Still, watching her a little later, he noticed her absorbed face and eager enthusiasm, her earnest pursuance of an elusive harmony, and he wondered: did she, or did she not sing that song with feeling a little while before?
Arkwright had not settled this question to his own satisfaction when Aunt Hannah came in at half-past five, and he was conscious of a vague disappointment as he rose to greet her.

Billy, however, turned an untroubled face to the newcomer.
"We're doing finely, Aunt Hannah," she cried.

Then, suddenly, she flung a laughing question to the man.

"How about it, sir?
Are we going to put on the title-page: 'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'-- or will you unveil the mystery for us now ?" "Have you guessed it ?" he bantered.
"No--unless it's 'Methuselah John.' We did think of that the other day." "Wrong again!" he laughed.
"Then it'll have to be 'Mary Jane,'" retorted Billy, with calm naughtiness, refusing to meet Aunt Hannah's beseechingly reproving eyes.
Then suddenly she chuckled.

"It would be a combination, wouldn't it?
'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright.