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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4660-0.txt b/4660-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f717c9e --- /dev/null +++ b/4660-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6423 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Timothy Crump's Ward, by Horatio Alger + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Timothy Crump's Ward + A Story of American Life + +Author: Horatio Alger + +Release Date: Release Date: November, 2003 [EBook #4660] +Last Updated: March 3, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + + + + + +TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD: + +A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. + + +By Horatio Alger + +1866. + + + +CONTENTS. + + + I. INTRODUCES THE CRUMPS + II. THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING + III. THE LANDLORD'S VISIT + IV. THE NEW YEAR'S PRESENT + V. A LUCKY RESCUE + VI. WHAT THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED + VII. EIGHT YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS + VIII. A STRANGE VISITOR + IX. A JOURNEY + X. UNEXPECTED QUARTERS + XI. SUSPENSE + XII. HOW IDA FARED + XIII. BAD COIN + XIV. DOUBTS AND FEARS + XV. AUNT RACHEL'S MISHAPS + XVI. THE FLOWER-GIRL + XVII. JACK OBTAINS INFORMATION + XVIII. FINESSE + XIX. CAUGHT IN A TRAP + XX. JACK IN CONFINEMENT + XXI. THE PRISONER ESCAPES + XXII. MR. JOHN SOMERVILLE + XXIII. THE LAW STEPS IN + XXIV. “THE FLOWER-GIRL” + XXV. IDA IS FOUND + XXVI. “NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND” + XXVII. CONCLUSION + + + + + +TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD. + + + +CHAPTER I. INTRODUCES THE CRUMPS. + + + +IT was drawing towards the close of the last day of the year. A few +hours more, and 1836 would be no more. + +It was a cold day. There was no snow on the ground, but it was frozen +into stiff ridges, making it uncomfortable to walk upon. The sun had +been out all day, but there was little heat or comfort in its bright, +but frosty beams. + +The winter is a hard season for the poor. It multiplies their +necessities, while, in general, it limits their means and opportunities +of earning. The winter of 1836-37 was far from being an exception to +this rule. It was worse than usual, on account of the general stagnation +of business. + +In an humble tenement, located on what was then the outskirts of New +York, though to-day a granite warehouse stands on the spot, lived +Timothy Crump, an industrious cooper. His family consisted of a wife +and one child, a boy of twelve, whose baptismal name was John, though +invariably addressed, by his companions, as Jack. + +There was another member of the household who would be highly offended +if she were not introduced, in due form, to the reader. This was Miss +Rachel Crump, maiden sister of Uncle Tim, as he was usually designated. + +Miss Rachel was not much like her brother, for while the latter was a +good-hearted, cheerful easy man, who was inclined to view the world in +its sunniest aspect, Rachel was cynical, and given to misanthropy. Poor +Rachel, let us not be too hard upon thy infirmities. Could we lift +the veil that hides the secrets of that virgin heart, it might be, +perchance, that we should find a hidden cause, far back in the days when +thy cheeks were rounder and thine eyes brighter, and thine aspect not +quite so frosty. Ah, faithless Harry Fletcher! thou hadst some hand in +that peevishness and repining which make Rachel Crump, and all about +her, uncomfortable. Lured away by a prettier face, you left her to pass +through life, unblessed by that love which every female heart craves, +and for which no kindred love will compensate. It was your faithlessness +that left her to walk, with repining spirit, the flinty path of the old +maid. + +Yes; it must be said--Rachel Crump was an old maid; not from choice, +but hard necessity. And so, one by one, she closed up the avenues of her +heart, and clothed herself with complaining, as with a garment. Being +unblessed with earthly means, she had accepted the hearty invitation +of her brother, and become an inmate of his family, where she paid +her board by little services about the house, and obtained sufficient +needle-work to replenish her wardrobe as often as there was occasion. +Forty-five years had now rolled over her head, leaving clearer traces of +their presence, doubtless, than if her spirit had been more cheerful; +so that Rachel, whose strongly marked features never could have been +handsome, was now undeniably homely. + +Mrs. Crump, fortunately for her husband's peace, did not in the least +resemble her sister-in-law. Her disposition was cheerful, and she had +frequent occasion to remonstrate with her upon the dark view she took +of life. Had her temper been different, it is very easy to see that she +would have been continually quarrelling with Rachel; but, happily, she +was one of those women with whom it is impossible to quarrel. With +her broad mantle of charity, she was always seeking to cover up and +extenuate the defects of her sister-in-law, though she could not help +acknowledging their existence. + +It had been a hard winter for the cooper. For a month he had been unable +to obtain work of any kind, and for the two months previous he had +worked scarcely more than half the time. Unfortunately for him, his +expenses for a few years back had kept such even pace with his income, +that he had no reserved fund to fall back upon in such a time as this. +That was no fault of his. Both he and his wife had been economical +enough, but there are a great many things included in family +expenses--rent, fuel, provisions, food, clothing, and a long list of +sundries, besides; and all these had cost money, of which desirable +article Uncle Tim's trade furnished not a very large supply. + +So it happened that, as tradesmen were slow to trust, they had been +obliged to part with a sofa to defray the expenses of the month of +December. This article was selected because it was best convertible into +cash,--being wanted by a neighbor,--besides being about the only article +of luxury, if it could be called such, in possession of the family. As +such it had been hardly used, being reserved for state occasions; yet +hardly had it left (sic) the the house, when Aunt Rachel began to +show signs of extreme lowness of spirits, and bewailed its loss as a +privation of a personal comfort. + +“Life's full of disappointments,” she groaned. “Our paths is continually +beset by 'em. There's that sofa! It's so pleasant to have one in the +house when a body's sick. But there, it's gone, and if I happen to get +down, as most likely I shall, for I've got a bad feeling in my stummick +this very minute, I shall have to go up-stairs, and most likely catch my +death of cold, and that will be the end of me.” + +“Not so bad as that, I hope,” said Mrs. Crump, cheerfully. “You know, +when you was sick last, you didn't want to use the sofa--you said it +didn't lay comfortable. Besides, I hope, before you are sick again we +may be able to buy it back again.” + +Aunt Rachel shook her head despondingly. + +“There ain't any use in hoping that,” said she. “Timothy's got so much +behindhand that he won't be able to get up again; I know he won't.” + +“But if he manages to get steady work soon, he will.” + +“No, he won't. I'm sure he won't. There won't be any work before spring, +and most likely not then.” + +“You are too desponding, Aunt Rachel.” + +“Enough to make me so. If you had only taken my advice, we shouldn't +have come to this.” + +“I don't know what advice you refer to, Rachel.” + +“No, I don't expect you do. You didn't pay no attention to it. That's +the reason.” + +“But if you'll repeat it, perhaps we can profit by it yet,” said Mrs. +Crump, with imperturbable good humor. + +“I told you you ought to be layin' up something ag'in a rainy day. But +that's always the way. Folks think when times is good it's always a +goin' to be so, but I knew better.” + +“I don't see how we could have been more economical,” said Mrs. Crump, +mildly. + +“There's a hundred ways. Poor folks like us ought not to expect to have +meat so often. It's frightful to think what the butcher's bill must have +been the last six months.” + +Inconsistent Rachel! Only the day before she had made herself very +uncomfortable because there was no meat for dinner, and said she +couldn't live without it. Mrs. Crump might have reminded her of this, +but the good woman was too kind to make the retort. She contented +herself with saying that they must try to do better in future. + +“That's always the way,” muttered Rachel. “Shut the stable door when the +horse is stolen. Folks never learn from experience till it's too late +to be of any use. I don't see what the world was made for, for my part. +Everything goes topsy-turvy, and all sorts of ways except the right way. +I sometimes think 'taint much use livin'.” + +“Oh, you'll feel better by and by, Rachel. Hark, there's Jack, isn't +it?” + +“Anybody might know by the noise who it is,” pursued Rachel, in the same +general tone that had marked her conversation hitherto. “He always comes +_stomping_ along as if he was paid for makin' a noise. Anybody ought to +have a cast-iron head that lives anywhere in his hearing.” + +Her cheerful remarks were here broken in upon by the sudden entrance of +Jack, who, in his eagerness, slammed the door behind him, unheeding his +mother's quiet admonition not to make a noise. + +“Look there!” said he, displaying a quarter of a dollar. + +“How did you get it?” asked his mother. + +“Holding horses,” answered Jack. + +“Here, take it, mother. I warrant you'll find a use for it.” + +“It comes in good time,” said Mrs. Crump. “We're out of flour, and I had +no money to buy any. Before you take off your boots, Jack, why can't you +run over to the store, and get half a dozen pounds?” + +“You see the Lord hasn't quite forgotten us,” remarked his mother, as +Jack started on his errand. + +“What's a quarter of a dollar?” said Rachel, gloomily. “Will it carry us +through the winter?” + +“It will carry us through to-night, and perhaps Timothy will have work +to-morrow. Hark, that's his step.” + + + +CHAPTER II. THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING. + + + +AT this moment the outer door opened, and Timothy Crump entered, not +with the quick elastic step of one who brings good tidings, but slowly +and deliberately, with a quiet gravity of demeanor, in which his wife +could read only too well that he had failed in his efforts to procure +work. + +His wife, reading all these things in his manner, had the delicacy to +forbear intruding upon him questions to which she saw that he could give +no satisfactory answers. + +Not so Aunt Rachel. + +“I needn't ask,” she began, “whether you got work, Timothy. I knew +beforehand you wouldn't. There ain't no use in tryin'. The times is +awful dull, and, mark my words, they'll be wuss before they're better. +We mayn't live to see 'em. I don't expect we shall. Folks can't live +without money, and when that's gone we shall have to starve.” + +“Not so bad as that, Rachel,” said the cooper, trying to look cheerful; +“don't talk about starving till the time comes. Anyhow,” glancing at +the table on which was spread a good plain meal, “we needn't talk about +starving till to-morrow, with that before us. Where's Jack?” + +“Gone after some flour,” replied his wife. + +“On credit?” asked the cooper. + +“No, he's got the money to pay for a few pounds,” said Mrs. Crump, +smiling, with an air of mystery. + +“Where did it come from?” asked Timothy, who was puzzled, as his wife +anticipated. “I didn't know you had any money in the house.” + +“No more we had, but he earned it himself, holding horses, this +afternoon.” + +“Come, that's good,” said the cooper, cheerfully, “We ain't so bad off +as we might be, you see, Rachel.” + +The latter shook her head with the air of a martyr. + +At this moment Jack returned, and the family sat down to supper. + +“You haven't told us,” said Mrs. Crump, seeing her husband's +cheerfulness in a measure restored, “what Mr. Blodgett said about the +chances for employment.” + +“Not much that was encouraging,” answered Timothy. “He isn't at all sure +how soon it will be best to commence work; perhaps not before spring.” + +“Didn't I tell you so?” commented Rachel, with sepulchral sadness. + +Even Mr. Crump could not help looking sober. + +“I suppose, Timothy, you haven't formed any plans,” she said. + +“No, I haven't had time. I must try to get something else to do.” + +“What, for instance?” + +“Anything by which I can earn a little, I don't care if it's only sawing +wood. We shall have to get along as economically as we can; cut our coat +according to our cloth.” + +“Oh, you'll be able to earn something, and we can live _very_ plain,” + said Mrs. Crump, affecting a cheerfulness greater than she felt. + +“Pity you hadn't done it sooner,” was the comforting suggestion of +Rachel. + +“Mustn't cry over spilt milk,” said the cooper, good-humoredly. “Perhaps +we might have lived a _leetle_ more economically, but I don't think +we've been extravagant.” + +“Besides, I can earn something, father,” said Jack, hopefully. “You know +I did this afternoon.” + +“So you can,” said Mrs. Crump, brightly. + +“There ain't horses to hold every day,” said Rachel, apparently fearing +that the family might become too cheerful, when, like herself, it was +their duty to become profoundly gloomy. + +“You're always trying' to discourage people,” said Jack, discontentedly. + +Rachel took instant umbrage at these words. + +“I'm sure,” said she; mournfully, “I don't want to make you unhappy. If +you can find anything to be cheerful about when you're on the verge of +starvation, I hope you'll enjoy yourselves, and not mind me. I'm a poor +dependent creetur, and I feel to know I'm a burden.” + +“Now, Rachel, that's all foolishness,” said Uncle Tim. “You don't feel +anything of the kind.” + +“Perhaps others can tell how I feel, better than I can myself,” answered +his sister, knitting rapidly. “If it hadn't been for me, I know you'd +have been able to lay up money, and have something to carry you through +the winter. It's hard to be a burden upon your relations, and bring a +brother's family to poverty.” + +“Don't talk of being a burden, Rachel,” said Mrs. Crump. “You've been +a great help to me in many ways. That pair of stockings now you're +knitting for Jack--that's a help, for I couldn't have got time for them +myself.” + +“I don't expect,” said Aunt Rachel, in the same sunny manner, “that +I shall be able to do it long. From the pains I have in my hands +sometimes, I expect I'm going to lose the use of 'em soon, and be as +useless as old Mrs. Sprague, who for the last ten years of her life had +to sit with her hands folded in her lap. But I wouldn't stay to be a +burden. I'd go to the poor-house first, but perhaps,” with the look of +a martyr, “they wouldn't want me there, because I should be discouragin' +'em too much.” + +Poor Jack, who had so unwittingly raised this storm, winced under the +words, which he knew were directed at him. + +“Then why,” said he, half in extenuation, “why don't you try to look +pleasant and cheerful? Why won't you be jolly, as Tom Piper's aunt is?” + +“I dare say I ain't pleasant,” said Aunt Rachel, “as my own nephew tells +me so. There is some folks that can be cheerful when their house is a +burnin' down before their eyes, and I've heard of one young man that +laughed at his aunt's funeral,” directing a severe glance at Jack; “but +I'm not one of that kind. I think, with the Scriptures, that there's a +time to weep.” + +“Doesn't it say there's a time to laugh, also?” asked Mrs. Crump. + +“When I see anything to laugh about, I'm ready to laugh,” said Aunt +Rachel; “but human nature ain't to be forced. I can't see anything to +laugh at now, and perhaps you won't by and by.” + +It was evidently of no use to attempt a confutation of this, and the +subject dropped. + +The tea-things were cleared away by Mrs. Crump, who afterwards sat down +to her sewing. Aunt Rachel continued to knit in grim silence, while +Jack seated himself on a three-legged stool near his aunt, and began +to whittle out a boat after a model lent him by Tom Piper, a young +gentleman whose aunt has already been referred to. + +The cooper took out his spectacles, wiped them carefully with his +handkerchief, and as carefully adjusted them to his nose. He then +took down from the mantel-piece one of the few books belonging to his +library,--“Captain Cook's Travels,”--and began to read, for the tenth +time it might be, the record of the gallant sailor's circumnavigations. + +The plain little room presented a picture of peaceful tranquillity, but +it proved to be only the calm which precedes a storm. + +The storm in question, I regret to say, was brought about by the +luckless Jack. As has been said, he was engaged in constructing a boat, +the particular operation he was now intent upon being the excavation or +hollowing out. Now three-legged stools are not the most secure seats +in the world. That, I think, no one can doubt who has any practical +acquaintance with them. Jack was working quite vigorously, the block +from which the boat was to be fashioned being held firmly between his +knees. His knife having got wedged in the wood, he made an unusual +effort to draw it out, in which he lost his balance, and disturbed the +equilibrium of his stool, which, with his load, tumbled over backwards. +Now it very unfortunately happened that Aunt Rachel sat close behind, +and the treacherous stool came down with considerable force upon her +foot. + +A piercing shriek was heard, and Aunt Rachel, lifting her foot, clung to +it convulsively, while an expression of pain distorted her features. + +At the sound, the cooper hastily removed his spectacles, and letting +“Captain Cook” fall to the floor, started up in great dismay--Mrs. Crump +likewise dropped her sewing, and jumped to her feet in alarm. + +It did not take long to see how matters stood. + +“Hurt ye much, Rachel?” inquired Timothy. + +“It's about killed me,” groaned the afflicted maiden. “Oh, I shall have +to have my foot cut off, or be a cripple anyway.” Then turning upon +Jack, fiercely, “you careless, wicked, ungrateful boy, that I've been +wearin' myself out knittin' for. I'm almost sure you did it a purpose. +You won't be satisfied till you've got me out of the world, and +then--then, perhaps----” here Rachel began to whimper, “perhaps you'll +get Tom Piper's aunt to knit your stockings.” + +“I didn't mean to, Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, penitently, eyeing his aunt, +who was rocking to and fro in her chair. “Besides, I hurt myself like +thunder,” rubbing vigorously the lower part of the dorsal-region. + +“Served you right,” said his aunt, still clasping her foot. + +“Sha'n't I get something for you to put on it?” asked Mrs. Crump of +(sic) her-sister-in-law. + +This Rachel steadily refused, and after a few more postures, (sic) +indicating a great amount of anguish, limped out of the room, and +ascended the stairs to her own apartment. + + + +CHAPTER III. THE LANDLORD'S VISIT. + + + +SOON after Rachel's departure Jack, also, was seized with a sleepy +fit, and postponing the construction of his boat to a more favorable +opportunity, took a candle and followed his aunt's example. + +The cooper and his wife were now left alone. + +“Now that Rachel and Jack have gone to bed, Mary,” he commenced, +hesitatingly, “I don't mind saying that I am a little troubled in mind +about one thing.” + +“What's that?” asked Mrs. Crump, anxiously. + +“It's just this, I don't anticipate being stinted for food. I know we +shall get along some way; but there's another expense which I am afraid +of.” + +“Is it the rent?” inquired his wife, apprehensively. + +“That's it. The quarter's rent, twenty dollars, comes due to-morrow, and +I've got less than a dollar to meet it.” + +“Won't Mr. Colman wait?” + +“I'm afraid not. You know what sort of a man he is, Mary. There ain't +much feeling about him. He cares more for money than anything else.” + +“Perhaps you are doing him injustice.” + +“I am afraid not. Did you never hear how he treated the Underhills?” + +“How was it?” + +“Underhill was laid up with a rheumatic fever for three months. The +consequence was, that, when quarter-day came round, he was in about the +same situation with ourselves,--a little worse even, for his wife was +sick, also. But though Colman was aware of the circumstances, he had no +pity; but turned them out without ceremony.” + +“Is it possible?” asked Mrs. Crump, uneasily. + +“And there's no reason for his being more lenient with us. I can't but +feel anxious about to-morrow, Mary.” + +At this moment, verifying an old adage which will perhaps occur to the +reader, who should knock but Mr. Colman himself? + +Both the cooper and his wife had an instinctive foreboding as to the +meaning of his visit. + +He came in, rubbing his hands in a social way, as was his custom. No +one, to look at him, would have suspected the hardness of heart that lay +veiled under his velvety softness of manner. + +“Good evening, Mr. Crump,” said he, affably, “I trust you and your +worthy wife are in good health.” + +“That blessing, at least, is continued to us,” said the cooper, gravely. + +“And how comfortable you're looking too, eh! It makes an old bachelor, +like me, feel lonesome when he contrasts his own solitary room with +such a scene of comfort as this. You've got a comfortable home, and +dog-cheap, too. All my other tenants are grumbling to think you don't +have to pay any more for such superior accommodations. I've about +made up my mind that I must ask you twenty-five dollars a quarter, +hereafter.” + +All this was said very pleasantly, but the pill was none the less +bitter. + +“It seems to me, Mr. Colman,” remarked the cooper soberly, “you have +chosen rather a singular time for raising the rent.” + +“Why singular, my good sir?” inquired the landlord, urbanely. + +“You know of course, that this is a time of general business depression; +my own trade in particular has suffered greatly. For a month past, I +have not been able to find any work.” + +Colman's face lost something of its graciousness. + +“And I fear I sha'n't be able to pay my quarter's rent to-morrow.” + +“Indeed!” said the landlord coldly. “Perhaps you can make it up within +two or three dollars?” + +“I can't pay a dollar towards it,” said the cooper. “It's the first +time, in five years that I've lived here, that this thing has happened +to me. I've always been prompt before.” + +“You should have economized as you found times growing harder,” said +Colman, harshly. “It is hardly honest to live in a house when you know +you can't pay the rent.” + +“You sha'n't lose it Mr. Colman,” said the cooper, earnestly. “No one +ever yet lost anything by me. Only give me time, and I will pay you +all.” + +The landlord shook his head. + +“You ought to cut your coat according to your cloth,” he responded. +“Much as it will go against my feelings, under the circumstances I am +compelled by a prudent regard to my own interests to warn you that, in +case your rent is not ready to-morrow, I shall be obliged to trouble +you to find another tenement; and furthermore, the rent of this will be +raised five dollars a quarter.” + +“I can't pay it, Mr. Colman,” said the cooper; “I may as well say that +now; and it's no use my agreeing to pay more rent. I pay all I can +afford now.” + +“Very well, you know the alternative. But it is a disagreeable subject. +We won't talk of it now; I shall be round to-morrow morning. How's your +excellent sister; as cheerful as ever?” + +“Quite as much so as usual,” answered the cooper, dryly. + +“But there's one favor I should like to ask, if you will allow us to +remain here a few days till I can look about me a little.” + +“I would with the greatest pleasure in the world,” was the reply, “but +there's another family very anxious to take the house, and they wish to +come in immediately. Therefore I shall be obliged to ask you to move out +to-morrow. In fact that is the very thing I came here this evening to +speak about, as I thought you might not wish to pay the increased rent.” + +“We are much obliged to you,” said the cooper, with a tinge of +bitterness unusual to him. “If we are to be turned out of doors, it is +pleasant to have a few hours' notice of it.” + +“Turned out of doors, my good friend! What disagreeable expressions you +employ! It is merely a matter of business. I have an article to dispose +of. There are two bidders; yourself and another person. The latter is +willing to pay a larger sum. Of course I give him the preference. Don't +you see how it is?” + +“I believe I do,” replied the cooper. “Of course, it's a regular +proceeding; but you must excuse me if I think of it in another light, +when I reflect that to-morrow at this time my family and myself may be +without a shelter.” + +“My dear sir, positively you are looking on the dark side of things. It +is actually sinful to distrust Providence as you seem to do. You're a +little disappointed, that's all. Just take to-night to sleep on it, and +I've no doubt you'll think better of it and of me. But positively I have +stayed longer than I intended. Good night, my friends. I'll look in upon +you in the morning. And by the by, as it is so near the time, allow me +to wish you a Happy New Year.” + +The door closed upon the landlord, leaving behind two anxious hearts. + +“It looks well in him to wish that,” said the cooper, gloomily. “A great +deal he is doing to make it so. I don't know how it seems to others, but +for my part I never say them words to any one unless I really wish 'em +well, and am willing to do something to make 'em so. I should feel as if +I was a hypocrite if I acted anyways different.” + +Mary did not respond to this. In her own gentle heart she could not +help feeling a silent repugnance, mingled, it may be, with a shade of +contempt, for the man who had just left them. It was an uncomfortable +feeling, and she strove to get rid of it. + +“Is there any tenement vacant in this neighborhood?” she asked. + +“Yes, there's the one at the corner, belonging to Mr. Harrison.” + +“It is a better one than this.” + +“Yes, but Harrison only asks the same that we have been paying. He is +not so exorbitant as Colman.” + +“Couldn't we get that?” + +“I am afraid, if he knew that we had failed to pay our rent here, he +would object.” + +“But he knows you are honest, and that nothing but the hard times would +have brought you to such a pass.” + +“It may be, Mary. At any rate you have lightened my heart a little. I +feel as if there was some hope left.” + +“We ought always to feel so, Timothy. There was one thing that Mr. +Colman said that didn't sound so well, coming from his lips; but it's +true, for all that.” + +“What do you mean, Mary?” + +“I mean that about not distrusting Providence. Many a time have I +been comforted by reading the verse, 'Never have I seen the righteous +forsaken, or his seed begging bread.' As long as we try to do what is +right, Timothy, God will not suffer us to want.” + +“You are right, Mary. He is our ever-present help in time of need. +Let us put away all anxious cares, fully confiding in his gracious +promises.” + +They retired to rest thoughtfully, but not sadly. + +The fire upon the hearth flickered, and died out at length. The last +sands of the old year were running out, and the new morning ushered in +its successor. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE NEW YEAR'S PRESENT. + + + +“HAPPY New Year!” was Jack's salutation to Aunt Rachel, as, with an +unhappy expression of countenance, she entered the sitting-room. + +“Happy, indeed!” she repeated, dismally. “There's great chance of its +being so, I should think. We don't any of us know what the year may +bring forth. We may all be dead before the next New Year.” + +“If that's the case,” said Jack, “we'll be jolly as long as it lasts.” + +“I don't know what you mean by such a vulgar word,” said Aunt Rachel, +disdainfully. “I've heard of drunkards and such kind of people being +jolly; but, thank Providence, I haven't got to that yet.” + +“If that was the only way to be jolly,” said Jack, stoutly, “then I'd +be a drunkard; I wouldn't carry round such a long face as you do, Aunt +Rachel, for any money.” + +“It's enough to make all of us have long faces, when you are brazen +enough to own that you mean to be a drunkard.” + +“I didn't say any such thing,” said Jack, indignantly. + +“Perhaps I have ears,” remarked Aunt Rachel, sententiously, “and perhaps +I have not. It's a new thing for a nephew to tell his aunt that she +lies. They didn't use to allow such things when I was young.--But the +world's going to rack and ruin, and I shouldn't much wonder if the +people are right that says it's comin' to an end.” + +Here Mrs. Crump happily interposed, by asking Jack to go round to the +grocery, in the next street, and buy a pint of milk. + +Jack took his cap and started, with alacrity, glad to leave the dismal +presence of Aunt Rachel. + +He had scarcely opened the door when he started back in surprise, +exclaiming, “By hokey, if there isn't a basket on the steps!” + +“A basket!” repeated Mrs. Crump, in surprise. “Can it be a New Year's +present? Bring it in, Jack.” + +It was brought in immediately, and the cover being lifted there appeared +a female child, of apparently a year old. All uttered exclamations of +surprise, each in itself characteristic. + +“What a dear, innocent little thing!” said Mrs. Crump, with true +maternal instinct. + +“Ain't it a pretty 'un?” said Jack, admiringly. + +“Poor thing!” said the cooper, compassionately. + +“It's a world of iniquity!” remarked Rachel, lifting up her eyes, +dismally. “There isn't any one you can trust. I didn't think a brother +of mine would have such a sin brought to his door.” + +“Good heavens, Rachel!” said the honest cooper, in amazement, “what can +you mean?” + +“It isn't for me to explain,” said Rachel, shaking her head; “only it's +strange that it should have been brought to _this_ house, that's all I +say.” + +“Perhaps it was meant for you, Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, with thoughtless +fun. + +“Me!” exclaimed Rachel, rising to her feet, while her face betrayed the +utmost horror at the suggestion. She fell back in her seat, and made a +violent effort to faint. + +“What have I said?” asked Jack, a little frightened at the effect of his +words. “Aunt Rachel takes one up so.” + +“He didn't mean anything,” said Mrs. Crump. “How could you suspect such +a thing? But here's a letter. It looks as if there was something in it. +Here, Timothy, it is directed to you.” + +Mr. Cooper opened the letter, and read as follows:-- + +“For reasons which it is unnecessary to state, the guardians of this +child find it expedient to (sic) intrust it to others to be brought up. +The good opinion which they have formed of you, has led them to select +you for that charge. No further explanation is necessary, except that +it is by no means their object to make this a service of charity. They +therefore (sic) inclose a certificate of deposits on the Broadway Bank, +of three hundred dollars, the same having been made in your name. Each +year, while the child remains in your charge, the same sum will in like +manner be placed to your credit at the same bank It may be as well to +state, farther, that all attempts to fathom whatever of mystery may +attach to this affair, will prove useless.” + +This letter was read in silent amazement. + +The certificate of deposits, which had fallen to the floor, was handed +to Timothy by his wife. + +Amazement was followed by a feeling of gratitude and relief. + +“What could be more fortunate?” exclaimed Mrs. Crump. “Surely, Timothy, +our faith has been rewarded.” + +“God has listened to our cry,” said the cooper, devoutly; “and, in the +hour of our need, He has remembered us.” + +“Isn't it prime?” said Jack, gleefully; “three hundred dollars! Ain't we +rich, Aunt Rachel?” + +“Like as not,” observed Rachel, “the certificate isn't genuine. It +doesn't look natural it should be. I've heard of counterfeits before. +I shouldn't be surprised at all if Timothy got taken up for presenting +it.” + +“I'll risk that,” said Mr. Crump, who did not look very much depressed +by this suggestion. + +“Now you'll be able to pay the rent, Timothy,” said Mrs. Crump, +cheerfully. + +“Yes; and it's the last quarter I shall pay to Mr. Colman, if I can help +it.” + +“Why, where are you going?” inquired Jack. + +“To the corner house belonging to Mr. Harrison, that is, if it is not +already engaged. I think I will go and see about it at once. If Mr. +Colman should come in while I am gone, tell him I will be back directly; +I don't wish you to tell him of the change in our circumstances.” + +The cooper found Mr. Harrison at home. + +“I called to inquire,” commenced the cooper, “whether you had let that +house of yours on the corner of the street.” + +“Not as yet,” was the reply. + +“What rent do you ask?” + +“Twenty dollars a quarter,” said Mr. Harrison; “that I consider +reasonable.” + +“It is satisfactory to me,” was the cooper's reply, “and, if you have no +objections to me as a tenant, I will engage it at once.” + +“Far from having any objections, Mr. Crump,” was the courteous reply, “I +shall be glad to secure so good a tenant. Will you go over and look at +the house?” + +“Not now, sir; I am somewhat in haste. When can we move in?” + +“To-day, if you like.” + +His errand satisfactorily accomplished, the cooper returned home. +Meanwhile the landlord had called. + +He was a little surprised to find that Mrs. Crump, instead of looking +depressed, looked cheerful, rather than otherwise. + +“I was not aware you had a child so young,” he remarked, looking at the +baby. + +“It isn't mine,” said Mrs. Crump, briefly. + +“The child of a neighbor, I suppose,” thought Colman. + +Meanwhile he scrutinized closely, without appearing to do so, the +furniture in the room. + +At this point Mr. Crump opened the outer door. + +“Good-morning,” said Colman, affably. “A fine morning.” + +“Quite so,” answered his tenant, shortly. + +“I have called, Mr. Crump, to know if you are ready with your quarter's +rent.” + +“I think I told you, last night, how I was situated. Of course I am +sorry----” + +“So am I,” said the landlord, “for I may be obliged to have recourse to +unpleasant measures.” + +“You mean that we must leave the house!” + +“Of course, you cannot expect to remain in it if you are unable to pay +the rent. Of course,” added Colman, making an inventory with his +eyes, of the furniture, “you will leave behind a sufficient amount of +furniture to cover your bill----” + +“Surely, you would not deprive us of our furniture!” + +“Is there any hardship in requiring payment of honest debts?” + +“There are cases of that description. However, I will not put you to +that trouble. I am ready to pay you your dues.” + +“You have the money?” said Colman, hastily. + +“I have, and something over; as you will see by this document. Can you +give me the two hundred and eighty dollars over?” + +It would be difficult to picture the amazement of Colman. “Surely, you +told me a different story last night,” he said. + +“Last night and this morning are different times. Then I could not pay +you; now, luckily, I am able. If you cannot change this amount, and will +accompany me to the bank, I will place the money in your hands.” + +“My dear sir, I am not at all in haste,” said the landlord, with a +return of his former affability. “Any time within a week will do. I +hope, by the way, you will continue to occupy this house.” + +“As I have already engaged Mr. Harrison's house, at the corner of the +street, I shall be unable to remain. Besides, I do not want to interfere +with the family who are so desirous of moving in.” + +Mr. Colman was silenced. He regretted, too late, the hasty course which +had lost him a good tenant. The family referred to had no existence; +and, it may be remarked, the house remained vacant for several months, +when he was glad to rent it at the old price. + + + +CHAPTER V. A LUCKY RESCUE. + + + +THE opportune arrival of the child inaugurated a season of comparative +prosperity in the home of Timothy Crump. To persons accustomed to live +in their frugal way, three hundred dollars seemed a fortune. Nor, as +might have happened in some cases, did this unexpected windfall tempt +the cooper or his wife to extravagances. + +“Let us save something against a rainy day,” said Mrs. Crump. + +“We can, if I get work soon,” answered her husband. “This little one +will add but little to our expenses, and there is no reason why we +should not save up at least half of it.” + +“There's no knowing when you will get work, Timothy,” said Rachel, in +her usual cheerful way; “it isn't well to crow before you're out of the +woods.” + +“Very true, Rachel. It isn't your failing to look too much at the sunny +side of the picture.” + +“I'm ready to look at it when I can see it anywhere,” said his sister, +in the same enlivening way. + +“Don't you see it in the unexpected good fortune which came with this +child?” asked Timothy. + +“I've no doubt it seems bright enough, now,” said Rachel, gloomily, “but +a young child's a great deal of trouble.” + +“Do you speak from experience, Aunt Rachel?” inquired Jack, demurely. + +“Yes;” said his aunt, slowly; “if all babies were as cross as you were +when you were an infant, three hundred dollars wouldn't begin to pay for +the trouble of having one round.” + +Mr. Crump and his wife laughed at this sally at Jack's expense, but +the latter had his wits about him sufficiently to answer, “I've always +heard, Aunt Rachel, that the crosser a child is the pleasanter he will +grow up. What a very pleasant baby you must have been!” + +“Jack!” said his mother, reprovingly; but his father, who looked upon it +as a good joke, remarked, good-humoredly, “He's got you there, Rachel.” + +The latter, however, took it as a serious matter, and observed that, +when she was young, children were not allowed to speak so to their +elders. “But, I don't know as I can blame 'em much,” she continued, +wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, “when their own parents +encourage 'em in it.” + +Timothy was warned, by experience, that silence was his best (sic) +defence. Since anything he might say would only be likely to make +matters worse. + +Aunt Rachel sank into a fit of deep despondency, and did not say another +word till dinner time. She sat down to the table with a profound sigh, +as if there was little in life worth living for. Notwithstanding this, +it was observed that she had a good appetite. Indeed, Rachel seemed to +thrive on her gloomy views of life and human nature. She was, it must +be acknowledged, perfectly consistent in all her conduct, as far as this +peculiarity was concerned. Whenever she took up a newspaper, she always +looked first to the space appropriated to deaths, and next in order to +the column of accidents, casualties, etc., and her spirits were visibly +exhilarated when she encountered a familiar name in either list. + +Mr. Crump continued to look out for work, but it was with a more +cheerful spirit. He did not now feel as if the comfort of his family +depended absolutely upon his immediate success. Used economically, the +money he had by him would last nine months, and during that time it was +impossible that he should not find something to do. It was this sense +of security--of possessing something upon which he could fall back--that +enabled him to keep up good heart. It is too generally the case that +people are content to live as if they were sure of constantly retaining +their health and never losing their employment. When a reverse does come +they are at once plunged into discouragement, and feel that something +must be done immediately. There is only one way to fend off such an +embarrassment, and that is to resolve, whatever may be the amount of +the income, to lay aside some part to serve as a reliance in time of +trouble. A little economy--though it involves privation--will be well +repaid by the feeling of security thus engendered. + +Mr. Crump was not compelled to remain inactive as long as he feared. Not +that his line of business revived,--that still remained depressed,--but +another path was opened to him for a time. + +Returning home late one evening, the cooper saw a man steal out from +a doorway, and assault a gentleman whose dress and general appearance +indicated probable wealth. Seizing him by the throat, the villain +effectually prevented him from calling the police, and was engaged in +rifling his pockets when the cooper arrived at the scene. A sudden blow +on the side of the head admonished the robber that he had more than one +to deal with. + +“Leave this man instantly,” said the cooper, sternly, “or I will deliver +you into the hands of the police.” + +The villain hesitated, but fear prevailed, and springing to his feet, he +hastily made off under cover of the darkness. + +“I hope you have received no injury,” said Timothy, respectfully, +turning towards the stranger he had rescued. + +“No, my worthy friend, thanks to your timely assistance. The rascal +nearly succeeded, however.” + +“I hope you have lost nothing, sir.” + +“Nothing, fortunately. You can form an idea of the value of your +interference, when I say that I have fifteen hundred dollars with me, +all of which I should undoubtedly have lost.” + +“I am glad,” said the cooper, “that I was able to do you such essential +service. It was by the merest chance that I came this way.” + +“Will you add to my indebtedness by accompanying me with that trusty +club of yours? I have some little distance yet to go, and the amount +of money I have with me makes me feel desirous of taking every possible +precaution.” + +“Willingly,” said the cooper. + +“But I am forgetting,” said the gentleman, “that you yourself will be +obliged to return alone.” + +“I do not carry enough money to make me fear an attack,” said Mr. Crump, +laughing. “Money brings care I have always heard, and now I realize it.” + +“Yet most people are willing to take their chance of that,” said the +merchant. + +“You are right, sir, nor can I call myself an exception. Still I should +be satisfied with the certainty of constant employment.” + +“I hope you have that, at least.” + +“I have had until recently.” + +“Then, at present, you are unemployed?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“What is your business?” + +“That of a cooper.” + +“I must see what I can do for you. Can you call at my office to-morrow, +say at twelve o'clock?” + +“I shall be glad to do so, sir.” + +“I believe I have a card with me. Yes, here is one. And this is my +house. Thank you for your company, my good friend. I shall see you +to-morrow.” + +They stood before a handsome dwelling-house, from whose windows, draped +by heavy crimson curtains, a soft light proceeded. The cooper could hear +the ringing of childish voices welcoming home their father, whose +life, unknown to them, had been in such peril, and he could not but be +grateful to Providence that he had been the means of frustrating the +designs of the villain who would have robbed him, and perhaps done him +farther injury. + +He determined to say nothing to his wife of the night's adventure until +after his meeting appointed for the next day. Then if any advantage +accrued to him from it, he would tell the whole at once. + +When he reached home, Mrs. Crump was sewing beside the fire. Aunt +Rachel sat with her hands folded in her lap, with an air of martyr-like +resignation to the woes of life. + +“I've brought you home a paper, Aunt Rachel,” said the cooper, +cheerfully. “You may find something interesting in it.” + +“I sha'n't be able to read it this evening,” said Rachel, mournfully. +“My eyes have troubled me lately. I feel that it is more than probable +that I am growing blind. But I trust I shall not live to be a burden to +you. Your prospects are dark enough without that.” + +“Don't trouble yourself with any fears of that sort, Rachel,” said the +cooper, cheerily. “I think I know what will enable you to use your eyes +as well as ever.” + +“What?” asked Rachel, with melancholy curiosity. + +“A pair of spectacles,” said her brother, incautiously. + +“Spectacles!” retorted Rachel, indignantly. “It will be a good many +years before I am old enough to wear spectacles. I didn't expect to be +insulted by my own brother. But it's one of my trials.” + +“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Rachel,” said the cooper, +perplexed. + +“Good night,” said Rachel, rising and taking a small lamp from the +table. + +“Come, Rachel, don't go yet. It is early.” + +“After what you have said to me, Timothy, my self-respect will not +permit me to stay.” + +Rachel swept out of the room with something more than her customary +melancholy. + +“I wish Rachel war'n't quite so contrary,” said the cooper. “She turns +upon a body so sudden, it's hard to know how to take her. How's the +little girl, Mary?” + +“She's been asleep ever since six o'clock.” + +“I hope you don't find her very much trouble. That all comes upon you, +while we have the benefit of the money.” + +“I don't think of that, Timothy. She is a sweet child, and I love her +almost as much as if she were my own. As for Jack, he perfectly idolizes +her.” + +“And how does Aunt Rachel look upon her?” + +“I am afraid she will never be a favorite with Rachel.” + +“Rachel never took to children much. It isn't her way. Now, Mary, while +you are sewing, I will read you the news.” + + + +CHAPTER VI. WHAT THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED. + + + +THE card which had been handed to Timothy Crump contained the name +of Thomas Merriam,----Wall Street. Punctually at twelve, the cooper +reported himself at the counting-room, and received a cordial welcome +from the merchant. + +“I am glad to see you,” he said. “I will come to business at once, as +I am particularly engaged this morning. Is there any way in which I can +serve you?” + +“Not unless you can procure me a situation, sir.” + +“I think you told me you were a cooper.” + +“Yes sir.” + +“Does this yield you a good support?” + +“In good times it pays me two dollars a day. Lately it has been +depressed, and for a time paid me but a dollar and a half.” + +“When do you anticipate its revival?” + +“That is uncertain. It may be some months first.” + +“And, in the mean time, you are willing to undertake some other +employment?” + +“Yes, sir. I have no objection to any honest employment.” + +Mr. Merriam reflected a moment. + +“Just at present,” he said, “I have nothing to offer except the post of +porter. If that will suit you, you can enter upon the duties to-morrow.” + +“I shall be very glad to take it, sir. Anything is better than +idleness.” + +“Your compensation shall be the same that you have been accustomed to +earn by your trade,--two dollars a day.” + +“I only received that in the best times,” said Timothy, conscientiously. + +“Your services will be worth it. I will expect you, then, to-morrow +morning at eight. You are married, I suppose?” + +“Yes, sir. I am blessed with a good wife.” + +“I am glad of that. Stay a moment.” + +The merchant went to his desk, and presently returned with a scaled +envelope. + +“Give that to your wife,” he said. + +The interview terminated, and the cooper went home, quite elated by his +success. His present engagement would enable him to bridge over the dull +time, and save him from incurring debt, of which he had a just horror. + +“Just in time,” said Mrs. Crump. “We've got an apple-pudding to-day.” + +“You haven't forgotten what I like, Mary.” + +“There's no knowing how long you will be able to afford puddings,” said +Aunt Rachel. “To my mind it's extravagant to have meat and pudding both, +when a month hence you may be in the poor-house.” + +“Then,” said Jack, “I wouldn't eat any.” + +“Oh, if you grudge me the little I eat,” said his aunt, in severe +sorrow, “I will go without.” + +“Tut, Rachel, nobody grudges you anything here,” said her brother, “and +as to the poor-house, I've got some good news to tell you that will put +that thought out of your heads.” + +“What is it?” asked Mrs. Crump, looking up brightly. + +“I have found employment.” + +“Not at your trade?” + +“No, but at something else, which will pay equally well, till trade +revives.” + +Here he told the story of the chance by which he was enabled to serve +Mr. Merriam, and of the engagement to which it had led. + +“You are, indeed, fortunate,” said Mrs. Crump. “Two dollars a day, and +we've got nearly the whole of the money that came with this dear child. +How rich we shall be!” + +“Well, Rachel, where are your congratulations?” asked the cooper of his +sister, who, in subdued sorrow, was eating her second slice of pudding. + +“I don't see anything so very fortunate in being engaged as a porter,” + said Rachel, lugubriously. “I heard of a porter, once, who had a great +box fall upon him and crush him; and another, who committed suicide.” + +The cooper laughed. + +“So, Rachel, you conclude that one or the other is the inevitable lot of +all who are engaged in this business.” + +“It is always well to be prepared for the worst,” said Rachel, +oracularly. + +“But not to be always looking for it,” said her brother. + +“It'll come, whether you look for it or not,” returned his sister, +sententiously. + +“Then, suppose we spend no thoughts upon it, since, according to your +admission, it's sure to come either way.” + +Rachel pursued her knitting, in severe melancholy. + +“Won't you have another piece of pudding, Timothy?” asked Mrs. Crump. + +“I don't care if I do, Mary, it's so good,” said the cooper, passing his +plate. “Seems to me it's the best pudding you ever made.” + +“You've got a good appetite, that is all,” said Mrs. Crump, modestly. + +“By the way, Mary,” said the cooper, with a sudden thought, “I quite +forgot that I have something for you.” + +“For me?” + +“Yes, from Mr. Merriam.” + +“But he don't know me,” said Mrs. Crump, in surprise. + +“At any rate, he asked me if I were married, and then handed me this +envelope for you. I am not quite sure whether I ought to allow gentlemen +to write letters to my wife.” + +Mrs. Crump opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and uttered +an exclamation of surprise, as a bank-note fluttered to the carpet. + +“By gracious, mother,” said Jack, springing to get it, “you're in luck. +It's a hundred dollar bill.” + +“So it is, I declare,” said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. “But, Timothy, it +isn't mine. It belongs to you.” + +“No, Mary, it shall be yours. I'll put it in the Savings Bank for you.” + +“Merriam's a trump, and no mistake,” said Jack. “By the way, father, +when you see him again, won't you just insinuate that you have a son? +Ain't we in luck, Aunt Rachel?” + +“'Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall,'” + said Rachel. + +“I never knew Aunt Rachel to be jolly but once,” said Jack, under his +breath; “and that was at a funeral.” + + + +CHAPTER VII. EIGHT YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS. + + + +EIGHT years slipped by, unmarked by any important event. The Crumps were +still prosperous in an humble way. The cooper had been able to obtain +work most of the time, and this, with the annual remittance for little +Ida, had enabled the family not only to live in comfort, but even to +save up one hundred and fifty dollars a year. They might even have saved +more, living as frugally as they were accustomed to do, but there was +one point upon which none of them would consent to be economical. The +little Ida must have everything she wanted. Timothy brought home daily +some little delicacy for her, which none of the rest thought of sharing. +While Mrs. Crump, far enough from vanity, always dressed with exceeding +plainness, Ida's attire was always rich and tasteful. She would +sometimes ask, “Mother, why don't you buy yourself some of the pretty +things you get for me?” + +Mrs. Crump would answer, smiling, “Oh, I'm an old woman, Ida. Plain +things are best for me.” + +“No, I'm sure you're not old, mother. You don't wear a cap.” + +But Mrs. Crump would always playfully evade the child's questions. + +Had Ida been an ordinary child, all this petting would have had an +injurious effect upon her mind. But, fortunately she had that rare +simplicity, young as she was, which lifted her above the dangers to +which many might have been subjected. Instead of being made vain, she +only felt grateful for the many kindnesses bestowed upon her by her +father and mother and brother Jack, as she was wont to call them. +Indeed, it had not been thought best to let her know that such was not +the relation in which they really stood to her. + +There was one point, more important than dress, in which Ida profited by +the indulgence of her friends. + +“Wife,” the cooper was wont to say, “Ida is a sacred charge in our +hands. If we allow her to grow up ignorant, or afford her only ordinary +advantages, we shall not fulfil our duty. We have the means, through +Providence, to give her some of those advantages which she would enjoy +if she remained in that sphere to which her parents, doubtless, belong. +Let no unwise parsimony, on our part, withhold them from her.” + +“You are right, Timothy,” said Mrs. Crump; “right, as you always +are. Follow the dictates of your own heart, and fear not that I shall +disapprove.” + +Accordingly Ida was, from the first, sent to a carefully-selected +private school, where she had the advantage of good associates, and +where her progress was astonishingly rapid. + +She early displayed a remarkable taste for drawing. As soon as this was +discovered, her foster parents took care that she should have abundant +opportunity for cultivating it. A private master was secured, who gave +her daily lessons, and boasted everywhere of his charming little pupil, +whose progress, as he assured her friends, exceeded anything he had ever +before known. + +Nothing could exceed the cooper's gratification when, on his birthday, +Ida presented him with a beautifully-drawn sketch of his wife's placid +and benevolent face. + +“When did you do it, Ida?” he asked, after earnest expressions of +admiration. + +“I did it in odd minutes,” she said; “in the evening.” + +“But how could you do it without any one of us knowing what you were +about?” + +“I had a picture before me, and you thought I was copying it, but +whenever I could do it without being noticed, I looked up at mother as +she sat at her sewing, and so, after awhile, I made this picture.” + +“And a fine one it is,” said Timothy, admiringly. + +Mrs. Crump insisted that Ida had flattered her, but this the child would +not admit. “I couldn't make it look as good as you, mother,” she said. +“I tried to, but somehow I couldn't succeed as well as I wanted to.” + +“You wouldn't have that difficulty with Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, +roguishly. + +Ida, with difficulty, suppressed a laugh. + +“I see,” said Aunt Rachel, with severe resignation, “that you've taken +to ridiculing your poor aunt again. But it's what I expect. I don't +never expect any consideration in this house. I was born to be a martyr, +and I expect I shall fulfil my destiny. If my own relations laugh at me, +of course I can't expect anything better from other folks. But I sha'n't +be long in the way. I've had a cough for some time past, and I expect +I'm in a consumption.” + +“You make too much of a little thing, Rachel,” said the cooper. “I don't +think Jack meant anything.” + +“I'm sure, what I said was complimentary,” said Jack. + +Rachel shook her head incredulously. + +“Yes it was. Ask Ida. Why won't you draw Aunt Rachel, Ida? I think she'd +make a capital picture.” + +“So I will,” said Ida, hesitatingly, “if she will let me.” + +“Now, Aunt Rachel, there's a chance for you,” said Jack. “I advise you +to improve it. When it's finished, it can be hung up at the Art Rooms, +and who knows but you may secure a husband by it?” + +“I wouldn't marry,” said his aunt, firmly compressing her lips, “not if +anybody'd go down on their knees to me.” + +“Now I am sure, Aunt Rachel, that's cruel in you.” + +“There ain't any man that I'd trust my happiness to.” + +“She hasn't any to trust,” observed Jack, _sotto voce_. + +“They're all deceivers,” pursued Rachel, “the best of 'em. You can't +believe what one of 'em says. It would be a great deal better if people +never married at all.” + +“Then where would the world be a hundred years hence?” suggested her +nephew. + +“Come to an end, most likely,” said Aunt Rachel; “and I don't know but +that would be the best thing. It's growing more and more wicked every +day.” + +It will be seen that no great change has come over Miss Rachel Crump +during the years that have intervened. She takes the same disheartening +view of human nature and the world's prospects, as ever. Nevertheless, +her own hold upon the world seems as strong as ever. Her appetite +continues remarkably good, and although she frequently expresses herself +to the effect that there is little use in living, probably she would be +as unwilling to leave the world as any one. I am not sure that she does +not derive as much enjoyment from her melancholy as other people from +their cheerfulness. Unfortunately, her peculiar way of enjoying herself +is calculated to have rather a depressing influence upon the spirits of +those with whom she comes in contact--always excepting Jack, who has a +lively sense of the ludicrous, and never enjoys himself better than in +bantering his aunt. + +Ida is no less a favorite with Jack than with the other members of the +household. Rough as he is sometimes, Jack is always gentle with Ida. +When she was just learning to walk, and in her helplessness needed the +constant care of others, he used, from choice, to relieve his mother of +much of the task of amusing the child. He had never had a little sister, +and the care of a child as young as Ida was a novelty to him. It was, +perhaps, this very office of guardian to the child, assumed when she was +so young, that made him feel ever after as if she was placed under his +special protection. + +And Ida was equally attached to Jack. She learned to look up to him for +assistance in anything which she had at heart, and he never disappointed +her. Whenever he could, he would accompany her to school, holding her by +the hand; and fond as he was of rough play, nothing would induce him to +leave her. + +“How long have you been a nurse-maid?” asked a boy, older than himself, +one day. + +Jack's fingers itched to get hold of his derisive questioner, but he had +a duty to perform, and contented himself with saying, “Just wait a few +minutes, and I'll let you know.” + +“I dare say,” was the reply. “I rather think I shall have to wait till +both of us are gray before that time.” + +“You won't have to wait long before you are black and blue,” retorted +Jack. + +“Don't mind what he says, Jack,” whispered Ida, fearful lest he should +leave her. + +“Don't be afraid, Ida; I won't leave you; I guess he won't trouble us +another day.” + +Meanwhile the boy, emboldened by Jack's passiveness, followed, with more +abuse of the same sort. If he had been wiser, he would have seen a storm +gathering in the flash of Jack's eye; but he mistook the cause of his +forbearance. + +The next day, as they were again going to school, Ida saw the same boy +dodging round the corner, with his head bound up. + +“What's the matter with him, Jack?” she asked. + +“I licked him like blazes, that's all,” said Jack, quietly. + +“I guess he'll let us alone after this.” + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A STRANGE VISITOR. + + + +IT was about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, Mrs. Crump was in the +kitchen, busy in preparations for dinner, when a loud knock was heard at +the door. + +“Who can it be?” ejaculated Mrs. Crump. “Aunt Rachel, there's somebody +at the door; won't you be kind enough to see who it is?” + +“People have no business to call at such an hour in the morning,” + grumbled Aunt Rachel, as she laid down her knitting reluctantly, and +rose from her seat. “Nobody seems to have any consideration for anybody +else. But that's the way of the world.” + +Opening the outer door, she saw before her a tall woman, dressed in +a gown of some dark stuff, with marked, and not altogether pleasant +features. + +“Are you the lady of the house?” inquired the visitor. + +“There ain't any ladies in this house,” said Rachel. “You've come to the +wrong place. We have to work for a living here.” + +“The woman of the house, then. It doesn't make any difference about +names. Are you the one I want to see?” + +“No, I ain't,” said Rachel, shortly. + +“Will you lead me to your mistress, then?” + +“I have none.” + +The visitor's eyes flashed, as if her temper was easily roused. + +“I want to see Mrs. Crump,” she said, impatiently. “Will you call her, or +shall I go and announce myself?” + +“Some folks are mighty impatient,” muttered Rachel. “Stay here, and I'll +call her to the door.” + +In a short time Mrs. Crump presented herself. + +“Won't you come in?” she asked, pleasantly. + +“I don't care if I do,” was the reply. “I wish to speak to you on +important business.” + +Mrs. Crump, whose interest was excited, led the way into the +sitting-room. + +“You have in your family,” said the stranger, after seating herself, “a +girl named Ida.” + +Mrs. Crump looked up suddenly and anxiously. Could it be that the secret +of Ida's birth was to be revealed at last! + +“Yes,” she said. + +“Who is not your child.” + +“But _whom_ I love as such; whom I have always taught to look upon me as +a mother.” + +“I presume so. It is of her that I wish to speak to you.” + +“Do you know anything of her parentage?” inquired Mrs. Crump, eagerly. + +“I was her nurse,” said the other, quietly. + +Mrs. Crump examined, anxiously, the hard features of the woman. It was +a relief at least to know, though she could hardly have believed, that +there was no tie of blood between her and Ida. + +“Who were her parents?” + +“I am not permitted to tell,” was the reply. + +Mrs. Crump looked disappointed. + +“Surely,” she said, with a sudden sinking of heart, “you have not come +to take her away?” + +“This letter will explain my object in visiting you,” said the woman, +drawing a sealed envelope from a bag which she carried on her arm. + +The cooper's wife nervously broke open the letter, and read as +follows:-- + +“MRS. CRUMP; + +“Eight years ago last New Year's night, a child was left on your +door-steps, with a note containing a request that you would care for +it kindly as your own. Money was sent, at the same time, to defray the +expenses of such care. The writer of this note is the mother of the +child Ida. There is no need to say, here, why I sent the child away +from me. You will easily understand that only the most imperative +circumstances would have led me to such a step. Those circumstances +still prevent me from reclaiming the child, and I am content, still, to +leave Ida in your charge. Yet, there is one thing of which I am +desirous. You will understand a mother's desire to see, face to face, +the child who belongs, of right, to her. With this view, I have come to +this neighborhood. I will not say where, for concealment is necessary +to me. I send this note by a trustworthy attendant,--Mrs. Hardwick, +my little Ida's nurse in her infancy,--who will conduct Ida to me, and +return her again to you. Ida is not to know whom she is visiting. No +doubt she believes you her mother, and it is well. Tell her only, that +it is a lady who takes an interest in her, and that will satisfy her +childish curiosity. I make this request as + +“IDA'S MOTHER.” + +Mrs. Crump read this letter with mingled feelings. Pity for the writer; +a vague curiosity in regard to the mysterious circumstances which had +compelled her to resort to such a step; a half feeling of jealousy, +that there should be one who had a claim to her dear adopted daughter +superior to her own; and a strong feeling of relief at the assurance +that Ida was not to be permanently removed,--all these feelings affected +the cooper's wife. + +“So you were Ida's nurse,” she said, gently. + +“Yes, ma'am,” said the stranger. “I hope the dear child is well.” + +“Perfectly well. How much her mother must have suffered from the +separation!” + +“Indeed, you may say so, ma'am. It came near to break her heart.” + +“So it must,” said sympathizing Mrs. Crump. “There is one thing I would +like to ask,” she continued, hesitating and reddening. “Don't answer it +unless you please. Was--is Ida the child of shame?” + +“She is not,” answered the nurse. + +Mrs. Crump looked relieved. It removed a thought from her mind which +would now and then intrude, though it had never, for an instant, +lessened her affection for the child. + +At this point in the conversation, the cooper entered the house. He had +just come home on an errand. + +“It is my husband,” said Mrs. Crump, turning to her visitor, by way of +explanation. “Timothy, will you come in a moment?” + +Mr. Crump regarded his wife's visitor with some surprise. His wife +hastened to introduce her as Mrs. Hardwick, Ida's nurse, and handed to +the astonished cooper the letter which the latter had brought with her. + +He was not a rapid reader, and it took him some time to get through the +letter. He laid it down on his knee, and looked thoughtful. The nurse +regarded him with a slight uneasiness. + +“This is, indeed, unexpected,” he said, at last. “It is a new +development in Ida's history. May I ask, Mrs. Hardwick, if you have +any further proof. I want to be prudent with a child that I love as my +own,--if you have any further proof that you are what you claim to be?” + +“I judged that this letter would be sufficient,” said the nurse; moving +a little in her chair. + +“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?” said the cooper, quickly. + +“It was read to me, before I set out.” + +“By----” + +“By Ida's mother. I do not blame you for your caution,” she continued. +“You must be so interested in the happiness of the dear child of whom +you have taken such (sic) excelent care, I don't mind telling you that I +was the one who left her at your door eight years ago, and that I never +left the neighborhood until I found that you had taken her in.” + +“And it was this, that enabled you to find the house, to-day.” + +“You forget,” said 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 the cooper. “I am disposed to believe in the +genuineness of your claim. 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 the nurse. “I don't blame you in the least. I +shall report it to Ida's mother, as a proof of your attachment to your +child.” + +“When do you wish Ida to go with you?” asked Mrs. Crump. + +“Can you let her go this afternoon?” + +“Why,” said Mrs. Crump, hesitating, “I should like to have a chance to +wash out some clothes for her. I want her to appear as neat a possible, +when she meets her mother.” + +The nurse hesitated. + +“I do not 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 excellently. 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. Crump, kindly. “It is 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; “we must insist upon 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. Crump 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.” + +Left to herself, the nurse behaved in a manner which might be regarded +as singular. She rose from her seat, and approached the mirror. She took +a full survey of herself as she stood there, and laughed a short, hard +laugh. + +Then she made a formal courtesy to her own reflection, saying, “How do +you do, Mrs. Hardwick?” + +“Did you speak?” asked the cooper, who was passing through the entry on +his way out. + +“No,” said the nurse, a little awkwardly. “I believe I said something to +myself. It's of no consequence.” + +“Somehow,” thought the cooper, “I don't fancy the woman's looks, but I +dare say I am prejudiced. We're all of us as God made us.” + +While Mrs. Crump was making preparations for the noon-day meal, she +imparted to Rachel the astonishing information, which has already been +detailed to the reader. + +“I don't believe a word of it,” said Rachel, resolutely. + +“She's an imposter. I knew she was the very first moment I set eyes on +her.” + +This remark was so characteristic of Rachel, that Mrs. Crump did not +attach any special importance to it. Rachel, of course, had no grounds +for the opinion she so confidently expressed. It was consistent, +however, with her general estimate of human nature. + +“What object could she have in inventing such a story?” + +“What object? Hundreds of 'em,” said Rachel, rather indefinitely. “Mark +my words, if you let her carry off Ida, it'll be the last you'll ever +see of her.” + +“Try to look on the bright side, Rachel. Nothing is more natural than +that her mother should want to see her.” + +“Why couldn't she come herself?” muttered Rachel. + +“The letter explains.” + +“I don't see that it does.” + +“It says that the same reasons exist for concealment as ever.” + +“And what are they, I should like to know? I don't like mysteries, for +my part.” + +“We won't quarrel with them, at any rate, since they enable us to keep +Ida with us.” + +Aunt Rachel shook her head, as if she were far from satisfied. + +“I don't know,” said Mrs. Crump, “but I ought to invite Mrs. Hardwick in +here. I have left her alone in the front room.” + +“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. + +“Very true,” said Mrs. Crump, evasively, “but I was not able to have the +care of you all the time. Didn't I ever mention Mrs. Hardwick to you?” + +“No, mother.” + +“Although it is so long since I have seen her, I should have known her +anywhere,” said the nurse, applying a handkerchief to her eyes. “So +pretty as she's grown up, too!” + +Mrs. Crump, who, as has been said, was devotedly attached to Ida, +glanced with pride at the beautiful child, who blushed at the +compliment. + +“Ida,” said Mrs. Hardwick, “won't you come and kiss your old nurse?” + +Ida looked at the hard face, which now wore a smile intended to express +affection. Without knowing why, she felt an instinctive repugnance to +her, notwithstanding her words of endearment. + +She advanced timidly, with a reluctance which she was not wholly able to +conceal, and passively submitted to a caress from the nurse. + +There was a look in the eyes of the nurse, carefully guarded, yet not +wholly concealed, which showed that she was quite aware of Ida's feeling +towards her, and resented it. But whether or not she was playing a part, +she did not betray this feeling openly, but pressed the unwilling child +more closely to her bosom. + +Ida breathed a sigh of relief when she was released, and walked quietly +away, wondering what it was that made her dislike the woman so much. + +“Is my nurse a good woman?” she asked, thoughtfully, when alone with +Mrs. Crump, who was setting the table for dinner. + +“A good woman! What makes you ask that?” queried her adopted mother, in +surprise. + +“I don't know,” said Ida. + +“I don't know anything to indicate that she is otherwise,” said Mrs. +Crump. “And, by the way, Ida, she is going to take you on a little +excursion, to-morrow.” + +“She going to take me?” exclaimed Ida. “Why, where are we going?” + +“On a little pleasure trip, and perhaps she may introduce you to a +pleasant lady, who has already become interested in you, from what she +has told her.” + +“What could she say of me?” inquired Ida, “she has not seen me since I +was a baby.” + +“Why,” said the cooper's wife a little puzzled, “she appears to have +thought of you ever since, with a good deal of affection.” + +“Is it wicked,” asked Ida, after a pause, “not to like those that like +us?” + +“What makes you ask?” + +“Because, somehow or other, I don't like this Mrs. Hardwick at all, for +all she was my old nurse, and I don't believe ever shall.” + +“Oh yes, you will,” said Mrs. Crump, “when you find she is exerting +herself to give you pleasure.” + +“Am I going to-morrow morning with Mrs. Hardwick?” + +“Yes. She wanted you to go to-day, but your clothes were not in order.” + +“We shall come back at night, sha'n't we?” + +“I presume so.” + +“I hope we shall,” said Ida, decidedly, “and that she won't want me to +go with her again.” + +“Perhaps you will think differently when it is over, and you find you +have enjoyed yourself better than you anticipated.” + +Mrs. Crump exerted herself to fit Ida up as neatly as possible, and when +at length she was got ready, she thought to herself, with sudden fear, +“Perhaps her mother won't be willing to part with her again.” + +When Ida was ready to start, there came over all a little shadow of +depression, as if the child were to be separated from them for a year, +and not for a day only. Perhaps this was only natural, since even this +latter term, however brief, was longer than they had been parted from +her since, an infant, she was left at their door. + +The nurse expressly desired that none of the family should accompany +her, as she declared it highly important that the whereabouts of Ida's +mother should not be known at once. “Of course,” she said, “after +Ida returns, she can tell you what she pleases. Then it will be of no +consequence, for her mother will be gone. She does not live in this +neighborhood; she has only come here to have an interview with Ida.” + +“Shall you bring her back to-night?” asked Mrs. Crump. + +“I may keep her till to-morrow,” said the nurse. “After eight years' +absence, that will seem short enough.” + +To this, Mrs. Crump agreed, but thought that it would seem long to her, +she had been so accustomed to have Ida present at meals. + +The nurse walked as far as Broadway, holding Ida by the hand. + +“Where are we going?” asked the child, timidly. “Are we going to walk +all the way?” + +“No,” said the nurse, “we shall ride. There is an omnibus coming now. We +will get into it.” + +She beckoned to the driver who stopped his horse. Ida and her companion +got in. + +They got out at the Jersey City ferry. + +“Did you ever ride in a steamboat?” asked Mrs. Hardwick, in a tone +intended to be gracious. + +“Once or twice,” said Ida. “I went with brother Jack once, over to +Hoboken. Are we going there, now?” + +“No, we are going over to the city, you can see over the water.” + +“What is it? Is it Brooklyn?” + +“No, it is Jersey City.” + +“Oh, that will be pleasant,” said Ida, forgetting, in her childish love +of novelty, the repugnance with which the nurse had inspired her. + +“Yes, and that is not all; we are going still further,” said the nurse. + +“Are we going further?” asked Ida, her eyes sparkling. “Where are we +going?” + +“To a town on the line of the railroad.” + +“And shall we ride in the cars?” asked the child, with animation. + +“Yes, didn't you ever ride in the cars before?” + +“No, never.” + +“I think you will like it.” + +“Oh, I know I shall. How fast do the cars go?” + +“Oh, a good many miles an hour,--maybe thirty.” + +“And how long will it take us to go to the place you are going to carry +me to!” + +“I don't know exactly,--perhaps two hours.” + +“Two whole hours in the cars!” exclaimed Ida. “How much I shall have to +tell father and Jack when I get back.” + +“So you will,” said Mrs. Hardwick, with an unaccountable smile, “when +you get back.” + +There was something peculiar in her tone as she pronounced these last +words, but Ida did not notice it. + +So Ida, despite her company, actually enjoyed, in her bright +anticipation, a keen sense of pleasure. + +“Are we most there?” she asked, after riding about two hours. + +“It won't be long,” said the nurse. + +“We must have come ever so many miles,” said Ida. + +An hour passed. She amused herself by gazing out of the car windows at +the towns which seemed to flit by. At length, both Ida and her nurse +became hungry. + +The nurse beckoned to her side a boy who was going through the cars +selling apples and seed-cakes, and inquired their price. + +“The apples are two cents apiece, ma'am, and the cakes a cent apiece.” + +Ida, who had been looking out of the window, turned suddenly round, and +exclaimed, in great astonishment; “Why, William Fitts, is that you?” + +“Why, Ida, where did you come from?” asked the boy, his surprise +equalling her own. + +The nurse bit her lips in vexation at this unexpected recognition. + +“I'm making a little journey with her,” indicating Mrs. Hardwick. + +“So you're going to Philadelphia,” said the boy. + +“To Philadelphia!” said Ida, in surprise. “Not that I know of.” + +“Why, you're most there now.” + +“Are we, Mrs. Hardwick?” asked Ida, looking in her companion's face. + +“It isn't far from there where we're going,” said the nurse, shortly. +“Boy, I'll take two of your apples and four seed-cakes. And now you'd +better go along, for there's somebody by the stove that looks as if he +wanted to buy of you.” + +William looked back as if he would like to question Ida farther, but her +companion looked forbidding, and he passed on reluctantly. + +“Who is that boy?” asked the nurse, abruptly. + +“His name is William Fitts.” + +“Where did you get acquainted with him?” + +“He went to school with Jack, so I used to see him sometimes.” + +“With Jack! Who's Jack?” + +“What! Don't you know Jack, brother Jack?” asked Ida, in childish +surprise. + +“O yes,” replied the nurse, recollecting herself; “I didn't think of +him.” + +“He's a first-rate boy, William is,” said Ida, who was disposed to be +communicative. “He's good to his mother. You see his mother is sick most +of the time, and can't do much; and he's got a little sister, she ain't +more than four or five years old--and William supports them by selling +things. He's only sixteen; isn't he a smart boy?” + +“Yes;” said the nurse, mechanically. + +“Some time,” continued Ida, “I hope I shall be able to earn something +for father and mother, so they won't be obliged to work so hard.” + +“What could you do?” asked the nurse, curiously. + +“I don't know as I could do much,” said Ida, modestly; “but when I have +practised more, perhaps I could draw pictures that people would buy.” + +“So you know how to draw?” + +“Yes, I've been taking lessons for over a year.” + +“And how do you like it?” + +“Oh, ever so much! I like it a good deal better 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. + +“Why, yes, of course you are,” said Mrs. Hardwick, in a practical, +matter-of-fact tone. “Here, cross the street here. Take care or you'll +get run over. Now turn down here.” + +They had now entered a narrow and dirty street, with unsightly houses on +either side. + +“This ain't a very nice looking street,” said Ida, looking about her. + +“Why isn't it?” demanded the nurse, looking displeased. + +“Why, it's narrow, and the houses don't look nice.” + +“What do you think of that house, there?” asked Mrs. Hardwick, pointing +out a tall, brick tenement house. + +“I shouldn't like to live there,” said Ida, after a brief survey. + +“You shouldn't! You don't like it so well as the house you live in in +New York?” + +“No, not half so well.” + +The nurse smiled. + +“Wouldn't you like to go up and look at the house?” she asked. + +“Go up and look at it!” repeated Ida, in surprise. + +“Yes, I mean to go in.” + +“Why, what should we do that for?” + +“You see there are some poor families living there that I go to see +sometimes,” said Mrs. Hardwick, who appeared to be amused at something. +“You know it is our duty to visit the poor.” + +“Yes, that's what mother says.” + +“There's a poor man living in the third story that I've made a good many +clothes for, first and last,” said the nurse, in the same peculiar tone. + +“He must be very much obliged to you,” said Ida, thinking that Mrs. +Hardwick was a better woman than she had supposed. + +“We're going up to see him, now,” said the nurse. “Just take care of. +that hole in the stairs. Here we are.” + +Somewhat to Ida's surprise, her companion opened the door without +the ceremony of knocking, and revealed a poor untidy room, in which a +coarse, unshaven man, was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe. + +“Hallo!” exclaimed this individual, jumping up suddenly. “So you've got +along, old woman! Is that the gal?” + +Ida stared from one to the other, in unaffected amazement. + + + +CHAPTER X. UNEXPECTED QUARTERS. + + + +THE appearance of the man whom Mrs. Hardwick addressed so familiarly was +more picturesque than pleasing. He had a large, broad face, which, not +having been shaved for a week, looked like a wilderness of stubble. His +nose indicated habitual indulgence in alcoholic beverages. His eyes, +likewise, were bloodshot, and his skin looked coarse and blotched; his +coat was thrown aside, displaying a shirt which bore evidence of having +been useful in its day and generation. The same remark may apply to his +nether integuments, which were ventilated at each knee, indicating a +most praiseworthy regard to the laws of health. He was sitting in a +chair pitched back against the wall, with his feet resting on another, +and a short Dutch pipe in his mouth, from which volumes of smoke were +pouring. + +Ida thought she had never seen before so disgusting a man. She continued +to gaze at him, half in astonishment, half in terror, till the object of +her attention exclaimed,-- + +“Well, little girl, what you're looking at? Hain't you never seen a +gentleman before?” + +Ida clung the closer to her companion, who, she was surprised to find, +did not resent the man's impertinence. + +“Well, Dick, how've you got along since I've been gone?” asked Mrs. +Hardwick, to Ida's unbounded astonishment. + +“Oh, so so.” + +“Have you felt lonely any?” + +“I've had good company.” + +“Who's been here?” + +Dick pointed significantly to a jug, which stood beside his chair. + +“So you've brought the gal. How did you get hold of her?” + +There was something in these questions which terrified Ida. It seemed to +indicate a degree of complicity between these two, which boded no good +to her. + +“I'll tell you the particulars by and by,” said the nurse, looking +significantly at the child's expressive face. + +At the same time she began to take off her bonnet. + +“You ain't going to stop, are you?” whispered Ida. + +“Ain't going to stop!” repeated the man called Dick. “Why shouldn't she? +Ain't she at home?” + +“At home!” echoed Ida, apprehensively, opening wide her eyes in +astonishment. + +“Yes, ask her.” + +Ida looked, inquiringly, at Mrs. Hardwick. + +“You might as well take off your things,” said the latter, grimly. “We +ain't going any farther to-day.” + +“And where's the lady you said you were going to see?” asked the child, +bewildered. + +“The one that was interested in you?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, I'm the one.” + +“You!” + +“Yes.” + +“I don't want to stay here,” said Ida, becoming frightened. + +“Well, what are you going to do about it?” asked the woman, mockingly. + +“Will you take me back early to-morrow?” + +“No, I don't intend to take you back at all,” said the nurse, coolly. + +Ida seemed stupefied with astonishment and terror at first. Then, +actuated by a sudden impulse, she ran to the door, and had got it open +when the nurse sprang forward, and seizing her by the arm, dragged her +rudely back. + +“Where are you going in such a hurry?” she demanded, roughly. + +“Back to father and mother,” said Ida, bursting into tears. “Oh, why did +you carry me away?” + +“I'll tell you why,” answered Dick, jocularly. “You see, Ida, we ain't +got any little girl to love us, and so we got you.” + +“But I don't love you, and I never shall,” said Ida, indignantly. + +“Now don't you go to saying that,” said Dick. “You'll break my heart, +you will, and then Peg will be a widow.” + +To give effect to this pathetic speech, Dick drew out a tattered red +handkerchief, and made a great demonstration of wiping his eyes. + +The whole scene was so ludicrous that Ida, despite her fears and +disgust, could not help laughing hysterically. She recovered herself +instantly, and said, imploringly, “Oh, do let me go, and father will pay +you; I'm sure he will.” + +“You really think he would?” said Dick. + +“Oh, yes; and you'll tell her to carry me back, won't you?” + +“No, he won't tell me any such thing,” said Peg, gruffly; “and if he +did, I wouldn't do it; so you might as well give up all thoughts of that +first as last. You're going to stay here; so take off that bonnet of +yours, and say no more about it.” + +Ida made no motion towards obeying this mandate. + +“Then I'll do it for you,” said Peg. + +She roughly untied the bonnet, Ida struggling vainly in opposition, +and taking this with the shawl, carried them to a closet, in which she +placed them, and then, locking the door, deliberately put the key in her +pocket. + +“There,” said she, “I guess you're safe for the present.” + +“Ain't you ever going to carry me back?” asked Ida, wishing to know the +worst. + +“Some years hence,” said the woman, coolly. “We want you here for the +present. Besides, you're not sure that they want to see you back again.” + +“Not glad to see me?” + +“No; how do you know but your father and mother sent you off on purpose? +They've been troubled with you long enough, and now they've bound you +apprentice to me till you're eighteen.” + +“It's a lie,” said Ida, firmly. “They didn't send me off, and you're a +wicked woman to keep me here.” + +“Hoity-toity!” said the woman, pausing and looking menacingly at the +child. “Have you anything more to say before I whip you?” + +“Yes,” said Ida, goaded to desperation; “I shall complain of you to the +police, and they will put you in jail, and send me home. That is what I +will do.” + +The nurse seized Ida by the arm, and striding with her to the closet +already spoken of, unlocked it, and rudely pushing her in, locked the +door after her. + +“She's a spunky 'un,” remarked Dick, taking the pipe from his mouth. + +“Yes,” said the woman, “she makes more fuss than I thought she would.” + +“How did you manage to come it over her family?” asked Dick. + +His wife, gave substantially, the same account with which the reader is +already familiar. + +“Pretty well done, old woman!” exclaimed Dick, approvingly. “I always +said you was a deep 'un. I always say if Peg can't find out a way to do +a thing it can't be done, no how.” + +“How about the counterfeit coin?” asked his wife, abruptly. + +“They're to supply us with all we can get off, and we are to have one +half of all we succeed in passing.” + +“That is good,” said the woman, thoughtfully. “When this girl Ida gets a +little tamed down, we'll give her some business to do.” + +“Won't she betray us if she gets caught?” + +“We'll manage that, or at least I will. I'll work on her fears so that +she won't any more dare to say a word about us than to cut her own head +off.” + +Ida sank down on the floor of the closet into which she had been thrust. +Utter darkness was around her, and a darkness as black seemed to hang +over all her prospects of future happiness. She had been snatched in +a moment from parents, or those whom she regarded as such, and from a +comfortable and happy though humble home, to this dismal place. In place +of the kindness and indulgence to which she had been accustomed, she +was now treated with harshness and cruelty. What wonder that her heart +desponded, and her tears of childish sorrow flowed freely? + + + +CHAPTER XI. SUSPENSE. + + + +“It doesn't somehow seem natural,” said Mr. Crump, as he took his seat +at the tea-table, “to sit down without Ida. It seems as if half of the +family were gone.” + +“Just what I've said twenty times to-day,” remarked his wife. “Nobody +knows how much a child is to them till they lose it.” + +“Not lose it, mother,” said Jack, who had been sitting in a silence +unusual for him. + +“I didn't mean to say that,” said Mrs. Crump. “I meant till they were +gone away for a time.” + +“When you spoke of losing,” said Jack, “it made me feel just as Ida +wasn't coming back.” + +“I don't know how it is,” said his mother, thoughtfully, “but that's +just the feeling I've had several times to-day. I've felt just as if +something or other would happen so that Ida wouldn't come back.” + +“That is only because she has never been away before,” said the cooper, +cheerfully. “It isn't best to borrow trouble; we shall have enough of it +without.” + +“You never said a truer word, brother,” said Rachel, lugubriously. “'Man +is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.' This world is a vale of +tears. Folks may try and try to be happy, but that isn't what they're +sent here for.” + +“Now that's where I differ from you,” said the cooper, good-humoredly, +“just as there are many more pleasant than stormy days, so I believe +that there is much more of brightness than shadow in this life of ours, +if we would only see it.” + +“I can't see it,” said Rachel, shaking her head very decidedly. + +“Perhaps you could if you tried.” + +“So I do.” + +“It seems to me, Rachel, you take more pains to look at the clouds than +the sun.” + +“Yes,” chimed in Jack; “I've noticed whenever Aunt Rachel takes up the +newspaper, she always looks first at the (sic) death's, and next at the +fatal accidents and steamboat explosions.” + +“It's said,” said Aunt Rachel, with severe emphasis, “if you should ever +be on board a steamboat when it exploded you wouldn't find much to laugh +at.” + +“Yes, I should,” said Jack. “I should laugh----” + +“What!” said Aunt Rachel, horrified. + +“On the other side of my mouth,” concluded Jack. “You didn't wait till I +had got through the sentence.” + +“I don't think it proper to make light of such matters.” + +“Nor I, Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, drawing down the corners of his mouth. +“I am willing to confess that this is a serious matter. I should feel as +they said the cow did, that was thrown three hundred feet into the air.” + +“How was that?” inquired his mother. + +“A little discouraged,” replied Jack. + +All laughed except Aunt Rachel, who preserved the same severe composure, +and continued to eat the pie upon her plate with the air of one gulping +down medicine. + +So the evening passed. All seemed to miss Ida. Mrs. Crump found herself +stealing glances at the smaller chair beside her own in which Ida +usually sat. The cooper appeared abstracted, and did not take as much +interest as usual in the evening paper. Jack was restless, and found it +difficult to fix his attention upon anything. Even Aunt Rachel looked +more dismal than usual, if such a thing be possible. + +In the morning all felt brighter. + +“Ida will be home to-night,” said Mrs. Crump, cheerfully. “What an age +it seems since she left us!” + +“We shall know better how to appreciate her presence,” said the cooper, +cheerfully. + +“What time do you expect her home? Did Mrs. Hardwick say?” + +“Why no,” said Mrs. Crump, “she didn't say, but I guess she will be along +in the course of the afternoon.” + +“If we only knew where she had gone,” said Jack, “we could tell better.” + +“But as we don't know,” said his father, “we must wait patiently till +she comes.” + +“I guess,” said Mrs. Crump, in the spirit of a notable housewife, “I'll +make up some apple-turnovers for supper to-night. There's nothing Ida +likes so well.” + +“That's where Ida is right,” said Jack, “apple-turnovers are splendid.” + +“They're very unwholesome,” remarked Aunt Rachel. + +“I shouldn't think so from the way you eat them, Aunt Rachel,” retorted +Jack. “You ate four the last time we had them for supper.” + +“I didn't think you'd begrudge me the little I eat,” said Rachel, +dolefully. “I didn't think you took the trouble to keep account of what +I ate.” + +“Come, Rachel, this is unreasonable,” said her brother. “Nobody +begrudges you what you eat, even if you choose to eat twice as much as +you do. I dare say, Jack ate more of them than you did.” + +“I ate six,” said Jack. + +Rachel, construing this into an apology, said no more; but, feeling it +unnecessary to explain why she ate what she admitted to be unhealthy, +added, “And if I do eat what's unwholesome, it's because life ain't of +any value to me. The sooner one gets out of this vale of affliction the +better.” + +“And the way you take to get out of it,” said Jack, gravely, “is by +eating apple-turnovers. Whenever you die, Aunt Rachel, we shall have +to put a paragraph in the papers, headed, 'Suicide by eating +apple-turnovers.'” + +Rachel intimated, in reply, that she presumed it would afford Jack a +great deal of satisfaction to write such a paragraph. + +The evening came. Still no tidings of Ida. + +The family began to feel alarmed. An indefinable sense of apprehension +oppressed the minds of all. Mrs. Crump feared that Ida's mother, seeing +her grown up so attractive, could not resist the temptation of keeping +her. + +“I suppose,” she said, “that she has the best claim to her; but it will +be a terrible thing for us to part with her.” + +“Don't let us trouble ourselves in that way,” said the cooper. “It seems +to me very natural that they should keep her a little longer than they +intended. Besides, it is not too late for her to return to-night.” + +This cheered Mrs. Crump a little. + +The evening passed slowly. + +At length there came a knock at the door. + +“I guess that is Ida,” said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. + +Jack seized a candle, and hastening to the door, threw it open. But +there was no Ida there. In her place stood William Fitts, the boy who +had met Ida in the cars. + +“How do you do, Bill?” said Jack, endeavoring not to look disappointed. +“Come in, and take a seat, and tell us all the news.” + +“Well,” said William, “I don't know of any. I suppose Ida has got home.” + +“No,” said Jack, “we expected her to-night, but she hasn't come yet.” + +“She told me that she expected to come back to-day,” said William. + +“What! have you seen her?” exclaimed all in chorus. + +“Yes, I saw her yesterday noon.” + +“Where?” + +“Why, in the cars,” said William, a little surprised at the question. + +“What cars?” asked the cooper. + +“Why, the Philadelphia cars. Of course, you knew that was where she was +going?” + +“Philadelphia!” all exclaimed, in surprise. + +“Yes, the cars were almost there when I saw her. Who was that with her?” + +“Mrs. Hardwick, who was her old nurse.” + +“Anyway, I didn't like her looks,” said the boy. + +“That's where I agree with you,” said Jack, decidedly. + +“She didn't seem to want me to speak to Ida,” continued William, “but +hurried her off, just as quick as possible.” + +“There were reasons for that,” said Mrs. Crump, “she wanted to keep +secret her destination.” + +“I don't know what it was,” said William; “but any how, I don't like her +looks.” + +The family felt a little relieved by this information; and, since Ida +had gone so far, it did not seem strange that she should have outstayed +her time. + + + +CHAPTER XII. HOW IDA FARED. + + + +WE left Ida confined in a dark closet, with Peg standing guard over her. + +After an hour she was released. + +“Well,” said Peg, grimly, “how do you feel now?” + +“I want to go home,” sobbed the child. + +“You are at home,” said the woman. “This is going to be your home now.” + +“Shall I never see father and mother and Jack, again?” + +“Why,” answered Peg, “that depends on how you behave yourself.” + +“Oh, if you will only let me go,” said Ida, gathering hope from this +remark, “I'll do anything you say.” + +“Do you mean this, or do you only say it for the sake of getting away?” + +“Oh, I mean just what I say. Dear, good Mrs. Hardwick, just tell me what +I am to do, and I will obey you cheerfully.” + +“Very well,” said Peg, “only you needn't try to get anything out of me +by calling me dear, good Mrs. Hardwick. In the first place, you don't +care a cent about me. In the second place, I am not good; and finally, +my name isn't Mrs. Hardwick, except in New York.” + +“What is it, then?” asked Ida. + +“It's just Peg, no more and no less. You may call me Aunt Peg.” + +“I would rather call you Mrs. Hardwick.” + +“Then you'll have a good many years to call me so. You'd better do as I +tell you if you want any favors. Now what do you say?” + +“Yes, Aunt Peg,” said Ida, with a strong effort to conceal her +repugnance. + +“That's well. Now the first thing to do, is to stay here for the +present.” + +“Yes--aunt.” + +“The second is, you're not to tell anybody that you came from New York. +That is very important. You understand that, do you?” + +The child replied in the affirmative. + +“The next is, that you're to pay for your board, by doing whatever I +tell you.” + +“If it isn't wicked.” + +“Do you suppose I would ask you to do anything wicked?” + +“You said you wasn't good,” mildly suggested Ida. + +“I'm good enough to take care of you. Well, what do you say to that? +Answer me.” + +“Yes.” + +“There's another thing. You ain't to try to run away.” + +Ida hung down her head. + +“Ha!” said Peg. “So you've been thinking of it, have you?” + +“Yes,” said Ida, boldly, after a moment's hesitation; “I did think I +should if I got a good chance.” + +“Humph!” said the woman; “I see we must understand one another. Unless +you promise this, back you go into the dark closet, and I shall keep you +there all the time.” + +Ida shuddered at this fearful threat, terrible to a child of nine. + +“Do you promise?” + +“Yes,” said the child, faintly. + +“For fear you might be tempted to break your promise, I have something +to show you.” + +She went to the cupboard, and took down a large pistol. + +“There,” she said, “do you see that?” + +“Yes, Aunt Peg.” + +“What is it?” + +“It is a pistol, I believe.” + +“Do you know what it is for?” + +“To shoot people with,” said Ida, fixing her eyes on the weapon, as if +impelled by a species of fascination. + +“Yes,” said the woman; “I see you understand. Well, now, do you know +what I would do if you should tell anybody where you came from, or +attempt to run away? Can you guess now?” + +“Would you shoot me?” asked the child, struck with terror. + +“Yes, I would,” said Peg, with fierce emphasis. “That's just what I'd +do. And what's more,” she added, “even if you got away, and got back to +your family in New York. I would follow you and shoot you dead in the +street.” + +“You wouldn't be so wicked!” exclaimed Ida, appalled. + +“Wouldn't I, though?” repeated Peg, significantly. “If you don't believe +I would, just try it. Do you think you would like to try it?” + +“No,” said the child, with a shudder. + +“Well, that's the most sensible thing you've said yet. Now, that you +have got to be a little more reasonable, I'll tell you what I am going +to do with you.” + +Ida looked up eagerly into her face. + +“I am going to keep you with me a year. I want the services of a little +girl for that time. If you serve me faithfully, I will then send you +back to your friends in New York.” + +“Will you?” said Ida, hopefully. + +“Yes. But you must mind and do what I tell you.” + +“O yes,” said the child, joyfully. + +This was so much better than she had been led to fear, that the prospect +of returning home, even after a year, gave her fresh courage. + +“What shall I do?” she asked, anxious to conciliate Peg. + +“You may take the broom,--you will find it just behind the door,--and +sweep the room.” + +“Yes, Aunt Peg.” + +“And after that you may wash the dishes. Or, rather, you may wash the +dishes first.” + +“Yes, Aunt Peg.” + +“And after that I will find something for you to do.” + +The next morning Ida was asked if she would like to go out into the +street. + +This was a welcome proposition, as the sun was shining brightly, and +there was little to please a child's fancy in Peg's shabby apartment. + +“I am going to let you do a little shopping,” said Peg. “There are +various things that we want. Go and get your bonnet.” + +“It's in the closet,” said Ida. + +“O yes, where I put it. That was before I could trust you.” + +She went to the closet, and came back bringing the bonnet and shawl. As +soon as they were ready, they emerged into the street. Ida was glad to +be in the open air once more. + +“This is a little better than being shut up in the closet, isn't it?” + said Peg. + +Ida owned that it was. + +“You see you'll have a very good time of it, if you do as I bid you. I +don't want to do you any harm. I want you to be happy.” + +So they walked along together, until Peg, suddenly pausing, laid her +hand on Ida's arm, and pointing to a shop near by, said to her, “Do you +see that shop?” + +“Yes,” said Ida. + +“Well, that is a baker's shop. And now I'll tell you what to do. I want +you to go in, and ask for a couple of rolls. They come at three cents +apiece. Here's some money to pay for them. It is a silver dollar, as you +see. You will give this to them, and they will give you back ninety-four +cents in change. Do you understand'?” + +“Yes,” said Ida; “I think I do.” + +“And if they ask if you haven't anything smaller, you will say no.” + +“Yes, Aunt Peg.” + +“I will stay just outside. I want you to go in alone, so that you will +get used to doing without me.” + +Ida entered the shop. The baker, a pleasant-looking man, stood behind +the counter. + +“Well, my dear, what is it?” he asked. + +“I should like a couple of rolls.” + +“For your mother, I suppose,” said the baker, sociably. + +“No,” said Ida; “for the woman I board with.” + +“Ha! a silver dollar, and a new one, too,” said the baker, receiving +the coin tendered in payment. “I shall have to save that for my little +girl.” + +Ida left the shop with the two rolls and the silver change. + +“Did he say anything about the money?” asked Peg, a little anxiously. + +“He said he should save it for his little girl.” + +“Good,” said the woman, approvingly; “you've done well.” + +Ida could not help wondering what the baker's disposal of the dollar had +to do with her doing well, but she was soon thinking of other things. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. BAD COIN. + + + +THE baker introduced to the reader's notice in the last chapter was +named Crump. Singularly enough Abel Crump, for this was his name, was a +brother of Timothy Crump, the cooper. In many respects he resembled +his brother. He was an excellent man, exemplary in all the relations of +life, and had a good heart. He was in very comfortable circumstances, +having accumulated a little property by diligent attention to his +business. Like his brother, Abel Crump had married, and had one child, +now about the size of Ida, that is, nine years old. She had received the +name of Ellen. + +When the baker closed his shop for the night he did not forget the +silver dollar which he had received, or the disposal which he told Ida +he should make of it. + +He selected it carefully from the other coins, and slipped it into his +vest pocket. + +Ellen ran to meet him as he entered the house. + +“What do you think I have brought you, Ellen?” said her father, smiling. + +“Do tell me quick,” said the child, eagerly. + +“What if I should tell you it was a silver dollar?” + +“Oh, father, thank you,” and Ellen ran to show it to her mother. + +“You got it at the shop?” asked his wife. + +“Yes,” said the baker; “I received it from a little girl about the size +of Ellen, and I suppose it was that gave me the idea of bringing it home +to her.” + +“Was she a pretty little girl?” asked Ellen, interested. + +“Yes, she was very attractive. I could not help feeling interested in +her. I hope she will come again.” + +This was all that passed concerning Ida at that time. The thought of her +would have passed from the baker's mind, if it had not been recalled by +circumstances. + +Ellen, like most girls of her age, when in possession of money, could +not be easy until she had spent it. Her mother advised her to lay it +away, or perhaps deposit it in some Savings Bank; but Ellen preferred +present gratification. + +Accordingly one afternoon, when walking out with her mother, she +persuaded her to go into a toy shop, and price a doll which she saw in +the window. The price was sixty-two cents. Ellen concluded to take it, +and tendered the silver dollar in payment. + +The shopman took it into his hand, glancing at it carelessly at first, +then scrutinizing it with considerable attention. + +“What is the matter?” inquired Mrs. Crump. “It is good, isn't it?” + +“That is what I am doubtful of,” was the reply. + +“It is new.” + +“And that is against it. If it were old, it would be more likely to be +genuine.” + +“But you wouldn't (sic) comdemn a piece because it was new?” + +“Certainly not; but the fact is, there have been lately many cases where +spurious dollars have been circulated, and I suspect this is one of +them. However, I can soon test it.” + +“I wish you, would,” said Mrs. Crump. “My husband took it at his shop, +and will be likely to take more unless he is placed on his guard.” + +The shopman retired a moment, and then reappeared. + +“It is as I thought,” he said. “The coin is not good.” + +“And can't I pass it, then?” said Ellen, disappointed. + +“I am afraid not.” + +“Then I don't see, Ellen,” said her mother, “but you will have to give +up your purchase for to-day. We must tell your father of this.” + +Mr. Crump was exceedingly surprised at his wife's account. + +“Really,” he said, “I had no suspicion of this. Can it be possible that +such a beautiful child could be guilty of such a crime?” + +“Perhaps not,” said his wife. “She may be as innocent in the matter as +Ellen or myself.” + +“I hope so,” said the baker; “it would be a pity that such a child +should be given to wickedness. However, I shall find out before long.” + +“How?” + +“She will undoubtedly come again some time, and if she offers me one of +the same coins I shall know what to think.” + +Mr. Crump watched daily for the coming of Ida. He waited some days in +vain. It was not the policy of Peg to send the child too often to the +same place, as that would increase the chances of detection. + +One day, however, Ida entered the shop as before. + +“Good morning,” said the baker. “What will you have to-day?” + +“You may give me a sheet of gingerbread, sir.” + +The baker placed it in her hands. + +“How much will it be?” + +“Twelve cents.” + +Ida offered him another silver dollar. + +As if to make change, he stepped from behind the counter, and managed to +place himself between Ida and the door. + +“What is your name, my child?” he asked. + +“Ida, sir.” + +“Ida? A very pretty name; but what is your other name?” + +Ida hesitated a moment, because Peg had forbidden her to use the name +of Crump, and told her if the inquiry was ever made, she must answer +Hardwick. + +She answered, reluctantly, “My name is Ida Hardwick.” + +The baker observed the hesitation, and this increased his suspicions. + +“Hardwick!” he repeated, musingly, endeavoring to draw from the child +as much information as he could before allowing her to perceive that he +suspected her. “And where do you live?” + +Ida was a child of spirit, and did not understand why she should be +questioned so closely. She said, with some impatience, “I am in a hurry, +sir, and would like to have you hand me the change as soon as you can.” + +“I have no doubt of it,” said the baker, his manner changing; “but you +cannot go just yet.” + +“And why not?” asked Ida, her eyes flashing. + +“Because you have been trying to deceive me.” + +“I trying to deceive you!” exclaimed the child, in astonishment. + +“Really,” thought Mr. Crump, “she does it well, but no doubt they train +her to it. It is perfectly shocking, such depravity in a child.” + +“Don't you remember buying something here a week ago?” he said, in as +stern a tone as his good nature would allow him to employ. + +“Yes,” said Ida, promptly; “I bought two rolls at three cents a piece.” + +“And what did you offer me in payment?” + +“I handed you a silver dollar.” + +“Like this?” asked Mr. Crump, holding up the coin. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And do you mean to say,” said the baker, sternly, “that you didn't know +it was bad when you handed it to me?” + +“Bad!” exclaimed Ida, in great surprise. + +“Yes, spurious. It wasn't worth one tenth of a dollar.” + +“And is this like it?” + +“Precisely.” + +“Indeed, sir, I didn't know anything about it,” said Ida, earnestly, “I +hope you will believe me when I say that I thought it was good.” + +“I don't know what to think,” said the baker, perplexed. + +“I don't know whether to believe you or not,” said he. “Have you any +other money?” + +“That is all I have got.” + +“Of course, I can't let you have the gingerbread. Some would deliver you +up into the hands of the police. However, I will let you go if you will +make me one promise.” + +“Oh, anything, sir.” + +“You have given me a bad dollar. Will you promise to bring me a good one +to-morrow?” + +Ida made the required promise, and was allowed to go. