"It says that same reasons exist for concealment as ever."
"And what are they, I should like to know? I don't like mysteries, for
my part."

"We won't quarrel with them, at any rate, since they enable us to keep
Ida with us."

Aunt Rachel shook her head, as if she were far from satisfied.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Harding, "but I ought to invite Mrs. Hardwick
in here. I have left her alone in the front room."

"I don't want to see her," said Rachel. Then, changing her mind
suddenly: "Yes, you may bring her in. I'll soon find out whether she's
an impostor or not."

The cooper's wife returned with the nurse.

"Mrs. Hardwick," she said, "this is my sister, Miss Rachel Harding."

"I am glad to make your acquaintance, ma'am," said the visitor.

"Rachel, I will leave you to entertain Mrs. Hardwick, while I get ready
the dinner."

Rachel and the nurse eyed each other with mutual dislike.

"I hope you don't expect me to entertain you," said Rachel. "I never
expect to entertain anybody ag'in. This is a world of trial and
tribulation, and I've had my share. So you've come after Ida, I hear?"
with a sudden change of tone.

"At her mother's request," said the nurse.

"She wants to see her, then?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I wonder she didn't think of it before," said Rachel, sharply. "She's
good at waiting. She's waited seven years."

"There are circumstances that cannot be explained," commenced the nurse.

"No, I dare say not," said Rachel, dryly. "So you were her nurse?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered the nurse, who did not appear to enjoy this
cross-examination.

"Have you lived with Ida's mother ever since?"

"No--yes," stammered the stranger. "Some of the time," she added,
recovering herself.

"Umph!" grunted Rachel, darting a sharp glance at her.

"Have you a husband living?" inquired the spinster.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Hardwick. "Have you?"

"I!" repeated Rachel, scornfully. "No, neither living nor dead. I'm
thankful to say I never married. I've had trials enough without that.
Does Ida's mother live in the city?"

"I can't tell you," said the nurse.

"Humph! I don't like mystery."

"It isn't any mystery," said the visitor. "If you have any objections to
make, you must make them to Ida's mother."

"So I will, if you'll tell me where she lives."

"I can't do that."

"Where do you live yourself?" inquired Rachel, shifting her point of
attack.

"In Brooklyn," answered Mrs. Hardwick, with some hesitation.

"What street, and number?"

"Why do you want to know?" inquired the nurse.

"You ain't ashamed to tell, be you?"

"Why should I be?"

"I don't know. You'd orter know better than I."

"It wouldn't do you any good to know," said the nurse. "I don't care
about receiving visitors."

"I don't want to visit you, I am sure," said Rachel, tossing her head.

"Then you don't need to know where I live."

Rachel left the room, and sought her sister-in-law.

"That woman's an impostor," she said. "She won't tell where she lives. I
shouldn't be surprised if she turns out to be a thief."

"You haven't any reason for supposing that, Rachel."

"Wait and see," said Rachel. "Of course I don't expect you to pay any
attention to what I say. I haven't any influence in this house."

"Now, Rachel, you have no cause to say that."

But Rachel was not to be appeased. It pleased her to be considered a
martyr, and at such times there was little use in arguing with her.




CHAPTER XIV

PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY


Later in the day, Ida returned from school. She bounded into the room,
as usual, but stopped short in some confusion, on seeing a stranger.

"Is this my own dear child, over whose infancy I watched so tenderly?"
exclaimed the nurse, rising, her harsh features wreathed into a smile.

"It is Ida," said the cooper's wife.

Ida looked from one to the other in silent bewilderment.

"Ida," said Mrs. Harding, in a little embarrassment, "this is Mrs.
Hardwick, who took care of you when you were an infant."

"But I thought you took care of me, mother," said Ida, in surprise.

"Very true," said Mrs. Harding, evasively; "but I was not able to have
the care of you all the time. Didn't I ever mention Mrs. Hardwick to
you?"

"No, mother."

"Although it is so long since I have seen her, I should have known her
anywhere," said the nurse, applying a handkerchief to her eyes. "So
pretty as she's grown up, too!"

Mrs. Harding glanced with pride at the beautiful child, who blushed at
the compliment, a rare one, for her adopted mother, whatever she might
think, did not approve of openly praising her appearance.

