Patty and Azalea

It was at this moment that the Gale motor party returned.

Patty and Bill, hearing Azalea's loud tones, rushed to the library and found her there with Merritt.

"Where's Baby?" Patty cried, starting for the stairs.

"She's safe, Patty," Azalea said, stopping her. "She's all right,—she's over to Mrs. Gale's."

"Mrs. Gale's!" and Patty flew off like the wind, caring for nothing but the assurance of her own eyes that Fleurette was safe.

"Help me, Bill," said Azalea, going toward Farnsworth, "you said once, you'd defend me."

"I will, dear. What's this all about? Who are you?" He addressed Merritt quietly, but with a fire in his blue eyes that was disturbing.

"Merritt, of the Flicker Film Company, very much at your service," and the man drew a card from his pocket and presented it.

"Well, Mr. Merritt, leave at once, and never return. I don't care for your explanations or excuses. Simply go."

Merritt went.

"Is that right, Zaly?" Bill said, as the crestfallen visitor left them. "I didn't want any words with him,—for I might have lost my temper. I'd rather have the story from you."

"And I'll tell it to you,—all. But, oh, Bill, I'm so glad Fleurette is all right!"

"She is so!" and Patty came dancing on, with the smilingest child in the world. Van Reypen followed, and then the whole crowd drew together anxious to know what the commotion was all about.

CHAPTER XVI

AZALEA'S STORY

"Yes, I'll tell you the whole story," Azalea repeated, addressing herself to Farnsworth, but glancing now and then at the others.

"On my way East, I met Mr. and Mrs. Bixby on the train. They were pleasant people and Mrs. Bixby was very kind to me in many ways. Then, I learned that they were in the moving-picture business, and as I wanted to act myself, I cultivated their acquaintance all I could. And by the time we reached New York Mr. Bixby had agreed to give me a trial at his studio. He said I had the right type of face for the screen and if I could learn to act, my Western life had fitted me for some certain parts they were just then in need of. So I went in for it,—and I got along all right. Then they wanted a little baby in the picture and as I was so fond of Fleurette and loved her too much to let any harm come to her, I thought it all right to take her over there once or twice to get the pictures of her. But one of the films went wrong, somehow, and Mr. Merritt was determined to take it over again. I wouldn't allow it, because I found out how Patty felt about Baby being in it,—so I refused. Now, I don't suppose you know how insistent the picture people are about any scene they want. They go to any lengths to get them. I've heard Mr. Bixby say, 'Get the picture if it kills the leading man!' And though he doesn't mean that literally I think he would do anything short of murder to get his picture. Well, they thought that the whole reel was spoiled because one scene with Fleurette in it wasn't right. And they were bound to have her over there again."

"She shan't go,—so she shouldn't!" Patty crooned, as she held her child closer in her sheltering arms.

"No; and that's what I told Mr. Merritt," went on Azalea. "But he is tricky, and I felt pretty sure he'd try underhand means to get the baby. I've kept watch night and day, and I've always been certain that Fleurette was either in Winnie's care or Patty's. Patty wouldn't trust her with me any more."

Azalea spoke the last words wistfully, with a penitent look in her brown eyes.

"Small wonder!" cried Elise, who was listening interestedly. "After you took that blessed child to—"

"There, there, Elise," Farnsworth interrupted, "we do trust Azalea.

Let her finish her story."

Azalea gave him a grateful look and went on.

"When I went away from the house to-day, Patty was at home, so, though I knew it was Winnie's day off, I felt all right about Baby. Then,—while we were out walking, I saw Winnie go by,—and soon after I felt a—a sort of presentiment that I must go home. I couldn't tell why,—only I felt I must come back to the house at once. So I did,—and everything seemed to be all right. I decided I had been foolishly nervous about it,—and I took Fleurette down on the porch for a little while.

"Then that man came and demanded her! I was alone, except for Janet,—who is no good in an emergency,—and Mr. Merritt was very determined. If I hadn't thought of the phonograph I don't know what I should have done, for that man is quite capable of taking Baby away from my arms by main force. But I happened to think I could fool him,—as I couldn't combat him,—so I put on the crying record to make him think we were still in the library,—and I scooted over to Gales' with the baby as fast as I could run. Then I came back—"

"Weren't you afraid of him?" asked Patty, shuddering at the thought of Azalea at the mercy of the infuriated man.

