"She's quite too young—To be ruled by your false, flattering tongue."
"She's quite too young—To be ruled by your false, flattering tongue."
"Sissy, wouldn't your mother mend your coat? Keep out of the way of the ragman!"
Perkins was balancing himself on one foot on the curbstone.
"Come on, Macduff!" he cried tragically.
Macduff came on with a quick step. Before the boys could think he strode up to Perkins and with a well-directed blow landed him in the sloppy débris of snow and mud, where the children had been making a pond. And before he could recover Ben was upon him, roused to his utmost. The boys were nearly of a size. They rolled over and over amid the plaudits of their companions, and Ben, who hated dirt and mud and all untidiness, didn't mind now. He kept his face pretty well out of the way, and presently sat on his adversary and held one hand, grasping at the other.
The boys cheered. A fight was a fight, if it was between the best friends you had.
"Beg," said Ben.
"I'll see you in Guinea first!"
Ben sat still. The kicks were futile. With such a heavy weight breathing was a difficult matter.
"You—you—if you'd said fight I'd a-known——" and Perkins gasped.
"Oh, let up, Ben. You've licked him! We didn't think 'twas in you. Come—fair play."
"There's a good deal in me," cried Ben sturdily. "And I'm going to sit here all night till Perkins begs. I've a good seat. You boys keep out. 'Tisn't your fight. And you all know I hate fighting. It may do for wild animals in a jungle."
Ben's lip was swelling a little. A tooth had cut into it. But his eyes were clear and sparkling and his whole face was resolute. Perkins' attempts at freeing his hands grew more feeble.
"Boys, can't you help a fellow?"
"'Twas a fair thing, Perk. You may as well own up beat. Come, no snivelling."
Quite a crowd was gathering. There was no policeman to interfere.
Perkins made a reluctant concession. Ben sprang up and was off like a shot. His mother met him at the door.
"Go up-stairs and put on your best clothes, Ben," she said, "and take those down to the barn." She knew he had come off victor.
"I s'pose I'd had to do it some time," Ben thought to himself. "Mother's awful spunky when she's roused. I hope I won't have to go on and lick the whole crew! I just hate that kind of work."
As he came down his mother kissed him on the white forehead, but neither said a word.
When he went in to see Mr. Theodore that evening he told him the story. It was queer, but he would not have admitted to any one else his mother's threat. Mr. Theodore laughed and said boys generally had to make their own mark in that fashion. Then he thought they would try a game of chess, as Ben knew all the moves.
Jim was surprised and delighted to hear the story the next day. He nodded his head with an air of satisfaction.
"Ben's awful strong," he said. "He could thrash any boy of his size. But he isn't spoiling for a fight."
A few days later there came a real snowstorm of a day and a night. Jim sprung the old joke on Hanny "that they were all snowed up, and the snow was over the tops of the houses." She ran to the window in her night-dress to see. Oh, how beautiful it was! The red chimneys grew up out of the white fleece, the windows were hooded, the trees and bushes were long wands of soft whiteness, the clothes-line posts wore pointed caps.
"Don't stand there in the cold," said Margaret.
They all turned out to shovel snow. The areas were full. The sidewalks all along were being cleared, and it made a curious white wall in the street. Mr. Underhill insisted that the boys should level theirs. Some wagons tried to get through and made an odd, muffled sound. Then there was the joyful jingle of bells. The sun came out setting the world in a vivid sparkle, while the sky grew as blue as June.
Not to have snow for Christmas would have spoiled the fun and been a bad sign. People really did believe "a green Christmas would make a fat graveyard." It was so much better in the country to have the grain and meadows covered with the nice warm mantle, for it was warm to them.
Father Underhill took the little girl to school, for all the walks were not cleared. Men and boys were going around with shovels on their shoulders, offering their services.
"I could earn a lot of money if I didn't have to go to school to-day," said Jim, with a longing look at the piles of snow. "If it onlywasSaturday!"
But there was no end of fun at school. The boys began two snow-forts, and the snowballing was something tremendous. The air was crisp and cold, and it gave everybody red cheeks.
Before night the stage sleighs were running, for the omnibuses really couldn't get along. Steve came home early to take the boys and Hanny out. Hanny still wore the red cloak and a pretty red hood and looked like a little fairy.
They went over to the Bowery. You can hardly imagine the gay sight it was. Everything that could be put on runners was there, from the dainty cutter to the lumbering grocery box wagon. And oh, the bells on the frosty air! It was enough to inspire a hundred poets.
