e 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
Stree