A Little Girl in Old New York, Amanda Minnie Douglas [e book reader for pc txt] 📗

she had been naughty or when she had left something undone and was hurrying with all her might to do it, this thing beat and throbbed. If she wanted something very much and was almost tempted to take it, the feeling came up in her throat, and she knew that was conscience. She was trying now to recall and repent of her sins, and oh, she did so wish her father was here. Would he be back before the end came, and take them all in his strong arms? and they would run--Oh, no! they were to be caught up in the clouds. But she would be safe where he was.

Years afterward, she was to understand how human and finite love foreshadowed the eternal. But then she could only believe, and her faith in her human father was the rock of her salvation.

And when her mother came down she _had_ fallen asleep, but she thought it would be just as well to leave the lamp burning until Margaret's return. She would look in now and then to see that it didn't explode. Burning-fluid was considered rather dangerous stuff.

Hanny was so tired that she slept soundly. It was almost midnight when the folks came home, and Mrs. Underhill begged Margaret to go to bed quietly and not disturb her. And it was all light with the sun rising in the eastern sky and shining in one window when she opened her eyes. Margaret stood before the glass plaiting her pretty, long hair.

The little girl sat up. Something had happened. There was a great weight--a great fear. What was it? Oh, yes, this was their room; they were all alive, for she heard Jim's breezy voice, and Joe, who had stayed all night, said impatiently:

"Peggy, are you never coming down?"

Hanny sprang out of bed and clasped her little arms about her sister.

"Oh!" with a great exultation in her sweet child's voice--"the world didn't come to an end, did it? Oh, you beautiful world! I am so glad you are left. And everybody--only--Margaret, were the people at the church dreadfully disappointed? What a pity God couldn't have taken those who wanted to go; but I'm so glad we are left. Oh, you lovely world, you are too nice to burn up!"

I think there were a great many people in the city just as glad as Hanny, if they did not put it in the same joyful words.

Margaret smiled. "Hurry, dear," she said, "Joe will have to go, and I know he wants to see you."

Hanny put on her shoes and stockings, and Margaret helped her with the rest, washed her and just tied up her hair with a second-best ribbon. Joseph had eaten his breakfast and was impatiently waiting to say good-by. John was off already.

Nothing had happened. The world was going on as usual. True there had been the comet and falling stars and wars and rumors of wars, but the old world had sailed triumphantly through them all. The dear, old, splendid world, that was to grow more splendid with the years.

Perhaps it did rouse people to better and kindlier living and more serious thought. Before Mr. Underhill went away his wife said:

"'Milyer, hadn't you better look after those old people up at Harlem. I suppose they had some garden truck, but there's flour and meat and little things that take off the money when you haven't much. And fuel. I'll try to go up some day with you and see what they need to keep them comfortable in cold weather."

The girls could hardly study at school, there was so much excitement. Did people really have on their ascension robes? What _would_ Hester say?

Hester did not come to school all the week. Of course they had made a mistake in computing the time, but a few weeks couldn't make much difference. Still, the worst scare was over, and if one mistake could be made, why not another? Were they so sure all the signs were fulfilled?


CHAPTER IX

A WONDERFUL SCHEME

The Whitneys and the Underhills became very neighborly. Mr. Theodore Whitney often stopped for a little chat, and he was very fond of a good game of checkers with Steve or John. He was on the other side in politics and they had some warm discussions. Ophelia, the oldest girl, was engaged and deeply absorbed with her lover. Frances went away early in the morning and did not get back until after six. Mrs. Whitney, a Southern woman by birth, was one of the easy-going kind and very fond of novels. Mr. Whitney brought them home by the dozen. The house seemed somehow to run itself, with the aid of Dele, as she was commonly called.

Dele proved a powerful rival to Miss Lily Ludlow. Lily was much prettier and more delicate looking. Dele had brown-red hair, dry and curly. She was a little freckled, even in the fall. Her mouth _was_ wide, but she was always laughing, and she had such splendid teeth. Then her eyes were so full of fun, and her voice had a sort of rollicking sound. She knew all kinds of boys' play, and was great at marbles. Then she had so many odd, entertaining things, and their parlor wasn't too good for use when 'Phelia's beau was not there. But the children lived mostly on the stoop and the sidewalk.

Delia went to Houston Street school. She could walk farther up the street with the boys, and watch out for them when they went. Ben liked her better than he did Lily or Rosa, but Jim was quite divided. He, like the other poor man with two charmers, sometimes wished there was only one of them. But Lily was a born coquette, and jealous at that. She had a way of calling back her admirers, while Dele didn't care a bit for admiration, but just wanted a good time.