There were four horses to the long sleigh. Steve found a seat and took the little girl on his lap, covering her with an extra shawl. The boys dropped down on their knees in the straw. It was a great jam, but everybody was jolly and full of good-natured fun. Now and then a youngster threw a snowball that made a shower of snow in the sleigh, but the passengers shook it off laughingly.
They went down to the Battery and just walked across. Castle Garden was a great white mound. Brooklyn looked vague and ghostly. The shipping was huddled in the piers with fleecy rigging, and only a few brave vessels were breasting the river, bluer still than the sky. And here there was such a splendid turnout it looked like a pageant.
They came up East Broadway. The street lamps were just being lighted. They turned up Columbia Street and Avenue D, and stopped when they came to Houston Street. A man on the corner was selling hot waffles as fast as half a dozen men could bake them, and a colored woman had a stand of hot coffee that scented up the air with its fragrance.
They had to walk up home, but Steve carried Hanny over all the crossings. It was a regular carnival. The children decided snow in New York was ever so much more fun than snow in the country.
But after a few days they settled to it as a regular thing, though the sleighs were flying about in their tireless fashion, making the air musical with bells. And Christmas was coming.
It reallywasChristmas then. Not to have hung up your stocking would have been an insult to the sweetest, merriest, wisest, tenderest little man in the world. There were some fireplaces left for him to come down, and he was on hand promptly.
And such appetizing smells as lurked in every corner of the house! Fruit cake, crullers and doughnuts, and mince pies! Everybody was busy from morning till night. When Hanny went to the kitchen some one said, "Run up-stairs, child, you'll be in the way here," and Margaret would hustle something in her apron and say, "Run down-stairs, Hanny dear," until it seemed as if there was no place for her.
The Dean children were busy, too. But Nora Whitney didn't seem to have anything to do but nurse dear Old Gray and read fairy stories. Delia told them Ophelia was to be married Christmas morning, and "they were going over tohisfolks in Jersey to spend a week."
"But it won't make a bit of difference," Delia announced. "Frank has a steady beau now and they'll take the parlor. And then, I suppose, it'll be my turn. I shall just hate to be grown up and have long skirts on and do up my hair, and be so fussy about everything. When I think of that I wish I was a boy."
The little girl wondered if Margaret would get married next Christmas. Her gowns were quite long now, and she did have a grown-up air. It seemed years since last Christmas. So many things had happened.
The cousins were to come down from Tarrytown and make a visit, and Aunt Patience and Aunt Nancy were to come up from Henry Street for the Christmas dinner. If they onlycouldbring the cat!
"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" some one shouted while it was still dark. Hanny woke out of a sound sleep. "Merry Christmas," said Margaret with a kiss.
"Oh dear, I shan't get ahead of anybody," she sighed. "Do you think I could get up, Peggy?"
"I must light a candle," Margaret said.
"Come down and see what's in your stocking, Han!" shouted Jim.
Margaret sprang out of bed and put on the little girl's warm woollen wrapper and let her go down. She ran eagerly to her mother's room, and her father made believe asleep that she might wake him up. She wanted to wish some one Merry Christmas the first of all.
Two wax candles were burning in the back room and the fire was crackling. There were stockings and stockings, and hers were such little mites that some one had hung a white bag on the brass nail that held the feather-duster, and marked it "For Hanny." And a box lay in a chair.
There was a cruller man with eyes, nose, and mouth. There were candies galore, the clarified ones, red and yellow, idealized animals of all kinds. There was an elegant silver paper cornucopia tied with blue ribbons. There was a box of beautiful pop-corn that had turned itself inside out. Ribbon for her hair, a paint-box, a case of Faber pencils, handkerchiefs, a lovely new pink merino dress, a muff that purported to be ermine, a pair of beautiful blue knit slippers tied with ribbons. These didn't come from Santa Claus, for they had on a card—"With best love and a Merry Christmas, from Dolly." That was Dolly Beekman. Hanny laid them up against her face and kissed them, they were so soft and beautiful.
She drew a long breath before she opened the box. Of course it couldn't be a real live kitty. John and Steve were coming in at the door.
"Merry Christmas!" she shouted with the boys They were not so very far ahead of her.
Steve caught her under the arms and held her almost up to the ceiling, it seemed. She was so little and light.
"Ten kisses before you can come down."
She paid the ten kisses, and would have given twice the number.
"I'm trying to guess what is in the box." She looked perplexed and a crease came between her eyes.
"It's a chrononhontontholagosphorus!"
"A—what?" Her face was a study.
The boys shouted with laughter.
"Yes, Joe sent it. Santa Claus had given his all out, and Joe had to skirmish around sharp to get one."
