"Have you no picture of your mother," said Chester, "no letters or books, or anything that was hers individually?" "No," said Ladybird; "my papa died of that fearful fever, and everything was burned up. The gentleman who came and brought me away said that my mama was the sister of Aunt Priscilla and Aunt Dorinda; so he sent me here; but that was the first I had ever heard of them." "Had your father never mentioned them?" asked Stella. "No; but then, papa never mentioned anything. When he was at home, he was always having company and gay parties, and he never talked to me, except to ask me if I was happy, and if I wanted any dolls, or candies, or new clothes." "And were you happy?" said Stella. "Yes; I'm always happy. I can't help it. I was happy there, with my native servants and my Indian entertainments; and I'm happy here, with my aunts and Primrose Hall. And I'm specially happy because I've made you two happy; haven't I?" "You have, indeed!" said Chester, heartily kissing the wistful-eyed child. "I'm glad," said Ladybird; and with her queer suddenness, she walked away. "Just suppose," said Ladybird to Cloppy, as she strolled toward the house--"just suppose, Clops, that we hadn't sent for Chester, and suppose--but that's too perfectly horrid to suppose--that Stella had still been intending to marry that unpleasant Charley Hayes. For as you well know, Cloppy, Charley Hayes is not fit to tie Stella's apron-string. Of course she doesn't wear aprons, but I mean if she did. And now everything is beautiful: my aunts are happy as clams; Stella and Chester are happy as oysters; and you and I are happy as--as _whales_, aren't we, Clops?" She flung the dog high in the air and caught him as he came down; and then running into the house, discovered a letter for herself on the hall table. With a curious glance at the foreign epistle, Ladybird took it, and holding Cloppy firmly under her arm, went up to her bedroom. "You see, Clops," she said as she reached her haven from all interruption--"you see, Clops, we've got a letter now that means something. Of course I love Stella and Chester, and Aunt Priscilla and Aunt Dorinda, but furthermore, and beyond, and notwithstanding, there is something in our lives, Cloppy, that is outside of all these, and of course, my blessed dog, it would be postmarked India. And so, Cloppy, we will now sit down and read it." Read it they did; and in the quaint, old-fashioned bedroom at Primrose Hall, Ladybird read these words: My dear Miss Lovell: I am writing you, as you will observe, from London, and I am the daughter of John Lovell and Lavinia Flint. This daughter, they tell me, you think you are; but it is not so: you are the daughter of John Lovell and his second wife; while I am the child of Mr. Lovell and his first wife, who was Lavinia Flint.