"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."