“Yes, three,” she continued, “and I fear I was not as gracious as I might have been, for I was so astonished to be claimed when I did not know for sure that I had a relative in the world. Mr. Beresford, would you mind telling me all you know about my mother? Did she ever live in Merrivale? Did father find her here? Did she pick huckleberries with Mrs. Jerry, and cut up bits of calico for the sake of sewing them together again?” The napkin went into the water with a great splash, and then back to her forehead as she said this, but her eyes were fixed on Mr. Beresford, who, not knowing what she meant by the bits of calico, said he did not, but continued, laughingly: “I dare say she did pick berries; for almost every girl born in Merrivale does so at some period of her life.” “Then she _was_ born here, and you have seen her, and there is no mistake, and these people, they are—they are my grandmother?” This was the second time Reinette had put her questions in this form, and this time Mr. Beresford laughed heartily, as he replied: “Yes, they _are_ your grandmother decidedly; but,” he added, more quietly, “it is strange your father never told you.” “Not strange at all if you knew him,” Reinette said, resolved that no blame should attach to her father. “But tell me,” she went on, “tell me all about it—the marriage, I mean, and who are the Fergusons—nice people, of course, or my mother would not have been one. Who are they, Mr. Beresford?” The lawyer could not look that proud, high-bred girl in the face and tell her of Peggy Ferguson’s beer shop under the elms, of the Martins, or of the wonder and surprise when Fred Hetherton made Margaret Ferguson his wife. But he dwelt upon the honesty and respectability of John Ferguson, and the great beauty of his daughter Margaret, whose loveliness had attracted the heir of the Hethertons. Reinette saw he was evading her questions, and with an impatient stamp of her little slipper, she said: “Mr. Beresford, you are keeping things from me, and I will not bear it. If there is anything wrong about the Fergusons I wish to know it. Not that I shall turn against them,” she said, with a flash in her eyes which made her visitor wince. “They are mother’s people, and if they are thieves and robbers I am a thief and robber, too. I see by your face that there _is_ something—that you don’t fancy these people of mine, but I tell you I do. If they are _mine_ they are _mine_, and I won’t hear a word against them!” What a strange contradictory creature she was, one moment insisting that he must tell her something, if there was any thing to tell, and the next warning him that she would not listen to a word. What could he do but stare wonderingly at her, as, dropping the napkin into the bowl of water, she leaned back in her chair and holding him with her bright eyes, said, imperiously: “I am waiting, go on; father made a _mesalliance_, I suppose.”