"No; I know him, and he isn't a brute or a ruffian. He was just bent on getting Fleurette for that picture,—it would take only a few minutes,—and I was just as bent that he shouldn't.

"So, when he found I had outwitted him, he accepted the situation,—why, he even wanted to take my picture in my angry mood! He is a man who thinks of nothing but a good pose for his pictures."

"He seemed a decent chap," Farnsworth said, "but I was so angry, I just fired him, for I feared otherwise I'd lose control of my own temper and give him his just deserts!"

"He'll never come again," observed Van Reypen, "I saw you, Bill, when you invited him to leave! I'm no craven, but I shouldn't care to return to any one who had looked at me like that!"

"I was a bit positive," laughed Farnsworth. "But, Azalea, I must admit I'm rather bowled over by this idea of you in the moving pictures! It—it isn't done much in our crowd, you know."

"I know it,—and I'm never going to do it again! I've had enough! I wanted to make it my career,—but," she hesitated, "that was before I knew you—you nice people. I—I never knew really nice people before,—my Western friends are—are different. But I want to be like you," her troubled glance took in Patty and Bill and then drifted to the others; and her face was wistful and only lighted up as she looked at Van Reypen. He smiled encouragingly at her, and she continued.

"I'm quite ready to give up all connection with the Bixby people and I'll promise never to go near them again,—even if they try to get me to."

"You bet you won't!" exclaimed Farnsworth. "I'm glad you've given it up of your own accord, Zaly, for if you hadn't I'd have to forbid it, anyway! I can't allow you to do such things."

"And I don't want to. It wasn't as nice as I thought it would be, and yet,—it was fun!" She smiled as thoughts of her daredevil stunts passed through her mind.

"Tell us all about it!" cried Ray Gale. "I'm awfully interested, and I'm sorry you're going to quit! By George, Farnsworth! if you'd seen our Azalea in that picture of the cyclone!"

"Never mind!" Azalea interrupted him, "I'm all over that foolish idea."

"I should hope so!" exclaimed Elise, with a withering glance. "The idea of anybody being in such company as you must have been—"

"Not at all," Azalea declared; "I wasn't mixed up with anybody unpleasant at all. In fact, I talked to no one but the Bixbys and Mr. Merritt. Mrs. Bixby was most kind and looked after me as a mother might have done,—though I never knew a mother's care."

The pretty face grew sad, and the whole attitude of Azalea was so penitent and full of resolve to be more like the people she admired that all of Patty's lingering resentment fled away. She put the baby in her father's arms, and she flew over to Azalea and gave her an embrace of full and free forgiveness and affection.

"It's all right, Zaly," she said, smiling at her, "you did cut up jinks with my baby,—but when you came home to look after her,—even when you thought I was here,—and when you put up such a great game to rescue her from the enemy's clutches,—and succeeded,—well,—I'm for you!"

Patty spoke so whole-heartedly there was no doubt of her sincerity, and Azalea looked grateful and pleased,—yet, she looked troubled too.

"Oh, Patty, you're too good to me," she said, "you don't know—I don't deserve your faith and loyalty."

"Oh, I 'spect you do," and Patty caressed the shining brown hair.

"No,—I'm all unworthy—"

"I suppose you mean about that sampler business," put in Elise, with an unkind look on her face. "I think you ought to confess that,—while you're confessing."

Farnsworth gave a reproving glance at Elise, but he said, "Out with it, Zaly,—let's clean off the slate while we're about it. What's the sampler business that sticks in Elise's throat?"

He sounded so sympathetic and helpful that Azalea spoke up bravely.

"I did do wrong, Bill, but I didn't realise how wrong when I was doing it. I had an old sampler and it was dated 1836 and I picked out some stitches so it looked like 1636."

"You didn't deceive anybody!" exclaimed Elise.

"I'm glad of it," returned Azalea, simply. "I was too ignorant to know that there were no samplers made at that earlier date,—and to tell the truth, I didn't think much about it,—I just did it hastily,—on a sudden impulse,—because I wanted to give Elise something worth-while for her booth at the fair."

"And gave me something utterly worthless!" scoffed Elise.

"Oh, come now, Elise," said Farnsworth, "it didn't hurt your sales any, even if it didn't help them. Call it a joke and let it go at that."

"But it was deceitful, Cousin William," said Azalea, "and I do confess it, and I'm sorry as I can be about it."

Her pretty face was troubled and she looked so disturbed that Phil took up the cudgels for her.

