Patty and Azalea

"That's right, Zaly, dear," Patty cried, "you're my girl, first, last and all the time! And we'll both do as Betty says,—because she knows it all! She knows lots more than I do."

"Indeed I do!" and the saucy Betty laughed. "Well, then, I'll arrange for a dance for Azalea very soon. Do you dance?"

"I don't know," replied Azalea, "I never tried."

CHAPTER VII

MYSTERIOUS CALLERS

Big Bill Farnsworth came into the nursery, where Patty was playing with the baby. It was the nurse's luncheon hour, and Patty always looked after Fleurette then.

"Take her, Daddy," Patty cried, holding up the soft, fragrant little bundle of happy humanity, and Farnsworth grasped the child in his strong careful way, and tossed her up high above his head.

The baby laughter that followed proved Fleurette's delight in this performance, and she mutely insisted on its repetition.

"Azalea does that," said Patty, in a troubled tone, "she is strong and very athletic, I know, but I can't bear to see anybody toss baby around but you."

"No; Azalea oughtn't to do it,—she is strong, but she isn't careful enough. Don't allow it, Patty."

"I do forbid it, but she comes in here when I don't know it,—or she picks baby out of her carriage, Winnie says, and tosses her clear up and catches her again."

"I'll speak to her about it; why, she'll drop the child some day! She must not do it!"

"I wish you would speak to her," Patty sighed. "Azalea is really a trial. I don't know what to do with her. Sometimes she is so sweet and docile that I think I'm teaching her to be a civilised person, and then she flies off at a tangent and she's as unruly and intractable as she was at first."

"How long has she been here now?"

"Nearly a month. I've tried and Betty has tried,—and, yes, Azalea has tried herself,—but we can't seem to—"

"Camouflage her!"

"That's just it! I want her to look like the background she's against here,—and she doesn't!"

"I should say not! Last night at dinner she threw herself back in her chair and yawned openly—"

"Openly! It was all of that! I saw her,—across the table through the flowers. And, Billee,—she's queer—that's what she is,—queer!"

"Have you noticed that, too? Yes, she is queer,—here take this

Little Flower. She's nearly asleep."

"So she is,—give her to me,—there, there, mudder's pressus,—petty poppity,—yes, she's queer!"

"Who? Fleurette?"

"You know very well I don't mean Fleurette! I mean that Pride of the West,—that stranger within our gates,—that thorn in the flesh,—that awful Azalea!"

"Meaning me?" and Azalea herself popped her head in at the nursery door.

"Yes," replied Farnsworth, imperturbably, "meaning you. Come in, Azalea, I want to speak to you. When have you heard from your father?"

"Let me see—about a week ago, I think."

"Will you show me the letter?"

"Why, how inquisitive you are! What do you want to see it for?"

"I'd like to read it. I suppose it isn't distinctly a private letter."

"N-no, of course not. But, the truth is,—I haven't got it."

"What did you do with it?"

"I—I tore it up."

"Was it unpleasant?"

"No, but as I had answered it,—I didn't need to keep it."

"What was in it? Tell me,—in a general way."

"Oh,—it said—he hoped I was well,—and he—he hoped you were well,—and—"

"And he hoped Patty was well! and he hoped the baby was well,—yes,—and after those polite hopes, what else did he say?"

"Why,—why, I don't know,—I guess that was about all."

"Oh, it was! Why didn't he tell you something about himself? What he was doing,—or going to do?"

"I don't know. Papa isn't very much of a letter writer."

"Well, he used to be! It was his special forte. I've had letters from him a dozen pages long. I don't believe he's outgrown his bent of letter writing. Now, listen, to this, Azalea, the next letter you get from him, I want you to show it to me, see? If there's anything in it you don't want me to know about, cut that out,—but show me at least the beginning and the ending,—and a part of a page. You hear me?"

"Of course I hear you,—not being deaf! And I'll show you the letter,—if I think of it."

"You'll think of it,—I'll see to that, myself. You ought to get one soon, oughtn't you?"

"No,—I haven't answered his last one yet."

"Why, you just said you had!"

"Oh, I meant the one before the last—"

"You meant nothing of the sort. And, mind you, Azalea, this is a direct command,—you must show me his next letter."

"I won't take commands! How dare you? You have no right to order me about so. I hate you!"