Benny Frank was something of a bookworm and student. Jim, who was growing very fast, was a regular boy, and, I am sorry to say, did not always have perfect lessons. He was so very quick and correct in figures that he managed to slip through other things. Moreover he carried authority. The boys had called him "country" at first and teased him in different ways until small skirmishes had begun. And one day there was a stand-up fight at recess. Jim thrashed the bully of his class. It was a forbidden thing to fight in the school-yard, or in school hours, and so Jim was thrashed again for his victory. But Mr. Hazeltine shook hands with him afterward and said "it wasn't because he thrashed Upton, but because he had broken the rules, and he liked to see a boy have courage enough to stand up for himself." So Jim did not mind it very much, though he had a black eye for two or three days.

After that he was a sort of hero to the boys, and Upton did not bully as much. But some of the boys delighted to "pick" at Benny Frank, who would have made a good Quaker. Jim sometimes felt quite "mad" with him.

Lily did not seem to get along very rapidly with her intimacy. Hanny was too young, and now that she had the Deans on one side and little Nora Whitney on the other, was quite out of Lily's reach. And she did enjoy Delia immensely, though she was past thirteen and such a tall girl. So Lily tried all her arts on Jim, and succeeded very well, it must be confessed.

It was Saturday, and the world had not come to an end yet. Benny had gone down-town with Steve in the morning, but he would not have both boys together, for Jim was so full of "capers." So he had done errands for his mother, blackened the boots and shoes--the bootblack brigade had not then come in fashion, and you hardly ever saw an Italian boy. He had cleared up the yard and earned his five cents. He was wondering a little what he would do all the afternoon.

Dele came flying in, eager and impetuous.

"Oh, Mrs. Underhill!" she cried, "can't Hanny go to the Museum this afternoon? The"--it seemed so odd, Hanny thought, to call grave-looking Mr. Whitney that, but she said Steve to her big brother. "The brought home four tickets. My cousin, Walter Hay, is here, and he will go with us and then go down home. And Nora does so want Hanny to go. Oh, won't you please let her? I'll take the best of care of her. I've taken Nora and my little Cousin Julia ever so many times. Oh, Jim, what a pity! If I had one more ticket!"

"Sho!" and Jim straightened himself up. "I have twenty-eight cents, and I wouldn't want to go sponging on a girl anyhow! Oh, mother, do let us go? Hanny, come quick! Oh, do you want to go to the Museum?"

"To the Museum?" Hanny drew a breath of remembered delight and thrilling anticipation.

Dele and Jim talked together. They were so earnest, so full of entreaty. Jim might have gone in welcome, but Hanny----

"Why, we shall just take the stage and ride to the door, and we'll be so careful getting out. They drive clear up to the sidewalk, you know. Walter is fourteen and he takes his little sisters out, and knows how to care for girls. And there's such a pretty play; just the thing for children, The. said."

"Oh, mother, please do," and the little girl's voice was so persuasive, so pleading.

"Oh, please, mother! I'll see that nothing happens to Hanny."

"Oh, Mrs. Underhill, Nora would be so disappointed. And we all want Hanny."

Mrs. Underhill had told her husband if he would come up about three she would take the drive to Harlem with him. Of course she meant to take the little girl. Which would Hanny rather do?

The fascinations of the Museum outweighed the drive. Margaret was up to the Beekmans' spending the day, their last week on the farm. Of course Jim could go--and when she looked at all the eager faces she gave in, and Hanny danced with delight.

It was almost three before they could get off, and the play began at that hour. However they caught a stage out on the Bowery and were soon whirled down to the corner of Broadway and Ann Street.

People were crowding in, it was such a beautiful day, and this was considered the place preeminently for children. People who would have been horrified at the thought of a theatre did not have a scruple about the lecture-room.

"We better not stop to look at things," advised Delia. "We can do that afterward. Let's go in and get our seats."

They had to go way up front, but they didn't mind that so long as they were all together. They studied the wonderful Venetian scene on the drop-curtain, and the young lad in a supposedly green satin costume, with a long white feather in his hat, who was just stepping into a gondola where a very lovely lady was playing on a guitar. Then the orchestra gave a clash of drums, cymbals, French horns, and a big bass viol, and up went the curtain.

A musical family came out and sang. Then there were some acrobatic performances. After that the pantomime.

Grandpapa Jerome, in a very foreign costume and a bald head which he tried to keep covered with a black velvet cap, had two extremely tricksy sprites for grandchildren. They were very