He rejected all invitations to ride, and strode on, carpetbag in hand, though, sooth to say, he had very little idea whether he was steering in the right direction for his uncle's shop. By dint of diligent and persevering inquiry he found it at last, and walking in, announced himself to the worthy baker as his nephew Jack.

 

"What? Are you Jack?" exclaimed Mr. Abel Harding, pausing in his labor. "Well, I never should have known you, that's a fact. Bless me, how you've grown! Why, you're 'most as big as your father, ain't you?"

 

"Only half an inch shorter," answered Jack, complacently.

 

"And you're--let me see--how old are you?"

 

"Eighteen; that is, almost. I shall be in two months."

 

"Well, I'm glad to see you, Jack, though I hadn't the least idea of your raining down so unexpectedly. How's your father and mother and your adopted sister?"

 

"Father and mother are pretty well," answered Jack; "and so is Aunt Rachel," he continued, smiling, "though she ain't so cheerful as she might be."

 

"Poor Rachel!" said Abel, smiling also. "Everything goes contrary with her. I don't suppose she's wholly to blame for it. Folks differ constitutionally. Some are always looking on the bright side of things, and others can never see but one side, and that's the dark one."

 

"You've hit it, uncle," said Jack, laughing. "Aunt Rachel always looks as if she was attending a funeral."

 

"So she is, my boy," said Abel, gravely, "and a sad funeral it is."

 

"I don't understand you, uncle."

 

"The funeral of her affections--that's what I mean. Perhaps you mayn't know that Rachel was, in early life, engaged to be married to a young man whom she ardently loved. She was a different woman then from what she is now. But her lover deserted her just before the wedding was to have come off, and she's never got over the disappointment. But that isn't what I was going to talk about. You haven't told me about your adopted sister."

 

"That's the very thing I've come to Philadelphia about," said Jack, soberly. "Ida has been carried off, and I've come in search of her."

 

"Been carried off? I didn't know such things ever happened in this country. What do you mean?"

 

Jack told the story of Mrs. Hardwick's arrival with a letter from Ida's mother, conveying the request that her child might, under the guidance of the messenger, be allowed to pay her a visit. To this and the subsequent details Abel Harding listened with earnest attention.

 

"So you have reason to think the child is in Philadelphia?" he said, musingly.

 

"Yes," said Jack; "Ida was seen in the cars, coming here, by a boy who knew her in New York."

 

"Ida?" repeated the baker. "Was that her name?"

 

"Yes; you knew her name, didn't you?"

 

"I dare say I have known it, but I have heard so little of your family lately that I had forgotten it. It is rather a singular circumstance."

 

"What is a singular circumstance?"

 

"I will tell you, Jack. It may not amount to anything, however. A few days since a little girl came into my shop to buy a small amount of bread. I was at once favorably impressed with her appearance. She was neatly dressed, and had a very honest face. Having made the purchase she handed me in payment a new dollar bill. 'I'll keep that for my little girl,' thought I at once. Accordingly, when I went home at night, I just took the dollar out of, the till and gave it to her. Of course, she was delighted with it, and, like a child, wanted to spend it at once. So her mother agreed to go out with her the next day. Well, they selected some knick-knack or other, but when they came to pay for it the dollar proved counterfeit."

 

"Counterfeit?"

 

"Yes; bad. Issued by a gang of counterfeiters. When they told me of this, I said to myself, 'Can it be that this little girl knew what she was about when she offered me that?' I couldn't think it possible, but decided to wait till she came agai............