“I suppose,” said Rachel, “you expect him to come home in a coach and four, bringing Ida with him.”

“Well,” said the cooper, good-humoredly, “I don’t know but that is as probable as your anticipations.”

Rachel shook her head dismally.

“Bless me!” said Mrs. Crump, in a tone of excitement; “there’s a carriage just stopped at our door, and—­yes, it is Jack, and Ida too!”

The strange (sic) fulfilment of the cooper’s suggestion struck even Aunt Rachel.  She, too, hastened to the window, and saw a handsome carriage drawn, not by four horses, but by two elegant bays, standing before the door.  Jack had already jumped out, and was now assisting Ida to alight.  No sooner was Ida on firm ground than she ran into the house, and was at once clasped in the arms of her adopted mother.

“O mother!” she exclaimed; “how glad I am to see you once more.”

“Haven’t you a kiss for me too, Ida?” said the cooper, his face radiant with joy.  “You don’t know how much we’ve missed you.”

“And I’m so glad to sec you all, and Aunt Rachel, too.”

To her astonishment, Aunt Rachel, for the first time in the child’s remembrance, kissed her.  There was nothing wanting to her welcome home.

Scarcely had the spinster done so than her observant eyes detected what had escaped the cooper and his wife, in their joy.

“Where did you get this dress, Ida?” she asked.

Then, for the first time, all observed that Ida was more elegantly dressed than when she went away.  She looked like a young princess.

“That Mrs. Hardwick didn’t give you this gown, I’ll be bound,” said she.

“Oh, I’ve so much to tell you,” said Ida, breathlessly.  “I’ve found my mother,—­my other mother!”

A pang struck to the honest hearts of Timothy Crump and his wife.  Ida must leave them.  After all the happy years during which they had watched over and cared for her, she must leave them at length.

Just then, an elegantly-dressed lady appeared at the threshold.  Smiling, radiant with happiness, Mrs. Clifton seemed, to the cooper’s family, almost a being from another sphere.

“Mother,” said Ida, taking her hand, and leading her to Mrs. Crump, “this is my other mother, who has always taken such good care of me and loved me so well.”

“Mrs. Crump,” said Mrs. Clifton, “how can I ever thank you for your care of my child?”

My child!

It was hard for Mrs. Crump to hear another speak of Ida in this way.

“I have tried to do my duty by her,” she said, simply; “I love her so much.”

“Yes,” said the cooper, clearing his throat, and speaking a little huskily, “we all love her as if she was our own.  She has been so long with us that we have come to think of her as our own, and—­and it won’t be easy at first to give her up.”

“My friend,” said Mrs. Clifton, “think not that I shall ever ask you to make that sacrifice.  I shall always think of Ida as only a little less yours than mine.”