“She’s a very dear girl!” exclaimed Patsy, with emphasis.  “It will be simply glorious to—­”

The doorbell rang sharply.  There was a moment’s questioning pause, for it was too early for visitors.  The pattering feet of the little maid, Mary, approached the door and next moment a boyish voice demanded: 

“Is Mr. Merrick at home, or the young ladies, or—­”

“Why, it’s Ajo!” shouted Patsy, springing to her feet and making a dive for the hallway.

“Jones?” said Mr. Merrick, looking incredulous.

“It must be,” declared Beth, for now Patsy’s voice was blended with that of the boy in a rapid interchange of question and answer.  Then in she came, dragging him joyously by the arm.

“This is certainly a surprise!” said Mr. Merrick, shaking the tall, slender youth by the hand with evident pleasure.

“When did you get to town?” asked Beth, greeting the boy cordially.  “And why didn’t you let us know you were on the way from far-off Los Angeles?”

“Well,” said Jones, seating himself facing them and softly rubbing his lean hands together to indicate his satisfaction at this warm reception, “it’s a long, long story and I may as well tell it methodically or you’ll never appreciate the adventurous spirit that led me again to New York—­the one place I heartily detest.”

“Oh, Ajo!” protested Patsy.  “Is this the way to retain the friendship of New Yorkers?”

“Isn’t honesty appreciated here?” he wanted to know.

“Go ahead with your story,” said Uncle John.  “We left you some months ago at the harbor of Los Angeles, wondering what you were going to do with that big ship of yours that lay anchored in the Pacific.  If I remember aright, you were considering whether you dared board it to return to that mysterious island home of yours at—­at—­”

“Sangoa,” said Patsy.

“Thank you for giving me a starting-point,” returned the boy, with a smile.  “You may remember that when I landed in your country from Sangoa I was a miserable invalid.  The voyage had ruined my stomach and wrecked my constitution.  I crossed the continent to New York and consulted the best specialists—­and they nearly put an end to me.  I returned to the Pacific coast to die as near home as possible, and—­and there I met you.”

“And Patsy saved your life,” added Beth.

“She did.  First, however, Maud Stanton saved me from drowning.  Then Patsy Doyle doctored me and made me well and strong.  And now—­”

“And now you look like a modern Hercules,” asserted Patsy, gazing with some pride at the bronzed cheeks and clear eyes of the former invalid and ignoring his slight proportions.  “Whatever have you been doing with yourself since then?”

“Taking a sea voyage,” he affirmed.

“Really?”

“An absolute fact.  For months I dared not board the Arabella, my sea yacht, for fear of a return of my old malady; but after you deserted me and came to this—­this artificial, dreary, bewildering—­”