A NEW RELATIVE
May came in with the sunshine and balmy days that are popularly supposed
to belong to that month, but which do not always materialise.
Wistaria Porch was fairly basking in the sunshine, and the flower gardens
were already showing their early blooms. The tulip beds were a blaze of
bright glory and hyacinths and daffodils added their sweetness and
beauty.
"Such a heavenly place!" Patty exclaimed as she and Little Billee
strolled along the garden paths in the late afternoon. "I'm glad we have
this week-end to ourselves,--I love to have guests, but once in a
while,--you know--"
"I do know!" declared Farnsworth, "and I'd be willing to have 'em twice
in a while--"
"Have what?"
"Week-ends alone with you! Oh, I like company, too,--have all you want,
but now and then--just now and then, a family party looks good to me!
Where's our blessed child at the moment?"
"She ought to be here,--it's time. Winnie usually brings her for her
afternoon visit to her proud parents. And here she comes! Here's mudder's
own Poggly-woggly Pom-pom head!"
"What delightful names you invent! Let me have a try at it! Here's
Fodder's own Piggly-winktum! There, how's that?"
"Perfectly horrid! Sounds like a pig!"
"All right, let's try again. Who's the airiest, fairiest, tiny mite?
Who's the pinky-goldiest Smiley-eyes in the whole world? Here she is!"
and big Bill took the baby, from nurse's arms, and flung her high in
the air, catching her deftly on her descent, while Patty held her breath
in apprehension. She knew perfectly well Bill wouldn't let the child
fall,--and yet, accidents had occurred,--and the crowing baby might
squirm out of the watchful father's arms.
But no accident happened and the two had their usual afternoon romp.
Little Fleurette knew her father and adored the big, comfortable man who
held her so firmly and tossed her up so delightfully.
"Now, it's my turn,--give her to me," said Patty, at last. Then Bill
deposited the child in her mother's arms, and the little one nestled
there contentedly. She was a good baby, and rarely cried or fretted.
Healthy and strong, she bade fair to become a fine big woman some
day, and Patty's leaping mind had already planned out her whole lifetime!
"I think I'll send her to the Mortimer School," she said, musingly.
"Why, that's a finishing school!" exclaimed Bill, knowing of the
fashionable establishment.
"Yes; I mean when she's ready to be 'finished,'" said Patty, calmly.
"Before that, she'll go to Kindergarten,--and some other school, I
suppose."
"I suppose she will; but we'll have a few years of her company here, at
home, won't we, before her schooldays begin?"
"Yes, of course, we're having them now. But they go so fast! Oh, Little
Billee, _all_ the days fly so fast,--I can't realise we've been married
nearly two years--"
"Nonsense! A year and nearly two months--"
"Well, it soon _will_ be two years! I never saw the time fly so! It goes
like a Bandersnatch!"
"Does that mean you're so happy, Patty?"
"It means exactly that! Oh, I want to live forever! I am so happy! I
didn't know life with you and Fleurette would be so beautiful as it is!"
"Is it, dearest? I'm so glad," and the big man looked at his dainty,
sweet little wife with his whole soul in his fine clear blue eyes.
"Your eyes are wonderful, Billee, dear," said Patty, meeting his glance
lovingly; "did your mother have blue eyes,--or your father?"
"Both of them did. I was thought to look more like mother, as a
kiddy,--but they were both fair haired and blue eyed."
"You never knew your mother much, did you?"
"No, she died when I was very small. And father, when I was about ten.
Then, as I've told you, I lived four years with Aunt Amanda--"
"In Arizona?"
"Yes; in a small settlement,--hardly even a village,--called Horner's
Corners."
Patty 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_ no liking for clanking chains
and hollow groans!"
* * * * *
Impatiently Patty waited for the answer to her letter, and one day it
came.
Farnsworth was in New York on business, and so she put it away unopened
until his return.
"Goody girl!" he cried, when she told him. "Nice of you, dear, to let us
have the first reading together."
"Oh, I couldn't gobble it up alone,--I like everything better if I have
it with you."
And so they sat side by side on the porch, and read the long looked for
missive.
* * * * *
"DEAR COUSIN PATTY;" it began.
I was so surprised and pleased to get your letter I hardly knew what to
do. It seemed as if the dream of my life had at last come true. I've
always wanted to go East,--to see New York,--oh, I'm so excited I can
hardly write! And dear Cousin William! How kind of him to tell you about
me,--for I was a very small baby when he was here. My father has told me
all about it. When shall I start? I accept your invitation with joy. I
have saved up my money and I have enough, I think, for the ticket. How
much does it cost? But I can find out somehow. Father sends his respects
and he says I may go. I am all ready. Can't you telegraph me, so I can go
soon?
