“Silly.  It isn’t that at all.  See, I’ll let you read the note.”

Hastily Betty unfolded it.  There was but a single unsigned sheet of paper, and scrawled on it were these words: 

“Before you go camping and tramping ask Amy Stonington who her father and mother are.”

CHAPTER V

AMY’S MYSTERY

Betty was quick to comprehend the cruel words, and in an instant she had crumpled the anonymous scrawl in her hand.  But she was the fraction of a second too late.  Amy had read it.

Betty heard the sound of Amy’s sigh, and then the catch in her breath.  She turned quickly.

“Amy!” cried Betty.  “Did you see it?  Oh, my dear!  The meanness of it!  The awful meanness!  Oh, Amy, my dear!” and she put her arms around her trembling companion.  “Oh, if I only knew who sent it!”

“I—­I can guess!” faltered Amy.

“Who?”

“Alice Jallow.”

“The—­the cat!”

Betty simply could not help saying it.

“Let—­let me see it again,” whispered Amy.  “I didn’t mean to read your note, Betty, but I saw it before I realized it.”

“My note?  It isn’t mine!  I wouldn’t own to receiving such a scrawl!  Oh, Amy, I’m so sorry!”

“Never mind, Betty.  I—­I’ve been expecting it.”

“You have?”

“Yes.  That—­that is what has been bothering me of late.  You may have noticed—­”

“I’ve noticed that you haven’t quite been yourself, Amy, my dear, but I never suspected—­and you think Alice sent this?”

“I’m almost sure of it.  It has to be known sooner or later.  But don’t say anything to Alice.”

“Why not?  The idea!  She ought to be exposed—­and punished.  I’ll go to—­”

“No, please don’t, Betty.  It—­it is true, and—­and there is no use giving her the satisfaction of knowing that she has—­has hurt me,” 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 had a father or mother—­”