"Well, you've nothing to do with that," said Abraham roughly. "Go
and put your things on, and come with me."

"No," replied Ida firmly. "I don't want to go with you."

"What you want has nothing to do with it. You will do as I tell
you."

Abraham felt strangely in this interview. It was as though time were
repeating itself, and he was once more at issue with his daughter's
childish wilfulness.

Ida did not move.

"Why won't you come?" asked Mr. Woodstock sharply.

"I don't want to," was Ida's answer.

"Look here, then," said the other, after a brief consideration. "You
have the choice, and you're old enough to see what it means. You can
either come with me and be well cared for, or stay here and shift as
best you can; now, be sharp and make up your mind."

"I don't wish to go with you, I'll stay here and do my best."

"Very well."

Mr. Woodstock whistled a bar of an air, stepped from the room, and
thence out into the streets.