It was several days, however, before Ida knew who it was who bent over her so lovingly, who soothed and tended her with all a mother's care, whose kindly hands bathed her fevered face, whose feet were ever ready to move at the least need.
A week later, however, Ida was able to sit up, and the healthy color was stealing into her pale cheeks. She enjoyed sitting by the open window, where she could watch the restless ocean. Mrs. Leverton had written that they must stay in the cottage until Ida was entirely well. Old Dinah kept house for them, and had become devoted to Aunt Patty.
"Yo' aunt ain't nuffin' on fash'nable style," she confided to Ida, "but she's a bawn lady, sho's de worl'. She doan nebbah hector nobody."
"I think you'll be able to travel by Saturday, Ida," Aunt Patty said one day. "Doctor Stone thinks there wouldn't be any risk now in your undertaking the journey."
"And, oh, how glad I will be to get home again," said Ida.
"Does it really seem like home, dear?"
"Yes, Aunt Patty. A better home than I deserve, and I can't share it again with you and Cynthia until I have told you something."
Aunt Patty drew near the chair in which Ida sat, and, standing at the back of it, put both arms around her. She could feel that Ida trembled a little.
"Of course you'll forgive me," went on Ida, "for you are so good, you could never feel harshly toward any one, however great the provocation. I did many unkind and even cruel things when I was at the farm this summer, Aunt Patty. When I think of them I don't understand how I could have acted so. I know it would be impossible for me to do such things now."
"You have had a change of heart, Ida."