“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?”