"Ida," said Mrs. Hardwick, "won't you come and kiss your old nurse?"

Ida looked at her hard face, which now wore a smile intended to express
affection. Without knowing why, she felt an instinctive repugnance to
this stranger, notwithstanding her words of endearment.

She advanced timidly, with a reluctance which she was not wholly able to
conceal, and passively submitted to a caress from the nurse.

There was a look in the eyes of the nurse, carefully guarded, yet not
wholly concealed, which showed that she was quite aware of Ida's feeling
toward her, and resented it. But whether or not she was playing a part,
she did not betray this feeling openly, but pressed the unwilling child
more closely to her bosom.

Ida breathed a sigh of relief when she was released, and moved quietly
away, wondering what it was that made the woman so disagreeable to her.

"Is my nurse a good woman?" she asked, thoughtfully, when alone with
Mrs. Harding, who was setting the table for dinner.

"A good woman! What makes you ask that?" queried her adopted mother, in
surprise.

"I don't know," said Ida.

"I don't know anything to indicate that she is otherwise," said Mrs.
Harding. "And, by the way, Ida, she is going to take you on a little
excursion to-morrow."

"She going to take me!" exclaimed Ida. "Why, where are we going?"

"On a little pleasure trip; and perhaps she may introduce you to a
pleasant lady, who has already become interested in you, from what she
has told her."

"What could she say of me?" inquired Ida. "She has not seen me since I
was a baby."

"Why," answered the cooper's wife, a little puzzled, "she appears to
have thought of you ever since, with a good deal of affection."

"Is it wicked," asked Ida, after a pause, "not to like those who like
us?"

"What makes you ask?"

"Because, somehow or other, I don't like this Mrs. Hardwick, at all, for
all she was my old nurse, and I don't believe I ever shall."

"Oh, yes, you will," said Mrs. Harding, "when you find she is exerting
herself to give you pleasure."

"Am I going with her to-morrow morning?"

"Yes. She wanted you to go to-day, but your clothes were not in order."

"We shall come back at night, shan't we?"

"I presume so."

"I hope we shall," said Ida, decidedly, "and that she won't want me to
go with her again."

"Perhaps you will feel differently when it is over, and you find you
have enjoyed yourself better than you anticipated."

Mrs. Harding exerted herself to fit Ida up as neatly as possible, and
when at length she was got ready, she thought with sudden fear: "Perhaps
her mother will not be willing to part with her again."

When Ida was ready to start, there came upon all a little shadow of
depression, as if the child were to be separated from them for a year,
and not for a day only. Perhaps this was only natural, since even this
latter term, however brief, was longer than they had been parted from
her since, in her infancy, she had been left at their door.

The nurse expressly desired that none of the family should accompany
her, as she declared it highly important that the whereabouts of Ida's
mother should not be known.

"Of course," she added, "after Ida returns she can tell you what she
pleases. Then it will be of no consequence, for her mother will be gone.
She does not live in this neighborhood. She has only come here to see
her child."

"Shall you bring her back to-night?" asked Mrs. Harding.

"I may keep her till to-morrow," said the nurse. "After seven years'
absence her mother will think that short enough."

To this, Mrs. Harding agreed, though she felt that she should miss Ida,
though absent but twenty-four hours.




CHAPTER XV

THE JOURNEY


The nurse walked as far as Broadway, holding Ida by the hand.

"Where are we going?" asked the child, timidly. "Are you going to walk
all the way?"

"No," said the nurse; "not all the way--perhaps a mile. You can walk as
far as that, can't you?"

"Oh, yes."

They walked on till they reached the ferry at the foot of Courtland
Street.

"Did you ever ride in a steamboat?" asked the nurse, in a tone meant to
be gracious.

"Once or twice," answered Ida. "I went with Brother Jack once, over to
Hoboken. Are we going there now?"

"No; we are going to the city you see over the water."

"What place is it? Is it Brooklyn?"

"No; it is Jersey City."

"Oh, that will be pleasant," said Ida, forgetting, in her childish love
of novelty, the repugnance with which the nurse had inspired her.

"Yes, and that is not all; we are going still further," said the nurse.