"Is it alive?" she asked timidly, her eyes growing larger with something that was almost fright.
"Oh, Steve!" said Margaret, in an upbraiding tone. "Boys, you're enough to frighten one."
Steve untied the string and took off the cover. Hanny had tight hold of her sister's hand. Steve lifted some tissue paper and tilted up the box. There lay a lovely wax doll with golden hair, a smiling mouth that just betrayed some little teeth, eyes that would open and shut. She was dressed in light-blue silk and beautiful lace. Though her mother had said she was too big to have a doll, Joe knew better.
She was almost speechless with joy. Then she knelt down beside it and took one pretty hand.
"Oh," she said, "I wish you could know how glad I am to have you! There's only one thing that could make me any gladder, that would be to have you alive!" Steve winked his eyes hard. Her delight was pathetic.
Then she had to see the boys' Christmas. Benny Frank had a new suit of clothes, Jim had a pair of boots, which was every boy's ambition then, and an overcoat. And lots of books, pencils, gloves, and the candy it would not have been Christmas without.
Mr. Underhill poked up the fire and took the little girl on his knee. Mrs. Underhill put out the candles, for it was daylight, and then went down to help get breakfast. Cousin Fannie and Roseann, as Mrs. Eustis was always called, came in and had to express their opinion of everything. Then breakfast was ready.
John went down in the sleigh for Aunt Patience and Aunt Nancy Archer. They were not own sisters but sisters-in-law and each had a comfortable income. It did not take very much to make people comfortable then. They owned their house and rented some rooms.
Hanny had to go in and see Josie and Tudie Dean's Christmas and bring them in to inspect hers. Then Dele and Nora Whitney were her next callers. Nora had a silk dress and a gold ring with a prettily set turquoise.
"The marriage was at ten," began Dele, "and it was just nothing at all. I wouldn't be married in such a doleful way. She just had on a brown silk dress with lots of lace, and white gloves, and the minister came and it was all over in ten minutes. There was wedding-cake and wine. I've brought you in some to dream on. Nora and I are going down to Auntie's in Beach Street where there's to be a regular party and a Christmas tree and lots of fun. After 'Phelia comes back she's going to have a wedding-party and wear her real wedding-dress."
Nora thought the doll beautiful. Hanny just lifted it out of the box and put it back. It seemed almost too sacred to touch.
Jim went out presently to get some Christmas cake. The grocers and bakers treated the children of their customers to what was properly New Year's cake, and the boys thought it no end of fun to go around and wish Merry Christmas.
The dinner was at two. Doctor Joseph came in to dine and to be congratulated by the cousins. The little girl's gratitude and delight was very sweet to him. He put up the piano stool and she played her pretty little exercises for him. Then about four he and Steve went down to the Beekmans, where there was a dancing party in the evening.
The elders sat and talked, to Benny Frank's great delight. The "old times" seemed so wonderful to the children. Aunt Patience was the elder of the two ladies, just turned seventy now, and had lived in New York all her life. She had seen Washington when he was the first President of the United States, and lived in Cherry Street with Mrs. Washington and the two Custis children. Afterward they had removed to the Macomb House. Everything had been so simple then, people going to bed by nine o'clock unless on very special occasions. To go to the old theatre on John Street was considered the height of fashionable amusement. You saw the Secretaries and their families, and the best people in the city.
But what amused the children most was the Tea Water Pump.
"You see," said Aunt Patience, "we had nice cisterns that caught rainwater for family use, and we think now our old cistern-water is enough better than the Croton for washing. There were a good many wells but some were brackish and poor, and people were saying then they were not fit to use. The Tea Water pump was on the corner of Chatham and Pearl, and particular people bought it at a penny a gallon. It was carried around in carts, and you subscribed regularly. My, how choice we were of it!"
"There's a pump down here at the junction that's just splendid!" said Jim, "I used to go for water last summer, it was so good and cold."
"We miss our nice spring at home," said Mrs. Underhill, with a sigh.
"And what else?" subjoined Ben.
"Oh, the milk did not go round in wagons. There were not half so many people to supply. We kept a cow and sold to our neighbors. The milkmen had what was called a yoke over their shoulders, with a tin can at each end. They used to cry, 'Milk ho! ye-o!' The garbage man rang his bell and you brought out your pail. A few huckster men were beginning to go round, but Hudson Market was the place to buy fresh vegetables that came in every morning. And, oh, there were the chimney-sweeps!"
"We had our chimney swept here," said Jim. "The man had a long jointed handle and a wiry brush at the end."
