“I came before the time I set,” she said to her brother-in-law as soon as they were alone together, “because I wish to talk to you about Anne Lewis.”  Mr. Patterson’s brow clouded.  “She is in an orphan asylum in Virginia, is she not?  We must get her out.  At once.  Read this letter.”

Mr. Patterson held the letter unopened in his hand.  “The subject is an unpleasant one,” he said.  “I’ve been wanting to tell you about a conversation I had with Pat.  It showed me in a startling way how the boy is developing.  I don’t know what to do with him.  In my young days, boys were different.  We submitted to our fathers.  A year or two of school and camp life has changed my little Pat into a sullen, self-willed, unmanageable youngster.”  He repeated the conversation between Pat and himself about Anne.

“And you did not tell him where Anne is?” asked Miss Drayton.

“Certainly not,” replied Mr. Patterson.  “His manner was disrespectful.  If he had asked properly, I should have answered him.  Of course I had no objection to telling him.”

“Ah,” murmured Miss Drayton.  “I hope he didn’t think you meant to keep him ignorant of Anne’s whereabouts.”

“Of course not,” said Mr. Patterson, indignantly.

“Children get queer little notions in their queer little heads sometimes,” said Miss Drayton.  “I confess, brother, I think you’ve done wrong.  And I’ve done wrong.  We could have given this orphan child a home and care—­and we did not.”

Her brother-in-law replied that orphan asylums were established to relieve such cases.

Miss Drayton did not argue the question.  She said softly:  “We failed in the trust that Emily left us—­our duty to her little adopted daughter.”

Mr. Patterson was silent.  He opened and read Mr. Mayo’s letter.  Then he folded it carefully and handed it back.  “I will go to-morrow and get this child from the asylum,” he said.

“Suppose you let me go—­with Pat,” suggested Miss Drayton.  “And, brother, talk to him.  Explain matters.”

But he shook his head.  “There is nothing for me to explain.  You and I misunderstood things.  I am sorry we did not know all this at first.  Then we would have acted differently.  But it is not for Pat to judge my course.  I refuse to defend myself to a young cub.”

CHAPTER XX

“What are you smiling at, Pat?” Miss Drayton asked her nephew sitting beside her in the parlor car.  They had passed through the tunnel and crossed the beautiful Potomac Park and the shining river.  Washington Monument, like a finger pointing skyward, was fading in the distance.

“What amuses you, Pat?” repeated his aunt.

“Can’t help grinning like a possum,” answered Pat, with a chuckle.  “Every mile is taking us nearer Anne.  How she’ll jump and squeal ’oo-ee’—­when she sees us!  And—­look here, Aunt Sarah—­” he glanced cautiously around to be sure that he was not observed, then opened his travelling-bag and displayed a doll’s dress—­blue silk with frills and lace ruffles.  “I bought it in an F Street shop yesterday—­for Honey-Sweet, you know,” he explained.  “Gee!  It’ll tickle Anne for me to give that doll a present.  She’ll—­” he whistled a bar of ragtime.