“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.”