A Little Girl in Old New York Part 18

The children glanced at each other in sudden surprise. The glory of a grand conspiracy shone in their eyes.

"Well, that's too good!" declared Walter. "Won't I just brag of that at school on Monday. Oh, yes, let's stay."

"We had better go down, for it is getting cool up here. If we only had something to eat. Hanny, are you hungry? I don't believe Nora ever knows whether she has eaten or not. Mother says she's just the worst. I don't mind a bit, but you all----"

"I wouldn't give a copper for supper. It's ever so much more fun staying," rejoined Walter.

"I'm always hungry as a bear, but I'd a hundred times rather stay," Jim replied. "Hanny, will you mind?"

"I'm not a bit hungry," answered Hanny. "It's all so beautiful. Oh, do let's stay!"

"That settles it. Dele, you are a trump."

They picked their way carefully down-stairs. The room was not very brilliantly lighted, but they found many curiosities that had escaped their attention before. They espied the diorama and it interested them very much. Half a dozen people straggled in. The janitor turned on more light, and began to arrange a platform in a recess.

How any one would feel at home Jim never thought. The rest were in the habit of doing quite as they liked, and Delia often stayed at her aunt's until nine o'clock.

At seven the main hall was quite full. The people were crowding up around the platform. The children went too. The curtain was swung aside and out stepped Tom Thumb, to be received with cheers. He sang a song and went through with some military evolutions. There was a railing around and no one could crowd upon him, but a number spoke to him and shook hands.

"My little girl," said a tall gentleman who had watched Hanny's ineffectual efforts to make herself taller, "will you let me hold you up? Wouldn't you like to shake hands? You're not much bigger yourself."

"Oh, please do," entreated Dele in her eager young voice. "She is so small."

Hanny was a little startled, but the man held her in his arms and she smiled hesitatingly. As she met the kindly eyes she said, "Oh, thank you. It's so nice."

The general came down that end.

"Here is a little lady wants to shake hands with you," the gentleman said, who was quite a friend of Tom Thumb's.

The small hand was proffered. Hanny was almost afraid, but she put hers in it and the gallant little general hoped she was well. Then he made a bow and retired behind the curtain, and it was announced that he would appear again after the lecture-room performance.

They went in and took their seats. Nora was tired, and leaning her head on Dele's shoulder went sound asleep. Hanny was getting tired; perhaps, too, she missed her supper.

It wasn't quite so much fun, for the play was just the same. The audience enjoyed it greatly. The Indians were more obstreperous, and sang a hideous song. The vocalists sang many popular songs of the day, "Old Dan Tucker," "Lucy Long," "Zip c.o.o.n," and several patriotic songs.

There was more dancing than in the afternoon, and the boys enjoyed the Juba in song and dance by a "real slave darkey" who had been made so by a liberal application of burnt cork, and who could clap and pat the tune on his knee.

They did not stop to see Tom Thumb again, but went straight down-stairs.

Walter said good-night and declared he had had a splendid time, and Dele must thank Cousin The again. The four others bundled into the stage, which was crowded, but some kindly disposed people held both Nora and Hanny. They had quite a habit of doing it then.

Jim had been wondering what they would say at home. Of course he knew now he ought not have stayed. But nothing _had_ happened, and Hanny was all right, and--well, he would face the music whatever it was. If Dele could be trusted, why not he?

There had been a good deal of anxiety. Mrs. Underhill had expected them home by six, but their father said: "Oh, give them a little grace." But when seven o'clock came she went down to Whitney's to inquire. The table was still standing. Mrs. Whitney sat at the head with a book in her hand; Dave, the second son, was smoking and reading his paper. Both girls had gone out.

"Oh, Mrs. Underhill, don't feel a bit worried! They'll come home all safe. I shouldn't wonder if Dele had taken them over to her aunt's, and she'll never let them come home without their supper. She's the greatest hand for children I ever saw. And Dele's so used to going about. Then everybody's out on Sat.u.r.day night. Dear me! I haven't given it an anxious thought," declared Mrs. Whitney.

But Mrs. Underhill could not take it so comfortably.

