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,