he case."

"What do you mean, Timothy?" asked Mrs. Crump, with anxious interest.

"I don't know as I ought to mention it," said her husband. "Very
likely there isn't anything in it, and it would only make you feel more
anxious."

"You have already aroused my anxiety," said his wife. "I should feel
better if you would tell me."

"Then I will," said the cooper. "I have sometimes doubted," he
continued, lowering his voice, "whether Ida's mother really sent for
her."

"And the letter?" queried Mrs. Crump, looking less surprised than he
supposed she would.

"I thought--mind it is only a guess on my part--that Mrs. Hardwick might
have got somebody to write it for her."

"It is very singular," murmured Mrs. Crump, in a tone of abstraction.

"What is singular?"

"Why, the very same thought occurred to me. Somehow, I couldn't help
feeling a little suspicious of Mrs. Hardwick, though perhaps unjustly.
But what object could she have in obtaining possession of Ida?"

"That I cannot conjecture; but I have come to one determination."

"And what is that?"

"Unless we learn something of Ida within a week from the time she left
here, I shall go on to Philadelphia, or send Jack, and endeavor to get
track of her."

CHAPTER XV. AUNT RACHEL'S MISHAPS.

THE week which had been assigned by Mr. Crump slipped away, and still no
tidings of Ida. The house seemed lonely without her. Not until then,
did they understand how largely she had entered into their life and
thoughts. But worse even, than the sense of loss, was the uncertainty as
to her fate.

When seven days had passed the cooper said, "It is time that we took
some steps about finding Ida. I had intended to go to Philadelphia
myself, to make inquiries about her, but I am just now engaged upon
a job which I cannot very well leave, and so I have concluded to send
Jack."

"When shall I start?" exclaimed Jack, eagerly.

"To-morrow morning," answered his father, "and you must take clothes
enough with you to last several days, in case it should be necessary."

"What good do you suppose it will do, Timothy," broke in Rachel, "to
send such a mere boy as Jack?"

"A mere boy!" repeated her nephew, indignantly.

"A boy hardly sixteen years old," continued Rachel. "Why, he'll need
somebody to take care of him. Most likely you'll have to go after him."

"What's the use of provoking a fellow so, Aunt Rachel?" said Jack. "You
know I'm most eighteen. Hardly sixteen! Why