"Don't talk so, Zaly," Patty said, gently. "Cousin Bill isn't asking anything out of the way. There's no reason you shouldn't show him your father's letter,—in part, at least,—is there now?"

"N—no,—but I don't want to."

"Of course you don't," put in Bill, "and for a very good reason!"

"What reason?" cried Azalea, her black eyes flashing.

"You know as well as I do."

"I don't!"

"Very well, say no more about it now,—only remember I want to see the next one."

Azalea flounced out of the room, very angry, and muttering beneath her breath.

"What in the world, Little Billee, are you getting at?" asked Patty, as she cuddled Fleurette into her shoulder.

"There's something queer, Patty, something very queer about that girl!"

"You've oft repeated that assertion, Sweet William,—just what do you mean by it?"

"What I say, Faire Ladye! There's something rotten in the state of Denmark,—there is that!"

"But why are you so anxious to see her father's letters?"

"They're part of the queer element. Have you ever seen her get one,—or read one from him?"

"Not that I definitely remember; but she may easily have read them right before me, and I not have known it."

"But wouldn't she be likely to read a word or two,—or deliver some polite message he might send?"

"I should think so,—but she never has."

"That's the queerness."

"Oh, do tell me, dear, what you're getting at! Do you think Mr. Thorpe is dead,—and she never told us? There'd be no sense in that!"

"Not a bit! It's something queerer than that."

"Do you think he's married again?"

"Queerer than that."

"Will-yum Farnsworth, if you don't tell your own wife what you mean, I'll never speak to you again! There!"

"At risk of that awful condition of things, I won't tell you just yet. But you do this. Here's something you can do toward solving the mystery,—and I can't. Find out for sure,—don't ask her, but see for yourself,—if Azalea gets a letter from Horner's Corners addressed in a big, bold Spencerian hand. I remember Uncle Thorpe's handwriting perfectly, and it's unmistakable. I've not seen it since Azalea came."

"Goodness, do you call it a mystery?"

"I do, indeed. You'll find out it's a pretty startling mystery, or I miss my guess."

"Well, Azalea is a handful, I admit, but I think she's good at heart, and she is devoted to my booful little Fleury-floppet! My own Dolly-winkums,—who looks prezackly like her Daddy-winkums!"

"Patty, you'll go to the lunatic asylum some day, if you let yourself talk such gibberish!"

"Listen to him, Baby mine, my flubsy-dubsy,—my pinky-poppy-petal, listen to your dreadful Dads! Isn't he the—"

"The what?" and Farnsworth strode across the room and took his wife and child both into his big bear-like embrace.

"The dearest, sweetest man in the world!" Patty said, laughing but nearly smothered in his arms.

"All right, you're excused," and he let them go.

Nurse Winnie came then and took Fleurette, and the two elder Farnsworths went downstairs together.

They heard voices on the wistaria porch, and soon saw that Azalea was entertaining two guests.

They were strangers, and not very attractive looking people.

"Shall we step out there?" Farnsworth asked.

"No," decreed Patty; "let her alone. It's probably those people she picked up on the train coming here. She has spoken of them to me. Don't let's go out, or we may have to invite them to stay to dinner,—and judging from this long distance view of them, I don't care specially to do so."

"No. I don't either; the man looks like a drummer and the woman like a—"

"A chorus girl!" said Patty, after one more peep at the stranger.

Leaving Azalea to entertain her friends without interruption they went out on a porch on the other side of the house. And soon Raymond Gale sauntered over from his home next door and joined them there.

"Some strong-arm, your Azalea guest," he said, in the course of conversation.

"Yes," agreed Patty, a little shortly.

"She was over in our gym, this afternoon, and she put up as fine an exhibition of stunts as I've seen in a long time."

"What sort of stunts?" asked Bill.

"All sorts, from lariat or lasso work to handsprings and ground and lofty tumbling. That girl's been trained, I tell you!"

"Trained in a school?"

"No: her work is more as if self-taught,—or coached by a cowboy. She hails from Arizona, doesn't she?"

"Yes. Here she is now; I hear you're an athlete, Zaly."

"Only so-so," the girl replied, half-absently.

"Have your friends gone?" asked Patty.

"Yes."

"I recognised them," began young Gale: "they were—"

Azalea turned to him quickly. "Don't you say who they were!" she cried, emphatically. "I don't want you to! Don't you dare mention their names! It's a secret!"

"Oh, all right, I won't. Don't take my head off!" Ray Gale laughed carelessly, and pretended to be afraid of the excited girl.

