“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 as soon expect to see strawberries growing on a thorn-bush.  There isn’t the least resemblance between them.”

“You know I have not seen Mrs. Hardwick, so I cannot judge on that point.”

“No great loss,” said Jack.  “You wouldn’t care much about seeing her again.  She is a tall, gaunt, disagreeable looking woman; while Ida is fair, and sweet looking.  I didn’t fancy this Mrs. Hardwick when I first set eyes on her.  Aunt Rachel was right, for once.”