othing to do with how I found out who I am. It's like
Martha, though: always butting in with questions no Mary on earth could
answer.

Well, the way I found out was one of those mysterious ways in which God
works his wonders. Yesterday afternoon I asked Miss Bray if I could go
over and play with the Moon children, three of whom are sick, and she
said I might. We were in the nursery, which is next to Mrs. Moon's
bedroom, and she and the lady from Michigan, who is visiting her, were
talking and paying no attention to us. Presently something the lady
said--her name is Mrs. Grey--made everything in me stop working, and my
heart gave a little click like a clock when the pendulum don't swing
right.

She was sitting with her back to the door, which was open, and I could
see her, but she couldn't see me. All of a sudden she put down her
sewing and looked at Mrs. Moon as if something had just come to her.

"Elizabeth Moon, I believe I know that child's uncle," she said. "Ever
since you told me about her something has been bothering me. Didn't you
say her mother had a brother who years ago went West?"

"Hush," said Mrs. Moon, and she nodded toward me. "She'll hear you, and
the ladies wouldn't like it."

She lowered her voice so I couldn't hear all she said, but I heard
something about its being the only thing Yorkburg ever did keep quiet
about. And only then because everybody felt so sorry for her. In a flash
I knew they were talking about me.

After the first understanding, which made everything in me stop,
everything got moving, and all my inward workings worked double quick.
Why my heart didn't get right out on the floor and look up at me. I
don't know. I kept on talking and making up wild things just to keep the
children quiet, but I had to hold myself down to the floor. To help, I
put Billy and Kitty Lee both in my lap.

What I wanted to do was to go to Mrs. Moon and say: "I am twelve and a
half, and I've got the right to know. I want to hear about my uncle. I
don't want to know him, he not caring to know me." But before I could
really think Mrs. Grey spoke again.

"He has no idea his sister left a child. He told me she married very
young, and died a year afterward; and he had heard nothing from her
husband since. As soon as I go home I am going to tell him. I certainly
am."

"You had better not," said Mrs. Moon. "It's been thirteen years since he
left Yorkburg, and, as he has never been back, he evidently doesn't