"For, Sherm, you are not our own. If Father could have lived, we never intended you to know this--at least not until you were a man and had made a place for yourself. But Father's illness is leaving us penniless. Sue's husband has offered Grace and myself a home with them, but he thinks you must be told the truth--that it is only fair to you. We took you when you were about two and a half years old under very peculiar circumstances. It was while we were still living in New York, and Sue was a tot of five. We were going up to my father's in Albany and were a little late. Father told the hackman to drive fast; he'd give him an extra dollar if he'd catch the train. The man had been drinking and drove recklessly. He was just dashing round the corner to the station--the train was already whistling--when he knocked down, and ran over, a woman with a child in her arms. The child was pitched to one side and escaped with a few bruises. The woman never regained consciousness. You have probably guessed that you were that child. We could never find out who she was, though we advertised for several weeks. We decided to bring you up with Sue, and when we moved to Centerville, soon after, no one knew you were not our own child. We had you baptized Sherman after the great general who had just won his way to notice then. I have saved the clothing you wore, and a brooch and wedding ring of your mother's. I will send them to you, together with a hundred dollars, which is all I can give you to start you on your way." The remainder of the letter was filled with her grief over parting with her husband, and her separation from Sherm himself. Chicken Little swallowed hard--something seemed to be gripping her by the throat. "And your father isn't your father, Sherm?--or your mother or Sue or Grace?" The tragic extent of what had happened was dawning slowly upon Jane. Sherm's lips trembled. "No, I--haven't any father--I've never had a father!... I haven't got anybody.... I haven't even got a name that belongs to me!" Sherm's voice grew shriller and shriller till it broke with a dry sob. Chicken Little slipped her hand into his and the boy clung to it spasmodically, as if that slim, brown hand were all he had in the world to cling to. The tears were raining down Jane's cheeks, but Sherm's eyes were dry and burning. The team trotted along evenly. They turned mechanically into the stable yard when they reached the ranch. It was growing dusk. Sherm helped her out, saying: "Will you please tell them, Chicken Little? I won't come in just yet." She ran to the house and poured out her tale. Her father hurried to the stable. Sherm was not there. Jim Bart, who was milking in the corral near by, said he had saddled Caliph and gone off down the lane. Dr. Morton talked it over with Frank and they decided that Sherm had done the wisest thing possible in going for a gallop. "He doesn't mean to do anything rash or he wouldn't have taken Ernest's horse," Frank declared.