With grateful thanks,
I am yours very sincerely,
AZALEA THORPE.
"Well," said Bill, "what do you think of that for a letter?"
He looked thoughtfully at Patty, as he spoke.
"Why," she hesitated,--"I think it's a very nice letter--"
"Wait, now,--be honest!"
"Well, I--oh, I don't know,--but I looked for a little more--simplicity,
I guess. This sounds as if she had resorted to a 'Complete Letter-Writer'
for help."
"Just what I thought, exactly! But I don't know as we can blame her if
she did. The poor child is doubtless unversed in polite correspondence,
and she did her best,--but she felt she needed a little more elegance of
construction and so forth, and she picked out some dressy phrases from
the book."
"It doesn't matter, anyway," said Patty, generously, "she's glad to come,
and so I'm glad to have her. Let's telegraph at once,--shall us?"
"Yes; but I don't like that haste of hers. It strikes me queer."
"Queer, how? She's impatient to start,--that's all. What else could it
mean?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. But the whole letter's queer,--if you ask me!"
"I _do_ ask you,--and I ask you _how_ it's queer."
"It's so,--so jumbly,--incoherent,--choppy."
"Pooh! don't criticise the lack of style in that poor country child. I'll
teach her to write letters,--and I won't let her know I'm teaching her,
either."
"You'll teach her lots of things,--I know,--and in that dear, gentle way
of yours, that couldn't hurt or offend anybody. Well, I'll telegraph,
then, for her to come ahead. What else shall I say?"
"Tell her what road to take, and all directions you can think of. Though
it sounds to me, as if she thought she would have no difficulty as to
travel."
"Sounds that way to me, too; but I suppose her father can look after such
details. Queer message from her father."
"Not at all. You said he wasn't overfond of you, so as he sends his
respects to you, I don't think you need ask for more."
"If she does start right off,--and I'm pretty sure she will,--she'll be
here in a week or so."
"Of course; but I'll be ready for her. I'll give her the yellow room.
It's big and sunny and has a lovely bath and dressing-room. It's all in
order, too, I'll just make some soft lacy pillows and give it some little
personal touches and it will be all ready for her. Oh, Billee,--think
what a lot we can do for her!"
Patty's eyes glowed with the anticipation of aiding the little country
girl, but Farnsworth was not so sanguine.
"You're running a risk, girlie," he said. "Suppose she turns out
impossible. The fact of her being my relative doesn't quite canonise
her, you know. Perhaps she _isn't_ a saint."
"Now, now, old calamity howler,--I don't want her to be a saint! I hope
and expect she'll be a sweet, docile nature, and her lack of culture,
if any, I shall try to remedy. Her lack of familiarity with social
customs and all that, I _know_ I can remedy. Oh, I expect a busy time
with her,--and I know I shall have to be tactful and kind,--but don't
you think I can be?"
Farnsworth kissed the wistful, questioning face upturned to his and
assured her that she most certainly could!
So Patty gaily set about her preparations of the pretty guest chamber.
She hoped Azalea liked yellow,--most girls did,--but if not, she could
easily be moved to the pink guest room.
This yellow room, however, was so well adapted for a young girl. There
was a long French window that opened on the dearest little balcony, where
the wistaria clambered and made a delightful shade. There was an alcove,
where stood a Chippendale writing desk, and a revolving book rack. There
was a sewing corner, with a fully furnished work-stand; and there was a
soft puffy couch, with a pile of down pillows and a fluffy yellow afghan.
And yet there was ample room for the bed, with its dimity draperies, and
the fascinating toilet table, with its bewildering array of ivory
fittings.
Uncertain of her guest's tastes, Patty put out few books, only a story or
two of general interest and a couple of new magazines. All such matters
could be attended to after she had sized up the newcomer.
On the day she was expected, Patty arranged the flowers in the yellow
room herself.
Naturally, she chose azaleas, and some of a lovely soft tint of buff
harmonised with pale pink ones. White ones too, with a bit of green
foliage, until the room was a bower of beauty. Not overdone, though.
Patty never made the mistake of too many flowers,--fond as she was
of them.
A last affectionate survey of the room convinced her that all was exactly
as it should be, and with a happy little sigh of contentment she went
down to the porch to await the arrival of the guest, for Farnsworth had
gone to the station to meet her, and they were due now at any minute.