"She was very forgiving." Ida sighed heavily. "I felt conscience-stricken when I saw that she was so bitterly disappointed. And then think of how much you have to forgive me. Do you remember that day I was in the carriage with Angela, and you were coming from the village with that big box in your arms? Oh, Aunt Patty! to think I was so mean as to pretend I didn't know you! It makes me wretched now just to think of it."
"There, there!" said Aunt Patty, who could not restrain her own tears. "It doesn't matter now, dearie. We will forget all about it."
CHAPTER IX.
A few days later Ida was once more back at the old farm; and how different now did everything look to her. The days of grumbling and complaint were past forever. She was no longer annoyed by her old aunt's unwitting offences against etiquette; and she found a new and strange pleasure in simple things which she had once regarded with indifference or aversion. She fed the fowls, learned to harness the old horse, and insisted on helping with the work of the dairy. And how proud she was of her first pat of delicious butter!
"It really seems a pity to eat it," she said, as she exhibited it in triumph to Aunt Patty.
One day she took the horse and light wagon and drove to Bell's Falls. She said she had some shopping to do there, and several errands to which she must attend.
"One of them is a commission from Doctor Stone," she said, trying not to smile, but failing signally.
Lately she had received several letters from the old doctor, but she never read them to her aunt and sister.
"Some day you may read them," she said to Aunt Patty, "but not now. Doctor Stone and I have a secret which you and Cynthia are not to know just yet."
"It seems to make you very happy, whatever it is," said Cynthia.