbly. His head was much too large for him and so were his feet.
 
"You must name him Beacon Hill and call him Beacon for short, Jean," said Uncle Tom Curtis—which, coming from Uncle Tom Curtis, who thought there was no place on earth like Pittsburgh, was a generous .