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.
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