"But then there were little negro boys who climbed up and down and sometimes scraped them as they went. But several were smothered or stuck fast in London and it was considered cruel and dangerous. You'd hear the boys in the morning with their 'Sweep ho!' and you wouldn't believe how many variations they could make to it."
"Poor little boys!" said Hanny. "Didn't they get awful black and sooty?"
The boys laughed. "They were black to begin with," said Jim. "All they had to do was to shake themselves."
"And how do you suppose Santa Claus keeps so clean?" asked the little girl, nothing daunted.
That was a poser. No one could quite tell.
"We used to burn out our chimney," announced Aunt Patience.
"Burn it out?"
"Yes. We'd take a rather lowering day, or start in just as it was beginning to rain. We'd put a heap of straw in the fireplace and kindle it, and the soot would soon catch. Then some one would go up on the roof to see if the sparks caught anywhere. We never let it get very dirty. But presently they passed a law that no one should do it on account of the danger. But sometimes chimneys caught fire by accident," and Aunt Patience laughed.
"Why, it was like the wolf in little Red Riding Hood," declared Hanny.
Then they all talked of the old roads and streets and the Collect which was a great marshy pond, and the canal through Lispenard's meadows over to the North River, where present Canal Street runs. In the Collect proper there was a beautiful clear lake where people went fishing. A great hill stood on Broadway, and had to be cut down more than twenty feet.
Father Underhill recalled his first visit to the city when he was nineteen, and going skating with some cousins. And now it was all graded and finished streets, houses, and stores.
But Aunt Patience said it was time to go home, and they planned for the Morgan cousins to come and spend the day. They were to bring the little girl with them.
They had a light supper and then John escorted the ladies home. Benny Frank wanted his father to tell some more incidents of the old times. The little girl was tired and sleepy and ready to go to bed, but she had one wish saved up for next Christmas already—a set of dishes.
A whole week of holidays! Jim and Benny Frank had their mother almost wild, and Martha said "she would be dead in another week. If Christmas came twice a year there would be no money nor no people left. They would be all worn out."
It was splendid winter weather. Sunny and just warm enough to thaw and settle the snow during the day and freeze it up again at night. Then there came another small fall of snow to whiten up the streets and make the air gayer than ever with bells.
The Morgan cousins had to go down and call on Miss Dolly Beekman, and were very favorably impressed with her. The little girl went with them to Cherry Street and had "just a beautiful time with the kitty," she told her mother. Her blue woollen frock was full of white cat-hairs as a memento. She went to tea with the little Dean girls, she spent an afternoon with Nora, and had the little girls in to visit her. Margaret played on the piano and they had a charming dance, beside playing "Hot butter blue beans," which was no end of fun.
On New Year's Day everybody had "calls." Margaret was hardly considered a young lady, but Miss Cynthia came to help entertain. It was really very pleasant. A number of family relatives called in, some of whom they had not seen since they came to the city. They were all rather middle-aged, though Joe brought in his chum, a very handsome young man who had graduated with his class but was two years older. Margaret was quite abashed by Doctor Hoffman's attention to her, and his saying he should take her good wishes as a happy omen for his New Year. Indeed, she was very glad to have Miss Cynthia come to the rescue in her airy fashion.
Late in the afternoon the Odells drove down. The little girls went up-stairs to see the Christmas things and the lovely doll for whom no name had been good enough. John had a fire in his room and it was nice and warm, so he told them they might go up there. They played "mother" and "visiting," and wound up with a splendid game of "Puss in the Corner." There were only four pussies and they could have but three corners, but it was no end of fun dodging about, and if they did squeal, the folks down in the parlor hardly heard them.
Saturday was Saturday everywhere. It was "Ladies' day" too. But people had to clear up their houses and begin a new week, a new year, as well, for it was 1844.
The little girl wondered what made the years. Mrs. Craven explained that the recurrence of the four seasons governed them, and some rather learned reasons the child could not understand. But she said:
"It seems to me the year ought to begin in spring and not the middle of the winter."
Ophelia came home, she was Mrs. Davis now, and they had a grand party with music and dancing and a supper, and Nora wore her pretty new silk frock. Then Mrs. Davis went down-town to be near her husband's business, and started housekeeping in three rooms.
The next great event on the block was a children's party. They were children then until they were at least sixteen. Miss Lily Ludlow and her sister had ten dollars sent to each of them as a Christmas gift. Chris went out straightway and bought a new coat. Lily's was new the winter before. There were a great many things she needed, but most of all she wanted a party. She had been to two already.
"What a silly idea!" said her father.
