"I've allus took notice that folks with funny names'll stand a right smart of watchin'." Brian and Auntie Sue laughed together at this, but the old lady said, with a show of spirit: "Judy! You know nothing about it! You never even saw Betty Jo! You shouldn't say such things, child." "Might as well say 'em as ter think 'em, I reckon," Judy returned, her beady-black eyes stealthily watching Brian.
"What is your Betty Jo's real name, Auntie Sue ?" asked Brian, curiously.
Again Auntie Sue seemed to hesitate; then--"Her name is Miss Betty Jo Williams," and as she spoke the old teacher looked straight at Brian.
"A perfectly good name," Brian returned; "but I never heard of her before." Judy's black eyes, with their stealthy, oblique look, were now watchfully fixed on Auntie Sue.
"She is the orphan-niece of one of my old pupils," Auntie Sue continued.
"I have known her since she was a baby.

When she finished her education in the seminary, and had travelled abroad for a few months, she decided all at once that she wanted a course in a business college, which was just what any one knowing her would expect her to do." "Sounds steady and reliable," commented Brian.

"But will she come ?" "Yes, indeed, she will, and be tickled to death over the job," returned Auntie Sue.

"I'll write her at once." While Auntie Sue was preparing to write her letter, Judy muttered, in a tone which only Brian heard: "Just the same, 'tain't no name for a common gal ter have; hit sure ain't.

There's somethin' dad burned queer 'bout hit somewhere." "Nonsense! Judy," said Brian in a low voice; "don't worry Auntie Sue." "I ain't aimin' ter worry her none," returned the mountain girl; "but I'll bet you-all a pretty that this here gal'll worry both of youuns 'fore you are through with her;--me, too, I reckon." For some reason, Auntie Sue's letter to Betty Jo seemed to be rather long.