Mrs. Cliff was late to breakfast that day, and the reason was that thinking so much about what Willy had said to her she had been very slow in dressing. As soon as she had a chance, Mrs. Cliff took Willy aside and told her that she had determined to adopt her advice about the Thorpedykes.

"The more I think of the plan," she said, "the better I like it! But we must be very, very careful about what we do. If Miss Eleanor suspects that I invite them to come to my house because I think they are poor, she will turn into solid stone, and we will find we cannot move her an inch,—but I think I can manage it! When we go home, I will tell them how pleasant we found it for us all to be together, and speak of the loneliness of my new big house. If I can get Miss Eleanor to believe that she is doing me a favor, she may be willing to come; but on no account, Willy, do you say a word to either of them about this plan. If you do, you will spoil everything, for that's your way, Willy, and you know it!"

Willy promised faithfully that she would not interfere in the least; but although she was perfectly satisfied with this arrangement, she was not happy. How could she be happy knowing what she did about Miss Barbara? That poor lady was looking sadder than ever, and Willy was very much afraid that she had had another letter from that horrid Mr. Bullock, with whom, she was delighted to think, Mrs. Cliff had never dealt.

It would be some days yet before they would go home and make the new arrangement, and then there would be the bill and the collector, and all that horrid business, and if Miss Eleanor found out the condition of affairs,—and if the bill was not paid, she must find out,—she would never come to them. She would probably stay at home and live on bread!

Now, it so happened that Willy had in her own possession more than enough money to pay that wretched Bullock bill. Mrs. Cliff made her no regular allowance, but she had given her all the money that she might reasonably expect to spend in New York, and Willy had spent but very little of it, for she found it the most difficult thing in the world to select what it was she wanted out of all the desirable things she saw.

It would rejoice her heart to transfer this money to Miss Barbara; but how in the world could she do it? She first thought that she might offer to buy something that was in the Thorpedyke house, but she knew this idea was absurd. Then she thought of mentioning, in an off-hand way, that she would like to put some money out at interest, and thus, perhaps, induce Miss Barbara to propose a business transaction. But this would not do. Even Miss Barbara would suspect some concealed motive. Idea after idea came to her, but she could think of no satisfactory plan of getting that money into Miss Barbara's possession.

She did not go out with the party that morning, but sat in her room trying in vain to solve this problem. At last she gave it up and determined to do what she wanted to do without any plan whatever.

She went into Miss Barbara's room and placed upon the table, in the very spot where the bill had been lying, some bank-notes, considerably more than sufficient to pay the amount of the bill, which amount she well remembered. It would not do to leave just money enough, for that would excite suspicion. And so placing Miss Barbara's hair-brush upon the bank-notes, so that she would be sure not to overlook them, for she would not think of going down to luncheon without brushing her hair, Willy retired to her own room, nearly closing the door, leaving only a little crack through which she might see if any servant entered the room before Miss Barbara came back.

Then Willy set herself industriously to work hemming a pocket handkerchief. She could not do this very well, because she was not at all proficient in fine sewing, but she worked with great energy, waiting and listening for Miss Barbara's entrance.

At last, after a long time, Willy heard the outer door of the other room open, and glancing through the crack, she saw Miss Barbara enter. Then she twisted herself around towards the window and began to sew savagely, with a skill much better adapted to the binding of carpets than to any sort of work upon cambric handkerchiefs.

In a few minutes she heard a little exclamation in the next room, and then her door was opened suddenly, without the customary knock, and Miss Barbara marched in. Her face was flushed.

"Willy Croup," said she, "what is the meaning of that money on my table?"

"Money?" said Willy, turning towards her with as innocent an expression as her burning cheeks and rapidly winking eyes would permit; "what do you mean by—money?"

Miss Barbara stood silent for some moments while Willy vainly endeavored to thread the point of her needle.

"Willy," said Miss Barbara, "did you come into my room last night, and look at the bill which was on my table?"

Now Willy dropped her needle, thread, and handkerchief, and stood up.

"Yes, I did!" said she. Miss Barbara was now quite pale.

"And you read the note which Mr. Bullock had put at the bottom of it?"

"Yes, I read it!" said Willy.

"And don't you know," said the other, "that to do such a thing was most—"

"Yes, I do!" interrupted Willy. "I knew it then and I know it now, but I don't care any more now than I did then! I put it there because I wanted to! And if you'll take it, Miss Barbara, and pay it back to me any time when you feel like it,—and you can pay me interest at ten per cent if you want to, and that will make it all right, you know; and oh, Miss Barbara! I know all about that sort of bill, because they used to come when my father was alive. And if you'd only take it, you don't know how happy I would be!"