But Lily kept tight hold of her idea and her money, and the last of January, with Chris' help, she brought it about. They took the bedstead out of the back parlor and changed the furniture around. And though her mother called it foolishness, she baked some tiny biscuits and made a batch of crullers and boiled a ham. Lily bought fancy cakes, mottoes, candies, and nuts, and a few oranges which were very expensive.
The Underhill boys were invited, of course. Benny said "he didn't believe he would go. He shouldn't know what to do at a party."
"Why, follow your nose," laughed Jim. "Do just as the rest do. Don't be a gump!"
"And I hate to be fooling round girls."
"You don't seem to mind Dele Whitney. You're just cracked about her."
I don't know how the boys of that day managed without the useful and pithy word "mashed."
"It's no such thing, Jim Underhill! She's always down-stairs with her mother. I go in to see Mr. Theodore;" yet Ben's face was scarlet.
"You know you like her," teasingly.
"Idolike her. And it's awful mean not to ask her when she's in the same crowd and lives on the block. But she doesn't care. She wouldn't go."
"Sour grapes." Jim made a derisive face.
"You shut up about it."
"Don't get wrathy, Benjamin Franklin."
When his mother said "Benny Frank," he thought it the best name in the whole world. Perhaps part was due to his mother's tone. And Ben was a splendid boy's name. But his schoolmates did torment him. They asked him if he had finished his roll, and if he had any to give away. They pestered him about flying his kite, and inquired what he said to the King of France when he went abroad—if it was "parley vous de donkey." If there is anything the average school-boy can turn into ridicule he does it. When Jim wanted to be exasperating he gave him his whole name. And then Ben wished he had been called plain John, even if there had been two in the family.
But the day of the party Jim coaxed him, and Jim could be irresistible. Then Margaret said: "Oh, yes, I think I would go." She fixed up both of the boys, and scented their handkerchiefs with her "triple extract," and hoped they would have a nice time, insisting that one needn't be afraid of girls.
Of course they did, especially Jim. He was in for all the fun and frolic, and the kissing didn't worry him a bit when the "forfeits" were announced. He didn't mind how deep he "stood in the well," nor how high the tree was from which they "picked cherries." Bencouldrise to an emergency if he was not praying for it every moment.
Chris was a great card. She could not help wishing that she knew enough young people in her social round to ask to a party. There were enough young ladies, but a "hen party" wasn't much fun. She made herself very agreeable to the Underhill boys, and wished in the sweetest of tones "that shedidknow their sister Margaret."
There were a good many imperfect lessons the next day, but the party was the great topic. Hosts of girls were "mad."
"I couldn't ask everybody. The house wouldn't hold them," declared Lily. But she took great comfort in thinking she had "paid out" several girls against whom she had a little grudge. And the "left-outs" declared they wouldn't have gone anyhow. It must be admitted that the party did advance Lily socially.
The family had hardly recovered from this spasm of gayety when Stephen insisted that Margaret should go to a Valentine's ball at the Astor House, to be given to the ladies by a club of bachelors. He was going to take Dolly. Mrs. Bond would be there, and Dolly came up to coax her prospective mother-in-law. "Margaret had not gone into any society and was only a school-girl, altogether too young to have her head filled with such nonsense," with many more reasons and conjunctions. Dolly was so sweet and persuasive, and said the simplest white gown would do, young girls really didn't dress much. Then Margaret would have it ready for her graduation. They would be sure to send her home early and take the best of care of her.
Joe said: "Why, of course she must go. It wasn't like being among strangers with Dolly and her people." So the boys and Dolly carried the day. All the while Margaret's heart beat with an unaccustomed throb. She did not really know whether she wanted to go or not.
St. Valentine's Day was held in high repute then. You sent your best girl the prettiest valentine your purse could afford, and she laid it away in lavender to show to her children. Bashful young fellows often asked the momentous question in that manner. There were some lovely ones, with original verses written in, for there were young bards in those days who struggled over birthday and valentine verses, and who would have scorned second-hand protestations.
Though Margaret didn't get any valentines the little girl received three that were extremely pretty. She asked Steve if he didn't send one.
"Oh, dear," he answered, as if he were amazed at the question, "I had to spend all my money buying Dolly one." And Joe pretended to be so surprised. He had spent his money for Margaret's sash and gloves and bunch of flowers. Even John would not own up to the soft impeachment and declared, "Your lovers sent them."
"But I haven't any lovers," said the little girl, in all innocence.
She used to read them to her mother, and ask her which she thought came from Steve, which from Joe and John. It was quite funny, though, that Nora Whitney had one exactly like one of hers. And even Mr. Theodore declared he didn't send them.