"Why, why, Zaly," said Patty, "who can your friends be that you won't tell their names? I'm surprised!"

"Their names are—are Mr. and Mrs. Brown," said Azalea, with a defiant look at Raymond, who merely opened his eyes wide and said nothing.

It was quite evident that Brown was not the name of the people who had called on Azalea, and Patty could not imagine what reason there could be for the girl to tell such a falsehood.

"Is that the right name, Gale?" asked Bill, briefly.

But Raymond Gale only shook his head.

"Miss Thorpe says so," he replied, "surely she ought to know."

The subject was dropped and not resumed until after Gale had gone home.

Then Farnsworth asked Azalea who her friends were who had called.

"I told you they were Mr. and Mrs. Brown," she said, glibly. "I met them on the train coming from the West, and we got quite well acquainted."

"But their name is not Brown," Bill said, quietly, "tell me what it is,—or, tell me why you don't want to divulge it."

"It is Brown," persisted Azalea, but the way she spoke and the way her eyes fell before Farnsworth's steady gaze, belied her words.

"I'm sorry, but I can't believe you," he said.

"I can't help that," she returned, pertly, and ran away to her own room.

"What's she up to now?" said Patty.

"Part of the queerness," Bill vouchsafed, and said no more about it.

* * * * *

The next day, Azalea went to her room directly after breakfast, and, locking the door, remained there all the morning.

At luncheon she was quiet, and absent-minded, and as soon as the meal was over she went back to her room.

It was nearly five o'clock, when Patty, puzzled at such actions, tapped at Azalea's door.

"What's the matter, dear?" she called, through the closed door, as there was no response to her knock.

"Nothing; let me alone!" came Azalea's impatient voice.

"Are you ill? Don't you feel well?"

"Let me alone. I'm all right." The tone was ungracious, and there was no mistaking the import of her speech, so Patty went away.

At dinner time Azalea appeared. She wore the same frock she had worn all day, and Patty looked at her in amazement. Apparently she had been working hard at something. Her hair was rumpled, her collar awry, and her whole appearance untidy and unpresentable.

"Have you been busy?" Patty said; "couldn't you get time to dress?"

"Forgot it!" muttered Azalea. "Sorry. Shall I go back and dress?"

Patty hesitated. It would, of course, delay dinner, which was already announced,—and, too, in Azalea's present state of pre-occupation, she might fall to work again, and not come to dinner at all.

So Patty said, "No, come as you are," and she gave Azalea's hair a touch, and pulled her collar straight.

Farnsworth watched the "queer" girl all through dinner. Azalea had improved somewhat in manners, though her notions of table etiquette still left much to be desired.

To-night she was unlike herself. She answered in monosyllables when spoken to, and paid no attention to the conversation of the others.

"I expect my friend Elise Farrington to-morrow," said Patty; "I'm sure you'll like her, Azalea."

"Will she like me?" said the girl, indifferently.

"If she doesn't, it will be your own fault," and Patty took advantage of the opportunity for a word of warning. "Elise is a person of strong likes and dislikes. If you try to be real nice and courteous she will certainly like you, and if you're rude and blunt, I don't believe she will. Do you care, Azalea, whether she does or not?"

"No," said Azalea, calmly, and Patty gave a sigh of despair. What was the use of trying to help a girl who acted like that?

Farnsworth, too, shook his head, and glanced at Patty with a sympathetic smile, and then they talked together to the entire exclusion of Azalea, who was so wrapped in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice them.

Not waiting for coffee, when the others went to the library, Azalea, with the briefest "good-night," went up to her room, and again locked her door.

"What does ail her?" exclaimed Patty, as she and her husband sipped their coffee.

"I don't know,—but I'm going to find out. Any letter from her father to-day?"

"No; I looked over her mail. Oh, it does seem awful, to look inquisitively at another's letters!"

"It's necessary, dear, in this case. There's a big mystery about Azalea

Thorpe, and we must solve it, or there'll be trouble!"

"I wish you'd tell me all about it."

"I will, soon. Trust me, darling, I'd rather not say what I suspect, until I've a little more reason for my suspicion. It's too incredible! And yet,—it must be so!"

"All right, my True Love. I can wait. Now, listen, and I'll tell you of the marvellous achievement of your daughter to-day!"