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. DOUBTS AND FEARS. + + + +“WELL, what kept you so long?” asked Peg, impatiently, as Ida rejoined +her at the corner of the street, where she had been waiting for her. +“And where's your gingerbread?” + +“He wouldn't let me have it,” said Ida. + +“And why not?” + +“Because he said the money wasn't good.” + +“Stuff! it's good enough,” said Peg, hastily. “Then we must go somewhere +else.” + +“But he said the dollar I gave him last week wasn't good, and I promised +to bring him another to-morrow, or he wouldn't have let me go.” + +“Well, where are you going to get your dollar to carry him?” + +“Why, won't you give it to me?” said Ida, hesitatingly. + +“Catch me at such nonsense! But here we are at another shop. Go in and +see whether you can do any better there. Here's the money.” + +“Why, it's the same piece.” + +“What if it is?” + +“I don't want to pass bad money.” + +“Tut, what hurt will it do?” + +“It is the same as stealing.” + +“The man won't lose anything. He'll pass it off again.” + +“Somebody'll have to lose it by and by,” said Ida, whose truthful +perceptions saw through the woman's sophistry. + +“So you've taken up preaching, have you?” said Peg, sneeringly. “Maybe +you know better than I what is proper to do. It won't do to be so mighty +particular, and so you'll find out if you live with me long.” + +“Where did you take the dollar?” asked Ida, with a sudden thought; “and +how is it that you have so many of them?” + +“None of your business,” said her companion, roughly. “You shouldn't pry +into the affairs of other people.” + +“Are you going to do as I told you?” she demanded, after a moment's +pause. + +“I can't,” said Ida, pale but resolute. + +“You can't,” repeated Peg, furiously. “Didn't you promise to do whatever +I told you?” + +“Except what was wicked,” interrupted Ida. + +“And what business have you to decide what is wicked? Come home with +me.” + +Peg, walked in sullen silence, occasionally turning round to scowl upon +the unfortunate child, who had been strong enough, in her determination +to do right, to resist successfully the will of the woman whom she had +every reason to dread. + +Arrived at home, Peg walked Ida into the room by the shoulder. + +Dick was lounging in a chair, with the inevitable pipe in his mouth. + +“Hilloa!” said he, lazily, observing his wife's movements, “what's the +gal been doing, hey?” + +“What's she been doing?” repeated Peg; “I should like to know what she +hasn't been doing. She's refused to go in and buy some gingerbread of +the baker, as I told her.” + +“Look here, little gal,” said Dick, in a moralizing vein, “isn't +this rayther undootiful conduct on your part? Ain't it a piece of +ingratitude, when we go to the trouble of earning the money to pay for +gingerbread for you to eat, that you ain't willing to go in and buy it?” + +“I would just as lieves go in,” said Ida, “if Peg would give me good +money to pay for it.” + +“That don't make any difference,” said the admirable moralist; “jest do +as she tells you, and you'll do right. She'll take the risk.” + +“I can't!” said the child. + +“You hear her?” said Peg. + +“Very improper conduct!” said Dick, shaking his head. “Put her in the +closet.” + +So Ida was incarcerated once more in the dark closet. Yet, in the midst +of her desolation, there was a feeling of pleasure in thinking that she +was suffering for doing right. + +When Ida failed to return on the expected day, the Crumps, though +disappointed, did not think it strange. + +“If I were her mother,” said Mrs. Crump, “and had been parted from her +so long, I should want to keep her as long as I could. Dear heart! how +pretty she is, and how proud her mother must be of her!” + +“It's all a delusion,” said Aunt Rachel, shaking her head. “It's all a +delusion. I don't believe she's got a mother at all. That Mrs. Hardwick +is an imposter. I knew it, and told you so at the time, but you wouldn't +believe me. I never expect to set eyes on Ida again in this world.” + +“I do,” said Jack, confidently. + +“There's many a hope that's doomed to disappointment,” said Aunt Rachel. + +“So there is,” said Jack. “I was hoping mother would have apple-pudding +for dinner to-day, but she didn't.” + +The next day passed, and still no tidings of Ida. There was a cloud +of anxiety, even upon Mr. Crump's usually placid face, and he was more +silent than usual at the evening meal. + +At night, after Rachel and Jack had both retired, he said, anxiously, +“What do you think is the cause of Ida's prolonged absence, Mary?” + +“I don't know,” said Mrs. Crump, seriously. “It seems to me, if her +mother wanted to keep her longer than the time she at first proposed, +it would be no more than right that she should write us a line. She must +know that we would feel anxious.” + +“Perhaps she is so taken up with Ida that she can think of nothing +else.” + +“It may be so; but if we neither see Ida to-morrow, nor hear from her, I +shall be seriously troubled.” + +“Suppose she should never come back,” said the cooper, sadly. + +“Oh, husband, don't think of such a thing,” said his wife, distressed. + +“We must contemplate it as a possibility,” returned Timothy, gravely, +“though not, I hope, as a probability. Ida's mother has an undoubted +right to her; a better right than any we can urge.” + +“Then it would be better,” said his wife, tearfully, “if she had never +been placed in our charge. Then we should not have had the pain of +parting with her.” + +“Not so, Mary,” said the cooper, seriously. “We ought to be grateful for +God's blessings, even if he suffers us to possess them but a short time. +And Ida has been a blessing to us, I am sure. How many hours have been +made happy by her childish prattle! how our hearts have been filled with +cheerful happiness and affection when we have gazed upon her! That can't +be taken from us, even if she is, Mary. There's some lines I met with in +the paper, to-night, that express just what I feel. Let me find them.” + +The cooper put on his spectacles, and hunted slowly down the columns of +the paper, till he came to these beautiful lines of Tennyson, which he +read aloud,-- + + “I hold it true, whate'er befall; + I feel it when I sorrow most; + 'Tis better to have loved and lost, + Than never to have loved at all.” + +“There, wife,” said he, as he laid down the paper; “I don't know who +writ them lines, but I'm sure it's some one that's met with a great +sorrow, and conquered it.” + +“They are beautiful,” said his wife, after a pause; “and I dare say +you're right, Timothy; but I hope we mayn't have reason to learn the +truth of them by experience. After all, it isn't certain but that Ida +will come back. We are troubling ourselves too soon.” + +“At any rate,” said the cooper, “there is no doubt that it is our duty +to take every means to secure Ida if we can. Of course, if her mother +insists upon keeping her, we can't say anything; but we ought to be +sure, before we yield her up, that such is the case.” + +“What do you mean, Timothy?” asked Mrs. Crump, with anxious interest. + +“I don't know as I ought to mention it,” said her husband. “Very +likely there isn't anything in it, and it would only make you feel more +anxious.” + +“You have already aroused my anxiety,” said his wife. “I should feel +better if you would tell me.” + +“Then I will,” said the cooper. “I have sometimes doubted,” he +continued, lowering his voice, “whether Ida's mother really sent for +her.” + +“And the letter?” queried Mrs. Crump, looking less surprised than he +supposed she would. + +“I thought--mind it is only a guess on my part--that Mrs. Hardwick might +have got somebody to write it for her.” + +“It is very singular,” murmured Mrs. Crump, in a tone of abstraction. + +“What is singular?” + +“Why, the very same thought occurred to me. Somehow, I couldn't help +feeling a little suspicious of Mrs. Hardwick, though perhaps unjustly. +But what object could she have in obtaining possession of Ida?” + +“That I cannot conjecture; but I have come to one determination.” + +“And what is that?” + +“Unless we learn something of Ida within a week from the time she left +here, I shall go on to Philadelphia, or send Jack, and endeavor to get +track of her.” + + + +CHAPTER XV. AUNT RACHEL'S MISHAPS. + + + +THE week which had been assigned by Mr. Crump slipped away, and still no +tidings of Ida. The house seemed lonely without her. Not until then, +did they understand how largely she had entered into their life and +thoughts. But worse even, than the sense of loss, was the uncertainty as +to her fate. + +When seven days had passed the cooper said, “It is time that we took +some steps about finding Ida. I had intended to go to Philadelphia +myself, to make inquiries about her, but I am just now engaged upon +a job which I cannot very well leave, and so I have concluded to send +Jack.” + +“When shall I start?” exclaimed Jack, eagerly. + +“To-morrow morning,” answered his father, “and you must take clothes +enough with you to last several days, in case it should be necessary.” + +“What good do you suppose it will do, Timothy,” broke in Rachel, “to +send such a mere boy as Jack?” + +“A mere boy!” repeated her nephew, indignantly. + +“A boy hardly sixteen years old,” continued Rachel. “Why, he'll need +somebody to take care of him. Most likely you'll have to go after him.” + +“What's the use of provoking a fellow so, Aunt Rachel?” said Jack. “You +know I'm most eighteen. Hardly sixteen! Why, I might as well say you're +hardly forty, when everybody knows you're most fifty.” + +“Most fifty!” ejaculated the scandalized spinster. “It's a base slander. +I'm only forty-three.” + +“Maybe I'm mistaken,” said Jack, carelessly. “I didn't know exactly. I +only judged from your looks.” + +“'Judge not that ye be not judged!'” said Rachel, whom this explanation +was not likely to appease. “The world is full of calumny and +misrepresentation. I've no doubt you would like to shorten my days upon +the earth, but I sha'n't live long to trouble any of you. I feel that, +ere the summer of life is over, I shall be gathered into the garden of +the Great Destroyer.” + +At this point, Rachel applied a segment of a pocket-handkerchief to her +eyes; but unfortunately, owing to circumstances, the effect, instead of +being pathetic, as she had intended, was simply ludicrous. + +It so happened that a short time previous the inkstand had been +partially spilled on the table, and this handkerchief had been used to +sop it up. It had been placed inadvertently on the window-seat, where +it had remained till Rachel, who sat beside the window, called it into +requisition. The ink upon it was by no means dry. The consequence was +that, when Rachel removed it from her eyes, her face was found to be +covered with ink in streaks,--mingling with the tears that were falling, +for Rachel always had tears at her command. + +The first intimation the luckless spinster had of her misfortune, was +conveyed in a stentorian laugh from Jack, whose organ of mirthfulness, +marked _very large_ by the phrenologist, could not withstand such a +provocation to laughter. + +He looked intently at the dark traces of sorrow upon his aunt's face, +of which she was yet unconscious--and doubling up, went into a perfect +paroxysm of laughter. + +Aunt Rachel looked equally amazed and indignant. + +“Jack!” said his mother, reprovingly, for she had not observed the cause +of his amusement. “It's improper for you to laugh at your aunt in such a +rude manner.” + +“Oh, I can't help it, mother. It's too rich! Just look at her,” and Jack +went off into another paroxysm. + +Thus invited, Mrs. Crump did look, and the rueful expression of Rachel, +set off by the inky stains, was so irresistibly comical, that, after a +little struggle, she too gave way, and followed Jack's example. + +Astounded and indignant at this unexpected behavior of her +sister-in-law, Rachel burst into a fresh fit of weeping, and again had +recourse to the handkerchief. + +“I've stayed here long enough, if even my sister-in-law, as well as +my own nephew, from whom I expect nothing better, makes me her +laughing-stock. Brother Timothy, I can no longer remain in your dwelling +to be laughed at; I will go to the poor-house, and end my life as a +pauper. If I only receive Christian burial, when I leave the world, it +will be all I hope or expect from my relatives, who will be glad enough +to get rid of me.” + +The second application of the handkerchief had so increased the effect, +that Jack found it impossible to check his laughter, while the cooper, +whose attention was now for the first time drawn to his sister's face, +burst out in a similar manner. + +This more amazed Rachel than even Mrs. Crump's merriment. + +“Even you, Timothy, join in ridiculing your sister!” she exclaimed, in +an 'Et tu Brute,' tone. + +“We don't mean to ridicule you, Rachel,” gasped Mrs. Crump, with +difficulty, “but we can't help laughing----” + +“At the prospect of my death,” uttered Rachel. “Well, I'm a poor forlorn +creetur, I know; I haven't got a friend in the world. Even my nearest +relations make sport of me, and when I speak of dying they shout their +joy to my face.” + +“Yes,” gasped Jack, “that's it exactly. It isn't your death we're +laughing at, but your face.” + +“My face!” exclaimed the insulted spinster. “One would think I was a +fright, by the way you laugh at it.” + +“So you are,” said Jack, in a state of semi-strangulation. + +“To be called a fright to my face!” shrieked Rachel, “by my own nephew! +This is too much. Timothy, I leave your house forever.” + +The excited maiden seized her hood, which was hanging from a nail, and +hardly knowing what she did, was about to leave the house with no other +protection, when she was arrested in her progress towards the door by +the cooper, who stifled his laughter sufficiently to say: “Before you +go, Rachel, just look in the glass.” + +Mechanically his sister did look, and her horrified eyes rested upon +a face which streaked with inky spots and lines seaming it in every +direction. + +In her first confusion, Rachel did not understand the nature of her +mishaps, but hastily jumped to the conclusion that she had been suddenly +stricken by some terrible disease like the plague, whose ravages in +London she had read of with the interest which one of her melancholy +temperament might be expected to find in it. + +Accordingly she began to wring her hands in an excess of terror, and +exclaimed in tones of piercing anguish,-- + +“It is the fatal plague spot! I feel it; I know it! I am marked for the +tomb. The sands of my life are fast running out!” + +Jack broke into a fresh burst of merriment, so that an observer might, +not without reason, have imagined him to be in imminent danger of +suffocation. + +“You'll kill me, Aunt Rachel; I know you will,” he gasped out. + +“You may order my coffin, Timothy,” said Rachel, in a sepulchral tone. +“I sha'n't live twenty-four hours. I've felt it coming on for a week +past. I forgive you for all your ill-treatment. I should like to have +some one go for the doctor, though I know I'm past help. I will go up to +my chamber.” + +“I think,” said the cooper, trying to look sober, “that you will find +the cold-water treatment efficacious in removing the plague-spots, as +you call them.” + +Rachel turned towards him with a puzzled look. Then, as her eyes rested, +for the first time, upon the handkerchief which she had used, its +appearance at once suggested a clew by which she was enabled to account +for her own. + +Somewhat ashamed of the emotion which she had betrayed, as well as the +ridiculous figure which she had cut, she left the room abruptly, and did +not make her appearance again till the next morning. + +After this little episode, the conversation turned upon Jack's +approaching journey. + +“I don't know,” said his mother, “but Rachel is right. Perhaps Jack +isn't old enough, and hasn't had sufficient experience to undertake such +a mission.” + +“Now, mother,” expostulated Jack, “you ain't going to side against me, +are you?” + +“There is no better plan,” said Mr. Crump, quietly, “and I have +sufficient confidence in Jack's shrewdness and intelligence to believe +he may be trusted in this business.” + +Jack looked gratified by this tribute to his powers and capacity, and +determined to show that he was deserving of his father's favorable +opinion. + +The preliminaries were settled, and it was agreed that he should set out +early the next morning. He went to bed with the brightest anticipations, +and with the resolute determination to find Ida if she was anywhere in +Philadelphia. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE FLOWER-GIRL. + + + +HENRY BOWEN was a young artist of moderate talent, who had abandoned +the farm, on which he had labored as a boy, for the sake of pursuing +his favorite profession. He was not competent to achieve the highest +success. The foremost rank in his profession was not for him. But he had +good taste, a correct eye, and a skilful hand, and his productions +were pleasing and popular. A few months before his introduction to the +reader's notice, he had formed a connection with a publisher of prints +and engravings, who had thrown considerable work in his way. + +“Have you any new commission this morning?” inquired the young artist, +on the day before Ida's discovery that she had been employed to pass off +spurious coins. + +“Yes,” said the publisher, “I have thought of something which I think +may prove attractive. Just at present, the public seem fond of pictures +of children in different characters. I should like to have you supply +me with a sketch of a flower-girl, with, say, a basket of flowers in her +hand. The attitude and incidentals I will leave to your taste. The face +must, of course, be as beautiful and expressive as you can make it, +where regularity of features is not sufficient. Do you comprehend my +idea?” + +“I believe I do,” said the young man, “and hope to be able to satisfy +you.” + +The young artist went home, and at once set to work upon the task he +had undertaken. He had conceived that it would be an easy one, but found +himself mistaken. Whether because his fancy was not sufficiently lively, +or his mind was not in tune, he was unable to produce the effect he +desired. The faces which he successively outlined were all stiff, and +though perhaps sufficiently regular in feature, lacked the great charm +of being expressive and life-like. + +“What is the matter with me?” he exclaimed, impatiently, throwing +down his pencil. “Is it impossible for me to succeed? Well, I will be +patient, and make one trial more.” + +He made another trial, that proved as unsatisfactory as those preceding. + +“It is clear,” he decided, “that I am not in the vein. I will go out and +take a walk, and perhaps while I am in the street something will strike +me.” + +He accordingly donned his coat and hat, and, descending, emerged into +the great thoroughfare, where he was soon lost in the throng. It was +only natural that, as he walked, with his task still in his thoughts, he +should scrutinize carefully the faces of such young girls as he met. + +“Perhaps,” it occurred to him, “I may get a hint from some face I may +see. That will be better than to depend upon my fancy. Nothing, after +all, is equal to the masterpieces of Nature.” + +But the young artist was fastidious. “It is strange,” he thought, “how +few there are, even in the freshness of childhood, that can be called +models of beauty. That child, for example, has beautiful eyes but a +badly-cut mouth, Here is one that would be pretty, if the face was +rounded out; and here is a child, Heaven help it! that was designed to +be beautiful, but want and unfavorable circumstances have pinched and +cramped it.” + +It was at this point in the artist's soliloquy that, in turning the +corner of a street, he came upon Peg and Ida. + +Henry Bowen looked earnestly at the child's face, and his own lighted up +with pleasure, as one who stumbles upon success just as he has despaired +of it. + +“The very face I have been looking for!” he exclaimed to himself. “My +flower-girl is found at last!” + +He turned round, and followed Ida and her companion. Both stopped at a +shop-window to examine some articles which were exhibited there. This +afforded a fresh opportunity to examine Ida's face. + +“It is precisely what I want,” he murmured. “Now the question comes up, +whether this woman, who, I suppose, is the girl's attendant, will permit +me to copy her face.” + +The artist's inference that Peg was merely Ida's attendant, was natural, +since the child was dressed in a style quite superior to her companion. +Peg thought that in this way she should be more likely to escape +suspicion when occupied in passing spurious coin. + +The young man followed the strangely-assorted pair to the apartments +which Peg occupied. From the conversation which he overheard he learned +that he had been mistaken in his supposition as to the relation between +the two, and that, singular as it seemed, Peg had the guardianship of +the child. This made his course clearer. He mounted the stairs, and +knocked at the door. + +“What do you want?” said a sharp voice from within. + +“I should like to see you a moment,” was the reply. + +Peg opened the door partially, and regarded the young man suspiciously. + +“I don't know you,” she said, shortly. “I never saw you before.” + +“I presume not,” said the young man. “We have never met, I think. I am +an artist.” + +“That is a business I don't know anything about,” said Peg, abruptly. +“You've come to the wrong place. I don't want to buy any pictures. I've +got plenty of other ways to spend my money.” + +Certainly, Mrs. Hardwick, to give her the name she once claimed, did not +look like a patron of the arts. + +“You have a young girl, about eight or nine years old, living with you,” + said the artist. + +“Who told you that?” queried Peg, her suspicions at once roused. + +“No one told me. I saw her with you in the street.” + +Peg at once conceived the idea that her visitor was aware of the fact +that that the child was stolen--possibly he might be acquainted with the +Crumps, or might be their emissary. She therefore answered, shortly,-- + +“People that are seen walking together don't always live together.” + +“But I saw the child entering this house with you.” + +“What if you did?” demanded Peg, defiantly. + +“I was about,” said the artist, perceiving that he was misapprehended, +and desiring to set matters right, “I was about to make a proposition +which might prove advantageous to both of us.” + +“Eh!” said Peg, catching at the hint. “Tell me what it is, and perhaps +we may come to terms.” + +“It is simply this,” said Bowen, “I am, as I told you, an artist. Just +now I am employed to sketch a flower-girl, and in seeking for a face +such as I wished to sketch from, I was struck by that of your child.” + +“Of Ida?” + +“Yes, if that is her name. I will pay you five dollars for the privilege +of copying it.” + +Peg was fond of money, and the prospect of earning five dollars through +Ida's instrumentality, so easily, blinded her to the possibility that +this picture might prove a means of discovery to her friends. + +“Well,” said she, more graciously, “if that's all you want, I don't know +as I have any objections. I suppose you can copy her face here as well +as anywhere.” + +“I should prefer to have her come to my studio.” + +“I sha'n't let her come,” said Peg, decidedly. + +“Then I will consent to your terms, and come here.” + +“Do you want to begin now?” + +“I should like to do so.” + +“Come in, then. Here, Ida, I want you.” + +“Yes, Peg.” + +“This young man wants to copy your face.” + +Ida looked surprised. + +“I am an artist,” said the young man, with a reassuring smile. “I will +endeavor not to try your patience too much. Do you think you can stand +still for half an hour, without much fatigue?” + +Ida was easily won by kindness, while she had a spirit which was roused +by harshness. She was prepossessed at once in favor of the young man, +and readily assented. + +He kept her in pleasant conversation while with a free, bold hand, he +sketched the outlines of her face and figure. + +“I shall want one more sitting,” he said. “I will come to-morrow at this +time.” + +“Stop a minute,” said Peg. “I should like the money in advance. How do I +know that you will come again?” + +“Certainly, if you prefer it,” said the young man, opening his +pocket-book. + +“What strange fortune,” he thought, “can have brought these two +together? Surely there can be no relationship.” + +The next day he returned and completed his sketch, which was at once +placed in the hands of the publisher, eliciting his warm approval. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. JACK OBTAINS INFORMATION. + + + +JACK set out with that lightness of heart and keen sense of enjoyment +that seem natural to a young man of eighteen on his first journey. +Partly by cars, partly by boat, he traveled, till in a few hours he was +discharged, with hundreds of others, at the depot in Philadelphia. + +Among the admonitions given to Jack on leaving home, one was prominently +in his mind, to beware of imposition, and to be as economical as +possible. + +Accordingly he rejected all invitations to ride, and strode along, with +his carpet-bag in hand, though, sooth to say, he had very little idea +whether he was steering in the right direction for his uncle's shop. +By dint of diligent and persevering inquiry he found it at length, and, +walking in, announced himself to the worthy baker as his nephew Jack. + +“What, are you Jack?” exclaimed Mr. Abel Crump, pausing in his labor; +“well, I never should have known you, that's a fact. Bless me, how +you've grown! Why, you're most as big as your father, ain't you?” + +“Only half an inch shorter,” returned Jack, complacently. + +“And you're--let me see, how old are you?” + +“Eighteen, that is, almost; I shall be in two months.” + +“Well, I'm glad to see you, Jack, though I hadn't the least idea of your +raining down so unexpectedly. How's your father and mother and Rachel, +and your adopted sister?” + +“Father and mother are pretty well,” answered Jack, “and so is Aunt +Rachel,” he added, smiling; “though she ain't so cheerful as she might +be.” + +“Poor Rachel!” said Abel, smiling also, “all things look upside down +to her. I don't suppose she's wholly to blame for it. Folks differ +constitutionally. Some are always looking on the bright side of things, +and others can never see but one side, and that's the dark one.” + +“You've hit it, uncle,” said Jack, laughing. “Aunt Rachel always looks +as if she was attending a funeral.” + +“So she is, my boy,” said Abel Crump, gravely, “and a sad funeral it +is.” + +“I don't understand you, uncle.” + +“The funeral of her affections,--that's what I mean. Perhaps you mayn't +know that Rachel was, in early life, engaged to be married to a young +man whom she ardently loved. She was a different woman then from what +she is now. But her lover deserted her just before the wedding was to +have come off, and she's never got over the disappointment. But that +isn't what I was going to talk about. You haven't told me about your +adopted sister.” + +“That's what I've come to Philadelphia about,” said Jack, soberly. “Ida +has been carried off, and I've been sent in search of her.” + +“Been carried off!” exclaimed his uncle, in amazement. “I didn't know +such things ever happened in this country. What do you mean?” + +In answer to this question Jack told the story of Mrs. Hardwick's +arrival with a letter from Ida's mother, conveying the request that the +child might, under the guidance of the messenger, be allowed to pay her +a visit. To this, and the subsequent details, Abel Crump listened with +earnest attention. + +“So you have reason to think the child is in (sic) Phildelphia?” he +said, musingly. + +“Yes,” said Jack, “Ida was seen in the cars, coming here, by a boy who +knew her in New York.” + +“Ida!” repeated his Uncle Abel, looking up, suddenly. + +“Yes. You know that's my sister's name, don't you?” + +“Yes, I dare say I have known it; but I have heard so little of +your family lately, that I had forgotten it. It is rather a singular +circumstance.” + +“What is singular!” + +“I will tell you,” said his uncle. “It may not amount to anything, +however. A few days since, a little girl came into my shop to buy +a small amount of bread. I was at once favorably impressed with her +appearance. She was neatly dressed, and had a very sweet face.” + +“What was her name?” inquired Jack. + +“That I will tell you by and by. Having made the purchase, she handed me +in payment a silver dollar. 'I'll keep that for my little girl,' thought +I at once. Accordingly, when I went home at night, I just took the +dollar out the till, and gave it to her. Of course she was delighted +with it, and, like a child, wanted to spend it at once. So her mother +agreed to go out with her the next day. Well, they selected some +nicknack or other, but when they came to pay for it the dollar proved to +be spurious.” + +“Spurious!” + +“Yes, bad. Got up, no doubt, by a gang of coiners. When they told me of +this I thought to myself, 'Can it be that this little girl knew what she +was about when she offered me that money?' I couldn't think it possible, +but decided to wait till she came again.” + +“Did she come again?” + +“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.” + +“What did she think?” + +“She took a dislike to her, and declared that it was only a plot to get +possession of Ida; but then, that was what we expected of Aunt Rachel.” + +“Still, it seems difficult to imagine any satisfactory motive on the +part of this woman, supposing she is not Ida's mother.” + +“Mother, or not,” returned Jack, “she's got possession of Ida; and, +from all that you say, she is not the best person to bring her up. I am +determined to rescue Ida from this she-dragon. Will you help me, uncle?” + +“You may count upon me, Jack, for all I can do.” + +“Then,” said Jack, with energy, “we shall succeed. I feel sure of it. +'Where there's a will there's a way,' you know.” + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. FINESSE. + + + +THE next thing to be done by Jack was, of course, in some way to obtain +a clew to the whereabouts of Peg, or Mrs. Hardwick, to use the name by +which he knew her. No mode of proceeding likely to secure this result +occurred to him, beyond the very obvious one of keeping in the street as +much as possible, in the hope that chance might bring him face to face +with the object of his pursuit. + +Fortunately her face was accurately daguerreotyped in his memory, so +that he felt certain of recognizing her, under whatever circumstances +they might meet. + +In pursuance of this, the only plan which suggested itself, Jack became +a daily promenader in Chestnut and other streets. Many wondered what +could be the object of the young man who so persistently frequented the +thoroughfares. It was observed that, while he paid no attention to young +ladies, he scrutinized the faces of all middle-aged or elderly women +whom he met, a circumstance likely to attract remark, in the case of a +well-made youth like Jack. + +Several days passed, and, although he only returned to his uncle's house +at the hour of meals, he had the same report to bring on each occasion. + +“I am afraid,” said the baker, “it will be as hard as finding a needle +in a hay-stack, to hope to meet the one you seek, among so many faces.” + +“There's nothing like trying,” answered Jack, courageously. “I'm not +going to give up yet awhile.” + +He sat down and wrote the following note, home:-- + +“DEAR PARENTS: + +“I arrived in Philadelphia safe, and am stopping at Uncle Abel's. He +received me very kindly. I have got track of Ida, though I have +not found her yet. I have learned as much as this, that this Mrs. +Hardwick--who is a double distilled she-rascal--probably has Ida in her +clutches, and has sent her on two occasions to my uncle's. I am spending +most of my time in the streets, keeping a good lookout for her. If I +do meet her, see if I don't get Ida away from her. But it may take some +time. Don't get discouraged, therefore, but wait patiently. Whenever +anything new turns up you will receive a line from your dutiful son + +“JACK.” + +In reply to this letter, or rather note, Jack received an intimation +that he was not to cease his efforts as long as a chance remained to +find Ida. + +The very day after the reception of this letter, as Jack was sauntering +along the street, he suddenly perceived in front of him a form which at +once reminded him of Mrs. Hardwick. Full of hope that this might be +so, he bounded forward, and rapidly passed the suspected person, turned +suddenly round, and confronted Ida's nurse. + +The recognition was mutual. Peg was taken aback by this unexpected +encounter. + +“Her first impulse was to make off, but the young man's resolute +expression warned her that this would prove in vain. + +“Mrs. Hardwick!” said Jack. + +“You are right,” said she, nodding, “and you, if I am not mistaken, are +John Crump, the son of my worthy friends in New York.” + +“Well,” ejaculated Jack, internally, “if that doesn't beat all for +coolness.” + +“My name is Jack,” he said, aloud. + +“Indeed! I thought it might be a nickname.” + +“You can't guess what I came here for,” said Jack, with an attempt at +sarcasm, which utterly failed of its effect. + +“To see your sister Ida, I presume,” said Peg, coolly. + +“Yes,” said Jack, amazed at the woman's composure. + +“I thought some of you would be coming on,” said Peg, whose prolific +genius had already mapped out her course. + +“You did?” + +“Yes, it was only natural. But what did your father and mother say to +the letter I wrote them?” + +“The letter you wrote them!” + +“The letter in which I wrote that Ida's mother had been so pleased with +the appearance and manners of her child, that she could not resolve to +part with her, and had determined to keep her for the present.” + +“You don't mean to say,” said Jack, “that any such letter as that has +been written?” + +“What, has it not been received?” inquired Peg, in the greatest apparent +astonishment. + +“Nothing like it,” answered Jack. “When was it written?” + +“The second day after Ida's arrival,” replied Peg, unhesitatingly. + +“If that is the case,” returned Jack, not knowing what to think, “it +must have miscarried.” + +“That is a pity. How anxious you all must have felt!” remarked Peg, +sympathizingly. + +“It seemed as if half the family were gone. But how long does Ida's +mother mean to keep her?” + +“A month or six weeks,” was the reply. + +“But,” said Jack, his suspicions returning, “I have been told that Ida +has twice called at a baker's shop in this city, and, when asked what +her name was, answered Ida Hardwick.' You don't mean to say that you +pretend to be her mother?” + +“Yes, I do,” returned Peg, calmly. + +“It's a lie,” said Jack, vehemently. “She isn't your daughter.” + +“Young man,” said Peg, with wonderful self-command, “you are exciting +yourself to no purpose. You asked me if I _pretended_ to be her mother. +I do pretend; but I admit, frankly, that it is all pretence.” + +“I don't understand what you mean,” said Jack, mystified. + +“Then I will take the trouble to explain it to you. As I informed your +father and mother, when in New York, there are circumstances which stand +in the way of Ida's real mother recognizing her as her own child. Still, +as she desires her company, in order to avert all suspicion, and prevent +embarrassing questions being asked, while she remains in Philadelphia +she is to pass as my daughter.” + +This explanation was tolerably plausible, and Jack was unable to +gainsay it, though it was disagreeable to him to think of even a nominal +connection between Ida and the woman before him. + +“Can I see Ida?” asked Jack, at length. + +To his great joy, Peg replied, “I don't think there can be any +objection. I am going to the house now. Will you come now, or appoint +some other time?” + +“I will go now by all means,” said Jack, eagerly. “Nothing should stand +in the way of seeing Ida.” + +A grim smile passed over the nurse's face. + +“Follow me, then,” she said. “I have no doubt Ida will be delighted to +see you.” + +“Dear Ida!” said Jack. “Is she well, Mrs. Hardwick?” + +“Perfectly well,” answered Peg. “She has never been in better health +than since she has been in Philadelphia.” + +“I suppose,” said Jack, with a pang, “that she is so taken up with her +new friends that she has nearly forgotten her old friends in New York.” + +“If she did,” said Peg, sustaining her part with admirable +self-possession, “she would not deserve to have friends at all. She is +quite happy here, but she will be very glad to return to New York to +those who have been so kind to her.” + +“Really,” thought Jack; “I don't know what to make of this Mrs. +Hardwick. She talks fair enough, if her looks are against her. Perhaps I +have misjudged her, after all.” + + + +CHAPTER XIX. CAUGHT IN A TRAP. + + + +JACK and his guide paused in front of a three-story brick building of +respectable appearance. + +“Does Ida's mother live here?” interrogated Jack. + +“Yes,” said Peg, coolly. “Follow me up the steps.” + +The woman led the way, and Jack followed. + +The former rang the bell. An untidy servant girl made her appearance. + +“We will go up-stairs, Bridget,” said Peg. + +Without betraying any astonishment, the servant conducted them to an +upper room, and opened the door. + +“If you will go in and take a seat,” said Peg, “I will send Ida to you +immediately.” + +She closed the door after him, and very softly slipped the bolt which +had been placed on the outside. She then hastened downstairs, and +finding the proprietor of the house, who was a little old man with a +shrewd, twinkling eye, and a long aquiline nose, she said to this man, +who was a leading spirit among the coiners into whose employ she and her +husband had entered, “I want you to keep this lad in confinement, until +I give you notice that it will be safe to let him go.” + +“What has he done?” asked the old man. + +“He is acquainted with a secret dangerous to both of us,” answered Peg, +with intentional prevarication; for she knew that, if it were supposed +that she only had an interest in Jack's detention, they would not take +the trouble to keep him. + +“Ha!” exclaimed the old man; “is that so? Then, I warrant me, he can't +get out unless he has sharp claws.” + +“Fairly trapped, my young bird,” thought Peg, as she hastened away; “I +rather think that will put a stop to your troublesome interference for +the present. You haven't lived quite long enough to be a match for old +Peg. You'll find that out by and by. Ha, ha! won't your worthy uncle, +the baker, be puzzled to know why you don't come home to-night?” + +Meanwhile Jack, wholly unsuspicious that any trick had been played upon +him, seated himself in a rocking-chair, waiting impatiently for the +coming of Ida, whom he was resolved to carry back with him to New York +if his persuasions could effect it. + +Impelled by a natural curiosity he examined, attentively, the room in +which he was seated. It was furnished moderately well; that is, as well +as the sitting-room of a family in moderate circumstances. The floor +was covered with a plain carpet. There was a sofa, a mirror, and several +chairs covered with hair-cloth were standing stiffly at the windows. +There were one or two engravings, of no great artistic excellence, +hanging against the walls. On the centre-table were two or three books. +Such was the room into which Jack had been introduced. + +Jack waited patiently for twenty minutes. Then he began to grow +impatient. + +“Perhaps Ida is out,” thought our hero; “but, if she is, Mrs. Hardwick +ought to come and let me know.” + +Another fifteen minutes passed, and still Ida came not. + +“This is rather singular,” thought Jack. “She can't have told Ida that +I am here, or I am sure she would rush up at once to see her brother +Jack.” + +At length, tired of waiting, and under the impression that he had been +forgotten, Jack walked to the door, and placing his hand upon the latch, +attempted to open it. + +There was a greater resistance than he had anticipated. + +Supposing that it must stick, he used increased exertion, but the door +perversely refused to open. + +“Good heavens!” thought Jack, the real state of the case flashing upon +him, “is it possible that I am locked in?” + +To determine this he employed all his strength, but the door still +resisted. He could no longer doubt. + +He rushed to the windows. There were two in number, and looked out upon +a court in the rear of the house. No part of the street was visible from +them; therefore there was no hope of drawing the attention of passers-by +to his situation. + +Confounded by this discovery, Jack sank into his chair in no very +enviable state of mind. + +“Well,” thought he, “this is a pretty situation for me to be in! I +wonder what father would say if he knew that I was locked up like a +prisoner. And then to think I let that treacherous woman, Mrs. Hardwick, +lead me so quietly into a snare. Aunt Rachel was about right when she +said I wasn't fit to come alone. I hope she'll never find out this +adventure of mine; I never should hear the last of it.” + +Jack's mortification was extreme. His self-love was severely wounded by +the thought that a woman had got the better of him, and he resolved, +if he ever got out, that he would make Mrs. Hardwick suffer, he didn't +quite know how, for the manner in which she had treated him. + +Time passed. Every hour seemed to poor Jack to contain at least double +the number of minutes which are usually reckoned to that division of +time. Moreover, not having eaten for several hours, he was getting +hungry. + +A horrible suspicion flashed across his mind. “The wretches can't +mean to starve me, can they?” he asked himself, while, despite his +constitutional courage, he could not help shuddering at the idea. + +He was unexpectedly answered by the sliding of a little door in the +wall, and the appearance of the old man whose interview with Peg has +been referred to. + +“Are you getting hungry, my dear sir?” he inquired, with a disagreeable +smile upon his features. + +“Why am I confined here?” demanded Jack, in a tone of irritation. + +“Why are you confined?” repeated his interlocutor. “Really, one would +think you did not find your quarters comfortable.” + +“I am so far from finding them comfortable that I insist upon leaving +them immediately,” returned Jack. + +“Then all you have got to do is to walk through that door. + +“It is locked; I can't open it.” + +“Can't open it!” repeated the old man, with another disagreeable leer; +“perhaps, then, it will be well for you to wait till you are strong +enough.” + +Irritated by this reply, Jack threw himself spitefully against the door, +but to no purpose. + +The old man laughed in a cracked, wheezing way. + +“Good fellow!” said he, encouragingly, “try it again! Won't you try it +again? Better luck next time.” + +Jack throw himself sullenly into a chair. + +“Where is the woman that brought me here?” he asked. + +“Peg? Oh, she couldn't stay. She had important business to transact, my +young friend, and so she has gone; but don't feel anxious. She commended +you to our particular attention, and you will be just as well treated as +if she were here.” + +This assurance was not very well calculated to comfort Jack. + +“How long are you going to keep me cooped up here?” he asked, +desperately, wishing to learn the worst at once. + +“Really, my young friend, I couldn't say. We are very hospitable, very. +We always like to have our friends with us as long as possible.” + +Jack groaned internally at the prospect before him. + +“One question more,” he said, “will you tell me if my sister Ida is in +this house?” + +“Your sister Ida!” repeated the old man, surprised in his turn. + +“Yes,” said Jack; believing, his astonishment feigned. “You needn't +pretend that you don't know anything about her. I know that she is in +your hands.” + +“Then if you know so much,” said the other, shrugging his shoulders, +“there is no need of asking.” + +Jack was about to press the question, but the old man, anticipating +him, pointed to a plate of food which he pushed in upon a shelf, just in +front of the sliding door, and said: “Here's some supper for you. When +you get ready to go to bed you can lie down on the sofa. Sorry we didn't +know of your coming, or we would have got our best bed-chamber ready for +you. Good-night, and pleasant dreams!” + +Smiling disagreeably he slid to the door, bolted it, and disappeared, +leaving Jack more depressed, if possible, than before. + + + +CHAPTER XX. JACK IN CONFINEMENT. + + + +THE anxiety of Mr. Abel Crump's family, when Jack failed to return +at night, can be imagined. They feared that he had fallen among +unscrupulous persons, of whom there is no lack in every large city, and +that some ill had come to him. The baker instituted immediate inquiries, +but was unsuccessful in obtaining any trace of his nephew. He resolved +to delay as long as possible communicating the sad intelligence to his +brother Timothy, who he knew would be quite (sic) overwhelwed by this +double blow. + +In the mean time, let us see how Jack enjoyed himself. We will look in +upon him after he has been confined four days. To a youth as active +as himself, nothing could be more wearisome. It did not add to his +cheerfulness to reflect that Ida was in the power of the one who had +brought upon him his imprisonment, while he was absolutely unable to +help her. He did not lack for food. This was brought him three times a +day. His meals, in fact, were all he had to look forward to, to break +the monotony of his confinement. The books upon the table were not of a +kind likely to interest him, though he had tried to find entertainment +in them. + +Four days he had lived, or rather vegetated in this way. His spirit +chafed against the confinement. + +“I believe,” thought he, “I would sooner die than be imprisoned for a +long term. Yet,” and here he sighed, “who knows what may be the length +of my present confinement? They will be sure to find some excuse for +retaining me.” + +While he was indulging in these uncomfortable reflections, suddenly the +little door in the wall, previously referred to, slid open, and revealed +the old man who had first supplied him with food. To explain the +motive of his present visit, it will be remembered that he was under +a misapprehension in regard to the cause of Jack's confinement. He +naturally supposed that our hero was acquainted with the unlawful +practises of the gang of coiners with which he was connected. + +The old man, whose name was Foley, had been favorably impressed by the +bold bearing of Jack, and the idea had occurred to him that he might +be able to win him as an accomplice. He judged, that if once induced to +join them, he would prove eminently useful. Another motive which led +him to favor this project was, that it would be very embarrassing to +be compelled to keep Jack in perpetual custody, as well as involve a +considerable expense. + +Jack was somewhat surprised at the old man's visit. + +“How long are you going to keep me cooped up here?” he inquired, +impatiently. + +“Don't you find your quarters comfortable?” asked Foley. + +“As comfortable as any prison, I suppose.” + +“My young friend, don't talk of imprisonment. You make me shudder. You +must banish all thoughts of such a disagreeable subject.” + +“I wish I could,” groaned poor Jack. + +“Consider yourself as my guest, whom I delight to entertain.” + +“But, I don't like the entertainment.” + +“The more the pity.” + +“How long is this going to last? Even a prisoner knows the term of his +imprisonment.” + +“My young friend,” said Foley, “I do not desire to control your +inclinations. I am ready to let you go whenever you say the word.” + +“You are?” returned Jack, incredulously. “Then suppose I ask you to let +me go immediately.” + +“Certainly, I will; but upon one condition.” + +“What is it?” + +“It so happens, my young friend, that you are acquainted with a secret +which might prove troublesome to me.” + +“Indeed!” exclaimed Jack, mystified. + +“Yes; you see I have found it out. Such things do not escape me.” + +“I don't know what you mean,” returned Jack, perplexed. + +“No doubt, no doubt,”, said Foley, cunningly. “Of course, if I should +tell you that I was in the coining business, it would be altogether new +to you.” + +“On my honor,” said Jack, “this is the first I knew of it. I never saw +or heard of you before I came into this house.” + +“Could Peg be mistaken?” thought Foley. “But no, no; he is only trying +to deceive me. I am too old a bird to be caught with such chaff.” + +“Of course, I won't dispute your word, my young friend,” he said, +softly; “but there is one thing certain; if you didn't know it before +you know it now.” + +“And you are afraid that I shall denounce you to the police.” + +“Well, there is a possibility of that. That class of people have a +little prejudice against us, though we are only doing what everybody +wants to do, _making money_.” + +The old man chuckled and rubbed his hands at this joke, which he +evidently considered a remarkably good one. + +Jack reflected a moment. + +“Will you let me go if I will promise to keep your secret?” he asked. + +“How could I be sure you would do it?” + +“I would pledge my word.” + +“Your word!” Foley snapped his fingers in derision. “That is not +sufficient.” + +“What will be?” + +“You must become one of us.” + +“One of you!” + +Jack started in surprise at a proposition so unexpected. + +“Yes. You must make yourself liable to the same penalties, so that it +will be for your own interest to keep silent. Otherwise we cannot trust +you.” + +“And suppose I decline these terms,” said Jack. + +“Then I shall be under the painful necessity of retaining you as my +guest.” + +Foley smiled disagreeably. + +Jack walked the room in perturbation. He felt that imprisonment would be +better than liberty, on such terms. At the same time he did not refuse +unequivocally, as possibly stricter watch than ever might be kept over +him. + +He thought it best to temporize. + +“Well, what do you say?” asked the old man. + +“I should like to take time to reflect upon your proposal,” said Jack. +“It is of so important a character that I do not like to decide at +once.” + +“How long do you require?” + +“Two days,” returned Jack. “If I should come to a decision sooner, I +will let you know.” + +“Agreed. Meanwhile can I do anything to promote your comfort? I want you +to enjoy yourself as well as you can under the circumstances.” + +“If you have any interesting books, I wish you would send them up. It is +rather dull staying here with nothing to do.” + +“You shall have something to do as soon as you please, my young friend. +As to books, we are not very bountifully supplied with that article. We +ain't any of us college graduates, but I will see what I can do for you +in that way. I'll be back directly.” + +Foley disappeared, but soon after returned, laden with one or two old +magazines, and a worn copy of the “Adventures of Baron Trenck.” + +It may be that the reader has never encountered a copy of this singular +book. Baron Trenck was several times imprisoned for political offences, +and this book contains an account of the manner in which he succeeded, +in some cases after years of labor, in breaking from his dungeon. His +feats in this way are truly wonderful, and, if not true, at least they +have so very much similitude that they find no difficulty in winning the +reader's credence. + +Such was the book which Foley placed in Jack's hands. He must have been +in ignorance of the character of the book, since it was evident to what +thoughts it would lead the mind of the prisoner. + +Jack read the book with intense interest. It was just such a one as he +would have read with avidity under any circumstances. It gratified his +taste for adventure, and he entered heart and soul into the Baron's +plans, and felt a corresponding gratification when he succeeded. When he +completed the perusal of the fascinating volume, he thought, “Why cannot +I imitate Baron Trenck? He was far worse off than I am. If he could +succeed in overcoming so many obstacles, it is a pity if I cannot find +some means of escape.” + +He looked about the room in the hope that some plan might be suggested. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. THE PRISONER ESCAPES. + + + +TO give an idea of the difficulties of Jack's situation, let it be +repeated that there was but one door to the room, and this was bolted +on the outside. The room was in the second story. The only two windows +looked out upon a court. These windows were securely fastened. Still a +way might have been devised to break through them, if this would at all +have improved his condition. Of this, however, there seemed but little +chance. Even if he had succeeded in getting safely into the court, there +would have been difficulty and danger in getting into the street. + +All these considerations passed through Jack's mind, and occasioned +him no little perplexity. He began to think that the redoubtable +Baron Trenck himself might have been puzzled, if placed under similar +circumstances. + +At length this suggestion occurred to him: Why might he not cut a hole +through the door, just above or below the bolt, sufficiently large for +him to thrust his hand through, and slip it back? Should he succeed in +this, he would steal down stairs, and as, in all probability, the key +would be in the outside door, he could open it, and then he would be +free. + +With hope springing up anew in his heart, he hastened to the door and +examined it. It was of common strength. He might, perhaps, have been +able to kick it open, but of course this was not to be thought of, as +the noise would at once attract the attention of those interested in +frustrating his plans. + +Fortunately, Jack was provided with a large, sharp jack-knife. He did +not propose, however, to commence operations at present. In the daytime +he would be too subject to a surprise. With evening, he resolved +to commence his work. He might be unsuccessful, and subjected, in +consequence, to a more rigorous confinement; but of this he must run the +risk. “Nothing venture, nothing have.” + +Jack awaited the coming of evening with impatience. The afternoon had +never seemed so long. + +It came at last--a fine moonlight night. This was fortunate, for his +accommodating host, from motives of economy possibly, was not in the +habit of providing him with a candle. + +Jack thought it prudent to wait till he heard the city clocks pealing +the hour of twelve. By this time, as far as he could see from his +windows, there were no lights burning, and all who occupied the building +were probably asleep. + +He selected that part of the door which he judged to be directly under +the bolt, and began to cut away with his knife. The wood was soft, and +easy of excavation. In the course of half an hour Jack had cut a hole +sufficiently large to pass his hand through, but found that, in order +to reach the bolt, he must enlarge it a little. This took him fifteen +minutes longer. + +His efforts were crowned with success. As the city clock struck one +Jack softly drew back the bolt, and, with a wild throb of joy, felt that +freedom was half regained. But his (sic) embarassments were not quite +at an end. Opening the door, he found himself in the entry, but in the +darkness. On entering the house he had not noticed the location of the +stairs, and was afraid that some noise or stumbling might reveal to +Foley the attempted escape of his prisoner. He took off his boots, and +crept down-stairs in his stocking feet. Unfortunately he had not kept +the proper bearing in his mind, and the result was, that he opened the +door of a room on one side of the front door. It was used as a bedroom. +At the sound of the door opening, the occupant of the bed, Mr. Foley +himself, called out, drowsily, “Who's there?” + +Jack, aware of his mistake, precipitately retired, and concealed himself +under the front stairs, a refuge which his good fortune led him to, for +he could see absolutely nothing. + +The sleeper, just awakened, was naturally a little confused in his +ideas. He had not seen Jack. He had merely heard the noise, and thought +he saw the door moving. But of this he was not certain. To make sure, +however, he got out of bed, and opening wide the door of his room, +called out, “Is anybody there?” + +Jack had excellent reasons for not wishing to volunteer an answer to +this question. One advantage of the opened door (for there was a small +oil lamp burning in the room) was to reveal to him the nature of the +mistake he had made, and to show him the front door in which, by rare +good fortune, he could discover the key in the lock. + +Meanwhile the old man, to make sure that all was right, went up-stairs, +far enough to see that the door of the apartment in which Jack had been +confined was closed. Had he gone up to the landing he would have seen +the aperture in the door, and discovered the hole, but he was sleepy, +and anxious to get back to bed, which rendered him less watchful. + +“All seems right,” he muttered to himself, and re-entered the +bed-chamber, from which Jack could soon hear the deep, regular breathing +which indicated sound slumber. Not till then did he creep cautiously +from his place of concealment, and advancing stealthily to the front +door, turn the key, and step out into the faintly-lighted street. A +delightful sensation thrilled our hero, as he felt the pure air fanning +his cheek. + +“Nobody can tell,” thought he, “what a blessed thing freedom is till he +has been cooped up, as I have been, for the last week. Won't the old man +be a little surprised to find, in the morning, that the bird has flown? +I've a great mind to serve him a little trick.” + +So saying, Jack drew the key from its place inside, and locking the door +after him, went off with the key in his pocket. First, however, he took +care to scratch a little mark on the outside of the door, as he could +not see the number, to serve as a means of identification. + +This done Jack made his way as well as he could guess to the house of +his uncle, the baker. Not having noticed the way by which Peg had led +him to the house, he wandered at first from the straight course. At +length, however, he came to Chestnut Street. He now knew where he was, +and, fifteen minutes later, he was standing before his uncle's door. + +Meanwhile, Abel Crump had been suffering great anxiety on account of +Jack's protracted absence. Several days had now elapsed, and still he +was missing. He had been unable to find the slightest trace of him. + +“I am afraid of the worst,” he said to his wife, on the afternoon of the +day on which Jack made his escape. “I think Jack was probably rash and +imprudent, and I fear, poor boy, they may have proved the death of him.” + +“Don't you think there is any hope? He may be confined.” + +“It is possible; but, at all events, I don't think it right to keep it +from Timothy any longer. I've put off writing as long as I could, hoping +Jack would come back, but I don't feel as if I ought to hold it back any +longer. I shall write in the morning, and tell Timothy to come right on. +It'll be a dreadful blow to him.” + +“Yes, better wait till morning, Abel. Who knows but we may hear from +Jack before that time?” + +The baker shook his head. + +“If we'd been going to hear, we'd have heard before this time,” he said. + +He did not sleep very soundly that night. Anxiety for Jack, and the +thought of his brother's affliction, kept him awake. + +About half-past two, he heard a noise at the front door, followed by a +knocking. Throwing open the window, he exclaimed, “Who's there?” + +“A friend,” was the answer. + +“What friend?” asked the baker, suspiciously. “Friends are not very apt +to come at this time of night.” + +“Don't you know me, Uncle Abel?” asked a cheery voice. + +“Why, it's Jack, I verily believe,” said Abel Crump, joyfully, as he +hurried down stairs to admit his late visitor. + +“Where in the name of wonder have you been, Jack?” he asked, surveying +his nephew by the light of the candle. + +“I've been shut up, uncle,--boarded and lodged for nothing,--by some +people who liked my company better than I liked theirs. But to-night +I made out to escape, and hero I am. I'll tell you all about it in the +morning. Just now I'm confoundedly hungry, and if there's anything in +the pantry, I'll ask permission to go in there a few minutes.” + +“I guess you'll find something, Jack. Take the candle with you. Thank +God, you're back alive. We've been very anxious about you.” + + + +CHAPTER XXII. MR. JOHN SOMERVILLE. + + + +PEG had been thinking. + +This was the substance of her reflections. Ida, whom she had kidnapped +for certain purposes of her own, was likely to prove an (sic) +incumbrance rather than a source of profit. The child, her suspicions +awakened in regard to the character of the money she had been employed +to pass off, was no longer available for that purpose. So firmly +resolved was she not to do what was wrong, that threats and persuasions +were alike unavailing. Added to this was the danger of her encountering +some one sent in search of her by the Crumps. + +Under these circumstances, Peg bethought herself of the ultimate object +which she had proposed to herself in kidnapping Ida--that of extorting +money from a man who is now to be introduced to the reader. + +John Somerville occupied a suite of apartments in a handsome +lodging-house on Walnut Street. A man wanting yet several years of +forty, he looked a greater age. Late hours and dissipation, though +kept within respectable limits, had left their traces on his face. At +twenty-one he inherited a considerable fortune, which, combined with +some professional practice (for he was a lawyer, and not without +ability), was quite sufficient to support him handsomely, and leave +a considerable surplus every year. But, latterly, he had contracted a +passion for gaming, and however shrewd he might be naturally, he +could hardly be expected to prove a match for the wily habitues of the +gaming-table, who had marked him as their prey. + +The evening before he is introduced to the reader's notice he had, +passed till a late hour at a fashionable gambling-house, where he +had lost heavily. His reflections, on awakening, were not of the +pleasantest. For the first time, within fifteen years, he realized the +folly and imprudence of the course he had pursued. The evening previous +he had lost a thousand dollars, for which he had given his I O U. Where +to raise this money, he did not know. He bathed his aching head, and +cursed his ill luck, in no measured terms. After making his toilet, he +rang the bell, and ordered breakfast. + +For this he had but scanty appetite. Scarcely had he finished, and +directed the removal of the dishes, than the servant entered to announce +a visitor. + +“Is it a gentleman?” he inquired, hastily, fearing it might be a +creditor. He occasionally had such visitors. + +“No, sir.” + +“A lady?” + +“No, sir.” + +“A child? But what could a child want of me?” + +“If it's neither a gentleman, lady, nor child,” said Somerville, +somewhat surprised, “will you have the goodness to inform me who it is?” + +“It's a woman, sir,” said the servant, grinning. + +“Why didn't you say so when I asked you?” said his employer, irritably. + +“Because you asked if it was a lady, and this isn't--at least she don't +look like one.” + +“You can send her up, whoever she is,” said Mr. Somerville. + +A moment afterwards Peg entered the apartment. + +John Somerville looked at her without much interest, supposing that she +might be a seamstress, or laundress, or some applicant for charity. So +many years had passed since he had met with this woman, that she had +passed out of his remembrance. + +“Do you wish to see me about anything?” he asked, indifferently. “If so, +you must be quick, for I am just going out.” + +“You don't seem to recognize me, Mr. Somerville,” said Peg, fixing her +keen black eyes upon his face. + +“I can't say I do,” he replied, carelessly. “Perhaps you used to wash +for me once.” + +“I am not in the habit of acting as laundress,” said the woman, proudly. +It is worth noticing that she was not above passing spurious coin, and +doing other things which are stamped as disreputable by the laws of +the land, but her pride revolted at the imputation that she was a +washer-woman. + +“In that case,” said Somerville, carelessly, “you will have to tell me +who you are, for it is out of my power to conjecture.” + +“Perhaps the name of Ida will assist your recollection,” said Peg, +composedly. + +“Ida!” repeated John Somerville, changing color, and gazing now with +attention at the woman's features. + +“Yes.” + +“I have known several persons of that name,” he said, evasively. “Of +course, I can't tell which of them you refer to.” + +“The Ida I mean was and is a child,” said Peg. “But, Mr. Somerville, +there's no use in beating about the bush, when I can come straight to +the point. It is now about eight years since my husband and myself +were employed in carrying off a child--a female child of about a year +old--named Ida. We placed it, according to your directions, on the +door-step of a poor family in New York, and they have since cared for it +as their own. I suppose you have not forgotten that.” + +John Somerville deliberated. Should he deny it or not? He decided to put +a bold face on the matter. + +“I remember it,” said he, “and now recall your features. How have +you fared since the time I employed you? Have you found your business +profitable?” + +“Far from it,” answered Peg. “We are not yet able to retire on a +competence.” + +“One of your youthful appearance,” said Solmerville, banteringly, “ought +not to think of retiring under ten years.” + +Peg smiled. She knew how to appreciate this speech. + +“I don't care for compliments,” said she, “even when they are sincere. +As for my youthful appearance, I am old enough to have reached the +age of discretion, and not so old as to have fallen into my second +childhood.” + +“Compliments aside, then, will you proceed to whatever business has +brought you here?” + +“I want a thousand dollars.” + +“A thousand dollars!” repeated John Somerville. “Very likely, I should +like that amount myself. You have not come here to tell me that?” + +“I have come here to ask that amount of you.” + +“Suppose I should say that your husband is the proper person for you to +apply to in such a case.” + +“I think I am more likely to get it out of you,” answered Peg, coolly. +“My husband couldn't supply me with a thousand cents, even if he were +willing, which is not likely.” + +“Much as I am flattered by your application,” said Somerville, “since it +would seem to place me next in your estimation to your husband, I cannot +help suggesting that it is not usual to bestow such a sum on a stranger, +or even a friend, without an equivalent rendered.” + +“I am ready to give you an equivalent.” + +“Of what value?” + +“I am willing to be silent.” + +“And how can your silence benefit me?” + +John Somerville asked this question with an assumption of indifference, +but his fingers twitched nervously. + +“That _you_ will be best able to estimate,” said Peg. + +“Explain yourself.” + +“I can do that in a few words. You employed me to kidnap a child. +I believe the law has something to say about that. At any rate, the +child's mother may have.” + +“What do you know about the child's mother?” demanded Somerville, +hastily. + +“All about her!” returned Peg, emphatically. + +“How am I to know that? It is easy to claim the knowledge.” + +“Shall I tell you all? In the first place she married your cousin, +_after rejecting you_. You never forgave her for this. When a year +after marriage her husband died, you renewed your proposals. They +were rejected, and you were forbidden to renew the subject on pain of +forfeiting her friendship forever. You left her presence, determined to +be revenged. With this object you sought Dick and myself, and employed +us to kidnap the child. There is the whole story, briefly told.” + +John Somerville listened, with compressed lips and pale face. + +“Woman, how came this within your knowledge?” he demanded, coarsely. + +“That is of no consequence,” said Peg. “It was for my interest to find +out, and I did so.” + +“Well?” + +“I know one thing more--the residence of the child's mother. I hesitated +this morning whether to come here, or carry Ida to her mother, trusting +to her to repay from gratitude what I demand from you, because it is +your interest to comply with my request.” + +“You speak of carrying the child to her mother. She is in New York.” + +“You are mistaken,” said Peg, coolly. “She is in Philadelphia.” + +“With you?” + +“With me.” + +“How long has this been?” + +“Nearly a fortnight.” + +John Somerville paced the room with hurried steps. Peg watched him +carelessly. She felt that she had succeeded. He paused after awhile, and +stood before her. + +“You demand a thousand dollars,” he said. + +“I do.” + +“I have not that amount with me. I have recently lost a heavy sum, no +matter how. But I can probably get it to-day. Call to-morrow at this +time,--no, in the afternoon, and I will see what I can do for you.” + +“Very well,” said Peg. + +Left to himself, John Somerville spent some time in reflection. +Difficulties encompassed him--difficulties from which he found it hard +to find a way of escape. He knew how impossible it would be to meet +this woman's demand. Something must be done. Gradually his countenance +lightened. He had decided what that something should be. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAW STEPS IN. + + + +WHEN Peg left Mr. John Somerville's apartment, it was with a high degree +of satisfaction at the result of her interview. She looked upon the +thousand dollars as sure to be hers. The considerations which she had +urged would, she was sure, induce him to make every effort to secure +her silence. With a thousand dollars, what might not be done? She would +withdraw from the coining-business, for one thing. It was too hazardous. +Why might not Dick and she retire to the country, lease a country-inn, +and live an honest life hereafter. There were times when she grew tired +of the life she lived at present. It would be pleasant to go to some +place where she was not known, and enrol herself among the respectable +members of the community. She was growing old; she wanted rest and +a quiet home. Her early years had been passed in the country. She +remembered still the green fields in which she played as a child, and to +this woman, old and sin-stained, there came a yearning to have that life +return. + +It occurred to her to look in upon Jack, whom she had left in +captivity four days before. She had a curiosity to see how he bore his +confinement. + +She knocked at the door, and was admitted by the old man who kept the +house. Mr. Foley was looking older and more wrinkled than ever. He had +been disturbed of his rest the night previous, he said. + +“Well,” said Peg, “and how is our prisoner?” + +“Bless my soul,” said Mr. Foley, “I haven't been to give him his +breakfast this morning. He must be hungry. But my head is in such a +state. However, I think I've secured him.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I have asked him to become one of us,--he's a bold lad,--and he has +promised to think of it.” + +“He is not to be trusted,” said Peg, hastily. + +“You think not?” + +“I know it.” + +“Well,” said the old man, “I suppose you know him better than I do. But +he's a bold lad.” + +“I should like to go up and see him,” said Peg. + +“Wait a minute, and I will carry up his breakfast.” + +The old man soon reappeared from the basement with some cold meat and +bread and butter. + +“You may go up first,” he said; “you are younger than I am.” + +They reached the landing. + +“What's all this?” demanded Peg, her quick eyes detecting the aperture +in the door. + +“What's what?” asked Foley. + +“Is this the care you take of your prisoners?” demanded Peg, sharply. +“It looks as if he had escaped.” + +“Escaped! Impossible!” + +“I hope so. Open the door quick.” + +The door was opened, and the two hastily entered. + +“The bird is flown,” said Peg. + +“I--I don't understand it,” said the old man, turning pale. + +“I do. He has cut a hole in the door, slipped back the bolt, and +escaped. When could this have happened?” + +“I don't know. Yes, I do remember, now, being disturbed last night by a +noise in the entry. I got out of bed, and looked out, but could see no +one.” + +“Did you come up-stairs?” + +“Part way.” + +“When was this?” + +“Past midnight.” + +“No doubt that was the time he escaped.” + +“That accounts for the door being locked,” said the old man, +thoughtfully. + +“What door?” + +“The outer door. When I got up this morning, I found the key had +disappeared, and the door was locked. Luckily we had an extra key, and +so opened it.” + +“Probably he carried off the other in his pocket.” + +“Ah, he is a bold lad,--a bold lad,” said Foley. + +“You may find that out to your cost. He'll be likely to bring the police +about your ears.” + +“Do you think so?” said the old man, in alarm. + +“I think it more than probable.” + +“But he don't know the house,” said Foley, in a tone of reassurance. “It +was dark when he left here, and he will not be apt to find it again.” + +“Perhaps not, but he will be likely to know you when he sees you again. +I advise you to keep pretty close.” + +“I certainly shall,” said the old man, evidently alarmed by this +suggestion. “What a pity that such a bold lad shouldn't be in our +business!” + +“Perhaps you'll wish yourself out of it before long,” muttered Peg. + +As if in corroboration of her words, there was a sharp ring at the +door-bell. + +The old man, who was constitutionally timid, turned pale, and looked +helplessly at his companion. + +“What is it?” he asked, apprehensively. + +“Go and see.” + +“I don't dare to.” + +“You're a coward,” said Peg, contemptuously. “Then I'll go.” + +She went down stairs, followed by the old man. She threw open the street +door, but even her courage was somewhat daunted by the sight of two +police officers, accompanied by Jack. + +“That's the man,” said Jack, pointing out Foley, who tried to conceal +himself behind Mrs. Hardwick's more ample proportions. + +“I have a warrant for your arrest,” said one of the officers, advancing +to Foley. + +“Gentlemen, spare me,” he said, clasping his hands. “What have I done?” + +“You are charged with uttering counterfeit coin. + +“I am innocent.” + +“If you are, that will come out on your trial.” + +“Shall I have to be tried?” he asked, piteously. + +“Of course. If you are innocent, no harm will come to you.” + +Peg had been standing still, irresolute what to do. Determined upon a +bold step, she made a movement to pass the officers. + +“Stop!” said Jack. “I call upon you to arrest that woman. She is the +Mrs. Hardwick against whom you have a warrant.” + +“What is all this for?” demanded Peg, haughtily. “What right have you to +interfere with me?” + +“That will be made known to you in due time. You are suspected of being +implicated with this man.” + +“I suppose I must yield,” said Peg, sulkily. “But perhaps you, young +sir,” turning to Jack, “may not be the gainer by it.” + +“Where is Ida?” asked Jack, anxiously. + +“She is safe,” said Peg, sententiously. + +“You won't tell me where she is?” + +“No. Why should I? I am indebted to you, I suppose, for this arrest. She +shall be kept out of your way as long as it is in my power to do so.” + +Jack's countenance fell. + +“At least you will tell me whether she is well?” + +“I shall answer no questions whatever,” said Mrs. Hardwick. + +“Then I will find her,” he said, gaining courage. “She is somewhere in +the city, and sooner or later I shall find her.” + +Peg was not one to betray her feelings, but this arrest was a great +disappointment to her. Apart from the consequences which might result +from it, it would prevent her meeting with John Somerville, and +obtaining from him the thousand dollars of which she had regarded +herself certain. Yet even from her prison-cell she might hold over him +_in terrorem_ the threat of making known to Ida's mother the secret +of her child's existence. All was not lost. She walked quietly to the +carriage in waiting, while her companions, in an ecstasy of terror, +seemed to have lost the power of locomotion, and had to be supported on +either side. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. “THE FLOWER-GIRL.” + + + +“BY gracious, if that isn't Ida!” exclaimed Jack, in profound surprise. + +He had been sauntering along Chestnut Street, listlessly, troubled by +the thought that though he had given Mrs. Hardwick into custody, he was +apparently no nearer the discovery of his foster-sister than before. +What steps should he take to find her? He could not decide. In his +perplexity he came suddenly upon the print of the “Flower-Girl.” + +“Yes,” said he, “that is Ida, plain enough. Perhaps they will know in +the store where she is to be found.” + +He at once entered the store. + +“Can you tell me anything about the girl that picture was taken for?” he +asked, abruptly of the nearest clerk. + +The clerk smiled. + +“It is a fancy picture,” he said. “I think it would take you a long time +to find the original.” + +“It has taken a long time,” said Jack. “But you are mistaken. It is the +picture of my sister.” + +“Of your sister!” repeated the clerk, with surprise, half incredulous. + +There was some reason for his incredulity. Jack was a stout, +good-looking boy, with a pleasant face; but Ida's beauty was of a +delicate, refined type, which argued gentle birth,--her skin of a +brilliant whiteness, dashed by a tinge of rose,--exhibiting a physical +perfection, which it requires several generations of refined habits and +exemptions from the coarser burdens of life to produce. The perfection +of human development is not wholly a matter of chance, but is dependent, +in no small degree, upon outward conditions. We frequently see families +who have sprung from poverty to wealth exhibiting, in the younger +branches, marked improvement in this respect. + +“Yes;” said Jack, “my sister.” + +“If it is your sister,” said the clerk, “you ought to know where she +is.” + +Jack was about to reply, when the attention of both was called by a +surprised exclamation from a lady who had paused beside them. Her eyes, +also, were fixed upon “The Flower-Girl.” + +“Who is this?” she asked, hurriedly. “Is it taken from life?” + +“This young man says it is his sister,” said the clerk. + +“Your sister!” said the lady, her eyes bent, inquiringly, upon Jack. +In her tone, too, there was a slight mingling of surprise, and, as it +seemed, disappointment. + +“Yes, madam,” said Jack, respectfully. + +“Pardon me,” she said, “there is so little family resemblance, I should +hardly have supposed it.” + +“She is not my own sister,” said Jack, “but I love her just the same.” + +“Do you live in (sic) Philadelphia? Could I see her?” asked the lady, +eagerly. + +“I live in New York, madam,” said Jack; “but Ida was stolen from us +nearly a fortnight since, and I have come here in pursuit of her. I have +not been able to find her yet.” + +“Did you say her name was Ida?” demanded the lady, in strange agitation. + +“Yes, madam.” + +“My young friend,” said the lady, rapidly, “I have been much interested +in the story of your sister. I should like to hear more, but not here. +Would you have any objection to coming home with me, and telling me the +rest? Then we will, together, concert measures for discovering her.” + +“You are very kind, madam,” said Jack, somewhat bashfully; for the lady +was elegantly dressed, and it had never been his fortune to converse +with many ladies of her rank; “I shall be very much obliged to you for +your advice and assistance.” + +“Then we will drive home at once.” + +Jack followed her to the street, where he saw an elegant carriage, and a +coachman in livery. + +With natural gallantry, Jack assisted the lady into the carriage, and, +at her bidding, got in himself. + +“Home, Thomas!” she directed the driver; “and drive as fast as +possible.” + +“Yes, madam.” + +“How old was your sister when your parents adopted her?” asked Mrs. +Clifton. Jack afterwards ascertained that this was her name. + +“About a year old, madam.” + +“And how long since was it?” asked the lady, bending forward with +breathless interest. + +“Eight years since. She is now nine.” + +“It must be,” said the lady, in a low voice. “If it is indeed so, how +will my life be blessed!” + +“Did you speak, madam?” + +“Tell me under what circumstances your family adopted Ida.” + +Jack related, briefly, the circumstances, which are already familiar to +the reader. + +“And do you recollect the month in which this happened?” + +“It was at the close of December, the night before New Years.” + +“It is--it must be she!” ejaculated the lady, clasping her hands while +tears of happy joy welled from her eyes. + +“I--I do not understand,” said Jack. + +“My young friend, our meeting this morning seems providential. I have +every reason to believe that this child--your adopted sister--is my +daughter, stolen from me by an unknown enemy at the time of which +you speak. From that day to this I have never been able to obtain the +slightest clew that might lead to her discovery. I have long taught +myself to look upon her as dead.” + +“It was Jack's turn to be surprised. He looked at the lady beside him. +She was barely thirty. The beauty of her girlhood had ripened into the +maturer beauty of womanhood. There was the same dazzling complexion--the +same soft flush upon the cheeks. The eyes, too, were wonderfully like +Ida's. Jack looked, and what he saw convinced him. + +“You must be right,” he said. “Ida is very much like you.” + +“You think so?” said Mrs. Clifton, eagerly. + +“Yes, madam.” + +“I had a picture--a daguerreotype--taken of Ida just before I lost her. +I have treasured it carefully. I must show it to you.” + +The carriage stopped before a stately mansion in a wide and quiet +street. The driver dismounted, and opened the door. Jack assisted Mrs. +Clifton to alight. + +Bashfully, he followed the lady up the steps, and, at her bidding, +seated himself in an elegant apartment, furnished with a splendor which +excited his wonder. He had little time to look about him, for Mrs. +Clifton, without pausing to take off her street-attire, hastened down +stairs with an open daguerreotype in her hand. + +“Can you remember Ida when she was brought to your house?” she asked. +“Did she look like this?” + +“It is her image,” said Jack, decidedly. “I should know it anywhere.” + +“Then there can be no further doubt,” said Mrs. Clifton. “It is my child +whom you have cared for so long. Oh, why could I not have known it? How +many sleepless nights and lonely days would it have spared me! But God +be thanked for this late blessing! Pardon me, I have not yet asked your +name.” + +“My name is Crump--Jack Crump.” + +“Jack?” said the lady, smiling. + +“Yes, madam; that is what they call me. It would not seem natural to be +called by another.” + +“Very well,” said Mrs. Clifton, with a smile which went to Jack's heart +at once, and made him think her, if anything, more beautiful than Ida; +“as Ida is your adopted sister, that makes us connected in some way, +doesn't it? I won't call you Mr. Crump, for that would seem too formal. +I will call you Jack.” + +To be called Jack by such a beautiful lady, who every day of her +life was accustomed to live in a state which he thought could not be +exceeded, even by royal state, almost upset our hero. Had Mrs. Clifton +been Queen Victoria herself, he could not have felt a profounder respect +and veneration for her than he did already. + +“Now Jack,” said Mrs. Clifton, “we must take measures immediately to +discover Ida. I want you to tell me about her disappearance from your +house, and what steps you have taken thus far towards finding her out.” + +Jack began at the beginning, and described the appearance of Mrs. +Hardwick; how she had been permitted to carry Ida away under false +representations, and the manner in which he had tracked her to +Philadelphia. He spoke finally of her arrest, and her obstinate refusal +to impart any information as to Ida's whereabouts. + +Mrs. Clifton listened attentively and anxiously. There were more +difficulties in the way than she had supposed. + +“Do you think of any plan, Jack?” she asked, at length. + +“Yes, madam,” said our hero. “The man who painted the picture of Ida may +know where she is to be found.” + +“You are right,” said the lady. “I should have thought of it before. I +will order the carriage again instantly, and we will at once go back to +the print-store.” + +An hour later, Henry Bowen was surprised by the visit of an elegant lady +to his studio, accompanied by a young man of eighteen. + +“I think you are the artist who designed 'The Flower-Girl,'” said Mrs. +Clifton. + +“I am, madam.” + +“It was taken from life?” + +“You are right.” + +“I am anxious to find out the little girl whose face you copied. Can you +give me any directions that will enable me to find her out?” + +“I will accompany you to the place, if you desire it, madam,” said the +young man. “It is a strange neighborhood to look for so much beauty.” + +“I shall be deeply indebted to you if you will oblige me so far,” said +the lady. “My carriage is below, and my coachman will obey your orders.” + +Once more they were on the move. A few minutes later, and the carriage +paused. The driver opened the door. He was evidently quite scandalized +at the idea of bringing his lady to such a place. + +“This can't be the place, madam,” he said. + +“Yes,” said the artist. “Do not get out, madam. I will go in, and find +out all that is needful.” + +Two minutes later he returned, looking disappointed. + +“We are too late,” he said. “An hour since a gentleman called, and took +away the child.” + +Mrs. Clifton sank back, in keen disappointment. + +“My child, my child!” she murmured. “Shall I ever see thee again?” + +Jack, too, felt more disappointed than he was willing to acknowledge. +He could not conjecture who this gentleman could be who had carried away +Ida. The affair seemed darker and more complicated than ever. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. IDA IS FOUND. + + + +IDA was sitting alone in the dreary apartment which she was now obliged +to call home. Peg had gone out, and not feeling quite certain of her +prey, had bolted the door on the outside. She had left some work for the +child,--some handkerchiefs to hem for Dick,--with strict orders to keep +steadily at work. + +While seated at work, she was aroused from thoughts of home by a knock +at the door. + +“Who's there?” asked Ida. + +“A friend,” was the reply. + +“Mrs. Hardwick--Peg isn't at home,” returned Ida. “I don't know when she +will be back.” + +“Then I will come in and wait till she comes back,” said the voice +outside. + +“I can't open the door,” said Ida. “It's fastened on the outside.” + +“Yes, I see. Then I will take the liberty to draw the bolt.” + +Mr. John Somerville entered the room, and for the first time in eight +years his glance fell upon the child whom, for so long a time, he had +defrauded of a mother's care and tenderness. + +Ida returned to the window. + +“How beautiful she is!” thought Somerville, with surprise. “She inherits +all her mother's rare beauty.” + +On the table beside Ida was a drawing. + +“Whose is this?” he inquired. + +“Mine,” answered Ida. + +“So you have learned to draw?” + +“A little,” answered the child, modestly. + +“Who taught you? Not the woman you live with?” + +“No;” said Ida. + +“You have not always lived with her, I am sure.” + +Ida admitted that she had not. + +“You lived in New York with a family named Crump, did you not?” + +“Do you know father and mother?” asked Ida, with sudden hope. “Did they +send you for me?” + +“I will tell you that by and by, my child; but I want to ask you a few +questions first. Why does this woman Peg lock you in whenever she goes +away?” + +“I suppose,” said Ida, “she is afraid I will run away.” + +“Then she knows you don't want to live with her?” + +“Oh, yes, she knows that,” said the child, frankly. “I have asked her to +send me home, but she says she won't for a year.” + +“And how long have you been with her?” + +“About a fortnight.” + +“What does she make you do?” + +“I can't tell what she made me do first.” + +“Why not?” + +“Because she would be very angry.” + +“Suppose I should tell you that I would deliver you from her. Would you +be willing to go with me?” + +“And you would carry me back to my mother and father?” + +“Certainly, I would restore you to your mother,” said he, evasively. + +“Then I will go with you.” + +Ida ran quickly to get her bonnet and shawl. + +“We had better go at once,” said Somerville. “Peg might return, and give +us trouble.” + +“O yes, let us go quickly,” said Ida, turning pale at the remembered +threats of Peg. + +Neither knew yet that Peg could not return if she would; that, at this +very moment, she was in legal custody on a charge of a serious nature. +Still less did Ida know that, in going, she was losing the chance of +seeing Jack and her mother, of whose existence, even, she was not yet +aware; and that he, to whose care she consigned herself so gladly, had +been her worst enemy. + +“I will carry you to my room, in the first place,” said her companion. +“You must remain in concealment for a day or two, as Peg will, +undoubtedly, be on the lookout for you, and we want to avoid all +trouble.” + +Ida was delighted with her escape, and, with the hope of soon seeing +her friends in New York, She put implicit faith in her guide, and was +willing to submit to any conditions which he might impose. + +On emerging into the street, her companion summoned a cab. He had +reasons for not wishing to encounter any one whom he knew. + +At length they reached his lodgings. + +They were furnished more richly than any room Ida had yet seen; and +formed, indeed, a luxurious contrast to the dark and scantily-furnished +apartment which she had occupied for the last fortnight. + +“Well, are you glad to get away from Peg?” asked John Somerville, giving +Ida a seat at the fire. + +“Oh, _so_ glad!” said Ida. + +“And you wouldn't care about going back?” + +The child shuddered. + +“I suppose,” said she, “that Peg will be very angry. She would beat me, +if she should get me back again.” + +“But she sha'n't. I will take good care of that.” + +Ida looked her gratitude. Her heart went out to those who appeared to +deal kindly with her, and she felt very grateful to her companion for +his instrumentality in effecting her deliverance from Peg. + +“Now,” said Somerville, “perhaps you will be willing to tell me what it +was you were required to do.” + +“Yes,” said Ida; “but she must never know that I told. It was to pass +bad money.” + +“Ha!” exclaimed her companion. “Do you mean bad bills, or spurious +coin?” + +“It was silver dollars.” + +“Does she do much in that way?” + +“A good deal. She goes out every day to buy things with the money.” + +“I am glad to learn this,” said John Somerville, thoughtfully. + +“Ida,” said he, after a pause, “I am going out for a time. You will find +books on the table, and can amuse yourself by reading; I won't make you +sew, as Peg did,” he said, smiling. + +Ida laughed. + +“Oh, yes,” said she, “I like reading. I shall amuse myself very well.” + +Mr. Somerville went out, and Ida, as he recommended, read awhile. Then, +growing tired, she went to the window and looked out. A carriage was +passing slowly, on account of a press of carriages. Ida saw a face that +she knew. Forgetting her bonnet in her sudden joy, she ran down the +stairs, into the street, and up to the carriage window. + +“O Jack!” she exclaimed; “have you come for me?” + +It was Mrs. Clifton's carriage, returning from Peg's lodgings. + +“Why, it's Ida!” exclaimed Jack, almost springing through the window of +the carriage. “Where did you come from, and where have you been all the +time?” + +He opened the door of the carriage, and drew Ida in. + +Till then she had not seen the lady who sat at Jack's side. + +“My child, my child! Thank God, you are restored to me,” exclaimed Mrs. +Clifton. + +She drew the astonished child to her bosom. Ida looked up into her face. +Was it Nature that prompted her to return the lady's embrace? + +“My God, I thank thee!” murmured Mrs. Clifton; “for this, my child, was +lost and is found.” + +“Ida,” said Jack, “this lady is your mother.” + +“My mother!” said the child, bewildered. “Have I two mothers?” + +“Yes, but this is your real mother. You were brought to our house when +you were an infant, and we have always taken care of you; but this lady +is your real mother.” + +Ida hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry. + +“And you are not my brother?” + +“You shall still consider him your brother, Ida,” said Mrs. Clifton. +“Heaven forbid that I should wean your heart from the friends who have +cared so kindly for you! You shall keep all your old friends, and love +them as dearly as ever. You will only have one friend the more.” + +“Where are we going?” asked Ida, suddenly. + +“We are going home.” + +“What will the gentleman say?” + +“What gentleman?” + +“The one that took me away from Peg's. Why, there he is now!” + +Mrs. Clifton followed the direction of Ida's finger, as she pointed to a +gentleman passing. + +“Is he the one?” + +“Yes, mamma,” said Ida, shyly. + +Mrs. Clifton pressed Ida to her breast. It was the first time she had +ever been called mamma. It made her realize, more fully, her present +happiness. + +Arrived at the house, Jack's bashfulness returned. He hung back, and +hesitated about going in. + +Mrs. Clifton observed this. + +“Jack,” said she, “this house is to be your home while you remain in +Philadelphia. Come in, and Thomas shall go for your baggage.” + +“Perhaps I had better go with him,” said Jack. “Uncle Abel will be glad +to know that Ida is found.” + +“Very well; only return soon.” + +“Well!” thought Jack, as he re-entered the carriage, and gave the +direction to the coachman; “won't Uncle Abel be a little surprised when +he sees me coming home in such style!” + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. “NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND.” + + + +MEANWHILE, Peg was passing her time wearily enough in prison. It was +certainly provoking to be deprived of her freedom just when she was +likely to make it most profitable. After some reflection, she determined +to send for Mrs. Clifton, and reveal to her all she knew, trusting to +her generosity for a recompense. + +To one of the officers of the prison she communicated the intelligence +that she had an important revelation to make to Mrs. Clifton, and +absolutely refused to make it unless the lady would visit her in prison. + +Scarcely had Mrs. Clifton returned home, after recovering her child, +than the bell rang, and a stranger was introduced. + +“Is this Mrs. Clifton?” he inquired. + +“It is.” + +“Then I have a message for you.” + +The lady inclined her head. + +“You must know, madam, that I am one of the officers connected with the +City Prison. A woman was placed in confinement this morning, who says +she has a most important communication to make to you, but declines to +make it except to you in person.” + +“Can you bring her here, sir?” + +“That is impossible. We will give you every facility, however, for +visiting her in prison.” + +“It must be Peg,” whispered Ida; “the woman that carried me off.” + +Such a request Mrs. Clifton could not refuse. She at once made ready to +accompany the officer. She resolved to carry Ida with her, fearful that, +unless she kept her in her immediate presence, she might disappear again +as before. + +As Jack had not yet returned, a hack was summoned, and they proceeded +at once to the prison. Ida shuddered as she passed beneath the gloomy +portal which shut out hope and the world from so many. + +“This way, madam!” + +They followed the officer through a gloomy corridor, until they came to +the cell in which Peg was confined. + +The tenant of the cell looked surprised to find Mrs. Clifton accompanied +by Ida. + +“How do you do, Ida?” she said, smiling grimly; “you see I've moved. +Just tell your mother she can sit down on the bed. I'm sorry I haven't +any rocking-chair or sofa to offer you.” + +“O Peg,” said Ida, her tender heart melted by the woman's misfortunes; +“how sorry I am to find you here!” + +“Are you sorry?” asked Peg, looking at her in surprise. + +“You haven't much cause to be. I've been your worst enemy, or one of the +worst.” + +“I can't help it,” said the child, her face beaming with a divine +compassion; “it must be so sad to be shut up here, and not be able to go +out into the bright sunshine. I do pity you.” + +Peg's heart was not wholly hardened. Few are. But it was long since it +had been touched as it was now by this great pity on the part of one she +had injured. + +“You're a good girl, Ida,” she said; “and I'm sorry I've injured you. I +didn't think I should ever ask forgiveness of anybody; but I do ask your +forgiveness.” + +The child rose, and advancing towards Peg, took her large hand in (sic) +her's and said, “I forgive you, Peg.” + +“From your heart?” + +“With all my heart.” + +“Thank you, child. I feel better now. There have been times when I +thought I should like to lead a better life.” + +“It is not too late now, Peg.” + +Peg shook her head. + +“Who will trust me after I have come from here?” + +“I will,” said Mrs. Clifton, speaking for the first time. + +“You will?” + +“Yes.” + +“And yet you have much to forgive. But it was not my plan to steal your +daughter from you. I was poor, and money tempted me.” + +“Who could have had an interest in doing me this cruel wrong?” + +“One whom you know well,--Mr. John Somerville.” + +“Surely, you are wrong!” exclaimed Mrs. Clifton, in unbounded +astonishment. “It cannot be. What object could he have had?” + +“Can you think of none?” queried Peg, looking at her shrewdly. + +Mrs. Clifton changed color. “Perhaps so,” she said. “Go on.” + +Peg told the whole story, so circumstantially, that there was no room +left for doubt. + +“I did not believe him capable of such wickedness,” she ejaculated. “It +was a base, unmanly revenge. How could you lend yourself to it?” + +“How could I?” repeated Peg. “Madam, you are rich. You have always had +whatever wealth could procure. How can you understand the temptations +of the poor? When want and hunger stare us in the face, we have not the +strength to resist that you have in your luxurious homes.” + +“Pardon me,” said Mrs. Clifton, touched by these words, half bitter, +half pathetic; “let me, at any rate, thank you for the service you have +done me now. When you are released from your confinement, come to me. +If you wish to change your mode of life and live honestly henceforth, I +will give you the chance.” + +“You will!” said Peg, eagerly. + +“I will.” + +“After all the injury I have done you, you will trust me still?” + +“Who am I that I should condemn you? Yes, I will trust you, and forgive +you.” + +“I never expected to hear such words,” said Peg, her heart softened, and +her arid eyes moistened by unwonted emotion, “least of all from you. I +should like to ask one thing.” + +“What is it?” + +“Will you let her come and see me sometimes?” she pointed to Ida as +she spoke; “it will remind me that this is not all a dream--these words +which you have spoken.” + +“She shall come,” said Mrs. Clifton, “and I will come too, sometimes.” + +“Thank you,” said Peg. + +They left the prison behind them, and returned home. + +“Mr. Somerville is in the drawing-room,” said the servant. “He wishes to +see you.” + +Mrs. Clifton's face flushed. + +“I will go down,” she said. “Ida, you will remain here.” + +She descended to the drawing-room, and met the man who had injured her. +He had come with the resolve to stake his all upon a single cast. His +fortunes were desperate. Through the mother's love for the daughter whom +she had mourned so long, whom, as he believed he had it in his power +to restore to her, he hoped to obtain her consent to a marriage, which +would retrieve his fortunes, and gratify his ambition. + +Mrs. Clifton seated herself quietly. She did not, as usual, offer him +her hand. Full of his own plans, he did not notice this omission. + +“How long is it since Ida was lost?” inquired Somerville. + +Mrs. Clifton started in some surprise. She had not expected him to +introduce this subject. + +“Eight years,” she said. + +“And you believe she yet lives?” + +“Yes, I am certain of it.” + +John Somerville did not understand her aright. He felt only that a +mother never gives up hope. + +“Yet it is a long time,” he said. + +“It is--a long time to suffer,” she said. “How could any one have the +heart to work me this great injury? For eight years I have led a sad and +solitary life,--years that might have been made glad by Ida's presence.” + +There was something in her tone which puzzled John Somerville, but he +was far enough from suspecting the truth. + +“Rose,” he said, after a pause. “Do you love your child well enough to +make a sacrifice for the sake of recovering her?” + +“What sacrifice?” she asked, fixing her eyes upon him. + +“A sacrifice of your feelings.” + +“Explain. You talk in enigmas.” + +“Listen, then. I, too, believe Ida to be living. Withdraw the opposition +you have twice made to my suit, promise me that you will reward my +affection by your land if I succeed, and I will devote myself to the +search for Ida, resting day nor night till I am able to place her in +your arms. Then, if I succeed, may I claim my reward?” + +“What reason have you for thinking you should find her?” asked Mrs. +Clifton, with the same inexplicable manner. + +“I think I have got a clew.” + +“And are you not generous enough to exert yourself without demanding of +me this sacrifice?” + +“No, Rose,” he said, “I am not unselfish enough.” + +“But, consider a moment. Will not even that be poor atonement enough for +the wrong you have done me,”--she spoke rapidly now,--“for the grief and +loneliness and sorrow which your wickedness and cruelty have wrought?” + +“I do not understand you,” he said, turning pale. + +“It is enough to say that I have seen the woman who is now in +prison,--your paid agent,--and that I need no assistance to recover Ida. +She is in my house.” + +What more could be said? + +John Somerville rose, and left the room. His grand scheme had failed. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. CONCLUSION. + + + +“I AM beginning to feel anxious about Jack,” said Mrs. Crump. “It's +almost a week since we heard from him. I'm afraid he's got into some +trouble.” + +“Probably he's too busy to write,” said the cooper. + +“I told you so,” said Rachel, in one of her usual fits of depression. +“I told you Jack wasn't fit to be sent on such an errand. If you'd only +taken my advice, you wouldn't have had so much worry and trouble +about him now. Most likely he's got into the House of Reformation, or +somewhere. I knew a young man once who went away from home, and never +came back again. Nobody ever knew what became of him till his body was +found in the river, half-eaten by fishes.” + +“How can you talk so, Rachel?” said Mrs. Crump, indignantly; “and of +your own nephew, too!” + +“This is a world of trial and disappointment,” said Rachel; “and we +might as well expect the worst, because it's sure to come.” + +“At that rate there wouldn't be much joy in life,” said the cooper. +“No, Rachel, you are wrong. God didn't send us into the world to be +melancholy. He wants us to enjoy ourselves. Now I have no idea that Jack +has jumped into the river. Then again, if he has, he can swim.” + +“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.” + +“But you live in Philadelphia. We shall lose sight of her.” + +“Not unless you refuse to come to Philadelphia, too.” + +“I am not sure whether I could find work there.” + +“That shall be my care. I have another inducement. God has bestowed upon +me a large share of this world's goods. I am thankful for it, since +it will enable me in some slight way to express my sense of your great +services to Ida. I own a neat brick house in a quiet street, which you +will find more comfortable than this. Just before I left Philadelphia my +lawyer drew up a deed of gift, conveying the house to you. It is Ida's +gift, not mine. Ida, give this to Mr. Crump.” + +The child took the parchment, and handed it to the cooper, who was +bewildered by his sudden good fortune. + +“This for me?” he said. + +“It is the first installment of my debt of gratitude; it shall not be +the last,” said Mrs. Clifton. + +“How shall I thank you, madam?” said the cooper. “To a poor man this is, +indeed, an acceptable gift.” + +“By accepting it,” said Mrs. Clifton. “Let me add, for I know it +will enhance the value of the gift in your eyes, that it is only five +minutes' walk from my own house, and Ida will come and see you every +day.” + +“Yes, mamma,” said Ida; “I couldn't be happy away from father and mother +and Jack, and Aunt Rachel.” + +“You must introduce me to your Aunt Rachel,” said Mrs. Clifton, with a +grace all her own. + +Ida did so. + +“I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Rachel,” said Mrs. Clifton. +“I need not say that I shall be glad to see you, as well as Mr. and Mrs. +Crump, at my house very frequently.” + +“I'm much obleeged to you,” said Aunt Rachel; “but I don't think I shall +live long to go anywhere. The feelin's I have, sometimes warn me that +I'm not long for this world.” + +“You see, Mrs. Clifton,” said Jack, his eyes dancing with mischief, “we +come of a short-lived family. Grandmother died at eighty-two, and that +wouldn't give Aunt Rachel long to live.” + +“You impudent boy!” exclaimed Miss Rachel, in great indignation. Then +relapsing into melancholy, “I'm a poor afflicted creetur, and the sooner +I leave this scene of trial the better.” + +“Let us hope,” said Mrs. Clifton, politely, “that you will find the air +of Philadelphia beneficial to your health. Change of air sometimes works +wonders.” + +In the course of a few weeks the whole family removed to Philadelphia. +The house which Mrs. Clifton had given them, exceeded their +anticipations. It was so much better and larger than their present +dwelling, that their furniture would have shown to great disadvantage in +it. But Mrs. Clifton had foreseen this, and they found the house already +furnished for their reception. Through Mrs. Clifton's influence the +cooper was enabled to establish himself in business on a larger scale, +and employ others, instead of working himself, for hire. Ida was such +a frequent visitor, that it was hard to tell which she considered her +home--her mother's elegant dwelling, or Mrs. Cooper's comfortable home. + +For Jack, a situation was found in a merchant's counting-room, and +he became a thriving young merchant, being eventually taken into +partnership. Ida grew lovelier as she grew older, and her rare beauty +caused her to be sought after. If she does not marry well and happily, +it will not be for want of an opportunity. + +Dear reader, you who deem that all stories should end with a marriage, +shall not be disappointed. + +One day Aunt Rachel was missing from her room. It was remembered that +she had appeared singularly for some days previous, and the knowledge +of her constitutional low spirits, led to the apprehension that she had +made way with herself. The cooper was about to notify the police, when +the front door opened and Rachel walked in. She was accompanied by a +short man, stout and freckled. + +“Why, Aunt Rachel,” exclaimed Mrs. Crump, “where _have_ you been? We +have been so anxious about you.” + +A faint flush came to Aunt Rachel's sallow cheek. + +“Sister Mary,” said she, “you will be surprised, perhaps, but--but this +is my consort. Mr. Smith, let me introduce you to my sister.” + +“Then you are married, Rachel,” said Mrs. Crump, quite confounded. + +“Yes,” said Rachel; “I--I don't expect to live long, and it won't make +much difference.” + +“I congratulate you, _Mrs. Smith_,” said Mary Crump, heartily; “and I +wish you a long and happy life, I am sure.” + +It is observed that, since her marriage, Aunt Rachel's fits of +depression are less numerous than before. She has even been seen to +smile repeatedly, and has come to bear, with philosophical equanimity, +her nephew Jack's sly allusions to her elopement. + +One word more. At the close of her term of confinement, Peg came to Mrs. +Clifton, and reminded her of her promise. Dick was dead, and she was +left alone in the world. Imprisonment had not hardened her as it so +often does. She had been redeemed by the kindness of those she had +injured. Mrs. Clifton secured her a position in which her energy and +administrative ability found fitting exercise, and she leads a laborious +and useful life, in a community where her antecedents are not known. + +END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Timothy Crump's Ward, by Horatio Alger + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD *** + +***** This file should be named 4660-0.txt or 4660-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/6/4660/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Timothy Crump's Ward + A Story of American Life + +Author: Horatio Alger + +Release Date: February 5, 2010 [EBook #4660] +Last Updated: March 3, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD: + </h1> + <h2> + A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Horatio Alger + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + 1866. + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD.</b></a> <br /> + <br /> <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> INTRODUCES + THE CRUMPS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> THE + EVENTS OF AN EVENING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. + </a> THE LANDLORD'S VISIT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> + CHAPTER IV. </a> THE NEW YEAR'S PRESENT <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> A LUCKY RESCUE <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> WHAT THE ENVELOPE + CONTAINED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> EIGHT + YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. + </a> A STRANGE VISITOR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> + CHAPTER IX. </a> A JOURNEY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> + CHAPTER X. </a> UNEXPECTED QUARTERS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> SUSPENSE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> HOW IDA FARED <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> BAD COIN <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> DOUBTS AND FEARS + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> AUNT + RACHEL'S MISHAPS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> THE + FLOWER-GIRL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> JACK + OBTAINS INFORMATION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. + </a> FINESSE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. + </a> CAUGHT IN A TRAP <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> + CHAPTER XX. </a> JACK IN CONFINEMENT <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> THE PRISONER ESCAPES + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> MR. + JOHN SOMERVILLE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. + </a> THE LAW STEPS IN <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> "THE FLOWER-GIRL.” + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> IDA IS + FOUND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> "NEVER + TOO LATE TO MEND.” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. + </a> CONCLUSION <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. INTRODUCES THE CRUMPS. + </h2> + <p> + IT was drawing towards the close of the last day of the year. A few hours + more, and 1836 would be no more. + </p> + <p> + It was a cold day. There was no snow on the ground, but it was frozen into + stiff ridges, making it uncomfortable to walk upon. The sun had been out + all day, but there was little heat or comfort in its bright, but frosty + beams. + </p> + <p> + The winter is a hard season for the poor. It multiplies their necessities, + while, in general, it limits their means and opportunities of earning. The + winter of 1836-37 was far from being an exception to this rule. It was + worse than usual, on account of the general stagnation of business. + </p> + <p> + In an humble tenement, located on what was then the outskirts of New York, + though to-day a granite warehouse stands on the spot, lived Timothy Crump, + an industrious cooper. His family consisted of a wife and one child, a boy + of twelve, whose baptismal name was John, though invariably addressed, by + his companions, as Jack. + </p> + <p> + There was another member of the household who would be highly offended if + she were not introduced, in due form, to the reader. This was Miss Rachel + Crump, maiden sister of Uncle Tim, as he was usually designated. + </p> + <p> + Miss Rachel was not much like her brother, for while the latter was a + good-hearted, cheerful easy man, who was inclined to view the world in its + sunniest aspect, Rachel was cynical, and given to misanthropy. Poor + Rachel, let us not be too hard upon thy infirmities. Could we lift the + veil that hides the secrets of that virgin heart, it might be, perchance, + that we should find a hidden cause, far back in the days when thy cheeks + were rounder and thine eyes brighter, and thine aspect not quite so + frosty. Ah, faithless Harry Fletcher! thou hadst some hand in that + peevishness and repining which make Rachel Crump, and all about her, + uncomfortable. Lured away by a prettier face, you left her to pass through + life, unblessed by that love which every female heart craves, and for + which no kindred love will compensate. It was your faithlessness that left + her to walk, with repining spirit, the flinty path of the old maid. + </p> + <p> + Yes; it must be said—Rachel Crump was an old maid; not from choice, + but hard necessity. And so, one by one, she closed up the avenues of her + heart, and clothed herself with complaining, as with a garment. Being + unblessed with earthly means, she had accepted the hearty invitation of + her brother, and become an inmate of his family, where she paid her board + by little services about the house, and obtained sufficient needle-work to + replenish her wardrobe as often as there was occasion. Forty-five years + had now rolled over her head, leaving clearer traces of their presence, + doubtless, than if her spirit had been more cheerful; so that Rachel, + whose strongly marked features never could have been handsome, was now + undeniably homely. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump, fortunately for her husband's peace, did not in the least + resemble her sister-in-law. Her disposition was cheerful, and she had + frequent occasion to remonstrate with her upon the dark view she took of + life. Had her temper been different, it is very easy to see that she would + have been continually quarrelling with Rachel; but, happily, she was one + of those women with whom it is impossible to quarrel. With her broad + mantle of charity, she was always seeking to cover up and extenuate the + defects of her sister-in-law, though she could not help acknowledging + their existence. + </p> + <p> + It had been a hard winter for the cooper. For a month he had been unable + to obtain work of any kind, and for the two months previous he had worked + scarcely more than half the time. Unfortunately for him, his expenses for + a few years back had kept such even pace with his income, that he had no + reserved fund to fall back upon in such a time as this. That was no fault + of his. Both he and his wife had been economical enough, but there are a + great many things included in family expenses—rent, fuel, + provisions, food, clothing, and a long list of sundries, besides; and all + these had cost money, of which desirable article Uncle Tim's trade + furnished not a very large supply. + </p> + <p> + So it happened that, as tradesmen were slow to trust, they had been + obliged to part with a sofa to defray the expenses of the month of + December. This article was selected because it was best convertible into + cash,—being wanted by a neighbor,—besides being about the only + article of luxury, if it could be called such, in possession of the + family. As such it had been hardly used, being reserved for state + occasions; yet hardly had it left (sic) the the house, when Aunt Rachel + began to show signs of extreme lowness of spirits, and bewailed its loss + as a privation of a personal comfort. + </p> + <p> + “Life's full of disappointments,” she groaned. “Our paths is continually + beset by 'em. There's that sofa! It's so pleasant to have one in the house + when a body's sick. But there, it's gone, and if I happen to get down, as + most likely I shall, for I've got a bad feeling in my stummick this very + minute, I shall have to go up-stairs, and most likely catch my death of + cold, and that will be the end of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so bad as that, I hope,” said Mrs. Crump, cheerfully. “You know, when + you was sick last, you didn't want to use the sofa—you said it + didn't lay comfortable. Besides, I hope, before you are sick again we may + be able to buy it back again.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Rachel shook her head despondingly. + </p> + <p> + “There ain't any use in hoping that,” said she. “Timothy's got so much + behindhand that he won't be able to get up again; I know he won't.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he manages to get steady work soon, he will.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he won't. I'm sure he won't. There won't be any work before spring, + and most likely not then.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too desponding, Aunt Rachel.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough to make me so. If you had only taken my advice, we shouldn't have + come to this.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what advice you refer to, Rachel.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't expect you do. You didn't pay no attention to it. That's the + reason.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you'll repeat it, perhaps we can profit by it yet,” said Mrs. + Crump, with imperturbable good humor. + </p> + <p> + “I told you you ought to be layin' up something ag'in a rainy day. But + that's always the way. Folks think when times is good it's always a goin' + to be so, but I knew better.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how we could have been more economical,” said Mrs. Crump, + mildly. + </p> + <p> + “There's a hundred ways. Poor folks like us ought not to expect to have + meat so often. It's frightful to think what the butcher's bill must have + been the last six months.” + </p> + <p> + Inconsistent Rachel! Only the day before she had made herself very + uncomfortable because there was no meat for dinner, and said she couldn't + live without it. Mrs. Crump might have reminded her of this, but the good + woman was too kind to make the retort. She contented herself with saying + that they must try to do better in future. + </p> + <p> + “That's always the way,” muttered Rachel. “Shut the stable door when the + horse is stolen. Folks never learn from experience till it's too late to + be of any use. I don't see what the world was made for, for my part. + Everything goes topsy-turvy, and all sorts of ways except the right way. I + sometimes think 'taint much use livin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll feel better by and by, Rachel. Hark, there's Jack, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Anybody might know by the noise who it is,” pursued Rachel, in the same + general tone that had marked her conversation hitherto. “He always comes + <i>stomping</i> along as if he was paid for makin' a noise. Anybody ought + to have a cast-iron head that lives anywhere in his hearing.” + </p> + <p> + Her cheerful remarks were here broken in upon by the sudden entrance of + Jack, who, in his eagerness, slammed the door behind him, unheeding his + mother's quiet admonition not to make a noise. + </p> + <p> + “Look there!” said he, displaying a quarter of a dollar. + </p> + <p> + “How did you get it?” asked his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Holding horses,” answered Jack. + </p> + <p> + “Here, take it, mother. I warrant you'll find a use for it.” + </p> + <p> + “It comes in good time,” said Mrs. Crump. “We're out of flour, and I had + no money to buy any. Before you take off your boots, Jack, why can't you + run over to the store, and get half a dozen pounds?” + </p> + <p> + “You see the Lord hasn't quite forgotten us,” remarked his mother, as Jack + started on his errand. + </p> + <p> + “What's a quarter of a dollar?” said Rachel, gloomily. “Will it carry us + through the winter?” + </p> + <p> + “It will carry us through to-night, and perhaps Timothy will have work + to-morrow. Hark, that's his step.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING. + </h2> + <p> + AT this moment the outer door opened, and Timothy Crump entered, not with + the quick elastic step of one who brings good tidings, but slowly and + deliberately, with a quiet gravity of demeanor, in which his wife could + read only too well that he had failed in his efforts to procure work. + </p> + <p> + His wife, reading all these things in his manner, had the delicacy to + forbear intruding upon him questions to which she saw that he could give + no satisfactory answers. + </p> + <p> + Not so Aunt Rachel. + </p> + <p> + “I needn't ask,” she began, “whether you got work, Timothy. I knew + beforehand you wouldn't. There ain't no use in tryin'. The times is awful + dull, and, mark my words, they'll be wuss before they're better. We mayn't + live to see 'em. I don't expect we shall. Folks can't live without money, + and when that's gone we shall have to starve.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so bad as that, Rachel,” said the cooper, trying to look cheerful; + “don't talk about starving till the time comes. Anyhow,” glancing at the + table on which was spread a good plain meal, “we needn't talk about + starving till to-morrow, with that before us. Where's Jack?