Patty and Azalea. Wells Carolyn

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ laughed. "What a darling name! How could anybody call a place that! Suppose it had grown to be a large city."

      "Then they would probably have changed the name. Perhaps they have already done so,—I haven't heard from there for years."

      "Why didn't you keep up your relatives' acquaintance?"

      "Well, Aunt Amanda died, later, and her husband never cared much for me, anyhow. So we drifted apart, and never drifted together again."

      "Wasn't your aunt your mother's sister?"

      "Oh, Lord, no! She was not really my aunt, at all. She was a cousin of my father's and when she took me in, I called her auntie. But they only took me because they wanted my help on the place, and I worked hard for them four years. They gave me no affection, nor even thanks for my services, and as I couldn't learn anything or make any sort of progress in that God-forsaken valley, I left them and shifted for myself."

      "And made a great success of the shifting!" Patty's eyes glowed as she looked at her big handsome husband.

      "Yes, I found you! And, incidentally that little flower of loveliness that's going to sleep against your breast."

      "So she is! Pretty thing!" Patty gazed adoringly at the baby and then handed her over to the nurse, who returned for her charge.

      "Tell me more about Horner's Corners," Patty resumed, as they remained seated on the porch, after Fleurette's departure.

      "Not much to tell. It consisted of a store and post-office,—a church and school,—and forty or fifty small houses. Uncle Thorpe's place was a mile out from the Corners, proper, and I used to trudge back and forth every day for the mail, and for provisions. And part of the time I went to school. The teacher was a nice young girl, but we boys led her a dance! How we did plague her!" and Bill laughed at the recollection.

      "Any children in your aunt's family?"

      "One; a little baby girl, named Azalea."

      "What a pretty name! Where is she now?"

      "I don't know. Right there, probably. Let me see. I was ten when I went there. But she wasn't born then. When I left, that child was about a year old, I guess. She must be about seventeen or so, now."

      "And she's your only living relative?"

      "The only one I know anything about. Mother's people were English,—none of them over here. No near relatives, anyhow, for she was an only child. Dad was, too, for that matter. Little Zaly,—that's what they called her, is about the last leaf on the tree."

      "Let's ask her to visit us, can't we? I do want to know your people; and if she's all the people there are, I want to know her."

      "Why, child, I don't know anything about her,—I don't even know if she's still in the land of the living."

      "Can't you write and find out?"

      "Why, I suppose so. But why do you want her? She's probably an awkward, countrified little thing—"

      "I don't care for that! She's your kin, and I'm prepared to love her for that reason."

      "That's a dear thing for you to say, Patty mine, but you may get more than you bargain for. Suppose you invite Azalea and Uncle Thorpe himself comes trotting along, too!"

      "Well, I could even live through that! I don't suppose he'd bite me!"

      "But I'm quite sure he wouldn't fit into your scheme of things entire! Oh, let sleeping dogs lie, Pattibelle. Take me for my whole family,—I'm a host in myself."

      "You are,—my lord and master,—you sure are! But, all the same, I must hunt up your little cousin. Of course her father can't come, if he isn't invited. And I'd like to know the child. I might do something for her,—be of some real help to her, I mean. Maybe she's longing to get East and have the advantages I could give her."

      "Maybe she's longing to stay put in her native desert."

      "In that case, she can say so. I shan't compel her to come! Let me write her, anyway, mayn't I, Little Billee?"

      "Of course you may. You may write to anybody you wish; to the Sultan of

      Kasharabad, if you like."

      "Is he your relative?"

      "He may be,—for all I know. Some family trees branch widely."

      "Well, give me Azalea's address,—I'm going to open a correspondence, at least."

      "No address, that I know of, except Miss Azalea Thorpe, Horner's Corners,

      Arizona."

      "I'll write, if only for the fun of addressing a letter there. I never heard such a funny name for a place!"

      Patty tore up two or three letters before she finally composed one that suited her. It was not easy to know what attitude to take toward such a complete stranger, and with no knowledge of what sort of a girl she was writing to. But she at last sent off this:

      MY DEAR AZALEA:

      I am the wife of your cousin, William Farnsworth. Though you do not remember him, your father will tell you about him. At any rate, as you are of his kin, I want you to come and make us a visit—that is, if you care to. We have a lovely home, not far from New York City, and I would do my best to make you happy and give you a good time. You may not want to come,—indeed, you may have moved away from your native town, and may never even get this letter. But if you do get it, write me, at any rate, and tell me what you think about a trip East. We both send love and hope to hear from you soon.

      Affectionately yours,

      PATTY FARNSWORTH.

      "You see," Patty explained to Bill, as she read the letter to him, "it may be she can't afford such a trip. But I didn't like to hint at that, so I asked her to write me what she thinks about it. If she thinks she can't spend so much money, then we can offer to get her ticket."

      "Very thoughtful and very delicately done, my dearest. You have the kindest heart a little blue-eyed girl ever possessed."

      "Not entirely disinterested, though. I do want to have some of your people under our roof,—and this is my first attempt. If it fails, I shall look up some of your English relatives."

      "Yes, we will do that some day. I'd like to round them up myself. Mother's tales of her childhood home,—as retold me by my father,—sounded delightful. They had old country estates, and—"

      "And ancestral halls! Hung with old armour! Oh, Little Billee, what fun to take Fleurette there! Portraits of her ancestors smiling down at her from the oaken walls of the long picture gallery—"

      "Patty, Patty! how you do run on! I don't know that there are any picture galleries at all."

      "Oh, of course there are. They're bound to be there. And maybe a family ghost! A spectre, that stalks the corridors when one of the family is about to die—"

      "Hush! You bad child! What awful ideas!"

      "I've just been reading a story about a family spectre. I think they're most interesting."

      "Well, we'll cut out the spook show. I've СКАЧАТЬ