ter than music."

"Do you know anything of that?"

"Yes, I can play a few easy pieces."

Mrs. Hardwick looked surprised, and regarded her young charge with
curiosity.

"Have you got any of your drawings with you?" she asked.

"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."

"Where does she live? When shall we get there?"

"We shall get there before very long."

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

"No, it wouldn't leave us any time to stay. Besides, I feel tired and
want to rest; don't you?"

"I do feel a little tired," acknowledged Ida.

"Philadelphia!" announced the conductor, opening the car-door.

"We get out, here," said the nurse. "Keep close to me, or you may get
lost. Perhaps you had better take hold of my hand."

"When are you coming back, Ida?" asked William Fitts, coming up to her
with his basket on his arm.

"Mrs. Hardwick says we sha'n't go back till to-morrow."

"Come, Ida," said the nurse, sharply. "We must hurry along."

"Good-by, William," 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. Crump. She looks
about as pleasant as Aunt Rachel."

The last-mentioned lady would hardly have felt complimented at the
comparison, or the manner in which it was made.

Ida looked about her with curiosity. There was a novelty in being in a
new place, since, 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 in her recollection, by a trip to Staten Island,
which she had taken with Jack, and enjoyed exceedingly.

"Is this Philadelphia?" she inquired.

"Yes;" said her companion, shortly.

"How far is it from New York?"

"I don't know; a hundred miles, more or less."

"A hundred miles!" repeated Ida, to whom this seemed an immense
distance. "Am I a hundred miles from father and mother, and Jack,
and--and Aunt Rachel?"

The last name was mentioned last, and rather as an after-thought, if Ida
felt it her duty to include the not very amiable spinster, who had never
erred in the way of indulgence.