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 a