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone after some flour,” replied his wife. + </p> + <p> + “On credit?” asked the cooper. + </p> + <p> + “No, he's got the money to pay for a few pounds,” said Mrs. Crump, + smiling, with an air of mystery. + </p> + <p> + “Where did it come from?” asked Timothy, who was puzzled, as his wife + anticipated. “I didn't know you had any money in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “No more we had, but he earned it himself, holding horses, this + afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, that's good,” said the cooper, cheerfully, “We ain't so bad off as + we might be, you see, Rachel.” + </p> + <p> + The latter shook her head with the air of a martyr. + </p> + <p> + At this moment Jack returned, and the family sat down to supper. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't told us,” said Mrs. Crump, seeing her husband's cheerfulness + in a measure restored, “what Mr. Blodgett said about the chances for + employment.” + </p> + <p> + “Not much that was encouraging,” answered Timothy. “He isn't at all sure + how soon it will be best to commence work; perhaps not before spring.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you so?” commented Rachel, with sepulchral sadness. + </p> + <p> + Even Mr. Crump could not help looking sober. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, Timothy, you haven't formed any plans,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven't had time. I must try to get something else to do.” + </p> + <p> + “What, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “Anything by which I can earn a little, I don't care if it's only sawing + wood. We shall have to get along as economically as we can; cut our coat + according to our cloth.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll be able to earn something, and we can live <i>very</i> plain,” + said Mrs. Crump, affecting a cheerfulness greater than she felt. + </p> + <p> + “Pity you hadn't done it sooner,” was the comforting suggestion of Rachel. + </p> + <p> + “Mustn't cry over spilt milk,” said the cooper, good-humoredly. “Perhaps + we might have lived a <i>leetle</i> more economically, but I don't think + we've been extravagant.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, I can earn something, father,” said Jack, hopefully. “You know I + did this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “So you can,” said Mrs. Crump, brightly. + </p> + <p> + “There ain't horses to hold every day,” said Rachel, apparently fearing + that the family might become too cheerful, when, like herself, it was + their duty to become profoundly gloomy. + </p> + <p> + “You're always trying' to discourage people,” said Jack, discontentedly. + </p> + <p> + Rachel took instant umbrage at these words. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure,” said she; mournfully, “I don't want to make you unhappy. If + you can find anything to be cheerful about when you're on the verge of + starvation, I hope you'll enjoy yourselves, and not mind me. I'm a poor + dependent creetur, and I feel to know I'm a burden.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Rachel, that's all foolishness,” said Uncle Tim. “You don't feel + anything of the kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps others can tell how I feel, better than I can myself,” answered + his sister, knitting rapidly. “If it hadn't been for me, I know you'd have + been able to lay up money, and have something to carry you through the + winter. It's hard to be a burden upon your relations, and bring a + brother's family to poverty.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk of being a burden, Rachel,” said Mrs. Crump. “You've been a + great help to me in many ways. That pair of stockings now you're knitting + for Jack—that's a help, for I couldn't have got time for them + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't expect,” said Aunt Rachel, in the same sunny manner, “that I + shall be able to do it long. From the pains I have in my hands sometimes, + I expect I'm going to lose the use of 'em soon, and be as useless as old + Mrs. Sprague, who for the last ten years of her life had to sit with her + hands folded in her lap. But I wouldn't stay to be a burden. I'd go to the + poor-house first, but perhaps,” with the look of a martyr, “they wouldn't + want me there, because I should be discouragin' 'em too much.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Jack, who had so unwittingly raised this storm, winced under the + words, which he knew were directed at him. + </p> + <p> + “Then why,” said he, half in extenuation, “why don't you try to look + pleasant and cheerful? Why won't you be jolly, as Tom Piper's aunt is?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say I ain't pleasant,” said Aunt Rachel, “as my own nephew tells + me so. There is some folks that can be cheerful when their house is a + burnin' down before their eyes, and I've heard of one young man that + laughed at his aunt's funeral,” directing a severe glance at Jack; “but + I'm not one of that kind. I think, with the Scriptures, that there's a + time to weep.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't it say there's a time to laugh, also?” asked Mrs. Crump. + </p> + <p> + “When I see anything to laugh about, I'm ready to laugh,” said Aunt + Rachel; “but human nature ain't to be forced. I can't see anything to + laugh at now, and perhaps you won't by and by.” + </p> + <p> + It was evidently of no use to attempt a confutation of this, and the + subject dropped. + </p> + <p> + The tea-things were cleared away by Mrs. Crump, who afterwards sat down to + her sewing. Aunt Rachel continued to knit in grim silence, while Jack + seated himself on a three-legged stool near his aunt, and began to whittle + out a boat after a model lent him by Tom Piper, a young gentleman whose + aunt has already been referred to. + </p> + <p> + The cooper took out his spectacles, wiped them carefully with his + handkerchief, and as carefully adjusted them to his nose. He then took + down from the mantel-piece one of the few books belonging to his library,—“Captain + Cook's Travels,”—and began to read, for the tenth time it might be, + the record of the gallant sailor's circumnavigations. + </p> + <p> + The plain little room presented a picture of peaceful tranquillity, but it + proved to be only the calm which precedes a storm. + </p> + <p> + The storm in question, I regret to say, was brought about by the luckless + Jack. As has been said, he was engaged in constructing a boat, the + particular operation he was now intent upon being the excavation or + hollowing out. Now three-legged stools are not the most secure seats in + the world. That, I think, no one can doubt who has any practical + acquaintance with them. Jack was working quite vigorously, the block from + which the boat was to be fashioned being held firmly between his knees. + His knife having got wedged in the wood, he made an unusual effort to draw + it out, in which he lost his balance, and disturbed the equilibrium of his + stool, which, with his load, tumbled over backwards. Now it very + unfortunately happened that Aunt Rachel sat close behind, and the + treacherous stool came down with considerable force upon her foot. + </p> + <p> + A piercing shriek was heard, and Aunt Rachel, lifting her foot, clung to + it convulsively, while an expression of pain distorted her features. + </p> + <p> + At the sound, the cooper hastily removed his spectacles, and letting + “Captain Cook” fall to the floor, started up in great dismay—Mrs. + Crump likewise dropped her sewing, and jumped to her feet in alarm. + </p> + <p> + It did not take long to see how matters stood. + </p> + <p> + “Hurt ye much, Rachel?” inquired Timothy. + </p> + <p> + “It's about killed me,” groaned the afflicted maiden. “Oh, I shall have to + have my foot cut off, or be a cripple anyway.” Then turning upon Jack, + fiercely, “you careless, wicked, ungrateful boy, that I've been wearin' + myself out knittin' for. I'm almost sure you did it a purpose. You won't + be satisfied till you've got me out of the world, and then—then, + perhaps——” here Rachel began to whimper, “perhaps you'll get + Tom Piper's aunt to knit your stockings.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean to, Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, penitently, eyeing his aunt, + who was rocking to and fro in her chair. “Besides, I hurt myself like + thunder,” rubbing vigorously the lower part of the dorsal-region. + </p> + <p> + “Served you right,” said his aunt, still clasping her foot. + </p> + <p> + “Sha'n't I get something for you to put on it?” asked Mrs. Crump of (sic) + her-sister-in-law. + </p> + <p> + This Rachel steadily refused, and after a few more postures, (sic) + indicating a great amount of anguish, limped out of the room, and ascended + the stairs to her own apartment. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE LANDLORD'S VISIT. + </h2> + <p> + SOON after Rachel's departure Jack, also, was seized with a sleepy fit, + and postponing the construction of his boat to a more favorable + opportunity, took a candle and followed his aunt's example. + </p> + <p> + The cooper and his wife were now left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Now that Rachel and Jack have gone to bed, Mary,” he commenced, + hesitatingly, “I don't mind saying that I am a little troubled in mind + about one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” asked Mrs. Crump, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “It's just this, I don't anticipate being stinted for food. I know we + shall get along some way; but there's another expense which I am afraid + of.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it the rent?” inquired his wife, apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “That's it. The quarter's rent, twenty dollars, comes due to-morrow, and + I've got less than a dollar to meet it.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't Mr. Colman wait?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid not. You know what sort of a man he is, Mary. There ain't much + feeling about him. He cares more for money than anything else.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are doing him injustice.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid not. Did you never hear how he treated the Underhills?” + </p> + <p> + “How was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Underhill was laid up with a rheumatic fever for three months. The + consequence was, that, when quarter-day came round, he was in about the + same situation with ourselves,—a little worse even, for his wife was + sick, also. But though Colman was aware of the circumstances, he had no + pity; but turned them out without ceremony.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible?” asked Mrs. Crump, uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “And there's no reason for his being more lenient with us. I can't but + feel anxious about to-morrow, Mary.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment, verifying an old adage which will perhaps occur to the + reader, who should knock but Mr. Colman himself? + </p> + <p> + Both the cooper and his wife had an instinctive foreboding as to the + meaning of his visit. + </p> + <p> + He came in, rubbing his hands in a social way, as was his custom. No one, + to look at him, would have suspected the hardness of heart that lay veiled + under his velvety softness of manner. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Mr. Crump,” said he, affably, “I trust you and your worthy + wife are in good health.” + </p> + <p> + “That blessing, at least, is continued to us,” said the cooper, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “And how comfortable you're looking too, eh! It makes an old bachelor, + like me, feel lonesome when he contrasts his own solitary room with such a + scene of comfort as this. You've got a comfortable home, and dog-cheap, + too. All my other tenants are grumbling to think you don't have to pay any + more for such superior accommodations. I've about made up my mind that I + must ask you twenty-five dollars a quarter, hereafter.” + </p> + <p> + All this was said very pleasantly, but the pill was none the less bitter. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me, Mr. Colman,” remarked the cooper soberly, “you have + chosen rather a singular time for raising the rent.” + </p> + <p> + “Why singular, my good sir?” inquired the landlord, urbanely. + </p> + <p> + “You know of course, that this is a time of general business depression; + my own trade in particular has suffered greatly. For a month past, I have + not been able to find any work.” + </p> + <p> + Colman's face lost something of its graciousness. + </p> + <p> + “And I fear I sha'n't be able to pay my quarter's rent to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said the landlord coldly. “Perhaps you can make it up within two + or three dollars?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't pay a dollar towards it,” said the cooper. “It's the first time, + in five years that I've lived here, that this thing has happened to me. + I've always been prompt before.” + </p> + <p> + “You should have economized as you found times growing harder,” said + Colman, harshly. “It is hardly honest to live in a house when you know you + can't pay the rent.” + </p> + <p> + “You sha'n't lose it Mr. Colman,” said the cooper, earnestly. “No one ever + yet lost anything by me. Only give me time, and I will pay you all.” + </p> + <p> + The landlord shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to cut your coat according to your cloth,” he responded. “Much + as it will go against my feelings, under the circumstances I am compelled + by a prudent regard to my own interests to warn you that, in case your + rent is not ready to-morrow, I shall be obliged to trouble you to find + another tenement; and furthermore, the rent of this will be raised five + dollars a quarter.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't pay it, Mr. Colman,” said the cooper; “I may as well say that + now; and it's no use my agreeing to pay more rent. I pay all I can afford + now.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, you know the alternative. But it is a disagreeable subject. We + won't talk of it now; I shall be round to-morrow morning. How's your + excellent sister; as cheerful as ever?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite as much so as usual,” answered the cooper, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “But there's one favor I should like to ask, if you will allow us to + remain here a few days till I can look about me a little.” + </p> + <p> + “I would with the greatest pleasure in the world,” was the reply, “but + there's another family very anxious to take the house, and they wish to + come in immediately. Therefore I shall be obliged to ask you to move out + to-morrow. In fact that is the very thing I came here this evening to + speak about, as I thought you might not wish to pay the increased rent.” + </p> + <p> + “We are much obliged to you,” said the cooper, with a tinge of bitterness + unusual to him. “If we are to be turned out of doors, it is pleasant to + have a few hours' notice of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Turned out of doors, my good friend! What disagreeable expressions you + employ! It is merely a matter of business. I have an article to dispose + of. There are two bidders; yourself and another person. The latter is + willing to pay a larger sum. Of course I give him the preference. Don't + you see how it is?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I do,” replied the cooper. “Of course, it's a regular + proceeding; but you must excuse me if I think of it in another light, when + I reflect that to-morrow at this time my family and myself may be without + a shelter.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, positively you are looking on the dark side of things. It is + actually sinful to distrust Providence as you seem to do. You're a little + disappointed, that's all. Just take to-night to sleep on it, and I've no + doubt you'll think better of it and of me. But positively I have stayed + longer than I intended. Good night, my friends. I'll look in upon you in + the morning. And by the by, as it is so near the time, allow me to wish + you a Happy New Year.” + </p> + <p> + The door closed upon the landlord, leaving behind two anxious hearts. + </p> + <p> + “It looks well in him to wish that,” said the cooper, gloomily. “A great + deal he is doing to make it so. I don't know how it seems to others, but + for my part I never say them words to any one unless I really wish 'em + well, and am willing to do something to make 'em so. I should feel as if I + was a hypocrite if I acted anyways different.” + </p> + <p> + Mary did not respond to this. In her own gentle heart she could not help + feeling a silent repugnance, mingled, it may be, with a shade of contempt, + for the man who had just left them. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and + she strove to get rid of it. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any tenement vacant in this neighborhood?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there's the one at the corner, belonging to Mr. Harrison.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a better one than this.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but Harrison only asks the same that we have been paying. He is not + so exorbitant as Colman.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't we get that?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, if he knew that we had failed to pay our rent here, he would + object.” + </p> + <p> + “But he knows you are honest, and that nothing but the hard times would + have brought you to such a pass.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be, Mary. At any rate you have lightened my heart a little. I feel + as if there was some hope left.” + </p> + <p> + “We ought always to feel so, Timothy. There was one thing that Mr. Colman + said that didn't sound so well, coming from his lips; but it's true, for + all that.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that about not distrusting Providence. Many a time have I been + comforted by reading the verse, 'Never have I seen the righteous forsaken, + or his seed begging bread.' As long as we try to do what is right, + Timothy, God will not suffer us to want.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Mary. He is our ever-present help in time of need. Let us + put away all anxious cares, fully confiding in his gracious promises.” + </p> + <p> + They retired to rest thoughtfully, but not sadly. + </p> + <p> + The fire upon the hearth flickered, and died out at length. The last sands + of the old year were running out, and the new morning ushered in its + successor. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE NEW YEAR'S PRESENT. + </h2> + <p> + “HAPPY New Year!” was Jack's salutation to Aunt Rachel, as, with an + unhappy expression of countenance, she entered the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + “Happy, indeed!” she repeated, dismally. “There's great chance of its + being so, I should think. We don't any of us know what the year may bring + forth. We may all be dead before the next New Year.” + </p> + <p> + “If that's the case,” said Jack, “we'll be jolly as long as it lasts.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean by such a vulgar word,” said Aunt Rachel, + disdainfully. “I've heard of drunkards and such kind of people being + jolly; but, thank Providence, I haven't got to that yet.” + </p> + <p> + “If that was the only way to be jolly,” said Jack, stoutly, “then I'd be a + drunkard; I wouldn't carry round such a long face as you do, Aunt Rachel, + for any money.” + </p> + <p> + “It's enough to make all of us have long faces, when you are brazen enough + to own that you mean to be a drunkard.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say any such thing,” said Jack, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I have ears,” remarked Aunt Rachel, sententiously, “and perhaps I + have not. It's a new thing for a nephew to tell his aunt that she lies. + They didn't use to allow such things when I was young.—But the + world's going to rack and ruin, and I shouldn't much wonder if the people + are right that says it's comin' to an end.” + </p> + <p> + Here Mrs. Crump happily interposed, by asking Jack to go round to the + grocery, in the next street, and buy a pint of milk. + </p> + <p> + Jack took his cap and started, with alacrity, glad to leave the dismal + presence of Aunt Rachel. + </p> + <p> + He had scarcely opened the door when he started back in surprise, + exclaiming, “By hokey, if there isn't a basket on the steps!” + </p> + <p> + “A basket!” repeated Mrs. Crump, in surprise. “Can it be a New Year's + present? Bring it in, Jack.” + </p> + <p> + It was brought in immediately, and the cover being lifted there appeared a + female child, of apparently a year old. All uttered exclamations of + surprise, each in itself characteristic. + </p> + <p> + “What a dear, innocent little thing!” said Mrs. Crump, with true maternal + instinct. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't it a pretty 'un?” said Jack, admiringly. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing!” said the cooper, compassionately. + </p> + <p> + “It's a world of iniquity!” remarked Rachel, lifting up her eyes, + dismally. “There isn't any one you can trust. I didn't think a brother of + mine would have such a sin brought to his door.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, Rachel!” said the honest cooper, in amazement, “what can + you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't for me to explain,” said Rachel, shaking her head; “only it's + strange that it should have been brought to <i>this</i> house, that's all + I say.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was meant for you, Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, with thoughtless + fun. + </p> + <p> + “Me!” exclaimed Rachel, rising to her feet, while her face betrayed the + utmost horror at the suggestion. She fell back in her seat, and made a + violent effort to faint. + </p> + <p> + “What have I said?” asked Jack, a little frightened at the effect of his + words. “Aunt Rachel takes one up so.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't mean anything,” said Mrs. Crump. “How could you suspect such a + thing? But here's a letter. It looks as if there was something in it. + Here, Timothy, it is directed to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cooper opened the letter, and read as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “For reasons which it is unnecessary to state, the guardians of this child + find it expedient to (sic) intrust it to others to be brought up. The good + opinion which they have formed of you, has led them to select you for that + charge. No further explanation is necessary, except that it is by no means + their object to make this a service of charity. They therefore (sic) + inclose a certificate of deposits on the Broadway Bank, of three hundred + dollars, the same having been made in your name. Each year, while the + child remains in your charge, the same sum will in like manner be placed + to your credit at the same bank It may be as well to state, farther, that + all attempts to fathom whatever of mystery may attach to this affair, will + prove useless.” + </p> + <p> + This letter was read in silent amazement. + </p> + <p> + The certificate of deposits, which had fallen to the floor, was handed to + Timothy by his wife. + </p> + <p> + Amazement was followed by a feeling of gratitude and relief. + </p> + <p> + “What could be more fortunate?” exclaimed Mrs. Crump. “Surely, Timothy, + our faith has been rewarded.” + </p> + <p> + “God has listened to our cry,” said the cooper, devoutly; “and, in the + hour of our need, He has remembered us.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it prime?” said Jack, gleefully; “three hundred dollars! Ain't we + rich, Aunt Rachel?” + </p> + <p> + “Like as not,” observed Rachel, “the certificate isn't genuine. It doesn't + look natural it should be. I've heard of counterfeits before. I shouldn't + be surprised at all if Timothy got taken up for presenting it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll risk that,” said Mr. Crump, who did not look very much depressed by + this suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Now you'll be able to pay the rent, Timothy,” said Mrs. Crump, + cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and it's the last quarter I shall pay to Mr. Colman, if I can help + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, where are you going?” inquired Jack. + </p> + <p> + “To the corner house belonging to Mr. Harrison, that is, if it is not + already engaged. I think I will go and see about it at once. If Mr. Colman + should come in while I am gone, tell him I will be back directly; I don't + wish you to tell him of the change in our circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + The cooper found Mr. Harrison at home. + </p> + <p> + “I called to inquire,” commenced the cooper, “whether you had let that + house of yours on the corner of the street.” + </p> + <p> + “Not as yet,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “What rent do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty dollars a quarter,” said Mr. Harrison; “that I consider + reasonable.” + </p> + <p> + “It is satisfactory to me,” was the cooper's reply, “and, if you have no + objections to me as a tenant, I will engage it at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Far from having any objections, Mr. Crump,” was the courteous reply, “I + shall be glad to secure so good a tenant. Will you go over and look at the + house?” + </p> + <p> + “Not now, sir; I am somewhat in haste. When can we move in?” + </p> + <p> + “To-day, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + His errand satisfactorily accomplished, the cooper returned home. + Meanwhile the landlord had called. + </p> + <p> + He was a little surprised to find that Mrs. Crump, instead of looking + depressed, looked cheerful, rather than otherwise. + </p> + <p> + “I was not aware you had a child so young,” he remarked, looking at the + baby. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't mine,” said Mrs. Crump, briefly. + </p> + <p> + “The child of a neighbor, I suppose,” thought Colman. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile he scrutinized closely, without appearing to do so, the + furniture in the room. + </p> + <p> + At this point Mr. Crump opened the outer door. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning,” said Colman, affably. “A fine morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” answered his tenant, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “I have called, Mr. Crump, to know if you are ready with your quarter's + rent.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I told you, last night, how I was situated. Of course I am sorry——” + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” said the landlord, “for I may be obliged to have recourse to + unpleasant measures.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that we must leave the house!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, you cannot expect to remain in it if you are unable to pay the + rent. Of course,” added Colman, making an inventory with his eyes, of the + furniture, “you will leave behind a sufficient amount of furniture to + cover your bill——” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, you would not deprive us of our furniture!” + </p> + <p> + “Is there any hardship in requiring payment of honest debts?” + </p> + <p> + “There are cases of that description. However, I will not put you to that + trouble. I am ready to pay you your dues.” + </p> + <p> + “You have the money?” said Colman, hastily. + </p> + <p> + “I have, and something over; as you will see by this document. Can you + give me the two hundred and eighty dollars over?” + </p> + <p> + It would be difficult to picture the amazement of Colman. “Surely, you + told me a different story last night,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Last night and this morning are different times. Then I could not pay + you; now, luckily, I am able. If you cannot change this amount, and will + accompany me to the bank, I will place the money in your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, I am not at all in haste,” said the landlord, with a return + of his former affability. “Any time within a week will do. I hope, by the + way, you will continue to occupy this house.” + </p> + <p> + “As I have already engaged Mr. Harrison's house, at the corner of the + street, I shall be unable to remain. Besides, I do not want to interfere + with the family who are so desirous of moving in.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Colman was silenced. He regretted, too late, the hasty course which + had lost him a good tenant. The family referred to had no existence; and, + it may be remarked, the house remained vacant for several months, when he + was glad to rent it at the old price. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. A LUCKY RESCUE. + </h2> + <p> + THE opportune arrival of the child inaugurated a season of comparative + prosperity in the home of Timothy Crump. To persons accustomed to live in + their frugal way, three hundred dollars seemed a fortune. Nor, as might + have happened in some cases, did this unexpected windfall tempt the cooper + or his wife to extravagances. + </p> + <p> + “Let us save something against a rainy day,” said Mrs. Crump. + </p> + <p> + “We can, if I get work soon,” answered her husband. “This little one will + add but little to our expenses, and there is no reason why we should not + save up at least half of it.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no knowing when you will get work, Timothy,” said Rachel, in her + usual cheerful way; “it isn't well to crow before you're out of the + woods.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true, Rachel. It isn't your failing to look too much at the sunny + side of the picture.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm ready to look at it when I can see it anywhere,” said his sister, in + the same enlivening way. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you see it in the unexpected good fortune which came with this + child?” asked Timothy. + </p> + <p> + “I've no doubt it seems bright enough, now,” said Rachel, gloomily, “but a + young child's a great deal of trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you speak from experience, Aunt Rachel?” inquired Jack, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes;” said his aunt, slowly; “if all babies were as cross as you were + when you were an infant, three hundred dollars wouldn't begin to pay for + the trouble of having one round.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Crump and his wife laughed at this sally at Jack's expense, but the + latter had his wits about him sufficiently to answer, “I've always heard, + Aunt Rachel, that the crosser a child is the pleasanter he will grow up. + What a very pleasant baby you must have been!” + </p> + <p> + “Jack!” said his mother, reprovingly; but his father, who looked upon it + as a good joke, remarked, good-humoredly, “He's got you there, Rachel.” + </p> + <p> + The latter, however, took it as a serious matter, and observed that, when + she was young, children were not allowed to speak so to their elders. + “But, I don't know as I can blame 'em much,” she continued, wiping her + eyes with the corner of her apron, “when their own parents encourage 'em + in it.” + </p> + <p> + Timothy was warned, by experience, that silence was his best (sic) + defence. Since anything he might say would only be likely to make matters + worse. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Rachel sank into a fit of deep despondency, and did not say another + word till dinner time. She sat down to the table with a profound sigh, as + if there was little in life worth living for. Notwithstanding this, it was + observed that she had a good appetite. Indeed, Rachel seemed to thrive on + her gloomy views of life and human nature. She was, it must be + acknowledged, perfectly consistent in all her conduct, as far as this + peculiarity was concerned. Whenever she took up a newspaper, she always + looked first to the space appropriated to deaths, and next in order to the + column of accidents, casualties, etc., and her spirits were visibly + exhilarated when she encountered a familiar name in either list. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Crump continued to look out for work, but it was with a more cheerful + spirit. He did not now feel as if the comfort of his family depended + absolutely upon his immediate success. Used economically, the money he had + by him would last nine months, and during that time it was impossible that + he should not find something to do. It was this sense of security—of + possessing something upon which he could fall back—that enabled him + to keep up good heart. It is too generally the case that people are + content to live as if they were sure of constantly retaining their health + and never losing their employment. When a reverse does come they are at + once plunged into discouragement, and feel that something must be done + immediately. There is only one way to fend off such an embarrassment, and + that is to resolve, whatever may be the amount of the income, to lay aside + some part to serve as a reliance in time of trouble. A little economy—though + it involves privation—will be well repaid by the feeling of security + thus engendered. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Crump was not compelled to remain inactive as long as he feared. Not + that his line of business revived,—that still remained depressed,—but + another path was opened to him for a time. + </p> + <p> + Returning home late one evening, the cooper saw a man steal out from a + doorway, and assault a gentleman whose dress and general appearance + indicated probable wealth. Seizing him by the throat, the villain + effectually prevented him from calling the police, and was engaged in + rifling his pockets when the cooper arrived at the scene. A sudden blow on + the side of the head admonished the robber that he had more than one to + deal with. + </p> + <p> + “Leave this man instantly,” said the cooper, sternly, “or I will deliver + you into the hands of the police.” + </p> + <p> + The villain hesitated, but fear prevailed, and springing to his feet, he + hastily made off under cover of the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you have received no injury,” said Timothy, respectfully, turning + towards the stranger he had rescued. + </p> + <p> + “No, my worthy friend, thanks to your timely assistance. The rascal nearly + succeeded, however.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you have lost nothing, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, fortunately. You can form an idea of the value of your + interference, when I say that I have fifteen hundred dollars with me, all + of which I should undoubtedly have lost.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” said the cooper, “that I was able to do you such essential + service. It was by the merest chance that I came this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you add to my indebtedness by accompanying me with that trusty club + of yours? I have some little distance yet to go, and the amount of money I + have with me makes me feel desirous of taking every possible precaution.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly,” said the cooper. + </p> + <p> + “But I am forgetting,” said the gentleman, “that you yourself will be + obliged to return alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not carry enough money to make me fear an attack,” said Mr. Crump, + laughing. “Money brings care I have always heard, and now I realize it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet most people are willing to take their chance of that,” said the + merchant. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, sir, nor can I call myself an exception. Still I should be + satisfied with the certainty of constant employment.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you have that, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “I have had until recently.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, at present, you are unemployed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your business?” + </p> + <p> + “That of a cooper.” + </p> + <p> + “I must see what I can do for you. Can you call at my office to-morrow, + say at twelve o'clock?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be glad to do so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I have a card with me. Yes, here is one. And this is my house. + Thank you for your company, my good friend. I shall see you to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + They stood before a handsome dwelling-house, from whose windows, draped by + heavy crimson curtains, a soft light proceeded. The cooper could hear the + ringing of childish voices welcoming home their father, whose life, + unknown to them, had been in such peril, and he could not but be grateful + to Providence that he had been the means of frustrating the designs of the + villain who would have robbed him, and perhaps done him farther injury. + </p> + <p> + He determined to say nothing to his wife of the night's adventure until + after his meeting appointed for the next day. Then if any advantage + accrued to him from it, he would tell the whole at once. + </p> + <p> + When he reached home, Mrs. Crump was sewing beside the fire. Aunt Rachel + sat with her hands folded in her lap, with an air of martyr-like + resignation to the woes of life. + </p> + <p> + “I've brought you home a paper, Aunt Rachel,” said the cooper, cheerfully. + “You may find something interesting in it.” + </p> + <p> + “I sha'n't be able to read it this evening,” said Rachel, mournfully. “My + eyes have troubled me lately. I feel that it is more than probable that I + am growing blind. But I trust I shall not live to be a burden to you. Your + prospects are dark enough without that.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't trouble yourself with any fears of that sort, Rachel,” said the + cooper, cheerily. “I think I know what will enable you to use your eyes as + well as ever.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Rachel, with melancholy curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “A pair of spectacles,” said her brother, incautiously. + </p> + <p> + “Spectacles!” retorted Rachel, indignantly. “It will be a good many years + before I am old enough to wear spectacles. I didn't expect to be insulted + by my own brother. But it's one of my trials.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Rachel,” said the cooper, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” said Rachel, rising and taking a small lamp from the table. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Rachel, don't go yet. It is early.” + </p> + <p> + “After what you have said to me, Timothy, my self-respect will not permit + me to stay.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel swept out of the room with something more than her customary + melancholy. + </p> + <p> + “I wish Rachel war'n't quite so contrary,” said the cooper. “She turns + upon a body so sudden, it's hard to know how to take her. How's the little + girl, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “She's been asleep ever since six o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you don't find her very much trouble. That all comes upon you, + while we have the benefit of the money.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think of that, Timothy. She is a sweet child, and I love her + almost as much as if she were my own. As for Jack, he perfectly idolizes + her.” + </p> + <p> + “And how does Aunt Rachel look upon her?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid she will never be a favorite with Rachel.” + </p> + <p> + “Rachel never took to children much. It isn't her way. Now, Mary, while + you are sewing, I will read you the news.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. WHAT THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED. + </h2> + <p> + THE card which had been handed to Timothy Crump contained the name of + Thomas Merriam,——Wall Street. Punctually at twelve, the cooper + reported himself at the counting-room, and received a cordial welcome from + the merchant. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to see you,” he said. “I will come to business at once, as I am + particularly engaged this morning. Is there any way in which I can serve + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless you can procure me a situation, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you told me you were a cooper.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Does this yield you a good support?” + </p> + <p> + “In good times it pays me two dollars a day. Lately it has been depressed, + and for a time paid me but a dollar and a half.” + </p> + <p> + “When do you anticipate its revival?” + </p> + <p> + “That is uncertain. It may be some months first.” + </p> + <p> + “And, in the mean time, you are willing to undertake some other + employment?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I have no objection to any honest employment.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merriam reflected a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Just at present,” he said, “I have nothing to offer except the post of + porter. If that will suit you, you can enter upon the duties to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be very glad to take it, sir. Anything is better than idleness.” + </p> + <p> + “Your compensation shall be the same that you have been accustomed to earn + by your trade,—two dollars a day.” + </p> + <p> + “I only received that in the best times,” said Timothy, conscientiously. + </p> + <p> + “Your services will be worth it. I will expect you, then, to-morrow + morning at eight. You are married, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I am blessed with a good wife.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of that. Stay a moment.” + </p> + <p> + The merchant went to his desk, and presently returned with a scaled + envelope. + </p> + <p> + “Give that to your wife,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The interview terminated, and the cooper went home, quite elated by his + success. His present engagement would enable him to bridge over the dull + time, and save him from incurring debt, of which he had a just horror. + </p> + <p> + “Just in time,” said Mrs. Crump. “We've got an apple-pudding to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't forgotten what I like, Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no knowing how long you will be able to afford puddings,” said + Aunt Rachel. “To my mind it's extravagant to have meat and pudding both, + when a month hence you may be in the poor-house.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Jack, “I wouldn't eat any.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you grudge me the little I eat,” said his aunt, in severe sorrow, + “I will go without.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, Rachel, nobody grudges you anything here,” said her brother, “and as + to the poor-house, I've got some good news to tell you that will put that + thought out of your heads.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Mrs. Crump, looking up brightly. + </p> + <p> + “I have found employment.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at your trade?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but at something else, which will pay equally well, till trade + revives.” + </p> + <p> + Here he told the story of the chance by which he was enabled to serve Mr. + Merriam, and of the engagement to which it had led. + </p> + <p> + “You are, indeed, fortunate,” said Mrs. Crump. “Two dollars a day, and + we've got nearly the whole of the money that came with this dear child. + How rich we shall be!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Rachel, where are your congratulations?” asked the cooper of his + sister, who, in subdued sorrow, was eating her second slice of pudding. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see anything so very fortunate in being engaged as a porter,” + said Rachel, lugubriously. “I heard of a porter, once, who had a great box + fall upon him and crush him; and another, who committed suicide.” + </p> + <p> + The cooper laughed. + </p> + <p> + “So, Rachel, you conclude that one or the other is the inevitable lot of + all who are engaged in this business.” + </p> + <p> + “It is always well to be prepared for the worst,” said Rachel, oracularly. + </p> + <p> + “But not to be always looking for it,” said her brother. + </p> + <p> + “It'll come, whether you look for it or not,” returned his sister, + sententiously. + </p> + <p> + “Then, suppose we spend no thoughts upon it, since, according to your + admission, it's sure to come either way.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel pursued her knitting, in severe melancholy. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you have another piece of pudding, Timothy?” asked Mrs. Crump. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care if I do, Mary, it's so good,” said the cooper, passing his + plate. “Seems to me it's the best pudding you ever made.” + </p> + <p> + “You've got a good appetite, that is all,” said Mrs. Crump, modestly. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Mary,” said the cooper, with a sudden thought, “I quite + forgot that I have something for you.” + </p> + <p> + “For me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, from Mr. Merriam.” + </p> + <p> + “But he don't know me,” said Mrs. Crump, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, he asked me if I were married, and then handed me this + envelope for you. I am not quite sure whether I ought to allow gentlemen + to write letters to my wife.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and uttered an + exclamation of surprise, as a bank-note fluttered to the carpet. + </p> + <p> + “By gracious, mother,” said Jack, springing to get it, “you're in luck. + It's a hundred dollar bill.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is, I declare,” said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. “But, Timothy, it isn't + mine. It belongs to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mary, it shall be yours. I'll put it in the Savings Bank for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Merriam's a trump, and no mistake,” said Jack. “By the way, father, when + you see him again, won't you just insinuate that you have a son? Ain't we + in luck, Aunt Rachel?” + </p> + <p> + “'Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall,'” + said Rachel. + </p> + <p> + “I never knew Aunt Rachel to be jolly but once,” said Jack, under his + breath; “and that was at a funeral.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. EIGHT YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS. + </h2> + <p> + EIGHT years slipped by, unmarked by any important event. The Crumps were + still prosperous in an humble way. The cooper had been able to obtain work + most of the time, and this, with the annual remittance for little Ida, had + enabled the family not only to live in comfort, but even to save up one + hundred and fifty dollars a year. They might even have saved more, living + as frugally as they were accustomed to do, but there was one point upon + which none of them would consent to be economical. The little Ida must + have everything she wanted. Timothy brought home daily some little + delicacy for her, which none of the rest thought of sharing. While Mrs. + Crump, far enough from vanity, always dressed with exceeding plainness, + Ida's attire was always rich and tasteful. She would sometimes ask, + “Mother, why don't you buy yourself some of the pretty things you get for + me?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump would answer, smiling, “Oh, I'm an old woman, Ida. Plain things + are best for me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm sure you're not old, mother. You don't wear a cap.” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Crump would always playfully evade the child's questions. + </p> + <p> + Had Ida been an ordinary child, all this petting would have had an + injurious effect upon her mind. But, fortunately she had that rare + simplicity, young as she was, which lifted her above the dangers to which + many might have been subjected. Instead of being made vain, she only felt + grateful for the many kindnesses bestowed upon her by her father and + mother and brother Jack, as she was wont to call them. Indeed, it had not + been thought best to let her know that such was not the relation in which + they really stood to her. + </p> + <p> + There was one point, more important than dress, in which Ida profited by + the indulgence of her friends. + </p> + <p> + “Wife,” the cooper was wont to say, “Ida is a sacred charge in our hands. + If we allow her to grow up ignorant, or afford her only ordinary + advantages, we shall not fulfil our duty. We have the means, through + Providence, to give her some of those advantages which she would enjoy if + she remained in that sphere to which her parents, doubtless, belong. Let + no unwise parsimony, on our part, withhold them from her.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Timothy,” said Mrs. Crump; “right, as you always are. + Follow the dictates of your own heart, and fear not that I shall + disapprove.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly Ida was, from the first, sent to a carefully-selected private + school, where she had the advantage of good associates, and where her + progress was astonishingly rapid. + </p> + <p> + She early displayed a remarkable taste for drawing. As soon as this was + discovered, her foster parents took care that she should have abundant + opportunity for cultivating it. A private master was secured, who gave her + daily lessons, and boasted everywhere of his charming little pupil, whose + progress, as he assured her friends, exceeded anything he had ever before + known. + </p> + <p> + Nothing could exceed the cooper's gratification when, on his birthday, Ida + presented him with a beautifully-drawn sketch of his wife's placid and + benevolent face. + </p> + <p> + “When did you do it, Ida?” he asked, after earnest expressions of + admiration. + </p> + <p> + “I did it in odd minutes,” she said; “in the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could you do it without any one of us knowing what you were + about?” + </p> + <p> + “I had a picture before me, and you thought I was copying it, but whenever + I could do it without being noticed, I looked up at mother as she sat at + her sewing, and so, after awhile, I made this picture.” + </p> + <p> + “And a fine one it is,” said Timothy, admiringly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump insisted that Ida had flattered her, but this the child would + not admit. “I couldn't make it look as good as you, mother,” she said. “I + tried to, but somehow I couldn't succeed as well as I wanted to.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't have that difficulty with Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, + roguishly. + </p> + <p> + Ida, with difficulty, suppressed a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Aunt Rachel, with severe resignation, “that you've taken to + ridiculing your poor aunt again. But it's what I expect. I don't never + expect any consideration in this house. I was born to be a martyr, and I + expect I shall fulfil my destiny. If my own relations laugh at me, of + course I can't expect anything better from other folks. But I sha'n't be + long in the way. I've had a cough for some time past, and I expect I'm in + a consumption.” + </p> + <p> + “You make too much of a little thing, Rachel,” said the cooper. “I don't + think Jack meant anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure, what I said was complimentary,” said Jack. + </p> + <p> + Rachel shook her head incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes it was. Ask Ida. Why won't you draw Aunt Rachel, Ida? I think she'd + make a capital picture.” + </p> + <p> + “So I will,” said Ida, hesitatingly, “if she will let me.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Aunt Rachel, there's a chance for you,” said Jack. “I advise you to + improve it. When it's finished, it can be hung up at the Art Rooms, and + who knows but you may secure a husband by it?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't marry,” said his aunt, firmly compressing her lips, “not if + anybody'd go down on their knees to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Now I am sure, Aunt Rachel, that's cruel in you.” + </p> + <p> + “There ain't any man that I'd trust my happiness to.” + </p> + <p> + “She hasn't any to trust,” observed Jack, <i>sotto voce</i>. + </p> + <p> + “They're all deceivers,” pursued Rachel, “the best of 'em. You can't + believe what one of 'em says. It would be a great deal better if people + never married at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then where would the world be a hundred years hence?” suggested her + nephew. + </p> + <p> + “Come to an end, most likely,” said Aunt Rachel; “and I don't know but + that would be the best thing. It's growing more and more wicked every + day.” + </p> + <p> + It will be seen that no great change has come over Miss Rachel Crump + during the years that have intervened. She takes the same disheartening + view of human nature and the world's prospects, as ever. Nevertheless, her + own hold upon the world seems as strong as ever. Her appetite continues + remarkably good, and although she frequently expresses herself to the + effect that there is little use in living, probably she would be as + unwilling to leave the world as any one. I am not sure that she does not + derive as much enjoyment from her melancholy as other people from their + cheerfulness. Unfortunately, her peculiar way of enjoying herself is + calculated to have rather a depressing influence upon the spirits of those + with whom she comes in contact—always excepting Jack, who has a + lively sense of the ludicrous, and never enjoys himself better than in + bantering his aunt. + </p> + <p> + Ida is no less a favorite with Jack than with the other members of the + household. Rough as he is sometimes, Jack is always gentle with Ida. When + she was just learning to walk, and in her helplessness needed the constant + care of others, he used, from choice, to relieve his mother of much of the + task of amusing the child. He had never had a little sister, and the care + of a child as young as Ida was a novelty to him. It was, perhaps, this + very office of guardian to the child, assumed when she was so young, that + made him feel ever after as if she was placed under his special + protection. + </p> + <p> + And Ida was equally attached to Jack. She learned to look up to him for + assistance in anything which she had at heart, and he never disappointed + her. Whenever he could, he would accompany her to school, holding her by + the hand; and fond as he was of rough play, nothing would induce him to + leave her. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been a nurse-maid?” asked a boy, older than himself, + one day. + </p> + <p> + Jack's fingers itched to get hold of his derisive questioner, but he had a + duty to perform, and contented himself with saying, “Just wait a few + minutes, and I'll let you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say,” was the reply. “I rather think I shall have to wait till + both of us are gray before that time.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't have to wait long before you are black and blue,” retorted + Jack. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mind what he says, Jack,” whispered Ida, fearful lest he should + leave her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be afraid, Ida; I won't leave you; I guess he won't trouble us + another day.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the boy, emboldened by Jack's passiveness, followed, with more + abuse of the same sort. If he had been wiser, he would have seen a storm + gathering in the flash of Jack's eye; but he mistook the cause of his + forbearance. + </p> + <p> + The next day, as they were again going to school, Ida saw the same boy + dodging round the corner, with his head bound up. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with him, Jack?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I licked him like blazes, that's all,” said Jack, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I guess he'll let us alone after this.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. A STRANGE VISITOR. + </h2> + <p> + IT was about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, Mrs. Crump was in the + kitchen, busy in preparations for dinner, when a loud knock was heard at + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Who can it be?” ejaculated Mrs. Crump. “Aunt Rachel, there's somebody at + the door; won't you be kind enough to see who it is?” + </p> + <p> + “People have no business to call at such an hour in the morning,” grumbled + Aunt Rachel, as she laid down her knitting reluctantly, and rose from her + seat. “Nobody seems to have any consideration for anybody else. But that's + the way of the world.” + </p> + <p> + Opening the outer door, she saw before her a tall woman, dressed in a gown + of some dark stuff, with marked, and not altogether pleasant features. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the lady of the house?” inquired the visitor. + </p> + <p> + “There ain't any ladies in this house,” said Rachel. “You've come to the + wrong place. We have to work for a living here.” + </p> + <p> + “The woman of the house, then. It doesn't make any difference about names. + Are you the one I want to see?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I ain't,” said Rachel, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Will you lead me to your mistress, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I have none.” + </p> + <p> + The visitor's eyes flashed, as if her temper was easily roused. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see Mrs. Crump,” she said, impatiently. “Will you call her, or + shall I go and announce myself?” + </p> + <p> + “Some folks are mighty impatient,” muttered Rachel. “Stay here, and I'll + call her to the door.” + </p> + <p> + In a short time Mrs. Crump presented herself. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you come in?” she asked, pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care if I do,” was the reply. “I wish to speak to you on + important business.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump, whose interest was excited, led the way into the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + “You have in your family,” said the stranger, after seating herself, “a + girl named Ida.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump looked up suddenly and anxiously. Could it be that the secret + of Ida's birth was to be revealed at last! + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Who is not your child.” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>whom</i> I love as such; whom I have always taught to look upon me + as a mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume so. It is of her that I wish to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything of her parentage?” inquired Mrs. Crump, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I was her nurse,” said the other, quietly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump examined, anxiously, the hard features of the woman. It was a + relief at least to know, though she could hardly have believed, that there + was no tie of blood between her and Ida. + </p> + <p> + “Who were her parents?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not permitted to tell,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump looked disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” she said, with a sudden sinking of heart, “you have not come to + take her away?” + </p> + <p> + “This letter will explain my object in visiting you,” said the woman, + drawing a sealed envelope from a bag which she carried on her arm. + </p> + <p> + The cooper's wife nervously broke open the letter, and read as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “MRS. CRUMP; + </p> + <p> + “Eight years ago last New Year's night, a child was left on your + door-steps, with a note containing a request that you would care for it + kindly as your own. Money was sent, at the same time, to defray the + expenses of such care. The writer of this note is the mother of the child + Ida. There is no need to say, here, why I sent the child away from me. You + will easily understand that only the most imperative circumstances would + have led me to such a step. Those circumstances still prevent me from + reclaiming the child, and I am content, still, to leave Ida in your + charge. Yet, there is one thing of which I am desirous. You will + understand a mother's desire to see, face to face, the child who belongs, + of right, to her. With this view, I have come to this neighborhood. I will + not say where, for concealment is necessary to me. I send this note by a + trustworthy attendant,—Mrs. Hardwick, my little Ida's nurse in her + infancy,—who will conduct Ida to me, and return her again to you. + Ida is not to know whom she is visiting. No doubt she believes you her + mother, and it is well. Tell her only, that it is a lady who takes an + interest in her, and that will satisfy her childish curiosity. I make this + request as + </p> + <p> + “IDA'S MOTHER.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump read this letter with mingled feelings. Pity for the writer; a + vague curiosity in regard to the mysterious circumstances which had + compelled her to resort to such a step; a half feeling of jealousy, that + there should be one who had a claim to her dear adopted daughter superior + to her own; and a strong feeling of relief at the assurance that Ida was + not to be permanently removed,—all these feelings affected the + cooper's wife. + </p> + <p> + “So you were Ida's nurse,” she said, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said the stranger. “I hope the dear child is well.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly well. How much her mother must have suffered from the + separation!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, you may say so, ma'am. It came near to break her heart.” + </p> + <p> + “So it must,” said sympathizing Mrs. Crump. “There is one thing I would + like to ask,” she continued, hesitating and reddening. “Don't answer it + unless you please. Was—is Ida the child of shame?” + </p> + <p> + “She is not,” answered the nurse. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump looked relieved. It removed a thought from her mind which would + now and then intrude, though it had never, for an instant, lessened her + affection for the child. + </p> + <p> + At this point in the conversation, the cooper entered the house. He had + just come home on an errand. + </p> + <p> + “It is my husband,” said Mrs. Crump, turning to her visitor, by way of + explanation. “Timothy, will you come in a moment?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Crump regarded his wife's visitor with some surprise. His wife + hastened to introduce her as Mrs. Hardwick, Ida's nurse, and handed to the + astonished cooper the letter which the latter had brought with her. + </p> + <p> + He was not a rapid reader, and it took him some time to get through the + letter. He laid it down on his knee, and looked thoughtful. The nurse + regarded him with a slight uneasiness. + </p> + <p> + “This is, indeed, unexpected,” he said, at last. “It is a new development + in Ida's history. May I ask, Mrs. Hardwick, if you have any further proof. + I want to be prudent with a child that I love as my own,—if you have + any further proof that you are what you claim to be?” + </p> + <p> + “I judged that this letter would be sufficient,” said the nurse; moving a + little in her chair. + </p> + <p> + “True; but how can we be sure that the writer is Ida's mother?” + </p> + <p> + “The tone of the letter, sir. Would anybody else write like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have read the letter?” said the cooper, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “It was read to me, before I set out.” + </p> + <p> + “By——” + </p> + <p> + “By Ida's mother. I do not blame you for your caution,” she continued. + “You must be so interested in the happiness of the dear child of whom you + have taken such (sic) excelent care, I don't mind telling you that I was + the one who left her at your door eight years ago, and that I never left + the neighborhood until I found that you had taken her in.” + </p> + <p> + “And it was this, that enabled you to find the house, to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget,” said 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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said the cooper. “I am disposed to believe in the + genuineness of your claim. 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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said the nurse. “I don't blame you in the least. I shall + report it to Ida's mother, as a proof of your attachment to your child.” + </p> + <p> + “When do you wish Ida to go with you?” asked Mrs. Crump. + </p> + <p> + “Can you let her go this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Mrs. Crump, hesitating, “I should like to have a chance to + wash out some clothes for her. I want her to appear as neat a possible, + when she meets her mother.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish to hurry you. If you will let me know when she will be + ready, I will call for her.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can get her ready early to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “That will answer excellently. I will call for her then.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse rose, and gathered her shawl about her. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Mrs. Hardwick?” asked the cooper's wife. + </p> + <p> + “To a hotel,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot allow that,” said Mrs. Crump, kindly. “It is a pity if we + cannot accommodate Ida's old nurse for one night, or ten times as long, + for that matter.” + </p> + <p> + “My wife is quite right,” said the cooper; “we must insist upon your + stopping with us.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse hesitated, and looked irresolute. It was plain she would have + preferred to be elsewhere, but a remark which Mrs. Crump made, decided her + to accept the invitation. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I will accept your kind invitation,” she said; “but I am afraid I shall + be in your way.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Left to herself, the nurse behaved in a manner which might be regarded as + singular. She rose from her seat, and approached the mirror. She took a + full survey of herself as she stood there, and laughed a short, hard + laugh. + </p> + <p> + Then she made a formal courtesy to her own reflection, saying, “How do you + do, Mrs. Hardwick?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you speak?” asked the cooper, who was passing through the entry on + his way out. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the nurse, a little awkwardly. “I believe I said something to + myself. It's of no consequence.” + </p> + <p> + “Somehow,” thought the cooper, “I don't fancy the woman's looks, but I + dare say I am prejudiced. We're all of us as God made us.” + </p> + <p> + While Mrs. Crump was making preparations for the noon-day meal, she + imparted to Rachel the astonishing information, which has already been + detailed to the reader. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe a word of it,” said Rachel, resolutely. + </p> + <p> + “She's an imposter. I knew she was the very first moment I set eyes on + her.” + </p> + <p> + This remark was so characteristic of Rachel, that Mrs. Crump did not + attach any special importance to it. Rachel, of course, had no grounds for + the opinion she so confidently expressed. It was consistent, however, with + her general estimate of human nature. + </p> + <p> + “What object could she have in inventing such a story?” + </p> + <p> + “What object? Hundreds of 'em,” said Rachel, rather indefinitely. “Mark my + words, if you let her carry off Ida, it'll be the last you'll ever see of + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Try to look on the bright side, Rachel. Nothing is more natural than that + her mother should want to see her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn't she come herself?” muttered Rachel. + </p> + <p> + “The letter explains.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see that it does.” + </p> + <p> + “It says that the same reasons exist for concealment as ever.” + </p> + <p> + “And what are they, I should like to know? I don't like mysteries, for my + part.” + </p> + <p> + “We won't quarrel with them, at any rate, since they enable us to keep Ida + with us.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Rachel shook her head, as if she were far from satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Mrs. Crump, “but I ought to invite Mrs. Hardwick in + here. I have left her alone in the front room.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump returned with the nurse. “Mrs. Hardwick,” said she, “this is my + sister, Miss Rachel Crump.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to make your acquaintance, ma'am,” said the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Rachel, I will leave you to entertain Mrs. Hardwick,” said Mrs. + Crump. “I am obliged to be in the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel and the nurse eyed each other with mutual dislike. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “At her mother's request,” said the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “She wants to see her, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder she didn't think of it before,” said Aunt Rachel, sharply. + “She's good at waiting. She's waited eight years.” + </p> + <p> + “There are circumstances that cannot be explained,” commenced the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “No, I dare say not,” said Rachel, dryly. “So you were her nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said Mrs. Hardwick, who evidently did not relish this + cross-examination. + </p> + <p> + “Have you lived with the mother ever since?” + </p> + <p> + “No,—yes,” stammered the nurse. “Some of the time,” she added, + recovering herself. + </p> + <p> + “Umph!” grunted Rachel, darting a sharp glance at her. + </p> + <p> + “Have you a husband living?” inquired Rachel, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Hardwick. “Have you?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell you,” said the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “Humph, I don't like mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. A JOURNEY. + </h2> + <p> + “OH, mother,” exclaimed Ida, bounding into the room, fresh from school. + </p> + <p> + She stopped short, in some confusion, on seeing a stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Is this my own dear child, over whose infancy I watched so tenderly?” + exclaimed the nurse, rising, her harsh features wreathed into a smile. + </p> + <p> + “It is Ida,” said Mrs. Crump. + </p> + <p> + Ida looked from one to the other in silent bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “Ida,” said Mrs. Crump, in a little embarrassment, “this is Mrs. Hardwick, + who took care of you when you were an infant.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you took care of me, mother,” said Ida, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Very true,” said Mrs. Crump, evasively, “but I was not able to have the + care of you all the time. Didn't I ever mention Mrs. Hardwick to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Although it is so long since I have seen her, I should have known her + anywhere,” said the nurse, applying a handkerchief to her eyes. “So pretty + as she's grown up, too!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump, who, as has been said, was devotedly attached to Ida, glanced + with pride at the beautiful child, who blushed at the compliment. + </p> + <p> + “Ida,” said Mrs. Hardwick, “won't you come and kiss your old nurse?” + </p> + <p> + Ida looked at the hard face, which now wore a smile intended to express + affection. Without knowing why, she felt an instinctive repugnance to her, + notwithstanding her words of endearment. + </p> + <p> + She advanced timidly, with a reluctance which she was not wholly able to + conceal, and passively submitted to a caress from the nurse. + </p> + <p> + There was a look in the eyes of the nurse, carefully guarded, yet not + wholly concealed, which showed that she was quite aware of Ida's feeling + towards her, and resented it. But whether or not she was playing a part, + she did not betray this feeling openly, but pressed the unwilling child + more closely to her bosom. + </p> + <p> + Ida breathed a sigh of relief when she was released, and walked quietly + away, wondering what it was that made her dislike the woman so much. + </p> + <p> + “Is my nurse a good woman?” she asked, thoughtfully, when alone with Mrs. + Crump, who was setting the table for dinner. + </p> + <p> + “A good woman! What makes you ask that?” queried her adopted mother, in + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Ida. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything to indicate that she is otherwise,” said Mrs. + Crump. “And, by the way, Ida, she is going to take you on a little + excursion, to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “She going to take me?” exclaimed Ida. “Why, where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “On a little pleasure trip, and perhaps she may introduce you to a + pleasant lady, who has already become interested in you, from what she has + told her.” + </p> + <p> + “What could she say of me?” inquired Ida, “she has not seen me since I was + a baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the cooper's wife a little puzzled, “she appears to have + thought of you ever since, with a good deal of affection.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it wicked,” asked Ida, after a pause, “not to like those that like + us?” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, somehow or other, I don't like this Mrs. Hardwick at all, for + all she was my old nurse, and I don't believe ever shall.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, you will,” said Mrs. Crump, “when you find she is exerting + herself to give you pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I going to-morrow morning with Mrs. Hardwick?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She wanted you to go to-day, but your clothes were not in order.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall come back at night, sha'n't we?” + </p> + <p> + “I presume so.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope we shall,” said Ida, decidedly, “and that she won't want me to go + with her again.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will think differently when it is over, and you find you have + enjoyed yourself better than you anticipated.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crump exerted herself to fit Ida up as neatly as possible, and when + at length she was got ready, she thought to herself, with sudden fear, + “Perhaps her mother won't be willing to part with her again.” + </p> + <p> + When Ida was ready to start, there came over all a little shadow of + depression, as if the child were to be separated from them for a year, and + not for a day only. Perhaps this was only natural, since even this latter + term, however brief, was longer than they had been parted from her since, + an infant, she was left at their door. + </p> + <p> + The nurse expressly desired that none of the family should accompany her, + as she declared it highly important that the whereabouts of Ida's mother + should not be known at once. “Of course,” she said, “after Ida returns, + she can tell you what she pleases. Then it will be of no consequence, for + her mother will be gone. She does not live in this neighborhood; she has + only come here to have an interview with Ida.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall you bring her back to-night?” asked Mrs. Crump. + </p> + <p> + “I may keep her till to-morrow,” said the nurse. “After eight years' + absence, that will seem short enough.” + </p> + <p> + To this, Mrs. Crump agreed, but thought that it would seem long to her, + she had been so accustomed to have Ida present at meals. + </p> + <p> + The nurse walked as far as Broadway, holding Ida by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” asked the child, timidly. “Are we going to walk all + the way?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the nurse, “we shall ride. There is an omnibus coming now. We + will get into it.” + </p> + <p> + She beckoned to the driver who stopped his horse. Ida and her companion + got in. + </p> + <p> + They got out at the Jersey City ferry. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever ride in a steamboat?” asked Mrs. Hardwick, in a tone + intended to be gracious. + </p> + <p> + “Once or twice,” said Ida. “I went with brother Jack once, over to + Hoboken. Are we going there, now?” + </p> + <p> + “No, we are going over to the city, you can see over the water.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it? Is it Brooklyn?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is Jersey City.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that will be pleasant,” said Ida, forgetting, in her childish love of + novelty, the repugnance with which the nurse had inspired her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and that is not all; we are going still further,” said the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “Are we going further?” asked Ida, her eyes sparkling. “Where are we + going?” + </p> + <p> + “To a town on the line of the railroad.” + </p> + <p> + “And shall we ride in the cars?” asked the child, with animation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, didn't you ever ride in the cars before?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you will like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know I shall. How fast do the cars go?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a good many miles an hour,—maybe thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “And how long will it take us to go to the place you are going to carry me + to!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know exactly,—perhaps two hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Two whole hours in the cars!” exclaimed Ida. “How much I shall have to + tell father and Jack when I get back.” + </p> + <p> + “So you will,” said Mrs. Hardwick, with an unaccountable smile, “when you + get back.” + </p> + <p> + There was something peculiar in her tone as she pronounced these last + words, but Ida did not notice it. + </p> + <p> + So Ida, despite her company, actually enjoyed, in her bright anticipation, + a keen sense of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Are we most there?” she asked, after riding about two hours. + </p> + <p> + “It won't be long,” said the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “We must have come ever so many miles,” said Ida. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed. She amused herself by gazing out of the car windows at the + towns which seemed to flit by. At length, both Ida and her nurse became + hungry. + </p> + <p> + The nurse beckoned to her side a boy who was going through the cars + selling apples and seed-cakes, and inquired their price. + </p> + <p> + “The apples are two cents apiece, ma'am, and the cakes a cent apiece.” + </p> + <p> + Ida, who had been looking out of the window, turned suddenly round, and + exclaimed, in great astonishment; “Why, William Fitts, is that you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Ida, where did you come from?” asked the boy, his surprise equalling + her own. + </p> + <p> + The nurse bit her lips in vexation at this unexpected recognition. + </p> + <p> + “I'm making a little journey with her,” indicating Mrs. Hardwick. + </p> + <p> + “So you're going to Philadelphia,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + “To Philadelphia!” said Ida, in surprise. “Not that I know of.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you're most there now.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we, Mrs. Hardwick?” asked Ida, looking in her companion's face. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't far from there where we're going,” said the nurse, shortly. + “Boy, I'll take two of your apples and four seed-cakes. And now you'd + better go along, for there's somebody by the stove that looks as if he + wanted to buy of you.” + </p> + <p> + William looked back as if he would like to question Ida farther, but her + companion looked forbidding, and he passed on reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that boy?” asked the nurse, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “His name is William Fitts.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get acquainted with him?” + </p> + <p> + “He went to school with Jack, so I used to see him sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “With Jack! Who's Jack?” + </p> + <p> + “What! Don't you know Jack, brother Jack?” asked Ida, in childish + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “O yes,” replied the nurse, recollecting herself; “I didn't think of him.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a first-rate boy, William is,” said Ida, who was disposed to be + communicative. “He's good to his mother. You see his mother is sick most + of the time, and can't do much; and he's got a little sister, she ain't + more than four or five years old—and William supports them by + selling things. He's only sixteen; isn't he a smart boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes;” said the nurse, mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “Some time,” continued Ida, “I hope I shall be able to earn something for + father and mother, so they won't be obliged to work so hard.” + </p> + <p> + “What could you do?” asked the nurse, curiously. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I could do much,” said Ida, modestly; “but when I have + practised more, perhaps I could draw pictures that people would buy.” + </p> + <p> + “So you know how to draw?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've been taking lessons for over a year.” + </p> + <p> + “And how do you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ever so much! I like it a good deal better than music.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can play a few easy pieces.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hardwick looked surprised, and regarded her young charge with + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got any of your drawings with you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't bring any.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you had; the lady we are going to see would have liked to see some + of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we going to see a lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, didn't your mother tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I believe she said something about a lady that was interested in + me.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the one.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does she live? When shall we get there?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall get there before very long.” + </p> + <p> + “And shall we come back to New York to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it wouldn't leave us any time to stay. Besides, I feel tired and want + to rest; don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I do feel a little tired,” acknowledged Ida. + </p> + <p> + “Philadelphia!” announced the conductor, opening the car-door. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “When are you coming back, Ida?” asked William Fitts, coming up to her + with his basket on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hardwick says we sha'n't go back till to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Ida,” said the nurse, sharply. “We must hurry along.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, William,” said Ida. “If you see Jack, just tell him you saw me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The last-mentioned lady would hardly have felt complimented at the + comparison, or the manner in which it was made. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is this Philadelphia?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Yes;” said her companion, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “How far is it from New York?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; a hundred miles, more or less.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, of course you are,” said Mrs. Hardwick, in a practical, + matter-of-fact tone. “Here, cross the street here. Take care or you'll get + run over. Now turn down here.” + </p> + <p> + They had now entered a narrow and dirty street, with unsightly houses on + either side. + </p> + <p> + “This ain't a very nice looking street,” said Ida, looking about her. + </p> + <p> + “Why isn't it?” demanded the nurse, looking displeased. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's narrow, and the houses don't look nice.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of that house, there?” asked Mrs. Hardwick, pointing + out a tall, brick tenement house. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't like to live there,” said Ida, after a brief survey. + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn't! You don't like it so well as the house you live in in New + York?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not half so well.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't you like to go up and look at the house?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Go up and look at it!” repeated Ida, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I mean to go in.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what should we do that for?” + </p> + <p> + “You see there are some poor families living there that I go to see + sometimes,” said Mrs. Hardwick, who appeared to be amused at something. + “You know it is our duty to visit the poor.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's what mother says.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a poor man living in the third story that I've made a good many + clothes for, first and last,” said the nurse, in the same peculiar tone. + </p> + <p> + “He must be very much obliged to you,” said Ida, thinking that Mrs. + Hardwick was a better woman than she had supposed. + </p> + <p> + “We're going up to see him, now,” said the nurse. “Just take care of. that + hole in the stairs. Here we are.” + </p> + <p> + Somewhat to Ida's surprise, her companion opened the door without the + ceremony of knocking, and revealed a poor untidy room, in which a coarse, + unshaven man, was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” exclaimed this individual, jumping up suddenly. “So you've got + along, old woman! Is that the gal?” + </p> + <p> + Ida stared from one to the other, in unaffected amazement. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. UNEXPECTED QUARTERS. + </h2> + <p> + THE appearance of the man whom Mrs. Hardwick addressed so familiarly was + more picturesque than pleasing. He had a large, broad face, which, not + having been shaved for a week, looked like a wilderness of stubble. His + nose indicated habitual indulgence in alcoholic beverages. His eyes, + likewise, were bloodshot, and his skin looked coarse and blotched; his + coat was thrown aside, displaying a shirt which bore evidence of having + been useful in its day and generation. The same remark may apply to his + nether integuments, which were ventilated at each knee, indicating a most + praiseworthy regard to the laws of health. He was sitting in a chair + pitched back against the wall, with his feet resting on another, and a + short Dutch pipe in his mouth, from which volumes of smoke were pouring. + </p> + <p> + Ida thought she had never seen before so disgusting a man. She continued + to gaze at him, half in astonishment, half in terror, till the object of + her attention exclaimed,— + </p> + <p> + “Well, little girl, what you're looking at? Hain't you never seen a + gentleman before?” + </p> + <p> + Ida clung the closer to her companion, who, she was surprised to find, did + not resent the man's impertinence. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Dick, how've you got along since I've been gone?” asked Mrs. + Hardwick, to Ida's unbounded astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, so so.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you felt lonely any?” + </p> + <p> + “I've had good company.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's been here?” + </p> + <p> + Dick pointed significantly to a jug, which stood beside his chair. + </p> + <p> + “So you've brought the gal. How did you get hold of her?” + </p> + <p> + There was something in these questions which terrified Ida. It seemed to + indicate a degree of complicity between these two, which boded no good to + her. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you the particulars by and by,” said the nurse, looking + significantly at the child's expressive face. + </p> + <p> + At the same time she began to take off her bonnet. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't going to stop, are you?” whispered Ida. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't going to stop!” repeated the man called Dick. “Why shouldn't she? + Ain't she at home?” + </p> + <p> + “At home!” echoed Ida, apprehensively, opening wide her eyes in + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ask her.” + </p> + <p> + Ida looked, inquiringly, at Mrs. Hardwick. + </p> + <p> + “You might as well take off your things,” said the latter, grimly. “We + ain't going any farther to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “And where's the lady you said you were going to see?” asked the child, + bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “The one that was interested in you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm the one.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to stay here,” said Ida, becoming frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what are you going to do about it?” asked the woman, mockingly. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take me back early to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't intend to take you back at all,” said the nurse, coolly. + </p> + <p> + Ida seemed stupefied with astonishment and terror at first. Then, actuated + by a sudden impulse, she ran to the door, and had got it open when the + nurse sprang forward, and seizing her by the arm, dragged her rudely back. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going in such a hurry?” she demanded, roughly. + </p> + <p> + “Back to father and mother,” said Ida, bursting into tears. “Oh, why did + you carry me away?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you why,” answered Dick, jocularly. “You see, Ida, we ain't got + any little girl to love us, and so we got you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't love you, and I never shall,” said Ida, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Now don't you go to saying that,” said Dick. “You'll break my heart, you + will, and then Peg will be a widow.” + </p> + <p> + To give effect to this pathetic speech, Dick drew out a tattered red + handkerchief, and made a great demonstration of wiping his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The whole scene was so ludicrous that Ida, despite her fears and disgust, + could not help laughing hysterically. She recovered herself instantly, and + said, imploringly, “Oh, do let me go, and father will pay you; I'm sure he + will.” + </p> + <p> + “You really think he would?” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; and you'll tell her to carry me back, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he won't tell me any such thing,” said Peg, gruffly; “and if he did, + I wouldn't do it; so you might as well give up all thoughts of that first + as last. You're going to stay here; so take off that bonnet of yours, and + say no more about it.” + </p> + <p> + Ida made no motion towards obeying this mandate. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll do it for you,” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + She roughly untied the bonnet, Ida struggling vainly in opposition, and + taking this with the shawl, carried them to a closet, in which she placed + them, and then, locking the door, deliberately put the key in her pocket. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said she, “I guess you're safe for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you ever going to carry me back?” asked Ida, wishing to know the + worst. + </p> + <p> + “Some years hence,” said the woman, coolly. “We want you here for the + present. Besides, you're not sure that they want to see you back again.” + </p> + <p> + “Not glad to see me?” + </p> + <p> + “No; how do you know but your father and mother sent you off on purpose? + They've been troubled with you long enough, and now they've bound you + apprentice to me till you're eighteen.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a lie,” said Ida, firmly. “They didn't send me off, and you're a + wicked woman to keep me here.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoity-toity!” said the woman, pausing and looking menacingly at the + child. “Have you anything more to say before I whip you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ida, goaded to desperation; “I shall complain of you to the + police, and they will put you in jail, and send me home. That is what I + will do.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse seized Ida by the arm, and striding with her to the closet + already spoken of, unlocked it, and rudely pushing her in, locked the door + after her. + </p> + <p> + “She's a spunky 'un,” remarked Dick, taking the pipe from his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the woman, “she makes more fuss than I thought she would.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you manage to come it over her family?” asked Dick. + </p> + <p> + His wife, gave substantially, the same account with which the reader is + already familiar. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well done, old woman!” exclaimed Dick, approvingly. “I always said + you was a deep 'un. I always say if Peg can't find out a way to do a thing + it can't be done, no how.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the counterfeit coin?” asked his wife, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “They're to supply us with all we can get off, and we are to have one half + of all we succeed in passing.” + </p> + <p> + “That is good,” said the woman, thoughtfully. “When this girl Ida gets a + little tamed down, we'll give her some business to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't she betray us if she gets caught?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll manage that, or at least I will. I'll work on her fears so that she + won't any more dare to say a word about us than to cut her own head off.” + </p> + <p> + Ida sank down on the floor of the closet into which she had been thrust. + Utter darkness was around her, and a darkness as black seemed to hang over + all her prospects of future happiness. She had been snatched in a moment + from parents, or those whom she regarded as such, and from a comfortable + and happy though humble home, to this dismal place. In place of the + kindness and indulgence to which she had been accustomed, she was now + treated with harshness and cruelty. What wonder that her heart desponded, + and her tears of childish sorrow flowed freely? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. SUSPENSE. + </h2> + <p> + “It doesn't somehow seem natural,” said Mr. Crump, as he took his seat at + the tea-table, “to sit down without Ida. It seems as if half of the family + were gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Just what I've said twenty times to-day,” remarked his wife. “Nobody + knows how much a child is to them till they lose it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not lose it, mother,” said Jack, who had been sitting in a silence + unusual for him. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean to say that,” said Mrs. Crump. “I meant till they were gone + away for a time.” + </p> + <p> + “When you spoke of losing,” said Jack, “it made me feel just as Ida wasn't + coming back.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how it is,” said his mother, thoughtfully, “but that's just + the feeling I've had several times to-day. I've felt just as if something + or other would happen so that Ida wouldn't come back.” + </p> + <p> + “That is only because she has never been away before,” said the cooper, + cheerfully. “It isn't best to borrow trouble; we shall have enough of it + without.” + </p> + <p> + “You never said a truer word, brother,” said Rachel, lugubriously. “'Man + is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.' This world is a vale of + tears. Folks may try and try to be happy, but that isn't what they're sent + here for.” + </p> + <p> + “Now that's where I differ from you,” said the cooper, good-humoredly, + “just as there are many more pleasant than stormy days, so I believe that + there is much more of brightness than shadow in this life of ours, if we + would only see it.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't see it,” said Rachel, shaking her head very decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you could if you tried.” + </p> + <p> + “So I do.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me, Rachel, you take more pains to look at the clouds than + the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” chimed in Jack; “I've noticed whenever Aunt Rachel takes up the + newspaper, she always looks first at the (sic) death's, and next at the + fatal accidents and steamboat explosions.” + </p> + <p> + “It's said,” said Aunt Rachel, with severe emphasis, “if you should ever + be on board a steamboat when it exploded you wouldn't find much to laugh + at.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should,” said Jack. “I should laugh——” + </p> + <p> + “What!” said Aunt Rachel, horrified. + </p> + <p> + “On the other side of my mouth,” concluded Jack. “You didn't wait till I + had got through the sentence.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it proper to make light of such matters.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I, Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, drawing down the corners of his mouth. “I + am willing to confess that this is a serious matter. I should feel as they + said the cow did, that was thrown three hundred feet into the air.” + </p> + <p> + “How was that?” inquired his mother. + </p> + <p> + “A little discouraged,” replied Jack. + </p> + <p> + All laughed except Aunt Rachel, who preserved the same severe composure, + and continued to eat the pie upon her plate with the air of one gulping + down medicine. + </p> + <p> + So the evening passed. All seemed to miss Ida. Mrs. Crump found herself + stealing glances at the smaller chair beside her own in which Ida usually + sat. The cooper appeared abstracted, and did not take as much interest as + usual in the evening paper. Jack was restless, and found it difficult to + fix his attention upon anything. Even Aunt Rachel looked more dismal than + usual, if such a thing be possible. + </p> + <p> + In the morning all felt brighter. + </p> + <p> + “Ida will be home to-night,” said Mrs. Crump, cheerfully. “What an age it + seems since she left us!” + </p> + <p> + “We shall know better how to appreciate her presence,” said the cooper, + cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “What time do you expect her home? Did Mrs. Hardwick say?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no,” said Mrs. Crump, “she didn't say, but I guess she will be along + in the course of the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “If we only knew where she had gone,” said Jack, “we could tell better.” + </p> + <p> + “But as we don't know,” said his father, “we must wait patiently till she + comes.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said Mrs. Crump, in the spirit of a notable housewife, “I'll + make up some apple-turnovers for supper to-night. There's nothing Ida + likes so well.” + </p> + <p> + “That's where Ida is right,” said Jack, “apple-turnovers are splendid.” + </p> + <p> + “They're very unwholesome,” remarked Aunt Rachel. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't think so from the way you eat them, Aunt Rachel,” retorted + Jack. “You ate four the last time we had them for supper.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think you'd begrudge me the little I eat,” said Rachel, + dolefully. “I didn't think you took the trouble to keep account of what I + ate.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Rachel, this is unreasonable,” said her brother. “Nobody begrudges + you what you eat, even if you choose to eat twice as much as you do. I + dare say, Jack ate more of them than you did.” + </p> + <p> + “I ate six,” said Jack. + </p> + <p> + Rachel, construing this into an apology, said no more; but, feeling it + unnecessary to explain why she ate what she admitted to be unhealthy, + added, “And if I do eat what's unwholesome, it's because life ain't of any + value to me. The sooner one gets out of this vale of affliction the + better.” + </p> + <p> + “And the way you take to get out of it,” said Jack, gravely, “is by eating + apple-turnovers. Whenever you die, Aunt Rachel, we shall have to put a + paragraph in the papers, headed, 'Suicide by eating apple-turnovers.'” + </p> + <p> + Rachel intimated, in reply, that she presumed it would afford Jack a great + deal of satisfaction to write such a paragraph. + </p> + <p> + The evening came. Still no tidings of Ida. + </p> + <p> + The family began to feel alarmed. An indefinable sense of apprehension + oppressed the minds of all. Mrs. Crump feared that Ida's mother, seeing + her grown up so attractive, could not resist the temptation of keeping + her. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said, “that she has the best claim to her; but it will be + a terrible thing for us to part with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let us trouble ourselves in that way,” said the cooper. “It seems + to me very natural that they should keep her a little longer than they + intended. Besides, it is not too late for her to return to-night.” + </p> + <p> + This cheered Mrs. Crump a little. + </p> + <p> + The evening passed slowly. + </p> + <p> + At length there came a knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + “I guess that is Ida,” said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. + </p> + <p> + Jack seized a candle, and hastening to the door, threw it open. But there + was no Ida there. In her place stood William Fitts, the boy who had met + Ida in the cars. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Bill?” said Jack, endeavoring not to look disappointed. + “Come in, and take a seat, and tell us all the news.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said William, “I don't know of any. I suppose Ida has got home.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Jack, “we expected her to-night, but she hasn't come yet.” + </p> + <p> + “She told me that she expected to come back to-day,” said William. + </p> + <p> + “What! have you seen her?” exclaimed all in chorus. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I saw her yesterday noon.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, in the cars,” said William, a little surprised at the question. + </p> + <p> + “What cars?” asked the cooper. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the Philadelphia cars. Of course, you knew that was where she was + going?” + </p> + <p> + “Philadelphia!” all exclaimed, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the cars were almost there when I saw her. Who was that with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hardwick, who was her old nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyway, I didn't like her looks,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + “That's where I agree with you,” said Jack, decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “She didn't seem to want me to speak to Ida,” continued William, “but + hurried her off, just as quick as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “There were reasons for that,” said Mrs. Crump, “she wanted to keep secret + her destination.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what it was,” said William; “but any how, I don't like her + looks.” + </p> + <p> + The family felt a little relieved by this information; and, since Ida had + gone so far, it did not seem strange that she should have outstayed her + time. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. HOW IDA FARED. + </h2> + <p> + WE left Ida confined in a dark closet, with Peg standing guard over her. + </p> + <p> + After an hour she was released. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Peg, grimly, “how do you feel now?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to go home,” sobbed the child. + </p> + <p> + “You are at home,” said the woman. “This is going to be your home now.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I never see father and mother and Jack, again?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” answered Peg, “that depends on how you behave yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you will only let me go,” said Ida, gathering hope from this + remark, “I'll do anything you say.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean this, or do you only say it for the sake of getting away?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I mean just what I say. Dear, good Mrs. Hardwick, just tell me what I + am to do, and I will obey you cheerfully.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Peg, “only you needn't try to get anything out of me by + calling me dear, good Mrs. Hardwick. In the first place, you don't care a + cent about me. In the second place, I am not good; and finally, my name + isn't Mrs. Hardwick, except in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, then?” asked Ida. + </p> + <p> + “It's just Peg, no more and no less. You may call me Aunt Peg.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather call you Mrs. Hardwick.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll have a good many years to call me so. You'd better do as I + tell you if you want any favors. Now what do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunt Peg,” said Ida, with a strong effort to conceal her repugnance. + </p> + <p> + “That's well. Now the first thing to do, is to stay here for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “The second is, you're not to tell anybody that you came from New York. + That is very important. You understand that, do you?” + </p> + <p> + The child replied in the affirmative. + </p> + <p> + “The next is, that you're to pay for your board, by doing whatever I tell + you.” + </p> + <p> + “If it isn't wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose I would ask you to do anything wicked?” + </p> + <p> + “You said you wasn't good,” mildly suggested Ida. + </p> + <p> + “I'm good enough to take care of you. Well, what do you say to that? + Answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “There's another thing. You ain't to try to run away.” + </p> + <p> + Ida hung down her head. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” said Peg. “So you've been thinking of it, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ida, boldly, after a moment's hesitation; “I did think I + should if I got a good chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” said the woman; “I see we must understand one another. Unless you + promise this, back you go into the dark closet, and I shall keep you there + all the time.” + </p> + <p> + Ida shuddered at this fearful threat, terrible to a child of nine. + </p> + <p> + “Do you promise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the child, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “For fear you might be tempted to break your promise, I have something to + show you.” + </p> + <p> + She went to the cupboard, and took down a large pistol. + </p> + <p> + “There,” she said, “do you see that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunt Peg.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a pistol, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what it is for?” + </p> + <p> + “To shoot people with,” said Ida, fixing her eyes on the weapon, as if + impelled by a species of fascination. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the woman; “I see you understand. Well, now, do you know what + I would do if you should tell anybody where you came from, or attempt to + run away? Can you guess now?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you shoot me?” asked the child, struck with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I would,” said Peg, with fierce emphasis. “That's just what I'd do. + And what's more,” she added, “even if you got away, and got back to your + family in New York. I would follow you and shoot you dead in the street.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't be so wicked!” exclaimed Ida, appalled. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't I, though?” repeated Peg, significantly. “If you don't believe I + would, just try it. Do you think you would like to try it?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the child, with a shudder. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's the most sensible thing you've said yet. Now, that you have + got to be a little more reasonable, I'll tell you what I am going to do + with you.” + </p> + <p> + Ida looked up eagerly into her face. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to keep you with me a year. I want the services of a little + girl for that time. If you serve me faithfully, I will then send you back + to your friends in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you?” said Ida, hopefully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But you must mind and do what I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “O yes,” said the child, joyfully. + </p> + <p> + This was so much better than she had been led to fear, that the prospect + of returning home, even after a year, gave her fresh courage. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do?” she asked, anxious to conciliate Peg. + </p> + <p> + “You may take the broom,—you will find it just behind the door,—and + sweep the room.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunt Peg.” + </p> + <p> + “And after that you may wash the dishes. Or, rather, you may wash the + dishes first.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunt Peg.” + </p> + <p> + “And after that I will find something for you to do.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning Ida was asked if she would like to go out into the + street. + </p> + <p> + This was a welcome proposition, as the sun was shining brightly, and there + was little to please a child's fancy in Peg's shabby apartment. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to let you do a little shopping,” said Peg. “There are various + things that we want. Go and get your bonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “It's in the closet,” said Ida. + </p> + <p> + “O yes, where I put it. That was before I could trust you.” + </p> + <p> + She went to the closet, and came back bringing the bonnet and shawl. As + soon as they were ready, they emerged into the street. Ida was glad to be + in the open air once more. + </p> + <p> + “This is a little better than being shut up in the closet, isn't it?” said + Peg. + </p> + <p> + Ida owned that it was. + </p> + <p> + “You see you'll have a very good time of it, if you do as I bid you. I + don't want to do you any harm. I want you to be happy.” + </p> + <p> + So they walked along together, until Peg, suddenly pausing, laid her hand + on Ida's arm, and pointing to a shop near by, said to her, “Do you see + that shop?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ida. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is a baker's shop. And now I'll tell you what to do. I want + you to go in, and ask for a couple of rolls. They come at three cents + apiece. Here's some money to pay for them. It is a silver dollar, as you + see. You will give this to them, and they will give you back ninety-four + cents in change. Do you understand'?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ida; “I think I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And if they ask if you haven't anything smaller, you will say no.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunt Peg.” + </p> + <p> + “I will stay just outside. I want you to go in alone, so that you will get + used to doing without me.” + </p> + <p> + Ida entered the shop. The baker, a pleasant-looking man, stood behind the + counter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear, what is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I should like a couple of rolls.” + </p> + <p> + “For your mother, I suppose,” said the baker, sociably. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Ida; “for the woman I board with.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! a silver dollar, and a new one, too,” said the baker, receiving the + coin tendered in payment. “I shall have to save that for my little girl.” + </p> + <p> + Ida left the shop with the two rolls and the silver change. + </p> + <p> + “Did he say anything about the money?” asked Peg, a little anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “He said he should save it for his little girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said the woman, approvingly; “you've done well.” + </p> + <p> + Ida could not help wondering what the baker's disposal of the dollar had + to do with her doing well, but she was soon thinking of other things. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. BAD COIN. + </h2> + <p> + THE baker introduced to the reader's notice in the last chapter was named + Crump. Singularly enough Abel Crump, for this was his name, was a brother + of Timothy Crump, the cooper. In many respects he resembled his brother. + He was an excellent man, exemplary in all the relations of life, and had a + good heart. He was in very comfortable circumstances, having accumulated a + little property by diligent attention to his business. Like his brother, + Abel Crump had married, and had one child, now about the size of Ida, that + is, nine years old. She had received the name of Ellen. + </p> + <p> + When the baker closed his shop for the night he did not forget the silver + dollar which he had received, or the disposal which he told Ida he should + make of it. + </p> + <p> + He selected it carefully from the other coins, and slipped it into his + vest pocket. + </p> + <p> + Ellen ran to meet him as he entered the house. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think I have brought you, Ellen?” said her father, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Do tell me quick,” said the child, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “What if I should tell you it was a silver dollar?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father, thank you,” and Ellen ran to show it to her mother. + </p> + <p> + “You got it at the shop?” asked his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the baker; “I received it from a little girl about the size of + Ellen, and I suppose it was that gave me the idea of bringing it home to + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Was she a pretty little girl?” asked Ellen, interested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she was very attractive. I could not help feeling interested in her. + I hope she will come again.” + </p> + <p> + This was all that passed concerning Ida at that time. The thought of her + would have passed from the baker's mind, if it had not been recalled by + circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Ellen, like most girls of her age, when in possession of money, could not + be easy until she had spent it. Her mother advised her to lay it away, or + perhaps deposit it in some Savings Bank; but Ellen preferred present + gratification. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly one afternoon, when walking out with her mother, she persuaded + her to go into a toy shop, and price a doll which she saw in the window. + The price was sixty-two cents. Ellen concluded to take it, and tendered + the silver dollar in payment. + </p> + <p> + The shopman took it into his hand, glancing at it carelessly at first, + then scrutinizing it with considerable attention. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” inquired Mrs. Crump. “It is good, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I am doubtful of,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “It is new.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is against it. If it were old, it would be more likely to be + genuine.” + </p> + <p> + “But you wouldn't (sic) comdemn a piece because it was new?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not; but the fact is, there have been lately many cases where + spurious dollars have been circulated, and I suspect this is one of them. + However, I can soon test it.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you, would,” said Mrs. Crump. “My husband took it at his shop, and + will be likely to take more unless he is placed on his guard.” + </p> + <p> + The shopman retired a moment, and then reappeared. + </p> + <p> + “It is as I thought,” he said. “The coin is not good.” + </p> + <p> + “And can't I pass it, then?” said Ellen, disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don't see, Ellen,” said her mother, “but you will have to give up + your purchase for to-day. We must tell your father of this.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Crump was exceedingly surprised at his wife's account. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” he said, “I had no suspicion of this. Can it be possible that + such a beautiful child could be guilty of such a crime?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not,” said his wife. “She may be as innocent in the matter as + Ellen or myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” said the baker; “it would be a pity that such a child should + be given to wickedness. However, I shall find out before long.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “She will undoubtedly come again some time, and if she offers me one of + the same coins I shall know what to think.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Crump watched daily for the coming of Ida. He waited some days in + vain. It was not the policy of Peg to send the child too often to the same + place, as that would increase the chances of detection. + </p> + <p> + One day, however, Ida entered the shop as before. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” said the baker. “What will you have to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “You may give me a sheet of gingerbread, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The baker placed it in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “How much will it be?” + </p> + <p> + “Twelve cents.” + </p> + <p> + Ida offered him another silver dollar. + </p> + <p> + As if to make change, he stepped from behind the counter, and managed to + place himself between Ida and the door. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name, my child?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Ida, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ida? A very pretty name; but what is your other name?” + </p> + <p> + Ida hesitated a moment, because Peg had forbidden her to use the name of + Crump, and told her if the inquiry was ever made, she must answer + Hardwick. + </p> + <p> + She answered, reluctantly, “My name is Ida Hardwick.” + </p> + <p> + The baker observed the hesitation, and this increased his suspicions. + </p> + <p> + “Hardwick!” he repeated, musingly, endeavoring to draw from the child as + much information as he could before allowing her to perceive that he + suspected her. “And where do you live?” + </p> + <p> + Ida was a child of spirit, and did not understand why she should be + questioned so closely. She said, with some impatience, “I am in a hurry, + sir, and would like to have you hand me the change as soon as you can.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt of it,” said the baker, his manner changing; “but you + cannot go just yet.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” asked Ida, her eyes flashing. + </p> + <p> + “Because you have been trying to deceive me.” + </p> + <p> + “I trying to deceive you!” exclaimed the child, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” thought Mr. Crump, “she does it well, but no doubt they train + her to it. It is perfectly shocking, such depravity in a child.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you remember buying something here a week ago?” he said, in as + stern a tone as his good nature would allow him to employ. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ida, promptly; “I bought two rolls at three cents a piece.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you offer me in payment?” + </p> + <p> + “I handed you a silver dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “Like this?” asked Mr. Crump, holding up the coin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you mean to say,” said the baker, sternly, “that you didn't know + it was bad when you handed it to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Bad!” exclaimed Ida, in great surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, spurious. It wasn't worth one tenth of a dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “And is this like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, sir, I didn't know anything about it,” said Ida, earnestly, “I + hope you will believe me when I say that I thought it was good.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what to think,” said the baker, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether to believe you or not,” said he. “Have you any other + money?” + </p> + <p> + “That is all I have got.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I can't let you have the gingerbread. Some would deliver you + up into the hands of the police. However, I will let you go if you will + make me one promise.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, anything, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You have given me a bad dollar. Will you promise to bring me a good one + to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + Ida made the required promise, and was allowed to go. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. DOUBTS AND FEARS. + </h2> + <p> + “WELL, what kept you so long?” asked Peg, impatiently, as Ida rejoined her + at the corner of the street, where she had been waiting for her. “And + where's your gingerbread?” + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn't let me have it,” said Ida. + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he said the money wasn't good.” + </p> + <p> + “Stuff! it's good enough,” said Peg, hastily. “Then we must go somewhere + else.” + </p> + <p> + “But he said the dollar I gave him last week wasn't good, and I promised + to bring him another to-morrow, or he wouldn't have let me go.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, where are you going to get your dollar to carry him?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, won't you give it to me?” said Ida, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Catch me at such nonsense! But here we are at another shop. Go in and see + whether you can do any better there. Here's the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's the same piece.” + </p> + <p> + “What if it is?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to pass bad money.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, what hurt will it do?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the same as stealing.” + </p> + <p> + “The man won't lose anything. He'll pass it off again.” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody'll have to lose it by and by,” said Ida, whose truthful + perceptions saw through the woman's sophistry. + </p> + <p> + “So you've taken up preaching, have you?” said Peg, sneeringly. “Maybe you + know better than I what is proper to do. It won't do to be so mighty + particular, and so you'll find out if you live with me long.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you take the dollar?” asked Ida, with a sudden thought; “and + how is it that you have so many of them?” + </p> + <p> + “None of your business,” said her companion, roughly. “You shouldn't pry + into the affairs of other people.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to do as I told you?” she demanded, after a moment's pause. + </p> + <p> + “I can't,” said Ida, pale but resolute. + </p> + <p> + “You can't,” repeated Peg, furiously. “Didn't you promise to do whatever I + told you?” + </p> + <p> + “Except what was wicked,” interrupted Ida. + </p> + <p> + “And what business have you to decide what is wicked? Come home with me.” + </p> + <p> + Peg, walked in sullen silence, occasionally turning round to scowl upon + the unfortunate child, who had been strong enough, in her determination to + do right, to resist successfully the will of the woman whom she had every + reason to dread. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at home, Peg walked Ida into the room by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Dick was lounging in a chair, with the inevitable pipe in his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Hilloa!” said he, lazily, observing his wife's movements, “what's the gal + been doing, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “What's she been doing?” repeated Peg; “I should like to know what she + hasn't been doing. She's refused to go in and buy some gingerbread of the + baker, as I told her.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, little gal,” said Dick, in a moralizing vein, “isn't this + rayther undootiful conduct on your part? Ain't it a piece of ingratitude, + when we go to the trouble of earning the money to pay for gingerbread for + you to eat, that you ain't willing to go in and buy it?” + </p> + <p> + “I would just as lieves go in,” said Ida, “if Peg would give me good money + to pay for it.” + </p> + <p> + “That don't make any difference,” said the admirable moralist; “jest do as + she tells you, and you'll do right. She'll take the risk.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't!” said the child. + </p> + <p> + “You hear her?” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + “Very improper conduct!” said Dick, shaking his head. “Put her in the + closet.” + </p> + <p> + So Ida was incarcerated once more in the dark closet. Yet, in the midst of + her desolation, there was a feeling of pleasure in thinking that she was + suffering for doing right. + </p> + <p> + When Ida failed to return on the expected day, the Crumps, though + disappointed, did not think it strange. + </p> + <p> + “If I were her mother,” said Mrs. Crump, “and had been parted from her so + long, I should want to keep her as long as I could. Dear heart! how pretty + she is, and how proud her mother must be of her!” + </p> + <p> + “It's all a delusion,” said Aunt Rachel, shaking her head. “It's all a + delusion. I don't believe she's got a mother at all. That Mrs. Hardwick is + an imposter. I knew it, and told you so at the time, but you wouldn't + believe me. I never expect to set eyes on Ida again in this world.” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said Jack, confidently. + </p> + <p> + “There's many a hope that's doomed to disappointment,” said Aunt Rachel. + </p> + <p> + “So there is,” said Jack. “I was hoping mother would have apple-pudding + for dinner to-day, but she didn't.” + </p> + <p> + The next day passed, and still no tidings of Ida. There was a cloud of + anxiety, even upon Mr. Crump's usually placid face, and he was more silent + than usual at the evening meal. + </p> + <p> + At night, after Rachel and Jack had both retired, he said, anxiously, + “What do you think is the cause of Ida's prolonged absence, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Mrs. Crump, seriously. “It seems to me, if her mother + wanted to keep her longer than the time she at first proposed, it would be + no more than right that she should write us a line. She must know that we + would feel anxious.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she is so taken up with Ida that she can think of nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be so; but if we neither see Ida to-morrow, nor hear from her, I + shall be seriously troubled.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose she should never come back,” said the cooper, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, husband, don't think of such a thing,” said his wife, distressed. + </p> + <p> + “We must contemplate it as a possibility,” returned Timothy, gravely, + “though not, I hope, as a probability. Ida's mother has an undoubted right + to her; a better right than any we can urge.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it would be better,” said his wife, tearfully, “if she had never + been placed in our charge. Then we should not have had the pain of parting + with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so, Mary,” said the cooper, seriously. “We ought to be grateful for + God's blessings, even if he suffers us to possess them but a short time. + And Ida has been a blessing to us, I am sure. How many hours have been + made happy by her childish prattle! how our hearts have been filled with + cheerful happiness and affection when we have gazed upon her! That can't + be taken from us, even if she is, Mary. There's some lines I met with in + the paper, to-night, that express just what I feel. Let me find them.” + </p> + <p> + The cooper put on his spectacles, and hunted slowly down the columns of + the paper, till he came to these beautiful lines of Tennyson, which he + read aloud,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I hold it true, whate'er befall; + I feel it when I sorrow most; + 'Tis better to have loved and lost, + Than never to have loved at all.” + </pre> + <p> + “There, wife,” said he, as he laid down the paper; “I don't know who writ + them lines, but I'm sure it's some one that's met with a great sorrow, and + conquered it.” + </p> + <p> + “They are beautiful,” said his wife, after a pause; “and I dare say you're + right, Timothy; but I hope we mayn't have reason to learn the truth of + them by experience. After all, it isn't certain but that Ida will come + back. We are troubling ourselves too soon.” + </p> + <p> + “At any rate,” said the cooper, “there is no doubt that it is our duty to + take every means to secure Ida if we can. Of course, if her mother insists + upon keeping her, we can't say anything; but we ought to be sure, before + we yield her up, that such is the case.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Timothy?” asked Mrs. Crump, with anxious interest. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I ought to mention it,” said her husband. “Very likely + there isn't anything in it, and it would only make you feel more anxious.” + </p> + <p> + “You have already aroused my anxiety,” said his wife. “I should feel + better if you would tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will,” said the cooper. “I have sometimes doubted,” he continued, + lowering his voice, “whether Ida's mother really sent for her.” + </p> + <p> + “And the letter?” queried Mrs. Crump, looking less surprised than he + supposed she would. + </p> + <p> + “I thought—mind it is only a guess on my part—that Mrs. + Hardwick might have got somebody to write it for her.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very singular,” murmured Mrs. Crump, in a tone of abstraction. + </p> + <p> + “What is singular?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the very same thought occurred to me. Somehow, I couldn't help + feeling a little suspicious of Mrs. Hardwick, though perhaps unjustly. But + what object could she have in obtaining possession of Ida?” + </p> + <p> + “That I cannot conjecture; but I have come to one determination.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless we learn something of Ida within a week from the time she left + here, I shall go on to Philadelphia, or send Jack, and endeavor to get + track of her.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. AUNT RACHEL'S MISHAPS. + </h2> + <p> + THE week which had been assigned by Mr. Crump slipped away, and still no + tidings of Ida. The house seemed lonely without her. Not until then, did + they understand how largely she had entered into their life and thoughts. + But worse even, than the sense of loss, was the uncertainty as to her + fate. + </p> + <p> + When seven days had passed the cooper said, “It is time that we took some + steps about finding Ida. I had intended to go to Philadelphia myself, to + make inquiries about her, but I am just now engaged upon a job which I + cannot very well leave, and so I have concluded to send Jack.” + </p> + <p> + “When shall I start?” exclaimed Jack, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning,” answered his father, “and you must take clothes + enough with you to last several days, in case it should be necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “What good do you suppose it will do, Timothy,” broke in Rachel, “to send + such a mere boy as Jack?” + </p> + <p> + “A mere boy!” repeated her nephew, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “A boy hardly sixteen years old,” continued Rachel. “Why, he'll need + somebody to take care of him. Most likely you'll have to go after him.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the use of provoking a fellow so, Aunt Rachel?” said Jack. “You + know I'm most eighteen. Hardly sixteen! Why, I might as well say you're + hardly forty, when everybody knows you're most fifty.” + </p> + <p> + “Most fifty!” ejaculated the scandalized spinster. “It's a base slander. + I'm only forty-three.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I'm mistaken,” said Jack, carelessly. “I didn't know exactly. I + only judged from your looks.” + </p> + <p> + “'Judge not that ye be not judged!'” said Rachel, whom this explanation + was not likely to appease. “The world is full of calumny and + misrepresentation. I've no doubt you would like to shorten my days upon + the earth, but I sha'n't live long to trouble any of you. I feel that, ere + the summer of life is over, I shall be gathered into the garden of the + Great Destroyer.” + </p> + <p> + At this point, Rachel applied a segment of a pocket-handkerchief to her + eyes; but unfortunately, owing to circumstances, the effect, instead of + being pathetic, as she had intended, was simply ludicrous. + </p> + <p> + It so happened that a short time previous the inkstand had been partially + spilled on the table, and this handkerchief had been used to sop it up. It + had been placed inadvertently on the window-seat, where it had remained + till Rachel, who sat beside the window, called it into requisition. The + ink upon it was by no means dry. The consequence was that, when Rachel + removed it from her eyes, her face was found to be covered with ink in + streaks,—mingling with the tears that were falling, for Rachel + always had tears at her command. + </p> + <p> + The first intimation the luckless spinster had of her misfortune, was + conveyed in a stentorian laugh from Jack, whose organ of mirthfulness, + marked <i>very large</i> by the phrenologist, could not withstand such a + provocation to laughter. + </p> + <p> + He looked intently at the dark traces of sorrow upon his aunt's face, of + which she was yet unconscious—and doubling up, went into a perfect + paroxysm of laughter. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Rachel looked equally amazed and indignant. + </p> + <p> + “Jack!” said his mother, reprovingly, for she had not observed the cause + of his amusement. “It's improper for you to laugh at your aunt in such a + rude manner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can't help it, mother. It's too rich! Just look at her,” and Jack + went off into another paroxysm. + </p> + <p> + Thus invited, Mrs. Crump did look, and the rueful expression of Rachel, + set off by the inky stains, was so irresistibly comical, that, after a + little struggle, she too gave way, and followed Jack's example. + </p> + <p> + Astounded and indignant at this unexpected behavior of her sister-in-law, + Rachel burst into a fresh fit of weeping, and again had recourse to the + handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “I've stayed here long enough, if even my sister-in-law, as well as my own + nephew, from whom I expect nothing better, makes me her laughing-stock. + Brother Timothy, I can no longer remain in your dwelling to be laughed at; + I will go to the poor-house, and end my life as a pauper. If I only + receive Christian burial, when I leave the world, it will be all I hope or + expect from my relatives, who will be glad enough to get rid of me.” + </p> + <p> + The second application of the handkerchief had so increased the effect, + that Jack found it impossible to check his laughter, while the cooper, + whose attention was now for the first time drawn to his sister's face, + burst out in a similar manner. + </p> + <p> + This more amazed Rachel than even Mrs. Crump's merriment. + </p> + <p> + “Even you, Timothy, join in ridiculing your sister!” she exclaimed, in an + 'Et tu Brute,' tone. + </p> + <p> + “We don't mean to ridicule you, Rachel,” gasped Mrs. Crump, with + difficulty, “but we can't help laughing——” + </p> + <p> + “At the prospect of my death,” uttered Rachel. “Well, I'm a poor forlorn + creetur, I know; I haven't got a friend in the world. Even my nearest + relations make sport of me, and when I speak of dying they shout their joy + to my face.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” gasped Jack, “that's it exactly. It isn't your death we're laughing + at, but your face.” + </p> + <p> + “My face!” exclaimed the insulted spinster. “One would think I was a + fright, by the way you laugh at it.” + </p> + <p> + “So you are,” said Jack, in a state of semi-strangulation. + </p> + <p> + “To be called a fright to my face!” shrieked Rachel, “by my own nephew! + This is too much. Timothy, I leave your house forever.” + </p> + <p> + The excited maiden seized her hood, which was hanging from a nail, and + hardly knowing what she did, was about to leave the house with no other + protection, when she was arrested in her progress towards the door by the + cooper, who stifled his laughter sufficiently to say: “Before you go, + Rachel, just look in the glass.” + </p> + <p> + Mechanically his sister did look, and her horrified eyes rested upon a + face which streaked with inky spots and lines seaming it in every + direction. + </p> + <p> + In her first confusion, Rachel did not understand the nature of her + mishaps, but hastily jumped to the conclusion that she had been suddenly + stricken by some terrible disease like the plague, whose ravages in London + she had read of with the interest which one of her melancholy temperament + might be expected to find in it. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly she began to wring her hands in an excess of terror, and + exclaimed in tones of piercing anguish,— + </p> + <p> + “It is the fatal plague spot! I feel it; I know it! I am marked for the + tomb. The sands of my life are fast running out!” + </p> + <p> + Jack broke into a fresh burst of merriment, so that an observer might, not + without reason, have imagined him to be in imminent danger of suffocation. + </p> + <p> + “You'll kill me, Aunt Rachel; I know you will,” he gasped out. + </p> + <p> + “You may order my coffin, Timothy,” said Rachel, in a sepulchral tone. “I + sha'n't live twenty-four hours. I've felt it coming on for a week past. I + forgive you for all your ill-treatment. I should like to have some one go + for the doctor, though I know I'm past help. I will go up to my chamber.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the cooper, trying to look sober, “that you will find the + cold-water treatment efficacious in removing the plague-spots, as you call + them.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel turned towards him with a puzzled look. Then, as her eyes rested, + for the first time, upon the handkerchief which she had used, its + appearance at once suggested a clew by which she was enabled to account + for her own. + </p> + <p> + Somewhat ashamed of the emotion which she had betrayed, as well as the + ridiculous figure which she had cut, she left the room abruptly, and did + not make her appearance again till the next morning. + </p> + <p> + After this little episode, the conversation turned upon Jack's approaching + journey. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said his mother, “but Rachel is right. Perhaps Jack isn't + old enough, and hasn't had sufficient experience to undertake such a + mission.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, mother,” expostulated Jack, “you ain't going to side against me, are + you?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no better plan,” said Mr. Crump, quietly, “and I have sufficient + confidence in Jack's shrewdness and intelligence to believe he may be + trusted in this business.” + </p> + <p> + Jack looked gratified by this tribute to his powers and capacity, and + determined to show that he was deserving of his father's favorable + opinion. + </p> + <p> + The preliminaries were settled, and it was agreed that he should set out + early the next morning. He went to bed with the brightest anticipations, + and with the resolute determination to find Ida if she was anywhere in + Philadelphia. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. THE FLOWER-GIRL. + </h2> + <p> + HENRY BOWEN was a young artist of moderate talent, who had abandoned the + farm, on which he had labored as a boy, for the sake of pursuing his + favorite profession. He was not competent to achieve the highest success. + The foremost rank in his profession was not for him. But he had good + taste, a correct eye, and a skilful hand, and his productions were + pleasing and popular. A few months before his introduction to the reader's + notice, he had formed a connection with a publisher of prints and + engravings, who had thrown considerable work in his way. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any new commission this morning?” inquired the young artist, on + the day before Ida's discovery that she had been employed to pass off + spurious coins. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the publisher, “I have thought of something which I think may + prove attractive. Just at present, the public seem fond of pictures of + children in different characters. I should like to have you supply me with + a sketch of a flower-girl, with, say, a basket of flowers in her hand. The + attitude and incidentals I will leave to your taste. The face must, of + course, be as beautiful and expressive as you can make it, where + regularity of features is not sufficient. Do you comprehend my idea?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I do,” said the young man, “and hope to be able to satisfy + you.” + </p> + <p> + The young artist went home, and at once set to work upon the task he had + undertaken. He had conceived that it would be an easy one, but found + himself mistaken. Whether because his fancy was not sufficiently lively, + or his mind was not in tune, he was unable to produce the effect he + desired. The faces which he successively outlined were all stiff, and + though perhaps sufficiently regular in feature, lacked the great charm of + being expressive and life-like. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with me?” he exclaimed, impatiently, throwing down his + pencil. “Is it impossible for me to succeed? Well, I will be patient, and + make one trial more.” + </p> + <p> + He made another trial, that proved as unsatisfactory as those preceding. + </p> + <p> + “It is clear,” he decided, “that I am not in the vein. I will go out and + take a walk, and perhaps while I am in the street something will strike + me.” + </p> + <p> + He accordingly donned his coat and hat, and, descending, emerged into the + great thoroughfare, where he was soon lost in the throng. It was only + natural that, as he walked, with his task still in his thoughts, he should + scrutinize carefully the faces of such young girls as he met. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” it occurred to him, “I may get a hint from some face I may see. + That will be better than to depend upon my fancy. Nothing, after all, is + equal to the masterpieces of Nature.” + </p> + <p> + But the young artist was fastidious. “It is strange,” he thought, “how few + there are, even in the freshness of childhood, that can be called models + of beauty. That child, for example, has beautiful eyes but a badly-cut + mouth, Here is one that would be pretty, if the face was rounded out; and + here is a child, Heaven help it! that was designed to be beautiful, but + want and unfavorable circumstances have pinched and cramped it.” + </p> + <p> + It was at this point in the artist's soliloquy that, in turning the corner + of a street, he came upon Peg and Ida. + </p> + <p> + Henry Bowen looked earnestly at the child's face, and his own lighted up + with pleasure, as one who stumbles upon success just as he has despaired + of it. + </p> + <p> + “The very face I have been looking for!” he exclaimed to himself. “My + flower-girl is found at last!” + </p> + <p> + He turned round, and followed Ida and her companion. Both stopped at a + shop-window to examine some articles which were exhibited there. This + afforded a fresh opportunity to examine Ida's face. + </p> + <p> + “It is precisely what I want,” he murmured. “Now the question comes up, + whether this woman, who, I suppose, is the girl's attendant, will permit + me to copy her face.” + </p> + <p> + The artist's inference that Peg was merely Ida's attendant, was natural, + since the child was dressed in a style quite superior to her companion. + Peg thought that in this way she should be more likely to escape suspicion + when occupied in passing spurious coin. + </p> + <p> + The young man followed the strangely-assorted pair to the apartments which + Peg occupied. From the conversation which he overheard he learned that he + had been mistaken in his supposition as to the relation between the two, + and that, singular as it seemed, Peg had the guardianship of the child. + This made his course clearer. He mounted the stairs, and knocked at the + door. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” said a sharp voice from within. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see you a moment,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + Peg opened the door partially, and regarded the young man suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know you,” she said, shortly. “I never saw you before.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume not,” said the young man. “We have never met, I think. I am an + artist.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a business I don't know anything about,” said Peg, abruptly. + “You've come to the wrong place. I don't want to buy any pictures. I've + got plenty of other ways to spend my money.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly, Mrs. Hardwick, to give her the name she once claimed, did not + look like a patron of the arts. + </p> + <p> + “You have a young girl, about eight or nine years old, living with you,” + said the artist. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” queried Peg, her suspicions at once roused. + </p> + <p> + “No one told me. I saw her with you in the street.” + </p> + <p> + Peg at once conceived the idea that her visitor was aware of the fact that + that the child was stolen—possibly he might be acquainted with the + Crumps, or might be their emissary. She therefore answered, shortly,— + </p> + <p> + “People that are seen walking together don't always live together.” + </p> + <p> + “But I saw the child entering this house with you.” + </p> + <p> + “What if you did?” demanded Peg, defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “I was about,” said the artist, perceiving that he was misapprehended, and + desiring to set matters right, “I was about to make a proposition which + might prove advantageous to both of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” said Peg, catching at the hint. “Tell me what it is, and perhaps we + may come to terms.” + </p> + <p> + “It is simply this,” said Bowen, “I am, as I told you, an artist. Just now + I am employed to sketch a flower-girl, and in seeking for a face such as I + wished to sketch from, I was struck by that of your child.” + </p> + <p> + “Of Ida?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if that is her name. I will pay you five dollars for the privilege + of copying it.” + </p> + <p> + Peg was fond of money, and the prospect of earning five dollars through + Ida's instrumentality, so easily, blinded her to the possibility that this + picture might prove a means of discovery to her friends. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said she, more graciously, “if that's all you want, I don't know + as I have any objections. I suppose you can copy her face here as well as + anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I should prefer to have her come to my studio.” + </p> + <p> + “I sha'n't let her come,” said Peg, decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will consent to your terms, and come here.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to begin now?” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in, then. Here, Ida, I want you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Peg.” + </p> + <p> + “This young man wants to copy your face.” + </p> + <p> + Ida looked surprised. + </p> + <p> + “I am an artist,” said the young man, with a reassuring smile. “I will + endeavor not to try your patience too much. Do you think you can stand + still for half an hour, without much fatigue?” + </p> + <p> + Ida was easily won by kindness, while she had a spirit which was roused by + harshness. She was prepossessed at once in favor of the young man, and + readily assented. + </p> + <p> + He kept her in pleasant conversation while with a free, bold hand, he + sketched the outlines of her face and figure. + </p> + <p> + “I shall want one more sitting,” he said. “I will come to-morrow at this + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop a minute,” said Peg. “I should like the money in advance. How do I + know that you will come again?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if you prefer it,” said the young man, opening his + pocket-book. + </p> + <p> + “What strange fortune,” he thought, “can have brought these two together? + Surely there can be no relationship.” + </p> + <p> + The next day he returned and completed his sketch, which was at once + placed in the hands of the publisher, eliciting his warm approval. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. JACK OBTAINS INFORMATION. + </h2> + <p> + JACK set out with that lightness of heart and keen sense of enjoyment that + seem natural to a young man of eighteen on his first journey. Partly by + cars, partly by boat, he traveled, till in a few hours he was discharged, + with hundreds of others, at the depot in Philadelphia. + </p> + <p> + Among the admonitions given to Jack on leaving home, one was prominently + in his mind, to beware of imposition, and to be as economical as possible. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly he rejected all invitations to ride, and strode along, with + his carpet-bag in hand, though, sooth to say, he had very little idea + whether he was steering in the right direction for his uncle's shop. By + dint of diligent and persevering inquiry he found it at length, and, + walking in, announced himself to the worthy baker as his nephew Jack. + </p> + <p> + “What, are you Jack?” exclaimed Mr. Abel Crump, pausing in his labor; + “well, I never should have known you, that's a fact. Bless me, how you've + grown! Why, you're most as big as your father, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Only half an inch shorter,” returned Jack, complacently. + </p> + <p> + “And you're—let me see, how old are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Eighteen, that is, almost; I shall be in two months.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm glad to see you, Jack, though I hadn't the least idea of your + raining down so unexpectedly. How's your father and mother and Rachel, and + your adopted sister?” + </p> + <p> + “Father and mother are pretty well,” answered Jack, “and so is Aunt + Rachel,” he added, smiling; “though she ain't so cheerful as she might + be.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Rachel!” said Abel, smiling also, “all things look upside down to + her. I don't suppose she's wholly to blame for it. Folks differ + constitutionally. Some are always looking on the bright side of things, + and others can never see but one side, and that's the dark one.” + </p> + <p> + “You've hit it, uncle,” said Jack, laughing. “Aunt Rachel always looks as + if she was attending a funeral.” + </p> + <p> + “So she is, my boy,” said Abel Crump, gravely, “and a sad funeral it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you, uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “The funeral of her affections,—that's what I mean. Perhaps you + mayn't know that Rachel was, in early life, engaged to be married to a + young man whom she ardently loved. She was a different woman then from + what she is now. But her lover deserted her just before the wedding was to + have come off, and she's never got over the disappointment. But that isn't + what I was going to talk about. You haven't told me about your adopted + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I've come to Philadelphia about,” said Jack, soberly. “Ida + has been carried off, and I've been sent in search of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Been carried off!” exclaimed his uncle, in amazement. “I didn't know such + things ever happened in this country. What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + In answer to this question Jack told the story of Mrs. Hardwick's arrival + with a letter from Ida's mother, conveying the request that the child + might, under the guidance of the messenger, be allowed to pay her a visit. + To this, and the subsequent details, Abel Crump listened with earnest + attention. + </p> + <p> + “So you have reason to think the child is in (sic) Phildelphia?” he said, + musingly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jack, “Ida was seen in the cars, coming here, by a boy who + knew her in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “Ida!” repeated his Uncle Abel, looking up, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You know that's my sister's name, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I dare say I have known it; but I have heard so little of your + family lately, that I had forgotten it. It is rather a singular + circumstance.” + </p> + <p> + “What is singular!” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you,” said his uncle. “It may not amount to anything, + however. A few days since, a little girl came into my shop to buy a small + amount of bread. I was at once favorably impressed with her appearance. + She was neatly dressed, and had a very sweet face.” + </p> + <p> + “What was her name?” inquired Jack. + </p> + <p> + “That I will tell you by and by. Having made the purchase, she handed me + in payment a silver dollar. 'I'll keep that for my little girl,' thought I + at once. Accordingly, when I went home at night, I just took the dollar + out the till, and gave it to her. Of course she was delighted with it, + and, like a child, wanted to spend it at once. So her mother agreed to go + out with her the next day. Well, they selected some nicknack or other, but + when they came to pay for it the dollar proved to be spurious.” + </p> + <p> + “Spurious!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, bad. Got up, no doubt, by a gang of coiners. When they told me of + this I thought to myself, 'Can it be that this little girl knew what she + was about when she offered me that money?' I couldn't think it possible, + but decided to wait till she came again.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she come again?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she didn't come back with the good money?” said Jack. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What name did she give you?” asked Jack. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I told you? It was the name that made me think of telling you. It + was Ida Hardwick.” + </p> + <p> + “Ida Hardwick!” exclaimed Jack, bounding from his chair, somewhat to his + uncle's alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Ida Hardwick. But that hasn't anything to do with your Ida, has it?” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't it, though?” said Jack. “Why, Mrs. Hardwick was the woman that + carried her away.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hardwick—her mother!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think that Ida Hardwick may be your missing sister?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I don't know,” said Jack. “If you would only describe her, + Uncle Abel, I could tell better.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Abel Crump, thoughtfully, “I should say this little girl + might be eight or nine years old.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jack, nodding; “what color were her eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “Blue.” + </p> + <p> + “So are Ida's.” + </p> + <p> + “A small mouth, with a very sweet expression.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That is exactly the way Ida was dressed when she went away. I am sure it + must be she.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” suggested his uncle, “this woman, though calling herself Ida's + nurse, was really her mother.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You know I have not seen Mrs. Hardwick, so I cannot judge on that point.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she think?” + </p> + <p> + “She took a dislike to her, and declared that it was only a plot to get + possession of Ida; but then, that was what we expected of Aunt Rachel.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, it seems difficult to imagine any satisfactory motive on the part + of this woman, supposing she is not Ida's mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, or not,” returned Jack, “she's got possession of Ida; and, from + all that you say, she is not the best person to bring her up. I am + determined to rescue Ida from this she-dragon. Will you help me, uncle?” + </p> + <p> + “You may count upon me, Jack, for all I can do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Jack, with energy, “we shall succeed. I feel sure of it. + 'Where there's a will there's a way,' you know.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. FINESSE. + </h2> + <p> + THE next thing to be done by Jack was, of course, in some way to obtain a + clew to the whereabouts of Peg, or Mrs. Hardwick, to use the name by which + he knew her. No mode of proceeding likely to secure this result occurred + to him, beyond the very obvious one of keeping in the street as much as + possible, in the hope that chance might bring him face to face with the + object of his pursuit. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately her face was accurately daguerreotyped in his memory, so that + he felt certain of recognizing her, under whatever circumstances they + might meet. + </p> + <p> + In pursuance of this, the only plan which suggested itself, Jack became a + daily promenader in Chestnut and other streets. Many wondered what could + be the object of the young man who so persistently frequented the + thoroughfares. It was observed that, while he paid no attention to young + ladies, he scrutinized the faces of all middle-aged or elderly women whom + he met, a circumstance likely to attract remark, in the case of a + well-made youth like Jack. + </p> + <p> + Several days passed, and, although he only returned to his uncle's house + at the hour of meals, he had the same report to bring on each occasion. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” said the baker, “it will be as hard as finding a needle in + a hay-stack, to hope to meet the one you seek, among so many faces.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing like trying,” answered Jack, courageously. “I'm not going + to give up yet awhile.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down and wrote the following note, home:— + </p> + <p> + “DEAR PARENTS: + </p> + <p> + “I arrived in Philadelphia safe, and am stopping at Uncle Abel's. He + received me very kindly. I have got track of Ida, though I have not found + her yet. I have learned as much as this, that this Mrs. Hardwick—who + is a double distilled she-rascal—probably has Ida in her clutches, + and has sent her on two occasions to my uncle's. I am spending most of my + time in the streets, keeping a good lookout for her. If I do meet her, see + if I don't get Ida away from her. But it may take some time. Don't get + discouraged, therefore, but wait patiently. Whenever anything new turns up + you will receive a line from your dutiful son + </p> + <p> + “JACK.” + </p> + <p> + In reply to this letter, or rather note, Jack received an intimation that + he was not to cease his efforts as long as a chance remained to find Ida. + </p> + <p> + The very day after the reception of this letter, as Jack was sauntering + along the street, he suddenly perceived in front of him a form which at + once reminded him of Mrs. Hardwick. Full of hope that this might be so, he + bounded forward, and rapidly passed the suspected person, turned suddenly + round, and confronted Ida's nurse. + </p> + <p> + The recognition was mutual. Peg was taken aback by this unexpected + encounter. + </p> + <p> + “Her first impulse was to make off, but the young man's resolute + expression warned her that this would prove in vain. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hardwick!” said Jack. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said she, nodding, “and you, if I am not mistaken, are + John Crump, the son of my worthy friends in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” ejaculated Jack, internally, “if that doesn't beat all for + coolness.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Jack,” he said, aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! I thought it might be a nickname.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't guess what I came here for,” said Jack, with an attempt at + sarcasm, which utterly failed of its effect. + </p> + <p> + “To see your sister Ida, I presume,” said Peg, coolly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jack, amazed at the woman's composure. + </p> + <p> + “I thought some of you would be coming on,” said Peg, whose prolific + genius had already mapped out her course. + </p> + <p> + “You did?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was only natural. But what did your father and mother say to the + letter I wrote them?” + </p> + <p> + “The letter you wrote them!” + </p> + <p> + “The letter in which I wrote that Ida's mother had been so pleased with + the appearance and manners of her child, that she could not resolve to + part with her, and had determined to keep her for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say,” said Jack, “that any such letter as that has been + written?” + </p> + <p> + “What, has it not been received?” inquired Peg, in the greatest apparent + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing like it,” answered Jack. “When was it written?” + </p> + <p> + “The second day after Ida's arrival,” replied Peg, unhesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “If that is the case,” returned Jack, not knowing what to think, “it must + have miscarried.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a pity. How anxious you all must have felt!” remarked Peg, + sympathizingly. + </p> + <p> + “It seemed as if half the family were gone. But how long does Ida's mother + mean to keep her?” + </p> + <p> + “A month or six weeks,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Jack, his suspicions returning, “I have been told that Ida has + twice called at a baker's shop in this city, and, when asked what her name + was, answered Ida Hardwick.' You don't mean to say that you pretend to be + her mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” returned Peg, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “It's a lie,” said Jack, vehemently. “She isn't your daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Young man,” said Peg, with wonderful self-command, “you are exciting + yourself to no purpose. You asked me if I <i>pretended</i> to be her + mother. I do pretend; but I admit, frankly, that it is all pretence.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand what you mean,” said Jack, mystified. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will take the trouble to explain it to you. As I informed your + father and mother, when in New York, there are circumstances which stand + in the way of Ida's real mother recognizing her as her own child. Still, + as she desires her company, in order to avert all suspicion, and prevent + embarrassing questions being asked, while she remains in Philadelphia she + is to pass as my daughter.” + </p> + <p> + This explanation was tolerably plausible, and Jack was unable to gainsay + it, though it was disagreeable to him to think of even a nominal + connection between Ida and the woman before him. + </p> + <p> + “Can I see Ida?” asked Jack, at length. + </p> + <p> + To his great joy, Peg replied, “I don't think there can be any objection. + I am going to the house now. Will you come now, or appoint some other + time?” + </p> + <p> + “I will go now by all means,” said Jack, eagerly. “Nothing should stand in + the way of seeing Ida.” + </p> + <p> + A grim smile passed over the nurse's face. + </p> + <p> + “Follow me, then,” she said. “I have no doubt Ida will be delighted to see + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Ida!” said Jack. “Is she well, Mrs. Hardwick?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly well,” answered Peg. “She has never been in better health than + since she has been in Philadelphia.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Jack, with a pang, “that she is so taken up with her new + friends that she has nearly forgotten her old friends in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “If she did,” said Peg, sustaining her part with admirable + self-possession, “she would not deserve to have friends at all. She is + quite happy here, but she will be very glad to return to New York to those + who have been so kind to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” thought Jack; “I don't know what to make of this Mrs. Hardwick. + She talks fair enough, if her looks are against her. Perhaps I have + misjudged her, after all.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. CAUGHT IN A TRAP. + </h2> + <p> + JACK and his guide paused in front of a three-story brick building of + respectable appearance. + </p> + <p> + “Does Ida's mother live here?” interrogated Jack. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peg, coolly. “Follow me up the steps.” + </p> + <p> + The woman led the way, and Jack followed. + </p> + <p> + The former rang the bell. An untidy servant girl made her appearance. + </p> + <p> + “We will go up-stairs, Bridget,” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + Without betraying any astonishment, the servant conducted them to an upper + room, and opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “If you will go in and take a seat,” said Peg, “I will send Ida to you + immediately.” + </p> + <p> + She closed the door after him, and very softly slipped the bolt which had + been placed on the outside. She then hastened downstairs, and finding the + proprietor of the house, who was a little old man with a shrewd, twinkling + eye, and a long aquiline nose, she said to this man, who was a leading + spirit among the coiners into whose employ she and her husband had + entered, “I want you to keep this lad in confinement, until I give you + notice that it will be safe to let him go.” + </p> + <p> + “What has he done?” asked the old man. + </p> + <p> + “He is acquainted with a secret dangerous to both of us,” answered Peg, + with intentional prevarication; for she knew that, if it were supposed + that she only had an interest in Jack's detention, they would not take the + trouble to keep him. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” exclaimed the old man; “is that so? Then, I warrant me, he can't get + out unless he has sharp claws.” + </p> + <p> + “Fairly trapped, my young bird,” thought Peg, as she hastened away; “I + rather think that will put a stop to your troublesome interference for the + present. You haven't lived quite long enough to be a match for old Peg. + You'll find that out by and by. Ha, ha! won't your worthy uncle, the + baker, be puzzled to know why you don't come home to-night?” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Jack, wholly unsuspicious that any trick had been played upon + him, seated himself in a rocking-chair, waiting impatiently for the coming + of Ida, whom he was resolved to carry back with him to New York if his + persuasions could effect it. + </p> + <p> + Impelled by a natural curiosity he examined, attentively, the room in + which he was seated. It was furnished moderately well; that is, as well as + the sitting-room of a family in moderate circumstances. The floor was + covered with a plain carpet. There was a sofa, a mirror, and several + chairs covered with hair-cloth were standing stiffly at the windows. There + were one or two engravings, of no great artistic excellence, hanging + against the walls. On the centre-table were two or three books. Such was + the room into which Jack had been introduced. + </p> + <p> + Jack waited patiently for twenty minutes. Then he began to grow impatient. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Ida is out,” thought our hero; “but, if she is, Mrs. Hardwick + ought to come and let me know.” + </p> + <p> + Another fifteen minutes passed, and still Ida came not. + </p> + <p> + “This is rather singular,” thought Jack. “She can't have told Ida that I + am here, or I am sure she would rush up at once to see her brother Jack.” + </p> + <p> + At length, tired of waiting, and under the impression that he had been + forgotten, Jack walked to the door, and placing his hand upon the latch, + attempted to open it. + </p> + <p> + There was a greater resistance than he had anticipated. + </p> + <p> + Supposing that it must stick, he used increased exertion, but the door + perversely refused to open. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” thought Jack, the real state of the case flashing upon + him, “is it possible that I am locked in?” + </p> + <p> + To determine this he employed all his strength, but the door still + resisted. He could no longer doubt. + </p> + <p> + He rushed to the windows. There were two in number, and looked out upon a + court in the rear of the house. No part of the street was visible from + them; therefore there was no hope of drawing the attention of passers-by + to his situation. + </p> + <p> + Confounded by this discovery, Jack sank into his chair in no very enviable + state of mind. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” thought he, “this is a pretty situation for me to be in! I wonder + what father would say if he knew that I was locked up like a prisoner. And + then to think I let that treacherous woman, Mrs. Hardwick, lead me so + quietly into a snare. Aunt Rachel was about right when she said I wasn't + fit to come alone. I hope she'll never find out this adventure of mine; I + never should hear the last of it.” + </p> + <p> + Jack's mortification was extreme. His self-love was severely wounded by + the thought that a woman had got the better of him, and he resolved, if he + ever got out, that he would make Mrs. Hardwick suffer, he didn't quite + know how, for the manner in which she had treated him. + </p> + <p> + Time passed. Every hour seemed to poor Jack to contain at least double the + number of minutes which are usually reckoned to that division of time. + Moreover, not having eaten for several hours, he was getting hungry. + </p> + <p> + A horrible suspicion flashed across his mind. “The wretches can't mean to + starve me, can they?” he asked himself, while, despite his constitutional + courage, he could not help shuddering at the idea. + </p> + <p> + He was unexpectedly answered by the sliding of a little door in the wall, + and the appearance of the old man whose interview with Peg has been + referred to. + </p> + <p> + “Are you getting hungry, my dear sir?” he inquired, with a disagreeable + smile upon his features. + </p> + <p> + “Why am I confined here?” demanded Jack, in a tone of irritation. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you confined?” repeated his interlocutor. “Really, one would + think you did not find your quarters comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so far from finding them comfortable that I insist upon leaving them + immediately,” returned Jack. + </p> + <p> + “Then all you have got to do is to walk through that door. + </p> + <p> + “It is locked; I can't open it.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't open it!” repeated the old man, with another disagreeable leer; + “perhaps, then, it will be well for you to wait till you are strong + enough.” + </p> + <p> + Irritated by this reply, Jack threw himself spitefully against the door, + but to no purpose. + </p> + <p> + The old man laughed in a cracked, wheezing way. + </p> + <p> + “Good fellow!” said he, encouragingly, “try it again! Won't you try it + again? Better luck next time.” + </p> + <p> + Jack throw himself sullenly into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the woman that brought me here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Peg? Oh, she couldn't stay. She had important business to transact, my + young friend, and so she has gone; but don't feel anxious. She commended + you to our particular attention, and you will be just as well treated as + if she were here.” + </p> + <p> + This assurance was not very well calculated to comfort Jack. + </p> + <p> + “How long are you going to keep me cooped up here?” he asked, desperately, + wishing to learn the worst at once. + </p> + <p> + “Really, my young friend, I couldn't say. We are very hospitable, very. We + always like to have our friends with us as long as possible.” + </p> + <p> + Jack groaned internally at the prospect before him. + </p> + <p> + “One question more,” he said, “will you tell me if my sister Ida is in + this house?” + </p> + <p> + “Your sister Ida!” repeated the old man, surprised in his turn. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jack; believing, his astonishment feigned. “You needn't + pretend that you don't know anything about her. I know that she is in your + hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Then if you know so much,” said the other, shrugging his shoulders, + “there is no need of asking.” + </p> + <p> + Jack was about to press the question, but the old man, anticipating him, + pointed to a plate of food which he pushed in upon a shelf, just in front + of the sliding door, and said: “Here's some supper for you. When you get + ready to go to bed you can lie down on the sofa. Sorry we didn't know of + your coming, or we would have got our best bed-chamber ready for you. + Good-night, and pleasant dreams!” + </p> + <p> + Smiling disagreeably he slid to the door, bolted it, and disappeared, + leaving Jack more depressed, if possible, than before. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. JACK IN CONFINEMENT. + </h2> + <p> + THE anxiety of Mr. Abel Crump's family, when Jack failed to return at + night, can be imagined. They feared that he had fallen among unscrupulous + persons, of whom there is no lack in every large city, and that some ill + had come to him. The baker instituted immediate inquiries, but was + unsuccessful in obtaining any trace of his nephew. He resolved to delay as + long as possible communicating the sad intelligence to his brother + Timothy, who he knew would be quite (sic) overwhelwed by this double blow. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, let us see how Jack enjoyed himself. We will look in + upon him after he has been confined four days. To a youth as active as + himself, nothing could be more wearisome. It did not add to his + cheerfulness to reflect that Ida was in the power of the one who had + brought upon him his imprisonment, while he was absolutely unable to help + her. He did not lack for food. This was brought him three times a day. His + meals, in fact, were all he had to look forward to, to break the monotony + of his confinement. The books upon the table were not of a kind likely to + interest him, though he had tried to find entertainment in them. + </p> + <p> + Four days he had lived, or rather vegetated in this way. His spirit chafed + against the confinement. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” thought he, “I would sooner die than be imprisoned for a long + term. Yet,” and here he sighed, “who knows what may be the length of my + present confinement? They will be sure to find some excuse for retaining + me.” + </p> + <p> + While he was indulging in these uncomfortable reflections, suddenly the + little door in the wall, previously referred to, slid open, and revealed + the old man who had first supplied him with food. To explain the motive of + his present visit, it will be remembered that he was under a + misapprehension in regard to the cause of Jack's confinement. He naturally + supposed that our hero was acquainted with the unlawful practises of the + gang of coiners with which he was connected. + </p> + <p> + The old man, whose name was Foley, had been favorably impressed by the + bold bearing of Jack, and the idea had occurred to him that he might be + able to win him as an accomplice. He judged, that if once induced to join + them, he would prove eminently useful. Another motive which led him to + favor this project was, that it would be very embarrassing to be compelled + to keep Jack in perpetual custody, as well as involve a considerable + expense. + </p> + <p> + Jack was somewhat surprised at the old man's visit. + </p> + <p> + “How long are you going to keep me cooped up here?” he inquired, + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you find your quarters comfortable?” asked Foley. + </p> + <p> + “As comfortable as any prison, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “My young friend, don't talk of imprisonment. You make me shudder. You + must banish all thoughts of such a disagreeable subject.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could,” groaned poor Jack. + </p> + <p> + “Consider yourself as my guest, whom I delight to entertain.” + </p> + <p> + “But, I don't like the entertainment.” + </p> + <p> + “The more the pity.” + </p> + <p> + “How long is this going to last? Even a prisoner knows the term of his + imprisonment.” + </p> + <p> + “My young friend,” said Foley, “I do not desire to control your + inclinations. I am ready to let you go whenever you say the word.” + </p> + <p> + “You are?” returned Jack, incredulously. “Then suppose I ask you to let me + go immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I will; but upon one condition.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It so happens, my young friend, that you are acquainted with a secret + which might prove troublesome to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” exclaimed Jack, mystified. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you see I have found it out. Such things do not escape me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean,” returned Jack, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt, no doubt,”, said Foley, cunningly. “Of course, if I should tell + you that I was in the coining business, it would be altogether new to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “On my honor,” said Jack, “this is the first I knew of it. I never saw or + heard of you before I came into this house.” + </p> + <p> + “Could Peg be mistaken?” thought Foley. “But no, no; he is only trying to + deceive me. I am too old a bird to be caught with such chaff.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I won't dispute your word, my young friend,” he said, softly; + “but there is one thing certain; if you didn't know it before you know it + now.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are afraid that I shall denounce you to the police.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is a possibility of that. That class of people have a little + prejudice against us, though we are only doing what everybody wants to do, + <i>making money</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The old man chuckled and rubbed his hands at this joke, which he evidently + considered a remarkably good one. + </p> + <p> + Jack reflected a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me go if I will promise to keep your secret?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “How could I be sure you would do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I would pledge my word.” + </p> + <p> + “Your word!” Foley snapped his fingers in derision. “That is not + sufficient.” + </p> + <p> + “What will be?” + </p> + <p> + “You must become one of us.” + </p> + <p> + “One of you!” + </p> + <p> + Jack started in surprise at a proposition so unexpected. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You must make yourself liable to the same penalties, so that it will + be for your own interest to keep silent. Otherwise we cannot trust you.” + </p> + <p> + “And suppose I decline these terms,” said Jack. + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall be under the painful necessity of retaining you as my + guest.” + </p> + <p> + Foley smiled disagreeably. + </p> + <p> + Jack walked the room in perturbation. He felt that imprisonment would be + better than liberty, on such terms. At the same time he did not refuse + unequivocally, as possibly stricter watch than ever might be kept over + him. + </p> + <p> + He thought it best to temporize. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you say?” asked the old man. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to take time to reflect upon your proposal,” said Jack. “It + is of so important a character that I do not like to decide at once.” + </p> + <p> + “How long do you require?” + </p> + <p> + “Two days,” returned Jack. “If I should come to a decision sooner, I will + let you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed. Meanwhile can I do anything to promote your comfort? I want you + to enjoy yourself as well as you can under the circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + “If you have any interesting books, I wish you would send them up. It is + rather dull staying here with nothing to do.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have something to do as soon as you please, my young friend. As + to books, we are not very bountifully supplied with that article. We ain't + any of us college graduates, but I will see what I can do for you in that + way. I'll be back directly.” + </p> + <p> + Foley disappeared, but soon after returned, laden with one or two old + magazines, and a worn copy of the “Adventures of Baron Trenck.” + </p> + <p> + It may be that the reader has never encountered a copy of this singular + book. Baron Trenck was several times imprisoned for political offences, + and this book contains an account of the manner in which he succeeded, in + some cases after years of labor, in breaking from his dungeon. His feats + in this way are truly wonderful, and, if not true, at least they have so + very much similitude that they find no difficulty in winning the reader's + credence. + </p> + <p> + Such was the book which Foley placed in Jack's hands. He must have been in + ignorance of the character of the book, since it was evident to what + thoughts it would lead the mind of the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + Jack read the book with intense interest. It was just such a one as he + would have read with avidity under any circumstances. It gratified his + taste for adventure, and he entered heart and soul into the Baron's plans, + and felt a corresponding gratification when he succeeded. When he + completed the perusal of the fascinating volume, he thought, “Why cannot I + imitate Baron Trenck? He was far worse off than I am. If he could succeed + in overcoming so many obstacles, it is a pity if I cannot find some means + of escape.” + </p> + <p> + He looked about the room in the hope that some plan might be suggested. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. THE PRISONER ESCAPES. + </h2> + <p> + TO give an idea of the difficulties of Jack's situation, let it be + repeated that there was but one door to the room, and this was bolted on + the outside. The room was in the second story. The only two windows looked + out upon a court. These windows were securely fastened. Still a way might + have been devised to break through them, if this would at all have + improved his condition. Of this, however, there seemed but little chance. + Even if he had succeeded in getting safely into the court, there would + have been difficulty and danger in getting into the street. + </p> + <p> + All these considerations passed through Jack's mind, and occasioned him no + little perplexity. He began to think that the redoubtable Baron Trenck + himself might have been puzzled, if placed under similar circumstances. + </p> + <p> + At length this suggestion occurred to him: Why might he not cut a hole + through the door, just above or below the bolt, sufficiently large for him + to thrust his hand through, and slip it back? Should he succeed in this, + he would steal down stairs, and as, in all probability, the key would be + in the outside door, he could open it, and then he would be free. + </p> + <p> + With hope springing up anew in his heart, he hastened to the door and + examined it. It was of common strength. He might, perhaps, have been able + to kick it open, but of course this was not to be thought of, as the noise + would at once attract the attention of those interested in frustrating his + plans. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, Jack was provided with a large, sharp jack-knife. He did not + propose, however, to commence operations at present. In the daytime he + would be too subject to a surprise. With evening, he resolved to commence + his work. He might be unsuccessful, and subjected, in consequence, to a + more rigorous confinement; but of this he must run the risk. “Nothing + venture, nothing have.” + </p> + <p> + Jack awaited the coming of evening with impatience. The afternoon had + never seemed so long. + </p> + <p> + It came at last—a fine moonlight night. This was fortunate, for his + accommodating host, from motives of economy possibly, was not in the habit + of providing him with a candle. + </p> + <p> + Jack thought it prudent to wait till he heard the city clocks pealing the + hour of twelve. By this time, as far as he could see from his windows, + there were no lights burning, and all who occupied the building were + probably asleep. + </p> + <p> + He selected that part of the door which he judged to be directly under the + bolt, and began to cut away with his knife. The wood was soft, and easy of + excavation. In the course of half an hour Jack had cut a hole sufficiently + large to pass his hand through, but found that, in order to reach the + bolt, he must enlarge it a little. This took him fifteen minutes longer. + </p> + <p> + His efforts were crowned with success. As the city clock struck one Jack + softly drew back the bolt, and, with a wild throb of joy, felt that + freedom was half regained. But his (sic) embarassments were not quite at + an end. Opening the door, he found himself in the entry, but in the + darkness. On entering the house he had not noticed the location of the + stairs, and was afraid that some noise or stumbling might reveal to Foley + the attempted escape of his prisoner. He took off his boots, and crept + down-stairs in his stocking feet. Unfortunately he had not kept the proper + bearing in his mind, and the result was, that he opened the door of a room + on one side of the front door. It was used as a bedroom. At the sound of + the door opening, the occupant of the bed, Mr. Foley himself, called out, + drowsily, “Who's there?” + </p> + <p> + Jack, aware of his mistake, precipitately retired, and concealed himself + under the front stairs, a refuge which his good fortune led him to, for he + could see absolutely nothing. + </p> + <p> + The sleeper, just awakened, was naturally a little confused in his ideas. + He had not seen Jack. He had merely heard the noise, and thought he saw + the door moving. But of this he was not certain. To make sure, however, he + got out of bed, and opening wide the door of his room, called out, “Is + anybody there?” + </p> + <p> + Jack had excellent reasons for not wishing to volunteer an answer to this + question. One advantage of the opened door (for there was a small oil lamp + burning in the room) was to reveal to him the nature of the mistake he had + made, and to show him the front door in which, by rare good fortune, he + could discover the key in the lock. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the old man, to make sure that all was right, went up-stairs, + far enough to see that the door of the apartment in which Jack had been + confined was closed. Had he gone up to the landing he would have seen the + aperture in the door, and discovered the hole, but he was sleepy, and + anxious to get back to bed, which rendered him less watchful. + </p> + <p> + “All seems right,” he muttered to himself, and re-entered the bed-chamber, + from which Jack could soon hear the deep, regular breathing which + indicated sound slumber. Not till then did he creep cautiously from his + place of concealment, and advancing stealthily to the front door, turn the + key, and step out into the faintly-lighted street. A delightful sensation + thrilled our hero, as he felt the pure air fanning his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody can tell,” thought he, “what a blessed thing freedom is till he + has been cooped up, as I have been, for the last week. Won't the old man + be a little surprised to find, in the morning, that the bird has flown? + I've a great mind to serve him a little trick.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, Jack drew the key from its place inside, and locking the door + after him, went off with the key in his pocket. First, however, he took + care to scratch a little mark on the outside of the door, as he could not + see the number, to serve as a means of identification. + </p> + <p> + This done Jack made his way as well as he could guess to the house of his + uncle, the baker. Not having noticed the way by which Peg had led him to + the house, he wandered at first from the straight course. At length, + however, he came to Chestnut Street. He now knew where he was, and, + fifteen minutes later, he was standing before his uncle's door. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Abel Crump had been suffering great anxiety on account of + Jack's protracted absence. Several days had now elapsed, and still he was + missing. He had been unable to find the slightest trace of him. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid of the worst,” he said to his wife, on the afternoon of the + day on which Jack made his escape. “I think Jack was probably rash and + imprudent, and I fear, poor boy, they may have proved the death of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think there is any hope? He may be confined.” + </p> + <p> + “It is possible; but, at all events, I don't think it right to keep it + from Timothy any longer. I've put off writing as long as I could, hoping + Jack would come back, but I don't feel as if I ought to hold it back any + longer. I shall write in the morning, and tell Timothy to come right on. + It'll be a dreadful blow to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, better wait till morning, Abel. Who knows but we may hear from Jack + before that time?” + </p> + <p> + The baker shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “If we'd been going to hear, we'd have heard before this time,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He did not sleep very soundly that night. Anxiety for Jack, and the + thought of his brother's affliction, kept him awake. + </p> + <p> + About half-past two, he heard a noise at the front door, followed by a + knocking. Throwing open the window, he exclaimed, “Who's there?” + </p> + <p> + “A friend,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “What friend?” asked the baker, suspiciously. “Friends are not very apt to + come at this time of night.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know me, Uncle Abel?” asked a cheery voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's Jack, I verily believe,” said Abel Crump, joyfully, as he + hurried down stairs to admit his late visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Where in the name of wonder have you been, Jack?” he asked, surveying his + nephew by the light of the candle. + </p> + <p> + “I've been shut up, uncle,—boarded and lodged for nothing,—by + some people who liked my company better than I liked theirs. But to-night + I made out to escape, and hero I am. I'll tell you all about it in the + morning. Just now I'm confoundedly hungry, and if there's anything in the + pantry, I'll ask permission to go in there a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you'll find something, Jack. Take the candle with you. Thank God, + you're back alive. We've been very anxious about you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. MR. JOHN SOMERVILLE. + </h2> + <p> + PEG had been thinking. + </p> + <p> + This was the substance of her reflections. Ida, whom she had kidnapped for + certain purposes of her own, was likely to prove an (sic) incumbrance + rather than a source of profit. The child, her suspicions awakened in + regard to the character of the money she had been employed to pass off, + was no longer available for that purpose. So firmly resolved was she not + to do what was wrong, that threats and persuasions were alike unavailing. + Added to this was the danger of her encountering some one sent in search + of her by the Crumps. + </p> + <p> + Under these circumstances, Peg bethought herself of the ultimate object + which she had proposed to herself in kidnapping Ida—that of + extorting money from a man who is now to be introduced to the reader. + </p> + <p> + John Somerville occupied a suite of apartments in a handsome lodging-house + on Walnut Street. A man wanting yet several years of forty, he looked a + greater age. Late hours and dissipation, though kept within respectable + limits, had left their traces on his face. At twenty-one he inherited a + considerable fortune, which, combined with some professional practice (for + he was a lawyer, and not without ability), was quite sufficient to support + him handsomely, and leave a considerable surplus every year. But, + latterly, he had contracted a passion for gaming, and however shrewd he + might be naturally, he could hardly be expected to prove a match for the + wily habitues of the gaming-table, who had marked him as their prey. + </p> + <p> + The evening before he is introduced to the reader's notice he had, passed + till a late hour at a fashionable gambling-house, where he had lost + heavily. His reflections, on awakening, were not of the pleasantest. For + the first time, within fifteen years, he realized the folly and imprudence + of the course he had pursued. The evening previous he had lost a thousand + dollars, for which he had given his I O U. Where to raise this money, he + did not know. He bathed his aching head, and cursed his ill luck, in no + measured terms. After making his toilet, he rang the bell, and ordered + breakfast. + </p> + <p> + For this he had but scanty appetite. Scarcely had he finished, and + directed the removal of the dishes, than the servant entered to announce a + visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a gentleman?” he inquired, hastily, fearing it might be a creditor. + He occasionally had such visitors. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “A lady?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “A child? But what could a child want of me?” + </p> + <p> + “If it's neither a gentleman, lady, nor child,” said Somerville, somewhat + surprised, “will you have the goodness to inform me who it is?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a woman, sir,” said the servant, grinning. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you say so when I asked you?” said his employer, irritably. + </p> + <p> + “Because you asked if it was a lady, and this isn't—at least she + don't look like one.” + </p> + <p> + “You can send her up, whoever she is,” said Mr. Somerville. + </p> + <p> + A moment afterwards Peg entered the apartment. + </p> + <p> + John Somerville looked at her without much interest, supposing that she + might be a seamstress, or laundress, or some applicant for charity. So + many years had passed since he had met with this woman, that she had + passed out of his remembrance. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish to see me about anything?” he asked, indifferently. “If so, + you must be quick, for I am just going out.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem to recognize me, Mr. Somerville,” said Peg, fixing her + keen black eyes upon his face. + </p> + <p> + “I can't say I do,” he replied, carelessly. “Perhaps you used to wash for + me once.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not in the habit of acting as laundress,” said the woman, proudly. + It is worth noticing that she was not above passing spurious coin, and + doing other things which are stamped as disreputable by the laws of the + land, but her pride revolted at the imputation that she was a + washer-woman. + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said Somerville, carelessly, “you will have to tell me who + you are, for it is out of my power to conjecture.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the name of Ida will assist your recollection,” said Peg, + composedly. + </p> + <p> + “Ida!” repeated John Somerville, changing color, and gazing now with + attention at the woman's features. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I have known several persons of that name,” he said, evasively. “Of + course, I can't tell which of them you refer to.” + </p> + <p> + “The Ida I mean was and is a child,” said Peg. “But, Mr. Somerville, + there's no use in beating about the bush, when I can come straight to the + point. It is now about eight years since my husband and myself were + employed in carrying off a child—a female child of about a year old—named + Ida. We placed it, according to your directions, on the door-step of a + poor family in New York, and they have since cared for it as their own. I + suppose you have not forgotten that.” + </p> + <p> + John Somerville deliberated. Should he deny it or not? He decided to put a + bold face on the matter. + </p> + <p> + “I remember it,” said he, “and now recall your features. How have you + fared since the time I employed you? Have you found your business + profitable?” + </p> + <p> + “Far from it,” answered Peg. “We are not yet able to retire on a + competence.” + </p> + <p> + “One of your youthful appearance,” said Solmerville, banteringly, “ought + not to think of retiring under ten years.” + </p> + <p> + Peg smiled. She knew how to appreciate this speech. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care for compliments,” said she, “even when they are sincere. As + for my youthful appearance, I am old enough to have reached the age of + discretion, and not so old as to have fallen into my second childhood.” + </p> + <p> + “Compliments aside, then, will you proceed to whatever business has + brought you here?” + </p> + <p> + “I want a thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand dollars!” repeated John Somerville. “Very likely, I should + like that amount myself. You have not come here to tell me that?” + </p> + <p> + “I have come here to ask that amount of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I should say that your husband is the proper person for you to + apply to in such a case.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I am more likely to get it out of you,” answered Peg, coolly. “My + husband couldn't supply me with a thousand cents, even if he were willing, + which is not likely.” + </p> + <p> + “Much as I am flattered by your application,” said Somerville, “since it + would seem to place me next in your estimation to your husband, I cannot + help suggesting that it is not usual to bestow such a sum on a stranger, + or even a friend, without an equivalent rendered.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready to give you an equivalent.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what value?” + </p> + <p> + “I am willing to be silent.” + </p> + <p> + “And how can your silence benefit me?” + </p> + <p> + John Somerville asked this question with an assumption of indifference, + but his fingers twitched nervously. + </p> + <p> + “That <i>you</i> will be best able to estimate,” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + “Explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I can do that in a few words. You employed me to kidnap a child. I + believe the law has something to say about that. At any rate, the child's + mother may have.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about the child's mother?” demanded Somerville, hastily. + </p> + <p> + “All about her!” returned Peg, emphatically. + </p> + <p> + “How am I to know that? It is easy to claim the knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you all? In the first place she married your cousin, <i>after + rejecting you</i>. You never forgave her for this. When a year after + marriage her husband died, you renewed your proposals. They were rejected, + and you were forbidden to renew the subject on pain of forfeiting her + friendship forever. You left her presence, determined to be revenged. With + this object you sought Dick and myself, and employed us to kidnap the + child. There is the whole story, briefly told.” + </p> + <p> + John Somerville listened, with compressed lips and pale face. + </p> + <p> + “Woman, how came this within your knowledge?” he demanded, coarsely. + </p> + <p> + “That is of no consequence,” said Peg. “It was for my interest to find + out, and I did so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I know one thing more—the residence of the child's mother. I + hesitated this morning whether to come here, or carry Ida to her mother, + trusting to her to repay from gratitude what I demand from you, because it + is your interest to comply with my request.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak of carrying the child to her mother. She is in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” said Peg, coolly. “She is in Philadelphia.” + </p> + <p> + “With you?” + </p> + <p> + “With me.” + </p> + <p> + “How long has this been?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly a fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + John Somerville paced the room with hurried steps. Peg watched him + carelessly. She felt that she had succeeded. He paused after awhile, and + stood before her. + </p> + <p> + “You demand a thousand dollars,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not that amount with me. I have recently lost a heavy sum, no + matter how. But I can probably get it to-day. Call to-morrow at this time,—no, + in the afternoon, and I will see what I can do for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + Left to himself, John Somerville spent some time in reflection. + Difficulties encompassed him—difficulties from which he found it + hard to find a way of escape. He knew how impossible it would be to meet + this woman's demand. Something must be done. Gradually his countenance + lightened. He had decided what that something should be. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAW STEPS IN. + </h2> + <p> + WHEN Peg left Mr. John Somerville's apartment, it was with a high degree + of satisfaction at the result of her interview. She looked upon the + thousand dollars as sure to be hers. The considerations which she had + urged would, she was sure, induce him to make every effort to secure her + silence. With a thousand dollars, what might not be done? She would + withdraw from the coining-business, for one thing. It was too hazardous. + Why might not Dick and she retire to the country, lease a country-inn, and + live an honest life hereafter. There were times when she grew tired of the + life she lived at present. It would be pleasant to go to some place where + she was not known, and enrol herself among the respectable members of the + community. She was growing old; she wanted rest and a quiet home. Her + early years had been passed in the country. She remembered still the green + fields in which she played as a child, and to this woman, old and + sin-stained, there came a yearning to have that life return. + </p> + <p> + It occurred to her to look in upon Jack, whom she had left in captivity + four days before. She had a curiosity to see how he bore his confinement. + </p> + <p> + She knocked at the door, and was admitted by the old man who kept the + house. Mr. Foley was looking older and more wrinkled than ever. He had + been disturbed of his rest the night previous, he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Peg, “and how is our prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul,” said Mr. Foley, “I haven't been to give him his breakfast + this morning. He must be hungry. But my head is in such a state. However, + I think I've secured him.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I have asked him to become one of us,—he's a bold lad,—and he + has promised to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not to be trusted,” said Peg, hastily. + </p> + <p> + “You think not?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the old man, “I suppose you know him better than I do. But + he's a bold lad.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to go up and see him,” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute, and I will carry up his breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + The old man soon reappeared from the basement with some cold meat and + bread and butter. + </p> + <p> + “You may go up first,” he said; “you are younger than I am.” + </p> + <p> + They reached the landing. + </p> + <p> + “What's all this?” demanded Peg, her quick eyes detecting the aperture in + the door. + </p> + <p> + “What's what?” asked Foley. + </p> + <p> + “Is this the care you take of your prisoners?” demanded Peg, sharply. “It + looks as if he had escaped.” + </p> + <p> + “Escaped! Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so. Open the door quick.” + </p> + <p> + The door was opened, and the two hastily entered. + </p> + <p> + “The bird is flown,” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + “I—I don't understand it,” said the old man, turning pale. + </p> + <p> + “I do. He has cut a hole in the door, slipped back the bolt, and escaped. + When could this have happened?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Yes, I do remember, now, being disturbed last night by a + noise in the entry. I got out of bed, and looked out, but could see no + one.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you come up-stairs?” + </p> + <p> + “Part way.” + </p> + <p> + “When was this?” + </p> + <p> + “Past midnight.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt that was the time he escaped.” + </p> + <p> + “That accounts for the door being locked,” said the old man, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “What door?” + </p> + <p> + “The outer door. When I got up this morning, I found the key had + disappeared, and the door was locked. Luckily we had an extra key, and so + opened it.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably he carried off the other in his pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, he is a bold lad,—a bold lad,” said Foley. + </p> + <p> + “You may find that out to your cost. He'll be likely to bring the police + about your ears.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” said the old man, in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “I think it more than probable.” + </p> + <p> + “But he don't know the house,” said Foley, in a tone of reassurance. “It + was dark when he left here, and he will not be apt to find it again.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not, but he will be likely to know you when he sees you again. I + advise you to keep pretty close.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly shall,” said the old man, evidently alarmed by this + suggestion. “What a pity that such a bold lad shouldn't be in our + business!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'll wish yourself out of it before long,” muttered Peg. + </p> + <p> + As if in corroboration of her words, there was a sharp ring at the + door-bell. + </p> + <p> + The old man, who was constitutionally timid, turned pale, and looked + helplessly at his companion. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked, apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “Go and see.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't dare to.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a coward,” said Peg, contemptuously. “Then I'll go.” + </p> + <p> + She went down stairs, followed by the old man. She threw open the street + door, but even her courage was somewhat daunted by the sight of two police + officers, accompanied by Jack. + </p> + <p> + “That's the man,” said Jack, pointing out Foley, who tried to conceal + himself behind Mrs. Hardwick's more ample proportions. + </p> + <p> + “I have a warrant for your arrest,” said one of the officers, advancing to + Foley. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, spare me,” he said, clasping his hands. “What have I done?” + </p> + <p> + “You are charged with uttering counterfeit coin. + </p> + <p> + “I am innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are, that will come out on your trial.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I have to be tried?” he asked, piteously. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. If you are innocent, no harm will come to you.” + </p> + <p> + Peg had been standing still, irresolute what to do. Determined upon a bold + step, she made a movement to pass the officers. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” said Jack. “I call upon you to arrest that woman. She is the Mrs. + Hardwick against whom you have a warrant.” + </p> + <p> + “What is all this for?” demanded Peg, haughtily. “What right have you to + interfere with me?” + </p> + <p> + “That will be made known to you in due time. You are suspected of being + implicated with this man.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must yield,” said Peg, sulkily. “But perhaps you, young sir,” + turning to Jack, “may not be the gainer by it.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Ida?” asked Jack, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “She is safe,” said Peg, sententiously. + </p> + <p> + “You won't tell me where she is?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Why should I? I am indebted to you, I suppose, for this arrest. She + shall be kept out of your way as long as it is in my power to do so.” + </p> + <p> + Jack's countenance fell. + </p> + <p> + “At least you will tell me whether she is well?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall answer no questions whatever,” said Mrs. Hardwick. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will find her,” he said, gaining courage. “She is somewhere in the + city, and sooner or later I shall find her.” + </p> + <p> + Peg was not one to betray her feelings, but this arrest was a great + disappointment to her. Apart from the consequences which might result from + it, it would prevent her meeting with John Somerville, and obtaining from + him the thousand dollars of which she had regarded herself certain. Yet + even from her prison-cell she might hold over him <i>in terrorem</i> the + threat of making known to Ida's mother the secret of her child's + existence. All was not lost. She walked quietly to the carriage in + waiting, while her companions, in an ecstasy of terror, seemed to have + lost the power of locomotion, and had to be supported on either side. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. “THE FLOWER-GIRL.” + </h2> + <p> + “BY gracious, if that isn't Ida!” exclaimed Jack, in profound surprise. + </p> + <p> + He had been sauntering along Chestnut Street, listlessly, troubled by the + thought that though he had given Mrs. Hardwick into custody, he was + apparently no nearer the discovery of his foster-sister than before. What + steps should he take to find her? He could not decide. In his perplexity + he came suddenly upon the print of the “Flower-Girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said he, “that is Ida, plain enough. Perhaps they will know in the + store where she is to be found.” + </p> + <p> + He at once entered the store. + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me anything about the girl that picture was taken for?” he + asked, abruptly of the nearest clerk. + </p> + <p> + The clerk smiled. + </p> + <p> + “It is a fancy picture,” he said. “I think it would take you a long time + to find the original.” + </p> + <p> + “It has taken a long time,” said Jack. “But you are mistaken. It is the + picture of my sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Of your sister!” repeated the clerk, with surprise, half incredulous. + </p> + <p> + There was some reason for his incredulity. Jack was a stout, good-looking + boy, with a pleasant face; but Ida's beauty was of a delicate, refined + type, which argued gentle birth,—her skin of a brilliant whiteness, + dashed by a tinge of rose,—exhibiting a physical perfection, which + it requires several generations of refined habits and exemptions from the + coarser burdens of life to produce. The perfection of human development is + not wholly a matter of chance, but is dependent, in no small degree, upon + outward conditions. We frequently see families who have sprung from + poverty to wealth exhibiting, in the younger branches, marked improvement + in this respect. + </p> + <p> + “Yes;” said Jack, “my sister.” + </p> + <p> + “If it is your sister,” said the clerk, “you ought to know where she is.” + </p> + <p> + Jack was about to reply, when the attention of both was called by a + surprised exclamation from a lady who had paused beside them. Her eyes, + also, were fixed upon “The Flower-Girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is this?” she asked, hurriedly. “Is it taken from life?” + </p> + <p> + “This young man says it is his sister,” said the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Your sister!” said the lady, her eyes bent, inquiringly, upon Jack. In + her tone, too, there was a slight mingling of surprise, and, as it seemed, + disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam,” said Jack, respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” she said, “there is so little family resemblance, I should + hardly have supposed it.” + </p> + <p> + “She is not my own sister,” said Jack, “but I love her just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you live in (sic) Philadelphia? Could I see her?” asked the lady, + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I live in New York, madam,” said Jack; “but Ida was stolen from us nearly + a fortnight since, and I have come here in pursuit of her. I have not been + able to find her yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say her name was Ida?” demanded the lady, in strange agitation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “My young friend,” said the lady, rapidly, “I have been much interested in + the story of your sister. I should like to hear more, but not here. Would + you have any objection to coming home with me, and telling me the rest? + Then we will, together, concert measures for discovering her.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, madam,” said Jack, somewhat bashfully; for the lady + was elegantly dressed, and it had never been his fortune to converse with + many ladies of her rank; “I shall be very much obliged to you for your + advice and assistance.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we will drive home at once.” + </p> + <p> + Jack followed her to the street, where he saw an elegant carriage, and a + coachman in livery. + </p> + <p> + With natural gallantry, Jack assisted the lady into the carriage, and, at + her bidding, got in himself. + </p> + <p> + “Home, Thomas!” she directed the driver; “and drive as fast as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “How old was your sister when your parents adopted her?” asked Mrs. + Clifton. Jack afterwards ascertained that this was her name. + </p> + <p> + “About a year old, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “And how long since was it?” asked the lady, bending forward with + breathless interest. + </p> + <p> + “Eight years since. She is now nine.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be,” said the lady, in a low voice. “If it is indeed so, how will + my life be blessed!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you speak, madam?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me under what circumstances your family adopted Ida.” + </p> + <p> + Jack related, briefly, the circumstances, which are already familiar to + the reader. + </p> + <p> + “And do you recollect the month in which this happened?” + </p> + <p> + “It was at the close of December, the night before New Years.” + </p> + <p> + “It is—it must be she!” ejaculated the lady, clasping her hands + while tears of happy joy welled from her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I—I do not understand,” said Jack. + </p> + <p> + “My young friend, our meeting this morning seems providential. I have + every reason to believe that this child—your adopted sister—is + my daughter, stolen from me by an unknown enemy at the time of which you + speak. From that day to this I have never been able to obtain the + slightest clew that might lead to her discovery. I have long taught myself + to look upon her as dead.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Jack's turn to be surprised. He looked at the lady beside him. She + was barely thirty. The beauty of her girlhood had ripened into the maturer + beauty of womanhood. There was the same dazzling complexion—the same + soft flush upon the cheeks. The eyes, too, were wonderfully like Ida's. + Jack looked, and what he saw convinced him. + </p> + <p> + “You must be right,” he said. “Ida is very much like you.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” said Mrs. Clifton, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “I had a picture—a daguerreotype—taken of Ida just before I + lost her. I have treasured it carefully. I must show it to you.” + </p> + <p> + The carriage stopped before a stately mansion in a wide and quiet street. + The driver dismounted, and opened the door. Jack assisted Mrs. Clifton to + alight. + </p> + <p> + Bashfully, he followed the lady up the steps, and, at her bidding, seated + himself in an elegant apartment, furnished with a splendor which excited + his wonder. He had little time to look about him, for Mrs. Clifton, + without pausing to take off her street-attire, hastened down stairs with + an open daguerreotype in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Can you remember Ida when she was brought to your house?” she asked. “Did + she look like this?” + </p> + <p> + “It is her image,” said Jack, decidedly. “I should know it anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there can be no further doubt,” said Mrs. Clifton. “It is my child + whom you have cared for so long. Oh, why could I not have known it? How + many sleepless nights and lonely days would it have spared me! But God be + thanked for this late blessing! Pardon me, I have not yet asked your + name.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Crump—Jack Crump.” + </p> + <p> + “Jack?” said the lady, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam; that is what they call me. It would not seem natural to be + called by another.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Mrs. Clifton, with a smile which went to Jack's heart at + once, and made him think her, if anything, more beautiful than Ida; “as + Ida is your adopted sister, that makes us connected in some way, doesn't + it? I won't call you Mr. Crump, for that would seem too formal. I will + call you Jack.” + </p> + <p> + To be called Jack by such a beautiful lady, who every day of her life was + accustomed to live in a state which he thought could not be exceeded, even + by royal state, almost upset our hero. Had Mrs. Clifton been Queen + Victoria herself, he could not have felt a profounder respect and + veneration for her than he did already. + </p> + <p> + “Now Jack,” said Mrs. Clifton, “we must take measures immediately to + discover Ida. I want you to tell me about her disappearance from your + house, and what steps you have taken thus far towards finding her out.” + </p> + <p> + Jack began at the beginning, and described the appearance of Mrs. + Hardwick; how she had been permitted to carry Ida away under false + representations, and the manner in which he had tracked her to + Philadelphia. He spoke finally of her arrest, and her obstinate refusal to + impart any information as to Ida's whereabouts. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifton listened attentively and anxiously. There were more + difficulties in the way than she had supposed. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think of any plan, Jack?” she asked, at length. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam,” said our hero. “The man who painted the picture of Ida may + know where she is to be found.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said the lady. “I should have thought of it before. I + will order the carriage again instantly, and we will at once go back to + the print-store.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later, Henry Bowen was surprised by the visit of an elegant lady + to his studio, accompanied by a young man of eighteen. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are the artist who designed 'The Flower-Girl,'” said Mrs. + Clifton. + </p> + <p> + “I am, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “It was taken from life?” + </p> + <p> + “You are right.” + </p> + <p> + “I am anxious to find out the little girl whose face you copied. Can you + give me any directions that will enable me to find her out?” + </p> + <p> + “I will accompany you to the place, if you desire it, madam,” said the + young man. “It is a strange neighborhood to look for so much beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be deeply indebted to you if you will oblige me so far,” said the + lady. “My carriage is below, and my coachman will obey your orders.” + </p> + <p> + Once more they were on the move. A few minutes later, and the carriage + paused. The driver opened the door. He was evidently quite scandalized at + the idea of bringing his lady to such a place. + </p> + <p> + “This can't be the place, madam,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the artist. “Do not get out, madam. I will go in, and find out + all that is needful.” + </p> + <p> + Two minutes later he returned, looking disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “We are too late,” he said. “An hour since a gentleman called, and took + away the child.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifton sank back, in keen disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “My child, my child!” she murmured. “Shall I ever see thee again?” + </p> + <p> + Jack, too, felt more disappointed than he was willing to acknowledge. He + could not conjecture who this gentleman could be who had carried away Ida. + The affair seemed darker and more complicated than ever. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. IDA IS FOUND. + </h2> + <p> + IDA was sitting alone in the dreary apartment which she was now obliged to + call home. Peg had gone out, and not feeling quite certain of her prey, + had bolted the door on the outside. She had left some work for the child,—some + handkerchiefs to hem for Dick,—with strict orders to keep steadily + at work. + </p> + <p> + While seated at work, she was aroused from thoughts of home by a knock at + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Who's there?” asked Ida. + </p> + <p> + “A friend,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hardwick—Peg isn't at home,” returned Ida. “I don't know when + she will be back.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will come in and wait till she comes back,” said the voice + outside. + </p> + <p> + “I can't open the door,” said Ida. “It's fastened on the outside.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see. Then I will take the liberty to draw the bolt.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. John Somerville entered the room, and for the first time in eight + years his glance fell upon the child whom, for so long a time, he had + defrauded of a mother's care and tenderness. + </p> + <p> + Ida returned to the window. + </p> + <p> + “How beautiful she is!” thought Somerville, with surprise. “She inherits + all her mother's rare beauty.” + </p> + <p> + On the table beside Ida was a drawing. + </p> + <p> + “Whose is this?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Mine,” answered Ida. + </p> + <p> + “So you have learned to draw?” + </p> + <p> + “A little,” answered the child, modestly. + </p> + <p> + “Who taught you? Not the woman you live with?” + </p> + <p> + “No;” said Ida. + </p> + <p> + “You have not always lived with her, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + Ida admitted that she had not. + </p> + <p> + “You lived in New York with a family named Crump, did you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know father and mother?” asked Ida, with sudden hope. “Did they + send you for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you that by and by, my child; but I want to ask you a few + questions first. Why does this woman Peg lock you in whenever she goes + away?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Ida, “she is afraid I will run away.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she knows you don't want to live with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, she knows that,” said the child, frankly. “I have asked her to + send me home, but she says she won't for a year.” + </p> + <p> + “And how long have you been with her?” + </p> + <p> + “About a fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she make you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell what she made me do first.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because she would be very angry.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I should tell you that I would deliver you from her. Would you be + willing to go with me?” + </p> + <p> + “And you would carry me back to my mother and father?