her to me,--there, there, mudder's pressus,--petty
poppity,--yes, she's queer!"

"Who? Fleurette?"

"You know very well I don't mean Fleurette! I mean that Pride of the
West,--that stranger within our gates,--that thorn in the flesh,--that
awful Azalea!"

"Meaning me?" and Azalea herself popped her head in at the nursery door.

"Yes," replied Farnsworth, imperturbably, "meaning you. Come in, Azalea,
I want to speak to you. When have you heard from your father?"

"Let me see--about a week ago, I think."

"Will you show me the letter?"

"Why, how inquisitive you are! What do you want to see it for?"

"I'd like to read it. I suppose it isn't distinctly a private letter."

"N-no, of course not. But, the truth is,--I haven't got it."

"What did you do with it?"

"I--I tore it up."

"Was it unpleasant?"

"No, but as I had answered it,--I didn't need to keep it."

"What was in it? Tell me,--in a general way."

"Oh,--it said--he hoped I was well,--and he--he hoped you were
well,--and--"

"And he hoped Patty was well! and he hoped the baby was well,--yes,--and
after those polite hopes, what else did he say?"

"Why,--why, I don't know,--I guess that was about all."

"Oh, it was! Why didn't he tell you something about himself? What he was
doing,--or going to do?"

"I don't know. Papa isn't very much of a letter writer."

"Well, he used to be! It was his special forte. I've had letters from
him a dozen pages long. I don't believe he's outgrown his bent of letter
writing. Now, listen, to this, Azalea, the next letter you get from him,
I want you to show it to me, see? If there's anything in it you don't
want me to know about, cut that out,--but show me at least the beginning
and the ending,--and a part of a page. You hear me?"

"Of course I hear you,--not being deaf! And I'll show you the
letter,--if I think of it."

"You'll think of it,--I'll see to that, myself. You ought to get one
soon, oughtn't you?"

"No,--I haven't answered his last one yet."

"Why, you just said you had!"

"Oh, I meant the one before the last--"

"You meant nothing of the sort. And, mind you, Azalea, this is a direct
command,--you _must_ show me his next letter."

"I won't take commands! How dare you? You have no right to order me
about so. I hate you!"

"Don't talk so, Zaly," Patty said, gently. "Cousin Bill isn't asking
anything out of the way. There's no reason you shouldn't show him your
father's letter,--in part, at