"Oh, how I wish it _had_ been a mistake," said Ida; "but it was deliberate deceit. I knew Cynthia had no gown fit for such an occasion, and I thought I might be mortified before Angela Leverton." "Cynthy saw just how it was," said Aunt Patty. "She met me at the gate, and when I told her what Mrs. Lennox had said, she knew that it wasn't a mistake at all." "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. "Well, I am more anxious than happy just now," returned Ida. "But I can't explain why." About a week after her trip to Bell's Falls, Ida entered the farm-house kitchen late one afternoon with two letters in her hand. Her face was glowing from her brisk walk to and from the village post-office, and her bright eyes were dancing in anticipation of some rare enjoyment. "One of those letters for me?" asked Cynthia, who was busy at a table making rolls for supper. "No; both for me," answered her sister, "and great news in both. One is from Aunt Stina, who says she will be home by the 1st of November, and wants me to be ready to live with her again." "Oh, Ida!"