faltered Amy.

"Oh, the meanness of it!" murmured Betty. "But, Amy dear, I don't
understand. This doesn't at all look like the writing of Alice Jallow."

"I know; she has disguised her scribbling, that's all. But it doesn't
matter. I'll never charge her with it."

"Why not?"

"I haven't the heart. Oh, Betty, I'm afraid it's only too true! I really
don't know who my father and mother are!"

"Amy!"

"No, I don't. I've suspected a mystery a long while, and now I am sure I
am mixed up in one."

"Amy Stonington!" cried Betty. "Do you mean to tell me--look here, let's
get to some quiet place. Some one will be coming in here. We can go to
Miss Greene's room. She has gone for the day. But perhaps you don't want
to tell me, Amy."

"Oh, yes I do. I want to tell all you girls. And then maybe--"

"Amy Stonington!" exclaimed Betty. "If you're going to hint--and I see
that you are--that we'd pay any attention to this note, or let it make
any difference between us--even if it's true--which I don't
believe--let's see--what do I want to say--I'm all confused. Oh, I know.
I mean that it shan't make a particle of difference to us--if you never