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"Oh, I guess we'll keep her," he said, as he handed her back to her mother's arms. "She's the paragon baby of the whole world, even if I don't appreciate her."
"Oh, you do! you do!" exclaimed Patty, remorseful now at having teased him. "And now, Sweet William, what's your idea of a right and proper punishment for Cousin Azalea?"
"That's a matter for some thought," he responded, mindful of Mona's words. "Look here, Patty, quite aside from Fleurette's connection with this case,—what's your opinion of Zaly as a 'movie' star?"
"She's great, dear,—she really is. And—if she weren't our relative—"
"My relative—"
"Our relative, I should advise her to go in for the thing seriously; but,—I may be over-conservative,—even snobbish, but I do hate to have our cousin's portrait all over the fences and ashbarrels, and in all the Sunday papers, and—"
"I don't mind that publicity so much as I do the possible effects on Azalea's life. I don't know that the career of a 'movie' star is as full of dangerous pitfalls as the theatrical line, but—I hate to see Azalea subjected to them,—for her own sake."
"I'm not sure we'll have anything to say in the matter," Patty observed, thoughtfully.
"She may take the bit in her own teeth. After seeing her break that bucking broncho to-day,—I don't think her as tractable and easily influenced as I did!"
"How's this plan, dearest? Suppose we don't tell Azalea, for the moment, that you saw the picture to-day, and see what she'll do next."
"All right, I'd be glad to think it over a little. We'll warn Mona not to give it away,—and nobody else knows we went there."
"Of course, I'll take up the matter of Fleurette with Azalea, separately," Farnsworth went on. "But even if she's determined on her career, I feel sure we can persuade her to leave her little assistant out of it!"
"I rather just guess we can!" and Patty cuddled the baby to her breast. "Well, the crowd will gather on the porch soon. I'll make a fresh toilette and play the serene hostess, once again."
Fleurette was given over to Winnie, and Patty, calm and happy now, ran off to dress.
"You're such a darling,—Big Billee," she whispered turning back to her husband, and she went into his embracing arms; "you always know just what is right to do."
"Especially when Mona coaches me beforehand," he laughed, unwilling to deceive her in the slightest degree.
"Pooh," said Patty, "you're so right, even Mona can't make you any righter!"
CHAPTER XV
SOME RECORDS
"Sur le pont
D'Avignon,
On y dansait, on y dansait,
Sur le pont
D'Avignon,
On y dansait tout le rond!"
Patty's sweet, clear soprano notes rang out gaily as she trilled the little song she had picked up in France.
"What a pretty thing," cried Elise, "teach it to me, do, Patty."
"All right, I will. But there's a record of it,—my singing,—for the phonograph. You'll learn it better from that."
"All right; Chick, come and find the record for me."
The two went into the library, leaving the others on the porch.
It was Sunday afternoon, and everybody was idle and happy. Patty was a good hostess and did not bother her guests by over-entertaining them.
But at Wistaria Porch there was always enough to do, if any one wanted to do it,—and delightful lounging places, if one were indolently inclined.
Searching among the catalogued records, Chick easily found the one Elise wanted.
"What a lot of records they have of the baby's voice!" he exclaimed.
"Yes," Elise assented, "they make them on all occasions. Patty's keeping them for her, when she grows up. Clever idea."
"Yes, but she'll have to build a town hall to keep them in! The child hasn't begun to talk yet, but here are dozens—"
"Oh, well, they'll weed them out. Some of them are awful cunning,—and one is a first-class crying spell! They never could get but one of Fleurette crying, she's such a good-natured kiddy. All right, Chick,—start it off."
They listened to the pretty little chanson, and repeated it until Elise felt satisfied she had added it to her repertory.
Just as she finished Betty Gale came flying in.
"Skip into your togs, Elise, and come for a drive with us," she said. "I've corralled Bill and Patty,—and Ray wants you,—and I," she looked saucily at Channing, "I want Mr. Chick."
"We're with you to the last ditch!" Channing replied and Elise went off for her hat.
"Shall I put away these records?" Chick asked looking at several they had been using.
"No," said Betty, carelessly, "Patty has hordes of minions who do such things. Leave them, and get your duster on. We're off,—pronto!"
"Where's Azalea?" Raymond Gale inquired, as, a few moments later, he had his merry party in his car, and took hold of the wheel.
"She and Van Reypen went for a long walk," Farnsworth replied. "And the married Farringtons have gone back to town, so this is all our party—for the moment."
"All right; here we go, then." And the big car rolled down the driveway.
"I hesitated about going," Patty demurred, "for it's Winnie's Sunday out, and I had to leave baby with Janet. I've never done it before."
"Oh, well," Betty laughed, "she'll probably sleep till you get back.
Don't babies always sleep all the afternoon?"
"Not always, but Fleurette often does. Oh, of course, she'll be all right"
"And Azalea isn't there," she added, in a low tone to her husband.
And indeed, just then, Azalea was far away from there.