And Farnsworth listened with all his heart to the amazing tale of

Fleurette's intelligent observation of a red balloon.

The next day Elise came.

"Here I am!" she cried, as she stepped from the motor, and flew into Patty's embrace. "Where's your eccentric cousin I've heard about? But first, where's my godchild? I've brought her the loveliest presents! Let me at her!"

"All right," said Patty, laughing at her impatience, "come right along to the nursery before you take your hat off."

The two went to the nursery, and Patty softly opened the door. But the room was empty.

"That's funny," Patty said, "Winnie always has baby here at this hour.

She takes her morning nap about now. Where can they be?"

The bassinette was disordered, as if the child had been taken from it, and Patty looked at it in amazement. She ran around to several adjoining rooms, and returned, with a frightened face.

"Elise, there's no sign of Baby or Winnie anywhere! What does it mean?"

"Goodness! I don't know! Did the nurse go down to see her beau,—and take the baby with her?"

Just then Nurse Winnie appeared: "Here's the food, Mrs. Farnsworth," she said, showing a bowl of steaming white liquid. "It's all ready."

"What food?" said Patty, mystified.

"Miss Thorpe came here fifteen minutes ago, and said you ordered me to a make a bowl of prepared food,—that Fleurette was not getting enough nourishment."

"Why, I did nothing of the sort! Where is Miss Thorpe? And where is the baby?"

"I don't know," and Winnie looked as if she thought Patty was crazy.

"Don't you know, ma'am?"

CHAPTER VIII

MISSING!

Elise gave one glance at Patty's white, scared face and one glance At Nurse Winnie's red, frightened face, and then she herself began To scream.

"Stop that, Elise!" Patty cried, "it's bad enough to have my baby kidnapped, without your yelling like a Comanche! Hush, I tell you!"

But Elise wouldn't, or couldn't hush. The word "kidnapped" upset any composure she may have had left, and she burst into hysterical sobbing.

"Of course," she said brokenly, between sobs, "she's kidnapped! You and Bill are so—so wealthy and grand—she's just the child the kidnappers would pick out for ransom—and—"

"Don't—don't, Elise," begged Patty, her voice shaking; "I don't believe she's kidnapped at all. It's far more likely Azalea took her out for a ride or something. She's crazy over the baby and she always wants to have her to herself, but, she says, Winnie won't let her."

"And indeed not!" spoke up the nurse. "Miss Thorpe,—she tosses the child about in a way that'd fair curdle your blood! That she does!"

"That's true," said Patty. "You see, Bill pitches baby around just as he likes, and so Azalea thinks she may do the same."

"Then she did do that,—and she dropped her,—and maybe killed her!"

Elise voiced her new theory with a fresh burst of grief, and the idea struck a chill to Patty's heart. She took no stock in the kidnapping theory, for Winnie had left the child with Azalea, who would have fought off a horde of marauders before she let them carry off the little one. No, whatever had happened was doubtless Azalea's doing. But Elise's notion of an accident to Fleurette might come somewhere near the truth.

"Of course that's it," Elise went on, excitedly. "The idea of a girl throwing a baby about! What did she do, Winnie? I mean did she let go of her?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am! She often would throw Fleurette clear up in the air and catch her as she came down."

"She is athletic," conceded Patty. "Over at the Gales' gymnasium she does all sorts of stunts. But I don't want her doing them with my baby!" she broke down, and cried piteously.

"Sometimes," vouchsafed Winnie, "Miss Azalea would toss the baby into the bassinette, instead of laying her down. She always pitched her straight in,—and baby liked it! You see, Miss Thorpe was very gentle with the child, and never missed her aim. But I was fair frightened to watch her."

"You ought not to have allowed it, Winnie," Patty said, severely. "Why didn't you tell me, if you couldn't make Miss Thorpe stop it?"

"Miss Thorpe told me you wanted her to do it, ma'am. She said it was good exercise for the child, and,—you know her father does it,—and,—begging your pardon,—Miss Thorpe is even more skilful than Mr. Farnsworth."

"Well,—it's his baby!" defended Patty. "Oh, Winnie, suppose an accident did happen,—and Miss Thorpe hurt Fleurette in some dreadful way,—and—"

"And ran away, in sheer fright!" suggested Elise.

"No: she'd be more likely to run to the doctor's. Our doctor lives near here. I'm going to telephone him—I'm 'most sure Azalea would do that."