Margaret looked like an angel, the little girl thought. Her white cashmere frock was simply made, with a lace frill about the neck and at the edge of the short sleeves. Her broad blue satin sash was elegant. Miss Cynthia came and plaited her beautiful hair in a marvellous openwork sort of braid, and she had two white roses and a silver arrow in it. Her slippers were white kid, her gloves had just a cream tint, and Miss Cynthia brought her own opera cloak, which was light brocaded silk, wadded and edged with swans-down.
Joe looked just splendid, the little girl decided. If she could only have seen Dolly!
The Beekman coach was sent up for Margaret, who kissed her little sister and went off like Cinderella!
"Oh, do you suppose she will meet the king's son?" asked Hanny, all excitement.
"Oh, child, what nonsense!" exclaimed her mother.
It wasn't the king's son; but young Doctor Hoffman was there, and Margaret danced several times with him. They talked so much about Joe that Margaret felt very friendly with him.
After that the world ran on in snow, in sunshine, and in rain. The days grew longer. March was rough and blowy. Mother Underhill had to go up in the country for a week, for Grandfather Van Kortlandt died. He had been out of health and paralyzed for a year or two. Aunt Katrina had been staying there, and they would go on in the old house until spring. She was grandmother's sister. Of course no one could feel very sorry about poor old Uncle Nickie, as he was called. He had always been rather queer, and was no comfort to himself, for he had lost his mind, but everybody admitted that grandmother had done her duty, and the Van Kortlandt children, grown men and women, thanked her for all her good care.
Oh, what fun the children had on the first of April! What rags were pinned to people—what shrieks of "My cat's got a long tail!" And there on the sidewalk would lay a tempting half-dollar with a string out of sight, and when the pedestrian stooped to pick it up—presto! how it would vanish. When one enterprising wight put his foot on it and picked it up triumphantly the boys called out:
"April fool! That's an awful sell, mister! It's a bad half-dollar."
They watched and saw him bite it and throw it down. Then they went after it and had their fun over and over again. Stephen had given the half-dollar to Jim with strict injunctions not to attempt to pass it or he'd get a "hiding," which no one ever did in the Underhill family. Mrs. Underhill declared "'Milyer was as easy as an old shoe, and she didn't see what had kept the children from going to ruin." Joe always insisted "it was pure native goodness."
Then they called out to the carters and other wagoners: "Oh, mister, say! Your wheel's goin' round!" And sometimes without understanding the driver would look and hear the shout.
They had another trick they played out in the Bowery. Boys had a reprehensible trick of "cutting behind," as the stages had two steps at the back, and the boys used to spring on them and steal rides. It was such a sight of fun to dodge the whip and spring off at the right moment. Sometimes a cross-grained passenger who had been a very good boy in his youth would tell.
On this day they didn't steal the ride. They called out with great apparent honesty: "Cuttin' behind, driver—two boys!"
Then the driver would slash his whip furiously, and even the passers-by would enjoy the joke. Of course you could only play that once on each driver.
Altogether it was a day of days. You were fooled, of course; no one was smart enough to keep quite clear. But almost everybody was good-natured about it. Martha found some eggs that had been "blown," and a potato filled with ashes, and there were inventions that would have done credit to the "pixies."
The little girl would not go out to play in the afternoon, and she didn't even run when Jim said, "Nora wanted her for something special." But she really had no conscience about fooling her father several times. He pretended to be so surprised, and said, "Oh, you little witch!" It was a day on which you had need to keep your wits about you.
Then with the long days and the sunshine came so many things. Little girls skipped rope and rolled hoops, their guiding-sticks tied with a bright ribbon. The boys had iron hoops and an iron guider, and they made a musical jingle as they went along. There were kites too, but you didn't catch Benny Frank flying one. And marbles and ball. In the afternoon the streets seemed alive with children. But what would those people have said to the five-story tenement-houses with their motley crew! Then Ludlow and Allen and many another street wore such a clean and quaint aspect, and the ladies sat at their parlor windows in the afternoon sewing and watching their little ones.
"Ring-a-round-a-rosy" began again. And dear me, there were so many signs! You must not step on a crack in the flagging or something dreadful would happen to you. And you mustn't pick up a pin with the point toward you or you would surely be disappointed. If the head was toward you, you could pick it up and make a wish which would be sure to come to pass. You must cut your finger-nails Monday morning before breakfast and you would get a present before the week was out. And if you walked straight to school that morning you were likely to have good lessons, but if you loitered or stopped to play or were late, bad luck would follow you all the week. And the little girls used to say:
"Lesson, lesson, come to me,Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, three,Thursday, Friday, then you mayHave a rest on Saturday,"
"Lesson, lesson, come to me,Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, three,Thursday, Friday, then you mayHave a rest on Saturday,"
So you see a little girl's life was quite a weighty matter.
