"But she must have been here! Azalea _must_ have carried her, _really_--on that terrific horse! They couldn't have got the pictures if she hadn't!" "Well, it's all right, anyway. It didn't hurt the baby--" "Oh, hush, Mona! you don't know what I'm suffering! I guess if your baby had been taken off and put through such awful doings, you'd know what I feel! My baby,--my little flower baby! In that awful crashing, tumbling down old shanty! Oh, I _can't_ stand it!" "Let's go out, Patty, there's no reason for us to stay longer." "Yes, let's," and gathering up her wraps, Patty rose to go. They made their way out of the dark, crowded place, and finding the motor-car, they went straight home. Once there, Patty flew to the nursery, and fairly snatching the baby from Nurse Winnie's arms, she held it close, and crooned loving little broken songs. "You're all right," Mona said, laughing at her. "You've got your baby, safe and sound,--now just sit down there and enjoy her for a while." This Patty gladly did, and Mona went in search of Farnsworth. She finally found him, down in a distant garden, where he was looking after some planting matters. "Come along o' me," she said, smiling at him. Wonderingly Farnsworth looked up. "Thought you girls went to the city," he said. "We did,--also, we returned. Patty is in the nursery, and I want a few minutes' talk with you." "O.K.," and the big man gave some parting instructions to a gardener and then went off with Mona. She led him to a nearby arbour, and commenced at once. "You and I are old friends," she said, "and so I'm going to take an old friend's privilege and give you some advice, and also ask a few questions. First, who is Azalea?" "My two or three times removed cousin." "Are you sure?" Farnsworth looked at her. "What do you mean, Mona?" "What I say; are you _sure_?" "Funny thing to ask. Well,--I am and--I'm not." "Now, what do _you_ mean?" "I'll tell you." And then he told her how queer he thought it that Azalea had had no letters from her father since her arrival,--nor any letters at all from Horner's Corners. "And she's so sly about it," he wound up; "why once she wrote a letter to herself, and pretended it was from her father!" "I can't make it out," Mona mused. "If her father were dead, she'd have no reason to conceal the fact. Nor if he had remarried. And if he has done anything disgraceful--maybe that's it, Bill! Maybe he's in jail!" "I've thought of that, Mona, and, of course, it's a possibility. That would explain her not getting letters, and her unwillingness to tell the reason. But,--somehow, it isn't very plausible. Why shouldn't she confide in me? I've begged her to,--and no matter what Uncle Thorpe may have done, it's no real reflection on Azalea." "No; but now _I've_ something to tell you about the girl." Mona gave him a full account of the moving-picture play that she and Patty had visited, and told him, too, of Patty's distress over the pictures of Fleurette.