discouraged,
therefore, but wait patiently. Whenever anything new turns up you will
receive a line from your dutiful son,

"JACK."

Jack had been in the city eight days when, as he was sauntering along
the street, he suddenly perceived in front of him, a shawl which struck
him as wonderfully like the one worn by Mrs. Hardwick. Not only that,
but the form of the wearer corresponded to his recollections of the
nurse. He bounded forward, and rapidly passing the suspected person,
turned suddenly and confronted the woman of whom he had been in search.

The recognition was mutual. Peg was taken aback by this unexpected
encounter.

Her first impulse was to make off, but Jack's resolute expression warned
her that he was not to be trifled with.

"Mrs. Hardwick?" exclaimed Jack.

"You are right," said she, rapidly recovering her composure, "and you,
if I am not mistaken, are John Harding, the son of my worthy friends in
New York."

"Well," ejaculated Jack, internally, "she's a cool un, and no mistake."

"My name is Jack," he said, aloud.

"Did you leave all well at home?" asked Peg.

"You can't guess what I came here for?" said Jack.

"To see your sister Ida, I presume."

"Yes," answered Jack, amazed at the woman's composure.

"I thought some of you would be coming on," continued Peg, who had
already mapped out her course.

"You did?"

"Yes; it was only natural. What did your father and mother say to the
letter I wrote them?"

"The letter you wrote them?" exclaimed Jack.

"Certainly. You got it, didn't you?"

"I don't know what letter you mean."

"A letter, in which I wrote that Ida's mother had been so pleased with
the appearance and manners of the child, that she could not determine to
part with her."

"You don't mean to say that any such letter as that has been written?"
said Jack, incredulously.

"What? Has it not been received?" inquired Peg.

"Nothing like it. When was it written?"

"The second day after our arrival," said Peg.

"If that is the case," said Jack, not knowing what to think, "it must
have miscarried; we never received it."

"That is a pity. How anxious you all must have felt!"

"It seems as if half the family were gone. But how long does Ida's
mother mean to keep her?"

"Perhaps six months."

"But," said Jack, his suspicions returning, "I have been told that Ida
has twice called at a baker's shop in this city, and when asked what her
name was, answered, Ida Hardw