"Oh, come off, all of you," he said, laughingly, "this isn't a court of inquiry, and we're not sitting in judgment on Azalea. She has properly admitted all her escapades, and she's been forgiven by the ones most interested, now let's call it a day,—and talk about something else."

"All right,—let's talk about the 'Star of the West,'" cried the irrepressible Ray Gale. "Now the secret's out, there's no harm in mentioning it. You must see that picture, Farnsworth, and then you'll be begging Azalea to go back to screen work!"

"Never," said Azalea, her face shining with happiness that she was forgiven and reinstated in general favour, "I've had my lesson. No more films for me! From now on, I'm going to be goody-girl,—and behave like nice ladies,—like Patty and Betty—and Elise."

The slight hesitation before the last name made Elise bite her lip in chagrin, for she had seen that her attack on Azalea was not approved of by most of the audience.

Poor Elise was of an unfortunate disposition, and envy and jealousy were her besetting sins. She had never liked Azalea for the reason that the Western girl, with her frank, untutored ways, often usurped Elise's place in the limelight, and Miss Farrington greatly objected to that.

It was with malicious purpose that Elise had brought up the subject of the sampler, and when she found it passed over as of little moment, she was angry at herself for having raised the question at all.

"Don't try to be like me," she said, with an acid smile at Azalea; "if you do, nobody will like you."

"Oh, come, now, Elise," said Farnsworth, laughing at this tempest in a teapot, "play fair. We all like you, and we all like Azalea, whether she models herself on you or not; so let's all love one another,—and let it go at that!"

"Yes," said Patty, "and now, my fellow lovers and loveresses, I must take my small daughter in and send her to sleepy-by, and the rest of you have just about half an hour before it's time to dress for dinner. The two Gales may consider themselves invited,—if they will honour us."

"Delighted," replied Betty, "though not overwhelmingly surprised at the invitation. Howsumever, we must fly back home for some purple and fine linen, and then we'll return anon. I'm usually returning here, anon! I wonder what I ever did, Patty, before you came here to live as our hospitable neighbours!"

"There's half an hour, Azalea," said Van Reypen, "come for a toddle down to the brook, and let's talk things over."

The two started off, and for a few moments walked along in silence.

Azalea was in a quiet, chastened mood,—a side of her character that Phil had never before seen, and he noted with pleasure the gentle sweetness of her face and the soft tones of her voice.

"It woke me up," she said, reminiscently, "when that man tried to take Fleurette from my arms. I would have fought him like a tiger if I hadn't suddenly realised that the way to fix him was by strategy. I just happened to think that by means of the record I could fool him into believing we were in the library, when really we were flying to refuge. I knew he wouldn't come in as long as he felt sure we were there, for he was watching out for the Farnsworths' return. So, I tried the scheme, and it worked!"

"Then you went bravely back to face the music!"

"Oh, I wasn't afraid of him,—for myself. He's not at all a ruffian sort,—and he never would have hurt the baby. Only,—he was bound to get her!"

"Well, he didn't succeed,—thanks to you, and I don't think he'll ever try it again."

"Oh, I'm sure he won't! He's afraid of Bill, all right! Any one would be who had seen the gleam in Cousin William's eyes when he fired Mr. Merritt!"

Azalea laughed a little at the recollection,—then she sighed.

"Why the sigh?" asked Van Reypen, looking at the expressive face of the girl, as her smile faded and her sensitive mouth drooped at the corners.

"Oh,—nothing—and everything! Don't ask questions!" She shook her shoulders as if flinging off a troublesome thought. "I want to forget the whole subject,—let's talk of other things."

"All right,—let's. Let's talk of my unworthy self, for instance."

"Why do you say your 'unworthy self'? Because you so look on yourself? or for the sake of being contradicted? or just for nonsense?"

The brown eyes smiled into his, and Azalea looked very roguish and saucy as she demanded an answer.

"Habit, I daresay. It's considered the thing for one to look upon himself as unworthy. Of course, I'm not all to the bad!"

"No, I suppose not. I've noticed saving graces now and then."

"You have! What, for instance? You see, I love to talk about myself!"

"Well, for one thing, you've been very kind to me. I was in a sorry position to-day, and you and Cousin William backed me up so beautifully, that I pulled through. If you hadn't I'd have collapsed and given up the game, in sheer fright."

"What do you mean?"

