Billy Neilson was eighteen years old when the aunt, who had brought her up from babyhood, died. Miss Benton's death left Billy quite alone in the world-alone, and peculiarly forlorn. To Mr. James Harding, of Harding & Harding, who had charge of Billy's not inconsiderable property, the girl poured out her heart in all its loneliness two days after the funeral. "You see, Mr. Harding, there isn't any one-not any one who-cares," she choked. "Tut, tut, my child, it's not so bad as that, surely," remonstrated the old man, gently. "Why, I-I care." Billy smiled through tear-wet eyes.
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