"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."