She and Phil had gone for the sort of walk they both loved,—along woodland paths, cross-lots, now and then back on the highroad, and if they got too far to walk back, prepared to return by train or trolley.
The two were congenial spirits, which fact had rather surprised Van Reypen's friends. For he was a conservative, fastidious aristocrat, and though Azalea's rough edges had been rubbed down a bit by Patty's training, she was still of a very different type from the Van Reypen stock.
But they both loved the open, and they strode along, chatting or silent as fitted their mood.
"What's in your mind just now, Brownie?" he asked, as Azalea looked thoughtful.
"Why,—a queer sort of a notion. Did you ever have a premonition,—a sort of feeling that you ought to do something—"
"A hunch?"
"Yes; a presentiment that unless you do what you're told to do, there'll be trouble—"
"Who told you?"
"That's just it. Nobody,—except a—oh, a mysterious force, a—just an impulse, you know."
"Obey it if you like. May I go, too?"
"Well, it's this. Just before we turned that last corner a motor passed us, you know."
"Yes, I saw it. One of Farnsworth's,—with some of the servants in it."
"It was. Patty gives them rides in turn. Now, Winnie the nurse was in, and so it must be her Sunday out. And, of course, Patty is home there with the baby,—she never leaves her if Winnie's away, but still—I feel as if I must go home to look after that child!"
"Is that all? Let's go, then. We can walk back as well as to go on."
"But,—don't laugh, now,—I feel we ought to hurry. Let's take the trolley-car,—it isn't far to the line."
"You sure have got a hunch! But your will is my law. Wish we were near a garage,—I'm not a bit fond of Sunday trolley riding!"
"I'm not either,—but, Phil, you're awful good not to laugh at me."
"Bless your soul, I've no notion of laughing at you! Your presentiment may be the real thing,—for all I know. Anyway, if you want to go home, you're going."
So go they did, and, by the trolley-car route, arrived at the house in half an hour.
As they passed the Gales' place, on their way from the car-line to the house, Van Reypen said, "Guess I'll stop here a minute if you don't mind. I left my pet pipe here yesterday. Skip along home, and I'll follow."
Azalea went on and was surprised to find the house deserted.
She went straight to the nursery, and found Fleurette in the care of Janet, who was substitute nurse in Winnie's absence.
"Everything all right, Janet?" said Azalea.
"Yes, Miss Thorpe. Baby's had her milk, and I think she'll soon go to sleep."
"She doesn't look much like it now," and Azalea smiled at the gurgling, laughing child, who was wide awake and in frolicsome mood.
"Where's Mrs. Farnsworth?" Azalea asked.
"She went motoring with Miss Gale. They all went,—and all the help have gone too. I'm alone in the house with the baby."
"Glad I came home, then. Mr. Van Reypen is here too, and I think I'll take Fleurette down on the porch for half an hour. When she gets sleepy I'll bring her up here."
"Very well, Miss Thorpe. I'll be here."
Janet busied herself about the nursery and Azalea went downstairs with the baby in her arms.
On the vine-shaded porch they sat, and as Van Reypen stayed chatting with some of the Gale family, Azalea and the baby were each other's sole companions.
Their conversation was a little one-sided, but Azalea's remarks were mostly eulogies and compliments and Fleurette's engaging smiles seemed to betoken appreciation if not acknowledgment.
A footstep approaching made Azalea look up.
Before her stood Mr. Merritt, the assistant director of the film company.
"Good afternoon, Miss Thorpe," he said, politely; "I see the little one is in a sunshiny mood."
"Yes;" Azalea returned, but her very soul quaked with fear. Well she knew what was in this man's mind.
"And so, I'm going to ask you to run over to the studio just a few minutes and give us one more chance at a good picture of that scene."
"And I'm going to refuse," Azalea returned with spirit. "You know very well, Mr. Merritt, that I'm not going to let you pose this child again."
"I know you are,—and mighty quick, too," he retorted, in a low voice, but tones of great determination. "I know everybody is out,—you are practically alone in the house, and I know you're coming with me,—willing or not! It won't hurt the baby a mite,—I've my little car out in the road,—and if you don't consent,—I'll—"
He voiced no threat, but Azalea felt pretty sure he meant to take the baby himself if she refused to go with them.
She thought quickly, but no avenue of escape could she see. It would be utterly useless to call Janet, for she was a nervous, timid girl, and would probably run away at sight of this strange man.
The nursery, too, was on the other side of the house, and she couldn't make Janet hear if she tried.
The Gale house also was on the other side of the Farnsworth house, and so, indeed, if Azalea chose to call for help, it would do no good. Doubtless Phil would be along shortly, but there was no telling, for there was always a merry crowd on the Gale's piazza and he would stay there talking for a time.
But Merritt was impatient, and he finally broke out with; "Make up your mind, please, and quickly. Will you bring the baby quietly, or shall I just—take her along."
He held out his arms to Fleurette, who, always ready to make friends with strangers, smiled and leaned toward him.
Azalea had wild thoughts of running away,—anywhere,—but she knew the futility of such a plan. Merritt was a big and strong man, and though Azalea was a swift runner, she could not get a start without his intervening.
