A Little Girl in Old New York Part 9

"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 ap.r.o.n. 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 sn.o.bs 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 pa.s.sed 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 the day. Their milk came from the Odells in West Farms, and their b.u.t.ter from Yonkers. To be sure, it wasn't quite like country living, and Mrs. Underhill was positive that no one gave such a flavor to b.u.t.ter as herself.

The Odells and some other relatives were down on Fourth of July. They had the lamb and peas, as I said, and at that date one kind of meat was considered enough. They had green-apple pie. There was a very early pie-apple on the farm and George had brought some down for his mother.

He was well and happy as he could be "without the folks," and he shook his head a little ambiguously about Uncle Faid's method, and those of Mr. Finch.

They had some ice-cream and cake afterward. The little girl had never eaten any, and she thought it very queer. It would have been delightful but for the awful coldness of it! It froze the roof of her mouth and made an ache in the middle of her forehead. Steve told her people sometimes warmed it, and she ran out to the stove with her saucer.

"The land alive! What are you going to do with that cream?" almost shrieked Martha, who was washing dishes at the sink.

"Warm it," replied the little girl. "It's so cold."

Martha almost fell into a chair with the dish-cloth in her hand, and laughed as if she would have a fit. There was a suspicious sound from the dining-room as well, and the fair little face grew very red.

Steve came out.

"Here, Nannie, is mine that the weather has warmed, and I'll trade it for your peak of Greenland." He took the chunk out of her saucer, and poured the soft in.

"It is nicer," she said. "And you needn't laugh, Martha. When I am a big woman and make ice-cream I shall just boil it," and she walked back with grave dignity.

She took the Odell girls to Mrs. Dean's, and some other children flocked around the stoop. They had torpedoes and lady-crackers, that two children pulled, when they went off with a loud explosion in the middle and made you jump. There were real fire-crackers that the boys had, and pin-wheels and various simple fireworks. But the great thing would be going down to City Hall in the evening and seeing the fireworks there.

The Odells could not stay, to their sorrow. Mr. Underhill proposed to take the business wagon and put three seats in it, and ask the Deans to go with them. Mrs. Dean was very glad to accept for herself and the children. There was a young lady next door, Miss Weir, that Margaret liked very much, and she accompanied them. John had promised to take charge of the boys. Steve had dressed himself in his new light summer suit and gone off.

The little girl thought the display beyond any words at her command.

Such mysterious rockets falling to pieces in stars of every color. There was a great dome of stars, and rays that presently shot up into heaven; there was a ship on fire, which really frightened her. And, oh! the noise and the people, the shouting and hurrahing, the houses trimmed with flags, the bra.s.s band that played all the patriotic songs, and the endless confusion! The little girl clung closely to her mother, glad she was not down on the sidewalk, for the people would surely have trodden on her.