At this she began to cry, and then Miss Barbara burst into tears, and the two sat down beside each other on a lounge and cried earnestly, hand in hand, for nearly ten minutes.

"I'm so glad you'll take it!" said Willy, when Miss Barbara went into her room, "and you may be just as sure as you're sure of anything that nobody but our two selves will ever know anything about it!"

Immediately after luncheon Miss Barbara went by herself to the post-office, and when she came back her sister said to her that New York must just be beginning to agree with her.

"It is astonishing," said Miss Eleanor, "how long it takes some people to get used to a change, but it often happens that if one stays long enough in the new place, great benefit will be experienced, whereas, if the stay is short, there may be no good result whatever!"

That afternoon Mrs. Cliff actually laughed at Miss Barbara—a thing she had never done before. They were in a large jewelry store where they were looking at clocks, and Miss Barbara, who had evinced a sudden interest in the beautiful things about her, called Mrs. Cliff's attention to a lovely necklace of pearls.

"If I were you," said Miss Barbara, "I would buy something like that! I should not want to wear it, perhaps, but it would be so delightful to sit and look at it!"

The idea of Miss Barbara thinking of buying necklaces of pearls! No wonder Mrs. Cliff laughed.

When the party returned to Plainton, Mrs. Cliff was amazed to find her new house almost completely furnished; and no time was lost in proposing the Thorpedyke project, for Mrs. Cliff felt that it would be wise to make the proposition while the sense of companionship was still fresh upon them all.

Miss Thorpedyke was very much surprised when the plan was proposed to her, but it produced a pleasant effect upon her. She had much enjoyed the company she had been in; she had always liked society, and lately had had very little of it, for no matter how good and lovable sisters may be, they are sometimes a little tiresome when they are sole companions.

As to Barbara, she trembled as she thought of Mrs. Cliff's offer: trembled with joy, which she could not repress; and trembled with fear that her sister might not accept it. But it was of no use for her to say anything,—and she said nothing. Eleanor always decided such questions as these.

After a day's consideration Miss Thorpedyke came to a conclusion, and she sent Miss Barbara with a message to Mrs. Cliff to the effect that as the winters were always lonely, and as it would be very pleasant for them all to be together, she would, if Mrs. Cliff thought it would be an advantage to her, come with her sister and live in some portion of the new building which Mrs. Cliff did not intend to be otherwise occupied, and that they would pay whatever board Mrs. Cliff thought reasonable and proper; but in order to do this, it would be necessary for them to rent their present home. They would offer this house fully furnished,—reserving the privilege of removing the most valuable heirlooms which it now contained, and, as soon as such an arrangement could be made, they would be willing to come to Mrs. Cliff and remain with her during the winter.

When Miss Barbara had heard this decision her heart had fallen! She knew that it would be almost impossible to find a tenant who would take that house, especially for winter occupancy, and that even if a tenant could be found, the rent would be very little. And she knew, moreover, that having come to a decision Eleanor could not be moved from it.

She found Mr. Burke and Willy with Mrs. Cliff, but as he knew all about the project and had taken great interest in it, she did not hesitate to tell her message before him. Mrs. Cliff was very much disappointed.

"That ends the matter!" said she. "Your house cannot be rented for the winter!"

"I don't know about that!" exclaimed Mr. Burke. "By George! I'll take the house myself! I want a house,—I want just such a house; I want it furnished,—except I don't want to be responsible for old heirlooms, and I'm willing to pay a fair and reasonable rent for it; and I'm sure, although I never had the pleasure of being in it, it ought to bring rent enough to pay the board of any two ladies any winter, wherever they might be!"

"But, Mr. Burke," Miss Barbara said, her voice shaking as she spoke, "I must tell you, that the roof is very much out of repair, and—"

"Oh, that doesn't matter at all!" said Burke. "A tenant, if he's the right sort of tenant, is bound to put a house into repair to suit himself. I'll attend to the roof if it needs it, you may be sure of that! And if it doesn't need it, I'll leave it just as it is! That'll be all right, and you can tell your sister that you've found a tenant. I'm getting dreadfully tired of living at that hotel, and a house of my own is somethin' that I've never had before! But one thing I must ask of you, Miss Thorpedyke: don't say anything to your sister about tobacco smoke, and perhaps she will never think of it!"