She tried pleading. She appealed to his manliness, his kindness, his generosity,—all with no success.
"Don't talk rubbish," he said, shortly; "you know as well as I do, it won't hurt the child. In fact, I came to get her to-day, myself, because I knew her nurse was out,—and I saw you go off,—and later, all the rest of the bunch. If you hadn't come back,—confound you! I'd have had that child over there by this time!"
Azalea gasped. So her premonition had been a true one after all! Had she not returned, Merritt would have easily overcome Janet and taken the baby off with him. She knew they would not harm Fleurette,—indeed, would be most careful of her. Unless, perhaps, they should give her soothing-sirup again. Well they'd get no chance, for Azalea was determined the baby should not be taken from her, and she most certainly was not going herself.
"You know what it will mean to you," Merritt threatened; "if I so advise Bixby, he'll throw you over. How'd you like to lose your job now that you've just begun to make good?"
"That's nothing to do with it," Azalea said, trying to speak calmly and not show how frightened she was.
But Merritt discerned it.
"All right," he said, "sorry you won't listen to reason,—but since you won't,—guess I'll have to use force."
He took hold of Fleurette's little arm, to lift her from Azalea's lap, and the touch roused the girl's wrath to boiling point.
"Don't you dare!" she cried, holding the baby tightly. "Leave,—leave at once! or I'll call for help!"
She rose, as if to make good her threat, though she knew there was no help within call.
Merritt knew it too, and he laughed at her.
"Stop this nonsense, now," he commanded roughly. "I'm going to accomplish what I came here for, so you may as well take it quietly. I can take the child without a whimper from her,—and you know it! So, why not be sensible and come along too, and look out for her yourself?"
"You shall not take her!" Azalea looked like an angry tigress.
"Gee! Wish I had you on the screen like that! You're some picture!"
"Please, Mr. Merritt," Azalea tried coaxing again, "please believe me,—I can't take Fleurette again. Her mother—why, Mr. Merritt, you have children of your own—"
"Sure I have! That's how I know how to treat 'em so well. If mine were only small enough, I wouldn't need this little cutie. Well, here goes, then!"
This time he laid such a definite hold on the baby, that Azalea could scarcely keep the child in her own arms.
In her utter desperation, a new idea struck her. She would try strategy.
"Oh, don't!" she cried, "rather than have you touch her, I'll go—I'll take her. Let me get her cap and coat."
"Where are they?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Right here, in the library,—just across the hall."
"Go on, then,—I trust you, 'cause I think you're sensible. I'd go along and keep you in sight, but I want to keep watch if anybody comes. But you sing, or whistle or something, so's I'll know you're right there."
"All right," and Azalea's heart beat fast, for she had a splendid scheme.
Into the library she carried Fleurette, singing as she went, and once in the room, she put the baby on a chair and flew for the record rack.
Quickly she found the record of the baby's crying spell and put it in place in the phonograph.
Then, picking up Fleurette, she set the needle going and hurried from the room.
Merritt, hearing the cries, screams and sobs, scowled with anger at the baby's fit of ill temper, but never dreamed that it was not really the child crying at all.
So Azalea had ample chance to escape by a back door from the library, and crossing the dining-room went out on a side porch that faced the Gale place.
Looking carefully to see that Merritt had not followed her, and listening a moment to learn how much longer the record,—of which she knew every familiar sound,—would last, she ran with all the speed of which she was capable over to the Gales'.
Van Reypen was just taking leave, and he, as well as the others present, looked in amazement at the flying figure coming nearer and nearer until Azalea reached the group.
"Take her," she said to Mrs. Gale, as she gave her the baby, "keep her safe—safe!"
And then Azalea went flying back.
The record was finished,—and with the sudden stop of the child's crying Merritt had started into the library to see what it meant.
There Azalea found him, and she faced him bravely.
"That baby is safe," she said, "where you can't get at her! And now I will tell you what I think of you! You are a thief and a scoundrel! You don't deserve to be allowed to carry on a reputable business! I don't want any further connection with you or your company. I am proud to be fired from such a lot of bandits as you people are!"
So angry was she, and so unguarded as to what she was saying that she fairly flung the words at him.
For a moment he was stunned at her wild tirade, and then his artist instinct was stirred,—for the picture she made was beautiful and dramatic. She had no thought of this, for she was in earnest, and her whole soul was up in arms at thought of the threatened abduction of Fleurette. And, so, knowing that the child was safe with Mrs. Gale, she let the vials of her wrath pour forth on the villain who had so aroused it, and her voice was raised in scathing obloquy.
"All right!" Merritt said, as she paused from sheer want of breath, "I'll take my beating, if you'll go over to the studio with me and repeat this scene. Let me pose you while you're in this humour,—you'll never reach such heights again!"
"Nor will I ever pose for you again! I'm through with you,—all of you, and all the moving-picture business! I was warned to keep out of it,—but I didn't know what wretches I would find in it! Go! Go at once! and never let me see your face again!"
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.
