"Yes, a few persons in town, but they were good enough to keep it quiet for my sake. Among them, so Uncle John told me, were Alice Jallow's people. That is why I think she wrote the note. She must have found out about my secret in some way, and thought to taunt me with it."
"The mean creature!"
"Oh, I don't mind. I was only afraid you girls—"
"Amy Stonington! If you even hint at such a thing again we'll never forgive you! As if we cared! Why, I think it's perfectly wonderful to have such a romance about you. I know the other girls will be crazy about it. Of course, it's sad, too, dear. But maybe some day, you'll find out that your father and mother aren't—aren't gone—at all, and you'll have them again."
"That's what I've been hoping since I knew. But there is very little chance, after all these years. Uncle John told me not to hope. You see, they must have been drowned. The worst is that I can't recall them. They never corresponded with aunt and uncle in years. I don't know what sort of a home I had—or—or whether I had brothers or sisters."
"No, I suppose there isn't much chance of your parents having escaped the flood. And yet I've read—in books—"
"Oh, yes—in books. But this is real life, Betty. And now, dear, I've told you all I know. As I said, it shocked me when I first heard it, but I'm pretty well over it now. Only it did startle me when I read that note over your shoulder."
"I should think it would. When I see Alice—"
"Please don't say anything to her!" pleaded Amy. "Please don't! Let her see that—that it hasn't made a bit of difference."
"I will. A difference? Why, we'll love you all the more Amy,—if that's possible."