I was so surprised and pleased to get your letter I hardly knew what to do.  It seemed as if the dream of my life had at last come true.  I’ve always wanted to go East,—­to see New York,—­oh, I’m so excited I can hardly write!  And dear Cousin William!  How kind of him to tell you about me,—­for I was a very small baby when he was here.  My father has told me all about it.  When shall I start?  I accept your invitation with joy.  I have saved up my money and I have enough, I think, for the ticket.  How much does it cost?  But I can find out somehow.  Father sends his respects and he says I may go.  I am all ready.  Can’t you telegraph me, so I can go soon?

With grateful thanks,
I am yours very sincerely,
AZALEA THORPE.

“Well,” said Bill, “what do you think of that for a letter?”

He looked thoughtfully at Patty, as he spoke.

“Why,” she hesitated,—­“I think it’s a very nice letter—­”

“Wait, now,—­be honest!”

“Well, I—­oh, I don’t know,—­but I looked for a little more—­simplicity, I guess.  This sounds as if she had resorted to a ‘Complete Letter-Writer’ for help.”

“Just what I thought, exactly!  But I don’t know as we can blame her if she did.  The poor child is doubtless unversed in polite correspondence, and she did her best,—­but she felt she needed a little more elegance of construction and so forth, and she picked out some dressy phrases from the book.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” said Patty, generously, “she’s glad to come, and so I’m glad to have her.  Let’s telegraph at once,—­shall us?”

“Yes; but I don’t like that haste of hers.  It strikes me queer.”

“Queer, how?  She’s impatient to start,—­that’s all.  What else could it mean?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.  But the whole letter’s queer,—­if you ask me!”

“I do ask you,—­and I ask you how it’s queer.”

“It’s so,—­so jumbly,—­incoherent,—­choppy.”

“Pooh! don’t criticise the lack of style in that poor country child.  I’ll teach her to write letters,—­and I won’t let her know I’m teaching her, either.”

“You’ll teach her lots of things,—­I know,—­and in that dear, gentle way of yours, that couldn’t hurt or offend anybody.  Well, I’ll telegraph, then, for her to come ahead.  What else shall I say?”

“Tell her what road to take, and all directions you can think of.  Though it sounds to me, as if she thought she would have no difficulty as to travel.”

“Sounds that way to me, too; but I suppose her father can look after such details.  Queer message from her father.”

“Not at all.  You said he wasn’t overfond of you, so as he sends his respects to you, I don’t think you need ask for more.”

“If she does start right off,—­and I’m pretty sure she will,—­she’ll be here in a week or so.”

“Of course; but I’ll be ready for her.  I’ll give her the yellow room.  It’s big and sunny and has a lovely bath and dressing-room.  It’s all in order, too, I’ll just make some soft lacy pillows and give it some little personal touches and it will be all ready for her.  Oh, Billee,—­think what a lot we can do for her!”