That summer political excitement ran high. Indeed, it had begun in the winter. A new party had nominated Mr. James Harper for mayor, and in the spring he had been elected. Mr. Theodore used to pause and discuss men and measures now that it was getting warm enough to sit out on the stoop and read your paper. Country habits were not altogether tabooed. But what impressed his honor the mayor most strongly on the little girl's mind was something Aunt Nancy Archer, who was now an earnest Methodist, said when she was up to tea one evening.
"I did look to see Brother Harper set up a little. It's only natural, you know, and I can't quite believe in perfection. But there he was in class-meeting, not a mite changed, just as friendly and earnest as ever, not a bit lifted up because he had been called to the highest position in the city."
"There's no doubt but he will make a good mayor," rejoined Mr. Underhill. "He's a good, honest man. And all the brothers are capable men, men who are able to pull together. I'm not sure but we'll have to go outside of party lines a little. It ought to broaden a man to be in a big city."
The little girl slipped her hand in Aunt Nancy's.
"Is he your school-teacher?" she ventured timidly.
"School-teacher? Why, no, child!" in surprise.
"You said class——"
"You'll have to be careful, Aunt Nancy. That little girl has an inquiring mind," laughed her father.
"Yes. It's a church class. I belong to the same church as Brother Harper. We're old-fashioned Methodists. We go to this class to tell our religious experiences. You are not old enough to understand that. But we talk over our troubles and trials, and tell of our blessings too, I hope, and then Brother Harper has a good word for us. He comforts us when we are down at the foot of the hill, and he gives us a word of warning if he thinks we are climbing heights we're not quite fitted for. He makes a comforting prayer."
"I should like to see him," said the little girl.
"Well, get your father to bring you down to church some Sunday. Do, Vermilye."
"Any time she likes," said her father.
They talked on, but Hanny went off into a little dreamland of her own. She was not quite clear what a mayor's duty was, only he was a great man. And her idea of his not being set up, as Aunt Nancy had phrased it, was that there was a great handsome chair, something like a throne, that had been arranged for him, and he had come in and taken a common seat. She was to have a good deal of hero-worship later on, and be roused and stirred by Carlyle, but there was never anything finer than the admiration kindled in her heart just then.
After Aunt Nancy went away she crept into her father's lap.
"Aren't you glad Mr. Harper's our mayor?" she asked. "Did everybody vote for him? Do girls—big girls—and women vote?"
"No, dear. Men over twenty-one are the only persons entitled to vote. Steve and Joe and I voted. And it's too bad, but John can't put in his vote for President this fall."
"The mayor governs the city, and the governor, the State. What does the President do?"
Her father explained the most important duties to her, and that a President was elected every four years. That was the highest office in the country.
"And who is going to be our President?" She was getting to be a party woman already.
"Well, it looks as if Henry Clay would. We shall all work for him."
If it only wouldn't come bedtime so soon!
The little girl studied and played with a will. She could skip rope like a little fairy, but it had been quite a task to drive her hoop straight. She was unconsciously inclined to make "the line of beauty." I don't know that it was always graceful, either.
Some new people moved in the block. Just opposite there was a tall thin woman who swept and dusted and scrubbed until Steve said "he was afraid there wouldn't be enough dirt left to bury her with." She wore faded morning-gowns and ragged checked aprons, and had her head tied up with something like a turban, only it was grayish and not pretty. She did not always get dressed up by afternoon. Oh, how desperately clean she was! Even her sidewalk had a shiny look, and as for her door brasses, they outdid the sun.
She had one boy, about twelve perhaps. And his name was John Robert Charles Reed. He was fair, well dressed, and so immaculately clean that Jim said he'd give a dollar, if he could ever get so much money together, just to roll him in the dirt. His mother always gave him his full name. He went to a select school, but when he was starting away in the morning his mother would call two or three times to know if he had all of his books, if he had a clean handkerchief, and if he was sure his shoes were tied, and his clothes brushed.
And one day a curious sort of carriage went by, a chair on wheels, and a man was pushing it while a lady walked beside it. In the chair was a most beautiful girl or child, fair as a lily, with long light curls and the whitest of hands. Hanny watched in amazement, and then went in to tell her mother. "She looks awful pale and sick," said Hanny.
Josie Dean found out presently who she was. She had come to one of the houses that had the pretty gardens in front. She had been very ill, and she couldn't walk a step. And her name was Daisy Jasper.
Such a beautiful name, and not to be able to run and play! Oh, how pitiful it was!