"There's so many of them we should hear if anything had happened," said John. "And there is no use looking, for we shouldn't know where they are; Jim's pretty good stuff too, for a country boy. Now, mother, don't be foolish."

But she grew more and more uneasy. If she had not let Hanny go! What could she have been thinking of to do such a thing?

After nine Mr. Underhill walked out to the Bowery, and watched every stage that halted at the corner. Men, women, and children alighted, but no little girl. Oh, where could she be? He felt almost as if the world was coming to an end.

Then a familiar group all talking at the same time stepped out on the sidewalk. A big girl and two little ones.

"O father, father!" cried Hanny.

He wanted to hug her there in the street. It seemed to him he had never been so glad and relieved in all his life, or loved her half so well.

"Where _have_ you stayed so long?"

"We went to two museums," said Hanny, before the elders could find their tongues. "And oh, father, we saw Tom Thumb and he's just as little and cunning as a baby! And he shook hands with me. A gentleman held me up.

It was beautiful, but I'm awful tired."

"Oh, _were_ you troubled?" cried Delia. "Why didn't you just go in to ma and she would have told you that I always come up right, and that nothing ever happens to me, I'm so used to taking care of children. Why, when we lived down town I used to take out the neighbors' children--over to Staten Island and to Williamsburg, and always brought them home safely. Then we hadn't half seen the curiosities, and we should have missed the nice time with that lovely little Tom Thumb. And we thought it such capital fun!"

Mr. Underhill really could not say a word. Tired as she was, the little girl was full of delight. Jim tried to make some explanations and take part of the blame, but Delia talked them all down and was so fresh and merry that you couldn't imagine she had gone without her supper.

Mrs. Underhill stood at the area gate with a shawl about her shoulders.

The little girl let go of her father's hand and ran to her.

"Dear Mrs. Underhill," began Dele, "I expect you'll almost want to kill me, but I never thought about your being worried, for no one ever worries about me. I suppose it is because I never do get into any danger. And you must not scold any one, for I was the eldest, except Cousin Walter, and it was my place to think, but I didn't one bit. It seemed awful funny, you know, to have it all over for the same money, and we not paying anything at all! And I did take good care of Hanny.

She's had a lovely time--we all have. And please don't scold Jim. He's been a perfect gentleman. We didn't do anything rude nor coa.r.s.e, and everybody was as polite to us as if we'd been Queen Victoria's children.

And so good-night."

"Jim, your father ought to give you a good thrashing. The idea! I wouldn't have believed any child of mine could have had such a little sense," his mother declared.

I don't know what might have happened, but just then Steve and Margaret returned. And when Steve caught sight of Jim's sober face and heard the story, he thought it very boylike and rather amusing. Besides, it seemed a pity to spoil the good time. So he laughed, and told Jim he had cheated Mr. Barnum out of a quarter, and that he would have to save up his money to make it good.

"And he owes me nine cents toward the omnibus ride. He must pay me that first," said his mother sharply.

"I wasn't admitted _twice_" rejoined Jim. "It is the admittance. I didn't see any notice about not staying, and I don't believe I really owe Mr. Barnum another quarter."

"Jim, I think I'll educate you for a lawyer. You have such a way of squirming out of tight places."

They all laughed.

"Mother, do give the children some supper," said their father.

"Here, Jim, pay your mother." Steve laid him down sixpence and three pennies. We had Mexican sixpences and shillings in those days. "You'll have enough on your mind without that debt. And next time think of the folks at home."

"Why didn't the Whitneys feel worried? Oh, thank you, Steve."

"It did beat all," said Mrs. Underhill. "There Mrs. Whitney sat reading a novel----"

"Perhaps it was her French exercise," interrupted Steve, with a twinkle in his eye.

"It was no such thing! It was a yellow-covered novel!" I don't know why they persisted in putting novels in p.r.o.nounced yellow covers to betray people, unless it was that publishers wouldn't use false pretences. And to put a story in the fatal color made it as reprehensible to most people as a yellow aster. "And such a table!" Mrs. Underhill caught her breath. "Everything at sixes and sevens, and the cloth looking as if it had been used a month, and Mrs. Whitney as unconcerned as if the children had only gone down to the corner. I declare I couldn't be so--so----"