“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!”