come again?"

"Yes, only day before yesterday. This time she wanted some gingerbread,
so she said. As I thought likely, she offered me another dollar just
like the other. Before letting her know that I had discovered the
imposition I asked her one or two questions, with the idea of finding
out as much as possible about her. When I told her the coin was a bad
one, she seemed very much surprised. It might have been all acting,
but I didn't think so then. I even felt pity for her and let her go on
condition that she would bring me back a good dollar in place of the bad
one the next day. I suppose I was a fool for doing so, but she looked so
pretty and innocent that I couldn't make up my mind to speak or harshly
to her. But I'm afraid that I was deceived, and that she is an artful
character, after all."

"Then she didn't come back with the good money?" said Jack.

"No, I haven't seen her since; and, what's more, I don't think it very
likely she will venture into my shop at present."

"What name did she give you?" asked Jack.

"Haven't I told you? It was the name that made me think of telling you.
It was Ida Hardwick."

"Ida Hardwick!" exclaimed Jack, bounding from his chair, somewhat to his
uncle's alarm.

"Yes, Ida Hardwick. But that hasn't anything to do with your Ida, has
it?"

"Hasn't it, though?" said Jack. "Why, Mrs. Hardwick was the woman that
carried her away."

"Mrs. Hardwick--her mother!"

"No, not her mother. She was, or at least she said she was, the woman
that took care of Ida before she was brought to us."

"Then you think that Ida Hardwick may be your missing sister?"

"That's what I don't know," said Jack. "If you would only describe her,
Uncle Abel, I could tell better."

"Well," said Mr. Abel Crump, thoughtfully, "I should say this little
girl might be eight or nine years old."

"Yes," said Jack, nodding; "what color were her eyes?"

"Blue."

"So are Ida's."

"A small mouth, with a very sweet expression."

"Yes."

"And I believe her dress was a light one, with a blue ribbon about
her waist. She also had a brown scarf about her neck, if I remember
rightly."

"That is exactly the way Ida was dressed when she went away. I am sure
it must be she."

"Perhaps," suggested his uncle, "this woman, though calling herself
Ida's nurse, was really her mother."

"No, it can't be," said Jack, vehemently. "What, that ugly, disagreeable
woman, Ida's mother! I won't believe it. I should just a