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 boat, partly by cars, he traveled, till in a few hours he was discharged, with hundreds of others, at the depot in Philadelphia.

He rejected all invitations to ride, and strode on, carpetbag 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 last, and walking in, announced himself to the worthy baker as his nephew Jack.

"What? Are you Jack?" exclaimed Mr. Abel Harding, 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," answered 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 your adopted sister?"

"Father and mother are pretty well," answered Jack; "and so is Aunt Rachel," he continued, smiling, "though she ain't so cheerful as she might be."

"Poor Rachel!" said Abel, smiling also. "Everything goes contrary with 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, 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 the very thing I've come to Philadelphia about," said Jack, soberly. "Ida has been carried off, and I've come in search of her."

"Been carried off? I didn't know such things ever happened in this country. What do you mean?"

Jack told the story of Mrs. Hardwick's arrival with a letter from Ida's mother, conveying the request that her child might, under the guidance of the messenger, be allowed to pay her a visit. To this and the subsequent details Abel Harding listened with earnest attention.

"So you have reason to think the child is in Philadelphia?" 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 the baker. "Was that her name?"

"Yes; you knew her name, didn't you?"

"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 a singular circumstance?"

"I will tell you, Jack. 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 honest face. Having made the purchase she handed me in payment a new dollar bill. '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 of, 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 knick-knack or other, but when they came to pay for it the dollar proved counterfeit."

"Counterfeit?"

"Yes; bad. Issued by a gang of counterfeiters. When they told me of this, I said to myself, 'Can it be that this little girl knew what she was about when she offered me that?' I couldn't think it possible, but decided to wait till she came again."

"Did she come again?"

"Yes; only day before yesterday. As I expected, she offered me in payment 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 bill 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 act harshly to her. But I am afraid that I was deceived, and that she was an artful character after all."

"Then she didn't come back with the good money?"

"No; I haven't seen her since."

"What name did she give you?"

"Haven't I told you? It was the name that made me think of telling you. She called herself Ida Hardwick."

"Ida Hardwick?" repeated Jack.

"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 who carried her away."

"Mrs. Hardwick—her mother?"

"No; not her mother. She said she was the woman who took care of Ida before she was brought to us."

"Then you think this Ida Hardwick may be your missing sister?"

"That's what I don't know yet," said Jack. "If you would only describe her, Uncle Abel, I could tell better."

"Well," said the baker, thoughtfully, "I should say this little girl was seven or eight years old."

"Yes," said Jack, nodding; "what color were her eyes?"

"Blue."

"So are Ida's."

"A small mouth, with a very sweet expression, yet with something firm and decided about it."

"Yes."

"And I believe her dress was a light one, with a blue ribbon round the waist."

"Did she wear anything around her neck?"

"A brown scarf, if I remember rightly."

"That is the way Ida was dressed when she went away with Mrs. Hardwick. I am sure it must be she. But how strange that she should come into your shop!"

"Perhaps," suggested his uncle, "this woman, representing herself as Ida's nurse, was 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."

"You know I have not seen Mrs. Hardwick."

"No great loss," said Jack. "You wouldn't care much about seeing her again. She is a tall, gaunt, disagreeable woman; while Ida is fair and sweet-looking. Ida's mother, whoever she is, I am sure, is a lady in appearance and manners, and Mrs. Hardwick is neither. Aunt Rachel was right for once."

"What did Rachel say?"

"She said the nurse was an impostor, and declared it was only a plot to get possession of Ida; but then, that was to be expected of Aunt Rachel."

"Still it seems difficult to imagine any satisfactory motive on the part of the woman, supposing her not to be 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.'"

"I wish you success, Jack; but if the people who have got Ida are counterfeiters, they are desperate characters, and you must proceed cautiously."

"I ain't afraid of them. I'm on the warpath now, Uncle Abel, and they'd better look out for me."

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