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

father. I wish you'd walk down there," coaxingly.

"I'll see if mother will let me." Hanny sprang up.

"And put on a nice white apron," said Jim.

"They're too old for Hanny," began Ben, looking up from his book.

"Why, Lily's only eleven. And anyhow----"

Jim didn't know just how to explain it. Lily had begged him that afternoon to bring his little sister down. To tell the truth she was very ambitious to know the Underhills. They must be somebody, for they kept horses and a carriage, and owned their house.

"Do you know," said Belle May as they watched Jim going up the street, "I half believe the little girl who stood on the stoop that day is Jim's sister."

"That little country thing! I never thought of it. But I don't suppose she really heard."

"If she _did_--what will you do?"

"Do?" Lily tossed her head. "Why, I shall act just as if I never said it or had seen her before or anything. You don't suppose I'm a goose in pin-feathers, do you? I want to get acquainted with them. Of course I shall ask both boys to my birthday party. I should only ask the nice people in the street."

Margaret threw her pretty pink fascinator round Hanny's shoulders. She didn't need any hat this warm summer night. Hanny was very proud to walk down the street with her brother, who knew so many girls already. Jim wasn't a bit afraid of being called a "girl boy." Quite a number of people were sitting out on their stoops. It was the fashion then. Some of the ladies were knitting lace on two little needles that had sealing wax on one end, so the stitches could not drop off. There was much pleasant chatting. The country ways of sociability had not all gone out of date.

They walked down to the lower end, where the houses were rather irregular and getting old. Two or three had a small grass door-yard in front. Two girls were walking up and down with their arms around each. Jim knew in a moment who they were, but he loitered behind them until they turned.

"Oh!" exclaimed Lily Ludlow in well-acted surprise. "Are you out taking a walk?"

"Yes," answered Jim, quite as innocently as if the matter had not been arranged a few hours ago. "And this is my sister. And this is Lily Ludlow, and this Belle May."

Alas for Hanny! Lily Ludlow was the girl who had called her "queer" and laughed. The child's face flushed and there was a lump in her throat.

"You don't go to school, do you?" asked Lily with the utmost nonchalance. She was quite ready for anything.

The little girl made an effort, but no words would come. She could never like this girl with the pretty name, she felt very sure.

"No," said Jim. "She's so small for her size that mother would be afraid of her getting lost."

They all giggled but the little girl, who wanted to run away.

"But you like New York, don't you? Jim thinks he wouldn't go back to the country for anything."

We had not come to "Bet your life," and "There's where your head's level," in those days. But Jim answered for his sister--"You just guess I wouldn't," with a deal of gusto.

They all walked up a short distance. The girls and Jim had all the talk, and they chaffed each other merrily. Hanny was silent. She really was too young for their fun.

Belle May's mother called her presently, and the little girl said in a whisper: "Oh, Jim, we must go home."

Jim wondered if he might ask Lily to walk with them, so he could come back with her. But she settled it with a gay toss of the head.

"Good-night," she said. "Come down again some evening."

"What a little stupid you are, Hanny!" Jim began, vexed enough. "Why didn't you ask them to walk up our way! And you never said a word! I could have given you an awful shake!"

"I--I don't like them."

"You don't know anything about them. Ben and I see them half a dozen times a day, and walk to school with them, and they're nice and pretty and have some manners. You're awful country, Hanny!"

The little girl began to cry.

"Oh, what a baby you are! Well, I s'pose you can't help it! You're only eight, and I'm almost thirteen. And Lily Ludlow's nearly eleven. I suppose you _do_ feel strange among girls so much older."

"It isn't that," sobbed the little girl. How could she get courage to tell him?

"Oh, Hanny, dear, don't cry." Jim's voice softened--they were nearing home. "See here, I'll ask father to take us to Tompkins Square on Sunday, and you shall paint out of my new box. There! and don't tell any one--don't say a word to Ben."

He kissed her and wiped her eyes with the end of her starchy apron. Jim was very coaxing and sweet when he tried.

"Joe's here," said Ben. "And he thought the wolves would eat you up if you went too far. He wants to see you."

Jim dropped down on the step. Hanny ran through the hall. They were using the back parlor as a sitting-room, and everybody seemed talking at once. Joe held out his arms and the little girl flew to them.

Then it came out that Joe had taken one of the prizes for a thesis, and he would shortly be a full fledged M.D. He was so jubilant and the rest were so happy that the little girl forgot all about her discomfort.

Jim came rushing in. "Where's the hundred dollars?" he inquired.

