“I judged that the letter would be sufficient.  Doesn’t it speak of me as the nurse?”

“True; but how can we be sure that the writer is Ida’s mother?”

“The tone of the letter, sir.  Would anybody else write like that?”

“Then you have read the letter?” asked the cooper, quickly.

“It was read to me before I set out.”

“By whom?”

“By Ida’s mother.  I do not blame you for your caution,” said the visitor.  “You must be deeply interested in the happiness of the dear child, of whom you have taken such excellent care.  I don’t mind telling you that I was the one who left her at your door, seven years ago, and that I never left the neighborhood until I saw you take her in.”

“And it was this that enabled you to find the house to-day?”

“You forget,” corrected the nurse, “that you were not then living in this house, but in another, some rods off, on the left-hand side of the street.”

“You are right,” said Timothy.  “I am inclined to believe in the truth of your story.  You must pardon my testing you in such a manner, but I was not willing to yield up Ida, even for a little time, without feeling confident of the hands she was falling into.”

“You are right,” said Mrs. Hardwick.  “I don’t blame you in the least.  I shall report it to Ida’s mother as a proof of your attachment to the child.”

“When do you wish Ida to go with you?” asked Mrs. Harding.

“Can you let her go this afternoon?”

“Why,” said the cooper’s wife, hesitating, “I should like to have a chance to wash out some clothes for her.  I want her to appear as neat as possible when she meets her mother.”

The nurse hesitated, but presently replied:  “I don’t wish to hurry you.  If you will let me know when she will be ready, I will call for her.”

“I think I can get her ready early to-morrow morning.”

“That will answer.  I will call for her then.”

The nurse rose, and gathered her shawl about her.

“Where are you going, Mrs. Hardwick?” asked the cooper’s wife.

“To a hotel,” was the reply.

“We cannot allow that,” said Mrs. Harding, kindly.  “It’s a pity if we cannot accommodate Ida’s old nurse for one night, or ten times as long, for that matter.”

“My wife is quite right,” said the cooper, hesitatingly.  “We must insist on your stopping with us.”

The nurse hesitated, and looked irresolute.  It was plain she would have preferred to be elsewhere, but a remark which Mrs. Harding made, decided her to accept the invitation.

It was this:  “You know, Mrs. Hardwick, if Ida is to go with you, she ought to have a little chance to get acquainted with you before you go.”

“I will accept your kind invitation,” she said; “but I am afraid I shall be in your way.”

“Not in the least.  It will be a pleasure to us to have you here.  If you will excuse me now, I will go out and attend to my dinner, which I am afraid is getting behindhand.”