"Are we going further?" asked Ida, in excitement. "Where are we going?"

"To a town on the line of the railroad."

"And shall we ride in the cars?" asked Ida.

"Yes; didn't you ever ride in the cars?"

"No, never."

"I think you will like it."

"And how long will it take us to go to the place you are going to carry
me to?"

"I don't know exactly; perhaps three hours."

"Three whole hours in the cars! How much I shall have to tell father and
Jack when I get back!"

"So you will," replied Mrs. Hardwick, with an unaccountable smile--"when
you get back."

There was something peculiar in her tone, but Ida did not notice it.

She was allowed to sit next the window in the cars, and took great
pleasure in surveying the fields and villages through which they were
rapidly whirled.

"Are we 'most there?" she asked, after riding about two hours.

"It won't be long," said the nurse.

"We must have come ever so many miles," said Ida.

"Yes, it is a good ways."

An hour more passed, and still there was no sign of reaching their
journey's end. Both Ida and her companion began to feel hungry.

The nurse beckoned to her side a boy, who was selling apples and cakes,
and inquired the price.

"The apples are two cents apiece, ma'am, and the cakes are one cent
each."

Ida, who had been looking out of the window, turned suddenly round, and
exclaimed, in great astonishment: "Why, Charlie Fitts, is that you?"

"Why, Ida, where did you come from?" asked the boy, with a surprise
equaling her own.

"I'm making a little journey with this lady," said Ida.

"So you're going to Philadelphia?" said Charlie.

"To Philadelphia!" repeated Ida, surprised. "Not that I know of."

"Why, you're 'most there now."

"Are we, Mrs. Hardwick?" inquired Ida.

"It isn't far from where we're going," she answered, shortly. "Boy, I'll
take two of your apples and four cakes. And, now, you'd better go along,
for there's somebody over there that looks as if he wanted to buy
something."

"Who is that boy?" asked the nurse, abruptly.

"His name is Charlie Fitts."

"Where did you get acquainted with him?"

"He went to school with Jack, so I used to see him sometimes."

"With Jack?"

"Yes, Brother Jack. Don't you know him?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot. So he's a schoolmate of Jack?"

"Yes, and he's a first-rate boy," said Ida, with whom the young apple
merchant was evidently a favorite. "He's good to his mother. You see,
his mother is sick most of the time, and can't work much; and he's got a
little sister--she ain't more than four or five years old--and Charlie
supports them by selling things. He's only sixteen years old; isn't he a
smart boy?"

"Yes," said the nurse, indifferently.

"Sometime," continued Ida, "I hope I shall be able to earn something for
father and mother, so they won't be obliged to work so hard."

"What could you do?" asked the nurse, curiously.

"I don't know as I can do much yet," answered Ida, modestly; "but
perhaps when I am older I can draw pictures that people will buy."

"Have you got any of your drawings with you?"

"No, I didn't bring any."

"I wish you had. The lady we are going to see would have liked to see
some of them."

"Are we going to see a lady?"

"Yes; didn't your mother tell you?"

"Yes, I believe she said something about a lady that was interested in
me."

"That's the one."

"And shall we come back to New York to-night?"

"No; it wouldn't leave us any time to stay."

"West Philadelphia!" announced the conductor.

"We have arrived," said the nurse. "Keep close to me. Perhaps you had
better take hold of my hand."

As they were making their way slowly through the crowd, the young apple
merchant came up with his basket on his arm.

"When are you going back, Ida?" he asked.

"Mrs. Hardwick says not till to-morrow."

"Come, Ida," said the nurse, sharply. "I can't have you stopping all day
to talk. We must hurry along."

"Good-by, Charlie," said Ida. "If you see Jack, just tell him you saw
me."

"Yes, I will," was the reply.

"I wonder who that woman is with Ida?" thought the boy. "I don't like
her looks much. I wonder if she's any relation of Mr. Harding. She looks
about as pleasant as Aunt Rachel."

The last-mentioned lady would hardly have felt flattered at the
comparison.

Ida looked about her with curiosity. There was a novel sensation in
being in a new place, particularly a city of which she had heard so much
as Philadelphia. As far back as she could remember, she had never left
New York, except for a brief excursion to Hoboken; and one Fourth of
July was made memorable by a trip to Staten Island, under the
guardianship of Jack.