Joe laughed. "I have not received the money yet. I thought the announcement was enough for one night."

"You and Hanny'll be so stuck up there'll be no living with you," said Jim.

Hanny glanced up with a smiling face. If she had only looked that way at Lily Ludlow! But even his schoolmate was momentarily distanced by the thought of such a prize. And he remembered later on with much gratification that he could tell her to-morrow.

Miss Chrissy Ludlow had been sitting by the front window in her white gown, half expecting a caller. When Lily entered, she inquired if that little thing was the Underhill girl?

"Oh, that's the baby," and Lily giggled. "There's a young lady who goes to Rutgers--well, I suppose she isn't quite grown up, for she doesn't wear real-long dresses. And they have another brother in the country--six brothers!"

Chrissy sighed. If she only knew some way to get acquainted with the young woman. And all the brothers fairly made one green with envy.

"You keep in with them," she advised her sister. "You might as well look up in the world for your friends."

There were not many people in the street who kept a carriage. Chrissy longed ardently to know them. And she had been almost fighting for a term at Rutgers. Mr. Ludlow was a common-place man, clerk in a shoe-store round in Houston Street, and capable of doing repairs. They rented out the second floor, as they could not afford to keep the whole house. But since Chrissy had found out that they were distant connections of some Ludlows quite well off and high up in the social scale, she had felt extremely aristocratic. For a year she had been out of school, and now her mother thought she better learn dressmaking, since she was so "handy." She meant to get married at the first good opportunity.

Mr. Thackeray in England was writing about snobs during this period. He thought he found a great many in London. And even among the republican simplicity of New York he could have found some.

Hanny's second attempt at social life was a much greater success. The visit at the Deans' was utterly delightful. The play-house was enchanting. They dressed and undressed the dolls, they gave Hanny two, and called her Mrs. Hill, because Underhill was such a long name, and they had an aunt by the name of Hill. They "made believe" days and nights, and measles and whooping cough, and earache and sore throat. Josie put on an old linen coat of her father's and "made believe" she was the doctor. And oh, the solicitude when Victoria Arabella lay at the point of death and they had to go round on tiptoe and speak in whispers, and the poor mother said: "If Victoria Arabella dies, my heart will be broken!" But the lovely child mended and was so weak for a while that the greatest care had to be taken of her, for she couldn't sit up a bit. And Hanny proposed they should take her up to Yonkers, where she could recruit in the country air.

Mrs. Dean came up with a basket and said it was supper time. She arranged a side table to hold some of the things. There was a nice white tablecloth and Josie's pretty dishes. There was a pitcher of hot water to make cambric tea, square lumps of sugar, dainty slices of bread already spread, smoked beef, pot-cheese, raspberries, cherry-jam, and two kinds of cake. Well, it was just splendid.

Then they went out on the sidewalk and skipped up and down. There was quite an art in skipping gracefully without breaking step. When they were warm and tired they came in, and Mr. Dean played on the piano for them.

At seven o'clock Mr. Underhill walked up for his little girl, whose cheeks were pink and her eyes shining like stars. He sat on the stoop and talked a little while with Mr. Dean, and said most cordially the other girls must come and take tea with Hanny. And if they liked he would take them out driving some day. That was a most delightful proposal.

Jim let the whole school know the next week that his "big brother" had won a prize of one hundred dollars. And when Joseph passed with honor and took his degree, they were all proud enough of him.

"Mother," said the little girl after much consideration, "if any of us get sick will we have to pay Joe like a truly doctor?"

"Well--why not?" asked Mrs. Underhill. "That will be his way of earning his living."

The little girl drew a long breath. "He might come and live with us then. Where will he live, anyway?"

"He is to practise in the hospital awhile."

"Couldn't he doctor us at all?" she asked in surprise?

"Oh, yes, he might if we had faith in him," returned her mother laughingly.

That puzzled the little girl a good deal, and when she had an opportunity she asked her father if he had faith in Joe.

"Well," her father seemed to hesitate, "he might doctor Tabby, but I wouldn't let him experiment on Dobbin or Prince."

Hanny's face was a study in gravity and disappointment. "And if _I_ was sick?" she ventured with a very long sigh.

Then her father hugged her up in his arms until she was breathless, and scrubbed her soft little face with his whiskers, and both of them laughed. But Joe promised one day when he was home to doctor her for nothing, so that point was settled.

They had a great time Fourth of July. Lamb and green peas were the regulation dinner. Steve sent a wagon up every morning with the freshest vegetables there were in market, and the meat for