“No. I would not open what I was not supposed to know about; I took the first package that I had thought might be the right one and I went away as quickly as I could. I could scarcely believe what had happened, and I cried all night. Then I went down again to the bank with the key to my father’s box and some big white envelopes like the one I had broken open. I read again what was written on the inner envelope and I realized more than at first what it meant. Then I put it in one of the envelopes most like the other and sealed it up again. I suppose that I should never have known! They must have meant never to tell me. Why, my great-aunt does not know I am sure, or she would never have talked about my being a Standish, and a Thorne, and all that stuff!” Sidney’s tone was bitter now.
“Even Mother used to join in, but Dad never did. I’ll say that for him. And poor Mother loves to deceive herself about anything that she wants to be so!” Sidney was more tender now, and Shirley recalled with some surprise how Mrs. Thorne had spoken as if Sidney’s ancestry were theirs, or, rather, theirs hers. “I can imagine how my dear, sentimental mother must have persuaded my father never to tell me.”
“And then I came along,” said Shirley thoughtfully.
“Yes, and I can see that my father has been thinking about it. He has made several remarks to Mother that I remembered after I found the envelope. But your coming, Shirley, had nothing to do with my finding the facts.” Sidney was fair. Shirley was not to blame. “That was why he wanted to have a talk with you, I suppose, Shirley,” Sidney continued, “and Mother invited you there after I had gone on to school.”
Shirley reached over and took Sidney’s hand, looking at it. “Sidney, he asked all about my people, my father and mother, and I even told him all about my ancestry, for I have a great-aunt, too, that thinks a great deal of our family tree. Isn’t it queer? And I wrote to my mother, Sidney, to ask her if I were really her daughter, ‘by borning’ as my little sister that died used to say. I had a sister and a brother that died several years ago. It may be, Sidney, that we are sisters, twins, most likely and that neither of us belong to the families where we are.”
“Well, I’m sorry for you, Shirley, if that is so,” and Sidney’s hand tightened on Shirley’s. Then Sidney’s head went down on Shirley’s shoulder and her slight body shook with sobs. “Oh, I know that they did not mean to be cruel, Shirley,” she said as soon as she could control herself, “but it is so terribly hard now.”
“I do know a little, Sidney,” whispered Shirley through the golden waves of Sidney’s pretty hair, “because of all the pangs I have when I think about it and wonder about myself.”
“Yes,” said Sidney, “and oh, I do want so to belong to Father and Mother!”
“I wonder if it would not be best to tell them all about it,” Shirley suggested. “You will want to know how it all came about.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Sidney. “It depends on where I came from.”