The little girl had her new spring and summer clothes made. They were very nice, but somehow she did not feel as proud of them as she had last summer. Her father took her to Aunt Nancy's church one Sunday. It was very large and plain and full of people. Aunt Nancy sat pretty well up, but they found her. There seemed a good many old men and women, Hanny thought, but the young people were up in the galleries. She thought the singing was splendid, it really went up with a shout. People sang in earnest then.
When they came out everybody shook hands so cordially. Aunt Nancy waited a little while and then beckoned a tall, kindly looking man, who was about as old as her father, though there was something quite different about him. He shook hands with Sister Archer, and she introduced him. He said he was very glad to see Mr. Underhill among them, and smiled down at the little girl as he took her small hand. She came home quite delighted that she had shaken hands with the mayor. Then one day Steve took her and Ben down to Cliff Street, through the wonderful printing-house, small in comparison to what it is to-day. They met the mayor again and had a nice chat.
The next great thing to Hanny was Margaret's graduation. She had been studying very hard to pass this year, for she was past eighteen, and she was very successful. Even Joe found time to go down. She wore her pretty white dress, but she had a white sash, and her bodice had been turned in round the neck to make it low, as girls wore them then. Hanny thought her the prettiest girl there. She had an exquisite basket of flowers sent her, beside some lovely bouquets. Annette Beekman graduated too, and all the Beekman family were out in force.
There were some very pretty closing exercises in the little girl's school, and at Houston Street Jim was one of the orators of the day, and distinguished himself in "Marco Bozzaris," one of the great poems of that period.
After that people went hither and thither, and when schools opened and business started up the Presidential campaign was in full blast. There was Clay and Frelinghuysen, Polk and Dallas, and at the last moment the Nationals, a new party, had put up candidates, which was considered bad for the Whigs. Still they shouted and sang with great gusto:
"Hurrah, hurrah, the country's risin'For Harry Clay and Frelinghuysen!"
"Hurrah, hurrah, the country's risin'For Harry Clay and Frelinghuysen!"
The Democrats, Loco-Focos, as they were often called in derision, were very sure of their victory. So were the Whigs. The other party did not really expect success. There were parades of some kind nearly every night. Even the boys turned out and marched up and down with fife and drum. There was no end of spirited campaign songs, and rhymes of every degree. The Loco Foco Club at school used to sing:
"Oh, poor old Harry Clay!Oh, poor old Harry Clay!You never can be PresidentFor Polk stands in the way."
"Oh, poor old Harry Clay!Oh, poor old Harry Clay!You never can be PresidentFor Polk stands in the way."
Nora Whitney used to rock in the big chair with kitty in her arms, and this was her version:
"Oh, poor old pussy gray!Oh, poor old pussy gray!You never can be PresidentFor Polk stands in the way."
"Oh, poor old pussy gray!Oh, poor old pussy gray!You never can be PresidentFor Polk stands in the way."
This didn't tease the little girl nearly so much, for she knew no matter how sweet and lovely and good a cat might be, it could only aspire to that honor in catland. She did so hate to hear Mr. Clay called old and poor when he was neither. To her he was brave Harry of the West, the hero of battle-fields.
Jim had a rather hard time as well. He thought, with a boy's loyalty, his people must be right. But there was Lily, who, with allherpeople, was a rabid Democrat. He quite made up his mind he wouldn't keep in with her, but the two girls he liked next best had Democratic affiliations also.
Then the Whigs had a grand procession. Perhaps it would have been the part of wisdom to wait until the victory was assured, but the leaders thought it best to arouse enthusiasm to the highest pitch.
Stephen had joined with some friends and hired a window down Broadway. The little girl thought it a very magnificent display. Such bands of strikingly dressed men marching to inspiriting music, their torches flaring about in vivid rays, such carriage loads, such wagons representing different industries, and there was the grand Ship of State, drawn by white horses, four abreast, and gayly attired, in which Henry Clay was to sail successfully into the White House. After that imposing display the little girl had no fear at all. Jim was very toploftical to Miss Lily for several days.
Then came the fatal day. There were no telegraphs to flash the news all over the country before midnight. A small one connected Baltimore and Washington, but long distance was considered chimerical.
So they had to wait and wait. Fortunes varied. At last reliable accounts came, and Polk had stood in the way, or perhaps Mr. Binney, the third candidate, had taken too many votes. Anyhow, the day was lost to brave Harry of the West.
The little girl was bitterly disappointed. She would have liked all the family to tie a black crape around their arms, as Joe had once when he went to a great doctor's funeral. Dele teased her a good deal, and Nora sang: