"As I was about to say," resumed Mr. Reed, in a tone of mild rebuke at the interruption, "it really never made any difference to me, nor to your father, and it should make no difference to you now. You know," he continued, with some hesitation, "children sometimes are adopted into families; that is to say, they are loved just the same, and cared for just the same, but they are not own children. Do you understand?"
"Understand what, please, Uncle? Did Aunt Kate adopt any one?" asked Dorry.
"No, but my father and mother did; your grandfather and grandmother Reed, you know," said he, looking at the D's in turn, as though he hoped one of them would help him.
"You don't mean, Uncle," almost screamed Dorry, "that it was that—that horrid—"
Donald came to her assistance.
"Was it that man, Uncle?" he asked, quickly. "Ben Buster told me the fellow claimed to be related to us; was he ever adopted by Grandfather Reed?"
"Ugh!" shuddered Dorry.
Very little help poor Uncle George could hope for now from the D's. The only way left was to speak out plainly.
"No, not that man, my children; but Aunt Kate. Aunt Kate was an adopted daughter—an adopted sister; but she was in all other respects one of our family. Never was daughter or sister more truly beloved. When she came to us she was but two years old, an orphan. Grandpa and Grandma Reed had known her parents, and when the little"—here Mr. Reed hastily resolved to say nothing of Eben Slade for the present—"the little girl was left alone in the world, destitute, with no relatives to care for her, my father and mother took her into their home, to bear their name and to be their own dear little daughter.
"When Aunt Kate was old enough, they told her all; but it was her wish that we boys should forget that we were not really her brothers. This was before we came to live in this house.