“So I came.  Oh, I hate to think how I imposed on the Farnsworths!  They were so kind to me, right from the start.  Then they asked me questions about my father, and I didn’t know what to do or say.  I tried to fool you, Bill, with a made-up letter but I didn’t succeed.  And,—­all the way along, I kept feeling worse and worse,—­meaner and meaner—­at the life of deceit I was leading.  I made good in the pictures,—­and oh, Patty, will you ever forgive me for taking Baby over there!  But I knew she was safe with me, and, like all the rest, I didn’t realise how bad I was!

“I don’t ask or expect forgiveness,—­I know you couldn’t grant that.  But lately I felt I couldn’t go on any longer,—­and I couldn’t bring myself to confess,—­so,—­I ran away.”

“And you are really Alice Adams?” asked Farnsworth, but Phil interrupted.

“Wait a minute, everybody.  Before Azalea—­or Alice,—­or whoever she is, says another word, I want to say that she is my promised wife!  I want you, dear, and whatever your name is, I want it to be changed to Van Reypen.  Tell me,—­tell them all,—­that you consent.”

A beautiful expression came over the girl’s face.

She turned to Philip, her soft, dark eyes shining with utter joy and a tender smile of glad surprise curving her quivering lips.

“Oh,” she breathed, “oh, Phil!”

“You do consent?” he urged, “you must say yes, before you tell us any more!”

“May I, Patty?” and a shy, sweet face looked questioningly at the one she was glad to consider her mentor.

“I think so,” Patty smiled back, for she knew how matters stood with Phil, and she had faith in the true heart of the girl beside her.

“Yes, then,” she said, softly, looking at Philip,—­and that was their troth-plight.

“Go on, dear,” he said, briefly, and with a glad smile in his eyes.

“There’s little more to tell; I am Alice Adams, and my father was born in Boston—­”

“Good gracious, Phil!” Patty cried.  “Why, this child is a real Adams!”

“Of course she is,” said Farnsworth, “I knew the Adamses that lived in Horner’s Corners.  You see, I was there some years myself.  Why, your mother was a sweet little woman, with a face like Dresden china.”

“Yes; I’ve a miniature of her.  She was beautiful.  I’m like my father—­”

“And you’re beautiful!” cried Patty, kissing her.  “Oh, Zaly,—­I can’t call you anything else! what a story you have told us!”

“And now, let’s proceed to forget it,” said Farnsworth, in his big, genial way.  “You and I’ll talk it over a little when we’re alone,—­but just now, I adopt you as my cousin,—­I’m proud to have an Adams in my family, even if only by adoption!  Your escapade was a wild one,—­er—­Alice,—­but it was an escapade,—­not a crime.  And for my part, you are fully and freely forgiven, and—­here’s where Patty takes up the theme.”