Doctor Marsh was not in, but his office boy said he had not had any call from Azalea by telephone or in person.

Patty was quite calm now. Her efficient self had risen to the emergency and she was quickly considering what was best to do.

"I'm going to telephone Bill," she said, as if thinking aloud,—"but first, I'm going to call up the Gales, and see if Zaly could have taken Fleurette over there. You know Azalea is utterly lawless,—it's impossible to imagine what she will do. Oh, Elise, you've no idea what we go through with that girl! She is a terror! And yet,—well, there is something about her I can't help liking. For one thing, she's so fond of Fleurette. If she has hurt her,—well, Azalea would just about kill herself!"

A telephone call to the Gales' produced no information as to the whereabouts of Azalea or the baby. Betty replied that she hadn't seen any one from Wistaria Porch that day, and was thinking of coming over to call.

"Don't come just now," said Patty, half-absently, and then she hung up the receiver without further words.

"Well, I think I'll have to call up Bill," she said, at last. "You see, he's fearfully busy today, with a specially important matter, and he probably won't be in his own office, anyway. And I hate to intrude on a directors' meeting,—that is, if there's no necessity. And yet,—it seems as if I must!"

"Oh, do," cried Elise; "you really must, Patty! Why, Bill would reproach you if you didn't."

So Patty called Farnsworth's office. Bill's business consisted of varied interests. He was a consulting engineer, he was a mining expert, and he was still connected with government work. So, frequently, he could not be found in his office, though he usually left word where Patty could get in touch with him.

But in this instance it was not so. The confidential secretary gave Patty the address Farnsworth had left with him, but when she called that he had already gone from there.

With long-suffering patience, Patty called number after number, hoping to find Farnsworth at some of the likely places she could think of.

But number after number brought no results,—and Patty turned from the telephone in despair.

"Well, Elise," she said, forlornly, "you might as well go to your room, and get your hat off. Come on, I'll go with you,—and I may think of something else to do about Baby. For the present I seem to be at my wits' end."

Of course, in the meantime the nurse and the other servants had searched the house and grounds,—but there was really no chance of finding Fleurette that way.

It was all too certain that Azalea had taken her away somewhere. And it might be all right,—it might be that Azalea had merely taken the child out for a walk. She had been known to do this,—but never before without Patty's sanction. Of late, though, Patty had objected to it because she feared that Azalea might not return quickly enough. Twice she had been gone for two or three hours, and though the baby seemed all right, Patty didn't approve of the performance.

"That's it," she summed up, after telling Elise of this; "you see, I haven't approved of such long absences and so Zaly just walked off. Of course, she sent Winnie down for the food, in order to get a chance to put on Baby's things, and depart unseen."

"But she told the nurse you ordered the food prepared."

"Yes. I may as well own up, Elise, that Azalea is not strictly truthful."

"Why do you have her around? I think she's horrid!"

"Well, you see, I got her here. To be sure, she is Little Billee's cousin,—that is, second or third cousin,—once or twice removed—"

"I wish she was removed from here,—once, twice and all the time!" declared Elise. "Bill had no business to inflict her on you!"

"He didn't. He fairly begged me not to invite her here. But I insisted on it. You see, we neither of us had any idea of what she was like. Bill hadn't seen her since she was a baby, and she was different then!"

"I s'pose so! Well, having found out how 'different' she is now, why don't you send her home?"

"Oh, I can't. And, to tell you the truth, Elise, I want to help the girl. She's ignorant and inexperienced, but she has a sort of native quickness and wit, and I feel sure if I could teach her for a while, she could learn to be one of us,—and in time become a fine woman."

"Oh, you philanthropist! And meantime she has run off with your baby!"

"The baby carriage is gone, Mrs. Farnsworth," said Winnie, appearing suddenly. "So I expect Miss Thorpe took baby in that."

"Yes, probably," said Patty, despairingly. "Oh, Elise, this suspense is driving me crazy! If I knew that Zaly had her,—and if I knew nothing had happened, I'd feel so relieved. But suppose she did break Fleurette's little arm or leg—"

"Or back!" put in Elise; "you must not let her pitch the baby around!

It's criminal!"

"But you don't know how deft she is. Why, she's almost a contortionist herself. She can turn handsprings and—"

"I don't care if she's the greatest acrobat the world ever saw! There's always chance of an accident! And with a baby, you never know. Suppose Fleurette squirmed out of her grasp, just as she—"