They entered a horse car just outside the depot, and rode probably a
mile.

"We get out here," said the nurse. "Take care, or you'll get run over.
Now turn down here."

They entered a narrow and dirty street, with unsightly houses on each
side.

"This ain't a very nice-looking street," said Ida.

"Why isn't it?" demanded her companion, roughly.

"Why, it's narrow, and the houses don't look nice."

"What do you think of that house there?" asked Mrs. Hardwick, pointing
to a dilapidated-looking structure on the right-hand side of the street.

"I shouldn't like to live there," answered Ida.

"You wouldn't, hey? You don't like it so well as the house you live in
in New York?"

"No, not half so well."

The nurse smiled.

"Wouldn't you like to go in, and look at the house?"

"Go in and look at the house?" repeated Ida. "Why should we?"

"You must know there are some poor families living there that I am
interested in," said Mrs. Hardwick, who appeared amused at something.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you that it is our duty to help the poor?"

"Oh, yes, but won't it be late before we get to the lady?"

"No, there's plenty of time. You needn't be afraid of that. There's a
poor man living in this house that I've made a good many clothes for,
first and last."

"He must be much obliged to you," said Ida.

"We're going up to see him now," said her companion. "Take care of that
hole in the stairs."

Somewhat to Ida's surprise, her guide, on reaching the first landing,
opened a door without the ceremony of knocking, and revealed a poor,
untidy room, in which a coarse, unshaven man was sitting, in his shirt
sleeves, smoking a pipe.

"Hello!" exclaimed this individual, jumping up. "So you've got along,
old woman! Is that the gal?"

Ida stared from one to the other in amazement.




CHAPTER XVI

UNEXPECTED QUARTERS


The appearance of the man whom Mrs. Hardwick addressed so familiarly was
more picturesque than pleasing, He had a large, broad face, which, not
having been shaved for a week, looked like a wilderness of stubble. His
nose indicated habitual indulgence in alcoholic beverages. His eyes were
bloodshot, and his skin looked coarse and blotched; his coat was thrown
aside, displaying a shirt which bore evidence of having been useful in
its day and generation. The same remark may apply to his nether
integuments, which were ventilated at each knee, indicating a most
praiseworthy regard to the laws of health.

Ida thought she had never seen so disgusting a man. She continued to
gaze at him, half in astonishment, half in terror, till the object of
her attention exclaimed:

"Well, little gal, what you're lookin' at? Hain't you never seen a
gentleman before?"

Ida clung the closer to her companion, who, she was surprised to find,
did not resent the man's familiarity.

"Well, Dick, how've you got along since I've been gone?" asked the
nurse, to Ida's astonishment.

"Oh, so-so."

"Have you felt lonely any?"

"I've had good company."

"Who's been here?"

Dick pointed significantly to a jug.

"That's the best company I know of," he said, "but it's 'most empty. So
you've brought along the gal," he continued. "How did you get hold of
her?"

There was something in these questions which terrified Ida. It seemed to
indicate a degree of complicity between these two which boded no good to
her.

"I'll tell you the particulars by and by."

At the same time she began to take off her bonnet.

"You ain't going to stop, are you?" asked Ida, startled.

"Ain't goin' to stop?" repeated the man called Dick. "Why shouldn't she
stop, I'd like to know? Ain't she at home?"

"At home!" echoed Ida, apprehensively, opening wide her eyes in
astonishment.

"Yes; ask her."

Ida looked inquiringly at Mrs. Hardwick.

"You might as well take off your things," said the latter, grimly. "We
ain't going any further to-day."

"And where's the lady you said you were going to see?"

"The one that was interested in you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm the one," she answered, with a broad smile and a glance at
Dick.

"I don't want to stay here," said Ida, now frightened.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Will you take me back early to-morrow?" entreated Ida.

"No, I don't intend to take you back at all."

Ida seemed at first stupefied with astonishment and terror. Then,
actuated by a sudden, desperate impulse, she ran to the door, and had
got it partly open, when the nurse sprang forward, and seizing her by
the arm, pulled her violently back.