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I would restore you to your mother,” said he, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will go with you.” + </p> + <p> + Ida ran quickly to get her bonnet and shawl. + </p> + <p> + “We had better go at once,” said Somerville. “Peg might return, and give + us trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “O yes, let us go quickly,” said Ida, turning pale at the remembered + threats of Peg. + </p> + <p> + Neither knew yet that Peg could not return if she would; that, at this + very moment, she was in legal custody on a charge of a serious nature. + Still less did Ida know that, in going, she was losing the chance of + seeing Jack and her mother, of whose existence, even, she was not yet + aware; and that he, to whose care she consigned herself so gladly, had + been her worst enemy. + </p> + <p> + “I will carry you to my room, in the first place,” said her companion. + “You must remain in concealment for a day or two, as Peg will, + undoubtedly, be on the lookout for you, and we want to avoid all trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Ida was delighted with her escape, and, with the hope of soon seeing her + friends in New York, She put implicit faith in her guide, and was willing + to submit to any conditions which he might impose. + </p> + <p> + On emerging into the street, her companion summoned a cab. He had reasons + for not wishing to encounter any one whom he knew. + </p> + <p> + At length they reached his lodgings. + </p> + <p> + They were furnished more richly than any room Ida had yet seen; and + formed, indeed, a luxurious contrast to the dark and scantily-furnished + apartment which she had occupied for the last fortnight. + </p> + <p> + “Well, are you glad to get away from Peg?” asked John Somerville, giving + Ida a seat at the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>so</i> glad!” said Ida. + </p> + <p> + “And you wouldn't care about going back?” + </p> + <p> + The child shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said she, “that Peg will be very angry. She would beat me, if + she should get me back again.” + </p> + <p> + “But she sha'n't. I will take good care of that.” + </p> + <p> + Ida looked her gratitude. Her heart went out to those who appeared to deal + kindly with her, and she felt very grateful to her companion for his + instrumentality in effecting her deliverance from Peg. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Somerville, “perhaps you will be willing to tell me what it + was you were required to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ida; “but she must never know that I told. It was to pass bad + money.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” exclaimed her companion. “Do you mean bad bills, or spurious coin?” + </p> + <p> + “It was silver dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she do much in that way?” + </p> + <p> + “A good deal. She goes out every day to buy things with the money.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to learn this,” said John Somerville, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Ida,” said he, after a pause, “I am going out for a time. You will find + books on the table, and can amuse yourself by reading; I won't make you + sew, as Peg did,” he said, smiling. + </p> + <p> + Ida laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said she, “I like reading. I shall amuse myself very well.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Somerville went out, and Ida, as he recommended, read awhile. Then, + growing tired, she went to the window and looked out. A carriage was + passing slowly, on account of a press of carriages. Ida saw a face that + she knew. Forgetting her bonnet in her sudden joy, she ran down the + stairs, into the street, and up to the carriage window. + </p> + <p> + “O Jack!” she exclaimed; “have you come for me?” + </p> + <p> + It was Mrs. Clifton's carriage, returning from Peg's lodgings. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's Ida!” exclaimed Jack, almost springing through the window of + the carriage. “Where did you come from, and where have you been all the + time?” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door of the carriage, and drew Ida in. + </p> + <p> + Till then she had not seen the lady who sat at Jack's side. + </p> + <p> + “My child, my child! Thank God, you are restored to me,” exclaimed Mrs. + Clifton. + </p> + <p> + She drew the astonished child to her bosom. Ida looked up into her face. + Was it Nature that prompted her to return the lady's embrace? + </p> + <p> + “My God, I thank thee!” murmured Mrs. Clifton; “for this, my child, was + lost and is found.” + </p> + <p> + “Ida,” said Jack, “this lady is your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother!” said the child, bewildered. “Have I two mothers?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but this is your real mother. You were brought to our house when you + were an infant, and we have always taken care of you; but this lady is + your real mother.” + </p> + <p> + Ida hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry. + </p> + <p> + “And you are not my brother?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall still consider him your brother, Ida,” said Mrs. Clifton. + “Heaven forbid that I should wean your heart from the friends who have + cared so kindly for you! You shall keep all your old friends, and love + them as dearly as ever. You will only have one friend the more.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” asked Ida, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “We are going home.” + </p> + <p> + “What will the gentleman say?” + </p> + <p> + “What gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “The one that took me away from Peg's. Why, there he is now!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifton followed the direction of Ida's finger, as she pointed to a + gentleman passing. + </p> + <p> + “Is he the one?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mamma,” said Ida, shyly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifton pressed Ida to her breast. It was the first time she had ever + been called mamma. It made her realize, more fully, her present happiness. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the house, Jack's bashfulness returned. He hung back, and + hesitated about going in. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifton observed this. + </p> + <p> + “Jack,” said she, “this house is to be your home while you remain in + Philadelphia. Come in, and Thomas shall go for your baggage.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I had better go with him,” said Jack. “Uncle Abel will be glad to + know that Ida is found.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; only return soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” thought Jack, as he re-entered the carriage, and gave the + direction to the coachman; “won't Uncle Abel be a little surprised when he + sees me coming home in such style!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. “NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND.” + </h2> + <p> + MEANWHILE, Peg was passing her time wearily enough in prison. It was + certainly provoking to be deprived of her freedom just when she was likely + to make it most profitable. After some reflection, she determined to send + for Mrs. Clifton, and reveal to her all she knew, trusting to her + generosity for a recompense. + </p> + <p> + To one of the officers of the prison she communicated the intelligence + that she had an important revelation to make to Mrs. Clifton, and + absolutely refused to make it unless the lady would visit her in prison. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had Mrs. Clifton returned home, after recovering her child, than + the bell rang, and a stranger was introduced. + </p> + <p> + “Is this Mrs. Clifton?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “It is.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I have a message for you.” + </p> + <p> + The lady inclined her head. + </p> + <p> + “You must know, madam, that I am one of the officers connected with the + City Prison. A woman was placed in confinement this morning, who says she + has a most important communication to make to you, but declines to make it + except to you in person.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you bring her here, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “That is impossible. We will give you every facility, however, for + visiting her in prison.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be Peg,” whispered Ida; “the woman that carried me off.” + </p> + <p> + Such a request Mrs. Clifton could not refuse. She at once made ready to + accompany the officer. She resolved to carry Ida with her, fearful that, + unless she kept her in her immediate presence, she might disappear again + as before. + </p> + <p> + As Jack had not yet returned, a hack was summoned, and they proceeded at + once to the prison. Ida shuddered as she passed beneath the gloomy portal + which shut out hope and the world from so many. + </p> + <p> + “This way, madam!” + </p> + <p> + They followed the officer through a gloomy corridor, until they came to + the cell in which Peg was confined. + </p> + <p> + The tenant of the cell looked surprised to find Mrs. Clifton accompanied + by Ida. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Ida?” she said, smiling grimly; “you see I've moved. Just + tell your mother she can sit down on the bed. I'm sorry I haven't any + rocking-chair or sofa to offer you.” + </p> + <p> + “O Peg,” said Ida, her tender heart melted by the woman's misfortunes; + “how sorry I am to find you here!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sorry?” asked Peg, looking at her in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't much cause to be. I've been your worst enemy, or one of the + worst.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it,” said the child, her face beaming with a divine + compassion; “it must be so sad to be shut up here, and not be able to go + out into the bright sunshine. I do pity you.” + </p> + <p> + Peg's heart was not wholly hardened. Few are. But it was long since it had + been touched as it was now by this great pity on the part of one she had + injured. + </p> + <p> + “You're a good girl, Ida,” she said; “and I'm sorry I've injured you. I + didn't think I should ever ask forgiveness of anybody; but I do ask your + forgiveness.” + </p> + <p> + The child rose, and advancing towards Peg, took her large hand in (sic) + her's and said, “I forgive you, Peg.” + </p> + <p> + “From your heart?” + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, child. I feel better now. There have been times when I thought + I should like to lead a better life.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not too late now, Peg.” + </p> + <p> + Peg shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Who will trust me after I have come from here?” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” said Mrs. Clifton, speaking for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “You will?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you have much to forgive. But it was not my plan to steal your + daughter from you. I was poor, and money tempted me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who could have had an interest in doing me this cruel wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “One whom you know well,—Mr. John Somerville.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, you are wrong!” exclaimed Mrs. Clifton, in unbounded + astonishment. “It cannot be. What object could he have had?” + </p> + <p> + “Can you think of none?” queried Peg, looking at her shrewdly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifton changed color. “Perhaps so,” she said. “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + Peg told the whole story, so circumstantially, that there was no room left + for doubt. + </p> + <p> + “I did not believe him capable of such wickedness,” she ejaculated. “It + was a base, unmanly revenge. How could you lend yourself to it?” + </p> + <p> + “How could I?” repeated Peg. “Madam, you are rich. You have always had + whatever wealth could procure. How can you understand the temptations of + the poor? When want and hunger stare us in the face, we have not the + strength to resist that you have in your luxurious homes.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said Mrs. Clifton, touched by these words, half bitter, half + pathetic; “let me, at any rate, thank you for the service you have done me + now. When you are released from your confinement, come to me. If you wish + to change your mode of life and live honestly henceforth, I will give you + the chance.” + </p> + <p> + “You will!” said Peg, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “After all the injury I have done you, you will trust me still?” + </p> + <p> + “Who am I that I should condemn you? Yes, I will trust you, and forgive + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I never expected to hear such words,” said Peg, her heart softened, and + her arid eyes moistened by unwonted emotion, “least of all from you. I + should like to ask one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you let her come and see me sometimes?” she pointed to Ida as she + spoke; “it will remind me that this is not all a dream—these words + which you have spoken.” + </p> + <p> + “She shall come,” said Mrs. Clifton, “and I will come too, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + They left the prison behind them, and returned home. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Somerville is in the drawing-room,” said the servant. “He wishes to + see you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifton's face flushed. + </p> + <p> + “I will go down,” she said. “Ida, you will remain here.” + </p> + <p> + She descended to the drawing-room, and met the man who had injured her. He + had come with the resolve to stake his all upon a single cast. His + fortunes were desperate. Through the mother's love for the daughter whom + she had mourned so long, whom, as he believed he had it in his power to + restore to her, he hoped to obtain her consent to a marriage, which would + retrieve his fortunes, and gratify his ambition. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifton seated herself quietly. She did not, as usual, offer him her + hand. Full of his own plans, he did not notice this omission. + </p> + <p> + “How long is it since Ida was lost?” inquired Somerville. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifton started in some surprise. She had not expected him to + introduce this subject. + </p> + <p> + “Eight years,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And you believe she yet lives?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am certain of it.” + </p> + <p> + John Somerville did not understand her aright. He felt only that a mother + never gives up hope. + </p> + <p> + “Yet it is a long time,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It is—a long time to suffer,” she said. “How could any one have the + heart to work me this great injury? For eight years I have led a sad and + solitary life,—years that might have been made glad by Ida's + presence.” + </p> + <p> + There was something in her tone which puzzled John Somerville, but he was + far enough from suspecting the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Rose,” he said, after a pause. “Do you love your child well enough to + make a sacrifice for the sake of recovering her?” + </p> + <p> + “What sacrifice?” she asked, fixing her eyes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “A sacrifice of your feelings.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain. You talk in enigmas.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, then. I, too, believe Ida to be living. Withdraw the opposition + you have twice made to my suit, promise me that you will reward my + affection by your land if I succeed, and I will devote myself to the + search for Ida, resting day nor night till I am able to place her in your + arms. Then, if I succeed, may I claim my reward?” + </p> + <p> + “What reason have you for thinking you should find her?” asked Mrs. + Clifton, with the same inexplicable manner. + </p> + <p> + “I think I have got a clew.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you not generous enough to exert yourself without demanding of me + this sacrifice?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Rose,” he said, “I am not unselfish enough.” + </p> + <p> + “But, consider a moment. Will not even that be poor atonement enough for + the wrong you have done me,”—she spoke rapidly now,—“for the + grief and loneliness and sorrow which your wickedness and cruelty have + wrought?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand you,” he said, turning pale. + </p> + <p> + “It is enough to say that I have seen the woman who is now in prison,—your + paid agent,—and that I need no assistance to recover Ida. She is in + my house.” + </p> + <p> + What more could be said? + </p> + <p> + John Somerville rose, and left the room. His grand scheme had failed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. CONCLUSION. + </h2> + <p> + “I AM beginning to feel anxious about Jack,” said Mrs. Crump. “It's almost + a week since we heard from him. I'm afraid he's got into some trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably he's too busy to write,” said the cooper. + </p> + <p> + “I told you so,” said Rachel, in one of her usual fits of depression. “I + told you Jack wasn't fit to be sent on such an errand. If you'd only taken + my advice, you wouldn't have had so much worry and trouble about him now. + Most likely he's got into the House of Reformation, or somewhere. I knew a + young man once who went away from home, and never came back again. Nobody + ever knew what became of him till his body was found in the river, + half-eaten by fishes.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you talk so, Rachel?” said Mrs. Crump, indignantly; “and of your + own nephew, too!” + </p> + <p> + “This is a world of trial and disappointment,” said Rachel; “and we might + as well expect the worst, because it's sure to come.” + </p> + <p> + “At that rate there wouldn't be much joy in life,” said the cooper. “No, + Rachel, you are wrong. God didn't send us into the world to be melancholy. + He wants us to enjoy ourselves. Now I have no idea that Jack has jumped + into the river. Then again, if he has, he can swim.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Rachel, “you expect him to come home in a coach and + four, bringing Ida with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the cooper, good-humoredly, “I don't know but that is as + probable as your anticipations.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel shook her head dismally. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “O mother!” she exclaimed; “how glad I am to see you once more.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'm so glad to sec you all, and Aunt Rachel, too.” + </p> + <p> + To her astonishment, Aunt Rachel, for the first time in the child's + remembrance, kissed her. There was nothing wanting to her welcome home. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had the spinster done so than her observant eyes detected what + had escaped the cooper and his wife, in their joy. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get this dress, Ida?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Then, for the first time, all observed that Ida was more elegantly dressed + than when she went away. She looked like a young princess. + </p> + <p> + “That Mrs. Hardwick didn't give you this gown, I'll be bound,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've so much to tell you,” said Ida, breathlessly. “I've found my + mother,—my other mother!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Crump,” said Mrs. Clifton, “how can I ever thank you for your care + of my child?” + </p> + <p> + My child! + </p> + <p> + It was hard for Mrs. Crump to hear another speak of Ida in this way. + </p> + <p> + “I have tried to do my duty by her,” she said, simply; “I love her so + much.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you live in Philadelphia. We shall lose sight of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless you refuse to come to Philadelphia, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure whether I could find work there.” + </p> + <p> + “That shall be my care. I have another inducement. God has bestowed upon + me a large share of this world's goods. I am thankful for it, since it + will enable me in some slight way to express my sense of your great + services to Ida. I own a neat brick house in a quiet street, which you + will find more comfortable than this. Just before I left Philadelphia my + lawyer drew up a deed of gift, conveying the house to you. It is Ida's + gift, not mine. Ida, give this to Mr. Crump.” + </p> + <p> + The child took the parchment, and handed it to the cooper, who was + bewildered by his sudden good fortune. + </p> + <p> + “This for me?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It is the first installment of my debt of gratitude; it shall not be the + last,” said Mrs. Clifton. + </p> + <p> + “How shall I thank you, madam?” said the cooper. “To a poor man this is, + indeed, an acceptable gift.” + </p> + <p> + “By accepting it,” said Mrs. Clifton. “Let me add, for I know it will + enhance the value of the gift in your eyes, that it is only five minutes' + walk from my own house, and Ida will come and see you every day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mamma,” said Ida; “I couldn't be happy away from father and mother + and Jack, and Aunt Rachel.” + </p> + <p> + “You must introduce me to your Aunt Rachel,” said Mrs. Clifton, with a + grace all her own. + </p> + <p> + Ida did so. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Rachel,” said Mrs. Clifton. “I + need not say that I shall be glad to see you, as well as Mr. and Mrs. + Crump, at my house very frequently.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obleeged to you,” said Aunt Rachel; “but I don't think I shall + live long to go anywhere. The feelin's I have, sometimes warn me that I'm + not long for this world.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, Mrs. Clifton,” said Jack, his eyes dancing with mischief, “we + come of a short-lived family. Grandmother died at eighty-two, and that + wouldn't give Aunt Rachel long to live.” + </p> + <p> + “You impudent boy!” exclaimed Miss Rachel, in great indignation. Then + relapsing into melancholy, “I'm a poor afflicted creetur, and the sooner I + leave this scene of trial the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope,” said Mrs. Clifton, politely, “that you will find the air of + Philadelphia beneficial to your health. Change of air sometimes works + wonders.” + </p> + <p> + In the course of a few weeks the whole family removed to Philadelphia. The + house which Mrs. Clifton had given them, exceeded their anticipations. It + was so much better and larger than their present dwelling, that their + furniture would have shown to great disadvantage in it. But Mrs. Clifton + had foreseen this, and they found the house already furnished for their + reception. Through Mrs. Clifton's influence the cooper was enabled to + establish himself in business on a larger scale, and employ others, + instead of working himself, for hire. Ida was such a frequent visitor, + that it was hard to tell which she considered her home—her mother's + elegant dwelling, or Mrs. Cooper's comfortable home. + </p> + <p> + For Jack, a situation was found in a merchant's counting-room, and he + became a thriving young merchant, being eventually taken into partnership. + Ida grew lovelier as she grew older, and her rare beauty caused her to be + sought after. If she does not marry well and happily, it will not be for + want of an opportunity. + </p> + <p> + Dear reader, you who deem that all stories should end with a marriage, + shall not be disappointed. + </p> + <p> + One day Aunt Rachel was missing from her room. It was remembered that she + had appeared singularly for some days previous, and the knowledge of her + constitutional low spirits, led to the apprehension that she had made way + with herself. The cooper was about to notify the police, when the front + door opened and Rachel walked in. She was accompanied by a short man, + stout and freckled. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Aunt Rachel,” exclaimed Mrs. Crump, “where <i>have</i> you been? We + have been so anxious about you.” + </p> + <p> + A faint flush came to Aunt Rachel's sallow cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Sister Mary,” said she, “you will be surprised, perhaps, but—but + this is my consort. Mr. Smith, let me introduce you to my sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are married, Rachel,” said Mrs. Crump, quite confounded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Rachel; “I—I don't expect to live long, and it won't + make much difference.” + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you, <i>Mrs. Smith</i>,” said Mary Crump, heartily; “and I + wish you a long and happy life, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + It is observed that, since her marriage, Aunt Rachel's fits of depression + are less numerous than before. She has even been seen to smile repeatedly, + and has come to bear, with philosophical equanimity, her nephew Jack's sly + allusions to her elopement. + </p> + <p> + One word more. At the close of her term of confinement, Peg came to Mrs. + Clifton, and reminded her of her promise. Dick was dead, and she was left + alone in the world. Imprisonment had not hardened her as it so often does. + She had been redeemed by the kindness of those she had injured. Mrs. + Clifton secured her a position in which her energy and administrative + ability found fitting exercise, and she leads a laborious and useful life, + in a community where her antecedents are not known. + </p> + <p> + END. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Timothy Crump's Ward, by Horatio Alger + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD *** + +***** This file should be named 4660-h.htm or 4660-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/6/4660/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Timothy Crump's Ward + A Story of American Life + +Author: Horatio Alger + +Release Date: Release Date: November, 2003 [EBook #4660] +Posting Date: February 5, 2010 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + + + + + +TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD: + +A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. + + +By Horatio Alger + +1866. + + + +CONTENTS. + + + I. INTRODUCES THE CRUMPS + II. THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING + III. THE LANDLORD'S VISIT + IV. THE NEW YEAR'S PRESENT + V. A LUCKY RESCUE + VI. WHAT THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED + VII. EIGHT YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS + VIII. A STRANGE VISITOR + IX. A JOURNEY + X. UNEXPECTED QUARTERS + XI. SUSPENSE + XII. HOW IDA FARED + XIII. BAD COIN + XIV. DOUBTS AND FEARS + XV. AUNT RACHEL'S MISHAPS + XVI. THE FLOWER-GIRL + XVII. JACK OBTAINS INFORMATION + XVIII. FINESSE + XIX. CAUGHT IN A TRAP + XX. JACK IN CONFINEMENT + XXI. THE PRISONER ESCAPES + XXII. MR. JOHN SOMERVILLE + XXIII. THE LAW STEPS IN + XXIV. "THE FLOWER-GIRL" + XXV. IDA IS FOUND + XXVI. "NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND" + XXVII. CONCLUSION + + + + + +TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD. + + + +CHAPTER I. INTRODUCES THE CRUMPS. + + + +IT was drawing towards the close of the last day of the year. A few +hours more, and 1836 would be no more. + +It was a cold day. There was no snow on the ground, but it was frozen +into stiff ridges, making it uncomfortable to walk upon. The sun had +been out all day, but there was little heat or comfort in its bright, +but frosty beams. + +The winter is a hard season for the poor. It multiplies their +necessities, while, in general, it limits their means and opportunities +of earning. The winter of 1836-37 was far from being an exception to +this rule. It was worse than usual, on account of the general stagnation +of business. + +In an humble tenement, located on what was then the outskirts of New +York, though to-day a granite warehouse stands on the spot, lived +Timothy Crump, an industrious cooper. His family consisted of a wife +and one child, a boy of twelve, whose baptismal name was John, though +invariably addressed, by his companions, as Jack. + +There was another member of the household who would be highly offended +if she were not introduced, in due form, to the reader. This was Miss +Rachel Crump, maiden sister of Uncle Tim, as he was usually designated. + +Miss Rachel was not much like her brother, for while the latter was a +good-hearted, cheerful easy man, who was inclined to view the world in +its sunniest aspect, Rachel was cynical, and given to misanthropy. Poor +Rachel, let us not be too hard upon thy infirmities. Could we lift +the veil that hides the secrets of that virgin heart, it might be, +perchance, that we should find a hidden cause, far back in the days when +thy cheeks were rounder and thine eyes brighter, and thine aspect not +quite so frosty. Ah, faithless Harry Fletcher! thou hadst some hand in +that peevishness and repining which make Rachel Crump, and all about +her, uncomfortable. Lured away by a prettier face, you left her to pass +through life, unblessed by that love which every female heart craves, +and for which no kindred love will compensate. It was your faithlessness +that left her to walk, with repining spirit, the flinty path of the old +maid. + +Yes; it must be said--Rachel Crump was an old maid; not from choice, +but hard necessity. And so, one by one, she closed up the avenues of her +heart, and clothed herself with complaining, as with a garment. Being +unblessed with earthly means, she had accepted the hearty invitation +of her brother, and become an inmate of his family, where she paid +her board by little services about the house, and obtained sufficient +needle-work to replenish her wardrobe as often as there was occasion. +Forty-five years had now rolled over her head, leaving clearer traces of +their presence, doubtless, than if her spirit had been more cheerful; +so that Rachel, whose strongly marked features never could have been +handsome, was now undeniably homely. + +Mrs. Crump, fortunately for her husband's peace, did not in the least +resemble her sister-in-law. Her disposition was cheerful, and she had +frequent occasion to remonstrate with her upon the dark view she took +of life. Had her temper been different, it is very easy to see that she +would have been continually quarrelling with Rachel; but, happily, she +was one of those women with whom it is impossible to quarrel. With +her broad mantle of charity, she was always seeking to cover up and +extenuate the defects of her sister-in-law, though she could not help +acknowledging their existence. + +It had been a hard winter for the cooper. For a month he had been unable +to obtain work of any kind, and for the two months previous he had +worked scarcely more than half the time. Unfortunately for him, his +expenses for a few years back had kept such even pace with his income, +that he had no reserved fund to fall back upon in such a time as this. +That was no fault of his. Both he and his wife had been economical +enough, but there are a great many things included in family +expenses--rent, fuel, provisions, food, clothing, and a long list of +sundries, besides; and all these had cost money, of which desirable +article Uncle Tim's trade furnished not a very large supply. + +So it happened that, as tradesmen were slow to trust, they had been +obliged to part with a sofa to defray the expenses of the month of +December. This article was selected because it was best convertible into +cash,--being wanted by a neighbor,--besides being about the only article +of luxury, if it could be called such, in possession of the family. As +such it had been hardly used, being reserved for state occasions; yet +hardly had it left (sic) the the house, when Aunt Rachel began to +show signs of extreme lowness of spirits, and bewailed its loss as a +privation of a personal comfort. + +"Life's full of disappointments," she groaned. "Our paths is continually +beset by 'em. There's that sofa! It's so pleasant to have one in the +house when a body's sick. But there, it's gone, and if I happen to get +down, as most likely I shall, for I've got a bad feeling in my stummick +this very minute, I shall have to go up-stairs, and most likely catch my +death of cold, and that will be the end of me." + +"Not so bad as that, I hope," said Mrs. Crump, cheerfully. "You know, +when you was sick last, you didn't want to use the sofa--you said it +didn't lay comfortable. Besides, I hope, before you are sick again we +may be able to buy it back again." + +Aunt Rachel shook her head despondingly. + +"There ain't any use in hoping that," said she. "Timothy's got so much +behindhand that he won't be able to get up again; I know he won't." + +"But if he manages to get steady work soon, he will." + +"No, he won't. I'm sure he won't. There won't be any work before spring, +and most likely not then." + +"You are too desponding, Aunt Rachel." + +"Enough to make me so. If you had only taken my advice, we shouldn't +have come to this." + +"I don't know what advice you refer to, Rachel." + +"No, I don't expect you do. You didn't pay no attention to it. That's +the reason." + +"But if you'll repeat it, perhaps we can profit by it yet," said Mrs. +Crump, with imperturbable good humor. + +"I told you you ought to be layin' up something ag'in a rainy day. But +that's always the way. Folks think when times is good it's always a +goin' to be so, but I knew better." + +"I don't see how we could have been more economical," said Mrs. Crump, +mildly. + +"There's a hundred ways. Poor folks like us ought not to expect to have +meat so often. It's frightful to think what the butcher's bill must have +been the last six months." + +Inconsistent Rachel! Only the day before she had made herself very +uncomfortable because there was no meat for dinner, and said she +couldn't live without it. Mrs. Crump might have reminded her of this, +but the good woman was too kind to make the retort. She contented +herself with saying that they must try to do better in future. + +"That's always the way," muttered Rachel. "Shut the stable door when the +horse is stolen. Folks never learn from experience till it's too late +to be of any use. I don't see what the world was made for, for my part. +Everything goes topsy-turvy, and all sorts of ways except the right way. +I sometimes think 'taint much use livin'." + +"Oh, you'll feel better by and by, Rachel. Hark, there's Jack, isn't +it?" + +"Anybody might know by the noise who it is," pursued Rachel, in the same +general tone that had marked her conversation hitherto. "He always comes +_stomping_ along as if he was paid for makin' a noise. Anybody ought to +have a cast-iron head that lives anywhere in his hearing." + +Her cheerful remarks were here broken in upon by the sudden entrance of +Jack, who, in his eagerness, slammed the door behind him, unheeding his +mother's quiet admonition not to make a noise. + +"Look there!" said he, displaying a quarter of a dollar. + +"How did you get it?" asked his mother. + +"Holding horses," answered Jack. + +"Here, take it, mother. I warrant you'll find a use for it." + +"It comes in good time," said Mrs. Crump. "We're out of flour, and I had +no money to buy any. Before you take off your boots, Jack, why can't you +run over to the store, and get half a dozen pounds?" + +"You see the Lord hasn't quite forgotten us," remarked his mother, as +Jack started on his errand. + +"What's a quarter of a dollar?" said Rachel, gloomily. "Will it carry us +through the winter?" + +"It will carry us through to-night, and perhaps Timothy will have work +to-morrow. Hark, that's his step." + + + +CHAPTER II. THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING. + + + +AT this moment the outer door opened, and Timothy Crump entered, not +with the quick elastic step of one who brings good tidings, but slowly +and deliberately, with a quiet gravity of demeanor, in which his wife +could read only too well that he had failed in his efforts to procure +work. + +His wife, reading all these things in his manner, had the delicacy to +forbear intruding upon him questions to which she saw that he could give +no satisfactory answers. + +Not so Aunt Rachel. + +"I needn't ask," she began, "whether you got work, Timothy. I knew +beforehand you wouldn't. There ain't no use in tryin'. The times is +awful dull, and, mark my words, they'll be wuss before they're better. +We mayn't live to see 'em. I don't expect we shall. Folks can't live +without money, and when that's gone we shall have to starve." + +"Not so bad as that, Rachel," said the cooper, trying to look cheerful; +"don't talk about starving till the time comes. Anyhow," glancing at +the table on which was spread a good plain meal, "we needn't talk about +starving till to-morrow, with that before us. Where's Jack?" + +"Gone after some flour," replied his wife. + +"On credit?" asked the cooper. + +"No, he's got the money to pay for a few pounds," said Mrs. Crump, +smiling, with an air of mystery. + +"Where did it come from?" asked Timothy, who was puzzled, as his wife +anticipated. "I didn't know you had any money in the house." + +"No more we had, but he earned it himself, holding horses, this +afternoon." + +"Come, that's good," said the cooper, cheerfully, "We ain't so bad off +as we might be, you see, Rachel." + +The latter shook her head with the air of a martyr. + +At this moment Jack returned, and the family sat down to supper. + +"You haven't told us," said Mrs. Crump, seeing her husband's +cheerfulness in a measure restored, "what Mr. Blodgett said about the +chances for employment." + +"Not much that was encouraging," answered Timothy. "He isn't at all sure +how soon it will be best to commence work; perhaps not before spring." + +"Didn't I tell you so?" commented Rachel, with sepulchral sadness. + +Even Mr. Crump could not help looking sober. + +"I suppose, Timothy, you haven't formed any plans," she said. + +"No, I haven't had time. I must try to get something else to do." + +"What, for instance?" + +"Anything by which I can earn a little, I don't care if it's only sawing +wood. We shall have to get along as economically as we can; cut our coat +according to our cloth." + +"Oh, you'll be able to earn something, and we can live _very_ plain," +said Mrs. Crump, affecting a cheerfulness greater than she felt. + +"Pity you hadn't done it sooner," was the comforting suggestion of +Rachel. + +"Mustn't cry over spilt milk," said the cooper, good-humoredly. "Perhaps +we might have lived a _leetle_ more economically, but I don't think +we've been extravagant." + +"Besides, I can earn something, father," said Jack, hopefully. "You know +I did this afternoon." + +"So you can," said Mrs. Crump, brightly. + +"There ain't horses to hold every day," said Rachel, apparently fearing +that the family might become too cheerful, when, like herself, it was +their duty to become profoundly gloomy. + +"You're always trying' to discourage people," said Jack, discontentedly. + +Rachel took instant umbrage at these words. + +"I'm sure," said she; mournfully, "I don't want to make you unhappy. If +you can find anything to be cheerful about when you're on the verge of +starvation, I hope you'll enjoy yourselves, and not mind me. I'm a poor +dependent creetur, and I feel to know I'm a burden." + +"Now, Rachel, that's all foolishness," said Uncle Tim. "You don't feel +anything of the kind." + +"Perhaps others can tell how I feel, better than I can myself," answered +his sister, knitting rapidly. "If it hadn't been for me, I know you'd +have been able to lay up money, and have something to carry you through +the winter. It's hard to be a burden upon your relations, and bring a +brother's family to poverty." + +"Don't talk of being a burden, Rachel," said Mrs. Crump. "You've been +a great help to me in many ways. That pair of stockings now you're +knitting for Jack--that's a help, for I couldn't have got time for them +myself." + +"I don't expect," said Aunt Rachel, in the same sunny manner, "that +I shall be able to do it long. From the pains I have in my hands +sometimes, I expect I'm going to lose the use of 'em soon, and be as +useless as old Mrs. Sprague, who for the last ten years of her life had +to sit with her hands folded in her lap. But I wouldn't stay to be a +burden. I'd go to the poor-house first, but perhaps," with the look of +a martyr, "they wouldn't want me there, because I should be discouragin' +'em too much." + +Poor Jack, who had so unwittingly raised this storm, winced under the +words, which he knew were directed at him. + +"Then why," said he, half in extenuation, "why don't you try to look +pleasant and cheerful? Why won't you be jolly, as Tom Piper's aunt is?" + +"I dare say I ain't pleasant," said Aunt Rachel, "as my own nephew tells +me so. There is some folks that can be cheerful when their house is a +burnin' down before their eyes, and I've heard of one young man that +laughed at his aunt's funeral," directing a severe glance at Jack; "but +I'm not one of that kind. I think, with the Scriptures, that there's a +time to weep." + +"Doesn't it say there's a time to laugh, also?" asked Mrs. Crump. + +"When I see anything to laugh about, I'm ready to laugh," said Aunt +Rachel; "but human nature ain't to be forced. I can't see anything to +laugh at now, and perhaps you won't by and by." + +It was evidently of no use to attempt a confutation of this, and the +subject dropped. + +The tea-things were cleared away by Mrs. Crump, who afterwards sat down +to her sewing. Aunt Rachel continued to knit in grim silence, while +Jack seated himself on a three-legged stool near his aunt, and began +to whittle out a boat after a model lent him by Tom Piper, a young +gentleman whose aunt has already been referred to. + +The cooper took out his spectacles, wiped them carefully with his +handkerchief, and as carefully adjusted them to his nose. He then +took down from the mantel-piece one of the few books belonging to his +library,--"Captain Cook's Travels,"--and began to read, for the tenth +time it might be, the record of the gallant sailor's circumnavigations. + +The plain little room presented a picture of peaceful tranquillity, but +it proved to be only the calm which precedes a storm. + +The storm in question, I regret to say, was brought about by the +luckless Jack. As has been said, he was engaged in constructing a boat, +the particular operation he was now intent upon being the excavation or +hollowing out. Now three-legged stools are not the most secure seats +in the world. That, I think, no one can doubt who has any practical +acquaintance with them. Jack was working quite vigorously, the block +from which the boat was to be fashioned being held firmly between his +knees. His knife having got wedged in the wood, he made an unusual +effort to draw it out, in which he lost his balance, and disturbed the +equilibrium of his stool, which, with his load, tumbled over backwards. +Now it very unfortunately happened that Aunt Rachel sat close behind, +and the treacherous stool came down with considerable force upon her +foot. + +A piercing shriek was heard, and Aunt Rachel, lifting her foot, clung to +it convulsively, while an expression of pain distorted her features. + +At the sound, the cooper hastily removed his spectacles, and letting +"Captain Cook" fall to the floor, started up in great dismay--Mrs. Crump +likewise dropped her sewing, and jumped to her feet in alarm. + +It did not take long to see how matters stood. + +"Hurt ye much, Rachel?" inquired Timothy. + +"It's about killed me," groaned the afflicted maiden. "Oh, I shall have +to have my foot cut off, or be a cripple anyway." Then turning upon +Jack, fiercely, "you careless, wicked, ungrateful boy, that I've been +wearin' myself out knittin' for. I'm almost sure you did it a purpose. +You won't be satisfied till you've got me out of the world, and +then--then, perhaps----" here Rachel began to whimper, "perhaps you'll +get Tom Piper's aunt to knit your stockings." + +"I didn't mean to, Aunt Rachel," said Jack, penitently, eyeing his aunt, +who was rocking to and fro in her chair. "Besides, I hurt myself like +thunder," rubbing vigorously the lower part of the dorsal-region. + +"Served you right," said his aunt, still clasping her foot. + +"Sha'n't I get something for you to put on it?" asked Mrs. Crump of +(sic) her-sister-in-law. + +This Rachel steadily refused, and after a few more postures, (sic) +indicating a great amount of anguish, limped out of the room, and +ascended the stairs to her own apartment. + + + +CHAPTER III. THE LANDLORD'S VISIT. + + + +SOON after Rachel's departure Jack, also, was seized with a sleepy +fit, and postponing the construction of his boat to a more favorable +opportunity, took a candle and followed his aunt's example. + +The cooper and his wife were now left alone. + +"Now that Rachel and Jack have gone to bed, Mary," he commenced, +hesitatingly, "I don't mind saying that I am a little troubled in mind +about one thing." + +"What's that?" asked Mrs. Crump, anxiously. + +"It's just this, I don't anticipate being stinted for food. I know we +shall get along some way; but there's another expense which I am afraid +of." + +"Is it the rent?" inquired his wife, apprehensively. + +"That's it. The quarter's rent, twenty dollars, comes due to-morrow, and +I've got less than a dollar to meet it." + +"Won't Mr. Colman wait?" + +"I'm afraid not. You know what sort of a man he is, Mary. There ain't +much feeling about him. He cares more for money than anything else." + +"Perhaps you are doing him injustice." + +"I am afraid not. Did you never hear how he treated the Underhills?" + +"How was it?" + +"Underhill was laid up with a rheumatic fever for three months. The +consequence was, that, when quarter-day came round, he was in about the +same situation with ourselves,--a little worse even, for his wife was +sick, also. But though Colman was aware of the circumstances, he had no +pity; but turned them out without ceremony." + +"Is it possible?" asked Mrs. Crump, uneasily. + +"And there's no reason for his being more lenient with us. I can't but +feel anxious about to-morrow, Mary." + +At this moment, verifying an old adage which will perhaps occur to the +reader, who should knock but Mr. Colman himself? + +Both the cooper and his wife had an instinctive foreboding as to the +meaning of his visit. + +He came in, rubbing his hands in a social way, as was his custom. No +one, to look at him, would have suspected the hardness of heart that lay +veiled under his velvety softness of manner. + +"Good evening, Mr. Crump," said he, affably, "I trust you and your +worthy wife are in good health." + +"That blessing, at least, is continued to us," said the cooper, gravely. + +"And how comfortable you're looking too, eh! It makes an old bachelor, +like me, feel lonesome when he contrasts his own solitary room with +such a scene of comfort as this. You've got a comfortable home, and +dog-cheap, too. All my other tenants are grumbling to think you don't +have to pay any more for such superior accommodations. I've about +made up my mind that I must ask you twenty-five dollars a quarter, +hereafter." + +All this was said very pleasantly, but the pill was none the less +bitter. + +"It seems to me, Mr. Colman," remarked the cooper soberly, "you have +chosen rather a singular time for raising the rent." + +"Why singular, my good sir?" inquired the landlord, urbanely. + +"You know of course, that this is a time of general business depression; +my own trade in particular has suffered greatly. For a month past, I +have not been able to find any work." + +Colman's face lost something of its graciousness. + +"And I fear I sha'n't be able to pay my quarter's rent to-morrow." + +"Indeed!" said the landlord coldly. "Perhaps you can make it up within +two or three dollars?" + +"I can't pay a dollar towards it," said the cooper. "It's the first +time, in five years that I've lived here, that this thing has happened +to me. I've always been prompt before." + +"You should have economized as you found times growing harder," said +Colman, harshly. "It is hardly honest to live in a house when you know +you can't pay the rent." + +"You sha'n't lose it Mr. Colman," said the cooper, earnestly. "No one +ever yet lost anything by me. Only give me time, and I will pay you +all." + +The landlord shook his head. + +"You ought to cut your coat according to your cloth," he responded. +"Much as it will go against my feelings, under the circumstances I am +compelled by a prudent regard to my own interests to warn you that, in +case your rent is not ready to-morrow, I shall be obliged to trouble +you to find another tenement; and furthermore, the rent of this will be +raised five dollars a quarter." + +"I can't pay it, Mr. Colman," said the cooper; "I may as well say that +now; and it's no use my agreeing to pay more rent. I pay all I can +afford now." + +"Very well, you know the alternative. But it is a disagreeable subject. +We won't talk of it now; I shall be round to-morrow morning. How's your +excellent sister; as cheerful as ever?" + +"Quite as much so as usual," answered the cooper, dryly. + +"But there's one favor I should like to ask, if you will allow us to +remain here a few days till I can look about me a little." + +"I would with the greatest pleasure in the world," was the reply, "but +there's another family very anxious to take the house, and they wish to +come in immediately. Therefore I shall be obliged to ask you to move out +to-morrow. In fact that is the very thing I came here this evening to +speak about, as I thought you might not wish to pay the increased rent." + +"We are much obliged to you," said the cooper, with a tinge of +bitterness unusual to him. "If we are to be turned out of doors, it is +pleasant to have a few hours' notice of it." + +"Turned out of doors, my good friend! What disagreeable expressions you +employ! It is merely a matter of business. I have an article to dispose +of. There are two bidders; yourself and another person. The latter is +willing to pay a larger sum. Of course I give him the preference. Don't +you see how it is?" + +"I believe I do," replied the cooper. "Of course, it's a regular +proceeding; but you must excuse me if I think of it in another light, +when I reflect that to-morrow at this time my family and myself may be +without a shelter." + +"My dear sir, positively you are looking on the dark side of things. It +is actually sinful to distrust Providence as you seem to do. You're a +little disappointed, that's all. Just take to-night to sleep on it, and +I've no doubt you'll think better of it and of me. But positively I have +stayed longer than I intended. Good night, my friends. I'll look in upon +you in the morning. And by the by, as it is so near the time, allow me +to wish you a Happy New Year." + +The door closed upon the landlord, leaving behind two anxious hearts. + +"It looks well in him to wish that," said the cooper, gloomily. "A great +deal he is doing to make it so. I don't know how it seems to others, but +for my part I never say them words to any one unless I really wish 'em +well, and am willing to do something to make 'em so. I should feel as if +I was a hypocrite if I acted anyways different." + +Mary did not respond to this. In her own gentle heart she could not +help feeling a silent repugnance, mingled, it may be, with a shade of +contempt, for the man who had just left them. It was an uncomfortable +feeling, and she strove to get rid of it. + +"Is there any tenement vacant in this neighborhood?" she asked. + +"Yes, there's the one at the corner, belonging to Mr. Harrison." + +"It is a better one than this." + +"Yes, but Harrison only asks the same that we have been paying. He is +not so exorbitant as Colman." + +"Couldn't we get that?" + +"I am afraid, if he knew that we had failed to pay our rent here, he +would object." + +"But he knows you are honest, and that nothing but the hard times would +have brought you to such a pass." + +"It may be, Mary. At any rate you have lightened my heart a little. I +feel as if there was some hope left." + +"We ought always to feel so, Timothy. There was one thing that Mr. +Colman said that didn't sound so well, coming from his lips; but it's +true, for all that." + +"What do you mean, Mary?" + +"I mean that about not distrusting Providence. Many a time have I +been comforted by reading the verse, 'Never have I seen the righteous +forsaken, or his seed begging bread.' As long as we try to do what is +right, Timothy, God will not suffer us to want." + +"You are right, Mary. He is our ever-present help in time of need. +Let us put away all anxious cares, fully confiding in his gracious +promises." + +They retired to rest thoughtfully, but not sadly. + +The fire upon the hearth flickered, and died out at length. The last +sands of the old year were running out, and the new morning ushered in +its successor. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE NEW YEAR'S PRESENT. + + + +"HAPPY New Year!" was Jack's salutation to Aunt Rachel, as, with an +unhappy expression of countenance, she entered the sitting-room. + +"Happy, indeed!" she repeated, dismally. "There's great chance of its +being so, I should think. We don't any of us know what the year may +bring forth. We may all be dead before the next New Year." + +"If that's the case," said Jack, "we'll be jolly as long as it lasts." + +"I don't know what you mean by such a vulgar word," said Aunt Rachel, +disdainfully. "I've heard of drunkards and such kind of people being +jolly; but, thank Providence, I haven't got to that yet." + +"If that was the only way to be jolly," said Jack, stoutly, "then I'd +be a drunkard; I wouldn't carry round such a long face as you do, Aunt +Rachel, for any money." + +"It's enough to make all of us have long faces, when you are brazen +enough to own that you mean to be a drunkard." + +"I didn't say any such thing," said Jack, indignantly. + +"Perhaps I have ears," remarked Aunt Rachel, sententiously, "and perhaps +I have not. It's a new thing for a nephew to tell his aunt that she +lies. They didn't use to allow such things when I was young.--But the +world's going to rack and ruin, and I shouldn't much wonder if the +people are right that says it's comin' to an end." + +Here Mrs. Crump happily interposed, by asking Jack to go round to the +grocery, in the next street, and buy a pint of milk. + +Jack took his cap and started, with alacrity, glad to leave the dismal +presence of Aunt Rachel. + +He had scarcely opened the door when he started back in surprise, +exclaiming, "By hokey, if there isn't a basket on the steps!" + +"A basket!" repeated Mrs. Crump, in surprise. "Can it be a New Year's +present? Bring it in, Jack." + +It was brought in immediately, and the cover being lifted there appeared +a female child, of apparently a year old. All uttered exclamations of +surprise, each in itself characteristic. + +"What a dear, innocent little thing!" said Mrs. Crump, with true +maternal instinct. + +"Ain't it a pretty 'un?" said Jack, admiringly. + +"Poor thing!" said the cooper, compassionately. + +"It's a world of iniquity!" remarked Rachel, lifting up her eyes, +dismally. "There isn't any one you can trust. I didn't think a brother +of mine would have such a sin brought to his door." + +"Good heavens, Rachel!" said the honest cooper, in amazement, "what can +you mean?" + +"It isn't for me to explain," said Rachel, shaking her head; "only it's +strange that it should have been brought to _this_ house, that's all I +say." + +"Perhaps it was meant for you, Aunt Rachel," said Jack, with thoughtless +fun. + +"Me!" exclaimed Rachel, rising to her feet, while her face betrayed the +utmost horror at the suggestion. She fell back in her seat, and made a +violent effort to faint. + +"What have I said?" asked Jack, a little frightened at the effect of his +words. "Aunt Rachel takes one up so." + +"He didn't mean anything," said Mrs. Crump. "How could you suspect such +a thing? But here's a letter. It looks as if there was something in it. +Here, Timothy, it is directed to you." + +Mr. Cooper opened the letter, and read as follows:-- + +"For reasons which it is unnecessary to state, the guardians of this +child find it expedient to (sic) intrust it to others to be brought up. +The good opinion which they have formed of you, has led them to select +you for that charge. No further explanation is necessary, except that +it is by no means their object to make this a service of charity. They +therefore (sic) inclose a certificate of deposits on the Broadway Bank, +of three hundred dollars, the same having been made in your name. Each +year, while the child remains in your charge, the same sum will in like +manner be placed to your credit at the same bank It may be as well to +state, farther, that all attempts to fathom whatever of mystery may +attach to this affair, will prove useless." + +This letter was read in silent amazement. + +The certificate of deposits, which had fallen to the floor, was handed +to Timothy by his wife. + +Amazement was followed by a feeling of gratitude and relief. + +"What could be more fortunate?" exclaimed Mrs. Crump. "Surely, Timothy, +our faith has been rewarded." + +"God has listened to our cry," said the cooper, devoutly; "and, in the +hour of our need, He has remembered us." + +"Isn't it prime?" said Jack, gleefully; "three hundred dollars! Ain't we +rich, Aunt Rachel?" + +"Like as not," observed Rachel, "the certificate isn't genuine. It +doesn't look natural it should be. I've heard of counterfeits before. +I shouldn't be surprised at all if Timothy got taken up for presenting +it." + +"I'll risk that," said Mr. Crump, who did not look very much depressed +by this suggestion. + +"Now you'll be able to pay the rent, Timothy," said Mrs. Crump, +cheerfully. + +"Yes; and it's the last quarter I shall pay to Mr. Colman, if I can help +it." + +"Why, where are you going?" inquired Jack. + +"To the corner house belonging to Mr. Harrison, that is, if it is not +already engaged. I think I will go and see about it at once. If Mr. +Colman should come in while I am gone, tell him I will be back directly; +I don't wish you to tell him of the change in our circumstances." + +The cooper found Mr. Harrison at home. + +"I called to inquire," commenced the cooper, "whether you had let that +house of yours on the corner of the street." + +"Not as yet," was the reply. + +"What rent do you ask?" + +"Twenty dollars a quarter," said Mr. Harrison; "that I consider +reasonable." + +"It is satisfactory to me," was the cooper's reply, "and, if you have no +objections to me as a tenant, I will engage it at once." + +"Far from having any objections, Mr. Crump," was the courteous reply, "I +shall be glad to secure so good a tenant. Will you go over and look at +the house?" + +"Not now, sir; I am somewhat in haste. When can we move in?" + +"To-day, if you like." + +His errand satisfactorily accomplished, the cooper returned home. +Meanwhile the landlord had called. + +He was a little surprised to find that Mrs. Crump, instead of looking +depressed, looked cheerful, rather than otherwise. + +"I was not aware you had a child so young," he remarked, looking at the +baby. + +"It isn't mine," said Mrs. Crump, briefly. + +"The child of a neighbor, I suppose," thought Colman. + +Meanwhile he scrutinized closely, without appearing to do so, the +furniture in the room. + +At this point Mr. Crump opened the outer door. + +"Good-morning," said Colman, affably. "A fine morning." + +"Quite so," answered his tenant, shortly. + +"I have called, Mr. Crump, to know if you are ready with your quarter's +rent." + +"I think I told you, last night, how I was situated. Of course I am +sorry----" + +"So am I," said the landlord, "for I may be obliged to have recourse to +unpleasant measures." + +"You mean that we must leave the house!" + +"Of course, you cannot expect to remain in it if you are unable to pay +the rent. Of course," added Colman, making an inventory with his +eyes, of the furniture, "you will leave behind a sufficient amount of +furniture to cover your bill----" + +"Surely, you would not deprive us of our furniture!" + +"Is there any hardship in requiring payment of honest debts?" + +"There are cases of that description. However, I will not put you to +that trouble. I am ready to pay you your dues." + +"You have the money?" said Colman, hastily. + +"I have, and something over; as you will see by this document. Can you +give me the two hundred and eighty dollars over?" + +It would be difficult to picture the amazement of Colman. "Surely, you +told me a different story last night," he said. + +"Last night and this morning are different times. Then I could not pay +you; now, luckily, I am able. If you cannot change this amount, and will +accompany me to the bank, I will place the money in your hands." + +"My dear sir, I am not at all in haste," said the landlord, with a +return of his former affability. "Any time within a week will do. I +hope, by the way, you will continue to occupy this house." + +"As I have already engaged Mr. Harrison's house, at the corner of the +street, I shall be unable to remain. Besides, I do not want to interfere +with the family who are so desirous of moving in." + +Mr. Colman was silenced. He regretted, too late, the hasty course which +had lost him a good tenant. The family referred to had no existence; +and, it may be remarked, the house remained vacant for several months, +when he was glad to rent it at the old price. + + + +CHAPTER V. A LUCKY RESCUE. + + + +THE opportune arrival of the child inaugurated a season of comparative +prosperity in the home of Timothy Crump. To persons accustomed to live +in their frugal way, three hundred dollars seemed a fortune. Nor, as +might have happened in some cases, did this unexpected windfall tempt +the cooper or his wife to extravagances. + +"Let us save something against a rainy day," said Mrs. Crump. + +"We can, if I get work soon," answered her husband. "This little one +will add but little to our expenses, and there is no reason why we +should not save up at least half of it." + +"There's no knowing when you will get work, Timothy," said Rachel, in +her usual cheerful way; "it isn't well to crow before you're out of the +woods." + +"Very true, Rachel. It isn't your failing to look too much at the sunny +side of the picture." + +"I'm ready to look at it when I can see it anywhere," said his sister, +in the same enlivening way. + +"Don't you see it in the unexpected good fortune which came with this +child?" asked Timothy. + +"I've no doubt it seems bright enough, now," said Rachel, gloomily, "but +a young child's a great deal of trouble." + +"Do you speak from experience, Aunt Rachel?" inquired Jack, demurely. + +"Yes;" said his aunt, slowly; "if all babies were as cross as you were +when you were an infant, three hundred dollars wouldn't begin to pay for +the trouble of having one round." + +Mr. Crump and his wife laughed at this sally at Jack's expense, but +the latter had his wits about him sufficiently to answer, "I've always +heard, Aunt Rachel, that the crosser a child is the pleasanter he will +grow up. What a very pleasant baby you must have been!" + +"Jack!" said his mother, reprovingly; but his father, who looked upon it +as a good joke, remarked, good-humoredly, "He's got you there, Rachel." + +The latter, however, took it as a serious matter, and observed that, +when she was young, children were not allowed to speak so to their +elders. "But, I don't know as I can blame 'em much," she continued, +wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, "when their own parents +encourage 'em in it." + +Timothy was warned, by experience, that silence was his best (sic) +defence. Since anything he might say would only be likely to make +matters worse. + +Aunt Rachel sank into a fit of deep despondency, and did not say another +word till dinner time. She sat down to the table with a profound sigh, +as if there was little in life worth living for. Notwithstanding this, +it was observed that she had a good appetite. Indeed, Rachel seemed to +thrive on her gloomy views of life and human nature. She was, it must +be acknowledged, perfectly consistent in all her conduct, as far as this +peculiarity was concerned. Whenever she took up a newspaper, she always +looked first to the space appropriated to deaths, and next in order to +the column of accidents, casualties, etc., and her spirits were visibly +exhilarated when she encountered a familiar name in either list. + +Mr. Crump continued to look out for work, but it was with a more +cheerful spirit. He did not now feel as if the comfort of his family +depended absolutely upon his immediate success. Used economically, the +money he had by him would last nine months, and during that time it was +impossible that he should not find something to do. It was this sense +of security--of possessing something upon which he could fall back--that +enabled him to keep up good heart. It is too generally the case that +people are content to live as if they were sure of constantly retaining +their health and never losing their employment. When a reverse does come +they are at once plunged into discouragement, and feel that something +must be done immediately. There is only one way to fend off such an +embarrassment, and that is to resolve, whatever may be the amount of +the income, to lay aside some part to serve as a reliance in time of +trouble. A little economy--though it involves privation--will be well +repaid by the feeling of security thus engendered. + +Mr. Crump was not compelled to remain inactive as long as he feared. Not +that his line of business revived,--that still remained depressed,--but +another path was opened to him for a time. + +Returning home late one evening, the cooper saw a man steal out from +a doorway, and assault a gentleman whose dress and general appearance +indicated probable wealth. Seizing him by the throat, the villain +effectually prevented him from calling the police, and was engaged in +rifling his pockets when the cooper arrived at the scene. A sudden blow +on the side of the head admonished the robber that he had more than one +to deal with. + +"Leave this man instantly," said the cooper, sternly, "or I will deliver +you into the hands of the police." + +The villain hesitated, but fear prevailed, and springing to his feet, he +hastily made off under cover of the darkness. + +"I hope you have received no injury," said Timothy, respectfully, +turning towards the stranger he had rescued. + +"No, my worthy friend, thanks to your timely assistance. The rascal +nearly succeeded, however." + +"I hope you have lost nothing, sir." + +"Nothing, fortunately. You can form an idea of the value of your +interference, when I say that I have fifteen hundred dollars with me, +all of which I should undoubtedly have lost." + +"I am glad," said the cooper, "that I was able to do you such essential +service. It was by the merest chance that I came this way." + +"Will you add to my indebtedness by accompanying me with that trusty +club of yours? I have some little distance yet to go, and the amount +of money I have with me makes me feel desirous of taking every possible +precaution." + +"Willingly," said the cooper. + +"But I am forgetting," said the gentleman, "that you yourself will be +obliged to return alone." + +"I do not carry enough money to make me fear an attack," said Mr. Crump, +laughing. "Money brings care I have always heard, and now I realize it." + +"Yet most people are willing to take their chance of that," said the +merchant. + +"You are right, sir, nor can I call myself an exception. Still I should +be satisfied with the certainty of constant employment." + +"I hope you have that, at least." + +"I have had until recently." + +"Then, at present, you are unemployed?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What is your business?" + +"That of a cooper." + +"I must see what I can do for you. Can you call at my office to-morrow, +say at twelve o'clock?" + +"I shall be glad to do so, sir." + +"I believe I have a card with me. Yes, here is one. And this is my +house. Thank you for your company, my good friend. I shall see you +to-morrow." + +They stood before a handsome dwelling-house, from whose windows, draped +by heavy crimson curtains, a soft light proceeded. The cooper could hear +the ringing of childish voices welcoming home their father, whose +life, unknown to them, had been in such peril, and he could not but be +grateful to Providence that he had been the means of frustrating the +designs of the villain who would have robbed him, and perhaps done him +farther injury. + +He determined to say nothing to his wife of the night's adventure until +after his meeting appointed for the next day. Then if any advantage +accrued to him from it, he would tell the whole at once. + +When he reached home, Mrs. Crump was sewing beside the fire. Aunt +Rachel sat with her hands folded in her lap, with an air of martyr-like +resignation to the woes of life. + +"I've brought you home a paper, Aunt Rachel," said the cooper, +cheerfully. "You may find something interesting in it." + +"I sha'n't be able to read it this evening," said Rachel, mournfully. +"My eyes have troubled me lately. I feel that it is more than probable +that I am growing blind. But I trust I shall not live to be a burden to +you. Your prospects are dark enough without that." + +"Don't trouble yourself with any fears of that sort, Rachel," said the +cooper, cheerily. "I think I know what will enable you to use your eyes +as well as ever." + +"What?" asked Rachel, with melancholy curiosity. + +"A pair of spectacles," said her brother, incautiously. + +"Spectacles!" retorted Rachel, indignantly. "It will be a good many +years before I am old enough to wear spectacles. I didn't expect to be +insulted by my own brother. But it's one of my trials." + +"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Rachel," said the cooper, +perplexed. + +"Good night," said Rachel, rising and taking a small lamp from the +table. + +"Come, Rachel, don't go yet. It is early." + +"After what you have said to me, Timothy, my self-respect will not +permit me to stay." + +Rachel swept out of the room with something more than her customary +melancholy. + +"I wish Rachel war'n't quite so contrary," said the cooper. "She turns +upon a body so sudden, it's hard to know how to take her. How's the +little girl, Mary?" + +"She's been asleep ever since six o'clock." + +"I hope you don't find her very much trouble. That all comes upon you, +while we have the benefit of the money." + +"I don't think of that, Timothy. She is a sweet child, and I love her +almost as much as if she were my own. As for Jack, he perfectly idolizes +her." + +"And how does Aunt Rachel look upon her?" + +"I am afraid she will never be a favorite with Rachel." + +"Rachel never took to children much. It isn't her way. Now, Mary, while +you are sewing, I will read you the news." + + + +CHAPTER VI. WHAT THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED. + + + +THE card which had been handed to Timothy Crump contained the name +of Thomas Merriam,----Wall Street. Punctually at twelve, the cooper +reported himself at the counting-room, and received a cordial welcome +from the merchant. + +"I am glad to see you," he said. "I will come to business at once, as +I am particularly engaged this morning. Is there any way in which I can +serve you?" + +"Not unless you can procure me a situation, sir." + +"I think you told me you were a cooper." + +"Yes sir." + +"Does this yield you a good support?" + +"In good times it pays me two dollars a day. Lately it has been +depressed, and for a time paid me but a dollar and a half." + +"When do you anticipate its revival?" + +"That is uncertain. It may be some months first." + +"And, in the mean time, you are willing to undertake some other +employment?" + +"Yes, sir. I have no objection to any honest employment." + +Mr. Merriam reflected a moment. + +"Just at present," he said, "I have nothing to offer except the post of +porter. If that will suit you, you can enter upon the duties to-morrow." + +"I shall be very glad to take it, sir. Anything is better than +idleness." + +"Your compensation shall be the same that you have been accustomed to +earn by your trade,--two dollars a day." + +"I only received that in the best times," said Timothy, conscientiously. + +"Your services will be worth it. I will expect you, then, to-morrow +morning at eight. You are married, I suppose?" + +"Yes, sir. I am blessed with a good wife." + +"I am glad of that. Stay a moment." + +The merchant went to his desk, and presently returned with a scaled +envelope. + +"Give that to your wife," he said. + +The interview terminated, and the cooper went home, quite elated by his +success. His present engagement would enable him to bridge over the dull +time, and save him from incurring debt, of which he had a just horror. + +"Just in time," said Mrs. Crump. "We've got an apple-pudding to-day." + +"You haven't forgotten what I like, Mary." + +"There's no knowing how long you will be able to afford puddings," said +Aunt Rachel. "To my mind it's extravagant to have meat and pudding both, +when a month hence you may be in the poor-house." + +"Then," said Jack, "I wouldn't eat any." + +"Oh, if you grudge me the little I eat," said his aunt, in severe +sorrow, "I will go without." + +"Tut, Rachel, nobody grudges you anything here," said her brother, "and +as to the poor-house, I've got some good news to tell you that will put +that thought out of your heads." + +"What is it?" asked Mrs. Crump, looking up brightly. + +"I have found employment." + +"Not at your trade?" + +"No, but at something else, which will pay equally well, till trade +revives." + +Here he told the story of the chance by which he was enabled to serve +Mr. Merriam, and of the engagement to which it had led. + +"You are, indeed, fortunate," said Mrs. Crump. "Two dollars a day, and +we've got nearly the whole of the money that came with this dear child. +How rich we shall be!" + +"Well, Rachel, where are your congratulations?" asked the cooper of his +sister, who, in subdued sorrow, was eating her second slice of pudding. + +"I don't see anything so very fortunate in being engaged as a porter," +said Rachel, lugubriously. "I heard of a porter, once, who had a great +box fall upon him and crush him; and another, who committed suicide." + +The cooper laughed. + +"So, Rachel, you conclude that one or the other is the inevitable lot of +all who are engaged in this business." + +"It is always well to be prepared for the worst," said Rachel, +oracularly. + +"But not to be always looking for it," said her brother. + +"It'll come, whether you look for it or not," returned his sister, +sententiously. + +"Then, suppose we spend no thoughts upon it, since, according to your +admission, it's sure to come either way." + +Rachel pursued her knitting, in severe melancholy. + +"Won't you have another piece of pudding, Timothy?" asked Mrs. Crump. + +"I don't care if I do, Mary, it's so good," said the cooper, passing his +plate. "Seems to me it's the best pudding you ever made." + +"You've got a good appetite, that is all," said Mrs. Crump, modestly. + +"By the way, Mary," said the cooper, with a sudden thought, "I quite +forgot that I have something for you." + +"For me?" + +"Yes, from Mr. Merriam." + +"But he don't know me," said Mrs. Crump, in surprise. + +"At any rate, he asked me if I were married, and then handed me this +envelope for you. I am not quite sure whether I ought to allow gentlemen +to write letters to my wife." + +Mrs. Crump opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and uttered +an exclamation of surprise, as a bank-note fluttered to the carpet. + +"By gracious, mother," said Jack, springing to get it, "you're in luck. +It's a hundred dollar bill." + +"So it is, I declare," said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. "But, Timothy, it +isn't mine. It belongs to you." + +"No, Mary, it shall be yours. I'll put it in the Savings Bank for you." + +"Merriam's a trump, and no mistake," said Jack. "By the way, father, +when you see him again, won't you just insinuate that you have a son? +Ain't we in luck, Aunt Rachel?" + +"'Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall,'" +said Rachel. + +"I never knew Aunt Rachel to be jolly but once," said Jack, under his +breath; "and that was at a funeral." + + + +CHAPTER VII. EIGHT YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS. + + + +EIGHT years slipped by, unmarked by any important event. The Crumps were +still prosperous in an humble way. The cooper had been able to obtain +work most of the time, and this, with the annual remittance for little +Ida, had enabled the family not only to live in comfort, but even to +save up one hundred and fifty dollars a year. They might even have saved +more, living as frugally as they were accustomed to do, but there was +one point upon which none of them would consent to be economical. The +little Ida must have everything she wanted. Timothy brought home daily +some little delicacy for her, which none of the rest thought of sharing. +While Mrs. Crump, far enough from vanity, always dressed with exceeding +plainness, Ida's attire was always rich and tasteful. She would +sometimes ask, "Mother, why don't you buy yourself some of the pretty +things you get for me?" + +Mrs. Crump would answer, smiling, "Oh, I'm an old woman, Ida. Plain +things are best for me." + +"No, I'm sure you're not old, mother. You don't wear a cap." + +But Mrs. Crump would always playfully evade the child's questions. + +Had Ida been an ordinary child, all this petting would have had an +injurious effect upon her mind. But, fortunately she had that rare +simplicity, young as she was, which lifted her above the dangers to +which many might have been subjected. Instead of being made vain, she +only felt grateful for the many kindnesses bestowed upon her by her +father and mother and brother Jack, as she was wont to call them. +Indeed, it had not been thought best to let her know that such was not +the relation in which they really stood to her. + +There was one point, more important than dress, in which Ida profited by +the indulgence of her friends. + +"Wife," the cooper was wont to say, "Ida is a sacred charge in our +hands. If we allow her to grow up ignorant, or afford her only ordinary +advantages, we shall not fulfil our duty. We have the means, through +Providence, to give her some of those advantages which she would enjoy +if she remained in that sphere to which her parents, doubtless, belong. +Let no unwise parsimony, on our part, withhold them from her." + +"You are right, Timothy," said Mrs. Crump; "right, as you always +are. Follow the dictates of your own heart, and fear not that I shall +disapprove." + +Accordingly Ida was, from the first, sent to a carefully-selected +private school, where she had the advantage of good associates, and +where her progress was astonishingly rapid. + +She early displayed a remarkable taste for drawing. As soon as this was +discovered, her foster parents took care that she should have abundant +opportunity for cultivating it. A private master was secured, who gave +her daily lessons, and boasted everywhere of his charming little pupil, +whose progress, as he assured her friends, exceeded anything he had ever +before known. + +Nothing could exceed the cooper's gratification when, on his birthday, +Ida presented him with a beautifully-drawn sketch of his wife's placid +and benevolent face. + +"When did you do it, Ida?" he asked, after earnest expressions of +admiration. + +"I did it in odd minutes," she said; "in the evening." + +"But how could you do it without any one of us knowing what you were +about?" + +"I had a picture before me, and you thought I was copying it, but +whenever I could do it without being noticed, I looked up at mother as +she sat at her sewing, and so, after awhile, I made this picture." + +"And a fine one it is," said Timothy, admiringly. + +Mrs. Crump insisted that Ida had flattered her, but this the child would +not admit. "I couldn't make it look as good as you, mother," she said. +"I tried to, but somehow I couldn't succeed as well as I wanted to." + +"You wouldn't have that difficulty with Aunt Rachel," said Jack, +roguishly. + +Ida, with difficulty, suppressed a laugh. + +"I see," said Aunt Rachel, with severe resignation, "that you've taken +to ridiculing your poor aunt again. But it's what I expect. I don't +never expect any consideration in this house. I was born to be a martyr, +and I expect I shall fulfil my destiny. If my own relations laugh at me, +of course I can't expect anything better from other folks. But I sha'n't +be long in the way. I've had a cough for some time past, and I expect +I'm in a consumption." + +"You make too much of a little thing, Rachel," said the cooper. "I don't +think Jack meant anything." + +"I'm sure, what I said was complimentary," said Jack. + +Rachel shook her head incredulously. + +"Yes it was. Ask Ida. Why won't you draw Aunt Rachel, Ida? I think she'd +make a capital picture." + +"So I will," said Ida, hesitatingly, "if she will let me." + +"Now, Aunt Rachel, there's a chance for you," said Jack. "I advise you +to improve it. When it's finished, it can be hung up at the Art Rooms, +and who knows but you may secure a husband by it?" + +"I wouldn't marry," said his aunt, firmly compressing her lips, "not if +anybody'd go down on their knees to me." + +"Now I am sure, Aunt Rachel, that's cruel in you." + +"There ain't any man that I'd trust my happiness to." + +"She hasn't any to trust," observed Jack, _sotto voce_. + +"They're all deceivers," pursued Rachel, "the best of 'em. You can't +believe what one of 'em says. It would be a great deal better if people +never married at all." + +"Then where would the world be a hundred years hence?" suggested her +nephew. + +"Come to an end, most likely," said Aunt Rachel; "and I don't know but +that would be the best thing. It's growing more and more wicked every +day." + +It will be seen that no great change has come over Miss Rachel Crump +during the years that have intervened. She takes the same disheartening +view of human nature and the world's prospects, as ever. Nevertheless, +her own hold upon the world seems as strong as ever. Her appetite +continues remarkably good, and although she frequently expresses herself +to the effect that there is little use in living, probably she would be +as unwilling to leave the world as any one. I am not sure that she does +not derive as much enjoyment from her melancholy as other people from +their cheerfulness. Unfortunately, her peculiar way of enjoying herself +is calculated to have rather a depressing influence upon the spirits of +those with whom she comes in contact--always excepting Jack, who has a +lively sense of the ludicrous, and never enjoys himself better than in +bantering his aunt. + +Ida is no less a favorite with Jack than with the other members of the +household. Rough as he is sometimes, Jack is always gentle with Ida. +When she was just learning to walk, and in her helplessness needed the +constant care of others, he used, from choice, to relieve his mother of +much of the task of amusing the child. He had never had a little sister, +and the care of a child as young as Ida was a novelty to him. It was, +perhaps, this very office of guardian to the child, assumed when she was +so young, that made him feel ever after as if she was placed under his +special protection. + +And Ida was equally attached to Jack. She learned to look up to him for +assistance in anything which she had at heart, and he never disappointed +her. Whenever he could, he would accompany her to school, holding her by +the hand; and fond as he was of rough play, nothing would induce him to +leave her. + +"How long have you been a nurse-maid?" asked a boy, older than himself, +one day. + +Jack's fingers itched to get hold of his derisive questioner, but he had +a duty to perform, and contented himself with saying, "Just wait a few +minutes, and I'll let you know." + +"I dare say," was the reply. "I rather think I shall have to wait till +both of us are gray before that time." + +"You won't have to wait long before you are black and blue," retorted +Jack. + +"Don't mind what he says, Jack," whispered Ida, fearful lest he should +leave her. + +"Don't be afraid, Ida; I won't leave you; I guess he won't trouble us +another day." + +Meanwhile the boy, emboldened by Jack's passiveness, followed, with more +abuse of the same sort. If he had been wiser, he would have seen a storm +gathering in the flash of Jack's eye; but he mistook the cause of his +forbearance. + +The next day, as they were again going to school, Ida saw the same boy +dodging round the corner, with his head bound up. + +"What's the matter with him, Jack?" she asked. + +"I licked him like blazes, that's all," said Jack, quietly. + +"I guess he'll let us alone after this." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A STRANGE VISITOR. + + + +IT was about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, Mrs. Crump was in the +kitchen, busy in preparations for dinner, when a loud knock was heard at +the door. + +"Who can it be?" ejaculated Mrs. Crump. "Aunt Rachel, there's somebody +at the door; won't you be kind enough to see who it is?" + +"People have no business to call at such an hour in the morning," +grumbled Aunt Rachel, as she laid down her knitting reluctantly, and +rose from her seat. "Nobody seems to have any consideration for anybody +else. But that's the way of the world." + +Opening the outer door, she saw before her a tall woman, dressed in +a gown of some dark stuff, with marked, and not altogether pleasant +features. + +"Are you the lady of the house?" inquired the visitor. + +"There ain't any ladies in this house," said Rachel. "You've come to the +wrong place. We have to work for a living here." + +"The woman of the house, then. It doesn't make any difference about +names. Are you the one I want to see?" + +"No, I ain't," said Rachel, shortly. + +"Will you lead me to your mistress, then?" + +"I have none." + +The visitor's eyes flashed, as if her temper was easily roused. + +"I want to see Mrs. Crump," she said, impatiently. "Will you call her, or +shall I go and announce myself?" + +"Some folks are mighty impatient," muttered Rachel. "Stay here, and I'll +call her to the door." + +In a short time Mrs. Crump presented herself. + +"Won't you come in?" she asked, pleasantly. + +"I don't care if I do," was the reply. "I wish to speak to you on +important business." + +Mrs. Crump, whose interest was excited, led the way into the +sitting-room. + +"You have in your family," said the stranger, after seating herself, "a +girl named Ida." + +Mrs. Crump looked up suddenly and anxiously. Could it be that the secret +of Ida's birth was to be revealed at last! + +"Yes," she said. + +"Who is not your child." + +"But _whom_ I love as such; whom I have always taught to look upon me as +a mother." + +"I presume so. It is of her that I wish to speak to you." + +"Do you know anything of her parentage?" inquired Mrs. Crump, eagerly. + +"I was her nurse," said the other, quietly. + +Mrs. Crump examined, anxiously, the hard features of the woman. It was +a relief at least to know, though she could hardly have believed, that +there was no tie of blood between her and Ida. + +"Who were her parents?" + +"I am not permitted to tell," was the reply. + +Mrs. Crump looked disappointed. + +"Surely," she said, with a sudden sinking of heart, "you have not come +to take her away?" + +"This letter will explain my object in visiting you," said the woman, +drawing a sealed envelope from a bag which she carried on her arm. + +The cooper's wife nervously broke open the letter, and read as +follows:-- + +"MRS. CRUMP; + +"Eight years ago last New Year's night, a child was left on your +door-steps, with a note containing a request that you would care for +it kindly as your own. Money was sent, at the same time, to defray the +expenses of such care. The writer of this note is the mother of the +child Ida. There is no need to say, here, why I sent the child away +from me. You will easily understand that only the most imperative +circumstances would have led me to such a step. Those circumstances +still prevent me from reclaiming the child, and I am content, still, to +leave Ida in your charge. Yet, there is one thing of which I am +desirous. You will understand a mother's desire to see, face to face, +the child who belongs, of right, to her. With this view, I have come to +this neighborhood. I will not say where, for concealment is necessary +to me. I send this note by a trustworthy attendant,--Mrs. Hardwick, +my little Ida's nurse in her infancy,--who will conduct Ida to me, and +return her again to you. Ida is not to know whom she is visiting. No +doubt she believes you her mother, and it is well. Tell her only, that +it is a lady who takes an interest in her, and that will satisfy her +childish curiosity. I make this request as + +"IDA'S MOTHER." + +Mrs. Crump read this letter with mingled feelings. Pity for the writer; +a vague curiosity in regard to the mysterious circumstances which had +compelled her to resort to such a step; a half feeling of jealousy, +that there should be one who had a claim to her dear adopted daughter +superior to her own; and a strong feeling of relief at the assurance +that Ida was not to be permanently removed,--all these feelings affected +the cooper's wife. + +"So you were Ida's nurse," she said, gently. + +"Yes, ma'am," said the stranger. "I hope the dear child is well." + +"Perfectly well. How much her mother must have suffered from the +separation!" + +"Indeed, you may say so, ma'am. It came near to break her heart." + +"So it must," said sympathizing Mrs. Crump. "There is one thing I would +like to ask," she continued, hesitating and reddening. "Don't answer it +unless you please. Was--is Ida the child of shame?" + +"She is not," answered the nurse. + +Mrs. Crump looked relieved. It removed a thought from her mind which +would now and then intrude, though it had never, for an instant, +lessened her affection for the child. + +At this point in the conversation, the cooper entered the house. He had +just come home on an errand. + +"It is my husband," said Mrs. Crump, turning to her visitor, by way of +explanation. "Timothy, will you come in a moment?" + +Mr. Crump regarded his wife's visitor with some surprise. His wife +hastened to introduce her as Mrs. Hardwick, Ida's nurse, and handed to +the astonished cooper the letter which the latter had brought with her. + +He was not a rapid reader, and it took him some time to get through the +letter. He laid it down on his knee, and looked thoughtful. The nurse +regarded him with a slight uneasiness. + +"This is, indeed, unexpected," he said, at last. "It is a new +development in Ida's history. May I ask, Mrs. Hardwick, if you have +any further proof. I want to be prudent with a child that I love as my +own,--if you have any further proof that you are what you claim to be?" + +"I judged that this letter would be sufficient," said the nurse; moving +a little in her chair. + +"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?" said the cooper, quickly. + +"It was read to me, before I set out." + +"By----" + +"By Ida's mother. I do not blame you for your caution," she continued. +"You must be so interested in the happiness of the dear child of whom +you have taken such (sic) excelent care, I don't mind telling you that I +was the one who left her at your door eight years ago, and that I never +left the neighborhood until I found that you had taken her in." + +"And it was this, that enabled you to find the house, to-day." + +"You forget," said 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 the cooper. "I am disposed to believe in the +genuineness of your claim. 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 the nurse. "I don't blame you in the least. I +shall report it to Ida's mother, as a proof of your attachment to your +child." + +"When do you wish Ida to go with you?" asked Mrs. Crump. + +"Can you let her go this afternoon?" + +"Why," said Mrs. Crump, hesitating, "I should like to have a chance to +wash out some clothes for her. I want her to appear as neat a possible, +when she meets her mother." + +The nurse hesitated. + +"I do not 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 excellently. 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. Crump, kindly. "It is 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; "we must insist upon 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. Crump 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." + +Left to herself, the nurse behaved in a manner which might be regarded +as singular. She rose from her seat, and approached the mirror. She took +a full survey of herself as she stood there, and laughed a short, hard +laugh. + +Then she made a formal courtesy to her own reflection, saying, "How do +you do, Mrs. Hardwick?" + +"Did you speak?" asked the cooper, who was passing through the entry on +his way out. + +"No," said the nurse, a little awkwardly. "I believe I said something to +myself. It's of no consequence." + +"Somehow," thought the cooper, "I don't fancy the woman's looks, but I +dare say I am prejudiced. We're all of us as God made us." + +While Mrs. Crump was making preparations for the noon-day meal, she +imparted to Rachel the astonishing information, which has already been +detailed to the reader. + +"I don't believe a word of it," said Rachel, resolutely. + +"She's an imposter. I knew she was the very first moment I set eyes on +her." + +This remark was so characteristic of Rachel, that Mrs. Crump did not +attach any special importance to it. Rachel, of course, had no grounds +for the opinion she so confidently expressed. It was consistent, +however, with her general estimate of human nature. + +"What object could she have in inventing such a story?" + +"What object? Hundreds of 'em," said Rachel, rather indefinitely. "Mark +my words, if you let her carry off Ida, it'll be the last you'll ever +see of her." + +"Try to look on the bright side, Rachel. Nothing is more natural than +that her mother should want to see her." + +"Why couldn't she come herself?" muttered Rachel. + +"The letter explains." + +"I don't see that it does." + +"It says that the same reasons exist for concealment as ever." + +"And what are they, I should like to know? I don't like mysteries, for +my part." + +"We won't quarrel with them, at any rate, since they enable us to keep +Ida with us." + +Aunt Rachel shook her head, as if she were far from satisfied. + +"I don't know," said Mrs. Crump, "but I ought to invite Mrs. Hardwick in +here. I have left her alone in the front room." + +"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. + +"Very true," said Mrs. Crump, evasively, "but I was not able to have the +care of you all the time. Didn't I ever mention Mrs. Hardwick to you?" + +"No, mother." + +"Although it is so long since I have seen her, I should have known her +anywhere," said the nurse, applying a handkerchief to her eyes. "So +pretty as she's grown up, too!" + +Mrs. Crump, who, as has been said, was devotedly attached to Ida, +glanced with pride at the beautiful child, who blushed at the +compliment. + +"Ida," said Mrs. Hardwick, "won't you come and kiss your old nurse?" + +Ida looked at the hard face, which now wore a smile intended to express +affection. Without knowing why, she felt an instinctive repugnance to +her, notwithstanding her words of endearment. + +She advanced timidly, with a reluctance which she was not wholly able to +conceal, and passively submitted to a caress from the nurse. + +There was a look in the eyes of the nurse, carefully guarded, yet not +wholly concealed, which showed that she was quite aware of Ida's feeling +towards her, and resented it. But whether or not she was playing a part, +she did not betray this feeling openly, but pressed the unwilling child +more closely to her bosom. + +Ida breathed a sigh of relief when she was released, and walked quietly +away, wondering what it was that made her dislike the woman so much. + +"Is my nurse a good woman?" she asked, thoughtfully, when alone with +Mrs. Crump, who was setting the table for dinner. + +"A good woman! What makes you ask that?" queried her adopted mother, in +surprise. + +"I don't know," said Ida. + +"I don't know anything to indicate that she is otherwise," said Mrs. +Crump. "And, by the way, Ida, she is going to take you on a little +excursion, to-morrow." + +"She going to take me?" exclaimed Ida. "Why, where are we going?" + +"On a little pleasure trip, and perhaps she may introduce you to a +pleasant lady, who has already become interested in you, from what she +has told her." + +"What could she say of me?" inquired Ida, "she has not seen me since I +was a baby." + +"Why," said the cooper's wife a little puzzled, "she appears to have +thought of you ever since, with a good deal of affection." + +"Is it wicked," asked Ida, after a pause, "not to like those that like +us?" + +"What makes you ask?" + +"Because, somehow or other, I don't like this Mrs. Hardwick at all, for +all she was my old nurse, and I don't believe ever shall." + +"Oh yes, you will," said Mrs. Crump, "when you find she is exerting +herself to give you pleasure." + +"Am I going to-morrow morning with Mrs. Hardwick?" + +"Yes. She wanted you to go to-day, but your clothes were not in order." + +"We shall come back at night, sha'n't we?" + +"I presume so." + +"I hope we shall," said Ida, decidedly, "and that she won't want me to +go with her again." + +"Perhaps you will think differently when it is over, and you find you +have enjoyed yourself better than you anticipated." + +Mrs. Crump exerted herself to fit Ida up as neatly as possible, and when +at length she was got ready, she thought to herself, with sudden fear, +"Perhaps her mother won't be willing to part with her again." + +When Ida was ready to start, there came over all a little shadow of +depression, as if the child were to be separated from them for a year, +and not for a day only. Perhaps this was only natural, since even this +latter term, however brief, was longer than they had been parted from +her since, an infant, she was left at their door. + +The nurse expressly desired that none of the family should accompany +her, as she declared it highly important that the whereabouts of Ida's +mother should not be known at once. "Of course," she said, "after +Ida returns, she can tell you what she pleases. Then it will be of no +consequence, for her mother will be gone. She does not live in this +neighborhood; she has only come here to have an interview with Ida." + +"Shall you bring her back to-night?" asked Mrs. Crump. + +"I may keep her till to-morrow," said the nurse. "After eight years' +absence, that will seem short enough." + +To this, Mrs. Crump agreed, but thought that it would seem long to her, +she had been so accustomed to have Ida present at meals. + +The nurse walked as far as Broadway, holding Ida by the hand. + +"Where are we going?" asked the child, timidly. "Are we going to walk +all the way?" + +"No," said the nurse, "we shall ride. There is an omnibus coming now. We +will get into it." + +She beckoned to the driver who stopped his horse. Ida and her companion +got in. + +They got out at the Jersey City ferry. + +"Did you ever ride in a steamboat?" asked Mrs. Hardwick, in a tone +intended to be gracious. + +"Once or twice," said Ida. "I went with brother Jack once, over to +Hoboken. Are we going there, now?" + +"No, we are going over to the city, you can see over the water." + +"What is it? Is it Brooklyn?" + +"No, it is Jersey City." + +"Oh, that will be pleasant," said Ida, forgetting, in her childish love +of novelty, the repugnance with which the nurse had inspired her. + +"Yes, and that is not all; we are going still further," said the nurse. + +"Are we going further?" asked Ida, her eyes sparkling. "Where are we +going?" + +"To a town on the line of the railroad." + +"And shall we ride in the cars?" asked the child, with animation. + +"Yes, didn't you ever ride in the cars before?" + +"No, never." + +"I think you will like it." + +"Oh, I know I shall. How fast do the cars go?" + +"Oh, a good many miles an hour,--maybe thirty." + +"And how long will it take us to go to the place you are going to carry +me to!" + +"I don't know exactly,--perhaps two hours." + +"Two whole hours in the cars!" exclaimed Ida. "How much I shall have to +tell father and Jack when I get back." + +"So you will," said Mrs. Hardwick, with an unaccountable smile, "when +you get back." + +There was something peculiar in her tone as she pronounced these last +words, but Ida did not notice it. + +So Ida, despite her company, actually enjoyed, in her bright +anticipation, a keen sense of pleasure. + +"Are we most there?" she asked, after riding about two hours. + +"It won't be long," said the nurse. + +"We must have come ever so many miles," said Ida. + +An hour passed. She amused herself by gazing out of the car windows at +the towns which seemed to flit by. At length, both Ida and her nurse +became hungry. + +The nurse beckoned to her side a boy who was going through the cars +selling apples and seed-cakes, and inquired their price. + +"The apples are two cents apiece, ma'am, and the cakes a cent apiece." + +Ida, who had been looking out of the window, turned suddenly round, and +exclaimed, in great astonishment; "Why, William Fitts, is that you?" + +"Why, Ida, where did you come from?" asked the boy, his surprise +equalling her own. + +The nurse bit her lips in vexation at this unexpected recognition. + +"I'm making a little journey with her," indicating Mrs. Hardwick. + +"So you're going to Philadelphia," said the boy. + +"To Philadelphia!" said Ida, in surprise. "Not that I know of." + +"Why, you're most there now." + +"Are we, Mrs. Hardwick?" asked Ida, looking in her companion's face. + +"It isn't far from there where we're going," said the nurse, shortly. +"Boy, I'll take two of your apples and four seed-cakes. And now you'd +better go along, for there's somebody by the stove that looks as if he +wanted to buy of you." + +William looked back as if he would like to question Ida farther, but her +companion looked forbidding, and he passed on reluctantly. + +"Who is that boy?" asked the nurse, abruptly. + +"His name is William Fitts." + +"Where did you get acquainted with him?" + +"He went to school with Jack, so I used to see him sometimes." + +"With Jack! Who's Jack?" + +"What! Don't you know Jack, brother Jack?" asked Ida, in childish +surprise. + +"O yes," replied the nurse, recollecting herself; "I didn't think of +him." + +"He's a first-rate boy, William is," said Ida, who was disposed to be +communicative. "He's good to his mother. You see his mother is sick most +of the time, and can't do much; and he's got a little sister, she ain't +more than four or five years old--and William supports them by selling +things. He's only sixteen; isn't he a smart boy?" + +"Yes;" said the nurse, mechanically. + +"Some time," continued Ida, "I hope I shall be able to earn something +for father and mother, so they won't be obliged to work so hard." + +"What could you do?" asked the nurse, curiously. + +"I don't know as I could do much," said Ida, modestly; "but when I have +practised more, perhaps I could draw pictures that people would buy." + +"So you know how to draw?" + +"Yes, I've been taking lessons for over a year." + +"And how do you like it?" + +"Oh, ever so much! I like it a good deal better 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. + +"Why, yes, of course you are," said Mrs. Hardwick, in a practical, +matter-of-fact tone. "Here, cross the street here. Take care or you'll +get run over. Now turn down here." + +They had now entered a narrow and dirty street, with unsightly houses on +either side. + +"This ain't a very nice looking street," said Ida, looking about her. + +"Why isn't it?" demanded the nurse, looking displeased. + +"Why, it's narrow, and the houses don't look nice." + +"What do you think of that house, there?" asked Mrs. Hardwick, pointing +out a tall, brick tenement house. + +"I shouldn't like to live there," said Ida, after a brief survey. + +"You shouldn't! You don't like it so well as the house you live in in +New York?" + +"No, not half so well." + +The nurse smiled. + +"Wouldn't you like to go up and look at the house?" she asked. + +"Go up and look at it!" repeated Ida, in surprise. + +"Yes, I mean to go in." + +"Why, what should we do that for?" + +"You see there are some poor families living there that I go to see +sometimes," said Mrs. Hardwick, who appeared to be amused at something. +"You know it is our duty to visit the poor." + +"Yes, that's what mother says." + +"There's a poor man living in the third story that I've made a good many +clothes for, first and last," said the nurse, in the same peculiar tone. + +"He must be very much obliged to you," said Ida, thinking that Mrs. +Hardwick was a better woman than she had supposed. + +"We're going up to see him, now," said the nurse. "Just take care of. +that hole in the stairs. Here we are." + +Somewhat to Ida's surprise, her companion opened the door without +the ceremony of knocking, and revealed a poor untidy room, in which a +coarse, unshaven man, was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe. + +"Hallo!" exclaimed this individual, jumping up suddenly. "So you've got +along, old woman! Is that the gal?" + +Ida stared from one to the other, in unaffected amazement. + + + +CHAPTER X. UNEXPECTED QUARTERS. + + + +THE appearance of the man whom Mrs. Hardwick addressed so familiarly was +more picturesque than pleasing. He had a large, broad face, which, not +having been shaved for a week, looked like a wilderness of stubble. His +nose indicated habitual indulgence in alcoholic beverages. His eyes, +likewise, were bloodshot, and his skin looked coarse and blotched; his +coat was thrown aside, displaying a shirt which bore evidence of having +been useful in its day and generation. The same remark may apply to his +nether integuments, which were ventilated at each knee, indicating a +most praiseworthy regard to the laws of health. He was sitting in a +chair pitched back against the wall, with his feet resting on another, +and a short Dutch pipe in his mouth, from which volumes of smoke were +pouring. + +Ida thought she had never seen before so disgusting a man. She continued +to gaze at him, half in astonishment, half in terror, till the object of +her attention exclaimed,-- + +"Well, little girl, what you're looking at? Hain't you never seen a +gentleman before?" + +Ida clung the closer to her companion, who, she was surprised to find, +did not resent the man's impertinence. + +"Well, Dick, how've you got along since I've been gone?" asked Mrs. +Hardwick, to Ida's unbounded astonishment. + +"Oh, so so." + +"Have you felt lonely any?" + +"I've had good company." + +"Who's been here?" + +Dick pointed significantly to a jug, which stood beside his chair. + +"So you've brought the gal. How did you get hold of her?" + +There was something in these questions which terrified Ida. It seemed to +indicate a degree of complicity between these two, which boded no good +to her. + +"I'll tell you the particulars by and by," said the nurse, looking +significantly at the child's expressive face. + +At the same time she began to take off her bonnet. + +"You ain't going to stop, are you?" whispered Ida. + +"Ain't going to stop!" repeated the man called Dick. "Why shouldn't she? +Ain't she at home?" + +"At home!" echoed Ida, apprehensively, opening wide her eyes in +astonishment. + +"Yes, ask her." + +Ida looked, inquiringly, at Mrs. Hardwick. + +"You might as well take off your things," said the latter, grimly. "We +ain't going any farther to-day." + +"And where's the lady you said you were going to see?" asked the child, +bewildered. + +"The one that was interested in you?