nyone else," whispered Mary hurriedly as she clambered
down. "I'm going to ask mother about it."

She ran into the house feeling rather excited, but almost sure that
Jackie was mistaken. He often made muddles. What was her astonishment,
therefore, after pouring out the story breathlessly, when Mrs Vallance,
instead of laughing at the idea, only looked very grave and kept
silence.

"Of course I am Mary Vallance, ain't I, mother?" she repeated.

"You are our dear little adopted daughter," said Mrs Vallance; "but
that is not really your name."

"What is it then?" asked Mary.

"I do not know. Some day I will tell you how you first came here, but
not until you are older."

How mysterious it all was! Mary gazed thoughtfully out into the quiet
road, at the ducks splashing about in the river; but she was not
thinking of them, her head seemed to whirl. Presently she said:

"Do you know my real mother and father?"

"No," answered Mrs Vallance.

"Perhaps," continued Mary, after a pause, "they live in a big house like
the Chelwoods, and have a garden and a park like theirs."

"Perhaps they have," said Mrs Vallance, "and perhaps they live in a
little cottage like the blacksmith and his wife, and have no garden at
all."

"Oh, I shouldn't like that at all," said Mary quickly; then she suddenly
threw her arms round Mrs Vallance's neck and kissed her.

"Whoever they are," she said, "I love you and father best, and always
shall."

She asked a great many more questions, but Mrs Vallance seemed
determined to answer nothing but "yes" and "no." It was very
disappointing to know so much and yet so little, and it seemed
impossible to wait patiently till she was older to hear more. At last
Mrs Vallance forbade the subject:

"I don't want you to talk of this any more now, Mary," she said. "When
the proper time comes, you shall hear all I have to tell; what I want
you to remember is this: _Whoever_ you are, and whatever sort of people
you belong to, you cannot alter it; but you may have a great deal to do
with _what_ you are. We can all make our characters noble by goodness,
however poor our stations are; but if we are proud and vain, and despise
others, nothing can save us from becoming vulgar and low, even if we
belong to very high rank indeed. That is all you have to think of."

Excellent advice; but though Mary heard all the words, they did not sink
into her mind any more than the water on the ducks' backs in the