"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."