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I'm the one." + +"You!" + +"Yes." + +"I don't want to stay here," said Ida, becoming frightened. + +"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked the woman, mockingly. + +"Will you take me back early to-morrow?" + +"No, I don't intend to take you back at all," said the nurse, coolly. + +Ida seemed stupefied with astonishment and terror at first. Then, +actuated by a sudden impulse, she ran to the door, and had got it open +when the nurse sprang forward, and seizing her by the arm, dragged her +rudely back. + +"Where are you going in such a hurry?" she demanded, roughly. + +"Back to father and mother," said Ida, bursting into tears. "Oh, why did +you carry me away?" + +"I'll tell you why," answered Dick, jocularly. "You see, Ida, we ain't +got any little girl to love us, and so we got you." + +"But I don't love you, and I never shall," said Ida, indignantly. + +"Now don't you go to saying that," said Dick. "You'll break my heart, +you will, and then Peg will be a widow." + +To give effect to this pathetic speech, Dick drew out a tattered red +handkerchief, and made a great demonstration of wiping his eyes. + +The whole scene was so ludicrous that Ida, despite her fears and +disgust, could not help laughing hysterically. She recovered herself +instantly, and said, imploringly, "Oh, do let me go, and father will pay +you; I'm sure he will." + +"You really think he would?" said Dick. + +"Oh, yes; and you'll tell her to carry me back, won't you?" + +"No, he won't tell me any such thing," said Peg, gruffly; "and if he +did, I wouldn't do it; so you might as well give up all thoughts of that +first as last. You're going to stay here; so take off that bonnet of +yours, and say no more about it." + +Ida made no motion towards obeying this mandate. + +"Then I'll do it for you," said Peg. + +She roughly untied the bonnet, Ida struggling vainly in opposition, +and taking this with the shawl, carried them to a closet, in which she +placed them, and then, locking the door, deliberately put the key in her +pocket. + +"There," said she, "I guess you're safe for the present." + +"Ain't you ever going to carry me back?" asked Ida, wishing to know the +worst. + +"Some years hence," said the woman, coolly. "We want you here for the +present. Besides, you're not sure that they want to see you back again." + +"Not glad to see me?" + +"No; how do you know but your father and mother sent you off on purpose? +They've been troubled with you long enough, and now they've bound you +apprentice to me till you're eighteen." + +"It's a lie," said Ida, firmly. "They didn't send me off, and you're a +wicked woman to keep me here." + +"Hoity-toity!" said the woman, pausing and looking menacingly at the +child. "Have you anything more to say before I whip you?" + +"Yes," said Ida, goaded to desperation; "I shall complain of you to the +police, and they will put you in jail, and send me home. That is what I +will do." + +The nurse seized Ida by the arm, and striding with her to the closet +already spoken of, unlocked it, and rudely pushing her in, locked the +door after her. + +"She's a spunky 'un," remarked Dick, taking the pipe from his mouth. + +"Yes," said the woman, "she makes more fuss than I thought she would." + +"How did you manage to come it over her family?" asked Dick. + +His wife, gave substantially, the same account with which the reader is +already familiar. + +"Pretty well done, old woman!" exclaimed Dick, approvingly. "I always +said you was a deep 'un. I always say if Peg can't find out a way to do +a thing it can't be done, no how." + +"How about the counterfeit coin?" asked his wife, abruptly. + +"They're to supply us with all we can get off, and we are to have one +half of all we succeed in passing." + +"That is good," said the woman, thoughtfully. "When this girl Ida gets a +little tamed down, we'll give her some business to do." + +"Won't she betray us if she gets caught?" + +"We'll manage that, or at least I will. I'll work on her fears so that +she won't any more dare to say a word about us than to cut her own head +off." + +Ida sank down on the floor of the closet into which she had been thrust. +Utter darkness was around her, and a darkness as black seemed to hang +over all her prospects of future happiness. She had been snatched in +a moment from parents, or those whom she regarded as such, and from a +comfortable and happy though humble home, to this dismal place. In place +of the kindness and indulgence to which she had been accustomed, she +was now treated with harshness and cruelty. What wonder that her heart +desponded, and her tears of childish sorrow flowed freely? + + + +CHAPTER XI. SUSPENSE. + + + +"It doesn't somehow seem natural," said Mr. Crump, as he took his seat +at the tea-table, "to sit down without Ida. It seems as if half of the +family were gone." + +"Just what I've said twenty times to-day," remarked his wife. "Nobody +knows how much a child is to them till they lose it." + +"Not lose it, mother," said Jack, who had been sitting in a silence +unusual for him. + +"I didn't mean to say that," said Mrs. Crump. "I meant till they were +gone away for a time." + +"When you spoke of losing," said Jack, "it made me feel just as Ida +wasn't coming back." + +"I don't know how it is," said his mother, thoughtfully, "but that's +just the feeling I've had several times to-day. I've felt just as if +something or other would happen so that Ida wouldn't come back." + +"That is only because she has never been away before," said the cooper, +cheerfully. "It isn't best to borrow trouble; we shall have enough of it +without." + +"You never said a truer word, brother," said Rachel, lugubriously. "'Man +is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.' This world is a vale of +tears. Folks may try and try to be happy, but that isn't what they're +sent here for." + +"Now that's where I differ from you," said the cooper, good-humoredly, +"just as there are many more pleasant than stormy days, so I believe +that there is much more of brightness than shadow in this life of ours, +if we would only see it." + +"I can't see it," said Rachel, shaking her head very decidedly. + +"Perhaps you could if you tried." + +"So I do." + +"It seems to me, Rachel, you take more pains to look at the clouds than +the sun." + +"Yes," chimed in Jack; "I've noticed whenever Aunt Rachel takes up the +newspaper, she always looks first at the (sic) death's, and next at the +fatal accidents and steamboat explosions." + +"It's said," said Aunt Rachel, with severe emphasis, "if you should ever +be on board a steamboat when it exploded you wouldn't find much to laugh +at." + +"Yes, I should," said Jack. "I should laugh----" + +"What!" said Aunt Rachel, horrified. + +"On the other side of my mouth," concluded Jack. "You didn't wait till I +had got through the sentence." + +"I don't think it proper to make light of such matters." + +"Nor I, Aunt Rachel," said Jack, drawing down the corners of his mouth. +"I am willing to confess that this is a serious matter. I should feel as +they said the cow did, that was thrown three hundred feet into the air." + +"How was that?" inquired his mother. + +"A little discouraged," replied Jack. + +All laughed except Aunt Rachel, who preserved the same severe composure, +and continued to eat the pie upon her plate with the air of one gulping +down medicine. + +So the evening passed. All seemed to miss Ida. Mrs. Crump found herself +stealing glances at the smaller chair beside her own in which Ida +usually sat. The cooper appeared abstracted, and did not take as much +interest as usual in the evening paper. Jack was restless, and found it +difficult to fix his attention upon anything. Even Aunt Rachel looked +more dismal than usual, if such a thing be possible. + +In the morning all felt brighter. + +"Ida will be home to-night," said Mrs. Crump, cheerfully. "What an age +it seems since she left us!" + +"We shall know better how to appreciate her presence," said the cooper, +cheerfully. + +"What time do you expect her home? Did Mrs. Hardwick say?" + +"Why no," said Mrs. Crump, "she didn't say, but I guess she will be along +in the course of the afternoon." + +"If we only knew where she had gone," said Jack, "we could tell better." + +"But as we don't know," said his father, "we must wait patiently till +she comes." + +"I guess," said Mrs. Crump, in the spirit of a notable housewife, "I'll +make up some apple-turnovers for supper to-night. There's nothing Ida +likes so well." + +"That's where Ida is right," said Jack, "apple-turnovers are splendid." + +"They're very unwholesome," remarked Aunt Rachel. + +"I shouldn't think so from the way you eat them, Aunt Rachel," retorted +Jack. "You ate four the last time we had them for supper." + +"I didn't think you'd begrudge me the little I eat," said Rachel, +dolefully. "I didn't think you took the trouble to keep account of what +I ate." + +"Come, Rachel, this is unreasonable," said her brother. "Nobody +begrudges you what you eat, even if you choose to eat twice as much as +you do. I dare say, Jack ate more of them than you did." + +"I ate six," said Jack. + +Rachel, construing this into an apology, said no more; but, feeling it +unnecessary to explain why she ate what she admitted to be unhealthy, +added, "And if I do eat what's unwholesome, it's because life ain't of +any value to me. The sooner one gets out of this vale of affliction the +better." + +"And the way you take to get out of it," said Jack, gravely, "is by +eating apple-turnovers. Whenever you die, Aunt Rachel, we shall have +to put a paragraph in the papers, headed, 'Suicide by eating +apple-turnovers.'" + +Rachel intimated, in reply, that she presumed it would afford Jack a +great deal of satisfaction to write such a paragraph. + +The evening came. Still no tidings of Ida. + +The family began to feel alarmed. An indefinable sense of apprehension +oppressed the minds of all. Mrs. Crump feared that Ida's mother, seeing +her grown up so attractive, could not resist the temptation of keeping +her. + +"I suppose," she said, "that she has the best claim to her; but it will +be a terrible thing for us to part with her." + +"Don't let us trouble ourselves in that way," said the cooper. "It seems +to me very natural that they should keep her a little longer than they +intended. Besides, it is not too late for her to return to-night." + +This cheered Mrs. Crump a little. + +The evening passed slowly. + +At length there came a knock at the door. + +"I guess that is Ida," said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. + +Jack seized a candle, and hastening to the door, threw it open. But +there was no Ida there. In her place stood William Fitts, the boy who +had met Ida in the cars. + +"How do you do, Bill?" said Jack, endeavoring not to look disappointed. +"Come in, and take a seat, and tell us all the news." + +"Well," said William, "I don't know of any. I suppose Ida has got home." + +"No," said Jack, "we expected her to-night, but she hasn't come yet." + +"She told me that she expected to come back to-day," said William. + +"What! have you seen her?" exclaimed all in chorus. + +"Yes, I saw her yesterday noon." + +"Where?" + +"Why, in the cars," said William, a little surprised at the question. + +"What cars?" asked the cooper. + +"Why, the Philadelphia cars. Of course, you knew that was where she was +going?" + +"Philadelphia!" all exclaimed, in surprise. + +"Yes, the cars were almost there when I saw her. Who was that with her?" + +"Mrs. Hardwick, who was her old nurse." + +"Anyway, I didn't like her looks," said the boy. + +"That's where I agree with you," said Jack, decidedly. + +"She didn't seem to want me to speak to Ida," continued William, "but +hurried her off, just as quick as possible." + +"There were reasons for that," said Mrs. Crump, "she wanted to keep +secret her destination." + +"I don't know what it was," said William; "but any how, I don't like her +looks." + +The family felt a little relieved by this information; and, since Ida +had gone so far, it did not seem strange that she should have outstayed +her time. + + + +CHAPTER XII. HOW IDA FARED. + + + +WE left Ida confined in a dark closet, with Peg standing guard over her. + +After an hour she was released. + +"Well," said Peg, grimly, "how do you feel now?" + +"I want to go home," sobbed the child. + +"You are at home," said the woman. "This is going to be your home now." + +"Shall I never see father and mother and Jack, again?" + +"Why," answered Peg, "that depends on how you behave yourself." + +"Oh, if you will only let me go," said Ida, gathering hope from this +remark, "I'll do anything you say." + +"Do you mean this, or do you only say it for the sake of getting away?" + +"Oh, I mean just what I say. Dear, good Mrs. Hardwick, just tell me what +I am to do, and I will obey you cheerfully." + +"Very well," said Peg, "only you needn't try to get anything out of me +by calling me dear, good Mrs. Hardwick. In the first place, you don't +care a cent about me. In the second place, I am not good; and finally, +my name isn't Mrs. Hardwick, except in New York." + +"What is it, then?" asked Ida. + +"It's just Peg, no more and no less. You may call me Aunt Peg." + +"I would rather call you Mrs. Hardwick." + +"Then you'll have a good many years to call me so. You'd better do as I +tell you if you want any favors. Now what do you say?" + +"Yes, Aunt Peg," said Ida, with a strong effort to conceal her +repugnance. + +"That's well. Now the first thing to do, is to stay here for the +present." + +"Yes--aunt." + +"The second is, you're not to tell anybody that you came from New York. +That is very important. You understand that, do you?" + +The child replied in the affirmative. + +"The next is, that you're to pay for your board, by doing whatever I +tell you." + +"If it isn't wicked." + +"Do you suppose I would ask you to do anything wicked?" + +"You said you wasn't good," mildly suggested Ida. + +"I'm good enough to take care of you. Well, what do you say to that? +Answer me." + +"Yes." + +"There's another thing. You ain't to try to run away." + +Ida hung down her head. + +"Ha!" said Peg. "So you've been thinking of it, have you?" + +"Yes," said Ida, boldly, after a moment's hesitation; "I did think I +should if I got a good chance." + +"Humph!" said the woman; "I see we must understand one another. Unless +you promise this, back you go into the dark closet, and I shall keep you +there all the time." + +Ida shuddered at this fearful threat, terrible to a child of nine. + +"Do you promise?" + +"Yes," said the child, faintly. + +"For fear you might be tempted to break your promise, I have something +to show you." + +She went to the cupboard, and took down a large pistol. + +"There," she said, "do you see that?" + +"Yes, Aunt Peg." + +"What is it?" + +"It is a pistol, I believe." + +"Do you know what it is for?" + +"To shoot people with," said Ida, fixing her eyes on the weapon, as if +impelled by a species of fascination. + +"Yes," said the woman; "I see you understand. Well, now, do you know +what I would do if you should tell anybody where you came from, or +attempt to run away? Can you guess now?" + +"Would you shoot me?" asked the child, struck with terror. + +"Yes, I would," said Peg, with fierce emphasis. "That's just what I'd +do. And what's more," she added, "even if you got away, and got back to +your family in New York. I would follow you and shoot you dead in the +street." + +"You wouldn't be so wicked!" exclaimed Ida, appalled. + +"Wouldn't I, though?" repeated Peg, significantly. "If you don't believe +I would, just try it. Do you think you would like to try it?" + +"No," said the child, with a shudder. + +"Well, that's the most sensible thing you've said yet. Now, that you +have got to be a little more reasonable, I'll tell you what I am going +to do with you." + +Ida looked up eagerly into her face. + +"I am going to keep you with me a year. I want the services of a little +girl for that time. If you serve me faithfully, I will then send you +back to your friends in New York." + +"Will you?" said Ida, hopefully. + +"Yes. But you must mind and do what I tell you." + +"O yes," said the child, joyfully. + +This was so much better than she had been led to fear, that the prospect +of returning home, even after a year, gave her fresh courage. + +"What shall I do?" she asked, anxious to conciliate Peg. + +"You may take the broom,--you will find it just behind the door,--and +sweep the room." + +"Yes, Aunt Peg." + +"And after that you may wash the dishes. Or, rather, you may wash the +dishes first." + +"Yes, Aunt Peg." + +"And after that I will find something for you to do." + +The next morning Ida was asked if she would like to go out into the +street. + +This was a welcome proposition, as the sun was shining brightly, and +there was little to please a child's fancy in Peg's shabby apartment. + +"I am going to let you do a little shopping," said Peg. "There are +various things that we want. Go and get your bonnet." + +"It's in the closet," said Ida. + +"O yes, where I put it. That was before I could trust you." + +She went to the closet, and came back bringing the bonnet and shawl. As +soon as they were ready, they emerged into the street. Ida was glad to +be in the open air once more. + +"This is a little better than being shut up in the closet, isn't it?" +said Peg. + +Ida owned that it was. + +"You see you'll have a very good time of it, if you do as I bid you. I +don't want to do you any harm. I want you to be happy." + +So they walked along together, until Peg, suddenly pausing, laid her +hand on Ida's arm, and pointing to a shop near by, said to her, "Do you +see that shop?" + +"Yes," said Ida. + +"Well, that is a baker's shop. And now I'll tell you what to do. I want +you to go in, and ask for a couple of rolls. They come at three cents +apiece. Here's some money to pay for them. It is a silver dollar, as you +see. You will give this to them, and they will give you back ninety-four +cents in change. Do you understand'?" + +"Yes," said Ida; "I think I do." + +"And if they ask if you haven't anything smaller, you will say no." + +"Yes, Aunt Peg." + +"I will stay just outside. I want you to go in alone, so that you will +get used to doing without me." + +Ida entered the shop. The baker, a pleasant-looking man, stood behind +the counter. + +"Well, my dear, what is it?" he asked. + +"I should like a couple of rolls." + +"For your mother, I suppose," said the baker, sociably. + +"No," said Ida; "for the woman I board with." + +"Ha! a silver dollar, and a new one, too," said the baker, receiving +the coin tendered in payment. "I shall have to save that for my little +girl." + +Ida left the shop with the two rolls and the silver change. + +"Did he say anything about the money?" asked Peg, a little anxiously. + +"He said he should save it for his little girl." + +"Good," said the woman, approvingly; "you've done well." + +Ida could not help wondering what the baker's disposal of the dollar had +to do with her doing well, but she was soon thinking of other things. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. BAD COIN. + + + +THE baker introduced to the reader's notice in the last chapter was +named Crump. Singularly enough Abel Crump, for this was his name, was a +brother of Timothy Crump, the cooper. In many respects he resembled +his brother. He was an excellent man, exemplary in all the relations of +life, and had a good heart. He was in very comfortable circumstances, +having accumulated a little property by diligent attention to his +business. Like his brother, Abel Crump had married, and had one child, +now about the size of Ida, that is, nine years old. She had received the +name of Ellen. + +When the baker closed his shop for the night he did not forget the +silver dollar which he had received, or the disposal which he told Ida +he should make of it. + +He selected it carefully from the other coins, and slipped it into his +vest pocket. + +Ellen ran to meet him as he entered the house. + +"What do you think I have brought you, Ellen?" said her father, smiling. + +"Do tell me quick," said the child, eagerly. + +"What if I should tell you it was a silver dollar?" + +"Oh, father, thank you," and Ellen ran to show it to her mother. + +"You got it at the shop?" asked his wife. + +"Yes," said the baker; "I received it from a little girl about the size +of Ellen, and I suppose it was that gave me the idea of bringing it home +to her." + +"Was she a pretty little girl?" asked Ellen, interested. + +"Yes, she was very attractive. I could not help feeling interested in +her. I hope she will come again." + +This was all that passed concerning Ida at that time. The thought of her +would have passed from the baker's mind, if it had not been recalled by +circumstances. + +Ellen, like most girls of her age, when in possession of money, could +not be easy until she had spent it. Her mother advised her to lay it +away, or perhaps deposit it in some Savings Bank; but Ellen preferred +present gratification. + +Accordingly one afternoon, when walking out with her mother, she +persuaded her to go into a toy shop, and price a doll which she saw in +the window. The price was sixty-two cents. Ellen concluded to take it, +and tendered the silver dollar in payment. + +The shopman took it into his hand, glancing at it carelessly at first, +then scrutinizing it with considerable attention. + +"What is the matter?" inquired Mrs. Crump. "It is good, isn't it?" + +"That is what I am doubtful of," was the reply. + +"It is new." + +"And that is against it. If it were old, it would be more likely to be +genuine." + +"But you wouldn't (sic) comdemn a piece because it was new?" + +"Certainly not; but the fact is, there have been lately many cases where +spurious dollars have been circulated, and I suspect this is one of +them. However, I can soon test it." + +"I wish you, would," said Mrs. Crump. "My husband took it at his shop, +and will be likely to take more unless he is placed on his guard." + +The shopman retired a moment, and then reappeared. + +"It is as I thought," he said. "The coin is not good." + +"And can't I pass it, then?" said Ellen, disappointed. + +"I am afraid not." + +"Then I don't see, Ellen," said her mother, "but you will have to give +up your purchase for to-day. We must tell your father of this." + +Mr. Crump was exceedingly surprised at his wife's account. + +"Really," he said, "I had no suspicion of this. Can it be possible that +such a beautiful child could be guilty of such a crime?" + +"Perhaps not," said his wife. "She may be as innocent in the matter as +Ellen or myself." + +"I hope so," said the baker; "it would be a pity that such a child +should be given to wickedness. However, I shall find out before long." + +"How?" + +"She will undoubtedly come again some time, and if she offers me one of +the same coins I shall know what to think." + +Mr. Crump watched daily for the coming of Ida. He waited some days in +vain. It was not the policy of Peg to send the child too often to the +same place, as that would increase the chances of detection. + +One day, however, Ida entered the shop as before. + +"Good morning," said the baker. "What will you have to-day?" + +"You may give me a sheet of gingerbread, sir." + +The baker placed it in her hands. + +"How much will it be?" + +"Twelve cents." + +Ida offered him another silver dollar. + +As if to make change, he stepped from behind the counter, and managed to +place himself between Ida and the door. + +"What is your name, my child?" he asked. + +"Ida, sir." + +"Ida? A very pretty name; but what is your other name?" + +Ida hesitated a moment, because Peg had forbidden her to use the name +of Crump, and told her if the inquiry was ever made, she must answer +Hardwick. + +She answered, reluctantly, "My name is Ida Hardwick." + +The baker observed the hesitation, and this increased his suspicions. + +"Hardwick!" he repeated, musingly, endeavoring to draw from the child +as much information as he could before allowing her to perceive that he +suspected her. "And where do you live?" + +Ida was a child of spirit, and did not understand why she should be +questioned so closely. She said, with some impatience, "I am in a hurry, +sir, and would like to have you hand me the change as soon as you can." + +"I have no doubt of it," said the baker, his manner changing; "but you +cannot go just yet." + +"And why not?" asked Ida, her eyes flashing. + +"Because you have been trying to deceive me." + +"I trying to deceive you!" exclaimed the child, in astonishment. + +"Really," thought Mr. Crump, "she does it well, but no doubt they train +her to it. It is perfectly shocking, such depravity in a child." + +"Don't you remember buying something here a week ago?" he said, in as +stern a tone as his good nature would allow him to employ. + +"Yes," said Ida, promptly; "I bought two rolls at three cents a piece." + +"And what did you offer me in payment?" + +"I handed you a silver dollar." + +"Like this?" asked Mr. Crump, holding up the coin. + +"Yes, sir." + +"And do you mean to say," said the baker, sternly, "that you didn't know +it was bad when you handed it to me?" + +"Bad!" exclaimed Ida, in great surprise. + +"Yes, spurious. It wasn't worth one tenth of a dollar." + +"And is this like it?" + +"Precisely." + +"Indeed, sir, I didn't know anything about it," said Ida, earnestly, "I +hope you will believe me when I say that I thought it was good." + +"I don't know what to think," said the baker, perplexed. + +"I don't know whether to believe you or not," said he. "Have you any +other money?" + +"That is all I have got." + +"Of course, I can't let you have the gingerbread. Some would deliver you +up into the hands of the police. However, I will let you go if you will +make me one promise." + +"Oh, anything, sir." + +"You have given me a bad dollar. Will you promise to bring me a good one +to-morrow?" + +Ida made the required promise, and was allowed to go. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. DOUBTS AND FEARS. + + + +"WELL, what kept you so long?" asked Peg, impatiently, as Ida rejoined +her at the corner of the street, where she had been waiting for her. +"And where's your gingerbread?" + +"He wouldn't let me have it," said Ida. + +"And why not?" + +"Because he said the money wasn't good." + +"Stuff! it's good enough," said Peg, hastily. "Then we must go somewhere +else." + +"But he said the dollar I gave him last week wasn't good, and I promised +to bring him another to-morrow, or he wouldn't have let me go." + +"Well, where are you going to get your dollar to carry him?" + +"Why, won't you give it to me?" said Ida, hesitatingly. + +"Catch me at such nonsense! But here we are at another shop. Go in and +see whether you can do any better there. Here's the money." + +"Why, it's the same piece." + +"What if it is?" + +"I don't want to pass bad money." + +"Tut, what hurt will it do?" + +"It is the same as stealing." + +"The man won't lose anything. He'll pass it off again." + +"Somebody'll have to lose it by and by," said Ida, whose truthful +perceptions saw through the woman's sophistry. + +"So you've taken up preaching, have you?" said Peg, sneeringly. "Maybe +you know better than I what is proper to do. It won't do to be so mighty +particular, and so you'll find out if you live with me long." + +"Where did you take the dollar?" asked Ida, with a sudden thought; "and +how is it that you have so many of them?" + +"None of your business," said her companion, roughly. "You shouldn't pry +into the affairs of other people." + +"Are you going to do as I told you?" she demanded, after a moment's +pause. + +"I can't," said Ida, pale but resolute. + +"You can't," repeated Peg, furiously. "Didn't you promise to do whatever +I told you?" + +"Except what was wicked," interrupted Ida. + +"And what business have you to decide what is wicked? Come home with +me." + +Peg, walked in sullen silence, occasionally turning round to scowl upon +the unfortunate child, who had been strong enough, in her determination +to do right, to resist successfully the will of the woman whom she had +every reason to dread. + +Arrived at home, Peg walked Ida into the room by the shoulder. + +Dick was lounging in a chair, with the inevitable pipe in his mouth. + +"Hilloa!" said he, lazily, observing his wife's movements, "what's the +gal been doing, hey?" + +"What's she been doing?" repeated Peg; "I should like to know what she +hasn't been doing. She's refused to go in and buy some gingerbread of +the baker, as I told her." + +"Look here, little gal," said Dick, in a moralizing vein, "isn't +this rayther undootiful conduct on your part? Ain't it a piece of +ingratitude, when we go to the trouble of earning the money to pay for +gingerbread for you to eat, that you ain't willing to go in and buy it?" + +"I would just as lieves go in," said Ida, "if Peg would give me good +money to pay for it." + +"That don't make any difference," said the admirable moralist; "jest do +as she tells you, and you'll do right. She'll take the risk." + +"I can't!" said the child. + +"You hear her?" said Peg. + +"Very improper conduct!" said Dick, shaking his head. "Put her in the +closet." + +So Ida was incarcerated once more in the dark closet. Yet, in the midst +of her desolation, there was a feeling of pleasure in thinking that she +was suffering for doing right. + +When Ida failed to return on the expected day, the Crumps, though +disappointed, did not think it strange. + +"If I were her mother," said Mrs. Crump, "and had been parted from her +so long, I should want to keep her as long as I could. Dear heart! how +pretty she is, and how proud her mother must be of her!" + +"It's all a delusion," said Aunt Rachel, shaking her head. "It's all a +delusion. I don't believe she's got a mother at all. That Mrs. Hardwick +is an imposter. I knew it, and told you so at the time, but you wouldn't +believe me. I never expect to set eyes on Ida again in this world." + +"I do," said Jack, confidently. + +"There's many a hope that's doomed to disappointment," said Aunt Rachel. + +"So there is," said Jack. "I was hoping mother would have apple-pudding +for dinner to-day, but she didn't." + +The next day passed, and still no tidings of Ida. There was a cloud +of anxiety, even upon Mr. Crump's usually placid face, and he was more +silent than usual at the evening meal. + +At night, after Rachel and Jack had both retired, he said, anxiously, +"What do you think is the cause of Ida's prolonged absence, Mary?" + +"I don't know," said Mrs. Crump, seriously. "It seems to me, if her +mother wanted to keep her longer than the time she at first proposed, +it would be no more than right that she should write us a line. She must +know that we would feel anxious." + +"Perhaps she is so taken up with Ida that she can think of nothing +else." + +"It may be so; but if we neither see Ida to-morrow, nor hear from her, I +shall be seriously troubled." + +"Suppose she should never come back," said the cooper, sadly. + +"Oh, husband, don't think of such a thing," said his wife, distressed. + +"We must contemplate it as a possibility," returned Timothy, gravely, +"though not, I hope, as a probability. Ida's mother has an undoubted +right to her; a better right than any we can urge." + +"Then it would be better," said his wife, tearfully, "if she had never +been placed in our charge. Then we should not have had the pain of +parting with her." + +"Not so, Mary," said the cooper, seriously. "We ought to be grateful for +God's blessings, even if he suffers us to possess them but a short time. +And Ida has been a blessing to us, I am sure. How many hours have been +made happy by her childish prattle! how our hearts have been filled with +cheerful happiness and affection when we have gazed upon her! That can't +be taken from us, even if she is, Mary. There's some lines I met with in +the paper, to-night, that express just what I feel. Let me find them." + +The cooper put on his spectacles, and hunted slowly down the columns of +the paper, till he came to these beautiful lines of Tennyson, which he +read aloud,-- + + "I hold it true, whate'er befall; + I feel it when I sorrow most; + 'Tis better to have loved and lost, + Than never to have loved at all." + +"There, wife," said he, as he laid down the paper; "I don't know who +writ them lines, but I'm sure it's some one that's met with a great +sorrow, and conquered it." + +"They are beautiful," said his wife, after a pause; "and I dare say +you're right, Timothy; but I hope we mayn't have reason to learn the +truth of them by experience. After all, it isn't certain but that Ida +will come back. We are troubling ourselves too soon." + +"At any rate," said the cooper, "there is no doubt that it is our duty +to take every means to secure Ida if we can. Of course, if her mother +insists upon keeping her, we can't say anything; but we ought to be +sure, before we yield her up, that such is the case." + +"What do you mean, Timothy?" asked Mrs. Crump, with anxious interest. + +"I don't know as I ought to mention it," said her husband. "Very +likely there isn't anything in it, and it would only make you feel more +anxious." + +"You have already aroused my anxiety," said his wife. "I should feel +better if you would tell me." + +"Then I will," said the cooper. "I have sometimes doubted," he +continued, lowering his voice, "whether Ida's mother really sent for +her." + +"And the letter?" queried Mrs. Crump, looking less surprised than he +supposed she would. + +"I thought--mind it is only a guess on my part--that Mrs. Hardwick might +have got somebody to write it for her." + +"It is very singular," murmured Mrs. Crump, in a tone of abstraction. + +"What is singular?" + +"Why, the very same thought occurred to me. Somehow, I couldn't help +feeling a little suspicious of Mrs. Hardwick, though perhaps unjustly. +But what object could she have in obtaining possession of Ida?" + +"That I cannot conjecture; but I have come to one determination." + +"And what is that?" + +"Unless we learn something of Ida within a week from the time she left +here, I shall go on to Philadelphia, or send Jack, and endeavor to get +track of her." + + + +CHAPTER XV. AUNT RACHEL'S MISHAPS. + + + +THE week which had been assigned by Mr. Crump slipped away, and still no +tidings of Ida. The house seemed lonely without her. Not until then, +did they understand how largely she had entered into their life and +thoughts. But worse even, than the sense of loss, was the uncertainty as +to her fate. + +When seven days had passed the cooper said, "It is time that we took +some steps about finding Ida. I had intended to go to Philadelphia +myself, to make inquiries about her, but I am just now engaged upon +a job which I cannot very well leave, and so I have concluded to send +Jack." + +"When shall I start?" exclaimed Jack, eagerly. + +"To-morrow morning," answered his father, "and you must take clothes +enough with you to last several days, in case it should be necessary." + +"What good do you suppose it will do, Timothy," broke in Rachel, "to +send such a mere boy as Jack?" + +"A mere boy!" repeated her nephew, indignantly. + +"A boy hardly sixteen years old," continued Rachel. "Why, he'll need +somebody to take care of him. Most likely you'll have to go after him." + +"What's the use of provoking a fellow so, Aunt Rachel?" said Jack. "You +know I'm most eighteen. Hardly sixteen! Why, I might as well say you're +hardly forty, when everybody knows you're most fifty." + +"Most fifty!" ejaculated the scandalized spinster. "It's a base slander. +I'm only forty-three." + +"Maybe I'm mistaken," said Jack, carelessly. "I didn't know exactly. I +only judged from your looks." + +"'Judge not that ye be not judged!'" said Rachel, whom this explanation +was not likely to appease. "The world is full of calumny and +misrepresentation. I've no doubt you would like to shorten my days upon +the earth, but I sha'n't live long to trouble any of you. I feel that, +ere the summer of life is over, I shall be gathered into the garden of +the Great Destroyer." + +At this point, Rachel applied a segment of a pocket-handkerchief to her +eyes; but unfortunately, owing to circumstances, the effect, instead of +being pathetic, as she had intended, was simply ludicrous. + +It so happened that a short time previous the inkstand had been +partially spilled on the table, and this handkerchief had been used to +sop it up. It had been placed inadvertently on the window-seat, where +it had remained till Rachel, who sat beside the window, called it into +requisition. The ink upon it was by no means dry. The consequence was +that, when Rachel removed it from her eyes, her face was found to be +covered with ink in streaks,--mingling with the tears that were falling, +for Rachel always had tears at her command. + +The first intimation the luckless spinster had of her misfortune, was +conveyed in a stentorian laugh from Jack, whose organ of mirthfulness, +marked _very large_ by the phrenologist, could not withstand such a +provocation to laughter. + +He looked intently at the dark traces of sorrow upon his aunt's face, +of which she was yet unconscious--and doubling up, went into a perfect +paroxysm of laughter. + +Aunt Rachel looked equally amazed and indignant. + +"Jack!" said his mother, reprovingly, for she had not observed the cause +of his amusement. "It's improper for you to laugh at your aunt in such a +rude manner." + +"Oh, I can't help it, mother. It's too rich! Just look at her," and Jack +went off into another paroxysm. + +Thus invited, Mrs. Crump did look, and the rueful expression of Rachel, +set off by the inky stains, was so irresistibly comical, that, after a +little struggle, she too gave way, and followed Jack's example. + +Astounded and indignant at this unexpected behavior of her +sister-in-law, Rachel burst into a fresh fit of weeping, and again had +recourse to the handkerchief. + +"I've stayed here long enough, if even my sister-in-law, as well as +my own nephew, from whom I expect nothing better, makes me her +laughing-stock. Brother Timothy, I can no longer remain in your dwelling +to be laughed at; I will go to the poor-house, and end my life as a +pauper. If I only receive Christian burial, when I leave the world, it +will be all I hope or expect from my relatives, who will be glad enough +to get rid of me." + +The second application of the handkerchief had so increased the effect, +that Jack found it impossible to check his laughter, while the cooper, +whose attention was now for the first time drawn to his sister's face, +burst out in a similar manner. + +This more amazed Rachel than even Mrs. Crump's merriment. + +"Even you, Timothy, join in ridiculing your sister!" she exclaimed, in +an 'Et tu Brute,' tone. + +"We don't mean to ridicule you, Rachel," gasped Mrs. Crump, with +difficulty, "but we can't help laughing----" + +"At the prospect of my death," uttered Rachel. "Well, I'm a poor forlorn +creetur, I know; I haven't got a friend in the world. Even my nearest +relations make sport of me, and when I speak of dying they shout their +joy to my face." + +"Yes," gasped Jack, "that's it exactly. It isn't your death we're +laughing at, but your face." + +"My face!" exclaimed the insulted spinster. "One would think I was a +fright, by the way you laugh at it." + +"So you are," said Jack, in a state of semi-strangulation. + +"To be called a fright to my face!" shrieked Rachel, "by my own nephew! +This is too much. Timothy, I leave your house forever." + +The excited maiden seized her hood, which was hanging from a nail, and +hardly knowing what she did, was about to leave the house with no other +protection, when she was arrested in her progress towards the door by +the cooper, who stifled his laughter sufficiently to say: "Before you +go, Rachel, just look in the glass." + +Mechanically his sister did look, and her horrified eyes rested upon +a face which streaked with inky spots and lines seaming it in every +direction. + +In her first confusion, Rachel did not understand the nature of her +mishaps, but hastily jumped to the conclusion that she had been suddenly +stricken by some terrible disease like the plague, whose ravages in +London she had read of with the interest which one of her melancholy +temperament might be expected to find in it. + +Accordingly she began to wring her hands in an excess of terror, and +exclaimed in tones of piercing anguish,-- + +"It is the fatal plague spot! I feel it; I know it! I am marked for the +tomb. The sands of my life are fast running out!" + +Jack broke into a fresh burst of merriment, so that an observer might, +not without reason, have imagined him to be in imminent danger of +suffocation. + +"You'll kill me, Aunt Rachel; I know you will," he gasped out. + +"You may order my coffin, Timothy," said Rachel, in a sepulchral tone. +"I sha'n't live twenty-four hours. I've felt it coming on for a week +past. I forgive you for all your ill-treatment. I should like to have +some one go for the doctor, though I know I'm past help. I will go up to +my chamber." + +"I think," said the cooper, trying to look sober, "that you will find +the cold-water treatment efficacious in removing the plague-spots, as +you call them." + +Rachel turned towards him with a puzzled look. Then, as her eyes rested, +for the first time, upon the handkerchief which she had used, its +appearance at once suggested a clew by which she was enabled to account +for her own. + +Somewhat ashamed of the emotion which she had betrayed, as well as the +ridiculous figure which she had cut, she left the room abruptly, and did +not make her appearance again till the next morning. + +After this little episode, the conversation turned upon Jack's +approaching journey. + +"I don't know," said his mother, "but Rachel is right. Perhaps Jack +isn't old enough, and hasn't had sufficient experience to undertake such +a mission." + +"Now, mother," expostulated Jack, "you ain't going to side against me, +are you?" + +"There is no better plan," said Mr. Crump, quietly, "and I have +sufficient confidence in Jack's shrewdness and intelligence to believe +he may be trusted in this business." + +Jack looked gratified by this tribute to his powers and capacity, and +determined to show that he was deserving of his father's favorable +opinion. + +The preliminaries were settled, and it was agreed that he should set out +early the next morning. He went to bed with the brightest anticipations, +and with the resolute determination to find Ida if she was anywhere in +Philadelphia. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE FLOWER-GIRL. + + + +HENRY BOWEN was a young artist of moderate talent, who had abandoned +the farm, on which he had labored as a boy, for the sake of pursuing +his favorite profession. He was not competent to achieve the highest +success. The foremost rank in his profession was not for him. But he had +good taste, a correct eye, and a skilful hand, and his productions +were pleasing and popular. A few months before his introduction to the +reader's notice, he had formed a connection with a publisher of prints +and engravings, who had thrown considerable work in his way. + +"Have you any new commission this morning?" inquired the young artist, +on the day before Ida's discovery that she had been employed to pass off +spurious coins. + +"Yes," said the publisher, "I have thought of something which I think +may prove attractive. Just at present, the public seem fond of pictures +of children in different characters. I should like to have you supply +me with a sketch of a flower-girl, with, say, a basket of flowers in her +hand. The attitude and incidentals I will leave to your taste. The face +must, of course, be as beautiful and expressive as you can make it, +where regularity of features is not sufficient. Do you comprehend my +idea?" + +"I believe I do," said the young man, "and hope to be able to satisfy +you." + +The young artist went home, and at once set to work upon the task he +had undertaken. He had conceived that it would be an easy one, but found +himself mistaken. Whether because his fancy was not sufficiently lively, +or his mind was not in tune, he was unable to produce the effect he +desired. The faces which he successively outlined were all stiff, and +though perhaps sufficiently regular in feature, lacked the great charm +of being expressive and life-like. + +"What is the matter with me?" he exclaimed, impatiently, throwing +down his pencil. "Is it impossible for me to succeed? Well, I will be +patient, and make one trial more." + +He made another trial, that proved as unsatisfactory as those preceding. + +"It is clear," he decided, "that I am not in the vein. I will go out and +take a walk, and perhaps while I am in the street something will strike +me." + +He accordingly donned his coat and hat, and, descending, emerged into +the great thoroughfare, where he was soon lost in the throng. It was +only natural that, as he walked, with his task still in his thoughts, he +should scrutinize carefully the faces of such young girls as he met. + +"Perhaps," it occurred to him, "I may get a hint from some face I may +see. That will be better than to depend upon my fancy. Nothing, after +all, is equal to the masterpieces of Nature." + +But the young artist was fastidious. "It is strange," he thought, "how +few there are, even in the freshness of childhood, that can be called +models of beauty. That child, for example, has beautiful eyes but a +badly-cut mouth, Here is one that would be pretty, if the face was +rounded out; and here is a child, Heaven help it! that was designed to +be beautiful, but want and unfavorable circumstances have pinched and +cramped it." + +It was at this point in the artist's soliloquy that, in turning the +corner of a street, he came upon Peg and Ida. + +Henry Bowen looked earnestly at the child's face, and his own lighted up +with pleasure, as one who stumbles upon success just as he has despaired +of it. + +"The very face I have been looking for!" he exclaimed to himself. "My +flower-girl is found at last!" + +He turned round, and followed Ida and her companion. Both stopped at a +shop-window to examine some articles which were exhibited there. This +afforded a fresh opportunity to examine Ida's face. + +"It is precisely what I want," he murmured. "Now the question comes up, +whether this woman, who, I suppose, is the girl's attendant, will permit +me to copy her face." + +The artist's inference that Peg was merely Ida's attendant, was natural, +since the child was dressed in a style quite superior to her companion. +Peg thought that in this way she should be more likely to escape +suspicion when occupied in passing spurious coin. + +The young man followed the strangely-assorted pair to the apartments +which Peg occupied. From the conversation which he overheard he learned +that he had been mistaken in his supposition as to the relation between +the two, and that, singular as it seemed, Peg had the guardianship of +the child. This made his course clearer. He mounted the stairs, and +knocked at the door. + +"What do you want?" said a sharp voice from within. + +"I should like to see you a moment," was the reply. + +Peg opened the door partially, and regarded the young man suspiciously. + +"I don't know you," she said, shortly. "I never saw you before." + +"I presume not," said the young man. "We have never met, I think. I am +an artist." + +"That is a business I don't know anything about," said Peg, abruptly. +"You've come to the wrong place. I don't want to buy any pictures. I've +got plenty of other ways to spend my money." + +Certainly, Mrs. Hardwick, to give her the name she once claimed, did not +look like a patron of the arts. + +"You have a young girl, about eight or nine years old, living with you," +said the artist. + +"Who told you that?" queried Peg, her suspicions at once roused. + +"No one told me. I saw her with you in the street." + +Peg at once conceived the idea that her visitor was aware of the fact +that that the child was stolen--possibly he might be acquainted with the +Crumps, or might be their emissary. She therefore answered, shortly,-- + +"People that are seen walking together don't always live together." + +"But I saw the child entering this house with you." + +"What if you did?" demanded Peg, defiantly. + +"I was about," said the artist, perceiving that he was misapprehended, +and desiring to set matters right, "I was about to make a proposition +which might prove advantageous to both of us." + +"Eh!" said Peg, catching at the hint. "Tell me what it is, and perhaps +we may come to terms." + +"It is simply this," said Bowen, "I am, as I told you, an artist. Just +now I am employed to sketch a flower-girl, and in seeking for a face +such as I wished to sketch from, I was struck by that of your child." + +"Of Ida?" + +"Yes, if that is her name. I will pay you five dollars for the privilege +of copying it." + +Peg was fond of money, and the prospect of earning five dollars through +Ida's instrumentality, so easily, blinded her to the possibility that +this picture might prove a means of discovery to her friends. + +"Well," said she, more graciously, "if that's all you want, I don't know +as I have any objections. I suppose you can copy her face here as well +as anywhere." + +"I should prefer to have her come to my studio." + +"I sha'n't let her come," said Peg, decidedly. + +"Then I will consent to your terms, and come here." + +"Do you want to begin now?" + +"I should like to do so." + +"Come in, then. Here, Ida, I want you." + +"Yes, Peg." + +"This young man wants to copy your face." + +Ida looked surprised. + +"I am an artist," said the young man, with a reassuring smile. "I will +endeavor not to try your patience too much. Do you think you can stand +still for half an hour, without much fatigue?" + +Ida was easily won by kindness, while she had a spirit which was roused +by harshness. She was prepossessed at once in favor of the young man, +and readily assented. + +He kept her in pleasant conversation while with a free, bold hand, he +sketched the outlines of her face and figure. + +"I shall want one more sitting," he said. "I will come to-morrow at this +time." + +"Stop a minute," said Peg. "I should like the money in advance. How do I +know that you will come again?" + +"Certainly, if you prefer it," said the young man, opening his +pocket-book. + +"What strange fortune," he thought, "can have brought these two +together? Surely there can be no relationship." + +The next day he returned and completed his sketch, which was at once +placed in the hands of the publisher, eliciting his warm approval. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. JACK OBTAINS INFORMATION. + + + +JACK set out with that lightness of heart and keen sense of enjoyment +that seem natural to a young man of eighteen on his first journey. +Partly by cars, partly by boat, he traveled, till in a few hours he was +discharged, with hundreds of others, at the depot in Philadelphia. + +Among the admonitions given to Jack on leaving home, one was prominently +in his mind, to beware of imposition, and to be as economical as +possible. + +Accordingly he rejected all invitations to ride, and strode along, with +his carpet-bag in hand, though, sooth to say, he had very little idea +whether he was steering in the right direction for his uncle's shop. +By dint of diligent and persevering inquiry he found it at length, and, +walking in, announced himself to the worthy baker as his nephew Jack. + +"What, are you Jack?" exclaimed Mr. Abel Crump, pausing in his labor; +"well, I never should have known you, that's a fact. Bless me, how +you've grown! Why, you're most as big as your father, ain't you?" + +"Only half an inch shorter," returned Jack, complacently. + +"And you're--let me see, how old are you?" + +"Eighteen, that is, almost; I shall be in two months." + +"Well, I'm glad to see you, Jack, though I hadn't the least idea of your +raining down so unexpectedly. How's your father and mother and Rachel, +and your adopted sister?" + +"Father and mother are pretty well," answered Jack, "and so is Aunt +Rachel," he added, smiling; "though she ain't so cheerful as she might +be." + +"Poor Rachel!" said Abel, smiling also, "all things look upside down +to her. I don't suppose she's wholly to blame for it. Folks differ +constitutionally. Some are always looking on the bright side of things, +and others can never see but one side, and that's the dark one." + +"You've hit it, uncle," said Jack, laughing. "Aunt Rachel always looks +as if she was attending a funeral." + +"So she is, my boy," said Abel Crump, gravely, "and a sad funeral it +is." + +"I don't understand you, uncle." + +"The funeral of her affections,--that's what I mean. Perhaps you mayn't +know that Rachel was, in early life, engaged to be married to a young +man whom she ardently loved. She was a different woman then from what +she is now. But her lover deserted her just before the wedding was to +have come off, and she's never got over the disappointment. But that +isn't what I was going to talk about. You haven't told me about your +adopted sister." + +"That's what I've come to Philadelphia about," said Jack, soberly. "Ida +has been carried off, and I've been sent in search of her." + +"Been carried off!" exclaimed his uncle, in amazement. "I didn't know +such things ever happened in this country. What do you mean?" + +In answer to this question Jack told the story of Mrs. Hardwick's +arrival with a letter from Ida's mother, conveying the request that the +child might, under the guidance of the messenger, be allowed to pay her +a visit. To this, and the subsequent details, Abel Crump listened with +earnest attention. + +"So you have reason to think the child is in (sic) Phildelphia?" he +said, musingly. + +"Yes," said Jack, "Ida was seen in the cars, coming here, by a boy who +knew her in New York." + +"Ida!" repeated his Uncle Abel, looking up, suddenly. + +"Yes. You know that's my sister's name, don't you?" + +"Yes, I dare say I have known it; but I have heard so little of +your family lately, that I had forgotten it. It is rather a singular +circumstance." + +"What is singular!" + +"I will tell you," said his uncle. "It may not amount to anything, +however. A few days since, a little girl came into my shop to buy +a small amount of bread. I was at once favorably impressed with her +appearance. She was neatly dressed, and had a very sweet face." + +"What was her name?" inquired Jack. + +"That I will tell you by and by. Having made the purchase, she handed me +in payment a silver dollar. 'I'll keep that for my little girl,' thought +I at once. Accordingly, when I went home at night, I just took the +dollar out the till, and gave it to her. Of course she was delighted +with it, and, like a child, wanted to spend it at once. So her mother +agreed to go out with her the next day. Well, they selected some +nicknack or other, but when they came to pay for it the dollar proved to +be spurious." + +"Spurious!" + +"Yes, bad. Got up, no doubt, by a gang of coiners. When they told me of +this I thought to myself, 'Can it be that this little girl knew what she +was about when she offered me that money?' I couldn't think it possible, +but decided to wait till she came again." + +"Did she come again?" + +"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." + +"What did she think?" + +"She took a dislike to her, and declared that it was only a plot to get +possession of Ida; but then, that was what we expected of Aunt Rachel." + +"Still, it seems difficult to imagine any satisfactory motive on the +part of this woman, supposing she is not Ida's mother." + +"Mother, or not," returned Jack, "she's got possession of Ida; and, +from all that you say, she is not the best person to bring her up. I am +determined to rescue Ida from this she-dragon. Will you help me, uncle?" + +"You may count upon me, Jack, for all I can do." + +"Then," said Jack, with energy, "we shall succeed. I feel sure of it. +'Where there's a will there's a way,' you know." + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. FINESSE. + + + +THE next thing to be done by Jack was, of course, in some way to obtain +a clew to the whereabouts of Peg, or Mrs. Hardwick, to use the name by +which he knew her. No mode of proceeding likely to secure this result +occurred to him, beyond the very obvious one of keeping in the street as +much as possible, in the hope that chance might bring him face to face +with the object of his pursuit. + +Fortunately her face was accurately daguerreotyped in his memory, so +that he felt certain of recognizing her, under whatever circumstances +they might meet. + +In pursuance of this, the only plan which suggested itself, Jack became +a daily promenader in Chestnut and other streets. Many wondered what +could be the object of the young man who so persistently frequented the +thoroughfares. It was observed that, while he paid no attention to young +ladies, he scrutinized the faces of all middle-aged or elderly women +whom he met, a circumstance likely to attract remark, in the case of a +well-made youth like Jack. + +Several days passed, and, although he only returned to his uncle's house +at the hour of meals, he had the same report to bring on each occasion. + +"I am afraid," said the baker, "it will be as hard as finding a needle +in a hay-stack, to hope to meet the one you seek, among so many faces." + +"There's nothing like trying," answered Jack, courageously. "I'm not +going to give up yet awhile." + +He sat down and wrote the following note, home:-- + +"DEAR PARENTS: + +"I arrived in Philadelphia safe, and am stopping at Uncle Abel's. He +received me very kindly. I have got track of Ida, though I have +not found her yet. I have learned as much as this, that this Mrs. +Hardwick--who is a double distilled she-rascal--probably has Ida in her +clutches, and has sent her on two occasions to my uncle's. I am spending +most of my time in the streets, keeping a good lookout for her. If I +do meet her, see if I don't get Ida away from her. But it may take some +time. Don't get discouraged, therefore, but wait patiently. Whenever +anything new turns up you will receive a line from your dutiful son + +"JACK." + +In reply to this letter, or rather note, Jack received an intimation +that he was not to cease his efforts as long as a chance remained to +find Ida. + +The very day after the reception of this letter, as Jack was sauntering +along the street, he suddenly perceived in front of him a form which at +once reminded him of Mrs. Hardwick. Full of hope that this might be +so, he bounded forward, and rapidly passed the suspected person, turned +suddenly round, and confronted Ida's nurse. + +The recognition was mutual. Peg was taken aback by this unexpected +encounter. + +"Her first impulse was to make off, but the young man's resolute +expression warned her that this would prove in vain. + +"Mrs. Hardwick!" said Jack. + +"You are right," said she, nodding, "and you, if I am not mistaken, are +John Crump, the son of my worthy friends in New York." + +"Well," ejaculated Jack, internally, "if that doesn't beat all for +coolness." + +"My name is Jack," he said, aloud. + +"Indeed! I thought it might be a nickname." + +"You can't guess what I came here for," said Jack, with an attempt at +sarcasm, which utterly failed of its effect. + +"To see your sister Ida, I presume," said Peg, coolly. + +"Yes," said Jack, amazed at the woman's composure. + +"I thought some of you would be coming on," said Peg, whose prolific +genius had already mapped out her course. + +"You did?" + +"Yes, it was only natural. But what did your father and mother say to +the letter I wrote them?" + +"The letter you wrote them!" + +"The letter in which I wrote that Ida's mother had been so pleased with +the appearance and manners of her child, that she could not resolve to +part with her, and had determined to keep her for the present." + +"You don't mean to say," said Jack, "that any such letter as that has +been written?" + +"What, has it not been received?" inquired Peg, in the greatest apparent +astonishment. + +"Nothing like it," answered Jack. "When was it written?" + +"The second day after Ida's arrival," replied Peg, unhesitatingly. + +"If that is the case," returned Jack, not knowing what to think, "it +must have miscarried." + +"That is a pity. How anxious you all must have felt!" remarked Peg, +sympathizingly. + +"It seemed as if half the family were gone. But how long does Ida's +mother mean to keep her?" + +"A month or six weeks," was the reply. + +"But," said Jack, his suspicions returning, "I have been told that Ida +has twice called at a baker's shop in this city, and, when asked what +her name was, answered Ida Hardwick.' You don't mean to say that you +pretend to be her mother?" + +"Yes, I do," returned Peg, calmly. + +"It's a lie," said Jack, vehemently. "She isn't your daughter." + +"Young man," said Peg, with wonderful self-command, "you are exciting +yourself to no purpose. You asked me if I _pretended_ to be her mother. +I do pretend; but I admit, frankly, that it is all pretence." + +"I don't understand what you mean," said Jack, mystified. + +"Then I will take the trouble to explain it to you. As I informed your +father and mother, when in New York, there are circumstances which stand +in the way of Ida's real mother recognizing her as her own child. Still, +as she desires her company, in order to avert all suspicion, and prevent +embarrassing questions being asked, while she remains in Philadelphia +she is to pass as my daughter." + +This explanation was tolerably plausible, and Jack was unable to +gainsay it, though it was disagreeable to him to think of even a nominal +connection between Ida and the woman before him. + +"Can I see Ida?" asked Jack, at length. + +To his great joy, Peg replied, "I don't think there can be any +objection. I am going to the house now. Will you come now, or appoint +some other time?" + +"I will go now by all means," said Jack, eagerly. "Nothing should stand +in the way of seeing Ida." + +A grim smile passed over the nurse's face. + +"Follow me, then," she said. "I have no doubt Ida will be delighted to +see you." + +"Dear Ida!" said Jack. "Is she well, Mrs. Hardwick?" + +"Perfectly well," answered Peg. "She has never been in better health +than since she has been in Philadelphia." + +"I suppose," said Jack, with a pang, "that she is so taken up with her +new friends that she has nearly forgotten her old friends in New York." + +"If she did," said Peg, sustaining her part with admirable +self-possession, "she would not deserve to have friends at all. She is +quite happy here, but she will be very glad to return to New York to +those who have been so kind to her." + +"Really," thought Jack; "I don't know what to make of this Mrs. +Hardwick. She talks fair enough, if her looks are against her. Perhaps I +have misjudged her, after all." + + + +CHAPTER XIX. CAUGHT IN A TRAP. + + + +JACK and his guide paused in front of a three-story brick building of +respectable appearance. + +"Does Ida's mother live here?" interrogated Jack. + +"Yes," said Peg, coolly. "Follow me up the steps." + +The woman led the way, and Jack followed. + +The former rang the bell. An untidy servant girl made her appearance. + +"We will go up-stairs, Bridget," said Peg. + +Without betraying any astonishment, the servant conducted them to an +upper room, and opened the door. + +"If you will go in and take a seat," said Peg, "I will send Ida to you +immediately." + +She closed the door after him, and very softly slipped the bolt which +had been placed on the outside. She then hastened downstairs, and +finding the proprietor of the house, who was a little old man with a +shrewd, twinkling eye, and a long aquiline nose, she said to this man, +who was a leading spirit among the coiners into whose employ she and her +husband had entered, "I want you to keep this lad in confinement, until +I give you notice that it will be safe to let him go." + +"What has he done?" asked the old man. + +"He is acquainted with a secret dangerous to both of us," answered Peg, +with intentional prevarication; for she knew that, if it were supposed +that she only had an interest in Jack's detention, they would not take +the trouble to keep him. + +"Ha!" exclaimed the old man; "is that so? Then, I warrant me, he can't +get out unless he has sharp claws." + +"Fairly trapped, my young bird," thought Peg, as she hastened away; "I +rather think that will put a stop to your troublesome interference for +the present. You haven't lived quite long enough to be a match for old +Peg. You'll find that out by and by. Ha, ha! won't your worthy uncle, +the baker, be puzzled to know why you don't come home to-night?" + +Meanwhile Jack, wholly unsuspicious that any trick had been played upon +him, seated himself in a rocking-chair, waiting impatiently for the +coming of Ida, whom he was resolved to carry back with him to New York +if his persuasions could effect it. + +Impelled by a natural curiosity he examined, attentively, the room in +which he was seated. It was furnished moderately well; that is, as well +as the sitting-room of a family in moderate circumstances. The floor +was covered with a plain carpet. There was a sofa, a mirror, and several +chairs covered with hair-cloth were standing stiffly at the windows. +There were one or two engravings, of no great artistic excellence, +hanging against the walls. On the centre-table were two or three books. +Such was the room into which Jack had been introduced. + +Jack waited patiently for twenty minutes. Then he began to grow +impatient. + +"Perhaps Ida is out," thought our hero; "but, if she is, Mrs. Hardwick +ought to come and let me know." + +Another fifteen minutes passed, and still Ida came not. + +"This is rather singular," thought Jack. "She can't have told Ida that +I am here, or I am sure she would rush up at once to see her brother +Jack." + +At length, tired of waiting, and under the impression that he had been +forgotten, Jack walked to the door, and placing his hand upon the latch, +attempted to open it. + +There was a greater resistance than he had anticipated. + +Supposing that it must stick, he used increased exertion, but the door +perversely refused to open. + +"Good heavens!" thought Jack, the real state of the case flashing upon +him, "is it possible that I am locked in?" + +To determine this he employed all his strength, but the door still +resisted. He could no longer doubt. + +He rushed to the windows. There were two in number, and looked out upon +a court in the rear of the house. No part of the street was visible from +them; therefore there was no hope of drawing the attention of passers-by +to his situation. + +Confounded by this discovery, Jack sank into his chair in no very +enviable state of mind. + +"Well," thought he, "this is a pretty situation for me to be in! I +wonder what father would say if he knew that I was locked up like a +prisoner. And then to think I let that treacherous woman, Mrs. Hardwick, +lead me so quietly into a snare. Aunt Rachel was about right when she +said I wasn't fit to come alone. I hope she'll never find out this +adventure of mine; I never should hear the last of it." + +Jack's mortification was extreme. His self-love was severely wounded by +the thought that a woman had got the better of him, and he resolved, +if he ever got out, that he would make Mrs. Hardwick suffer, he didn't +quite know how, for the manner in which she had treated him. + +Time passed. Every hour seemed to poor Jack to contain at least double +the number of minutes which are usually reckoned to that division of +time. Moreover, not having eaten for several hours, he was getting +hungry. + +A horrible suspicion flashed across his mind. "The wretches can't +mean to starve me, can they?" he asked himself, while, despite his +constitutional courage, he could not help shuddering at the idea. + +He was unexpectedly answered by the sliding of a little door in the +wall, and the appearance of the old man whose interview with Peg has +been referred to. + +"Are you getting hungry, my dear sir?" he inquired, with a disagreeable +smile upon his features. + +"Why am I confined here?" demanded Jack, in a tone of irritation. + +"Why are you confined?" repeated his interlocutor. "Really, one would +think you did not find your quarters comfortable." + +"I am so far from finding them comfortable that I insist upon leaving +them immediately," returned Jack. + +"Then all you have got to do is to walk through that door. + +"It is locked; I can't open it." + +"Can't open it!" repeated the old man, with another disagreeable leer; +"perhaps, then, it will be well for you to wait till you are strong +enough." + +Irritated by this reply, Jack threw himself spitefully against the door, +but to no purpose. + +The old man laughed in a cracked, wheezing way. + +"Good fellow!" said he, encouragingly, "try it again! Won't you try it +again? Better luck next time." + +Jack throw himself sullenly into a chair. + +"Where is the woman that brought me here?" he asked. + +"Peg? Oh, she couldn't stay. She had important business to transact, my +young friend, and so she has gone; but don't feel anxious. She commended +you to our particular attention, and you will be just as well treated as +if she were here." + +This assurance was not very well calculated to comfort Jack. + +"How long are you going to keep me cooped up here?" he asked, +desperately, wishing to learn the worst at once. + +"Really, my young friend, I couldn't say. We are very hospitable, very. +We always like to have our friends with us as long as possible." + +Jack groaned internally at the prospect before him. + +"One question more," he said, "will you tell me if my sister Ida is in +this house?" + +"Your sister Ida!" repeated the old man, surprised in his turn. + +"Yes," said Jack; believing, his astonishment feigned. "You needn't +pretend that you don't know anything about her. I know that she is in +your hands." + +"Then if you know so much," said the other, shrugging his shoulders, +"there is no need of asking." + +Jack was about to press the question, but the old man, anticipating +him, pointed to a plate of food which he pushed in upon a shelf, just in +front of the sliding door, and said: "Here's some supper for you. When +you get ready to go to bed you can lie down on the sofa. Sorry we didn't +know of your coming, or we would have got our best bed-chamber ready for +you. Good-night, and pleasant dreams!" + +Smiling disagreeably he slid to the door, bolted it, and disappeared, +leaving Jack more depressed, if possible, than before. + + + +CHAPTER XX. JACK IN CONFINEMENT. + + + +THE anxiety of Mr. Abel Crump's family, when Jack failed to return +at night, can be imagined. They feared that he had fallen among +unscrupulous persons, of whom there is no lack in every large city, and +that some ill had come to him. The baker instituted immediate inquiries, +but was unsuccessful in obtaining any trace of his nephew. He resolved +to delay as long as possible communicating the sad intelligence to his +brother Timothy, who he knew would be quite (sic) overwhelwed by this +double blow. + +In the mean time, let us see how Jack enjoyed himself. We will look in +upon him after he has been confined four days. To a youth as active +as himself, nothing could be more wearisome. It did not add to his +cheerfulness to reflect that Ida was in the power of the one who had +brought upon him his imprisonment, while he was absolutely unable to +help her. He did not lack for food. This was brought him three times a +day. His meals, in fact, were all he had to look forward to, to break +the monotony of his confinement. The books upon the table were not of a +kind likely to interest him, though he had tried to find entertainment +in them. + +Four days he had lived, or rather vegetated in this way. His spirit +chafed against the confinement. + +"I believe," thought he, "I would sooner die than be imprisoned for a +long term. Yet," and here he sighed, "who knows what may be the length +of my present confinement? They will be sure to find some excuse for +retaining me." + +While he was indulging in these uncomfortable reflections, suddenly the +little door in the wall, previously referred to, slid open, and revealed +the old man who had first supplied him with food. To explain the +motive of his present visit, it will be remembered that he was under +a misapprehension in regard to the cause of Jack's confinement. He +naturally supposed that our hero was acquainted with the unlawful +practises of the gang of coiners with which he was connected. + +The old man, whose name was Foley, had been favorably impressed by the +bold bearing of Jack, and the idea had occurred to him that he might +be able to win him as an accomplice. He judged, that if once induced to +join them, he would prove eminently useful. Another motive which led +him to favor this project was, that it would be very embarrassing to +be compelled to keep Jack in perpetual custody, as well as involve a +considerable expense. + +Jack was somewhat surprised at the old man's visit. + +"How long are you going to keep me cooped up here?" he inquired, +impatiently. + +"Don't you find your quarters comfortable?" asked Foley. + +"As comfortable as any prison, I suppose." + +"My young friend, don't talk of imprisonment. You make me shudder. You +must banish all thoughts of such a disagreeable subject." + +"I wish I could," groaned poor Jack. + +"Consider yourself as my guest, whom I delight to entertain." + +"But, I don't like the entertainment." + +"The more the pity." + +"How long is this going to last? Even a prisoner knows the term of his +imprisonment." + +"My young friend," said Foley, "I do not desire to control your +inclinations. I am ready to let you go whenever you say the word." + +"You are?" returned Jack, incredulously. "Then suppose I ask you to let +me go immediately." + +"Certainly, I will; but upon one condition." + +"What is it?" + +"It so happens, my young friend, that you are acquainted with a secret +which might prove troublesome to me." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Jack, mystified. + +"Yes; you see I have found it out. Such things do not escape me." + +"I don't know what you mean," returned Jack, perplexed. + +"No doubt, no doubt,", said Foley, cunningly. "Of course, if I should +tell you that I was in the coining business, it would be altogether new +to you." + +"On my honor," said Jack, "this is the first I knew of it. I never saw +or heard of you before I came into this house." + +"Could Peg be mistaken?" thought Foley. "But no, no; he is only trying +to deceive me. I am too old a bird to be caught with such chaff." + +"Of course, I won't dispute your word, my young friend," he said, +softly; "but there is one thing certain; if you didn't know it before +you know it now." + +"And you are afraid that I shall denounce you to the police." + +"Well, there is a possibility of that. That class of people have a +little prejudice against us, though we are only doing what everybody +wants to do, _making money_." + +The old man chuckled and rubbed his hands at this joke, which he +evidently considered a remarkably good one. + +Jack reflected a moment. + +"Will you let me go if I will promise to keep your secret?" he asked. + +"How could I be sure you would do it?" + +"I would pledge my word." + +"Your word!" Foley snapped his fingers in derision. "That is not +sufficient." + +"What will be?" + +"You must become one of us." + +"One of you!" + +Jack started in surprise at a proposition so unexpected. + +"Yes. You must make yourself liable to the same penalties, so that it +will be for your own interest to keep silent. Otherwise we cannot trust +you." + +"And suppose I decline these terms," said Jack. + +"Then I shall be under the painful necessity of retaining you as my +guest." + +Foley smiled disagreeably. + +Jack walked the room in perturbation. He felt that imprisonment would be +better than liberty, on such terms. At the same time he did not refuse +unequivocally, as possibly stricter watch than ever might be kept over +him. + +He thought it best to temporize. + +"Well, what do you say?" asked the old man. + +"I should like to take time to reflect upon your proposal," said Jack. +"It is of so important a character that I do not like to decide at +once." + +"How long do you require?" + +"Two days," returned Jack. "If I should come to a decision sooner, I +will let you know." + +"Agreed. Meanwhile can I do anything to promote your comfort? I want you +to enjoy yourself as well as you can under the circumstances." + +"If you have any interesting books, I wish you would send them up. It is +rather dull staying here with nothing to do." + +"You shall have something to do as soon as you please, my young friend. +As to books, we are not very bountifully supplied with that article. We +ain't any of us college graduates, but I will see what I can do for you +in that way. I'll be back directly." + +Foley disappeared, but soon after returned, laden with one or two old +magazines, and a worn copy of the "Adventures of Baron Trenck." + +It may be that the reader has never encountered a copy of this singular +book. Baron Trenck was several times imprisoned for political offences, +and this book contains an account of the manner in which he succeeded, +in some cases after years of labor, in breaking from his dungeon. His +feats in this way are truly wonderful, and, if not true, at least they +have so very much similitude that they find no difficulty in winning the +reader's credence. + +Such was the book which Foley placed in Jack's hands. He must have been +in ignorance of the character of the book, since it was evident to what +thoughts it would lead the mind of the prisoner. + +Jack read the book with intense interest. It was just such a one as he +would have read with avidity under any circumstances. It gratified his +taste for adventure, and he entered heart and soul into the Baron's +plans, and felt a corresponding gratification when he succeeded. When he +completed the perusal of the fascinating volume, he thought, "Why cannot +I imitate Baron Trenck? He was far worse off than I am. If he could +succeed in overcoming so many obstacles, it is a pity if I cannot find +some means of escape." + +He looked about the room in the hope that some plan might be suggested. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. THE PRISONER ESCAPES. + + + +TO give an idea of the difficulties of Jack's situation, let it be +repeated that there was but one door to the room, and this was bolted +on the outside. The room was in the second story. The only two windows +looked out upon a court. These windows were securely fastened. Still a +way might have been devised to break through them, if this would at all +have improved his condition. Of this, however, there seemed but little +chance. Even if he had succeeded in getting safely into the court, there +would have been difficulty and danger in getting into the street. + +All these considerations passed through Jack's mind, and occasioned +him no little perplexity. He began to think that the redoubtable +Baron Trenck himself might have been puzzled, if placed under similar +circumstances. + +At length this suggestion occurred to him: Why might he not cut a hole +through the door, just above or below the bolt, sufficiently large for +him to thrust his hand through, and slip it back? Should he succeed in +this, he would steal down stairs, and as, in all probability, the key +would be in the outside door, he could open it, and then he would be +free. + +With hope springing up anew in his heart, he hastened to the door and +examined it. It was of common strength. He might, perhaps, have been +able to kick it open, but of course this was not to be thought of, as +the noise would at once attract the attention of those interested in +frustrating his plans. + +Fortunately, Jack was provided with a large, sharp jack-knife. He did +not propose, however, to commence operations at present. In the daytime +he would be too subject to a surprise. With evening, he resolved +to commence his work. He might be unsuccessful, and subjected, in +consequence, to a more rigorous confinement; but of this he must run the +risk. "Nothing venture, nothing have." + +Jack awaited the coming of evening with impatience. The afternoon had +never seemed so long. + +It came at last--a fine moonlight night. This was fortunate, for his +accommodating host, from motives of economy possibly, was not in the +habit of providing him with a candle. + +Jack thought it prudent to wait till he heard the city clocks pealing +the hour of twelve. By this time, as far as he could see from his +windows, there were no lights burning, and all who occupied the building +were probably asleep. + +He selected that part of the door which he judged to be directly under +the bolt, and began to cut away with his knife. The wood was soft, and +easy of excavation. In the course of half an hour Jack had cut a hole +sufficiently large to pass his hand through, but found that, in order +to reach the bolt, he must enlarge it a little. This took him fifteen +minutes longer. + +His efforts were crowned with success. As the city clock struck one +Jack softly drew back the bolt, and, with a wild throb of joy, felt that +freedom was half regained. But his (sic) embarassments were not quite +at an end. Opening the door, he found himself in the entry, but in the +darkness. On entering the house he had not noticed the location of the +stairs, and was afraid that some noise or stumbling might reveal to +Foley the attempted escape of his prisoner. He took off his boots, and +crept down-stairs in his stocking feet. Unfortunately he had not kept +the proper bearing in his mind, and the result was, that he opened the +door of a room on one side of the front door. It was used as a bedroom. +At the sound of the door opening, the occupant of the bed, Mr. Foley +himself, called out, drowsily, "Who's there?" + +Jack, aware of his mistake, precipitately retired, and concealed himself +under the front stairs, a refuge which his good fortune led him to, for +he could see absolutely nothing. + +The sleeper, just awakened, was naturally a little confused in his +ideas. He had not seen Jack. He had merely heard the noise, and thought +he saw the door moving. But of this he was not certain. To make sure, +however, he got out of bed, and opening wide the door of his room, +called out, "Is anybody there?" + +Jack had excellent reasons for not wishing to volunteer an answer to +this question. One advantage of the opened door (for there was a small +oil lamp burning in the room) was to reveal to him the nature of the +mistake he had made, and to show him the front door in which, by rare +good fortune, he could discover the key in the lock. + +Meanwhile the old man, to make sure that all was right, went up-stairs, +far enough to see that the door of the apartment in which Jack had been +confined was closed. Had he gone up to the landing he would have seen +the aperture in the door, and discovered the hole, but he was sleepy, +and anxious to get back to bed, which rendered him less watchful. + +"All seems right," he muttered to himself, and re-entered the +bed-chamber, from which Jack could soon hear the deep, regular breathing +which indicated sound slumber. Not till then did he creep cautiously +from his place of concealment, and advancing stealthily to the front +door, turn the key, and step out into the faintly-lighted street. A +delightful sensation thrilled our hero, as he felt the pure air fanning +his cheek. + +"Nobody can tell," thought he, "what a blessed thing freedom is till he +has been cooped up, as I have been, for the last week. Won't the old man +be a little surprised to find, in the morning, that the bird has flown? +I've a great mind to serve him a little trick." + +So saying, Jack drew the key from its place inside, and locking the door +after him, went off with the key in his pocket. First, however, he took +care to scratch a little mark on the outside of the door, as he could +not see the number, to serve as a means of identification. + +This done Jack made his way as well as he could guess to the house of +his uncle, the baker. Not having noticed the way by which Peg had led +him to the house, he wandered at first from the straight course. At +length, however, he came to Chestnut Street. He now knew where he was, +and, fifteen minutes later, he was standing before his uncle's door. + +Meanwhile, Abel Crump had been suffering great anxiety on account of +Jack's protracted absence. Several days had now elapsed, and still he +was missing. He had been unable to find the slightest trace of him. + +"I am afraid of the worst," he said to his wife, on the afternoon of the +day on which Jack made his escape. "I think Jack was probably rash and +imprudent, and I fear, poor boy, they may have proved the death of him." + +"Don't you think there is any hope? He may be confined." + +"It is possible; but, at all events, I don't think it right to keep it +from Timothy any longer. I've put off writing as long as I could, hoping +Jack would come back, but I don't feel as if I ought to hold it back any +longer. I shall write in the morning, and tell Timothy to come right on. +It'll be a dreadful blow to him." + +"Yes, better wait till morning, Abel. Who knows but we may hear from +Jack before that time?" + +The baker shook his head. + +"If we'd been going to hear, we'd have heard before this time," he said. + +He did not sleep very soundly that night. Anxiety for Jack, and the +thought of his brother's affliction, kept him awake. + +About half-past two, he heard a noise at the front door, followed by a +knocking. Throwing open the window, he exclaimed, "Who's there?" + +"A friend," was the answer. + +"What friend?" asked the baker, suspiciously. "Friends are not very apt +to come at this time of night." + +"Don't you know me, Uncle Abel?" asked a cheery voice. + +"Why, it's Jack, I verily believe," said Abel Crump, joyfully, as he +hurried down stairs to admit his late visitor. + +"Where in the name of wonder have you been, Jack?" he asked, surveying +his nephew by the light of the candle. + +"I've been shut up, uncle,--boarded and lodged for nothing,--by some +people who liked my company better than I liked theirs. But to-night +I made out to escape, and hero I am. I'll tell you all about it in the +morning. Just now I'm confoundedly hungry, and if there's anything in +the pantry, I'll ask permission to go in there a few minutes." + +"I guess you'll find something, Jack. Take the candle with you. Thank +God, you're back alive. We've been very anxious about you." + + + +CHAPTER XXII. MR. JOHN SOMERVILLE. + + + +PEG had been thinking. + +This was the substance of her reflections. Ida, whom she had kidnapped +for certain purposes of her own, was likely to prove an (sic) +incumbrance rather than a source of profit. The child, her suspicions +awakened in regard to the character of the money she had been employed +to pass off, was no longer available for that purpose. So firmly +resolved was she not to do what was wrong, that threats and persuasions +were alike unavailing. Added to this was the danger of her encountering +some one sent in search of her by the Crumps. + +Under these circumstances, Peg bethought herself of the ultimate object +which she had proposed to herself in kidnapping Ida--that of extorting +money from a man who is now to be introduced to the reader. + +John Somerville occupied a suite of apartments in a handsome +lodging-house on Walnut Street. A man wanting yet several years of +forty, he looked a greater age. Late hours and dissipation, though +kept within respectable limits, had left their traces on his face. At +twenty-one he inherited a considerable fortune, which, combined with +some professional practice (for he was a lawyer, and not without +ability), was quite sufficient to support him handsomely, and leave +a considerable surplus every year. But, latterly, he had contracted a +passion for gaming, and however shrewd he might be naturally, he +could hardly be expected to prove a match for the wily habitues of the +gaming-table, who had marked him as their prey. + +The evening before he is introduced to the reader's notice he had, +passed till a late hour at a fashionable gambling-house, where he +had lost heavily. His reflections, on awakening, were not of the +pleasantest. For the first time, within fifteen years, he realized the +folly and imprudence of the course he had pursued. The evening previous +he had lost a thousand dollars, for which he had given his I O U. Where +to raise this money, he did not know. He bathed his aching head, and +cursed his ill luck, in no measured terms. After making his toilet, he +rang the bell, and ordered breakfast. + +For this he had but scanty appetite. Scarcely had he finished, and +directed the removal of the dishes, than the servant entered to announce +a visitor. + +"Is it a gentleman?" he inquired, hastily, fearing it might be a +creditor. He occasionally had such visitors. + +"No, sir." + +"A lady?" + +"No, sir." + +"A child? But what could a child want of me?" + +"If it's neither a gentleman, lady, nor child," said Somerville, +somewhat surprised, "will you have the goodness to inform me who it is?" + +"It's a woman, sir," said the servant, grinning. + +"Why didn't you say so when I asked you?" said his employer, irritably. + +"Because you asked if it was a lady, and this isn't--at least she don't +look like one." + +"You can send her up, whoever she is," said Mr. Somerville. + +A moment afterwards Peg entered the apartment. + +John Somerville looked at her without much interest, supposing that she +might be a seamstress, or laundress, or some applicant for charity. So +many years had passed since he had met with this woman, that she had +passed out of his remembrance. + +"Do you wish to see me about anything?" he asked, indifferently. "If so, +you must be quick, for I am just going out." + +"You don't seem to recognize me, Mr. Somerville," said Peg, fixing her +keen black eyes upon his face. + +"I can't say I do," he replied, carelessly. "Perhaps you used to wash +for me once." + +"I am not in the habit of acting as laundress," said the woman, proudly. +It is worth noticing that she was not above passing spurious coin, and +doing other things which are stamped as disreputable by the laws of +the land, but her pride revolted at the imputation that she was a +washer-woman. + +"In that case," said Somerville, carelessly, "you will have to tell me +who you are, for it is out of my power to conjecture." + +"Perhaps the name of Ida will assist your recollection," said Peg, +composedly. + +"Ida!" repeated John Somerville, changing color, and gazing now with +attention at the woman's features. + +"Yes." + +"I have known several persons of that name," he said, evasively. "Of +course, I can't tell which of them you refer to." + +"The Ida I mean was and is a child," said Peg. "But, Mr. Somerville, +there's no use in beating about the bush, when I can come straight to +the point. It is now about eight years since my husband and myself +were employed in carrying off a child--a female child of about a year +old--named Ida. We placed it, according to your directions, on the +door-step of a poor family in New York, and they have since cared for it +as their own. I suppose you have not forgotten that." + +John Somerville deliberated. Should he deny it or not? He decided to put +a bold face on the matter. + +"I remember it," said he, "and now recall your features. How have +you fared since the time I employed you? Have you found your business +profitable?" + +"Far from it," answered Peg. "We are not yet able to retire on a +competence." + +"One of your youthful appearance," said Solmerville, banteringly, "ought +not to think of retiring under ten years." + +Peg smiled. She knew how to appreciate this speech. + +"I don't care for compliments," said she, "even when they are sincere. +As for my youthful appearance, I am old enough to have reached the +age of discretion, and not so old as to have fallen into my second +childhood." + +"Compliments aside, then, will you proceed to whatever business has +brought you here?" + +"I want a thousand dollars." + +"A thousand dollars!" repeated John Somerville. "Very likely, I should +like that amount myself. You have not come here to tell me that?" + +"I have come here to ask that amount of you." + +"Suppose I should say that your husband is the proper person for you to +apply to in such a case." + +"I think I am more likely to get it out of you," answered Peg, coolly. +"My husband couldn't supply me with a thousand cents, even if he were +willing, which is not likely." + +"Much as I am flattered by your application," said Somerville, "since it +would seem to place me next in your estimation to your husband, I cannot +help suggesting that it is not usual to bestow such a sum on a stranger, +or even a friend, without an equivalent rendered." + +"I am ready to give you an equivalent." + +"Of what value?" + +"I am willing to be silent." + +"And how can your silence benefit me?" + +John Somerville asked this question with an assumption of indifference, +but his fingers twitched nervously. + +"That _you_ will be best able to estimate," said Peg. + +"Explain yourself." + +"I can do that in a few words. You employed me to kidnap a child. +I believe the law has something to say about that. At any rate, the +child's mother may have." + +"What do you know about the child's mother?" demanded Somerville, +hastily. + +"All about her!" returned Peg, emphatically. + +"How am I to know that? It is easy to claim the knowledge." + +"Shall I tell you all? In the first place she married your cousin, +_after rejecting you_. You never forgave her for this. When a year +after marriage her husband died, you renewed your proposals. They +were rejected, and you were forbidden to renew the subject on pain of +forfeiting her friendship forever. You left her presence, determined to +be revenged. With this object you sought Dick and myself, and employed +us to kidnap the child. There is the whole story, briefly told." + +John Somerville listened, with compressed lips and pale face. + +"Woman, how came this within your knowledge?" he demanded, coarsely. + +"That is of no consequence," said Peg. "It was for my interest to find +out, and I did so." + +"Well?" + +"I know one thing more--the residence of the child's mother. I hesitated +this morning whether to come here, or carry Ida to her mother, trusting +to her to repay from gratitude what I demand from you, because it is +your interest to comply with my request." + +"You speak of carrying the child to her mother. She is in New York." + +"You are mistaken," said Peg, coolly. "She is in Philadelphia." + +"With you?" + +"With me." + +"How long has this been?" + +"Nearly a fortnight." + +John Somerville paced the room with hurried steps. Peg watched him +carelessly. She felt that she had succeeded. He paused after awhile, and +stood before her. + +"You demand a thousand dollars," he said. + +"I do." + +"I have not that amount with me. I have recently lost a heavy sum, no +matter how. But I can probably get it to-day. Call to-morrow at this +time,--no, in the afternoon, and I will see what I can do for you." + +"Very well," said Peg. + +Left to himself, John Somerville spent some time in reflection. +Difficulties encompassed him--difficulties from which he found it hard +to find a way of escape. He knew how impossible it would be to meet +this woman's demand. Something must be done. Gradually his countenance +lightened. He had decided what that something should be. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAW STEPS IN. + + + +WHEN Peg left Mr. John Somerville's apartment, it was with a high degree +of satisfaction at the result of her interview. She looked upon the +thousand dollars as sure to be hers. The considerations which she had +urged would, she was sure, induce him to make every effort to secure +her silence. With a thousand dollars, what might not be done? She would +withdraw from the coining-business, for one thing. It was too hazardous. +Why might not Dick and she retire to the country, lease a country-inn, +and live an honest life hereafter. There were times when she grew tired +of the life she lived at present. It would be pleasant to go to some +place where she was not known, and enrol herself among the respectable +members of the community. She was growing old; she wanted rest and +a quiet home. Her early years had been passed in the country. She +remembered still the green fields in which she played as a child, and to +this woman, old and sin-stained, there came a yearning to have that life +return. + +It occurred to her to look in upon Jack, whom she had left in +captivity four days before. She had a curiosity to see how he bore his +confinement. + +She knocked at the door, and was admitted by the old man who kept the +house. Mr. Foley was looking older and more wrinkled than ever. He had +been disturbed of his rest the night previous, he said. + +"Well," said Peg, "and how is our prisoner?" + +"Bless my soul," said Mr. Foley, "I haven't been to give him his +breakfast this morning. He must be hungry. But my head is in such a +state. However, I think I've secured him." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I have asked him to become one of us,--he's a bold lad,--and he has +promised to think of it." + +"He is not to be trusted," said Peg, hastily. + +"You think not?" + +"I know it." + +"Well," said the old man, "I suppose you know him better than I do. But +he's a bold lad." + +"I should like to go up and see him," said Peg. + +"Wait a minute, and I will carry up his breakfast." + +The old man soon reappeared from the basement with some cold meat and +bread and butter. + +"You may go up first," he said; "you are younger than I am." + +They reached the landing. + +"What's all this?" demanded Peg, her quick eyes detecting the aperture +in the door. + +"What's what?" asked Foley. + +"Is this the care you take of your prisoners?" demanded Peg, sharply. +"It looks as if he had escaped." + +"Escaped! Impossible!" + +"I hope so. Open the door quick." + +The door was opened, and the two hastily entered. + +"The bird is flown," said Peg. + +"I--I don't understand it," said the old man, turning pale. + +"I do. He has cut a hole in the door, slipped back the bolt, and +escaped. When could this have happened?" + +"I don't know. Yes, I do remember, now, being disturbed last night by a +noise in the entry. I got out of bed, and looked out, but could see no +one." + +"Did you come up-stairs?" + +"Part way." + +"When was this?" + +"Past midnight." + +"No doubt that was the time he escaped." + +"That accounts for the door being locked," said the old man, +thoughtfully. + +"What door?" + +"The outer door. When I got up this morning, I found the key had +disappeared, and the door was locked. Luckily we had an extra key, and +so opened it." + +"Probably he carried off the other in his pocket." + +"Ah, he is a bold lad,--a bold lad," said Foley. + +"You may find that out to your cost. He'll be likely to bring the police +about your ears." + +"Do you think so?" said the old man, in alarm. + +"I think it more than probable." + +"But he don't know the house," said Foley, in a tone of reassurance. "It +was dark when he left here, and he will not be apt to find it again." + +"Perhaps not, but he will be likely to know you when he sees you again. +I advise you to keep pretty close." + +"I certainly shall," said the old man, evidently alarmed by this +suggestion. "What a pity that such a bold lad shouldn't be in our +business!" + +"Perhaps you'll wish yourself out of it before long," muttered Peg. + +As if in corroboration of her words, there was a sharp ring at the +door-bell. + +The old man, who was constitutionally timid, turned pale, and looked +helplessly at his companion. + +"What is it?" he asked, apprehensively. + +"Go and see." + +"I don't dare to." + +"You're a coward," said Peg, contemptuously. "Then I'll go." + +She went down stairs, followed by the old man. She threw open the street +door, but even her courage was somewhat daunted by the sight of two +police officers, accompanied by Jack. + +"That's the man," said Jack, pointing out Foley, who tried to conceal +himself behind Mrs. Hardwick's more ample proportions. + +"I have a warrant for your arrest," said one of the officers, advancing +to Foley. + +"Gentlemen, spare me," he said, clasping his hands. "What have I done?" + +"You are charged with uttering counterfeit coin. + +"I am innocent." + +"If you are, that will come out on your trial." + +"Shall I have to be tried?" he asked, piteously. + +"Of course. If you are innocent, no harm will come to you." + +Peg had been standing still, irresolute what to do. Determined upon a +bold step, she made a movement to pass the officers. + +"Stop!" said Jack. "I call upon you to arrest that woman. She is the +Mrs. Hardwick against whom you have a warrant." + +"What is all this for?" demanded Peg, haughtily. "What right have you to +interfere with me?" + +"That will be made known to you in due time. You are suspected of being +implicated with this man." + +"I suppose I must yield," said Peg, sulkily. "But perhaps you, young +sir," turning to Jack, "may not be the gainer by it." + +"Where is Ida?" asked Jack, anxiously. + +"She is safe," said Peg, sententiously. + +"You won't tell me where she is?" + +"No. Why should I? I am indebted to you, I suppose, for this arrest. She +shall be kept out of your way as long as it is in my power to do so." + +Jack's countenance fell. + +"At least you will tell me whether she is well?" + +"I shall answer no questions whatever," said Mrs. Hardwick. + +"Then I will find her," he said, gaining courage. "She is somewhere in +the city, and sooner or later I shall find her." + +Peg was not one to betray her feelings, but this arrest was a great +disappointment to her. Apart from the consequences which might result +from it, it would prevent her meeting with John Somerville, and +obtaining from him the thousand dollars of which she had regarded +herself certain. Yet even from her prison-cell she might hold over him +_in terrorem_ the threat of making known to Ida's mother the secret +of her child's existence. All was not lost. She walked quietly to the +carriage in waiting, while her companions, in an ecstasy of terror, +seemed to have lost the power of locomotion, and had to be supported on +either side. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. "THE FLOWER-GIRL." + + + +"BY gracious, if that isn't Ida!" exclaimed Jack, in profound surprise. + +He had been sauntering along Chestnut Street, listlessly, troubled by +the thought that though he had given Mrs. Hardwick into custody, he was +apparently no nearer the discovery of his foster-sister than before. +What steps should he take to find her? He could not decide. In his +perplexity he came suddenly upon the print of the "Flower-Girl." + +"Yes," said he, "that is Ida, plain enough. Perhaps they will know in +the store where she is to be found." + +He at once entered the store. + +"Can you tell me anything about the girl that picture was taken for?" he +asked, abruptly of the nearest clerk. + +The clerk smiled. + +"It is a fancy picture," he said. "I think it would take you a long time +to find the original." + +"It has taken a long time," said Jack. "But you are mistaken. It is the +picture of my sister." + +"Of your sister!" repeated the clerk, with surprise, half incredulous. + +There was some reason for his incredulity. Jack was a stout, +good-looking boy, with a pleasant face; but Ida's beauty was of a +delicate, refined type, which argued gentle birth,--her skin of a +brilliant whiteness, dashed by a tinge of rose,--exhibiting a physical +perfection, which it requires several generations of refined habits and +exemptions from the coarser burdens of life to produce. The perfection +of human development is not wholly a matter of chance, but is dependent, +in no small degree, upon outward conditions. We frequently see families +who have sprung from poverty to wealth exhibiting, in the younger +branches, marked improvement in this respect. + +"Yes;" said Jack, "my sister." + +"If it is your sister," said the clerk, "you ought to know where she +is." + +Jack was about to reply, when the attention of both was called by a +surprised exclamation from a lady who had paused beside them. Her eyes, +also, were fixed upon "The Flower-Girl." + +"Who is this?" she asked, hurriedly. "Is it taken from life?" + +"This young man says it is his sister," said the clerk. + +"Your sister!" said the lady, her eyes bent, inquiringly, upon Jack. +In her tone, too, there was a slight mingling of surprise, and, as it +seemed, disappointment. + +"Yes, madam," said Jack, respectfully. + +"Pardon me," she said, "there is so little family resemblance, I should +hardly have supposed it." + +"She is not my own sister," said Jack, "but I love her just the same." + +"Do you live in (sic) Philadelphia? Could I see her?" asked the lady, +eagerly. + +"I live in New York, madam," said Jack; "but Ida was stolen from us +nearly a fortnight since, and I have come here in pursuit of her. I have +not been able to find her yet." + +"Did you say her name was Ida?" demanded the lady, in strange agitation. + +"Yes, madam." + +"My young friend," said the lady, rapidly, "I have been much interested +in the story of your sister. I should like to hear more, but not here. +Would you have any objection to coming home with me, and telling me the +rest? Then we will, together, concert measures for discovering her." + +"You are very kind, madam," said Jack, somewhat bashfully; for the lady +was elegantly dressed, and it had never been his fortune to converse +with many ladies of her rank; "I shall be very much obliged to you for +your advice and assistance." + +"Then we will drive home at once." + +Jack followed her to the street, where he saw an elegant carriage, and a +coachman in livery. + +With natural gallantry, Jack assisted the lady into the carriage, and, +at her bidding, got in himself. + +"Home, Thomas!" she directed the driver; "and drive as fast as +possible." + +"Yes, madam." + +"How old was your sister when your parents adopted her?" asked Mrs. +Clifton. Jack afterwards ascertained that this was her name. + +"About a year old, madam." + +"And how long since was it?" asked the lady, bending forward with +breathless interest. + +"Eight years since. She is now nine." + +"It must be," said the lady, in a low voice. "If it is indeed so, how +will my life be blessed!" + +"Did you speak, madam?" + +"Tell me under what circumstances your family adopted Ida." + +Jack related, briefly, the circumstances, which are already familiar to +the reader. + +"And do you recollect the month in which this happened?" + +"It was at the close of December, the night before New Years." + +"It is--it must be she!" ejaculated the lady, clasping her hands while +tears of happy joy welled from her eyes. + +"I--I do not understand," said Jack. + +"My young friend, our meeting this morning seems providential. I have +every reason to believe that this child--your adopted sister--is my +daughter, stolen from me by an unknown enemy at the time of which +you speak. From that day to this I have never been able to obtain the +slightest clew that might lead to her discovery. I have long taught +myself to look upon her as dead." + +"It was Jack's turn to be surprised. He looked at the lady beside him. +She was barely thirty. The beauty of her girlhood had ripened into the +maturer beauty of womanhood. There was the same dazzling complexion--the +same soft flush upon the cheeks. The eyes, too, were wonderfully like +Ida's. Jack looked, and what he saw convinced him. + +"You must be right," he said. "Ida is very much like you." + +"You think so?" said Mrs. Clifton, eagerly. + +"Yes, madam." + +"I had a picture--a daguerreotype--taken of Ida just before I lost her. +I have treasured it carefully. I must show it to you." + +The carriage stopped before a stately mansion in a wide and quiet +street. The driver dismounted, and opened the door. Jack assisted Mrs. +Clifton to alight. + +Bashfully, he followed the lady up the steps, and, at her bidding, +seated himself in an elegant apartment, furnished with a splendor which +excited his wonder. He had little time to look about him, for Mrs. +Clifton, without pausing to take off her street-attire, hastened down +stairs with an open daguerreotype in her hand. + +"Can you remember Ida when she was brought to your house?" she asked. +"Did she look like this?" + +"It is her image," said Jack, decidedly. "I should know it anywhere." + +"Then there can be no further doubt," said Mrs. Clifton. "It is my child +whom you have cared for so long. Oh, why could I not have known it? How +many sleepless nights and lonely days would it have spared me! But God +be thanked for this late blessing! Pardon me, I have not yet asked your +name." + +"My name is Crump--Jack Crump." + +"Jack?" said the lady, smiling. + +"Yes, madam; that is what they call me. It would not seem natural to be +called by another." + +"Very well," said Mrs. Clifton, with a smile which went to Jack's heart +at once, and made him think her, if anything, more beautiful than Ida; +"as Ida is your adopted sister, that makes us connected in some way, +doesn't it? I won't call you Mr. Crump, for that would seem too formal. +I will call you Jack." + +To be called Jack by such a beautiful lady, who every day of her +life was accustomed to live in a state which he thought could not be +exceeded, even by royal state, almost upset our hero. Had Mrs. Clifton +been Queen Victoria herself, he could not have felt a profounder respect +and veneration for her than he did already. + +"Now Jack," said Mrs. Clifton, "we must take measures immediately to +discover Ida. I want you to tell me about her disappearance from your +house, and what steps you have taken thus far towards finding her out." + +Jack began at the beginning, and described the appearance of Mrs. +Hardwick; how she had been permitted to carry Ida away under false +representations, and the manner in which he had tracked her to +Philadelphia. He spoke finally of her arrest, and her obstinate refusal +to impart any information as to Ida's whereabouts. + +Mrs. Clifton listened attentively and anxiously. There were more +difficulties in the way than she had supposed. + +"Do you think of any plan, Jack?" she asked, at length. + +"Yes, madam," said our hero. "The man who painted the picture of Ida may +know where she is to be found." + +"You are right," said the lady. "I should have thought of it before. I +will order the carriage again instantly, and we will at once go back to +the print-store." + +An hour later, Henry Bowen was surprised by the visit of an elegant lady +to his studio, accompanied by a young man of eighteen. + +"I think you are the artist who designed 'The Flower-Girl,'" said Mrs. +Clifton. + +"I am, madam." + +"It was taken from life?" + +"You are right." + +"I am anxious to find out the little girl whose face you copied. Can you +give me any directions that will enable me to find her out?" + +"I will accompany you to the place, if you desire it, madam," said the +young man. "It is a strange neighborhood to look for so much beauty." + +"I shall be deeply indebted to you if you will oblige me so far," said +the lady. "My carriage is below, and my coachman will obey your orders." + +Once more they were on the move. A few minutes later, and the carriage +paused. The driver opened the door. He was evidently quite scandalized +at the idea of bringing his lady to such a place. + +"This can't be the place, madam," he said. + +"Yes," said the artist. "Do not get out, madam. I will go in, and find +out all that is needful." + +Two minutes later he returned, looking disappointed. + +"We are too late," he said. "An hour since a gentleman called, and took +away the child." + +Mrs. Clifton sank back, in keen disappointment. + +"My child, my child!" she murmured. "Shall I ever see thee again?" + +Jack, too, felt more disappointed than he was willing to acknowledge. +He could not conjecture who this gentleman could be who had carried away +Ida. The affair seemed darker and more complicated than ever. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. IDA IS FOUND. + + + +IDA was sitting alone in the dreary apartment which she was now obliged +to call home. Peg had gone out, and not feeling quite certain of her +prey, had bolted the door on the outside. She had left some work for the +child,--some handkerchiefs to hem for Dick,--with strict orders to keep +steadily at work. + +While seated at work, she was aroused from thoughts of home by a knock +at the door. + +"Who's there?" asked Ida. + +"A friend," was the reply. + +"Mrs. Hardwick--Peg isn't at home," returned Ida. "I don't know when she +will be back." + +"Then I will come in and wait till she comes back," said the voice +outside. + +"I can't open the door," said Ida. "It's fastened on the outside." + +"Yes, I see. Then I will take the liberty to draw the bolt." + +Mr. John Somerville entered the room, and for the first time in eight +years his glance fell upon the child whom, for so long a time, he had +defrauded of a mother's care and tenderness. + +Ida returned to the window. + +"How beautiful she is!" thought Somerville, with surprise. "She inherits +all her mother's rare beauty." + +On the table beside Ida was a drawing. + +"Whose is this?" he inquired. + +"Mine," answered Ida. + +"So you have learned to draw?" + +"A little," answered the child, modestly. + +"Who taught you? Not the woman you live with?" + +"No;" said Ida. + +"You have not always lived with her, I am sure." + +Ida admitted that she had not. + +"You lived in New York with a family named Crump, did you not?" + +"Do you know father and mother?" asked Ida, with sudden hope. "Did they +send you for me?" + +"I will tell you that by and by, my child; but I want to ask you a few +questions first. Why does this woman Peg lock you in whenever she goes +away?" + +"I suppose," said Ida, "she is afraid I will run away." + +"Then she knows you don't want to live with her?" + +"Oh, yes, she knows that," said the child, frankly. "I have asked her to +send me home, but she says she won't for a year." + +"And how long have you been with her?" + +"About a fortnight." + +"What does she make you do?" + +"I can't tell what she made me do first." + +"Why not?" + +"Because she would be very angry." + +"Suppose I should tell you that I would deliver you from her. Would you +be willing to go with me?" + +"And you would carry me back to my mother and father?" + +"Certainly, I would restore you to your mother," said he, evasively. + +"Then I will go with you." + +Ida ran quickly to get her bonnet and shawl. + +"We had better go at once," said Somerville. "Peg might return, and give +us trouble." + +"O yes, let us go quickly," said Ida, turning pale at the remembered +threats of Peg. + +Neither knew yet that Peg could not return if she would; that, at this +very moment, she was in legal custody on a charge of a serious nature. +Still less did Ida know that, in going, she was losing the chance of +seeing Jack and her mother, of whose existence, even, she was not yet +aware; and that he, to whose care she consigned herself so gladly, had +been her worst enemy. + +"I will carry you to my room, in the first place," said her companion. +"You must remain in concealment for a day or two, as Peg will, +undoubtedly, be on the lookout for you, and we want to avoid all +trouble." + +Ida was delighted with her escape, and, with the hope of soon seeing +her friends in New York, She put implicit faith in her guide, and was +willing to submit to any conditions which he might impose. + +On emerging into the street, her companion summoned a cab. He had +reasons for not wishing to encounter any one whom he knew. + +At length they reached his lodgings. + +They were furnished more richly than any room Ida had yet seen; and +formed, indeed, a luxurious contrast to the dark and scantily-furnished +apartment which she had occupied for the last fortnight. + +"Well, are you glad to get away from Peg?" asked John Somerville, giving +Ida a seat at the fire. + +"Oh, _so_ glad!" said Ida. + +"And you wouldn't care about going back?" + +The child shuddered. + +"I suppose," said she, "that Peg will be very angry. She would beat me, +if she should get me back again." + +"But she sha'n't. I will take good care of that." + +Ida looked her gratitude. Her heart went out to those who appeared to +deal kindly with her, and she felt very grateful to her companion for +his instrumentality in effecting her deliverance from Peg. + +"Now," said Somerville, "perhaps you will be willing to tell me what it +was you were required to do." + +"Yes," said Ida; "but she must never know that I told. It was to pass +bad money." + +"Ha!" exclaimed her companion. "Do you mean bad bills, or spurious +coin?" + +"It was silver dollars." + +"Does she do much in that way?" + +"A good deal. She goes out every day to buy things with the money." + +"I am glad to learn this," said John Somerville, thoughtfully. + +"Ida," said he, after a pause, "I am going out for a time. You will find +books on the table, and can amuse yourself by reading; I won't make you +sew, as Peg did," he said, smiling. + +Ida laughed. + +"Oh, yes," said she, "I like reading. I shall amuse myself very well." + +Mr. Somerville went out, and Ida, as he recommended, read awhile. Then, +growing tired, she went to the window and looked out. A carriage was +passing slowly, on account of a press of carriages. Ida saw a face that +she knew. Forgetting her bonnet in her sudden joy, she ran down the +stairs, into the street, and up to the carriage window. + +"O Jack!" she exclaimed; "have you come for me?" + +It was Mrs. Clifton's carriage, returning from Peg's lodgings. + +"Why, it's Ida!" exclaimed Jack, almost springing through the window of +the carriage. "Where did you come from, and where have you been all the +time?" + +He opened the door of the carriage, and drew Ida in. + +Till then she had not seen the lady who sat at Jack's side. + +"My child, my child! Thank God, you are restored to me," exclaimed Mrs. +Clifton. + +She drew the astonished child to her bosom. Ida looked up into her face. +Was it Nature that prompted her to return the lady's embrace? + +"My God, I thank thee!" murmured Mrs. Clifton; "for this, my child, was +lost and is found." + +"Ida," said Jack, "this lady is your mother." + +"My mother!" said the child, bewildered. "Have I two mothers?" + +"Yes, but this is your real mother. You were brought to our house when +you were an infant, and we have always taken care of you; but this lady +is your real mother." + +Ida hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry. + +"And you are not my brother?" + +"You shall still consider him your brother, Ida," said Mrs. Clifton. +"Heaven forbid that I should wean your heart from the friends who have +cared so kindly for you! You shall keep all your old friends, and love +them as dearly as ever. You will only have one friend the more." + +"Where are we going?" asked Ida, suddenly. + +"We are going home." + +"What will the gentleman say?" + +"What gentleman?" + +"The one that took me away from Peg's. Why, there he is now!" + +Mrs. Clifton followed the direction of Ida's finger, as she pointed to a +gentleman passing. + +"Is he the one?" + +"Yes, mamma," said Ida, shyly. + +Mrs. Clifton pressed Ida to her breast. It was the first time she had +ever been called mamma. It made her realize, more fully, her present +happiness. + +Arrived at the house, Jack's bashfulness returned. He hung back, and +hesitated about going in. + +Mrs. Clifton observed this. + +"Jack," said she, "this house is to be your home while you remain in +Philadelphia. Come in, and Thomas shall go for your baggage." + +"Perhaps I had better go with him," said Jack. "Uncle Abel will be glad +to know that Ida is found." + +"Very well; only return soon." + +"Well!" thought Jack, as he re-entered the carriage, and gave the +direction to the coachman; "won't Uncle Abel be a little surprised when +he sees me coming home in such style!" + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. "NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND." + + + +MEANWHILE, Peg was passing her time wearily enough in prison. It was +certainly provoking to be deprived of her freedom just when she was +likely to make it most profitable. After some reflection, she determined +to send for Mrs. Clifton, and reveal to her all she knew, trusting to +her generosity for a recompense. + +To one of the officers of the prison she communicated the intelligence +that she had an important revelation to make to Mrs. Clifton, and +absolutely refused to make it unless the lady would visit her in prison. + +Scarcely had Mrs. Clifton returned home, after recovering her child, +than the bell rang, and a stranger was introduced. + +"Is this Mrs. Clifton?" he inquired. + +"It is." + +"Then I have a message for you." + +The lady inclined her head. + +"You must know, madam, that I am one of the officers connected with the +City Prison. A woman was placed in confinement this morning, who says +she has a most important communication to make to you, but declines to +make it except to you in person." + +"Can you bring her here, sir?" + +"That is impossible. We will give you every facility, however, for +visiting her in prison." + +"It must be Peg," whispered Ida; "the woman that carried me off." + +Such a request Mrs. Clifton could not refuse. She at once made ready to +accompany the officer. She resolved to carry Ida with her, fearful that, +unless she kept her in her immediate presence, she might disappear again +as before. + +As Jack had not yet returned, a hack was summoned, and they proceeded +at once to the prison. Ida shuddered as she passed beneath the gloomy +portal which shut out hope and the world from so many. + +"This way, madam!" + +They followed the officer through a gloomy corridor, until they came to +the cell in which Peg was confined. + +The tenant of the cell looked surprised to find Mrs. Clifton accompanied +by Ida. + +"How do you do, Ida?" she said, smiling grimly; "you see I've moved. +Just tell your mother she can sit down on the bed. I'm sorry I haven't +any rocking-chair or sofa to offer you." + +"O Peg," said Ida, her tender heart melted by the woman's misfortunes; +"how sorry I am to find you here!" + +"Are you sorry?" asked Peg, looking at her in surprise. + +"You haven't much cause to be. I've been your worst enemy, or one of the +worst." + +"I can't help it," said the child, her face beaming with a divine +compassion; "it must be so sad to be shut up here, and not be able to go +out into the bright sunshine. I do pity you." + +Peg's heart was not wholly hardened. Few are. But it was long since it +had been touched as it was now by this great pity on the part of one she +had injured. + +"You're a good girl, Ida," she said; "and I'm sorry I've injured you. I +didn't think I should ever ask forgiveness of anybody; but I do ask your +forgiveness." + +The child rose, and advancing towards Peg, took her large hand in (sic) +her's and said, "I forgive you, Peg." + +"From your heart?" + +"With all my heart." + +"Thank you, child. I feel better now. There have been times when I +thought I should like to lead a better life." + +"It is not too late now, Peg." + +Peg shook her head. + +"Who will trust me after I have come from here?" + +"I will," said Mrs. Clifton, speaking for the first time. + +"You will?" + +"Yes." + +"And yet you have much to forgive. But it was not my plan to steal your +daughter from you. I was poor, and money tempted me." + +"Who could have had an interest in doing me this cruel wrong?" + +"One whom you know well,--Mr. John Somerville." + +"Surely, you are wrong!" exclaimed Mrs. Clifton, in unbounded +astonishment. "It cannot be. What object could he have had?" + +"Can you think of none?" queried Peg, looking at her shrewdly. + +Mrs. Clifton changed color. "Perhaps so," she said. "Go on." + +Peg told the whole story, so circumstantially, that there was no room +left for doubt. + +"I did not believe him capable of such wickedness," she ejaculated. "It +was a base, unmanly revenge. How could you lend yourself to it?" + +"How could I?" repeated Peg. "Madam, you are rich. You have always had +whatever wealth could procure. How can you understand the temptations +of the poor? When want and hunger stare us in the face, we have not the +strength to resist that you have in your luxurious homes." + +"Pardon me," said Mrs. Clifton, touched by these words, half bitter, +half pathetic; "let me, at any rate, thank you for the service you have +done me now. When you are released from your confinement, come to me. +If you wish to change your mode of life and live honestly henceforth, I +will give you the chance." + +"You will!" said Peg, eagerly. + +"I will." + +"After all the injury I have done you, you will trust me still?" + +"Who am I that I should condemn you? Yes, I will trust you, and forgive +you." + +"I never expected to hear such words," said Peg, her heart softened, and +her arid eyes moistened by unwonted emotion, "least of all from you. I +should like to ask one thing." + +"What is it?" + +"Will you let her come and see me sometimes?" she pointed to Ida as +she spoke; "it will remind me that this is not all a dream--these words +which you have spoken." + +"She shall come," said Mrs. Clifton, "and I will come too, sometimes." + +"Thank you," said Peg. + +They left the prison behind them, and returned home. + +"Mr. Somerville is in the drawing-room," said the servant. "He wishes to +see you." + +Mrs. Clifton's face flushed. + +"I will go down," she said. "Ida, you will remain here." + +She descended to the drawing-room, and met the man who had injured her. +He had come with the resolve to stake his all upon a single cast. His +fortunes were desperate. Through the mother's love for the daughter whom +she had mourned so long, whom, as he believed he had it in his power +to restore to her, he hoped to obtain her consent to a marriage, which +would retrieve his fortunes, and gratify his ambition. + +Mrs. Clifton seated herself quietly. She did not, as usual, offer him +her hand. Full of his own plans, he did not notice this omission. + +"How long is it since Ida was lost?" inquired Somerville. + +Mrs. Clifton started in some surprise. She had not expected him to +introduce this subject. + +"Eight years," she said. + +"And you believe she yet lives?" + +"Yes, I am certain of it." + +John Somerville did not understand her aright. He felt only that a +mother never gives up hope. + +"Yet it is a long time," he said. + +"It is--a long time to suffer," she said. "How could any one have the +heart to work me this great injury? For eight years I have led a sad and +solitary life,--years that might have been made glad by Ida's presence." + +There was something in her tone which puzzled John Somerville, but he +was far enough from suspecting the truth. + +"Rose," he said, after a pause. "Do you love your child well enough to +make a sacrifice for the sake of recovering her?" + +"What sacrifice?" she asked, fixing her eyes upon him. + +"A sacrifice of your feelings." + +"Explain. You talk in enigmas." + +"Listen, then. I, too, believe Ida to be living. Withdraw the opposition +you have twice made to my suit, promise me that you will reward my +affection by your land if I succeed, and I will devote myself to the +search for Ida, resting day nor night till I am able to place her in +your arms. Then, if I succeed, may I claim my reward?" + +"What reason have you for thinking you should find her?" asked Mrs. +Clifton, with the same inexplicable manner. + +"I think I have got a clew." + +"And are you not generous enough to exert yourself without demanding of +me this sacrifice?" + +"No, Rose," he said, "I am not unselfish enough." + +"But, consider a moment. Will not even that be poor atonement enough for +the wrong you have done me,"--she spoke rapidly now,--"for the grief and +loneliness and sorrow which your wickedness and cruelty have wrought?" + +"I do not understand you," he said, turning pale. + +"It is enough to say that I have seen the woman who is now in +prison,--your paid agent,--and that I need no assistance to recover Ida. +She is in my house." + +What more could be said? + +John Somerville rose, and left the room. His grand scheme had failed. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. CONCLUSION. + + + +"I AM beginning to feel anxious about Jack," said Mrs. Crump. "It's +almost a week since we heard from him. I'm afraid he's got into some +trouble." + +"Probably he's too busy to write," said the cooper. + +"I told you so," said Rachel, in one of her usual fits of depression. +"I told you Jack wasn't fit to be sent on such an errand. If you'd only +taken my advice, you wouldn't have had so much worry and trouble +about him now. Most likely he's got into the House of Reformation, or +somewhere. I knew a young man once who went away from home, and never +came back again. Nobody ever knew what became of him till his body was +found in the river, half-eaten by fishes." + +"How can you talk so, Rachel?" said Mrs. Crump, indignantly; "and of +your own nephew, too!" + +"This is a world of trial and disappointment," said Rachel; "and we +might as well expect the worst, because it's sure to come." + +"At that rate there wouldn't be much joy in life," said the cooper. +"No, Rachel, you are wrong. God didn't send us into the world to be +melancholy. He wants us to enjoy ourselves. Now I have no idea that Jack +has jumped into the river. Then again, if he has, he can swim." + +"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." + +"But you live in Philadelphia. We shall lose sight of her." + +"Not unless you refuse to come to Philadelphia, too." + +"I am not sure whether I could find work there." + +"That shall be my care. I have another inducement. God has bestowed upon +me a large share of this world's goods. I am thankful for it, since +it will enable me in some slight way to express my sense of your great +services to Ida. I own a neat brick house in a quiet street, which you +will find more comfortable than this. Just before I left Philadelphia my +lawyer drew up a deed of gift, conveying the house to you. It is Ida's +gift, not mine. Ida, give this to Mr. Crump." + +The child took the parchment, and handed it to the cooper, who was +bewildered by his sudden good fortune. + +"This for me?" he said. + +"It is the first installment of my debt of gratitude; it shall not be +the last," said Mrs. Clifton. + +"How shall I thank you, madam?" said the cooper. "To a poor man this is, +indeed, an acceptable gift." + +"By accepting it," said Mrs. Clifton. "Let me add, for I know it +will enhance the value of the gift in your eyes, that it is only five +minutes' walk from my own house, and Ida will come and see you every +day." + +"Yes, mamma," said Ida; "I couldn't be happy away from father and mother +and Jack, and Aunt Rachel." + +"You must introduce me to your Aunt Rachel," said Mrs. Clifton, with a +grace all her own. + +Ida did so. + +"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Rachel," said Mrs. Clifton. +"I need not say that I shall be glad to see you, as well as Mr. and Mrs. +Crump, at my house very frequently." + +"I'm much obleeged to you," said Aunt Rachel; "but I don't think I shall +live long to go anywhere. The feelin's I have, sometimes warn me that +I'm not long for this world." + +"You see, Mrs. Clifton," said Jack, his eyes dancing with mischief, "we +come of a short-lived family. Grandmother died at eighty-two, and that +wouldn't give Aunt Rachel long to live." + +"You impudent boy!" exclaimed Miss Rachel, in great indignation. Then +relapsing into melancholy, "I'm a poor afflicted creetur, and the sooner +I leave this scene of trial the better." + +"Let us hope," said Mrs. Clifton, politely, "that you will find the air +of Philadelphia beneficial to your health. Change of air sometimes works +wonders." + +In the course of a few weeks the whole family removed to Philadelphia. +The house which Mrs. Clifton had given them, exceeded their +anticipations. It was so much better and larger than their present +dwelling, that their furniture would have shown to great disadvantage in +it. But Mrs. Clifton had foreseen this, and they found the house already +furnished for their reception. Through Mrs. Clifton's influence the +cooper was enabled to establish himself in business on a larger scale, +and employ others, instead of working himself, for hire. Ida was such +a frequent visitor, that it was hard to tell which she considered her +home--her mother's elegant dwelling, or Mrs. Cooper's comfortable home. + +For Jack, a situation was found in a merchant's counting-room, and +he became a thriving young merchant, being eventually taken into +partnership. Ida grew lovelier as she grew older, and her rare beauty +caused her to be sought after. If she does not marry well and happily, +it will not be for want of an opportunity. + +Dear reader, you who deem that all stories should end with a marriage, +shall not be disappointed. + +One day Aunt Rachel was missing from her room. It was remembered that +she had appeared singularly for some days previous, and the knowledge +of her constitutional low spirits, led to the apprehension that she had +made way with herself. The cooper was about to notify the police, when +the front door opened and Rachel walked in. She was accompanied by a +short man, stout and freckled. + +"Why, Aunt Rachel," exclaimed Mrs. Crump, "where _have_ you been? We +have been so anxious about you." + +A faint flush came to Aunt Rachel's sallow cheek. + +"Sister Mary," said she, "you will be surprised, perhaps, but--but this +is my consort. Mr. Smith, let me introduce you to my sister." + +"Then you are married, Rachel," said Mrs. Crump, quite confounded. + +"Yes," said Rachel; "I--I don't expect to live long, and it won't make +much difference." + +"I congratulate you, _Mrs. Smith_," said Mary Crump, heartily; "and I +wish you a long and happy life, I am sure." + +It is observed that, since her marriage, Aunt Rachel's fits of +depression are less numerous than before. She has even been seen to +smile repeatedly, and has come to bear, with philosophical equanimity, +her nephew Jack's sly allusions to her elopement. + +One word more. At the close of her term of confinement, Peg came to Mrs. +Clifton, and reminded her of her promise. Dick was dead, and she was +left alone in the world. Imprisonment had not hardened her as it so +often does. She had been redeemed by the kindness of those she had +injured. Mrs. Clifton secured her a position in which her energy and +administrative ability found fitting exercise, and she leads a laborious +and useful life, in a community where her antecedents are not known. + +END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Timothy Crump's Ward, by Horatio Alger + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD *** + +***** This file should be named 4660.txt or 4660.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/6/4660/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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We need your donations. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 +Find out about how to make a donation at the bottom of this file. + + +Title: Timothy Crump's Ward: A Story of American Life + +Author: Horatio Alger + +Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4660] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 23, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Timothy Crump's Ward: A Story of American Life +by Horatio Alger +******This file should be named tmthy10.txt or tmthy10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, tmthy11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tmthy10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + +*** +This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com). + +TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD: + +A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. + +by Horatio Alger + +1866. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +I. INTRODUCES THE CRUMPS +II. THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING +III. THE LANDLORD'S VISIT +IV. THE NEW YEAR'S PRESENT +V. A LUCKY RESCUE +VI. WHAT THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED +VII. EIGHT YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS +VIII. A STRANGE VISITOR +IX. A JOURNEY +X. UNEXPECTED QUARTERS +XI. SUSPENSE +XII. HOW IDA FARED +XIII. BAD COIN +XIV. DOUBTS AND FEARS +XV. AUNT RACHEL'S MISHAPS +XVI. THE FLOWER-GIRL +XVII. JACK (sic) OBTAIN'S INFORMATION +XVIII. FINESSE +XIX. CAUGHT IN A TRAP +XX. JACK IN CONFINEMENT +XXI. THE PRISONER ESCAPES +XXII. MR. JOHN SOMERVILLE +XXIII. THE LAW STEPS IN +XXIV. "THE FLOWER-GIRL" +XXV. IDA IS FOUND +XXVI. "NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND" +XXVII. CONCLUSION + + + + + + + + + + + +TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD. + +CHAPTER I. + +INTRODUCES THE CRUMPS. + + + + + +IT was drawing towards the close of the last day of the year. A few +hours more, and 1836 would be no more. + +It was a cold day. There was no snow on the ground, but it was +frozen into stiff ridges, making it uncomfortable to walk upon. The +sun had been out all day, but there was little heat or comfort in +its bright, but frosty beams. + +The winter is a hard season for the poor. It multiplies their +necessities, while, in general, it limits their means and +opportunities of earning. The winter of 1836-37 was far from being +an exception to this rule. It was worse than usual, on account of +the general stagnation of business. + +In an humble tenement, located on what was then the outskirts of New +York, though to-day a granite warehouse stands on the spot, lived +Timothy Crump, an industrious cooper. His family consisted of a wife +and one child, a boy of twelve, whose baptismal name was John, +though invariably addressed, by his companions, as Jack. + +There was another member of the household who would be highly +offended if she were not introduced, in due form, to the reader. +This was Miss Rachel Crump, maiden sister of Uncle Tim, as he was +usually designated. + +Miss Rachel was not much like her brother, for while the latter was +a good-hearted, cheerful easy man, who was inclined to view the +world in its sunniest aspect, Rachel was cynical, and given to +misanthropy. Poor Rachel, let us not be too hard upon thy +infirmities. Could we lift the veil that hides the secrets of that +virgin heart, it might be, perchance, that we should find a hidden +cause, far back in the days when thy cheeks were rounder and thine +eyes brighter, and thine aspect not quite so frosty. Ah, faithless +Harry Fletcher! thou hadst some hand in that peevishness and +repining which make Rachel Crump, and all about her, uncomfortable. +Lured away by a prettier face, you left her to pass through life, +unblessed by that love which every female heart craves, and for +which no kindred love will compensate. It was your faithlessness +that left her to walk, with repining spirit, the flinty path of the +old maid. + +Yes; it must be said--Rachel Crump was an old maid; not from choice, +but hard necessity. And so, one by one, she closed up the avenues of +her heart, and clothed herself with complaining, as with a garment. +Being unblessed with earthly means, she had accepted the hearty +invitation of her brother, and become an inmate of his family, where +she paid her board by little services about the house, and obtained +sufficient needle-work to replenish her wardrobe as often as there +was occasion. Forty-five years had now rolled over her head, leaving +clearer traces of their presence, doubtless, than if her spirit had +been more cheerful; so that Rachel, whose strongly marked features +never could have been handsome, was now undeniably homely. + +Mrs. Crump, fortunately for her husband's peace, did not in the +least resemble her sister-in-law. Her disposition was cheerful, and +she had frequent occasion to remonstrate with her upon the dark view +she took of life. Had her temper been different, it is very easy to +see that she would have been continually quarrelling with Rachel; +but, happily, she was one of those women with whom it is impossible +to quarrel. With her broad mantle of charity, she was always seeking +to cover up and extenuate the defects of her sister-in-law, though +she could not help acknowledging their existence. + +It had been a hard winter for the cooper. For a month he had been +unable to obtain work of any kind, and for the two months previous +he had worked scarcely more than half the time. Unfortunately for +him, his expenses for a few years back had kept such even pace with +his income, that he had no reserved fund to fall back upon in such a +time as this. That was no fault of his. Both he and his wife had +been economical enough, but there are a great many things included +in family expenses--rent, fuel, provisions, food, clothing, and a +long list of sundries, besides; and all these had cost money, of +which desirable article Uncle Tim's trade furnished not a very large +supply. + +So it happened that, as tradesmen were slow to trust, they had been +obliged to part with a sofa to defray the expenses of the month of +December. This article was selected because it was best convertible +into cash,--being wanted by a neighbor,--besides being about the +only article of luxury, if it could be called such, in possession of +the family. As such it had been hardly used, being reserved for +state occasions; yet hardly had it left (sic) the the house, when +Aunt Rachel began to show signs of extreme lowness of spirits, and +bewailed its loss as a privation of a personal comfort. + +"Life's full of disappointments," she groaned. "Our paths is +continually beset by 'em. There's that sofa! It's so pleasant to +have one in the house when a body's sick. But there, it's gone, and +if I happen to get down, as most likely I shall, for I've got a bad +feeling in my stummick this very minute, I shall have to go +up-stairs, and most likely catch my death of cold, and that will be +the end of me." + +"Not so bad as that, I hope," said Mrs. Crump, cheerfully. "You +know, when you was sick last, you didn't want to use the sofa--you +said it didn't lay comfortable. Besides, I hope, before you are sick +again we may be able to buy it back again." + +Aunt Rachel shook her head despondingly. + +"There ain't any use in hoping that," said she. "Timothy's got so +much behindhand that he won't be able to get up again; I know he +won't." + +"But if he manages to get steady work soon, he will." + +"No, he won't. I'm sure he won't. There won't be any work before +spring, and most likely not then." + +"You are too desponding, Aunt Rachel." + +"Enough to make me so. If you had only taken my advice, we shouldn't +have come to this." + +"I don't know what advice you refer to, Rachel." + +"No, I don't expect you do. You didn't pay no attention to it. +That's the reason." + +"But if you'll repeat it, perhaps we can profit by it yet," said +Mrs. Crump, with imperturbable good humor. + +"I told you you ought to be layin' up something ag'in a rainy day. +But that's always the way. Folks think when times is good it's +always a goin' to be so, but I knew better." + +"I don't see how we could have been more economical," said Mrs. +Crump, mildly. + +"There's a hundred ways. Poor folks like us ought not to expect to +have meat so often. It's frightful to think what the butcher's bill +must have been the last six months." + +Inconsistent Rachel! Only the day before she had made herself very +uncomfortable because there was no meat for dinner, and said she +couldn't live without it. Mrs. Crump might have reminded her of +this, but the good woman was too kind to make the retort. She +contented herself with saying that they must try to do better in +future. + +"That's always the way," muttered Rachel. "Shut the stable door when +the horse is stolen. Folks never learn from experience till it's too +late to be of any use. I don't see what the world was made for, for +my part. Everything goes topsy-turvy, and all sorts of ways except +the right way. I sometimes think 'taint much use livin'." + +"Oh, you'll feel better by and by, Rachel. Hark, there's Jack, isn't +it?" + +"Anybody might know by the noise who it is," pursued Rachel, in the +same general tone that had marked her conversation hitherto. "He +always comes _stomping_ along as if he was paid for makin' a noise. +Anybody ought to have a cast-iron head that lives anywhere in his +hearing." + +Her cheerful remarks were here broken in upon by the sudden entrance +of Jack, who, in his eagerness, slammed the door behind him, +unheeding his mother's quiet admonition not to make a noise. + +"Look there!" said he, displaying a quarter of a dollar. + +"How did you get it?" asked his mother. + +"Holding horses," answered Jack. + +"Here, take it, mother. I warrant you'll find a use for it." + +"It comes in good time," said Mrs. Crump. "We're out of flour, and I +had no money to buy any. Before you take off your boots, Jack, why +can't you run over to the store, and get half a dozen pounds?" + +"You see the Lord hasn't quite forgotten us," remarked his mother, +as Jack started on his errand. + +"What's a quarter of a dollar?" said Rachel, gloomily. "Will it +carry us through the winter?" + +"It will carry us through to-night, and perhaps Timothy will have +work to-morrow. Hark, that's his step." + + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING. + + + + + +AT this moment the outer door opened, and Timothy Crump entered, not +with the quick elastic step of one who brings good tidings, but +slowly and deliberately, with a quiet gravity of demeanor, in which +his wife could read only too well that he had failed in his efforts +to procure work. + +His wife, reading all these things in his manner, had the delicacy +to forbear intruding upon him questions to which she saw that he +could give no satisfactory answers. + +Not so Aunt Rachel. + +"I needn't ask," she began, "whether you got work, Timothy. I knew +beforehand you wouldn't. There ain't no use in tryin'. The times is +awful dull, and, mark my words, they'll be wuss before they're +better. We mayn't live to see 'em. I don't expect we shall. Folks +can't live without money, and when that's gone we shall have to +starve." + +"Not so bad as that, Rachel," said the cooper, trying to look +cheerful; "don't talk about starving till the time comes. Anyhow," +glancing at the table on which was spread a good plain meal, "we +needn't talk about starving till to-morrow, with that before us. +Where's Jack?" + +"Gone after some flour," replied his wife. + +"On credit?" asked the cooper. + +"No, he's got the money to pay for a few pounds," said Mrs. Crump, +smiling, with an air of mystery. + +"Where did it come from?" asked Timothy, who was puzzled, as his +wife anticipated. "I didn't know you had any money in the house." + +"No more we had, but he earned it himself, holding horses, this +afternoon." + +"Come, that's good," said the cooper, cheerfully, "We ain't so bad +off as we might be, you see, Rachel." + +The latter shook her head with the air of a martyr. + +At this moment Jack returned, and the family sat down to supper. + +"You haven't told us," said Mrs. Crump, seeing her husband's +cheerfulness in a measure restored, "what Mr. Blodgett said about +the chances for employment." + +"Not much that was encouraging," answered Timothy. "He isn't at all +sure how soon it will be best to commence work; perhaps not before +spring." + +"Didn't I tell you so?" commented Rachel, with sepulchral sadness. + +Even Mr. Crump could not help looking sober. + +"I suppose, Timothy, you haven't formed any plans," she said. + +"No, I haven't had time. I must try to get something else to do." + +"What, for instance?" + +"Anything by which I can earn a little, I don't care if it's only +sawing wood. We shall have to get along as economically as we can; +cut our coat according to our cloth." + +"Oh, you'll be able to earn something, and we can live _very_ +plain," said Mrs. Crump, affecting a cheerfulness greater than she +felt. + +"Pity you hadn't done it sooner," was the comforting suggestion of +Rachel. + +"Mustn't cry over spilt milk," said the cooper, good-humoredly. +"Perhaps we might have lived a _leetle_ more economically, but I +don't think we've been extravagant." + +"Besides, I can earn something, father," said Jack, hopefully. "You +know I did this afternoon." + +"So you can," said Mrs. Crump, brightly. + +"There ain't horses to hold every day," said Rachel, apparently +fearing that the family might become too cheerful, when, like +herself, it was their duty to become profoundly gloomy. + +"You're always trying' to discourage people," said Jack, +discontentedly. + +Rachel took instant umbrage at these words. + +"I'm sure," said she; mournfully, "I don't want to make you unhappy. +If you can find anything to be cheerful about when you're on the +verge of starvation, I hope you'll enjoy yourselves, and not mind +me. I'm a poor dependent creetur, and I feel to know I'm a burden." + +"Now, Rachel, that's all foolishness," said Uncle Tim. "You don't +feel anything of the kind." + +"Perhaps others can tell how I feel, better than I can myself," +answered his sister, knitting rapidly. "If it hadn't been for me, I +know you'd have been able to lay up money, and have something to +carry you through the winter. It's hard to be a burden upon your +relations, and bring a brother's family to poverty." + +"Don't talk of being a burden, Rachel," said Mrs. Crump. "You've +been a great help to me in many ways. That pair of stockings now +you're knitting for Jack--that's a help, for I couldn't have got +time for them myself." + +"I don't expect," said Aunt Rachel, in the same sunny manner, "that +I shall be able to do it long. From the pains I have in my hands +sometimes, I expect I'm going to lose the use of 'em soon, and be as +useless as old Mrs. Sprague, who for the last ten years of her life +had to sit with her hands folded in her lap. But I wouldn't stay to +be a burden. I'd go to the poor-house first, but perhaps," with the +look of a martyr, "they wouldn't want me there, because I should be +discouragin' 'em too much." + +Poor Jack, who had so unwittingly raised this storm, winced under +the words, which he knew were directed at him. + +"Then why," said he, half in extenuation, "why don't you try to look +pleasant and cheerful? Why won't you be jolly, as Tom Piper's aunt +is?" + +"I dare say I ain't pleasant," said Aunt Rachel, "as my own nephew +tells me so. There is some folks that can be cheerful when their +house is a burnin' down before their eyes, and I've heard of one +young man that laughed at his aunt's funeral," directing a severe +glance at Jack; "but I'm not one of that kind. I think, with the +Scriptures, that there's a time to weep." + +"Doesn't it say there's a time to laugh, also?" asked Mrs. Crump. + +"When I see anything to laugh about, I'm ready to laugh," said Aunt +Rachel; "but human nature ain't to be forced. I can't see anything +to laugh at now, and perhaps you won't by and by." + +It was evidently of no use to attempt a confutation of this, and the +subject dropped. + +The tea-things were cleared away by Mrs. Crump, who afterwards sat +down to her sewing. Aunt Rachel continued to knit in grim silence, +while Jack seated himself on a three-legged stool near his aunt, and +began to whittle out a boat after a model lent him by Tom Piper, a +young gentleman whose aunt has already been referred to. + +The cooper took out his spectacles, wiped them carefully with his +handkerchief, and as carefully adjusted them to his nose. He then +took down from the mantel-piece one of the few books belonging to +his library,--"Captain Cook's Travels,"--and began to read, for the +tenth time it might be, the record of the gallant sailor's +circumnavigations. + +The plain little room presented a picture of peaceful tranquillity, +but it proved to be only the calm which precedes a storm. + +The storm in question, I regret to say, was brought about by the +luckless Jack. As has been said, he was engaged in constructing a +boat, the particular operation he was now intent upon being the +excavation or hollowing out. Now three-legged stools are not the +most secure seats in the world. That, I think, no one can doubt who +has any practical acquaintance with them. Jack was working quite +vigorously, the block from which the boat was to be fashioned being +held firmly between his knees. His knife having got wedged in the +wood, he made an unusual effort to draw it out, in which he lost his +balance, and disturbed the equilibrium of his stool, which, with his +load, tumbled over backwards. Now it very unfortunately happened +that Aunt Rachel sat close behind, and the treacherous stool came +down with considerable force upon her foot. + +A piercing shriek was heard, and Aunt Rachel, lifting her foot, +clung to it convulsively, while an expression of pain distorted her +features. + +At the sound, the cooper hastily removed his spectacles, and letting +"Captain Cook" fall to the floor, started up in great dismay--Mrs. +Crump likewise dropped her sewing, and jumped to her feet in alarm. + +It did not take long to see how matters stood. + +"Hurt ye much, Rachel?" inquired Timothy. + +"It's about killed me," groaned the afflicted maiden. "Oh, I shall +have to have my foot cut off, or be a cripple anyway." Then turning +upon Jack, fiercely, "you careless, wicked, ungrateful boy, that +I've been wearin' myself out knittin' for. I'm almost sure you did +it a purpose. You won't be satisfied till you've got me out of the +world, and then--then, perhaps----" here Rachel began to whimper, +"perhaps you'll get Tom Piper's aunt to knit your stockings." + +"I didn't mean to, Aunt Rachel," said Jack, penitently, eyeing his +aunt, who was rocking to and fro in her chair. "Besides, I hurt +myself like thunder," rubbing vigorously the lower part of the +dorsal-region. + +"Served you right," said his aunt, still clasping her foot. + +"Sha'n't I get something for you to put on it?" asked Mrs. Crump of +(sic) her-sister-in-law. + +This Rachel steadily refused, and after a few more postures, (sic) +indicatiing a great amount of anguish, limped out of the room, and +ascended the stairs to her own apartment. + + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE LANDLORD'S VISIT. + + + + + +SOON after Rachel's departure Jack, also, was seized with a sleepy +fit, and postponing the construction of his boat to a more favorable +opportunity, took a candle and followed his aunt's example. + +The cooper and his wife were now left alone. + +"Now that Rachel and Jack have gone to bed, Mary," he commenced, +hesitatingly, "I don't mind saying that I am a little troubled in +mind about one thing." + +"What's that?" asked Mrs. Crump, anxiously. + +"It's just this, I don't anticipate being stinted for food. I know +we shall get along some way; but there's another expense which I am +afraid of." + +"Is it the rent?" inquired his wife, apprehensively. + +"That's it. The quarter's rent, twenty dollars, comes due to-morrow, +and I've got less than a dollar to meet it." + +"Won't Mr. Colman wait?" + +"I'm afraid not. You know what sort of a man he is, Mary. There +ain't much feeling about him. He cares more for money than anything +else." + +"Perhaps you are doing him injustice." + +"I am afraid not. Did you never hear how he treated the Underhills?" + +"How was it?" + +"Underhill was laid up with a rheumatic fever for three months. The +consequence was, that, when quarter-day came round, he was in about +the same situation with ourselves,--a little worse even, for his +wife was sick, also. But though Colman was aware of the +circumstances, he had no pity; but turned them out without +ceremony." + +"Is it possible?" asked Mrs. Crump, uneasily. + +"And there's no reason for his being more lenient with us. I can't +but feel anxious about to-morrow, Mary." + +At this moment, verifying an old adage which will perhaps occur to +the reader, who should knock but Mr. Colman himself? + +Both the cooper and his wife had an instinctive foreboding as to the +meaning of his visit. + +He came in, rubbing his hands in a social way, as was his custom. No +one, to look at him, would have suspected the hardness of heart that +lay veiled under his velvety softness of manner. + +"Good evening, Mr. Crump," said he, affably, "I trust you and your +worthy wife are in good health." + +"That blessing, at least, is continued to us," said the cooper, +gravely. + +"And how comfortable you're looking too, eh! It makes an old +bachelor, like me, feel lonesome when he contrasts his own solitary +room with such a scene of comfort as this. You've got a comfortable +home, and dog-cheap, too. All my other tenants are grumbling to +think you don't have to pay any more for such superior +accommodations. I've about made up my mind that I must ask you +twenty-five dollars a quarter, hereafter." + +All this was said very pleasantly, but the pill was none the less +bitter. + +"It seems to me, Mr. Colman," remarked the cooper soberly, "you have +chosen rather a singular time for raising the rent." + +"Why singular, my good sir?" inquired the landlord, urbanely. + +"You know of course, that this is a time of general business +depression; my own trade in particular has suffered greatly. For a +month past, I have not been able to find any work." + +Colman's face lost something of its graciousness. + +"And I fear I sha'n't be able to pay my quarter's rent to-morrow." + +"Indeed!" said the landlord coldly. "Perhaps you can make it up +within two or three dollars?" + +"I can't pay a dollar towards it," said the cooper. "It's the first +time, in five years that I've lived here, that this thing has +happened to me. I've always been prompt before." + +"You should have economized as you found times growing harder," said +Colman, harshly. "It is hardly honest to live in a house when you +know you can't pay the rent." + +"You sha'n't lose it Mr. Colman," said the cooper, earnestly. "No +one ever yet lost anything by me. Only give me time, and I will pay +you all." + +The landlord shook his head. + +"You ought to cut your coat according to your cloth," he responded. +"Much as it will go against my feelings, under the circumstances I +am compelled by a prudent regard to my own interests to warn you +that, in case your rent is not ready to-morrow, I shall be obliged +to trouble you to find another tenement; and furthermore, the rent +of this will be raised five dollars a quarter." + +"I can't pay it, Mr. Colman," said the cooper; "I may as well say +that now; and it's no use my agreeing to pay more rent. I pay all I +can afford now." + +"Very well, you know the alternative. But it is a disagreeable +subject. We won't talk of it now; I shall be round to-morrow +morning. How's your excellent sister; as cheerful as ever?" + +"Quite as much so as usual," answered the cooper, dryly. + +"But there's one favor I should like to ask, if you will allow us to +remain here a few days till I can look about me a little." + +"I would with the greatest pleasure in the world," was the reply, +"but there's another family very anxious to take the house, and they +wish to come in immediately. Therefore I shall be obliged to ask you +to move out to-morrow. In fact that is the very thing I came here +this evening to speak about, as I thought you might not wish to pay +the increased rent." + +"We are much obliged to you," said the cooper, with a tinge of +bitterness unusual to him. "If we are to be turned out of doors, it +is pleasant to have a few hours' notice of it." + +"Turned out of doors, my good friend! What disagreeable expressions +you employ! It is merely a matter of business. I have an article to +dispose of. There are two bidders; yourself and another person. The +latter is willing to pay a larger sum. Of course I give him the +preference. Don't you see how it is?" + +"I believe I do," replied the cooper. "Of course, it's a regular +proceeding; but you must excuse me if I think of it in another +light, when I reflect that to-morrow at this time my family and +myself may be without a shelter." + +"My dear sir, positively you are looking on the dark side of things. +It is actually sinful to distrust Providence as you seem to do. +You're a little disappointed, that's all. Just take to-night to +sleep on it, and I've no doubt you'll think better of it and of me. +But positively I have stayed longer than I intended. Good night, my +friends. I'll look in upon you in the morning. And by the by, as it +is so near the time, allow me to wish you a Happy New Year." + +The door closed upon the landlord, leaving behind two anxious +hearts. + +"It looks well in him to wish that," said the cooper, gloomily. "A +great deal he is doing to make it so. I don't know how it seems to +others, but for my part I never say them words to any one unless I +really wish 'em well, and am willing to do something to make 'em so. +I should feel as if I was a hypocrite if I acted anyways different." + +Mary did not respond to this. In her own gentle heart she could not +help feeling a silent repugnance, mingled, it may be, with a shade +of contempt, for the man who had just left them. It was an +uncomfortable feeling, and she strove to get rid of it." + +"Is there any tenement vacant in this neighborhood?" she asked. + +"Yes, there's the one at the corner, belonging to Mr. Harrison." + +"It is a better one than this." + +"Yes, but Harrison only asks the same that we have been paying. He +is not so exorbitant as Colman." + +"Couldn't we get that?" + +"I am afraid, if he knew that we had failed to pay our rent here, he +would object." + +"But he knows you are honest, and that nothing but the hard times +would have brought you to such a pass." + +"It may be, Mary. At any rate you have lightened my heart a little. +I feel as if there was some hope left." + +"We ought always to feel so, Timothy. There was one thing that Mr. +Colman said that didn't sound so well, coming from his lips; but +it's true, for all that." + +"What do you mean, Mary?" + +"I mean that about not distrusting Providence. Many a time have I +been comforted by reading the verse, "Never have I seen the +righteous forsaken, or his seed begging bread. "As long as we try to +do what is right, Timothy, God will not suffer us to want." + +"You are right, Mary. He is our ever-present help in time of need. +Let us put away all anxious cares, fully confiding in his gracious +promises." + +They retired to rest thoughtfully, but not sadly. + +The fire upon the hearth flickered, and died out at length. The last +sands of the old year were running out, and the new morning ushered +in its successor. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE NEW YEAR'S PRESENT. + + + + + +"HAPPY New Year!" was Jack's salutation to Aunt Rachel, as, with an +unhappy expression of countenance, she entered the sitting-room. + +"Happy, indeed!" she repeated, dismally. "There's great chance of +its being so, I should think. We don't any of us know what the year +may bring forth. We may all be dead before the next New Year." + +"If that's the case, said Jack, "we'll be jolly as long as it +lasts." + +"I don't know what you mean by such a vulgar word," said Aunt +Rachel, disdainfully. "I've heard of drunkards and such kind of +people being jolly; but, thank Providence, I haven't got to that +yet." + +"If that was the only way to be jolly," said Jack, stoutly, "then +I'd be a drunkard; I wouldn't carry round such a long face as you +do, Aunt Rachel, for any money." + +"It's enough to make all of us have long faces, when you are brazen +enough to own that you mean to be a drunkard." + +"I didn't say any such thing," said Jack, indignantly. + +"Perhaps I have ears," remarked Aunt Rachel, sententiously, "and +perhaps I have not. It's a new thing for a nephew to tell his aunt +that she lies. They didn't use to allow such things when I was +young.--But the world's going to rack and ruin, and I shouldn't much +wonder if the people are right that says it's comin' to an end." + +Here Mrs. Crump happily interposed, by asking Jack to go round to +the grocery, in the next street, and buy a pint of milk. + +Jack took his cap and started, with alacrity, glad to leave the +dismal presence of Aunt Rachel. + +He had scarcely opened the door when he started back in surprise, +exclaiming, "By hokey, if there isn't a basket on the steps!" + +"A basket!" repeated Mrs. Crump, in surprise. "Can it be a New +Year's present? Bring it in, Jack." + +It was brought in immediately, and the cover being lifted there +appeared a female child, of apparently a year old. All uttered +exclamations of surprise, each in itself characteristic. + +"What a dear, innocent little thing!" said Mrs. Crump, with true +maternal instinct. + +"Ain't it a pretty 'un?" said Jack, admiringly. + +"Poor thing!" said the cooper, compassionately. + +"It's a world of iniquity!" remarked Rachel, lifting up her eyes, +dismally. "There isn't any one you can trust. I didn't think a +brother of mine would have such a sin brought to his door." + +"Good heavens, Rachel!" said the honest cooper, in amazement, "what +can you mean?" + +"It isn't for me to explain," said Rachel, shaking her head; "only +it's strange that it should have been brought to _this_ house, +that's all I say." + +"Perhaps it was meant for you, Aunt Rachel," said Jack, with +thoughtless fun. + +"Me!" exclaimed Rachel, rising to her feet, while her face betrayed +the utmost horror at the suggestion. She fell back in her seat, and +made a violent effort to faint. + +"What have I said?" asked Jack, a little frightened at the effect of +his words. "Aunt Rachel takes one up so." + +"He didn't mean anything," said Mrs. Crump. "How could you suspect +such a thing? But here's a letter. It looks as if there was +something in it. Here, Timothy, it is directed to you." + +Mr. Cooper opened the letter, and read as follows:-- + +"For reasons which it is unnecessary to state, the guardians of this +child find it expedient to (sic) intrust it to others to be brought +up. The good opinion which they have formed of you, has led them to +select you for that charge. No further explanation is necessary, +except that it is by no means their object to make this a service of +charity. They therefore (sic) inclose a certificate of deposits on +the Broadway Bank, of three hundred dollars, the same having been +made in your name. Each year, while the child remains in your +charge, the same sum will in like manner be placed to your credit at +the same bank It may be as well to state, farther, that all attempts +to fathom whatever of mystery may attach to this affair, will prove +useless." + +This letter was read in silent amazement. + +The certificate of deposits, which had fallen to the floor, was +handed to Timothy by his wife. + +Amazement was followed by a feeling of gratitude and relief. + +"What could be more fortunate?" exclaimed Mrs. Crump. "Surely, +Timothy, our faith has been rewarded." + +"God has listened to our cry," said the cooper, devoutly; "and, in +the hour of our need, He has remembered us." + +"Isn't it prime?" said Jack, gleefully; "three hundred dollars! +Ain't we rich, Aunt Rachel?" + +"Like as not," observed Rachel, "the certificate isn't genuine. It +doesn't look natural it should be. I've heard of counterfeits +before. I shouldn't be surprised at all if Timothy got taken up for +presenting it." + +"I'll risk that," said Mr. Crump, who did not look very much +depressed by this suggestion. + +"Now you'll be able to pay the rent, Timothy," said Mrs. Crump, +cheerfully. + +"Yes; and it's the last quarter I shall pay to Mr. Colman, if I can +help it." + +"Why, where are you going?" inquired Jack. + +"To the corner house belonging to Mr. Harrison, that is, if it is +not already engaged. I think I will go and see about it at once. If +Mr. Colman should come in while I am gone, tell him I will be back +directly; I don't wish you to tell him of the change in our +circumstances." + +The cooper found Mr. Harrison at home. + +"I called to inquire," commenced the cooper, "whether you had let +that house of yours on the corner of the street." + +"Not as yet," was the reply. + +"What rent do you ask?" + +"Twenty dollars a quarter," said Mr. Harrison; "that I consider +reasonable." + +"It is satisfactory to me," was the cooper's reply, "and, if you +have no objections to me as a tenant, I will engage it at once." + +"Far from having any objections, Mr. Crump," was the courteous +reply, "I shall be glad to secure so good a tenant. Will you go over +and look at the house?" + +"Not now, sir; I am somewhat in haste. When can we move in?" + +"To-day, if you like." + +His errand satisfactorily accomplished, the cooper returned home. +Meanwhile the landlord had called. + +He was a little surprised to find that Mrs. Crump, instead of +looking depressed, looked cheerful, rather than otherwise. + +"I was not aware you had a child so young," he remarked, looking at +the baby. + +"It isn't mine," said Mrs. Crump, briefly. + +"The child of a neighbor, I suppose," thought Colman. + +Meanwhile he scrutinized closely, without appearing to do so, the +furniture in the room. + +At this point Mr. Crump opened the outer door. + +"Good-morning," said Colman, affably. "A fine morning." + +"Quite so," answered his tenant, shortly. + +"I have called, Mr. Crump, to know if you are ready with your +quarter's rent." + +"I think I told you, last night, how I was situated. Of course I am +sorry----" + +"So am I," said the landlord, "for I may be obliged to have recourse +to unpleasant measures." + +"You mean that we must leave the house!" + +"Of course, you cannot expect to remain in it if you are unable to +pay the rent. Of course," added Colman, making an inventory with his +eyes, of the furniture, "you will leave behind a sufficient amount +of furniture to cover your bill----" + +"Surely, you would not deprive us of our furniture!" + +"Is there any hardship in requiring payment of honest debts?" + +"There are cases of that description. However, I will not put you to +that trouble. I am ready to pay you your dues." + +"You have the money?" said Colman, hastily. + +"I have, and something over; as you will see by this document. Can +you give me the two hundred and eighty dollars over?" + +It would be difficult to picture the amazement of Colman. "Surely, +you told me a different story last night," he said. + +"Last night and this morning are different times. Then I could not +pay you; now, luckily, I am able. If you cannot change this amount, +and will accompany me to the bank, I will place the money in your +hands." + +"My dear sir, I am not at all in haste," said the landlord, with a +return of his former affability. "Any time within a week will do. I +hope, by the way, you will continue to occupy this house." + +"As I have already engaged Mr. Harrison's house, at the corner of +the street, I shall be unable to remain. Besides, I do not want to +interfere with the family who are so desirous of moving in." + +Mr. Colman was silenced. He regretted, too late, the hasty course +which had lost him a good tenant. The family referred to had no +existence; and, it may be remarked, the house remained vacant for +several months, when he was glad to rent it at the old price. + + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A LUCKY RESCUE. + + + + + +THE opportune arrival of the child inaugurated a season of +comparative prosperity in the home of Timothy Crump. To persons +accustomed to live in their frugal way, three hundred dollars seemed +a fortune. Nor, as might have happened in some cases, did this +unexpected windfall tempt the cooper or his wife to extravagances. + +"Let us save something against a rainy day," said Mrs. Crump. + +"We can, if I get work soon," answered her husband. "This little one +will add but little to our expenses, and there is no reason why we +should not save up at least half of it." + +"There's no knowing when you will get work, Timothy," said Rachel, +in her usual cheerful way; "it isn't well to crow before you're out +of the woods." + +"Very true, Rachel. It isn't your failing to look too much at the +sunny side of the picture." + +"I'm ready to look at it when I can see it anywhere," said his +sister, in the same enlivening way. + +"Don't you see it in the unexpected good fortune which came with +this child?" asked Timothy. + +"I've no doubt it seems bright enough, now," said Rachel, gloomily, +"but a young child's a great deal of trouble." + +"Do you speak from experience, Aunt Rachel?" inquired Jack, +demurely. + +"Yes;" said his aunt, slowly; "if all babies were as cross as you +were when you were an infant, three hundred dollars wouldn't begin +to pay for the trouble of having one round." + +Mr. Crump and his wife laughed at this sally at Jack's expense, but +the latter had his wits about him sufficiently to answer, "I've +always heard, Aunt Rachel, that the crosser a child is the +pleasanter he will grow up. What a very pleasant baby you must have +been!" + +"Jack!" said his mother, reprovingly; but his father, who looked +upon it as a good joke, remarked, good-humoredly, "He's got you +there, Rachel." + +The latter, however, took it as a serious matter, and observed that, +when she was young, children were not allowed to speak so to their +elders. "But, I don't know as I can blame 'em much," she continued, +wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, "when their own +parents encourage 'em in it." + +Timothy was warned, by experience, that silence was his best (sic) +defence. Since anything he might say would only be likely to make +matters worse. + +Aunt Rachel sank into a fit of deep despondency, and did not say +another word till dinner time. She sat down to the table with a +profound sigh, as if there was little in life worth living for. +Notwithstanding this, it was observed that she had a good appetite. +Indeed, Rachel seemed to thrive on her gloomy views of life and +human nature. She was, it must be acknowledged, perfectly consistent +in all her conduct, as far as this peculiarity was concerned. +Whenever she took up a newspaper, she always looked first to the +space appropriated to deaths, and next in order to the column of +accidents, casualties, etc., and her spirits were visibly +exhilarated when she encountered a familiar name in either list. + +Mr. Crump continued to look out for work, but it was with a more +cheerful spirit. He did not now feel as if the comfort of his family +depended absolutely upon his immediate success. Used economically, +the money he had by him would last nine months, and during that time +it was impossible that he should not find something to do. It was +this sense of security--of possessing something upon which he could +fall back--that enabled him to keep up good heart. It is too +generally the case that people are content to live as if they were +sure of constantly retaining their health and never losing their +employment. When a reverse does come they are at once plunged into +discouragement, and feel that something must be done immediately. +There is only one way to fend off such an embarrassment, and that is +to resolve, whatever may be the amount of the income, to lay aside +some part to serve as a reliance in time of trouble. A little +economy--though it involves privation--will be well repaid by the +feeling of security thus engendered. + +Mr. Crump was not compelled to remain inactive as long as he feared. +Not that his line of business revived,--that still remained +depressed,--but another path was opened to him for a time. + +Returning home late one evening, the cooper saw a man steal out from +a doorway, and assault a gentleman whose dress and general +appearance indicated probable wealth. Seizing him by the throat, the +villain effectually prevented him from calling the police, and was +engaged in rifling his pockets when the cooper arrived at the scene. +A sudden blow on the side of the head admonished the robber that he +had more than one to deal with. + +"Leave this man instantly," said the cooper, sternly, "or I will +deliver you into the hands of the police." + +The villain hesitated, but fear prevailed, and springing to his +feet, he hastily made off under cover of the darkness. + +"I hope you have received no injury," said Timothy, respectfully, +turning towards the stranger he had rescued. + +"No, my worthy friend, thanks to your timely assistance. The rascal +nearly succeeded, however." + +"I hope you have lost nothing, sir." + +"Nothing, fortunately. You can form an idea of the value of your +interference, when I say that I have fifteen hundred dollars with +me, all of which I should undoubtedly have lost." + +"I am glad," said the cooper, "that I was able to do you such +essential service. It was by the merest chance that I came this +way." + +"Will you add to my indebtedness by accompanying me with that trusty +club of yours? I have some little distance yet to go, and the amount +of money I have with me makes me feel desirous of taking every +possible precaution." + +"Willingly," said the cooper. + +"But I am forgetting," said the gentleman, "that you yourself will +be obliged to return alone." + +"I do not carry enough money to make me fear an attack," said Mr. +Crump, laughing. "Money brings care I have always heard, and now I +realize it." + +"Yet most people are willing to take their chance of that," said the +merchant. + +"You are right, sir, nor can I call myself an exception. Still I +should be satisfied with the certainty of constant employment." + +"I hope you have that, at least." + +"I have had until recently." + +"Then, at present, you are unemployed?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What is your business?" + +"That of a cooper." + +"I must see what I can do for you. Can you call at my office +to-morrow, say at twelve o'clock?" + +"I shall be glad to do so, sir." + +"I believe I have a card with me. Yes, here is one. And this is my +house. Thank you for your company, my good friend. I shall see you +to-morrow." + +They stood before a handsome dwelling-house, from whose windows, +draped by heavy crimson curtains, a soft light proceeded. The cooper +could hear the ringing of childish voices welcoming home their +father, whose life, unknown to them, had been in such peril, and he +could not but be grateful to Providence that he had been the means +of frustrating the designs of the villain who would have robbed him, +and perhaps done him farther injury. + +He determined to say nothing to his wife of the night's adventure +until after his meeting appointed for the next day. Then if any +advantage accrued to him from it, he would tell the whole at once. + +When he reached home, Mrs. Crump was sewing beside the fire. Aunt +Rachel sat with her hands folded in her lap, with an air of +martyr-like resignation to the woes of life. + +"I've brought you home a paper, Aunt Rachel," said the cooper, +cheerfully. "You may find something interesting in it." + +"I sha'n't be able to read it this evening," said Rachel, +mournfully. "My eyes have troubled me lately. I feel that it is more +than probable that I am growing blind. But I trust I shall not live +to be a burden to you. Your prospects are dark enough without that." + +"Don't trouble yourself with any fears of that sort, Rachel," said +the cooper, cheerily. "I think I know what will enable you to use +your eyes as well as ever." + +"What?" asked Rachel, with melancholy curiosity. + +"A pair of spectacles," said her brother, incautiously. + +"Spectacles!" retorted Rachel, indignantly. "It will be a good many +years before I am old enough to wear spectacles. I didn't expect to +be insulted by my own brother. But it's one of my trials." + +"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Rachel," said the cooper, +perplexed. + +"Good night," said Rachel, rising and taking a small lamp from the +table. + +"Come, Rachel, don't go yet. It is early." + +"After what you have said to me, Timothy, my self-respect will not +permit me to stay." + +Rachel swept out of the room with something more than her customary +melancholy. + +"I wish Rachel war'n't quite so contrary," said the cooper. "She +turns upon a body so sudden, it's hard to know how to take her. +How's the little girl, Mary?" + +"She's been asleep ever since six o'clock." + +"I hope you don't find her very much trouble. That all comes upon +you, while we have the benefit of the money." + +"I don't think of that, Timothy. She is a sweet child, and I love +her almost as much as if she were my own. As for Jack, he perfectly +idolizes her." + +"And how does Aunt Rachel look upon her?" + +"I am afraid she will never be a favorite with Rachel." + +"Rachel never took to children much. It isn't her way. Now, Mary, +while you are sewing, I will read you the news." + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +WHAT THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED. + + + + + +THE card which had been handed to Timothy Crump contained the name +of Thomas Merriam,----Wall Street. Punctually at twelve, the cooper +reported himself at the counting-room, and received a cordial +welcome from the merchant. + +"I am glad to see you," he said. "I will come to business at once, +as I am particularly engaged this morning. Is there any way in which +I can serve you?" + +"Not unless you can procure me a situation, sir." + +"I think you told me you were a cooper." + +"Yes sir." + +"Does this yield you a good support?" + +"In good times it pays me two dollars a day. Lately it has been +depressed, and for a time paid me but a dollar and a half." + +"When do you anticipate its revival?" + +"That is uncertain. It may be some months first." + +"And, in the mean time, you are willing to undertake some other +employment?" + +"Yes, sir. I have no objection to any honest employment." + +Mr. Merriam reflected a moment. + +"Just at present," he said, "I have nothing to offer except the post +of porter. If that will suit you, you can enter upon the duties +to-morrow." + +"I shall be very glad to take it, sir. Anything is better than +idleness." + +"Your compensation shall be the same that you have been accustomed +to earn by your trade,--two dollars a day." + +"I only received that in the best times," said Timothy, +conscientiously. + +"Your services will be worth it. I will expect you, then, to-morrow +morning at eight. You are married, I suppose?" + +"Yes, sir. I am blessed with a good wife." + +"I am glad of that. Stay a moment." + +The merchant went to his desk, and presently returned with a scaled +envelope. + +"Give that to your wife," he said. + +The interview terminated, and the cooper went home, quite elated by +his success. His present engagement would enable him to bridge over +the dull time, and save him from incurring debt, of which he had a +just horror. + +"Just in time," said Mrs. Crump. "We've got an apple-pudding +to-day." + +"You haven't forgotten what I like, Mary." + +"There's no knowing how long you will be able to afford puddings," +said Aunt Rachel. "To my mind it's extravagant to have meat and +pudding both, when a month hence you may be in the poor-house." + +"Then," said Jack, "I wouldn't eat any." + +"Oh, if you grudge me the little I eat," said his aunt, in severe +sorrow, "I will go without." + +"Tut, Rachel, nobody grudges you anything here," said her brother, +"and as to the poor-house, I've got some good news to tell you that +will put that thought out of your heads." + +"What is it?" asked Mrs. Crump, looking up brightly. + +"I have found employment." + +"Not at your trade?" + +"No, but at something else, which will pay equally well, till trade +revives." + +Here he told the story of the chance by which he was enabled to +serve Mr. Merriam, and of the engagement to which it had led. + +"You are, indeed, fortunate," said Mrs. Crump. "Two dollars a day, +and we've got nearly the whole of the money that came with this dear +child. How rich we shall be!" + +"Well, Rachel, where are your congratulations?" asked the cooper of +his sister, who, in subdued sorrow, was eating her second slice of +pudding. + +"I don't see anything so very fortunate in being engaged as a +porter," said Rachel, lugubriously. "I heard of a porter, once, who +had a great box fall upon him and crush him; and another, who +committed suicide." + +The cooper laughed. + +"So, Rachel, you conclude that one or the other is the inevitable +lot of all who are engaged in this business." + +"It is always well to be prepared for the worst," said Rachel, +oracularly. + +"But not to be always looking for it," said her brother. + +"It'll come, whether you look for it or not," returned her sister, +sententiously. + +"Then, suppose we spend no thoughts upon it, since, according to +your admission, it's sure to come either way." + +Rachel pursued her knitting, in severe melancholy. + +"Won't you have another piece of pudding, Timothy?" asked Mrs. +Crump. + +"I don't care if I do, Mary, it's so good," said the cooper, passing +his plate. "Seems to me it's the best pudding you ever made." + +"You've got a good appetite, that is all," said Mrs. Crump, +modestly. + +"By the way, Mary," said the cooper, with a sudden thought, "I quite +forgot that I have something for you." + +"For me?" + +"Yes, from Mr. Merriam." + +"But he don't know me," said Mrs. Crump, in surprise. + +"At any rate, he asked me if I were married, and then handed me this +envelope for you. I am not quite sure whether I ought to allow +gentlemen to write letters to my wife." + +Mrs. Crump opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and +uttered an exclamation of surprise, as a bank-note fluttered to the +carpet. + +"By gracious, mother," said Jack, springing to get it, "you're in +luck. It's a hundred dollar bill." + +"So it is, I declare," said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. "But, Timothy, it +isn't mine. It belongs to you." + +"No, Mary, it shall be yours. I'll put it in the Savings Bank for +you." + +"Merriam's a trump, and no mistake," said Jack. "By the way, father, +when you see him again, won't you just insinuate that you have a +son? Ain't we in luck, Aunt Rachel?" + +"'Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a +fall,'" said Rachel. + +"I never knew Aunt Rachel to be jolly but once," said Jack, under +his breath; "and that was at a funeral." + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +EIGHT YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS. + + + + + +EIGHT years slipped by, unmarked by any important event. The Crumps +were still prosperous in an humble way. The cooper had been able to +obtain work most of the time, and this, with the annual remittance +for little Ida, had enabled the family not only to live in comfort, +but even to save up one hundred and fifty dollars a year. They might +even have saved more, living as frugally as they were accustomed to +do, but there was one point upon which none of them would consent to +be economical. The little Ida must have everything she wanted. +Timothy brought home daily some little delicacy for her, which none +of the rest thought of sharing. While Mrs. Crump, far enough from +vanity, always dressed with exceeding plainness, Ida's attire was +always rich and tasteful. She would sometimes ask, "Mother, why +don't you buy yourself some of the pretty things you get for me?" + +Mrs. Crump would answer, smiling, "Oh, I'm an old woman, Ida. Plain +things are best for me." + +"No, I'm sure you're not old, mother. You don't wear a cap." + +But Mrs. Crump would always playfully evade the child's questions. + +Had Ida been an ordinary child, all this petting would have had an +injurious effect upon her mind. But, fortunately she had that rare +simplicity, young as she was, which lifted her above the dangers to +which many might have been subjected. Instead of being made vain, +she only felt grateful for the many kindnesses bestowed upon her by +her father and mother and brother Jack, as she was wont to call +them. Indeed, it had not been thought best to let her know that such +was not the relation in which they really stood to her. + +There was one point, more important than dress, in which Ida +profited by the indulgence of her friends. + +"Wife," the cooper was wont to say, "Ida is a sacred charge in our +hands. If we allow her to grow up ignorant, or afford her only +ordinary advantages, we shall not fulfil our duty. We have the +means, through Providence, to give her some of those advantages +which she would enjoy if she remained in that sphere to which her +parents, doubtless, belong. Let no unwise parsimony, on our part, +withhold them from her." + +"You are right, Timothy," said Mrs. Crump; "right, as you always +are. Follow the dictates of your own heart, and fear not that I +shall disapprove." + +Accordingly Ida was, from the first, sent to a carefully-selected +private school, where she had the advantage of good associates, and +where her progress was astonishingly rapid. + +She early displayed a remarkable taste for drawing. As soon as this +was discovered, her foster parents took care that she should have +abundant opportunity for cultivating it. A private master was +secured, who gave her daily lessons, and boasted everywhere of his +charming little pupil, whose progress, as he assured her friends, +exceeded anything he had ever before known. + +Nothing could exceed the cooper's gratification when, on his +birthday, Ida presented him with a beautifully-drawn sketch of his +wife's placid and benevolent face. + +"When did you do it, Ida?" he asked, after earnest expressions of +admiration. + +"I did it in odd minutes," she said; "in the evening." + +"But how could you do it without any one of us knowing what you were +about?" + +"I had a picture before me, and you thought I was copying it, but +whenever I could do it without being noticed, I looked up at mother +as she sat at her sewing, and so, after awhile, I made this +picture." + +"And a fine one it is," said Timothy, admiringly. + +Mrs. Crump insisted that Ida had flattered her, but this the child +would not admit. "I couldn't make it look as good as you, mother," +she said. "I tried to, but somehow I couldn't succeed as well as I +wanted to." + +"You wouldn't have that difficulty with Aunt Rachel," said Jack, +roguishly. + +Ida, with difficulty, suppressed a laugh. + +"I see," said Aunt Rachel, with severe resignation, "that you've +taken to ridiculing your poor aunt again. But it's what I expect. I +don't never expect any consideration in this house. I was born to be +a martyr, and I expect I shall fulfil my destiny. If my own +relations laugh at me, of course I can't expect anything better from +other folks. But I sha'n't be long in the way. I've had a cough for +some time past, and I expect I'm in a consumption." + +"You make too much of a little thing, Rachel," said the cooper. "I +don't think Jack meant anything." + +"I'm sure, what I said was complimentary," said Jack. + +Rachel shook her head incredulously. + +"Yes it was. Ask Ida. Why won't you draw Aunt Rachel, Ida? I think +she'd make a capital picture." + +"So I will," said Ida, hesitatingly, "if she will let me." + +"Now, Aunt Rachel, there's a chance for you," said Jack. "I advise +you to improve it. When it's finished, it can be hung up at the Art +Rooms, and who knows but you may secure a husband by it?" + +"I wouldn't marry," said his aunt, firmly compressing her lips, "not +if anybody'd go down on their knees to me." + +"Now I am sure, Aunt Rachel, that's cruel in you." + +"There ain't any man that I'd trust my happiness to." + +"She hasn't any to trust," observed Jack, _sotto voce_. + +"They're all deceivers," pursued Rachel, "the best of 'em. You can't +believe what one of 'em says. It would be a great deal better if +people never married at all." + +"Then where would the world be a hundred years hence?" suggested her +nephew. + +"Come to an end, most likely," said Aunt Rachel; "and I don't know +but that would be the best thing. It's growing more and more wicked +every day." + +It will be seen that no great change has come over Miss Rachel Crump +during the years that have intervened. She takes the same +disheartening view of human nature and the world's prospects, as +ever. Nevertheless, her own hold upon the world seems as strong as +ever. Her appetite continues remarkably good, and although she +frequently expresses herself to the effect that there is little use +in living, probably she would be as unwilling to leave the world as +any one. I am not sure that she does not derive as much enjoyment +from her melancholy as other people from their cheerfulness. +Unfortunately, her peculiar way of enjoying herself is calculated to +have rather a depressing influence upon the spirits of those with +whom she comes in contact--always excepting Jack, who has a lively +sense of the ludicrous, and never enjoys himself better than in +bantering his aunt. + +Ida is no less a favorite with Jack than with the other members of +the household. Rough as he is sometimes, Jack is always gentle with +Ida. When she was just learning to walk, and in her helplessness +needed the constant care of others, he used, from choice, to relieve +his mother of much of the task of amusing the child. He had never +had a little sister, and the care of a child as young as Ida was a +novelty to him. It was, perhaps, this very office of guardian to the +child, assumed when she was so young, that made him feel ever after +as if she was placed under his special protection. + +And Ida was equally attached to Jack. She learned to look up to him +for assistance in anything which she had at heart, and he never +disappointed her. Whenever he could, he would accompany her to +school, holding her by the hand; and fond as he was of rough play, +nothing would induce him to leave her. + +"How long have you been a nurse-maid?" asked a boy, older than +himself, one day. + +Jack's fingers itched to get hold of his derisive questioner, but he +had a duty to perform, and contented himself with saying, "Just wait +a few minutes, and I'll let you know." + +"I dare say," was the reply. "I rather think I shall have to wait +till both of us are gray before that time." + +"You won't have to wait long before you are black and blue," +retorted Jack. + +"Don't mind what he says, Jack," whispered Ida, fearful lest he +should leave her. + +"Don't be afraid, Ida; I won't leave you; I guess he won't trouble +us another day." + +Meanwhile the boy, emboldened by Jack's passiveness, followed, with +more abuse of the same sort. If he had been wiser, he would have +seen a storm gathering in the flash of Jack's eye; but he mistook +the cause of his forbearance. + +The next day, as they were again going to school, Ida saw the same +boy dodging round the corner, with his head bound up. + +"What's the matter with him, Jack?" she asked. + +"I licked him like blazes, that's all," said Jack, quietly. + +"I guess he'll let us alone after this." + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A STRANGE VISITOR. + + + + + +IT was about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, Mrs. Crump was in the +kitchen, busy in preparations for dinner, when a loud knock was +heard at the door. + +"Who can it be?" ejaculated Mrs. Crump. "Aunt Rachel, there's +somebody at the door; won't you be kind enough to see who it is?" + +"People have no business to call at such an hour in the morning," +grumbled Aunt Rachel, as she laid down her knitting reluctantly, and +rose from her seat. "Nobody seems to have any consideration for +anybody else. But that's the way of the world." + +Opening the outer door, she saw before her a tall woman, dressed in +a gown of some dark stuff, with marked, and not altogether pleasant +features. + +"Are you the lady of the house?" inquired the visitor. + +"There ain't any ladies in this house," said Rachel. "You've come to +the wrong place. We have to work for a living here." + +"The woman of the house, then. It doesn't make any difference about +names. Are you the one I want to see?" + +"No, I ain't," said Rachel, shortly. + +"Will you lead me to your mistress, then?" + +"I have none." + +The visitor's eyes flashed, as if her temper was easily roused. + +"I want to see Mrs. Crump," she said, impatiently. Will you call +her, or shall I go and announce myself?" + +"Some folks are mighty impatient," muttered Rachel. "Stay here, and +I'll call her to the door." + +In a short time Mrs. Crump presented herself. + +"Won't you come in?" she asked, pleasantly. + +"I don't care if I do," was the reply. "I wish to speak to you on +important business." + +Mrs. Crump, whose interest was excited, led the way into the +sitting-room. + +"You have in your family," said the stranger, after seating herself, +"a girl named Ida." + +Mrs. Crump looked up suddenly and anxiously. Could it be that the +secret of Ida's birth was to be revealed at last! + +"Yes," she said. + +"Who is not your child." + +"But _whom_ I love as such; whom I have always taught to look upon +me as a mother." + +"I presume so. It is of her that I wish to speak to you." + +"Do you know anything of her parentage?" inquired Mrs. Crump, +eagerly. + +"I was her nurse," said the other, quietly. + +Mrs. Crump examined, anxiously, the hard features of the woman. It +was a relief at least to know, though she could hardly have +believed, that there was no tie of blood between her and Ida. + +"Who were her parents?" + +"I am not permitted to tell," was the reply. + +Mrs. Crump looked disappointed. + +"Surely," she said, with a sudden sinking of heart, "you have not +come to take her away?" + +"This letter will explain my object in visiting you," said the +woman, drawing a sealed envelope from a bag which she carried on her +arm. + +The cooper's wife nervously broke open the letter, and read as +follows:-- + +"MRS. CRUMP; + +"Eight years ago last New Year's night, a child was left on your +door-steps, with a note containing a request that you would care for +it kindly as your own. Money was sent, at the same time, to defray +the expenses of such care. The writer of this note is the mother of +the child Ida. There is no need to say, here, why I sent the child +away from me. You will easily understand that only the most +imperative circumstances would have led me to such a step. Those +circumstances still prevent me from reclaiming the child, and I am +content, still, to leave Ida in your charge. Yet, there is one thing +of which I am (sic) desirious. You will understand a mother's desire +to see, face to face, the child who belongs, of right, to her. With +this view, I have come to this neighborhood. I will not say where, +for concealment is necessary to me. I send this note by a +trustworthy attendant,--Mrs. Hardwick, my little Ida's nurse in her +infancy,--who will conduct Ida to me, and return her again to you. +Ida is not to know whom she is visiting. No doubt she believes you +her mother, and it is well. Tell her only, that it is a lady who +takes an interest in her, and that will satisfy her childish +curiosity. I make this request as + +"IDA'S MOTHER." + +Mrs. Crump read this letter with mingled feelings. Pity for the +writer; a vague curiosity in regard to the mysterious circumstances +which had compelled her to resort to such a step; a half feeling of +jealousy, that there should be one who had a claim to her dear +adopted daughter superior to her own; and a strong feeling of relief +at the assurance that Ida was not to be permanently removed,--all +these feelings affected the cooper's wife. + +"So you were Ida's nurse," she said, gently. + +"Yes, ma'am," said the stranger. "I hope the dear child is well." + +"Perfectly well. How much her mother must have suffered from the +separation!" + +"Indeed, you may say so, ma'am. It came near to break her heart." + +"So it must," said sympathizing Mrs. Crump. "There is one thing I +would like to ask," she continued, hesitating and reddening. "Don't +answer it unless you please. Was--is Ida the child of shame?" + +"She is not," answered the nurse. + +Mrs. Crump looked relieved. It removed a thought from her mind which +would now and then intrude, though it had never, for an instant, +lessened her affection for the child. + +At this point in the conversation, the cooper entered the house. He +had just come home on an errand. + +"It is my husband," said Mrs. Crump, turning to her visitor, by way +of explanation. "Timothy, will you come in a moment?" + +Mr. Crump regarded his wife's visitor with some surprise. His wife +hastened to introduce her as Mrs. Hardwick, Ida's nurse, and handed +to the astonished cooper the letter which the latter had brought +with her. + +He was not a rapid reader, and it took him some time to get through +the letter. He laid it down on his knee, and looked thoughtful. The +nurse regarded him with a slight uneasiness. + +"This is, indeed, unexpected," he said, at last. "It is a new +development in Ida's history. May I ask, Mrs. Hardwick, if you have +any further proof. I want to be prudent with a child that I love as +my own,--if you have any further proof that you are what you claim +to be?" + +"I judged that this letter would be sufficient," said the nurse; +moving a little in her chair. + +"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?" said the cooper, quickly. + +"It was read to me, before I set out." + +"By----" + +"By Ida's mother. I do not blame you for your caution," she +continued. "You must be so interested in the happiness of the dear +child of whom you have taken such (sic) excelent care, I don't mind +telling you that I was the one who left her at your door eight years +ago, and that I never left the neighborhood until I found that you +had taken her in." + +"And it was this, that enabled you to find the house, to-day." + +"You forget," said 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 the cooper. "I am disposed to believe in the +genuineness of your claim. 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 the nurse. "I don't blame you in the least. I +shall report it to Ida's mother, as a proof of your attachment to +your child." + +"When do you wish Ida to go with you?" asked Mrs. Crump. + +"Can you let her go this afternoon?" + +"Why," said Mrs. Crump, hesitating, "I should like to have a chance +to wash out some clothes for her. I want her to appear as neat a +possible, when she meets her mother." + +The nurse hesitated. + +"I do not 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 excellently. 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. Crump, kindly. "It is 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; "we must insist upon 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. Crump 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." + +Left to herself, the nurse behaved in a manner which might be +regarded as singular. She rose from her seat, and approached the +mirror. She took a full survey of herself as she stood there, and +laughed a short, hard laugh. + +Then she made a formal courtesy to her own reflection, saying, "How +do you do, Mrs. Hardwick?" + +"Did you speak?" asked the cooper, who was passing through the entry +on his way out. + +"No," said the nurse, a little awkwardly. "I believe I said +something to myself. It's of no consequence." + +"Somehow," thought the cooper, "I don't fancy the woman's looks, but +I dare say I am prejudiced. We're all of us as God made us." + +While Mrs. Crump was making preparations for the noon-day meal, she +imparted to Rachel the astonishing information, which has already +been detailed to the reader. + +"I don't believe a word of it," said Rachel, resolutely. + +"She's an imposter. I knew she was the very first moment I set eyes +on her." + +This remark was so characteristic of Rachel, that Mrs. Crump did not +attach any special importance to it. Rachel, of course, had no +grounds for the opinion she so confidently expressed. It was +consistent, however, with her general estimate of human nature. + +"What object could she have in inventing such a story?" + +"What object? Hundreds of 'em," said Rachel, rather indefinitely. +"Mark my words, if you let her carry off Ida, it'll be the last +you'll ever see of her." + +"Try to look on the bright side, Rachel. Nothing is more natural +than that her mother should want to see her." + +"Why couldn't she come herself?" muttered Rachel. + +"The letter explains." + +"I don't see that it does." + +"It says that the same reasons exist for concealment as ever." + +"And what are they, I should like to know? I don't like mysteries, +for my part." + +"We won't quarrel with them, at any rate, since they enable us to +keep Ida with us." + +Aunt Rachel shook her head, as if she were far from satisfied. + +"I don't know," said Mrs. Crump, "but I ought to invite Mrs. +Hardwick in here. I have left her alone in the front room." + +"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. + +"Very true," said Mrs. Crump, evasively, "but I was not able to have +the care of you all the time. Didn't I ever mention Mrs. Hardwick to +you?" + +"No, mother." + +"Although it is so long since I have seen her, I should have known +her anywhere," said the nurse, applying a handkerchief to her eyes. +"So pretty as she's grown up, too!" + +Mrs. Crump, who, as has been said, was devotedly attached to Ida, +glanced with pride at the beautiful child, who blushed at the +compliment. + +"Ida," said Mrs. Hardwick, "won't you come and kiss your old nurse?" + +Ida looked at the hard face, which now wore a smile intended to +express affection. Without knowing why, she felt an instinctive +repugnance to her, notwithstanding her words of endearment. + +She advanced timidly, with a reluctance which she was not wholly +able to conceal, and passively submitted to a caress from the nurse. + +There was a look in the eyes of the nurse, carefully guarded, yet +not wholly concealed, which showed that she was quite aware of Ida's +feeling towards her, and resented it. But whether or not she was +playing a part, she did not betray this feeling openly, but pressed +the unwilling child more closely to her bosom. + +Ida breathed a sigh of relief when she was released, and walked +quietly away, wondering what it was that made her dislike the woman +so much. + +"Is my nurse a good woman?" she asked, thoughtfully, when alone with +Mrs. Crump, who was setting the table for dinner. + +A good woman! What makes you ask that?" queried her adopted mother, +in surprise. + +"I don't know," said Ida. + +"I don't know anything to indicate that she is otherwise," said Mrs. +Crump. "And, by the way, Ida, she is going to take you on a little +excursion, to-morrow." + +"She going to take me?" exclaimed Ida. "Why, where are we going?" + +"On a little pleasure trip, and perhaps she may introduce you to a +pleasant lady, who has already become interested in you, from what +she has told her." + +"What could she say of me?" inquired Ida, "she has not seen me since +I was a baby." + +"Why," said the cooper's wife a little puzzled, "she appears to have +thought of you ever since, with a good deal of affection." + +"Is it wicked," asked Ida, after a pause, "not to like those that +like us?" + +"What makes you ask?" + +"Because, somehow or other, I don't like this Mrs. Hardwick at all, +for all she was my old nurse, and I don't believe ever shall." + +"Oh yes, you will," said Mrs. Crump, "when you find she is exerting +herself to give you pleasure." + +"Am I going to-morrow morning with Mrs. Hardwick?" + +"Yes. She wanted you to go to-day, but your clothes were not in +order." + +"We shall come back at night, sha'n't we?" + +"I presume so." + +"I hope we shall," said Ida, decidedly, "and that she won't want me +to go with her again." + +"Perhaps you will think differently when it is over, and you find +you have enjoyed yourself better than you anticipated." + +Mrs. Crump exerted herself to fit Ida up as neatly as possible, and +when at length she was got ready, she thought to herself, with +sudden fear, "Perhaps her mother won't be willing to part with her +again." + +When Ida was ready to start, there came over all a little shadow of +depression, as if the child were to be separated from them for a +year, and not for a day only. Perhaps this was only natural, since +even this latter term, however brief, was longer than they had been +parted from her since, an infant, she was left at their door. + +The nurse expressly desired that none of the family should accompany +her, as she declared it highly important that the whereabouts of +Ida's mother should not be known at once. "Of course," she said, +"after Ida returns, she can tell you what she pleases. Then it will +be of no consequence, for her mother will be gone. She does not live +in this neighborhood; she has only come here to have an interview +with Ida." + +"Shall you bring her back to-night?" asked Mrs. Crump. + +"I may keep her till to-morrow," said the nurse. "After eight years' +absence, that will seem short enough." + +To this, Mrs. Crump agreed, but thought that it would seem long to +her, she had been so accustomed to have Ida present at meals. + +The nurse walked as far as Broadway, holding Ida by the hand. + +"Where are we going?" asked the child, timidly. "Are we going to +walk all the way?" + +"No," said the nurse, "we shall ride. There is an omnibus coming +now. We will get into it." + +She beckoned to the driver who stopped his horse. Ida and her +companion got in. + +They got out at the Jersey City ferry. + +"Did you ever ride in a steamboat?" asked Mrs. Hardwick, in a tone +intended to be gracious. + +"Once or twice," said Ida. "I went with brother Jack once, over to +Hoboken. Are we going there, now?" + +"No, we are going over to the city, you can see over the water." + +"What is it? Is it Brooklyn?" + +"No, it is Jersey City." + +"Oh, that will be pleasant," said Ida, forgetting, in her childish +love of novelty, the repugnance with which the nurse had inspired +her. + +"Yes, and that is not all; we are going still further," said the +nurse. + +"Are we going further?" asked Ida, her eyes sparkling. "Where are we +going?" + +"To a town on the line of the railroad." + +"And shall we ride in the cars?" asked the child, with animation. + +"Yes, didn't you ever ride in the cars before?" + +"No, never." + +"I think you will like it." + +"Oh, I know I shall. How fast do the cars go?" + +"Oh, a good many miles an hour,--maybe thirty." + +"And how long will it take us to go to the place you are going to +carry me to!" + +"I don't know exactly,--perhaps two hours." + +"Two whole hours in the cars!" exclaimed Ida. "How much I shall have +to tell father and Jack when I get back." + +"So you will," said Mrs. Hardwick, with an unaccountable smile, +"when you get back." + +There was something peculiar in her tone as she pronounced these +last words, but Ida did not notice it. + +So Ida, despite her company, actually enjoyed, in her bright +anticipation, a keen sense of pleasure. + +"Are we most there?" she asked, after riding about two hours. + +"It won't be long," said the nurse. + +"We must have come ever so many miles," said Ida. + +An hour passed. She amused herself by gazing out of the car windows +at the towns which seemed to flit by. At length, both Ida and her +nurse became hungry. + +The nurse beckoned to her side a boy who was going through the cars +selling apples and seed-cakes, and inquired their price. + +"The apples are two cents apiece, ma'am, and the cakes a cent +apiece." + +Ida, who had been looking out of the window, turned suddenly round, +and exclaimed, in great astonishment; "Why, William Fitts, is that +you?" + +"Why, Ida, where did you come from?" asked the boy, his surprise +equalling her own. + +The nurse bit her lips in vexation at this unexpected recognition. + +"I'm making a little journey with her," indicating Mrs. Hardwick. + +"So you're going to Philadelphia," said the boy. + +"To Philadelphia!" said Ida, in surprise. "Not that I know of." + +"Why, you're most there now." + +"Are we, Mrs. Hardwick?" asked Ida, looking in her companion's face. + +"It isn't far from there where we're going," said the nurse, +shortly. "Boy, I'll take two of your apples and four seed-cakes. And +now you'd better go along, for there's somebody by the stove that +looks as if he wanted to buy of you." + +William looked back as if he would like to question Ida farther, but +her companion looked forbidding, and he passed on reluctantly. + +"Who is that boy?" asked the nurse, abruptly. + +"His name is William Fitts." + +"Where did you get acquainted with him?" + +"He went to school with Jack, so I used to see him sometimes." + +"With Jack! Who's Jack?" + +"What! Don't you know Jack, brother Jack?" asked Ida, in childish +surprise. + +"O yes," replied the nurse, recollecting herself; "I didn't think of +him." + +He's a first-rate boy, William is," said Ida, who was disposed to be +communicative. "He's good to his mother. You see his mother is sick +most of the time, and can't do much; and he's got a little sister, +she ain't more than four or five years old--and William supports +them by selling things. "He's only sixteen; isn't he a smart boy?" + +"Yes;" said the nurse, mechanically. + +"Some time," continued Ida, "I hope I shall be able to earn +something for father and mother, so they won't be obliged to work so +hard." + +"What could you do?" asked the nurse, curiously. + +"I don't know as I could do much," said Ida, modestly; "but when I +have practised more, perhaps I could draw pictures that people would +buy." + +"So you know how to draw?" + +"Yes, I've been taking lessons for over a year." + +"And how do you like it?" + +"Oh, ever so much! I like it a good deal better 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. + +"Why, yes, of course you are," said Mrs. Hardwick, in a practical, +matter-of-fact tone. "Here, cross the street here. Take care or +you'll get run over. Now turn down here." + +They had now entered a narrow and dirty street, with unsightly +houses on either side. + +"This ain't a very nice looking street," said Ida, looking about +her. + +"Why isn't it?" demanded the nurse, looking displeased. + +"Why, it's narrow, and the houses don't look nice." + +"What do you think of that house, there?" asked Mrs. Hardwick, +pointing out a tall, brick tenement house. + +"I shouldn't like to live there," said Ida, after a brief survey. + +"You shouldn't! You don't like it so well as the house you live in +in New York?" + +"No, not half so well." + +The nurse smiled. + +"Wouldn't you like to go up and look at the house?" she asked. + +"Go up and look at it!" repeated Ida, in surprise. + +"Yes, I mean to go in." + +"Why, what should we do that for?" + +"You see there are some poor families living there that I go to see +sometimes," said Mrs. Hardwick, who appeared to be amused at +something. "You know it is our duty to visit the poor." + +"Yes, that's what mother says." + +"There's a poor man living in the third story that I've made a good +many clothes for, first and last," said the nurse, in the same +peculiar tone. + +"He must be very much obliged to you," said Ida, thinking that Mrs. +Hardwick was a better woman than she had supposed. + +"We're going up to see him, now," said the nurse. "Just take care +of. that hole in the stairs. Here we are." + +Somewhat to Ida's surprise, her companion opened the door without +the ceremony of knocking, and revealed a poor untidy room, in which +a coarse, unshaven man, was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a +pipe. + +"Hallo!" exclaimed this individual, jumping up suddenly. "So you've +got along, old woman! Is that the gal?" + +Ida stared from one to the other, in unaffected amazement. + + + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +UNEXPECTED QUARTERS. + + + + + +THE appearance of the man whom Mrs. Hardwick addressed so familiarly +was more picturesque than pleasing. He had a large, broad face, +which, not having been shaved for a week, looked like a wilderness +of stubble. His nose indicated habitual indulgence in alcoholic +beverages. His eyes, likewise, were bloodshot, and his skin looked +coarse and blotched; his coat was thrown aside, displaying a shirt +which bore evidence of having been useful in its day and generation. +The same remark may apply to his nether integuments, which were +ventilated at each knee, indicating a most praiseworthy regard to +the laws of health. He was sitting in a chair pitched back against +the wall, with his feet resting on another, and a short Dutch pipe +in his mouth, from which volumes of smoke were pouring. + +Ida thought she had never seen before so disgusting a man. She +continued to gaze at him, half in astonishment, half in terror, till +the object of her attention exclaimed,-- + +"Well, little girl, what you're looking at? Hain't you never seen a +gentleman before?" + +Ida clung the closer to her companion, who, she was surprised to +find, did not resent the man's impertinence. + +"Well, Dick, how've you got along since I've been gone?" asked Mrs. +Hardwick, to Ida's unbounded astonishment. + +"Oh, so so." + +"Have you felt lonely any?" + +"I've had good company." + +"Who's been here?" + +Dick pointed significantly to a jug, which stood beside his chair. + +"So you've brought the gal. How did you get hold of her?" + +There was something in these questions which terrified Ida. It +seemed to indicate a degree of complicity between these two, which +boded no good to her. + +"I'll tell you the particulars by and by," said the nurse, looking +significantly at the child's expressive face. + +At the same time she began to take off her bonnet. + +"You ain't going to stop, are you?" whispered Ida. + +"Ain't going to stop!" repeated the man called Dick. "Why shouldn't +she? Ain't she at home?" + +"At home!" echoed Ida, apprehensively, opening wide her eyes in +astonishment. + +"Yes, ask her." + +Ida looked, inquiringly, at Mrs. Hardwick. + +"You might as well take off your things," said the latter, grimly. +"We ain't going any farther to-day." + +"And where's the lady you said you were going to see?" asked the +child, bewildered. + +"The one that was interested in you?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I'm the one." + +"You!" + +"Yes." + +"I don't want to stay here," said Ida, becoming frightened. + +"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked the woman, +mockingly. + +"Will you take me back early to-morrow?" + +"No, I don't intend to take you back at all," said the nurse, +coolly. + +Ida seemed stupefied with astonishment and terror at first. Then, +actuated by a sudden impulse, she ran to the door, and had got it +open when the nurse sprang forward, and seizing her by the arm, +dragged her rudely back. + +"Where are you going in such a hurry?" she demanded, roughly. + +"Back to father and mother," said Ida, bursting into tears. "Oh, why +did you carry me away?" + +"I'll tell you why," answered Dick, jocularly. "You see, Ida, we +ain't got any little girl to love us, and so we got you." + +"But I don't love you, and I never shall," said Ida, indignantly. + +"Now don't you go to saying that," said Dick. "You'll break my +heart, you will, and then Peg will be a widow." + +To give effect to this pathetic speech, Dick drew out a tattered red +handkerchief, and made a great demonstration of wiping his eyes. + +The whole scene was so ludicrous that Ida, despite her fears and +disgust, could not help laughing hysterically. She recovered herself +instantly, and said, imploringly, "Oh, do let me go, and father will +pay you; I'm sure he will." + +"You really think he would?" said Dick. + +"Oh, yes; and you'll tell her to carry me back, won't you?" + +"No, he won't tell me any such thing," said Peg, gruffly; "and if he +did, I wouldn't do it; so you might as well give up all thoughts of +that first as last. You're going to stay here; so take off that +bonnet of yours, and say no more about it." + +Ida made no motion towards obeying this mandate. + +"Then I'll do it for you," said Peg. + +She roughly untied the bonnet, Ida struggling vainly in opposition, +and taking this with the shawl, carried them to a closet, in which +she placed them, and then, locking the door, deliberately put the +key in her pocket. + +"There," said she, "I guess you're safe for the present." + +"Ain't you ever going to carry me back?" asked Ida, wishing to know +the worst. + +"Some years hence," said the woman, coolly. "We want you here for +the present. Besides, you're not sure that they want to see you back +again." + +"Not glad to see me?" + +"No; how do you know but your father and mother sent you off on +purpose? They've been troubled with you long enough, and now they've +bound you apprentice to me till you're eighteen." + +"It's a lie," said Ida, firmly. "They didn't send me off, and you're +a wicked woman to keep me here." + +"Hoity-toity!" said the woman, pausing and looking menacingly at the +child. "Have you anything more to say before I whip you?" + +"Yes," said Ida, goaded to desperation; "I shall complain of you to +the police, and they will put you in jail, and send me home. That is +what I will do." + +The nurse seized Ida by the arm, and striding with her to the closet +already spoken of, unlocked it, and rudely pushing her in, locked +the door after her. + +"She's a spunky 'un," remarked Dick, taking the pipe from his mouth. + +"Yes," said the woman, "she makes more fuss than I thought she +would." + +"How did you manage to come it over her family?" asked Dick. + +His wife, gave substantially, the same account with which the reader +is already familiar. + +"Pretty well done, old woman!" exclaimed Dick, approvingly. "I +always said you was a deep 'un. I always say if Peg can't find out a +way to do a thing it can't be done, no how." + +"How about the counterfeit coin?" asked his wife, abruptly. + +"They're to supply us with all we can get off, and we are to have +one half of all we succeed in passing." + +"That is good," said the woman, thoughtfully. "When this girl Ida +gets a little tamed down, we'll give her some business to do." + +"Won't she betray us if she gets caught?" + +"We'll manage that, or at least I will. I'll work on her fears so +that she won't any more dare to say a word about us than to cut her +own head off." + +Ida sank down on the floor of the closet into which she had been +thrust. Utter darkness was around her, and a darkness as black +seemed to hang over all her prospects of future happiness. She had +been snatched in a moment from parents, or those whom she regarded +as such, and from a comfortable and happy though humble home, to +this dismal place. In place of the kindness and indulgence to which +she had been accustomed, she was now treated with harshness and +cruelty. What wonder that her heart desponded, and her tears of +childish sorrow flowed freely? + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +SUSPENSE. + + + + + +IT doesn't somehow seem natural," said Mr. Crump, as he took his +seat at the tea-table, "to sit down without Ida. It seems as if half +of the family were gone." + +"Just what I've said twenty times to-day," remarked his wife. +"Nobody knows how much a child is to them till they lose it." + +"Not lose it, mother," said Jack, who had been sitting in a silence +unusual for him." + +"I didn't mean to say that," said Mrs. Crump. "I meant till they +were gone away for a time." + +"When you spoke of losing," said Jack, "it made me feel just as Ida +wasn't coming back." + +"I don't know how it is," said his mother, thoughtfully, "but that's +just the feeling I've had several times to-day. I've felt just as if +something or other would happen so that Ida wouldn't come back." + +"That is only because she has never been away before," said the +cooper, cheerfully. "It isn't best to borrow trouble; we shall have +enough of it without." + +"You never said a truer word, brother," said Rachel, lugubriously. +"'Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.' This world is a +vale of tears. Folks may try and try to be happy, but that isn't +what they're sent here for." + +"Now that's where I differ from you," said the cooper, +good-humoredly, "just as there are many more pleasant than stormy +days, so I believe that there is much more of brightness than shadow +in this life of ours, if we would only see it." + +"I can't see it," said Rachel, shaking her head very decidedly. + +"Perhaps you could if you tried." + +"So I do." + +"It seems to me, Rachel, you take more pains to look at the clouds +than the sun." + +"Yes," chimed in Jack; "I've noticed whenever Aunt Rachel takes up +the newspaper, she always looks first at the (sic) death's, and next +at the fatal accidents and steamboat explosions." + +"It's said," said Aunt Rachel, with severe emphasis, "if you should +ever be on board a steamboat when it exploded you wouldn't find much +to laugh at." + +"Yes, I should," said Jack. "I should laugh----" + +"What!" said Aunt Rachel, horrified. + +"On the other side of my mouth," concluded Jack. "You didn't wait +till I had got through the sentence." + +"I don't think it proper to make light of such matters." + +"Nor I, Aunt Rachel," said Jack, drawing down the corners of his +mouth. "I am willing to confess that this is a serious matter. I +should feel as they said the cow did, that was thrown three hundred +feet into the air." + +"How was that?" inquired his mother. + +"A little discouraged," replied Jack. + +All laughed except Aunt Rachel, who preserved the same severe +composure, and continued to eat the pie upon her plate with the air +of one gulping down medicine. + +So the evening passed. All seemed to miss Ida. Mrs. Crump found +herself stealing glances at the smaller chair beside her own in +which Ida usually sat. The cooper appeared abstracted, and did not +take as much interest as usual in the evening paper. Jack was +restless, and found it difficult to fix his attention upon anything. +Even Aunt Rachel looked more dismal than usual, if such a thing be +possible. + +In the morning all felt brighter. + +"Ida will be home to-night," said Mrs. Crump, cheerfully. "What an +age it seems since she left us!" + +"We shall know better how to appreciate her presence," said the +cooper, cheerfully. + +"What time do you expect her home? Did Mrs. Hardwick say?" + +"Why no," said Mrs. Crump, she didn't say, but I guess she will be +along in the course of the afternoon." + +"If we only knew where she had gone," said Jack, "we could tell +better." + +"But as we don't know," said his father, "we must wait patiently +till she comes." + +"I guess," said Mrs. Crump, in the spirit of a notable housewife, +"I'll make up some apple-turnovers for supper to-night. There's +nothing Ida likes so well." + +"That's where Ida is right," said Jack, "apple-turnovers are +splendid." + +"They're very unwholesome," remarked Aunt Rachel. + +"I shouldn't think so from the way you eat them, Aunt Rachel," +retorted Jack. "You ate four the last time we had them for supper." + +"I didn't think you'd begrudge me the little I eat," said Rachel, +dolefully. "I didn't think you took the trouble to keep account of +what I ate." + +"Come, Rachel, this is unreasonable," said her brother. "(sic) +Noboby begrudges you what you eat, even if you choose to eat twice +as much as you do. I dare say, Jack ate more of them than you did." + +"I ate six," said Jack. + +Rachel, construing this into an apology, said no more; but, feeling +it unnecessary to explain why she ate what she admitted to be +unhealthy, added, "And if I do eat what's unwholesome, it's because +life ain't of any value to me. The sooner one gets out of this vale +of affliction the better." + +"And the way you take to get out of it," said Jack, gravely, "is by +eating apple-turnovers. Whenever you die, Aunt Rachel, we shall have +to put a paragraph in the papers, headed, 'Suicide by eating +apple-turnovers.'" + +Rachel intimated, in reply, that she presumed it would afford Jack a +great deal of satisfaction to write such a paragraph. + +The evening came. Still no tidings of Ida. + +The family began to feel alarmed. An indefinable sense of +apprehension oppressed the minds of all. Mrs. Crump feared that +Ida's mother, seeing her grown up so attractive, could not resist +the temptation of keeping her. + +"I suppose," she said, "that she has the best claim to her; but it +will be a terrible thing for us to part with her." + +"Don't let us trouble ourselves in that way," said the cooper. "It +seems to me very natural that they should keep her a little longer +than they intended. Besides, it is not too late for her to return +to-night." + +This cheered Mrs. Crump a little. + +The evening passed slowly. + +At length there came a knock at the door. + +"I guess that is Ida," said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. + +Jack seized a candle, and hastening to the door, threw it open. But +there was no Ida there. In her place stood William Fitts, the boy +who had met Ida in the cars. + +"How do you do, Bill?" said Jack, endeavoring not to look +disappointed. "Come in, and take a seat, and tell us all the news." + +"Well," said William, "I don't know of any. I suppose Ida has got +home." + +"No," said Jack, "we expected her to-night, but she hasn't come +yet." + +"She told me that she expected to come back to-day," said William. + +"What! have you seen her?" exclaimed all in chorus. + +"Yes, I saw her yesterday noon." + +"Where?" + +"Why, in the cars," said William, a little surprised at the +question. + +"What cars?" asked the cooper. + +"Why, the Philadelphia cars. Of course, you knew that was where she +was going?" + +"Philadelphia!" all exclaimed, in surprise. + +"Yes, the cars were almost there when I saw her. Who was that with +her?" + +"Mrs. Hardwick, who was her old nurse." + +"Anyway, I didn't like her looks," said the boy. + +"That's where I agree with you," said Jack, decidedly. + +"She didn't seem to want me to speak to Ida," continued William, +"but hurried her off, just as quick as possible." + +"There were reasons for that," said Mrs. Crump, "she wanted to keep +secret her destination." + +"I don't know what it was," said William; "but any how, I don't like +her looks." + +The family felt a little relieved by this information; and, since +Ida had gone so far, it did not seem strange that she should have +outstayed her time. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +HOW IDA FARED. + + + + + +WE left Ida confined in a dark closet, with Peg standing guard over +her. + +After an hour she was released. + +"Well," said Peg, grimly, "how do you feel now?" + +"I want to go home," sobbed the child. + +"You are at home," said the woman. This is going to be your home +now." + +"Shall I never see father and mother and Jack, again?" + +"Why," answered Peg, "that depends on how you behave yourself." + +"Oh, if you will only let me go," said Ida, gathering hope from this +remark, "I'll do anything you say." + +"Do you mean this, or do you only say it for the sake of getting +away?" + +"Oh, I mean just what I say. Dear, good Mrs. Hardwick, just tell me +what I am to do, and I will obey you cheerfully." + +"Very well," said Peg, "only you needn't try to get anything out of +me by calling me dear, good Mrs. Hardwick. In the first place, you +don't care a cent about me. In the second place, I am not good; and +finally, my name isn't Mrs. Hardwick, except in New York." + +"What is it, then?" asked Ida. + +"It's just Peg, no more and no less. You may call me Aunt Peg." + +"I would rather call you Mrs. Hardwick." + +"Then you'll have a good many years to call me so. You'd better do +as I tell you if you want any favors. Now what do you say?" + +"Yes, Aunt Peg," said Ida, with a strong effort to conceal her +repugnance. + +"That's well. Now the first thing to do, is to stay here for the +present." + +"Yes--aunt." + +"The second is, you're not to tell anybody that you came from New +York. That is very important. You understand that, do you?" + +The child replied in the affirmative. + +"The next is, that you're to pay for your board, by doing whatever I +tell you." + +"If it isn't wicked." + +"Do you suppose I would ask you to do anything wicked?" + +"You said you wasn't good," mildly suggested Ida. + +"I'm good enough to take care of you. Well, what do you say to that? +Answer me." + +"Yes." + +"There's another thing. You ain't to try to run away." + +Ida hung down her head. + +"Ha!" said Peg. "So you've been thinking of it, have you?" + +"Yes," said Ida, boldly, after a moment's hesitation; "I did think I +should if I got a good chance." + +"Humph!" said the woman; "I see we must understand one another. +Unless you promise this, back you go into the dark closet, and I +shall keep you there all the time." + +Ida shuddered at this fearful threat, terrible to a child of nine. + +"Do you promise?" + +"Yes," said the child, faintly. + +"For fear you might be tempted to break your promise, I have +something to show you." + +She went to the cupboard, and took down a large pistol. + +"There," she said, "do you see that?" + +"Yes, Aunt Peg." + +"What is it?" + +"It is a pistol, I believe." + +"Do you know what it is for?" + +"To shoot people with," said Ida, fixing her eyes on the weapon, as +if impelled by a species of fascination. + +"Yes," said the woman; "I see you understand. Well, now, do you know +what I would do if you should tell anybody where you came from, or +attempt to run away? Can you guess now?" + +"Would you shoot me?" asked the child, struck with terror. + +"Yes, I would," said Peg, with fierce emphasis. "That's just what +I'd do. And what's more," she added, "even if you got away, and got +back to your family in New York. I would follow you and shoot you +dead in the street." + +"You wouldn't be so wicked!" exclaimed Ida, appalled. + +"Wouldn't I, though?" repeated Peg, significantly. "If you don't +believe I would, just try it. Do you think you would like to try +it?" + +"No," said the child, with a shudder. + +"Well, that's the most sensible thing you've said yet. Now, that you +have got to be a little more reasonable, I'll tell you what I am +going to do with you." + +Ida looked up eagerly into her face. + +"I am going to keep you with me a year. I want the services of a +little girl for that time. If you serve me faithfully, I will then +send you back to your friends in New York." + +"Will you?" said Ida, hopefully. + +"Yes. But you must mind and do what I tell you." + +"O yes," said the child, joyfully. + +This was so much better than she had been led to fear, that the +prospect of returning home, even after a year, gave her fresh +courage. + +"What shall I do?" she asked, anxious to conciliate Peg. + +"You may take the broom,--you will find it just behind the +door,--and sweep the room." + +"Yes, Aunt Peg." + +"And after that you may wash the dishes. Or, rather, you may wash +the dishes first." + +"Yes, Aunt Peg." + +"And after that I will find something for you to do." + +The next morning Ida was asked if she would like to go out into the +street. + +This was a welcome proposition, as the sun was shining brightly, and +there was little to please a child's fancy in Peg's shabby +apartment. + +"I am going to let you do a little shopping," said Peg. "There are +various things that we want. Go and get your bonnet." + +"It's in the closet," said Ida. + +"O yes, where I put it. That was before I could trust you." + +She went to the closet, and came back bringing the bonnet and shawl. +As soon as they were ready, they emerged into the street. Ida was +glad to be in the open air once more. + +"This is a little better than being shut up in the closet, isn't +it?" said Peg. + +Ida owned that it was. + +"You see you'll have a very good time of it, if you do as I bid you. +I don't want to do you any harm. I want you to be happy." + +So they walked along together, until Peg, suddenly pausing, laid her +hand on Ida's arm, and pointing to a shop near by, said to her, "Do +you see that shop?" + +"Yes," said Ida. + +"Well, that is a baker's shop. And now I'll tell you what to do. I +want you to go in, and ask for a couple of rolls. They come at three +cents apiece. Here's some money to pay for them. It is a silver +dollar, as you see. You will give this to them, and they will give +you back ninety-four cents in change. Do you understand'?" + +"Yes," said Ida; "I think I do." + +"And if they ask if you haven't anything smaller, you will say no." + +"Yes, Aunt Peg." + +"I will stay just outside. I want you to go in alone, so that you +will get used to doing without me." + +Ida entered the shop. The baker, a pleasant-looking man, stood +behind the counter. + +"Well, my dear, what is it?" he asked. + +"I should like a couple of rolls." + +"For your mother, I suppose," said the baker, sociably. + +"No," said Ida; "for the woman I board with." + +"Ha! a silver dollar, and a new one, too," said the baker, receiving +the coin tendered in payment. "I shall have to save that for my +little girl." + +Ida left the shop with the two rolls and the silver change. + +"Did he say anything about the money?" asked Peg, a little +anxiously. + +"He said he should save it for his little girl." + +"Good," said the woman, approvingly; "you've done well." + +Ida could not help wondering what the baker's disposal of the dollar +had to do with her doing well, but she was soon thinking of other +things. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +BAD COIN. + + + + + +THE baker introduced to the reader's notice in the last chapter was +named Crump. Singularly enough Abel Crump, for this was his name, +was a brother of Timothy Crump, the cooper. In many respects he +resembled his brother. He was an excellent man, exemplary in all the +relations of life, and had a good heart. He was in very comfortable +circumstances, having accumulated a little property by diligent +attention to his business. Like his brother, Abel Crump had married, +and had one child, now about the size of Ida, that is, nine years +old. She had received the name of Ellen. + +When the baker closed his shop for the night he did not forget the +silver dollar which he had received, or the disposal which he told +Ida he should make of it. + +He selected it carefully from the other coins, and slipped it into +his vest pocket. + +Ellen ran to meet him as he entered the house. + +"What do you think I have brought you, Ellen?" said her father, +smiling. + +"Do tell me quick," said the child, eagerly. + +"What if I should tell you it was a silver dollar?" + +"Oh, father, thank you," and Ellen ran to show it to her mother. + +"You got it at the shop?" asked his wife. + +"Yes," said the baker; "I received it from a little girl about the +size of Ellen, and I suppose it was that gave me the idea of +bringing it home to her." + +"Was she a pretty little girl?" asked Ellen, interested. + +"Yes, she was very attractive. I could not help feeling interested +in her. I hope she will come again." + +This was all that passed concerning Ida at that time. The thought of +her would have passed from the baker's mind, if it had not been +recalled by circumstances. + +Ellen, like most girls of her age, when in possession of money, +could not be easy until she had spent it. Her mother advised her to +lay it away, or perhaps deposit it in some Savings Bank; but Ellen +preferred present gratification. + +Accordingly one afternoon, when walking out with her mother, she +persuaded her to go into a toy shop, and price a doll which she saw +in the window. The price was sixty-two cents. Ellen concluded to +take it, and tendered the silver dollar in payment. + +The shopman took it into his hand, glancing at it carelessly at +first, then scrutinizing it with considerable attention. + +"What is the matter?" inquired Mrs. Crump. "It is good, isn't it?" + +"That is what I am doubtful of," was the reply. + +"It is new." + +"And that is against it. If it were old, it would be more likely to +be genuine." + +"But you wouldn't (sic) comdemn a piece because it was new?" + +"Certainly not; but the fact is, there have been lately many cases +where spurious dollars have been circulated, and I suspect this is +one of them. However, I can soon test it." + +"I wish you, would," said Mrs. Crump. "My husband took it at his +shop, and will be likely to take more unless he is placed on his +guard." + +The shopman retired a moment, and then reappeared. + +"It is as I thought," he said. "The coin is not good." + +"And can't I pass it, then?" said Ellen, disappointed. + +"I am afraid not." + +"Then I don't see, Ellen," said her mother, "but you will have to +give up your purchase for to-day. We must tell your father of this." + +Mr. Crump was exceedingly surprised at his wife's account. + +"Really," he said, "I had no suspicion of this. Can it be possible +that such a beautiful child could be guilty of such a crime?" + +"Perhaps not," said his wife. "She may be as innocent in the matter +as Ellen or myself." + +"I hope so," said the baker; "it would be a pity that such a child +should be given to wickedness. However, I shall find out before +long." + +"How?" + +"She will undoubtedly come again some time, and if she offers me one +of the same coins I shall know what to think." + +Mr. Crump watched daily for the coming of Ida. He waited some days +in vain. It was not the policy of Peg to send the child too often to +the same place, as that would increase the chances of detection. + +One day, however, Ida entered the shop as before. + +"Good morning," said the baker. "What will you have to-day?" + +"You may give me a sheet of gingerbread, sir." + +The baker placed it in her hands. + +"How much will it be?" + +"Twelve cents." + +Ida offered him another silver dollar. + +As if to make change, he stepped from behind the counter, and +managed to place himself between Ida and the door. + +"What is your name, my child?" he asked. + +"Ida, sir." + +"Ida? A very pretty name; but what is your other name?" + +Ida hesitated a moment, because Peg had forbidden her to use the +name of Crump, and told her if the inquiry was ever made, she must +answer Hardwick. + +She answered, reluctantly, "My name is Ida Hardwick." + +The baker observed the hesitation, and this increased his +suspicions. + +"Hardwick!" he repeated, musingly, endeavoring to draw from the +child as much information as he could before allowing her to +perceive that he suspected her. "And where do you live?" + +Ida was a child of spirit, and did not understand why she should be +questioned so closely. She said, with some impatience, "I am in a +hurry, sir, and would like to have you hand me the change as soon as +you can." + +"I have no doubt of it," said the baker, his manner changing; "but +you cannot go just yet." + +"And why not?" asked Ida, her eyes flashing. + +"Because you have been trying to deceive me." + +"I trying to deceive you!" exclaimed the child, in astonishment. + +"Really," thought Mr. Crump, "she does it well, but no doubt they +train her to it. It is perfectly shocking, such depravity in a +child." + +"Don't you remember buying something here a week ago?" he said, in +as stern a tone as his good nature would allow him to employ. + +"Yes," said Ida, promptly; "I bought two rolls at three cents a +piece." + +"And what did you offer me in payment?" + +"I handed you a silver dollar." + +"Like this?" asked Mr. Crump, holding up the coin. + +"Yes, sir." + +"And do you mean to say," said the baker, sternly, "that you didn't +know it was bad when you handed it to me?" + +"Bad!" exclaimed Ida, in great surprise. + +"Yes, spurious. It wasn't worth one tenth of a dollar." + +"And is this like it?" + +"Precisely." + +"Indeed, sir, I didn't know anything about it," said Ida, earnestly, +"I hope you will believe me when I say that I thought it was good." + +"I don't know what to think," said the baker, perplexed. + +"I don't know whether to believe you or not," said he. "Have you any +other money?" + +"That is all I have got." + +Of course, I can't let you have the gingerbread. Some would deliver +you up into the hands of the police. However, I will let you go if +you will make me one promise." + +"Oh, anything, sir." + +"You have given me a bad dollar. Will you promise to bring me a good +one to-morrow?" + +Ida made the required promise, and was allowed to go. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +DOUBTS AND FEARS. + + + + + +WELL, what kept you so long?" asked Peg, impatiently, as Ida +rejoined her at the corner of the street, where she had been waiting +for her. "And where's your gingerbread?" + +"He wouldn't let me have it," said Ida. + +"And why not?" + +"Because he said the money wasn't good." + +"Stuff! it's good enough," said Peg, hastily. "Then we must go +somewhere else." + +"But he said the dollar I gave him last week wasn't good, and I +promised to bring him another to-morrow, or he wouldn't have let me +go." + +"Well, where are you going to get your dollar to carry him?" + +"Why, won't you give it to me?" said Ida, hesitatingly. + +"Catch me at such nonsense! But here we are at another shop. Go in +and see whether you can do any better there. Here's the money." + +"Why, it's the same piece." + +"What if it is?" + +"I don't want to pass bad money." + +"Tut, what hurt will it do?" + +"It is the same as stealing." + +"The man won't lose anything. He'll pass it off again." + +"Somebody'll have to lose it by and by," said Ida, whose truthful +perceptions saw through the woman's sophistry. + +"So you've taken up preaching, have you?" said Peg, sneeringly. +"Maybe you know better than I what is proper to do. It won't do to +be so mighty particular, and so you'll find out if you live with me +long." + +"Where did you take the dollar?" asked Ida, with a sudden thought; +"and how is it that you have so many of them?" + +"None of your business," said her companion, roughly. "You shouldn't +pry into the affairs of other people." + +"Are you going to do as I told you?" she demanded, after a moment's +pause. + +"I can't," said Ida, pale but resolute. + +"You can't," repeated Peg, furiously. "Didn't you promise to do +whatever I told you?" + +"Except what was wicked," interrupted Ida. + +"And what business have you to decide what is wicked? Come home with +me." + +Peg, walked in sullen silence, occasionally turning round to scowl +upon the unfortunate child, who had been strong enough, in her +determination to do right, to resist successfully the will of the +woman whom she had every reason to dread. + +Arrived at home, Peg walked Ida into the room by the shoulder. + +Dick was lounging in a chair, with the inevitable pipe in his mouth. + +"Hilloa!" said he, lazily, observing his wife's movements, "what's +the gal been doing, hey?" + +"What's she been doing?" repeated Peg; "I should like to know what +she hasn't been doing. She's refused to go in and buy some +gingerbread of the baker, as I told her." + +"Look here, little gal," said Dick, in a moralizing vein, "isn't +this rayther undootiful conduct on your part? Ain't it a piece of +ingratitude, when we go to the trouble of earning the money to pay +for gingerbread for you to eat, that you ain't willing to go in and +buy it?" + +"I would just as lieves go in," said Ida, "if Peg would give me good +money to pay for it." + +"That don't make any difference," said the admirable moralist; "jest +do as she tells you, and you'll do right. She'll take the risk." + +"I can't!" said the child. + +"You hear her?" said Peg. + +"Very improper conduct!" said Dick, shaking his head. "Put her in +the closet." + +So Ida was incarcerated once more in the dark closet. Yet, in the +midst of her desolation, there was a feeling of pleasure in thinking +that she was suffering for doing right. + +When Ida failed to return on the expected day, the Crumps, though +disappointed, did not think it strange. + +"If I were her mother," said Mrs. Crump, "and had been parted from +her so long, I should want to keep her as long as I could. Dear +heart! how pretty she is, and how proud her mother must be of her!" + +"It's all a delusion," said Aunt Rachel, shaking her head. "It's all +a delusion. I don't believe she's got a mother at all. That Mrs. +Hardwick is an imposter. I knew it, and told you so at the time, but +you wouldn't believe me. I never expect to set eyes on Ida again in +this world." + +"I do," said Jack, confidently. + +"There's many a hope that's doomed to disappointment," said Aunt +Rachel. + +"So there is," said Jack. "I was hoping mother would have +apple-pudding for dinner to-day, but she didn't." + +The next day passed, and still no tidings of Ida. There was a cloud +of anxiety, even upon Mr. Crump's usually placid face, and he was +more silent than usual at the evening meal. + +At night, after Rachel and Jack had both retired, he said, +anxiously, "What do you think is the cause of Ida's prolonged +absence, Mary?" + +"I don't know," said Mrs. Crump, seriously. "It seems to me, if her +mother wanted te keep her longer than the time she at first +proposed, it would be no more than right that she should write us a +line. She must know that we would feel anxious." + +"Perhaps she is so taken up with Ida that she can think of nothing +else." + +"It may be so; but if we neither see Ida to-morrow, nor hear from +her, I shall be seriously troubled." + +"Suppose she should never come back," said the cooper, sadly. + +"Oh, husband, don't think of such a thing," said his wife, +distressed. + +"We must contemplate it as a possibility," returned Timothy, +gravely, "though not, I hope, as a probability. Ida's mother has an +undoubted right to her; a better right than any we can urge." + +"Then it would be better," said his wife, tearfully, "if she had +never been placed in our charge. Then we should not have had the +pain of parting with her." + +"Not so, Mary," said the cooper, seriously. "We ought to be grateful +for God's blessings, even if he suffers us to possess them but a +short time. And Ida has been a blessing to us, I am sure. How many +hours have been made happy by her childish prattle! how our hearts +have been filled with cheerful happiness and affection when we have +gazed upon her! That can't be taken from us, even if she is, Mary. +There's some lines I met with in the paper, to-night, that express +just what I feel. Let me find them." + +The cooper put on his spectacles, and hunted slowly down the columns +of the paper, till he came to these beautiful lines of Tennyson, +which he read aloud,-- + + "I hold it true, whate'er befall; + I feel it when I sorrow most; + 'Tis better to have loved and lost, + Than never to have loved at all." + +"There, wife," said he, as he laid down the paper; "I don't know who +writ them lines, but I'm sure it's some one that's met with a great +sorrow, and conquered it." + +"They are beautiful," said his wife, after a pause; "and I dare say +you're right, Timothy; but I hope we mayn't have reason to learn the +truth of them by experience. After all, it isn't certain but that +Ida will come back. We are troubling ourselves too soon." + +"At any rate," said the cooper, "there is no doubt that it is our +duty to take every means to secure Ida if we can. Of course, if her +mother insists upon keeping her, we can't say anything; but we ought +to be sure, before we yield her up, that such is the case." + +"What do you mean, Timothy?" asked Mrs. Crump, with anxious +interest. + +"I don't know as I ought to mention it," said her husband. "Very +likely there isn't anything in it, and it would only make you feel +more anxious." + +"You have already aroused my anxiety," said his wife. "I should feel +better if you would tell me." + +"Then I will," said the cooper. "I have sometimes doubted," he +continued, lowering his voice, "whether Ida's mother really sent for +her." + +"And the letter?" queried Mrs. Crump, looking less surprised than he +supposed she would. + +"I thought--mind it is only a guess on my part--that Mrs. Hardwick +might have got somebody to write it for her." + +"It is very singular," murmured Mrs. Crump, in a tone of +abstraction. + +"What is singular?" + +"Why, the very same thought occurred to me. Somehow, I couldn't help +feeling a little suspicious of Mrs. Hardwick, though perhaps +unjustly. But what object could she have in obtaining possession of +Ida?" + +"That I cannot conjecture; but I have come to one determination." + +"And what is that?" + +"Unless we learn something of Ida within a week from the time she +left here, I shall go on to Philadelphia, or send Jack, and endeavor +to get track of her." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +AUNT RACHEL'S MISHAPS. + + + + + +THE week which had been assigned by Mr. Crump slipped away, and +still no tidings of Ida. The house seemed lonely without her. Not +until then, did they understand how largely she had entered into +their life and thoughts. But worse even, than the sense of loss, was +the uncertainty as to her fate. + +When seven days had passed the cooper said, "It is time that we took +some steps about finding Ida. I had intended to go to Philadelphia +myself, to make inquiries about her, but I am just now engaged upon +a job which I cannot very well leave, and so I have concluded to +send Jack." + +"When shall I start?" exclaimed Jack, eagerly. + +"To-morrow morning," answered his father, "and you must take clothes +enough with you to last several days, in case it should be +necessary." + +"What good do you suppose it will do, Timothy," broke in Rachel, "to +send such a mere boy as Jack?" + +"A mere boy!" repeated her nephew, indignantly. + +"A boy hardly sixteen years old," continued Rachel. "Why, he'll need +somebody to take care of him. Most likely you'll have to go after +him." + +"What's the use of provoking a fellow so, Aunt Rachel?" said Jack. +"You know I'm most eighteen. Hardly sixteen! Why, I might as well +say you're hardly forty, when everybody knows you're most fifty." + +"Most fifty!" ejaculated the scandalized spinster. "It's a base +slander. I'm only forty-three." + +"Maybe I'm mistaken," said Jack, carelessly. "I didn't know exactly. +I only judged from your looks." + +"'Judge not that ye be not judged!'" said Rachel, whom this +explanation was not likely to appease. "The world is full of calumny +and misrepresentation. I've no doubt you would like to shorten my +days upon the earth, but I sha'n't live long to trouble any of you. +I feel that, ere the summer of life is over, I shall be gathered +into the garden of the Great Destroyer." + +At this point, Rachel applied a segment of a pocket-handkerchief to +her eyes; but unfortunately, owing to circumstances, the effect, +instead of being pathetic, as she had intended, was simply +ludicrous. + +It so happened that a short time previous the inkstand had been +partially spilled on the table, and this handkerchief had been used +to sop it up. It had been placed inadvertently on the window-seat, +where it had remained till Rachel, who sat beside the window, called +it into requisition. The ink upon it was by no means dry. The +consequence was that, when Rachel removed it from her eyes, her face +was found to be covered with ink in streaks,--mingling with the +tears that were falling, for Rachel always had tears at her command. + +The first intimation the luckless spinster had of her misfortune, +was conveyed in a stentorian laugh from Jack, whose organ of +mirthfulness, marked _very large_ by the phrenologist, could not +withstand such a provocation to laughter. + +He looked intently at the dark traces of sorrow upon his aunt's +face, of which she was yet unconscious--and doubling up, went into a +perfect paroxysm of laughter. + +Aunt Rachel looked equally amazed and indignant. + +"Jack!" said his mother, reprovingly, for she had not observed the +cause of his amusement. "It's improper for you to laugh at your aunt +in such a rude manner." + +"Oh, I can't help it, mother. It's too rich! Just look at her," and +Jack went off into another paroxysm. + +Thus invited, Mrs. Crump did look, and the rueful expression of +Rachel, set off by the inky stains, was so irresistibly comical, +that, after a little struggle, she too gave way, and followed Jack's +example. + +Astounded and indignant at this unexpected behavior of her +sister-in-law, Rachel burst into a fresh fit of weeping, and again +had recourse to the handkerchief. + +"I've stayed here long enough, if even my sister-in-law, as well as +my own nephew, from whom I expect nothing better, makes me her +laughing-stock. Brother Timothy, I can no longer remain in your +dwelling to be laughed at; I will go to the poor-house, and end my +life as a pauper. If I only receive Christian burial, when I leave +the world, it will be all I hope or expect from my relatives, who +will be glad enough to get rid of me." + +The second application of the handkerchief had so increased the +effect, that Jack found it impossible to check his laughter, while +the cooper, whose attention was now for the first time drawn to his +sister's face, burst out in a similar manner. + +This more amazed Rachel than even Mrs. Crump's merriment. + +"Even you, Timothy, join in ridiculing your sister!" she exclaimed, +in an 'Et tu Brute,' tone. + +"We don't mean to ridicule you, Rachel," gasped Mrs. Crump, with +difficulty, "but we can't help laughing----" + +"At the prospect of my death," uttered Rachel. "Well, I'm a poor +forlorn creetur, I know; I haven't got a friend in the world. Even +my nearest relations make sport of me, and when I speak of dying +they shout their joy to my face." + +"Yes," gasped Jack, "that's it exactly. It isn't your death we're +laughing at, but your face." + +"My face!" exclaimed the insulted spinster. "One would think I was a +fright, by the way you laugh at it." + +So you are," said Jack, in a state of semi-strangulation. + +"To be called a fright to my face!" shrieked Rachel, "by my own +nephew! This is too much. Timothy, I leave your house forever." + +The excited maiden seized her hood, which was hanging from a nail, +and hardly knowing what she did, was about to leave the house with +no other protection, when she was arrested in her progress towards +the door by the cooper, who stifled his laughter sufficiently to +say: "Before you go, Rachel, just look in the glass." + +Mechanically his sister did look, and her horrified eyes rested upon +a face which streaked with inky spots and lines seaming it in every +direction. + +In her first confusion, Rachel did not understand the nature of her +mishaps, but hastily jumped to the conclusion that she had been +suddenly stricken by some terrible disease like the plague, whose +ravages in London she had read of with the interest which one of her +melancholy temperament might be expected to find in it. + +Accordingly she began to wring her hands in an excess of terror, and +exclaimed in tones of piercing anguish,-- + +"It is the fatal plague spot! I feel it; I know it! I am marked for +the tomb. The sands of my life are fast running out!" + +Jack broke into a fresh burst of merriment, so that an observer +might, not without reason, have imagined him to be in imminent +danger of suffocation. + +"You'll kill me, Aunt Rachel; I know you will," he gasped out. + +"You may order my coffin, Timothy," said Rachel, in a sepulchral +tone. "I sha'n't live twenty-four hours. I've felt it coming on for +a week past. I forgive you for all your ill-treatment. I should like +to have some one go for the doctor, though I know I'm past help. I +will go up to my chamber." + +"I think," said the cooper, trying to look sober, "that you will +find the cold-water treatment efficacious in removing the +plague-spots, as you call them." + +Rachel turned towards him with a puzzled look. Then, as her eyes +rested, for the first time, upon the handkerchief which she had +used, its appearance at once suggested a clew by which she was +enabled to account for her own. + +Somewhat ashamed of the emotion which she had betrayed, as well as +the ridiculous figure which she had cut, she left the room abruptly, +and did not make her appearance again till the next morning. + +After this little episode, the conversation turned upon Jack's +approaching journey. + +"I don't know," said his mother, "but Rachel is right. Perhaps Jack +isn't old enough, and hasn't had sufficient experience to undertake +such a mission." + +"Now, mother," expostulated Jack, "you ain't going to side against +me, are you?" + +"There is no better plan," said Mr. Crump, quietly, "and I have +sufficient confidence in Jack's shrewdness and intelligence to +believe he may be trusted in this business." + +Jack looked gratified by this tribute to his powers and capacity, +and determined to show that he was deserving of his father's +favorable opinion. + +The preliminaries were settled, and it was agreed that he should set +out early the next morning. He went to bed with the brightest +anticipations, and with the resolute determination to find Ida if +she was anywhere in Philadelphia. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE FLOWER-GIRL. + + + + + +HENRY BOWEN was a young artist of moderate talent, who had abandoned +the farm, on which he had labored as a boy, for the sake of pursuing +his favorite profession. He was not competent to achieve the highest +success. The foremost rank in his profession was not for him. But he +had good taste, a correct eye, and a skilful hand, and his +productions were pleasing and popular. A few months before his +introduction to the reader's notice, he had formed a connection with +a publisher of prints and engravings, who had thrown considerable +work in his way. + +"Have you any new commission this morning?" inquired the young +artist, on the day before Ida's discovery that she had been employed +to pass off spurious coins. + +"Yes," said the publisher, "I have thought of something which I +think may prove attractive. Just at present, the public seem fond of +pictures of children in different characters. I should like to have +you supply me with a sketch of a flower-girl, with, say, a basket of +flowers in her hand. The attitude and incidentals I will leave to +your taste. The face must, of course, be as beautiful and expressive +as you can make it, where regularity of features is not sufficient. +Do you comprehend my idea?" + +"I believe I do," said the young man, "and hope to be able to +satisfy you." + +The young artist went home, and at once set to work upon the task he +had undertaken. He had conceived that it would be an easy one, but +found himself mistaken. Whether because his fancy was not +sufficiently lively, or his mind was not in tune, he was unable to +produce the effect he desired. The faces which he successively +outlined were all stiff, and though perhaps sufficiently regular in +feature, lacked the great charm of being expressive and life-like. + +"What is the matter with me?" he exclaimed, impatiently, throwing +down his pencil. "Is it impossible for me to succeed? Well, I will +be patient, and make one trial more." + +He made another trial, that proved as unsatisfactory as those +preceding. + +"It is clear," he decided, "that I am not in the vein. I will go out +and take a walk, and perhaps while I am in the street something will +strike me." + +He accordingly donned his coat and hat, and, descending, emerged +into the great thoroughfare, where he was soon lost in the throng. +It was only natural that, as he walked, with his task still in his +thoughts, he should scrutinize carefully the faces of such young +girls as he met. + +"Perhaps," it occurred to him, "I may get a hint from some face I +may see. That will be better than to depend upon my fancy. Nothing, +after all, is equal to the masterpieces of Nature." + +But the young artist was fastidious. "It is strange," he thought, +"how few there are, even in the freshness of childhood, that can be +called models of beauty. That child, for example, has beautiful eyes +but a badly-cut mouth, Here is one that would be pretty, if the face +was rounded out; and here is a child, Heaven help it! that was +designed to be beautiful, but want and unfavorable circumstances +have pinched and cramped it." + +It was at this point in the artist's soliloquy that, in turning the +corner of a street, he came upon Peg and Ida. + +Henry Bowen looked earnestly at the child's face, and his own +lighted up with pleasure, as one who stumbles upon success just as +he has despaired of it. + +"The very face I have been looking for!" he exclaimed to himself. +"My flower-girl is found at last!" + +He turned round, and followed Ida and her companion. Both stopped at +a shop-window to examine some articles which were exhibited there. +This afforded a fresh opportunity to examine Ida's face. + +"It is precisely what I want," he murmured. "Now the question comes +up, whether this woman, who, I suppose, is the girl's attendant, +will permit me to copy her face." + +The artist's inference that Peg was merely Ida's attendant, was +natural, since the child was dressed in a style quite superior to +her companion. Peg thought that in this way she should be more +likely to escape suspicion when occupied in passing spurious coin. + +The young man followed the strangely-assorted pair to the apartments +which Peg occupied. From the conversation which he overheard he +learned that he had been mistaken in his supposition as to the +relation between the two, and that, singular as it seemed, Peg had +the guardianship of the child. This made his course clearer. He +mounted the stairs, and knocked at the door. + +"What do you want?" said a sharp voice from within. + +"I should like to see you a moment," was the reply. + +Peg opened the door partially, and regarded the young man +suspiciously. + +"I don't know you," she said, shortly. "I never saw you before." + +"I presume not," said the young man. "We have never met, I think. I +am an artist." + +"That is a business I don't know anything about," said Peg, +abruptly. "You've come to the wrong place. I don't want to buy any +pictures. I've got plenty of other ways to spend my money." + +Certainly, Mrs. Hardwick, to give her the name she once claimed, did +not look like a patron of the arts. + +"You have a young girl, about eight or nine years old, living with +you," said the artist. + +"Who told you that?" queried Peg, her suspicions at once roused. + +"No one told me. I saw her with you in the street." + +Peg at once conceived the idea that her visitor was aware of the +fact that that the child was stolen--possibly he might be acquainted +with the Crumps, or might be their emissary. She therefore answered, +shortly,-- + +"People that are seen walking together don't always live together." + +"But I saw the child entering this house with you." + +"What if you did?" demanded Peg, defiantly. + +"I was about," said the artist, perceiving that he was +misapprehended, and desiring to set matters right, "I was about to +make a proposition which might prove advantageous to both of us." + +"Eh!" said Peg, catching at the hint. "Tell me what it is, and +perhaps we may come to terms." + +"It is simply this," said Bowen, "I am, as I told you, an artist. +Just now I am employed to sketch a flower-girl, and in seeking for a +face such as I wished to sketch from, I was struck by that of your +child." + +"Of Ida?" + +"Yes, if that is her name. I will pay you five dollars for the +privilege of copying it." + +Peg was fond of money, and the prospect of earning five dollars +through Ida's instrumentality, so easily, blinded her to the +possibility that this picture might prove a means of discovery to +her friends. + +"Well," said she, more graciously, "if that's all you want, I don't +know as I have any objections. I suppose you can copy her face here +as well as anywhere." + +"I should prefer to have her come to my studio." + +"I sha'n't let her come," said Peg, decidedly. + +"Then I will consent to your terms, and come here." + +"Do you want to begin now?" + +"I should like to do so." + +"Come in, then. Here, Ida, I want you." + +"Yes, Peg." + +"This young man wants to copy your face." + +Ida looked surprised. + +"I am an artist," said the young man, with a reassuring smile. "I +will endeavor not to try your patience too much. Do you think you +can stand still for half an hour, without much fatigue?" + +Ida was easily won by kindness, while she had a spirit which was +roused by harshness. She was prepossessed at once in favor of the +young man, and readily assented. + +He kept her in pleasant conversation while with a free, bold hand, +he sketched the outlines of her face and figure. + +"I shall want one more sitting," he said. "I will come to-morrow at +this time." + +"Stop a minute," said Peg. "I should like the money in advance. How +do I know that you will come again?" + +"Certainly, if you prefer it," said the young man, opening his +pocket-book. + +"What strange fortune," he thought, "can have brought these two +together? Surely there can be no relationship." + +The next day he returned and completed his sketch, which was at once +placed in the hands of the publisher, eliciting his warm approval. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +JACK OBTAINS INFORMATION. + + + + + +JACK set out with that lightness of heart and keen sense of +enjoyment that seem natural to a young man of eighteen on his first +journey. Partly by cars, partly by boat, he traveled, till in a few +hours he was discharged, with hundreds of others, at the depot in +Philadelphia. + +Among the admonitions given to Jack on leaving home, one was +prominently in his mind, to beware of imposition, and to be as +economical as possible. + +Accordingly he rejected all invitations to ride, and strode along, +with his carpet-bag in hand, though, sooth to say, he had very +little idea whether he was steering in the right direction for his +uncle's shop. By dint of diligent and persevering inquiry he found +it at length, and, walking in, announced himself to the worthy baker +as his nephew Jack. + +"What, are you Jack?" exclaimed Mr. Abel Crump, pausing in his +labor; "well, I never should have known you, that's a fact. Bless +me, how you've grown! Why, you're most as big as your father, ain't +you?" + +"Only half an inch shorter," returned Jack, complacently. + +"And you're--let me see, how old are you?" + +"Eighteen, that is, almost; I shall be in two months." + +"Well, I'm glad to see you, Jack, though I hadn't the least idea of +your raining down so unexpectedly. How's your father and mother and +Rachel, and your adopted sister?" + +"Father and mother are pretty well," answered Jack, "and so is Aunt +Rachel," he added, smiling; "though she ain't so cheerful as she +might be." + +"Poor Rachel!" said Abel, smiling also, "all things look upside down +to her. I don't suppose she's wholly to blame for it. Folks differ +constitutionally. Some are always looking on the bright side of +things, and others can never see but one side, and that's the dark +one." + +"You've hit it, uncle," said Jack, laughing. "Aunt Rachel always +looks as if she was attending a funeral." + +"So she is, my boy," said Abel Crump, gravely, "and a sad funeral it +is." + +"I don't understand you, uncle." + +"The funeral of her affections,--that's what I mean. Perhaps you +mayn't know that Rachel was, in early life, engaged to be married to +a young man whom she ardently loved. She was a different woman then +from what she is now. But her lover deserted her just before the +wedding was to have come off, and she's never got over the +disappointment. But that isn't what I was going to talk about. You +haven't told me about your adopted sister." + +"That's what I've come to Philadelphia about," said Jack, soberly. +"Ida has been carried off, and I've been sent in search of her." + +"Been carried off!" exclaimed his uncle, in amazement. "I didn't +know such things ever happened in this country. What do you mean?" + +In answer to this question Jack told the story of Mrs. Hardwick's +arrival with a letter from Ida's mother, conveying the request that +the child might, under the guidance of the messenger, be allowed to +pay her a visit. To this, and the subsequent details, Abel Crump +listened with earnest attention. + +"So you have reason to think the child is in (sic) Phildelphia?" he +said, musingly. + +"Yes," said Jack, "Ida was seen in the cars, coming here, by a boy +who knew her in New York." + +"Ida!" repeated his Uncle Abel, looking up, suddenly. + +"Yes. You know that's my sister's name, don't you?" + +"Yes, I dare say I have known it; but I have heard so little of your +family lately, that I had forgotten it. It is rather a singular +circumstance." + +"What is singular!" + +"I will tell you," said his uncle. It may not amount to anything, +however. A few days since, a little girl came into my shop to buy a +small amount of bread. I was at once favorably impressed with her +appearance. She was neatly dressed, and had a very sweet face." + +"What was her name?" inquired Jack. + +"That I will tell you by and by. Having made the purchase, she +handed me in payment a silver dollar. 'I'll keep that for my little +girl,' thought I at once. Accordingly, when I went home at night, I +just took the dollar out the till, and gave it to her. Of course she +was delighted with it, and, like a child, wanted to spend it at +once. So her mother agreed to go out with her the next day. Well, +they selected some nicknack or other, but when they came to pay for +it the dollar proved to be spurious." + +"Spurious!" + +"Yes, bad. Got up, no doubt, by a gang of coiners. When they told me +of this I thought to myself, 'Can it be that this little girl knew +what she was about when she offered me that money?' I couldn't think +it possible, but decided to wait till she came again." + +"Did she come again?" + +"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." + +"What did she think?" + +"She took a dislike to her, and declared that it was only a plot to +get possession of Ida; but then, that was what we expected of Aunt +Rachel." + +"Still, it seems difficult to imagine any satisfactory motive on the +part of this woman, supposing she is not Ida's mother." + +"Mother, or not," returned Jack, "she's got possession of Ida; and, +from all that you say, she is not the best person to bring her up. I +am determined to rescue Ida from this she-dragon. Will you help me, +uncle?" + +"You may count upon me, Jack, for all I can do." + +"Then," said Jack, with energy, "we shall succeed. I feel sure of +it. 'Where there's a will there's a way,' you know." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +FINESSE. + + + + + +THE next thing to be done by Jack was, of course, in some way to +obtain a clew to the whereabouts of Peg, or Mrs. Hardwick, to use +the name by which he knew her. No mode of proceeding likely to +secure this result occurred to him, beyond the very obvious one of +keeping in the street as much as possible, in the hope that chance +might bring him face to face with the object of his pursuit. + +Fortunately her face was accurately daguerreotyped in his memory, so +that he felt certain of recognizing her, under whatever +circumstances they might meet. + +In pursuance of this, the only plan which suggested itself, Jack +became a daily promenader in Chestnut and other streets. Many +wondered what could be the object of the young man who so +persistently frequented the thoroughfares. It was observed that, +while he paid no attention to young ladies, he scrutinized the faces +of all middle-aged or elderly women whom he met, a circumstance +likely to attract remark, in the case of a well-made youth like +Jack. + +Several days passed, and, although he only returned to his uncle's +house at the hour of meals, he had the same report to bring on each +occasion. + +"I am afraid," said the baker, "it will be as hard as finding a +needle in a hay-stack, to hope to meet the one you seek, among so +many faces." + +"There's nothing like trying," answered Jack, courageously. "I'm not +going to give up yet awhile." + +He sat down and wrote the following note, home:-- + +"DEAR PARENTS: + +"I arrived in Philadelphia safe, and am stopping at Uncle Abel's. He +received me very kindly. I have got track of Ida, though I have not +found her yet. I have learned as much as this, that this Mrs. +Hardwick--who is a double distilled she-rascal--probably has Ida in +her clutches, and has sent her on two occasions to my uncle's. I am +spending most of my time in the streets, keeping a good lookout for +her. If I do meet her, see if I don't get Ida away from her. But it +may take some time. Don't get discouraged, therefore, but wait +patiently. Whenever anything new turns up you will receive a line +from your dutiful son + +"JACK." + +In reply to this letter, or rather note, Jack received an intimation +that he was not to cease his efforts as long as a chance remained to +find Ida. + +The very day after the reception of this letter, as Jack was +sauntering along the street, he suddenly perceived in front of him a +form which at once reminded him of Mrs. Hardwick. Full of hope that +this might be so, he bounded forward, and rapidly passed the +suspected person, turned suddenly round, and confronted Ida's nurse. + +The recognition was mutual. Peg was taken aback by this unexpected +encounter. + +"Her first impulse was to make off, but the young man's resolute +expression warned her that this would prove in vain. + +"Mrs. Hardwick!" said Jack. + +"You are right," said she, nodding, "and you, if I am not mistaken, +are John Crump, the son of my worthy friends in New York." + +"Well," ejaculated Jack, internally, "if that doesn't beat all for +coolness." + +"My name is Jack," he said, aloud. + +"Indeed! I thought it might be a nickname." + +"You can't guess what I came here for," said Jack, with an attempt +at sarcasm, which utterly failed of its effect. + +"To see your sister Ida, I presume," said Peg, coolly. + +"Yes," said Jack, amazed at the woman's composure. + +"I thought some of you would be coming on," said Peg, whose prolific +genius had already mapped out her course. + +"You did?" + +"Yes, it was only natural. But what did your father and mother say +to the letter I wrote them?" + +"The letter you wrote them!" + +"The letter in which I wrote that Ida's mother had been so pleased +with the appearance and manners of her child, that she could not +resolve to part with her, and had determined to keep her for the +present." + +"You don't mean to say," said Jack, "that any such letter as that +has been written?" + +"What, has it not been received?" inquired Peg, in the greatest +apparent astonishment. + +"Nothing like it," answered Jack. "When was it written?" + +"The second day after Ida's arrival," replied Peg, unhesitatingly. + +"If that is the case," returned Jack, not knowing what to think, "it +must have miscarried." + +"That is a pity. How anxious you all must have felt!" remarked Peg, +sympathizingly. + +"It seemed as if half the family were gone. But how long does Ida's +mother mean to keep her?" + +"A month or six weeks," was the reply. + +"But," said Jack, his suspicions returning, "I have been told that +Ida has twice called at a baker's shop in this city, and, when asked +what her name was, answered Ida Hardwick.' You don't mean to say +that you pretend to be her mother?" + +"Yes, I do," returned Peg, calmly. + +"It's a lie," said Jack, vehemently. "She isn't your daughter." + +"Young man," said Peg, with wonderful self-command, "you are +exciting yourself to no purpose. You asked me if I _pretended_ to be +her mother. I do pretend; but I admit, frankly, that it is all +pretence." + +"I don't understand what you mean," said Jack, mystified. + +"Then I will take the trouble to explain it to you. As I informed +your father and mother, when in New York, there are circumstances +which stand in the way of Ida's real mother recognizing her as her +own child. Still, as she desires her company, in order to avert all +suspicion, and prevent embarrassing questions being asked, while she +remains in Philadelphia she is to pass as my daughter." + +This explanation was tolerably plausible, and Jack was unable to +gainsay it, though it was disagreeable to him to think of even a +nominal connection between Ida and the woman before him. + +"Can I see Ida?" asked Jack, at length. + +To his great joy, Peg replied, "I don't think there can be any +objection. I am going to the house now. Will you come now, or +appoint some other time?" + +"I will go now by all means," said Jack, eagerly. "Nothing should +stand in the way of seeing Ida." + +A grim smile passed over the nurse's face. + +"Follow me, then," she said. "I have no doubt Ida will be delighted +to see you." + +"Dear Ida!" said Jack. "Is she well, Mrs. Hardwick?" + +"Perfectly well," answered Peg. "She has never been in better health +than since she has been in Philadelphia." + +"I suppose," said Jack, with a pang, "that she is so taken up with +her new friends that she has nearly forgotten her old friends in New +York." + +"If she did," said Peg, sustaining her part with admirable +self-possession, "she would not deserve to have friends at all. She +is quite happy here, but she will be very glad to return to New York +to those who have been so kind to her." + +"Really," thought Jack; "I don't know what to make of this Mrs. +Hardwick. She talks fair enough, if her looks are against her. +Perhaps I have misjudged her, after all." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +CAUGHT IN A TRAP. + + + + + +JACK and his guide paused in front of a three-story brick building +of respectable appearance. + +"Docs Ida's mother live here?" interrogated Jack. + +"Yes," said Peg, coolly. "Follow me up the steps." + +The woman led the way, and Jack followed. + +The former rang the bell. An untidy servant girl made her +appearance. + +"We will go up-stairs, Bridget," said Peg. + +Without betraying any astonishment, the servant conducted them to an +upper room, and opened the door. + +"If you will go in and take a seat," said Peg, "I will send Ida to +you immediately." + +She closed the door after him, and very softly slipped the bolt +which had been placed on the outside. She then hastened downstairs, +and finding the proprietor of the house, who was a little old man +with a shrewd, twinkling eye, and a long aquiline nose, she said to +this man, who was a leading spirit among the coiners into whose +employ she and her husband had entered, "I want you to keep this lad +in confinement, until I give you notice that it will be safe to let +him go." + +"What has he done?" asked the old man. + +"He is acquainted with a secret dangerous to both of us," answered +Peg, with intentional prevarication; for she knew that, if it were +supposed that she only had an interest in Jack's detention, they +would not take the trouble to keep him. + +"Ha!" exclaimed the old man; "is that so? Then, I warrant me, he +can't get out unless he has sharp claws." + +"Fairly trapped, my young bird," thought Peg, as she hastened away; +"I rather think that will put a stop to your troublesome +interference for the present. You haven't lived quite long enough to +be a match for old Peg. You'll find that out by and by. Ha, ha! +won't your worthy uncle, the baker, be puzzled to know why you don't +come home to-night?" + +Meanwhile Jack, wholly unsuspicious that any trick had been played +upon him, seated himself in a rocking-chair, waiting impatiently for +the coming of Ida, whom he was resolved to carry back with him to +New York if his persuasions could effect it. + +Impelled by a natural curiosity he examined, attentively, the room +in which he was seated. It was furnished moderately well; that is, +as well as the sitting-room of a family in moderate circumstances. +The floor was covered with a plain carpet. There was a sofa, a +mirror, and several chairs covered with hair-cloth were standing +stiffly at the windows. There were one or two engravings, of no +great artistic excellence, hanging against the walls. On the +centre-table were two or three books. Such was the room into which +Jack had been introduced. + +Jack waited patiently for twenty minutes. Then he began to grow +impatient. + +"Perhaps Ida is out," thought our hero; "but, if she is, Mrs. +Hardwick ought to come and let me know." + +Another fifteen minutes passed, and still Ida came not. + +"This is rather singular," thought Jack. "She can't have told Ida +that I am here, or I am sure she would rush up at once to see her +brother Jack." + +At length, tired of waiting, and under the impression that he had +been forgotten, Jack walked to the door, and placing his hand upon +the latch, attempted to open it. + +There was a greater resistance than he had anticipated. + +Supposing that it must stick, he used increased exertion, but the +door perversely refused to open. + +"Good heavens!" thought Jack, the real state of the case flashing +upon him, "is it possible that I am locked in?" + +To determine this he employed all his strength, but the door still +resisted. He could no longer doubt. + +He rushed to the windows. There were two in number, and looked out +upon a court in the rear of the house. No part of the street was +visible from them; therefore there was no hope of drawing the +attention of passers-by to his situation. + +Confounded by this discovery, Jack sank into his chair in no very +enviable state of mind. + +"Well," thought he, "this is a pretty situation for me to be in! I +wonder what father would say if he knew that I was locked up like a +prisoner. And then to think I let that treacherous woman, Mrs. +Hardwick, lead me so quietly into a snare. Aunt Rachel was about +right when she said I wasn't fit to come alone. I hope she'll never +find out this adventure of mine; I never should hear the last of +it." + +Jack's mortification was extreme. His self-love was severely wounded +by the thought that a woman had got the better of him, and he +resolved, if he ever got out, that he would make Mrs. Hardwick +suffer, he didn't quite know how, for the manner in which she had +treated him. + +Time passed. Every hour seemed to poor Jack to contain at least +double the number of minutes which are usually reckoned to that +division of time. Moreover, not having eaten for several hours, he +was getting hungry. + +A horrible suspicion flashed across his mind. "The wretches can't +mean to starve me, can they?" he asked himself, while, despite his +constitutional courage, he could not help shuddering at the idea. + +He was unexpectedly answered by the sliding of a little door in the +wall, and the appearance of the old man whose interview with Peg has +been referred to. + +"Are you getting hungry, my dear sir?" he inquired, with a +disagreeable smile upon his features. + +"Why am I confined here?" demanded Jack, in a tone of irritation. + +"Why are you confined?" repeated his interlocutor. "Really, one +would think you did not find your quarters comfortable." + +"I am so far from finding them comfortable that I insist upon +leaving them immediately," returned Jack. + +"Then all you have got to do is to walk through that door. + +"It is locked; I can't open it." + +"Can't open it!" repeated the old man, with another disagreeable +leer; "perhaps, then, it will be well for you to wait till you are +strong enough." + +Irritated by this reply, Jack threw himself spitefully against the +door, but to no purpose. + +"The old man laughed in a cracked, wheezing way. + +"Good fellow!" said he, encouragingly. "try it again! Won't you try +it again? Better luck next time." + +Jack throw himself sullenly into a chair. + +"Where is the woman that brought me here?" he asked. + +"Peg? Oh, she couldn't stay. She had important business to transact, +my young friend, and so she has gone; but don't feel anxious. She +commended you to our particular attention, and you will be just as +well treated as if she were here." + +This assurance was not very well calculated to comfort Jack. + +"How long are you going to keep me cooped up here?" he asked, +desperately, wishing to learn the worst at once. + +"Really, my young friend, I couldn't say. We are very hospitable, +very. We always like to have our friends with us as long as +possible." + +Jack groaned internally at the prospect before him. + +"One question more," he said, "will you tell me if my sister Ida is +in this house?" + +"Your sister Ida!" repeated the old man, surprised in his turn. + +"Yes," said Jack; believing, his astonishment feigned. "You needn't +pretend that you don't know anything about her. I know that she is +in your hands." + +"Then if you know so much," said the other, shrugging his shoulders, +"there is no need of asking." + +Jack was about to press the question, but the old man, anticipating +him, pointed to a plate of food which he pushed in upon a shelf, +just in front of the sliding door, and said: "Here's some supper for +you. When you get ready to go to bed you can lie down on the sofa. +Sorry we didn't know of your coming, or we would have got our best +bed-chamber ready for you. Good-night, and pleasant dreams!" + +Smiling disagreeably he slid to the door, bolted it, and +disappeared, leaving Jack more depressed, if possible, than before. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +JACK IN CONFINEMENT. + + + + + +THE anxiety of Mr. Abel Crump's family, when Jack failed to return +at night, can be imagined. They feared that he had fallen among +unscrupulous persons, of whom there is no lack in every large city, +and that some ill had come to him. The baker instituted immediate +inquiries, but was unsuccessful in obtaining any trace of his +nephew. He resolved to delay as long as possible communicating the +sad intelligence to his brother Timothy, who he knew would be quite +(sic) overwhelwed by this double blow. + +In the mean time, let us see how Jack enjoyed himself. We will look +in upon him after he has been confined four days. To a youth as +active as himself, nothing could be more wearisome. It did not add +to his cheerfulness to reflect that Ida was in the power of the one +who had brought upon him his imprisonment, while he was absolutely +unable to help her. He did not lack for food. This was brought him +three times a day. His meals, in fact, were all he had to look +forward to, to break the monotony of his confinement. The books upon +the table were not of a kind likely to interest him, though he had +tried to find entertainment in them. + +Four days he had lived, or rather vegetated in this way. His spirit +chafed against the confinement. + +"I believe," thought he, "I would sooner die than be imprisoned for +a long term. Yet," and here he sighed, "who knows what may be the +length of my present confinement? They will be sure to find some +excuse for retaining me." + +While he was indulging in these uncomfortable reflections, suddenly +the little door in the wall, previously referred to, slid open, and +revealed the old man who had first supplied him with food. To +explain the motive of his present visit, it will be remembered that +he was under a misapprehension in regard to the cause of Jack's +confinement. He naturally supposed that our hero was acquainted with +the unlawful practises of the gang of coiners with which he was +connected. + +The old man, whose name was Foley, had been favorably impressed by +the bold bearing of Jack, and the idea had occurred to him that he +might be able to win him as an accomplice. He judged, that if once +induced to join them, he would prove eminently useful. Another +motive which led him to favor this project was, that it would be +very embarrassing to be compelled to keep Jack in perpetual custody, +as well as involve a considerable expense. + +Jack was somewhat surprised at the old man's visit. + +"How long are you going to keep me cooped up here?" he inquired, +impatiently. + +"Don't you find your quarters comfortable?" asked Foley. + +"As comfortable as any prison, I suppose." + +"My young friend, don't talk of imprisonment. You make me shudder. +You must banish all thoughts of such a disagreeable subject." + +"I wish I could," groaned poor Jack. + +"Consider yourself as my guest, whom I delight to entertain." + +"But, I don't like the entertainment." + +"The more the pity." + +"How long is this going to last? Even a prisoner knows the term of +his imprisonment." + +"My young friend," said Foley, "I do not desire to control your +inclinations. I am ready to let you go whenever you say the word." + +"You are?" returned Jack, incredulously. "Then suppose I ask you to +let me go immediately." + +"Certainly, I will; but upon one condition." + +"What is it?" + +"It so happens, my young friend, that you are acquainted with a +secret which might prove troublesome to me." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Jack, mystified. + +"Yes; you see I have found it out. Such things do not escape me." + +"I don't know what you mean," returned Jack, perplexed. + +"No doubt, no doubt,", said Foley, cunningly. "Of course, if I +should tell you that I was in the coining business, it would be +altogether new to you." + +"On my honor," said Jack, "this is the first I knew of it. I never +saw or heard of you before I came into this house." + +"Could Peg be mistaken?" thought Foley. "But no, no; he is only +trying to deceive me. I am too old a bird to be caught with such +chaff." + +"Of course, I won't dispute your word, my young friend," he said, +softly; "but there is one tiling certain; if you didn't know it +before you know it now." + +"And you are afraid that I shall denounce you to the police." + +"Well, there is a possibility of that. That class of people have a +little prejudice against us, though we are only doing what everybody +wants to do, _making money_." + +The old man chuckled and rubbed his hands at this joke, which he +evidently considered a remarkably good one. + +Jack reflected a moment. + +"Will you let me go if I will promise to keep your secret?" he +asked. + +"How could I be sure you would do it?" + +"I would pledge my word." + +"Your word!" Foley snapped his fingers in derision. "That is not +sufficient." + +"What will be?" + +"You must become one of us." + +"One of you!" + +Jack started in surprise at a proposition so unexpected. + +"Yes. You must make yourself liable to the same penalties, so that +it will be for your own interest to keep silent. Otherwise we cannot +trust you." + +"And suppose I decline these terms," said Jack. + +"Then I shall be under the painful necessity of retaining you as my +guest." + +Foley smiled disagreeably. + +Jack walked the room in perturbation. He felt that imprisonment +would be better than liberty, on such terms. At the same time he did +not refuse unequivocally, as possibly stricter watch than ever night +be kept over him. + +He thought it best to temporize. + +"Well, what do you say?" asked the old man. + +"I should like to take time to reflect upon your proposal," said +Jack. "It is of so important a character that I do not like to +decide at once." + +"How long do you require?" + +"Two days," returned Jack. "If I should come to a decision sooner, I +will let you know." + +"Agreed. Meanwhile can I do anything to promote your comfort? I want +you to enjoy yourself as well as you can under the circumstances." + +"If you have any interesting books, I wish you would send them up. +It is rather dull staying here with nothing to do." + +"You shall have something to do as soon as you please, my young +friend. As to books, we are not very bountifully supplied with that +article. We ain't any of us college graduates, but I will see what I +can do for you in that way. I'll be back directly." + +Foley disappeared, but soon after returned, laden with one or two +old magazines, and a worn copy of the "Adventures of Baron Trenck." + +It may be that the reader has never encountered a copy of this +singular book. Baron Trenck was several times imprisoned for +political offences, and this book contains an account of the manner +in which he succeeded, in some cases after years of labor, in +breaking from his dungeon. His feats in this way are truly +wonderful, and, if not true, at least they have so very much +similitude that they find no difficulty in winning the reader's +credence. + +Such was the book which Foley placed in Jack's hands. He must have +been in ignorance of the character of the book, since it was evident +to what thoughts it would lead the mind of the prisoner. + +Jack read the book with intense interest. It was just such a one as +he would have read with avidity under any circumstances. It +gratified his taste for adventure, and he entered heart and soul +into the Baron's plans, and felt a corresponding gratification when +he succeeded. When he completed the perusal of the fascinating +volume, he thought, "Why cannot I imitate Baron Trenck? He was far +worse off than I am. If he could succeed in overcoming so many +obstacles, it is a pity if I cannot find some means of escape." + +He looked about the room in the hope that some plan might be +suggested. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE PRISONER ESCAPES. + + + + + +TO give an idea of the difficulties of Jack's situation, let it be +repeated that there was but one door to the room, and this was +bolted on the outside. The room was in the second story. The only +two windows looked out upon a court. These windows were securely +fastened. Still a way might have been devised to break through them, +if this would at all have improved his condition. Of this, however, +there seemed but little chance. Even if he had succeeded in getting +safely into the court, there would have been difficulty and danger +in getting into the street. + +All these considerations passed through Jack's mind, and occasioned +him no little perplexity. He began to think that the redoubtable +Baron Trenck himself might have been puzzled, if placed under +similar circumstances. + +At length this suggestion occurred to him: Why might he not cut a +hole through the door, just above or below the bolt, sufficiently +large for him to thrust his hand through, and slip it back? Should +he succeed in this, he would steal down stairs, and as, in all +probability, the key would be in the outside door, he could open it, +and then he would be free. + +With hope springing up anew in his heart, he hastened to the door +and examined it. It was of common strength. He might, perhaps, have +been able to kick it open, but of course this was not to be thought +of, as the noise would at once attract the attention of those +interested in frustrating his plans. + +Fortunately, Jack was provided with a large, sharp jack-knife. He +did not propose, however, to commence operations at present. In the +daytime he would be too subject to a surprise. With evening, he +resolved to commence his work. He might be unsuccessful, and +subjected, in consequence, to a more rigorous confinement; but of +this he must run the risk. "Nothing venture, nothing have." + +Jack awaited the coming of evening with impatience. The afternoon +had never seemed so long. + +It came at last--a fine moonlight night. This was fortunate, for his +accommodating host, from motives of economy possibly, was not in the +habit of providing him with a candle. + +Jack thought it prudent to wait till he heard the city clocks +pealing the hour of twelve. By this time, as far as he could see +from his windows, there were no lights burning, and all who occupied +the building were probably asleep. + +He selected that part of the door which he judged to be directly +under the bolt, and began to cut away with his knife. The wood was +soft, and easy of excavation. In the course of half an hour Jack had +cut a hole sufficiently large to pass his hand through, but found +that, in order to reach the bolt, he must enlarge it a little. This +took him fifteen minutes longer. + +His efforts were crowned with success. As the city clock struck one +Jack softly drew back the bolt, and, with a wild throb of joy, felt +that freedom was half regained. But his (sic) embarassments were not +quite at an end. Opening the door, he found himself in the entry, +but in the darkness. On entering the house he had not noticed the +location of the stairs, and was afraid that some noise or stumbling +might reveal to Foley the attempted escape of his prisoner. He took +off his boots, and crept down-stairs in his stocking feet. +Unfortunately he had not kept the proper bearing in his mind, and +the result was, that he opened the door of a room on one side of the +front door. It was used as a bedroom. At the sound of the door +opening, the occupant of the bed, Mr. Foley himself, called out, +drowsily, "Who's there?" + +Jack, aware of his mistake, precipitately retired, and concealed +himself under the front stairs, a refuge which his good fortune led +him to, for he could see absolutely nothing. + +The sleeper, just awakened, was naturally a little confused in his +ideas. He had not seen Jack. He had merely heard the noise, and +thought he saw the door moving. But of this he was not certain. To +make sure, however, he got out of bed, and opening wide the door of +his room, called out, "Is anybody there?" + +Jack had excellent reasons for not wishing to volunteer an answer to +this question. One advantage of the opened door (for there was a +small oil lamp burning in the room) was to reveal to him the nature +of the mistake he had made, and to show him the front door in which, +by rare good fortune, he could discover the key in the lock. + +Meanwhile the old man, to make sure that all was right, went +up-stairs, far enough to see that the door of the apartment in which +Jack had been confined was closed. Had he gone up to the landing he +would have seen the aperture in the door, and discovered the hole, +but he was sleepy, and anxious to get back to bed, which rendered +him less watchful. + +"All seems right," he muttered to himself, and re-entered the +bed-chamber, from which Jack could soon hear the deep, regular +breathing which indicated sound slumber. Not till then did he creep +cautiously from his place of concealment, and advancing stealthily +to the front door, turn the key, and step out into the +faintly-lighted street. A delightful sensation thrilled our hero, as +he felt the pure air fanning his cheek. + +"Nobody can tell," thought he, "what a blessed thing freedom is till +he has been cooped up, as I have been, for the last week. Won't the +old man be a little surprised to find, in the morning, that the bird +has flown? I've a great mind to serve him a little trick." + +So saying, Jack drew the key from its place inside, and locking the +door after him, went off with the key in his. pocket. First, +however, he took care to scratch a little mark on the outside of the +door, as he could not see the number, to serve as a means of +identification. + +This done Jack made his way as well as he could guess to the house +of his uncle, the baker. Not having noticed the way by which Peg had +led him to the house, he wandered at first from the straight course. +At length, however, he came to Chestnut Street. He now knew where he +was, and, fifteen minutes later, he was standing before his uncle's +door. + +Meanwhile, Abel Crump had been suffering great anxiety on account of +Jack's protracted absence. Several days had now elapsed, and still +he was missing. He had been unable to find the slightest trace of +him. + +"I am afraid of the worst," he said to his wife, on the afternoon of +the day on which Jack made his escape. "I think Jack was probably +rash and imprudent, and I fear, poor boy, they may have proved the +death of him." + +"Don't you think there is any hope? He may be confined." + +"It is possible; but, at all events, I don't think it right to keep +it from Timothy any longer. I've put off writing as long as I could, +hoping Jack would come back, but I don't feel as if I ought to hold +it back any longer. I shall write in the morning, and tell Timothy +to come right on. It'll be a dreadful blow to him." + +"Yes, better wait till morning, Abel. Who knows but we may hear from +Jack before that time?" + +The baker shook his head. + +"If we'd been going to hear, we'd have heard before this time," he +said. + +He did not sleep very soundly that night. Anxiety for Jack, and the +thought of his brother's affliction, kept him awake. + +About half-past two, he heard a noise at the front door, followed by +a knocking. Throwing open the window, he exclaimed, "Who's there?" + +"A friend," was the answer. + +"What friend?" asked the baker, suspiciously. Friends are not very +apt to come at this time of night." + +"Don't you know me, Uncle Abel?" asked a cheery voice. + +"Why, it's Jack, I verily believe," said Abel Crump, joyfully, as he +hurried down stairs to admit his late visitor. + +"Where in the name of wonder have you been, Jack?" he asked, +surveying his nephew by the light of the candle. + +"I've been shut up, uncle,--boarded and lodged for nothing,--by some +people who liked my company better than I liked theirs. But to-night +I made out to escape, and hero I am. I'll tell you all about it in +the morning. Just now I'm confoundedly hungry, and if there's +anything in the pantry, I'll ask permission to go in there a few +minutes." + +"I guess you'll find something, Jack. Take the candle with you. +Thank God, you're back alive. We've been very anxious about you." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +MR. JOHN SOMERVILLE. + + + + + +PEG had been thinking. + +This was the substance of her reflections. Ida, whom she had +kidnapped for certain purposes of her own, was likely to prove an +(sic) incumbrance rather than a source of profit. The child, her +suspicions awakened in regard to the character of the money she had +been employed to pass off, was no longer available for that purpose. +So firmly resolved was she not to do what was wrong, that threats +and persuasions were alike unavailing. Added to this was the danger +of her encountering some one sent in search of her by the Crumps. + +Under these circumstances, Peg bethought herself of the ultimate +object which she had proposed to herself in kidnapping Ida--that of +extorting money from a man who is now to be introduced to the +reader. + +John Somerville occupied a suite of apartments in a handsome +lodging-house on Walnut Street. A man wanting yet several years of +forty, he looked a greater age. Late hours and dissipation, though +kept within respectable limits, had left their traces on his face. +At twenty-one he inherited a considerable fortune, which, combined +with some professional practice (for he was a lawyer, and not +without ability), was quite sufficient to support him handsomely, +and leave a considerable surplus every year. But, latterly, he had +contracted a passion for gaming, and however shrewd he might be +naturally, he could hardly be expected to prove a match for the wily +habitues of the gaming-table, who had marked him as their prey. + +The evening before he is introduced to the reader's notice he had, +passed till a late hour at a fashionable gambling-house, where he +had lost heavily. His reflections, on awakening, were not of the +pleasantest. For the first time, within fifteen years, he realized +the folly and imprudence of the course he had pursued. The evening +previous he had lost a thousand dollars, for which he had given his +I O U. Where to raise this money, he did not know. He bathed his +aching head, and cursed his ill luck, in no measured terms. After +making his toilet, he rang the bell, and ordered breakfast. + +For this he had but scanty appetite. Scarcely had he finished, and +directed the removal of the dishes, than the servant entered to +announce a visitor. + +"Is it a gentleman?" he inquired, hastily, fearing it might be a +creditor. He occasionally had such visitors. + +"No, sir." + +"A lady?" + +"No, sir." + +"A child? But what could a child want of me?" + +"If it's neither a gentleman, lady, nor child," said Somerville, +somewhat surprised, "will you have the goodness to inform me who it +is?" + +"It's a woman, sir," said the servant, grinning. + +"Why didn't you say so when I asked you?" said his employer, +irritably. + +"Because you asked if it was a lady, and this isn't--at least she +don't look like one." + +"You can send her up, whoever she is," said Mr. Somerville. + +A moment afterwards Peg entered the apartment. + +John Somerville looked at her without much interest, supposing that +she might be a seamstress, or laundress, or some applicant for +charity. So many years had passed since he had met with this woman, +that she had passed out of his remembrance. + +"Do you wish to see me about anything?" he asked, indifferently. "If +so, you must be quick, for I am just going out." + +"You don't seem to recognize me, Mr. Somerville," said Peg, fixing +her keen black eyes upon his face. + +"I can't say I do," he replied, carelessly. "Perhaps you used to +wash for me once." + +"I am not in the habit of acting as laundress," said the woman, +proudly. It is worth noticing that she was not above passing +spurious coin, and doing other things which are stamped as +disreputable by the laws of the land, but her pride revolted at the +imputation that she was a washer-woman. + +"In that case," said Somerville, carelessly, "you will have to tell +me who you are, for it is out of my power to conjecture." + +"Perhaps the name of Ida will assist your recollection," said Peg, +composedly. + +"Ida!" repeated John Somerville, changing color, and gazing now with +attention at the woman's features. + +"Yes." + +"I have known several persons of that name," he said, evasively. "Of +course, I can't tell which of them you refer to." + +"The Ida I mean was and is a child," said Peg. "But, Mr. Somerville, +there's no use in beating about the bush, when I can come straight +to the point. It is now about eight years since my husband and +myself were employed in carrying off a child--a female child of +about a year old--named Ida. We placed it, according to your +directions, on the door-step of a poor family in New York, and they +have since cared for it as their own. I suppose you have not +forgotten that." + +John Somerville deliberated. Should he deny it or not? He decided to +put a bold face on the matter. + +"I remember it," said he, "and now recall your features. How have +you fared since the time I employed you? Have you found your +business profitable?" + +"Far from it," answered Peg. "We are not yet able to retire on a +competence." + +"One of your youthful appearance," said Solmerville, banteringly, +"ought not to think of retiring under ten years." + +Peg smiled. She knew how to appreciate this speech. + +"I don't care for compliments," said she, "even when they are +sincere. As for my youthful appearance, I am old enough to have +reached the age of discretion, and not so old as to have fallen into +my second childhood." + +"Compliments aside, then, will you proceed to whatever business has +brought you here?" + +"I want a thousand dollars." + +"A thousand dollars!" repeated John Somerville. "Very likely, I +should like that amount myself. You have not come here to tell me +that?" + +"I have come here to ask that amount of you." + +"Suppose I should say that your husband is the proper person for you +to apply to in such a case." + +"I think I am more likely to get it out of you," answered Peg, +coolly. "My husband couldn't supply me with a thousand cents, even +if he were willing, which is not likely." + +"Much as I am flattered by your application," said Somerville, +"since it would seem to place me next in your estimation to your +husband, I cannot help suggesting that it is not usual to bestow +such a sum on a stranger, or even a friend, without an equivalent +rendered." + +"I am ready to give you an equivalent." + +"Of what value?" + +"I am willing to be silent." + +"And how can your silence benefit me?" + +John Somerville asked this question with an assumption of +indifference, but his fingers twitched nervously. + +"That _you_ will be best able to estimate," said Peg. + +"Explain yourself." + +"I can do that in a few words. You employed me to kidnap a child. I +believe the law has something to say about that. At any rate, the +child's mother may have." + +"What do you know about the child's mother?" demanded Somerville, +hastily. + +"All about her!" returned Peg, emphatically. + +"How am I to know that? It is easy to claim the knowledge." + +"Shall I tell you all? In the first place she married your cousin, +_after rejecting you_. You never forgave her for this. When a year +after marriage her husband died, you renewed your proposals. They +were rejected, and you were forbidden to renew the subject on pain +of forfeiting her friendship forever. You left her presence, +determined to be revenged. With this object you sought Dick and +myself, and employed us to kidnap the child. There is the whole +story, briefly told." + +John Somerville listened, with compressed lips and pale face. + +"Woman, how came this within your knowledge?" he demanded, coarsely. + +"That is of no consequence," said Peg. "It was for my interest to +find out, and I did so." + +"Well?" + +"I know one thing more--the residence of the child's mother. I +hesitated this morning whether to come here, or carry Ida to her +mother, trusting to her to repay from gratitude what I demand from +you, because it is your interest to comply with my request." + +"You speak of carrying the child to her mother. She is in New York." + +"You are mistaken," said Peg, coolly. "She is in Philadelphia." + +"With you?" + +"With me." + +"How long has this been?" + +"Nearly a fortnight." + +John Somerville paced the room with hurried steps. Peg watched him +carelessly. She felt that she had succeeded. He paused after awhile, +and stood before her. + +"You demand a thousand dollars," he said. + +"I do." + +"I have not that amount with me. I have recently lost a heavy sum, +no matter how. But I can probably get it to-day. Call to-morrow at +this time,--no, in the afternoon, and I will see what I can do for +you." + +"Very well," said Peg. + +Left to himself, John Somerville spent some time in reflection. +Difficulties encompassed him--difficulties from which he found it +hard to find a way of escape. He knew how impossible it would be to +meet this woman's demand. Something must be done. Gradually his +countenance lightened. He had decided what that something should be. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE LAW STEPS IN. + + + + + +WHEN Peg left Mr. John Somerville's apartment, it was with a high +degree of satisfaction at the result of her interview. She looked +upon the thousand dollars as sure to be hers. The considerations +which she had urged would, she was sure, induce him to make every +effort to secure her silence. With a thousand dollars, what might +not be done? She would withdraw from the coining-business, for one +thing. It was too hazardous. Why might not Dick and she retire to +the country, lease a country-inn, and live an honest life hereafter. +There were times when she grew tired of the life she lived at +present. It would be pleasant to go to some place where she was not +known, and enrol herself among the respectable members of the +community. She was growing old; she wanted rest and a quiet home. +Her early years had been passed in the country. She remembered still +the green fields in which she played as a child, and to this woman, +old and sin-stained, there came a yearning to have that life return. + +It occurred to her to look in upon Jack, whom she had left in +captivity four days before. She had a curiosity to see how he bore +his confinement. + +She knocked at the door, and was admitted by the old man who kept +the house. Mr. Foley was looking older and more wrinkled than ever. +He had been disturbed of his rest the night previous, he said. + +"Well," said Peg, "and how is our prisoner?" + +"Bless my soul," said Mr. Foley, "I haven't been to give him his +breakfast this morning. He must be hungry. But my head is in such a +state. However, I think I've secured him." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I have asked him to become one of us,--he's a bold lad,--and he has +promised to think of it." + +"He is not to be trusted," said Peg, hastily, + +"You think not?" + +"I know it." + +"Well," said the old man, "I suppose you know him better than I do. +But he's a bold lad." + +"I should like to go up and see him," said Peg. + +"Wait a minute, and I will carry up his breakfast." + +The old man soon reappeared from the basement with some cold meat +and bread and butter. + +"You may go up first," he said; "you are younger than I am." + +They reached the landing. + +"What's all this?" demanded Peg, her quick eyes detecting the +aperture in the door. + +"What's what?" asked Foley. + +"Is this the care you take of your prisoners?" demanded Peg, +sharply. "It looks as if he had escaped." + +"Escaped! Impossible!" + +"I hope so. Open the door quick." + +The door was opened, and the two hastily entered. + +"The bird is flown," said Peg. + +"I--I don't understand it," said the old man, turning pale. + +"I do. He has cut a hole in the door, slipped back the bolt, and +escaped. When could this have happened?" + +"I don't know. Yes, I do remember, now, being disturbed last night +by a noise in the entry. I got out of bed, and looked out, but could +see no one." + +"Did you come up-stairs?" + +"Part way." + +"When was this?" + +"Past midnight." + +"No doubt that was the time he escaped." + +"That accounts for the door being locked," said the old man, +thoughtfully. + +"What door?" + +"The outer door. When I got up this morning, I found the key had +disappeared, and the door was locked. Luckily we had an extra key, +and so opened it." + +"Probably he carried off the other in his pocket." + +"Ah, he is a bold lad,--a bold lad," said Foley. + +"You may find that out to your cost. He'll be likely to bring the +police about your ears." + +"Do you think so?" said the old man, in alarm. + +"I think it more than probable." + +"But he don't know the house," said Foley, in a tone of reassurance. +"It was dark when he left here, and he will not be apt to find it +again." + +"Perhaps not, but lie will be likely to know you when he sees you +again. I advise you to keep pretty close." + +"I certainly shall," said the old man, evidently alarmed by this +suggestion. "What a pity that such a bold lad shouldn't be in our +business!" + +"Perhaps you'll wish yourself out of it before long," muttered Peg. + +As if in corroboration of her words, there was a sharp ring at the +door-bell. + +The old man, who was constitutionally timid, turned pale, and looked +helplessly at his companion. + +"What is it?" he asked, apprehensively. + +"Go and see." + +"I don't dare to." + +"You're a coward," said Peg, contemptuously. "Then I'll go." + +She went down stairs, followed by the old man. She threw open the +street door, but even her courage was somewhat daunted by the sight +of two police officers, accompanied by Jack. + +"That's the man," said Jack, pointing out Foley, who tried to +conceal himself behind Mrs. Hardwick's more ample proportions. + +"I have a warrant for your arrest," said one of the officers, +advancing to Foley. + +"Gentlemen, spare me," he said, clasping his hands. "What have I +done?" + +"You are charged with uttering counterfeit coin. + +"I am innocent." + +"If you are, that will come out on your trial." + +"Shall I have to be tried?" he asked, piteously. + +"Of course. If you are innocent, no harm will come to you." + +Peg had been standing still, irresolute what to do. Determined upon +a bold step, she made a movement to pass the officers. + +"Stop!" said Jack. "I call upon you to arrest that woman. She is the +Mrs. Hardwick against whom you have a warrant." + +"What is all this for?" demanded Peg, haughtily. "What right have +you to interfere with me?" + +"That will be made known to you in due time. You are suspected of +being implicated with this man." + +"I suppose I must yield," said Peg, sulkily. "But perhaps you, young +sir," turning to Jack, "may not be the gainer by it." + +"Where is Ida?" asked Jack, anxiously. + +"She is safe," said Peg, sententiously. + +"You won't tell me where she is?" + +"No. Why should I? I am indebted to you, I suppose, for this arrest. +She shall be kept out of your way as long as it is in my power to do +so." + +Jack's countenance fell. + +"At least you will tell me whether she is well?" + +"I shall answer no questions whatever," said Mrs. Hardwick. + +"Then I will find her," he said, gaining courage. "She is somewhere +in the city, and sooner or later I shall find her." + +Peg was not one to betray her feelings, but this arrest was a great +disappointment to her. Apart from the consequences which might +result from it, it would prevent her meeting with John Somerville, +and obtaining from him the thousand dollars of which she had +regarded herself certain. Yet even from her prison-cell she might +hold over him _in terrorem_ the threat of making known to Ida's +mother the secret of her child's existence. All was not lost. She +walked quietly to the carriage in waiting, while her companions, in +an ecstasy of terror, seemed to have lost the power of locomotion, +and had to be supported on either side. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +"THE FLOWER-GIRL." + + + + + +"BY gracious, if that isn't Ida!" exclaimed Jack, in profound +surprise. + +He had been sauntering along Chestnut Street, listlessly, troubled +by the thought that though he had given Mrs. Hardwick into custody, +he was apparently no nearer the discovery of his foster-sister than +before. What steps should he take to find her? He could not decide. +In his perplexity he came suddenly upon the print of the +"Flower-Girl." + +"Yes," said he, "that is Ida, plain enough. Perhaps they will know +in the store where she is to be found." + +He at once entered the store. + +"Can you tell me anything about the girl that picture was taken +for?" he asked, abruptly of the nearest clerk. + +The clerk smiled. + +"It is a fancy picture," he said. "I think it would take you a long +time to find the original." + +"It has taken a long time," said Jack. "But you are mistaken. It is +the picture of my sister." + +"Of your sister!" repeated the clerk, with surprise, half +incredulous. + +There was some reason for his incredulity. Jack was a stout, +good-looking boy, with a pleasant face; but Ida's beauty was of a +delicate, refined type, which argued gentle birth,--her skin of a +brilliant whiteness, dashed by a tinge of rose,--exhibiting a +physical perfection, which it requires several generations of +refined habits and exemptions from the coarser burdens of life to +produce. The perfection of human development is not wholly a matter +of chance, but is dependent, in no small degree, upon outward +conditions. We frequently see families who have sprung from poverty +to wealth exhibiting, in the younger branches, marked improvement in +this respect. + +"Yes;" said Jack, "my sister." + +"If it is your sister," said the clerk, "you ought to know where she +is." + +Jack was about to reply, when the attention of both was called by a +surprised exclamation from a lady who had paused beside them. Her +eyes, also, were fixed upon "The Flower-Girl." + +"Who is this?" she asked, hurriedly. "Is it taken from life?" + +"This young man says it is his sister," said the clerk. + +"Your sister!" said the lady, her eyes bent, inquiringly, upon Jack. +In her tone, too, there was a slight mingling of surprise, and, as +it seemed, disappointment. + +"Yes, madam," said Jack, respectfully. + +"Pardon me," she said, "there is so little family resemblance, I +should hardly have supposed it." + +"She is not my own sister," said Jack, "but I love her just the +same." + +"Do you live in (sic) Philadelphia? Could I see her?" asked the +lady, eagerly. + +"I live in New York, madam," said Jack; "but Ida was stolen from us +nearly a fortnight since, and I have come here in pursuit of her. I +have not been able to find her yet." + +"Did you say her name was Ida?" demanded the lady, in strange +agitation. + +"Yes, madam." + +"My young friend," said the lady, rapidly, "I have been much +interested in the story of your sister. I should like to hear more, +but not here. Would you have any objection to coming home with me, +and telling me the rest? Then we will, together, concert measures +for discovering her." + +"You are very kind, madam," said Jack, somewhat bashfully; for the +lady was elegantly dressed, and it had never been his fortune to +converse with many ladies of her rank; "I shall be very much obliged +to you for your advice and assistance." + +"Then we will drive home at once." + +Jack followed her to the street, where he saw an elegant carriage, +and a coachman in livery. + +With natural gallantry, Jack assisted the lady into the carriage, +and, at her bidding, got in himself. + +"Home, Thomas!" she directed the driver; "and drive as fast as +possible." + +"Yes, madam." + +"How old was your sister when your parents adopted her?" asked Mrs. +Clifton. Jack afterwards ascertained that this was her name. + +"About a year old, madam." + +"And how long since was it?" asked the lady, bending forward with +breathless interest. + +"Eight years since. She is now nine." + +"It must be," said the lady, in a low voice. "If it is indeed so, +how will my life be blessed!" + +"Did you speak, madam?" + +"Tell me under what circumstances your family adopted Ida." + +Jack related, briefly, the circumstances, which are already familiar +to the reader. + +"And do you recollect the month in which this happened?" + +"It was at the close of December, the night before New Years." + +"It is--it must be she!" ejaculated the lady, clasping her hands +while tears of happy joy welled from her eyes. + +"I--I do not understand," said Jack. + +"My young friend, our meeting this morning seems providential. I +have every reason to believe that this child--your adopted +sister--is my daughter, stolen from me by an unknown enemy at the +time of which you speak. From that day to this I have never been +able to obtain the slightest clew that might lead to her discovery. +I have long taught myself to look upon her as dead." + +"It was Jack's turn to be surprised. He looked at the lady beside +him. She was barely thirty. The beauty of her girlhood had ripened +into the maturer beauty of womanhood. There was the same dazzling +complexion--the same soft flush upon the cheeks. The eyes, too, were +wonderfully like Ida's. Jack looked, and what he saw convinced him. + +"You must be right," he said. "Ida is very much like you." + +"You think so?" said Mrs. Clifton, eagerly. + +"Yes, madam." + +"I had a picture--a daguerreotype--taken of Ida just before I lost +her. I have treasured it carefully. I must show it to you." + +The carriage stopped before a stately mansion in a wide and quiet +street. The driver dismounted, and opened the door. Jack assisted +Mrs. Clifton to alight. + +Bashfully, he followed the lady up the steps, and, at her bidding, +seated himself in an elegant apartment, furnished with a splendor +which excited his wonder. He had little time to look about him, for +Mrs. Clifton, without pausing to take off her street-attire, +hastened down stairs with an open daguerreotype in her hand. + +"Can you remember Ida when she was brought to your house?" she +asked. "Did she look like this?" + +"It is her image," said Jack, decidedly. "I should know it +anywhere." + +"Then there can be no further doubt," said Mrs. Clifton. "It is my +child whom you have cared for so long. Oh, why could I not have +known it? How many sleepless nights and lonely days would it have +spared me! But God be thanked for this late blessing! Pardon me, I +have not yet asked your name." + +"My name is Crump--Jack Crump." + +"Jack?" said the lady, smiling. + +"Yes, madam; that is what they call me. It would not seem natural to +be called by another." + +"Very well," said Mrs. Clifton, with a smile which went to Jack's +heart at once, and made him think her, if anything, more beautiful +than Ida; "as Ida is your adopted sister, that makes us connected in +some way, doesn't it? I won't call you Mr. Crump, for that would +seem too formal. I will call you Jack." + +To be called Jack by such a beautiful lady, who every day of her +life was accustomed to live in a state which he thought could not be +exceeded, even by royal state, almost upset our hero. Had Mrs. +Clifton been Queen Victoria herself, he could not have felt a +profounder respect and veneration for her than he did already. + +"Now Jack," said Mrs. Clifton, "we must take measures immediately to +discover Ida. I want you to tell me about her disappearance from +your house, and what steps you have taken thus far towards finding +her out." + +Jack began at the beginning, and described the appearance of Mrs. +Hardwick; how she had been permitted to carry Ida away under false +representations, and the manner in which he had tracked her to +Philadelphia. He spoke finally of her arrest, and her obstinate +refusal to impart any information as to Ida's whereabouts. + +Mrs. Clifton listened attentively and anxiously. There were more +difficulties in the way than she had supposed. + +"Do you think of any plan, Jack?" she asked, at length. + +"Yes, madam," said our hero. "The man who painted the picture of Ida +may know where she is to be found." + +"You are right," said the lady. "I should have thought of it before. +I will order the carriage again instantly, and we will at once go +back to the print-store." + +An hour later, Henry Bowen was surprised by the visit of an elegant +lady to his studio, accompanied by a young man of eighteen. + +"I think you are the artist who designed 'The Flower-Girl,'" said +Mrs. Clifton. + +"I am, madam." + +"It was taken from life?" + +"You are right." + +"I am anxious to find out the little girl whose face you copied. Can +you give me any directions that will enable me to find her out?" + +"I will accompany you to the place, if you desire it, madam," said +the young man. "It is a strange neighborhood to look for so much +beauty." + +"I shall be deeply indebted to you if you will oblige me so far," +said the lady. "My carriage is below, and my coachman will obey your +orders." + +Once more they were on the move. A few minutes later, and the +carriage paused. The driver opened the door. He was evidently quite +scandalized at the idea of bringing his lady to such a place. + +"This can't be the place, madam," he said. + +"Yes," said the artist. "Do not get out, madam. I will go in, and +find out all that is needful." + +Two minutes later he returned, looking disappointed. + +"We are too late," he said. "An hour since a gentleman called, and +took away the child." + +Mrs. Clifton sank back, in keen disappointment. + +"My child, my child!" she murmured. "Shall I ever see thee again?" + +Jack, too, felt more disappointed than he was willing to +acknowledge. He could not conjecture who this gentleman could be who +had carried away Ida. The affair seemed darker and more complicated +than ever. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +IDA IS FOUND. + + + + + +IDA was sitting alone in the dreary apartment which she was now +obliged to call home. Peg had gone out, and not feeling quite +certain of her prey, had bolted the door on the outside. She had +left some work for the child,--some handkerchiefs to hem for +Dick,--with strict orders to keep steadily at work. + +While seated at work, she was aroused from thoughts of home by a +knock at the, door. + +"Who's there?" asked Ida. + +"A friend," was the reply. + +"Mrs. Hardwick--Peg isn't at home," returned Ida. "I don't know when +she will be back." + +"Then I will come in and wait till she comes back," said the voice +outside. + +"I can't open the door," said Ida. "It's fastened on the outside." + +"Yes, I see. Then I will take the liberty to draw the bolt." + +Mr. John Somerville entered the room, and for the first time in +eight years his glance fell upon the child whom, for so long a time, +he had defrauded of a mother's care and tenderness. + +Ida returned to the window. + +"How beautiful she is!" thought Somerville, with surprise. "She +inherits all her mother's rare beauty." + +On the table beside Ida was a drawing. + +"Whose is this?" he inquired. + +"Mine," answered Ida. + +"So you have learned to draw?" + +"A little," answered the child, modestly. + +"Who taught you? Not the woman you live with?" + +"No;" said Ida. + +"You have not always lived with her, I am sure." + +Ida admitted that she had not. + +"You lived in New York with a family named Crump, did you not?" + +"Do you know father and mother?" asked Ida, with sudden hope. "Did +they send you for me?" + +"I will tell you that by and by, my child; but I want to ask you a +few questions first. Why does this woman Peg lock you in whenever +she goes away?" + +"I suppose," said Ida, "she is afraid I will run away." + +"Then she knows you don't want to live with her?" + +"Oh, yes, she knows that," said the child, frankly. "I have asked +her to send me home, but she says she won't for a year." + +"And how long have you been with her?" + +"About a fortnight." + +"What does she make you do?" + +"I can't tell what she made me do first." + +"Why not?" + +"Because she would be very angry." + +"Suppose I should tell you that I would deliver you from her. Would +you be willing to go with me?" + +"And you would carry me back to my mother and father?" + +"Certainly, I would restore you to your mother," said he, evasively. + +"Then I will go with you." + +Ida ran quickly to get her bonnet and shawl. + +"We had better go at once," said Somerville. "Peg might return, and +give us trouble." + +"O yes, let us go quickly," said Ida, turning pale at the remembered +threats of Peg. + +Neither knew yet that Peg could not return if she would; that, at +this very moment, she was in legal custody on a charge of a serious +nature. Still less did Ida know that, in going, she was losing the +chance of seeing Jack and her mother, of whose existence, even, she +was not yet aware; and that he, to whose care she consigned herself +so gladly, had been her worst enemy. + +"I will carry you to my room, in the first place," said her +companion. "You must remain in concealment for a day or two, as Peg +will, undoubtedly, be on the lookout for you, and we want to avoid +all trouble." + +Ida was delighted with her escape, and, with the hope of soon seeing +her friends in New York, She put implicit faith in her guide, and +was willing to submit to any conditions which he might impose. + +On emerging into the street, her companion summoned a cab. He had +reasons for not wishing to encounter any one whom he knew. + +At length they reached his lodgings. + +They were furnished more richly than any room Ida had yet seen; and +formed, indeed, a luxurious contrast to the dark and +scantily-furnished apartment which she had occupied for the last +fortnight. + +"Well, are you glad to get away from Peg?" asked John Somerville, +giving Ida a seat at the fire. + +"Oh, _so_ glad!" said Ida. + +"And you wouldn't care about going back?" + +The child shuddered. + +"I suppose," said she, "that Peg will be very angry. She would beat +me, if she should get me back again." + +"But she sha'n't. I will take good care of that." + +Ida looked her gratitude. Her heart went out to those who appeared +to deal kindly with her, and she felt very grateful to her companion +for his instrumentality in effecting her deliverance from Peg. + +"Now," said Somerville, "perhaps you will be willing to tell me what +it was you were required to do." + +"Yes," said Ida; "but she must never know that I told. It was to +pass bad money." + +"Ha!" exclaimed her companion. "Do you mean bad bills, or spurious +coin?" + +"It was silver dollars." + +"Does she do much in that way?" + +"A good deal. She goes out every day to buy things with the money." + +"I am glad to learn this," said John Somerville, thoughtfully. + +"Ida," said he, after a pause, "I am going out for a time. You will +find books on the table, and can amuse yourself by reading; I won't +make you sew, as Peg did," he said, smiling. + +Ida laughed. + +"Oh, yes," said she, "I like reading. I shall amuse myself very +well." + +Mr. Somerville went out, and Ida, as he recommended, read awhile. +Then, growing tired, she went to the window and looked out. A +carriage was passing slowly, on account of a press of carriages. Ida +saw a face that she knew. Forgetting her bonnet in her sudden joy, +she ran down the stairs, into the street, and up to the carriage +window. + +"O Jack!" she exclaimed; "have you come for me?" + +It was Mrs. Clifton's carriage, returning from Peg's lodgings. + +"Why, it's Ida!" exclaimed Jack, almost springing through the window +of the carriage. "Where did you come from, and where have you been +all the time?" + +He opened the door of the carriage, and drew Ida in. + +Till then she had not seen the lady who sat at Jack's side. + +"My child, my child! Thank God, you are restored to me," exclaimed +Mrs. Clifton. + +She drew the astonished child to her bosom. Ida looked up into her +face. Was it Nature that prompted her to return the lady's embrace? + +"My God, I thank thee!" murmured Mrs. Clifton; "for this, my child, +was lost and is found." + +"Ida," said Jack, "this lady is your mother." + +"My mother!" said the child, bewildered. "Have I two mothers?" + +"Yes, but this is your real mother. You were brought to our house +when you were an infant, and we have always taken care of you; but +this lady is your real mother." + +Ida hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry. + +"And you are not my brother?" + +"You shall still consider him your brother, Ida," said Mrs. Clifton. +"Heaven forbid that I should wean your heart from the friends who +have cared so kindly for you! You shall keep all your old friends, +and love them as dearly as ever. You will only have one friend the +more." + +"Where are we going?" asked Ida, suddenly. + +"We are going home." + +"What will the gentleman say?" + +"What gentleman?" + +"The one that took me away from Peg's. Why, there he is now!" + +Mrs. Clifton followed the direction of Ida's finger, as she pointed +to a gentleman passing. + +"Is he the one?" + +"Yes, mamma," said Ida, shyly. + +Mrs. Clifton pressed Ida to her breast. It was the first time she +had ever been called mamma. It made her realize, more fully, her +present happiness. + +Arrived at the house, Jack's bashfulness returned. He hung back, and +hesitated about going in. + +Mrs. Clifton observed this. + +"Jack," said she, "this house is to be your home while you remain in +Philadelphia. Come in, and Thomas shall go for your baggage." + +"Perhaps I had better go with him," said Jack. "Uncle Abel will be +glad to know that Ida is found." + +"Very well; only return soon." + +"Well!" thought Jack, as he re-entered the (sic) carraige, and gave +the direction to the coachman; "won't Uncle Abel be a little +surprised when he sees me coming home in such style!" + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +"NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND." + + + + + +MEANWHILE, Peg was passing her time wearily enough in prison. It was +certainly provoking to be deprived of her freedom just when she was +likely to make it most profitable. After some reflection, she +determined to send for Mrs. Clifton, and reveal to her all she knew, +trusting to her generosity for a recompense. + +To one of the officers of the prison she communicated the +intelligence that she had an important revelation to make to Mrs. +Clifton, and absolutely refused to make it unless the lady would +visit her in prison. + +Scarcely had Mrs. Clifton returned home, after recovering her child, +than the bell rang, and a stranger was introduced. + +"Is this Mrs. Clifton?" he inquired. + +"It is." + +"Then I have a message for you." + +The lady inclined her head. + +"You must know, madam, that I am one of the officers connected with +the City Prison. A woman was placed in confinement this morning, who +says she has a most important communication to make to you, but +declines to make it except to you in person." + +"Can you bring her here, sir?" + +"That is impossible. We will give you every facility, however, for +visiting her in prison." + +"It must be Peg," whispered Ida; "the woman that carried me off." + +Such a request Mrs. Clifton could not refuse. She at once made ready +to accompany the officer. She resolved to carry Ida with her, +fearful that, unless she kept her in her immediate presence, she +might disappear again as before. + +As Jack had not yet returned, a hack was summoned, and they +proceeded at once to the prison. Ida shuddered as she passed beneath +the gloomy portal which shut out hope and the world from so many. + +"This way, madam!" + +They followed the officer through a gloomy corridor, until they came +to the cell in which Peg was confined. + +The tenant of the cell looked surprised to find Mrs. Clifton +accompanied by Ida. + +"How do you do, Ida?" she said, smiling grimly; "you see I've moved. +Just tell your mother she can sit down on the bed. I'm sorry I +haven't any rocking-chair or sofa to offer you." + +"O Peg," said Ida, her tender heart melted by the woman's +misfortunes; "how sorry I am to find you here!" + +"Are you sorry?" asked Peg, looking at her in surprise. + +"You haven't much cause to be. I've been your worst enemy, or one of +the worst." + +"I can't help it," said the child, her face beaming with a divine +compassion; "it must be so sad to be shut up here, and not be able +to go out into the bright sunshine. I do pity you." + +Peg's heart was not wholly hardened. Few are. But it was long since +it had been touched as it was now by this great pity on the part of +one she had injured. + +"You're a good girl, Ida," she said; "and I'm sorry I've injured +you. I didn't think I should ever ask forgiveness of anybody; but I +do ask your forgiveness." + +The child rose, and advancing towards Peg, took her large hand in +(sic) her's and said, "I forgive you, Peg." + +"From your heart?" + +"With all my heart." + +"Thank you, child. I feel better now. There have been times when I +thought I should like to lead a better life." + +"It is not too late now, Peg." + +Peg shook her head. + +"Who will trust me after I have come from here?" + +"I will," said Mrs. Clifton, speaking for the first time. + +"You will?" + +"Yes." + +"And yet you have much to forgive. But it was not my plan to steal +your daughter from you. I was poor, and money tempted me." + +"Who could have had an interest in doing me this cruel wrong?" + +"One whom you know well,--Mr. John Somerville." + +"Surely, you are wrong!" exclaimed Mrs. Clifton, in unbounded +astonishment. "It cannot be. What object could he have had?" + +"Can you think of none?" queried Peg, looking at her shrewdly. + +Mrs. Clifton changed color. "Perhaps so," she said. "Go on." + +Peg told the whole story, so circumstantially, that there was no +room left for doubt. + +"I did not believe him capable of such wickedness," she ejaculated. +"It was a base, unmanly revenge. How could you lend yourself to it?" + +"How could I?" repeated Peg. "Madam, you are rich. You have always +had whatever wealth could procure. How can you understand the +temptations of the poor? When want and hunger stare us in the face, +we have not the strength to resist that you have in your luxurious +homes." + +"Pardon me," said Mrs. Clifton, touched by these words, half bitter, +half pathetic; "let me, at any rate, thank you for the service you +have done me now. When you are released from your confinement, come +to me. If you wish to change your mode of life and live honestly +henceforth, I will give you the chance." + +"You will!" said Peg, eagerly. + +"I will." + +"After all the injury I have done you, you will trust me still?" + +"Who am I that I should condemn you? Yes, I will trust you, and +forgive you." + +"I never expected to hear such words," said Peg, her heart softened, +and her arid eyes moistened by unwonted emotion, "least of all from +you. I should like to ask one thing." + +"What is it?" + +"Will you let her come and see me sometimes?" she pointed to Ida as +she spoke; "it will remind me that this is not all a dream--these +words which you have spoken." + +"She shall come," said Mrs. Clifton, "and I will come too, +sometimes." + +"Thank you," said Peg. + +They left the prison behind them, and returned home. + +"Mr. Somerville is in the drawing-room," said the servant. "He +wishes to see you." + +Mrs. Clifton's face flushed. + +"I will go down," she said. "Ida, you will remain here." + +She descended to the drawing-room, and met the man who had injured +her. He had come with the resolve to stake his all upon a single +cast. His fortunes were desperate. Through the mother's love for the +daughter whom she had mourned so long, whom, as he believed he had +it in his power to restore to her, he hoped to obtain her consent to +a marriage, which would retrieve his fortunes, and gratify his +ambition. + +Mrs. Clifton seated herself quietly. She did not, as usual, offer +him her hand. Full of his own plans, he did not notice this +omission. + +"How long is it since Ida was lost?" inquired Somerville. + +Mrs. Clifton started in some surprise. She had not expected him to +introduce this subject. + +"Eight years," she said. + +"And you believe she yet lives?" + +"Yes, I am certain of it." + +John Somerville did not understand her aright. He felt only that a +mother never gives up hope. + +"Yet it is a long time," he said. + +"It is--a long time to suffer," she said. "How could any one have +the heart to work me this great injury? For eight years I have led a +sad and solitary life,--years that might have been made glad by +Ida's presence." + +There was something in her tone which puzzled John Somerville, but +he was far enough from suspecting the truth. + +"Rose," he said, after a pause. "Do you love your child well enough +to make a sacrifice for the sake of recovering her?" + +"What sacrifice?" she asked, fixing her eyes upon him. + +"A sacrifice of your feelings." + +"Explain. You talk in enigmas." + +"Listen, then. I, too, believe Ida to be living. Withdraw the +opposition you have twice made to my suit, promise me that you will +reward my affection by your land if I succeed, and I will devote +myself to the search for Ida, resting day nor night till I am able +to place her in your arms. Then, if I succeed, may I claim my +reward?" + +"What reason have you for thinking you should find her?" asked Mrs. +Clifton, with the same inexplicable manner. + +"I think I have got a clew." + +"And are you not generous enough to exert yourself without demanding +of me this sacrifice?" + +"No, Rose," he said, "I am not unselfish enough." + +"But, consider a moment. Will not even that be poor atonement enough +for the wrong you have done me,"--she spoke rapidly now,--"for the +grief and loneliness and sorrow which your wickedness and cruelty +have wrought?" + +"I do not understand you," he said, turning pale. + +"It is enough to say that I have seen the woman who is now in +prison,--your paid agent,--and that I need no assistance to recover +Ida. She is in my house." + +What more could be said? + +John Somerville rose, and left the room. His grand scheme had +failed. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +CONCLUSION. + + + + + +I AM beginning to feel anxious about Jack," said Mrs. Crump. "It's +almost a week since we heard from him. I'm afraid he's got into some +trouble." + +"Probably he's too busy to write," said the cooper. + +"I told you so," said Rachel, in one of her usual fits of +depression. "I told you Jack wasn't fit to be sent on such an +errand. If you'd only taken my advice, you wouldn't have had so much +worry and trouble about him now. Most likely he's got into the House +of Reformation, or somewhere. I knew a young man once who went away +from home, and never came back again. Nobody ever knew what became +of him till his body was found in the river, half-eaten by fishes." + +"How can you talk so, Rachel?" said Mrs. Crump, indignantly; "and of +your own nephew, too!" + +"This is a world of trial and disappointment," said Rachel; "and we +might as well expect the worst, because it's sure to come." + +"At that rate there wouldn't be much joy in life," said the cooper. +"No, Rachel, you are wrong. God didn't send us into the world to be +melancholy. He wants us to enjoy ourselves. Now I have no idea that +Jack has jumped into the river. Then again, if he has, he can swim." + +"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." + +"But you live in Philadelphia. We shall lose sight of her." + +"Not unless you refuse to come to Philadelphia, too." + +"I am not sure whether I could find work there." + +"That shall be my care. I have another inducement. God has bestowed +upon me a large share of this world's goods. I am thankful for it, +since it will enable me in some slight way to express my sense of +your great services to Ida. I own a neat brick house in a quiet +street, which you will find more comfortable than this. Just before +I left Philadelphia my lawyer drew up a deed of gift, conveying the +house to you. It is Ida's gift, not mine. Ida, give this to Mr. +Crump." + +The child took the parchment, and handed it to the cooper, who was +bewildered by his sudden good fortune. + +"This for me?" he said. + +"It is the first installment of my debt of gratitude; it shall not +be the last," said Mrs. Clifton. + +"How shall I thank you, madam?" said the cooper. "To a poor man this +is, indeed, an acceptable gift." + +"By accepting it," said Mrs. Clifton. "Let me add, for I know it +will enhance the value of the gift in your eyes, that it is only +five minutes' walk from my own house, and Ida will come and see you +every day." + +"Yes, mamma," said Ida; "I couldn't be happy away from father and +mother and Jack, and Aunt Rachel." + +"You must introduce me to your Aunt Rachel," said Mrs. Clifton, with +a grace all her own. + +Ida did so. + +"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Rachel," said Mrs. +Clifton. "I need not say that I shall be glad to see you, as well as +Mr. and Mrs. Crump, at my house very frequently." + +"I'm much obleeged to you," said Aunt Rachel; "but I don't think I +shall live long to go anywhere. The feelin's I have, sometimes warn +me that I'm not long for this world." + +"You see, Mrs. Clifton," said Jack, his eyes dancing with mischief, +"we come of a short-lived family. Grandmother died at eighty-two, +and that wouldn't give Aunt Rachel long to live." + +"You impudent boy!" exclaimed Miss Rachel, in great indignation. +Then relapsing into melancholy, "I'm a poor afflicted creetur, and +the sooner I leave this scene of trial the better." + +"Let us hope," said Mrs. Clifton, politely, "that you will find the +air of Philadelphia beneficial to your health. Change of air +sometimes works wonders." + +In the course of a few weeks the whole family removed to +Philadelphia. The house which Mrs. Clifton had given them, (sic) +excceeded their anticipations. It was so much better and larger than +their present dwelling, that their furniture would have shown to +great disadvantage in it. But Mrs. Clifton had foreseen this, and +they found the house already furnished for their reception. Through +Mrs. Clifton's influence the cooper was enabled to establish himself +in business on a larger scale, and employ others, instead of working +himself, for hire. Ida was such a frequent visitor, that it was hard +to tell which she considered her home--her mother's elegant +dwelling, or Mrs. Cooper's comfortable home. + +For Jack, a situation was found in a merchant's counting-room, and +he became a thriving young merchant, being eventually taken into +partnership. Ida grew lovelier as she grew older, and her rare +beauty caused her to be sought after. If she does not marry well and +happily, it will not be for want of an opportunity. + +Dear reader, you who deem that all stories should end with a +marriage, shall not be disappointed. + +One day Aunt Rachel was missing from her room. It was remembered +that she had appeared singularly for some days previous, and the +knowledge of her constitutional low spirits, led to the apprehension +that she had made way with herself. The cooper was about to notify +the police, when the front door opened and Rachel walked in. She was +accompanied by a short man, stout and freckled. + +"Why, Aunt Rachel," exclaimed Mrs. Crump, "where _have_ you been? We +have been so anxious about you." + +A faint flush came to Aunt Rachel's sallow cheek. + +"Sister Mary," said she, "you will be surprised, perhaps, but--but +this is my consort. Mr. Smith, let me introduce you to my sister." + +"Then you are married, Rachel," said Mrs. Crump, quite confounded. + +"Yes," said Rachel; "I--I don't expect to live long, and it won't +make much difference." + +"I congratulate you, _Mrs. Smith_," said Mary Crump, heartily; "and +I wish you a long and happy life, I am sure." + +It is observed that, since her marriage, Aunt Rachel's fits of +depression are less numerous than before. She has even been seen to +smile repeatedly, and has come to bear, with philosophical +equanimity, her nephew Jack's sly allusions to her elopement. + +One word more. At the close of her term of confinement, Peg came to +Mrs. Clifton, and reminded her of her promise. Dick was dead, and +she was left alone in the world. Imprisonment had not hardened her +as it so often does. She had been redeemed by the kindness of those +she had injured. Mrs. Clifton secured her a position in which her +energy and administrative ability found fitting exercise, and she +leads a laborious and useful life, in a community where her +antecedents are not known. + +END. +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Timothy Crump's Ward: A Story of American Life +by Horatio Alger +******This file should be named tmthy10.txt or tmthy10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, tmthy11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tmthy10a.txt + +This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com). + +*** + +More information about this book is at the top of this file. + + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. 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