MY DEAR AZALEA: 

I am the wife of your cousin, William Farnsworth.  Though you do not remember him, your father will tell you about him.  At any rate, as you are of his kin, I want you to come and make us a visit—­that is, if you care to.  We have a lovely home, not far from New York City, and I would do my best to make you happy and give you a good time.  You may not want to come,—­indeed, you may have moved away from your native town, and may never even get this letter.  But if you do get it, write me, at any rate, and tell me what you think about a trip East.  We both send love and hope to hear from you soon.

Affectionately yours,

PATTY FARNSWORTH.

“You see,” Patty explained to Bill, as she read the letter to him, “it may be she can’t afford such a trip.  But I didn’t like to hint at that, so I asked her to write me what she thinks about it.  If she thinks she can’t spend so much money, then we can offer to get her ticket.”

“Very thoughtful and very delicately done, my dearest.  You have the kindest heart a little blue-eyed girl ever possessed.”

“Not entirely disinterested, though.  I do want to have some of your people under our roof,—­and this is my first attempt.  If it fails, I shall look up some of your English relatives.”

“Yes, we will do that some day.  I’d like to round them up myself.  Mother’s tales of her childhood home,—­as retold me by my father,—­sounded delightful.  They had old country estates, and—­”

“And ancestral halls!  Hung with old armour!  Oh, Little Billee, what fun to take Fleurette there!  Portraits of her ancestors smiling down at her from the oaken walls of the long picture gallery—­”

“Patty, Patty! how you do run on!  I don’t know that there are any picture galleries at all.”

“Oh, of course there are.  They’re bound to be there.  And maybe a family ghost!  A spectre, that stalks the corridors when one of the family is about to die—­”

“Hush!  You bad child!  What awful ideas!”

“I’ve just been reading a story about a family spectre.  I think they’re most interesting.”

“Well, we’ll cut out the spook show. I’ve no liking for clanking chains and hollow groans!”

* * * * *

Impatiently Patty waited for the answer to her letter, and one day it came.

Farnsworth was in New York on business, and so she put it away unopened until his return.

“Goody girl!” he cried, when she told him.  “Nice of you, dear, to let us have the first reading together.”

“Oh, I couldn’t gobble it up alone,—­I like everything better if I have it with you.”

And so they sat side by side on the porch, and read the long looked for missive.

* * * * *

“DEAR COUSIN PATTY;” it began.