"Yes; Patty was pretty hostile at first,—though she came round all right, later. Elise was,—oh, well, you know Elise's attitude toward me."

"Don't mind her,—she's always got a chip on her shoulder!"

"Betty was reserving decision, too; and but for the strong support of you and Cousin William,—yes, and Ray Gale,—I shouldn't have come off so well. But I deserved any fate. I have been bad,—and though I am sorry,—that doesn't wipe it all out."

"It does, as far as I'm concerned. And I'm all that matters—at least,—I wish I might be all that matters."

"My gracious! There are lots who matter more than you! Patty and Bill, and Fleurette and—"

"Stop there! That's all! I'll concede those,—but no others. Don't you dare say that Gale matters more than I do!"

"Ray Gale? Oh, I don't know. And what do you mean by 'matters'?"

"Counts. Makes a difference. Affects you. Means something to you."

"Oh, hold on! I'm floundering beyond my depth! Help! help!"

Azalea put her hands over her ears and shook her head, laughing at Van Reypen's earnest face as he racked his brain for further explanatory phrases.

"I won't stop! I'm in earnest. I want to matter—to mean something to you! I want to count with you—"

"Kipling says, 'let all men count with you, and none too much.'"

"Well, I'd rather count too much than not at all. Oh, Azalea,—you do understand me, don't you? Let me count, dear,—let me count for everything in your life—"

Azalea Thorpe couldn't believe her ears. What Van Reypen was saying seemed as if it could have but one meaning,—yet that was impossible! Philip Van Reypen, the high-born, aristocratic Philip, couldn't be seriously interested in a crude, ignorant Western girl!

"Thank you, Phil," she said, resolving to accept his words as a sign of friendship, "you're awfully good to me, and your friendship counts. I begin to think friendship is the one thing in life that does count. And it is the friends I have made—lately,—here,—that have made me see,—made me realise my own unworthiness,—and when I say that, I mean it."

"I won't let you mean it!" he cried, "I won't let you call yourself unworthy. For you count with me,—Azalea, more than the whole world! More than anything or everything in the world. Can't I count that way with you,—can't I, Azalea?"

The dark handsome face was very earnest, and as it drew nearer to her own, and she looked deep in the eloquent eyes, she could no longer fail to understand.

"What,—what,—" she murmured, drawing back in confusion, "what do you mean?"

"Don't you know what I mean, Brownie? Listen, and I will tell you, then. I love you, dear,—I love you." He held her hands in his own and gazed into her face. "I can't tell you when it came or how,—but suddenly—I knew it! I knew I loved you, and should always love you. Tell me,—tell me, Azalea, that you can learn to love me."

"Oh, don't—I can't—"

"Not just at once, dear,—I can't hope for that. But, can't you learn,—can't you try to learn—If I help you? Brownie,—that's all my own name for you,—isn't it, you nutbrown maid! Brownie, darling,—you must love me. I can't bear it if you don't!"

Azalea looked mystified,—then amazed,—and then her face lighted up with a sudden radiant happiness,—she seemed glorified, exalted.

Van Reypen caught her in his arms.

"You do love me,—you witch! you beauty! Azalea, you look transfigured!

You do love me,—tell me so!"

Then her face changed. She repulsed him,—she sought to leave his encircling clasp.

"Don't!" she cried, "don't! It is horrible!"

She burst into uncontrollable tears, and her whole frame shook with her turbulent sorrow.

"Have I been too abrupt?" asked Van Reypen, filled with dismay. "Give me a little hope, dear, just say you'll let me tell you this some other time, and I'll not trouble you now."

"Oh, it isn't that," Azalea sobbed, "it's—oh, no! I can't tell you,—it's too dreadful! Let me go!" and she ran from him and hurried back to the house and up to her own room.

CHAPTER XVII

PHILIP'S REQUEST

"Give me a few minutes of your valuable time all to myself, will you, old chap?" Phil said to Farnsworth, as the two men met in the hall just before the dinner hour.

"Take all you want, I've lots of it," returned the other, cheerily.

"Want to borrow a fiver?"

"No; I'm still able to make both ends meet. But, seriously, Bill," as the two men entered Farnsworth's den, and closed the door, "I'm hard hit."

"That sounds as if you were in love,—but I can't think you mean that,—so I wisely opine you've been hit by the fall in Golconda Mining Stock."

"Your wise opinings are 'way off,—but your first suspicion was nearer the mark."

