"Yes, and one I fear will never be found out. I'll tell you about it."

"Not unless you'd rather, dear," and Betty put her arms about her chum as
they sat on the worn sofa in Miss Greene's retiring room.

"I had much rather. I want you and Grace and Mollie to know. Maybe--maybe
you can help me," she finished with a bright smile.

"You see it was this way. Of course I don't remember anything about it.
All my recollections are centered in Deepdale, and about Mr. and Mrs.
Stonington. It is the only home I have ever really known, though I have a
dim recollection of having, as a child, been in some other place. But
that is like a dream.

"But it seems that when I was a very little girl both my parents lived
in a distant city. Then one day there was a terrible storm, the river
rose, and there was a flood. This I was told by my uncle and aunt, as I
am going to call them. Who my father and mother were I never knew,
except from what I have heard, but it seems that Mrs. Stonington was
mamma's aunt.

"In the flood our house was washed away, but I, then a small baby, was
found floating on a sort of raft tied to a mattress on a bed. I was taken
to a farm house, and found pinned to my dress was an envelope."

"Just an envelope?"

"Yes. There might have been a letter in it, but if there was it had been
washed out in the flood and rain. But the envelope was addressed to Mrs.
Stonington here, and she was telegraphed to. Her husband hurried on, for