“I don’t want to see her,” said Aunt Rachel.  Then changing her mind, suddenly, “Yes, you may bring her in.  I’ll find out whether she is an imposter or not.”

Mrs. Crump returned with the nurse.  “Mrs. Hardwick,” said she, “this is my sister, Miss Rachel Crump.”

“I am glad to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” said the nurse.

“Aunt Rachel, I will leave you to entertain Mrs. Hardwick,” said Mrs. Crump.  “I am obliged to be in the kitchen.”

Rachel and the nurse eyed each other with mutual dislike.

“I hope you don’t expect me to entertain you,” said Rachel.  “I never expect to entertain anybody again.  This is a world of trial and tribulation, and I’ve had my share.  So you’ve come after Ida, I hear?” with a sudden change of subject.

“At her mother’s request,” said the nurse.

“She wants to see her, then?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I wonder she didn’t think of it before,” said Aunt Rachel, sharply.  “She’s good at waiting.  She’s waited eight years.”

“There are circumstances that cannot be explained,” commenced the nurse.

“No, I dare say not,” said Rachel, dryly.  “So you were her nurse?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mrs. Hardwick, who evidently did not relish this cross-examination.

“Have you lived with the mother ever since?”

“No,—­yes,” stammered the nurse.  “Some of the time,” she added, recovering herself.

“Umph!” grunted Rachel, darting a sharp glance at her.

“Have you a husband living?” inquired Rachel, after a pause.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Hardwick.  “Have you?”

“I!” repeated Aunt Rachel, scornfully.  “No, neither living nor dead.  I’m thankful to say I never married.  I’ve had trials enough without that.  Does Ida’s mother live in the city?”

“I can’t tell you,” said the nurse.

“Humph, I don’t like mystery.”

“It isn’t my mystery,” said the nurse.  “If you have any objection to make against it, you must make it to Ida’s mother.”

The two were not likely to get along very amicably.  Neither was gifted with the best of tempers, and perhaps it was as well that there should have been an interruption as there was.

CHAPTER IX.

A journey.

“Oh, mother,” exclaimed Ida, bounding into the room, fresh from school.

She stopped short, in some confusion, on seeing a stranger.

“Is this my own dear child, over whose infancy I watched so tenderly?” exclaimed the nurse, rising, her harsh features wreathed into a smile.

“It is Ida,” said Mrs. Crump.

Ida looked from one to the other in silent bewilderment.

“Ida,” said Mrs. Crump, in a little embarrassment, “this is Mrs. Hardwick, who took care of you when you were an infant.”

“But I thought you took care of me, mother,” said Ida, in surprise.