‘I am not an orphan boy, my mother is living,’ said John, hurriedly. For the first time it occurred to him that to have a mother living whom he had not seen for ten years was strange. It had never struck him in this light before. ‘But papa,’ he added, in a softer tone, ‘died many years ago. I don’t know why I never understood it. One doesn’t think of things when there is nothing to lead one’s mind to them.’ ‘I know,’ said Elly. ‘It is just now that I am trying to remember a little about mamma. You know, I was only a baby when she died, and for years and years I never even thought--’ ‘That was like me: it all seemed so natural, one made no inquiry.’ ‘We are very like each other, Jack,’ said Elly, ‘now some people would have been always inquiring: at least that is how they do in books. You and I just took it for granted. Has your mother, then, a large family that she has given you quite up to old Mr. and Mrs. Sandford? I suppose your father was their son, as you are Sandford too.’ This puzzled John extremely. It was a question he had not asked himself. Though he knew that his mother was Emily, and that she was the daughter of the old people, it had not occurred to him to wonder why he should be called John Sandford. It sent off his mind at an entirely different angle of wonder and inquiry. John--he had always been called Johnnie in those old days. John--what? It seemed to him a dozen times that he was just on the eve of catching the name, and then it went from him again; besides, he had not time to think of it now with Elly looking in his face with her brown eyes, all round and big with the inquiry. He replied to her question, ‘I don’t think I know, Elly. It really is very funny how little one thinks. I don’t believe there were many of us. I have a sister Susie--but whether there are any more---- Oh, no, I don’t think there are any more. My mother never comes to see us because--I am sure I don’t know why. I never asked. Some time or other I must think it all out, and ask grandmamma. It is absurd, isn’t it, to know so little about one’s own people.’ ‘Oh, no,’ said Elly, ‘not when you have not heard people talking of them. See how well we look, over Mr. Cattley’s mantelpiece. I wonder what he will say when he comes in. He will say, “That’s Elly,” I am sure. He will never give you the credit of it.’ ‘And of course he will be quite right,’ said John. ‘I should never have thought of such a thing. Well, dear old place, good-bye. I shall think of it often when I am away and working. We have been just the same for a long time, but we are going to be very different, Elly. Perhaps next time we meet you won’t have anything to say to me.’ ‘Why?’ she asked, opening wide again her great soft brown eyes.