"I haven't the heart. Oh, Betty, I'm afraid it's only too true! I really don't know who my father and mother are!" "Amy!" "No, I don't. I've suspected a mystery a long while, and now I am sure I am mixed up in one." "Amy Stonington!" cried Betty. "Do you mean to tell me--look here, let's get to some quiet place. Some one will be coming in here. We can go to Miss Greene's room. She has gone for the day. But perhaps you don't want to tell me, Amy." "Oh, yes I do. I want to tell all you girls. And then maybe--" "Amy Stonington!" exclaimed Betty. "If you're going to hint--and I see that you are--that we'd pay any attention to this note, or let it make any difference between us--even if it's true--which I don't believe--let's see--what do I want to say--I'm all confused. Oh, I know. I mean that it shan't make a particle of difference to us--if you never had a father or mother--" "Oh, of course I had--some time," and Amy smiled through a mist of tears. "Only there's a mystery about them--what became of them." "Why I thought--all of us thought--that Mr. and Mrs. Stonington were your parents," said the wondering Betty. "So did I, until lately. Then I began to notice that papa and mamma--as I thought them--were frequently consulting together. They always stopped talking when I came near, but I supposed it might be about some plans they had for sending me away to be educated in music. So I pretended not to notice. Though I did not want to go away from dear Deepdale. "Their queer consultations increased, and they looked at me so strangely that finally I went to mamma--no, my aunt, as I must call her, and--" "Your aunt!" exclaimed Betty. "Yes, that is what Mrs. Stonington is to me; or, rather she was poor dear mamma's aunt. I am going to call her aunt, however, and Mr. Stonington uncle. They wish it." "Oh, then they have told you?" "Yes. It was the night before the day that I fainted in school. It was thinking of that, I guess, that unnerved me." "Why, Amy! A mystery about you?" "Yes, and one I fear will never be found out. I'll tell you about it." "Not unless you'd rather, dear," and Betty put her arms about her chum as they sat on the worn sofa in Miss Greene's retiring room. "I had much rather. I want you and Grace and Mollie to know. Maybe--maybe you can help me," she finished with a bright smile. "You see it was this way. Of course I don't remember anything about it. All my recollections are centered in Deepdale, and about Mr. and Mrs. Stonington. It is the only home I have ever really known, though I have a dim recollection of having, as a child, been in some other place. But that is like a dream.