"In love? Good for you, old Phil! Of course it's Elise!"

"Of course it isn't! Had Elise been my fate, I'd have known it long ago."

"Who then? Betty Gale?"

"Wrong again. And blind, too. It's Azalea."

Farnsworth sank limply into a chair. He pretended to be dazed almost to insensibility, and as a matter of fact his surprise was nearly as great as his demonstration of it.

"Azalea!" he gasped. "Our Azalea!"

"Exactly; don't act as if I had suggested the Queen of Sheba! I know what a superior girl she is,—and I know I've not much to recommend me—"

"Oh, Phil,—oh, Van Reypen, stop! Have you lost your senses?"

"I think you have!" Phil looked decidedly annoyed. "I must say,

Farnsworth, I don't quite get you."

"I beg your pardon, dear old chap, I—I was a bit astounded. You see—"

"I see that I've a right to care for the girl if I choose, and as you are her nearest relative, that I know of, I come to you for sanction of my suit. Aside from your rather inexplicable astonishment—have you any real objection to me as a new cousin-in-law?"

"No! You know I haven't!" Farnsworth held out a cordial hand which the other grasped. "In fact, I think it's fine,—a most admirable arrangement. What will Patty say?"

"I hope she'll be pleased. It's no secret that I adored Patty and tried my best to cut you out,—but, not having succeeded in that, I've been glad to be the friend of both of you, and we've had lots of good times, all together. But,—well, I never expected to know another real whole-hearted love,—and then along comes this splendid girl,—this daughter of your own big, beautiful, breezy West, and before I know it, she has taken my heart by storm!"

"But, Phil,—you—you don't know Azalea—"

"I know enough. If you mean her escapades with the picture people or her innocent joke about the patchwork sampler,—I don't care about those little things. She has a wonderful big, noble nature, that will respond quickly to loving care and gentle advice. And,—I think she cares for me, but—"

"Of course she cares for you! What girl wouldn't! Don't underestimate yourself or your attractions, Phil. But I'll speak plainly; you're a big man in lots of ways,—beside physically. You're an aristocrat,—of an old family,—and you're very rich. Now,—Azalea—"

"Please don't talk of my birth or wealth as assets. I offer Azalea a heart full of love, and a constant care for her happiness and well-being. If she does care for me, I want your permission to try to win her. I have broached the subject—"

"What did she say?"

"She—oh, I don't know,—she said—well, she ran away!"

"Surprised and a little shy, probably," Farnsworth looked thoughtful. "I may as well tell you, Phil, oh hang it! How shall I put it? Well, there's something queer about Azalea."

"What do you mean,—queer?"

"I don't know. And it may be nothing. But,—her only near relative, so far as I know, is her father. A man I knew years ago,—a cousin of mine,—and a decent, hard-working, plain man. Now, Zaly has not had a single letter from him since she has been here."

"Why? Where is he?"

"I don't know. She won't tell. I've written to him twice,—but I've had no reply. I'm telling you all I know."

"Thank you for being so straightforward. Do you—do you think there's anything dishonourable—"

"That he's in jail? That's the idea that haunts my brain. I can't think of any other explanation for his continued silence,—and for Azalea's mysterious disinclination to talk about him. Why, Phil, she forged a letter,—wrote one to herself,—and pretended to me that it was from her father!"

"Poor child! How unhappy she must be over it. If she cares for me, Bill, I'll take all that load off her poor little shoulders. I'll get her to tell me the truth, and then we'll see what can be done. But, in any case, or whatever her father may be, it won't affect my love for the girl herself. My idea of birth and breeding is that it gives one an opportunity to be tolerant and generous toward others of fewer advantages. To me, Azalea stands alone,—her family connections, whatever they may be, I accept gladly, for her dear sake."

"I say, Phil, forgive me if I express unwelcome surprise, but—why, you haven't seemed to be so deeply interested in Azalea—"

"I know; it is pretty sudden. But, she somehow bowled me over all at once. Her brave attitude to-day, when she told her little story, her sweet acceptance of Elise's remarks, made in petty spite, and her whole big spirit of fearless determination to go into the picture work,—only to have it spoiled entirely by the wicked acts of that villain Merritt,—I tell you, Farnsworth, she's a girl of a thousand! I read her, I understand her better than you do, and I see far beneath her untaught, outward manner the real girl,—the sterling traits of a fine character."