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Little Girl in Old New York

<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> <h3>SOME OF THE OLD LANDMARKS</h3> "Yes, all of us," said Ben. "We can tuck in the Deans. I only wish Charles could go. Well, the house won't run away. And Mr. Audubon has travelled all over the world. Mr. Whitney wrote an article about him. That's the work I'd like to do—go and see famous people and write about them." Interviewing was not such a fine art in those days. Ben had enough of it later on. Dr. Joe had asked Mr. Audubon's permission to bring a crowd of children to see him and his birds. He was getting to be quite an attraction in the city. When they packed up they found a crowd sure enough. But Dr. Hoffman took Margaret and the little girl with him, as Charles had been allowed a half day off for the trip. The drive was so full of interest. They went up past the old Stuyvesant place and took a look at the pear-tree that had been planted almost two hundred years ago and was still bearing fruit. Then they turned into the old Bloomingdale Road, and up by Seventy-fifth Street they all stopped to see the house where Louis Philippe taught school when he was an emigrant in America. And now he was on the throne, King of the French people, a grander and greater position, some thought, than being President of the United States. "For of course," said Jim, "he can stay there all his life, and the President has only four years in the White House. After all, it is a big thing to be a king." And in a little more than two years he was flying over to England for refuge and safety, and was no longer a king. Mr. Polk was still in the White House. It was an odd, low, two-story frame house where royalty had been thankful to teach such boys as Ben and Jim and Charles. There was a steep, sloping roof with wide eaves, a rather narrow doorway in the middle of the front, carved with very elaborate work, and an old knocker with a lion's head, small but fierce. The large room on one side had been the schoolroom, and the board floor was worn in two curious rows where the boys had shuffled their feet. The fireplace was what most people came to see. It was spacious and had a row of blue and white Antwerp tiles with pictures taken from the New Testament. They were smoked and faded now, but they still told their story. The mantelpiece and the doors were a mass of the most elaborate carving. There were still some old houses standing in New York that had been built with bricks brought from Holland. Charles was very much interested in these curiosities and had found one of the houses down in Pearl Street. Then they drove up through McGowan's Pass, where Washington had planned to make a decisive stand at the battle of Harlem Heights. There was the ledge of rock and the pretty lake that was to be Central Park some day. It was all wildness now. There was so much to see that Dr. Joe declared they had no more time to spend following Washington's retreat. "But it was just grand that he should come back here to be inaugurated the first President of the United States," said Charles. "I am proud of having had that in New York." "The city has a great many famous points," said Dr. Joe; "but we seem to have lost our enthusiasm over them. Beyond there," nodding his head over east, "is the Murray House that can tell its story. Handsome Mrs. Murray, and she was a Quaker, too, made herself so charming in her hospitality to the British generals that she detained them long enough for Silliman's brigade to retreat to Harlem. Washington was awaiting them at the Apthorpe House, and they had left that place not more than fifteen minutes when the British came flying in the hot haste of pursuit. So but for Mrs. Murray's smiles and friendliness they might have captured our Washington as well as the city." "That was splendid," declared Charles enthusiastically. "And maybe as a boy Lindley Murray might have thought up his grammar that he was to write later on to puzzle your brains," continued Dr. Joe. "Well, that is odd, too. I'll forgive him his grammar," said Ben, with a twinkle in his eye. "And if we don't go on we will have no time for Professor Audubon and the birds. But we could ramble about all day." "I didn't know there were so many interesting things in the city. They seem somehow a good ways off when you are studying them," replied Charles. He really wished Hanny was in the carriage. She was so eager about all these old stories. Then they went over to Tenth Avenue. There was the old Colonial house, with its broad porch and wide flight of steps. It was country then with its garden and fields, its spreading trees and grassy slopes. And there was Professor Audubon on the lawn with his wife and two little grandchildren. He came and welcomed the party cordially. He had met both doctors before. He was tall, with a fine fair face and long curling hair thrown back, now snowy white. Once with regard to the wishes of some friends while abroad he had yielded and had it cut "fashionable," to his great regret afterward, and the reminiscence was rather amusing. His wide white collar, open at the throat, added to his picturesque aspect. Then he had a slight French accent that seemed to render his hospitality all the more charming. Ben and Charles knew that he had been nearly all over the Continent, and had hardships innumerable and discouragements many, and had in spite of them succeeded in writing and illustrating one of the most magnificent of books. And when they trooped into the house and saw the stuffed birds and animals, the pictures he had painted, and the immense folio volumes so rich with drawings, it hardly seemed possible that one brain could have wrought it all. Everything, from the most exquisite hummingbird to an eagle and a wild turkey. There was no museum of natural history then. Mr. Barnum's collection was considered quite a wonder. But to hear this soft-voiced man with his charming simplicity describe them, was fascination itself. The little girl really wavered in her admiration for Mayor Harper. He had been her hero par excellence up to this time. A man who could govern a city and make boots had seemed wonderful, but here was a man who could keep the birds quite as if they were alive. You almost expected them to sing. He was very fond of children and Mrs. Audubon was hardly less delightful. They could not see half the treasures in such a brief while, and they were glad to be invited to come again. Ben did find his way up there frequently, and Charles gleaned many an entertaining bit of knowledge. When the little girl went again, the tender, eager eyes had lost their sight, and the enthusiasm turned to a pathos that was sorrow itself. But there was no hint of it this happy day, which remained one of their most delightful memories. Now that they were so near, Margaret said they must go and see Miss Lois. Dr. Joe was quite a regular visitor, for Miss Lois was growing more frail every week. Josie and Tudie thought they would like to see another old house, and a harp "taller than yourself." Charles was much interested. Jim had his mind so full of birds and hunting adventures he could think of nothing else, and said he would rather walk around. Miss Lois was quite feeble to-day, and said Margaret must be the hostess. They went into the old parlor and examined the quaint articles and some of the old-fashioned books. Josie wished they might try the harp and see how it would sound, but no one would propose it if Miss Lois was so poorly. "It's very queer," said Hanny. "She played for me once. The strings are rusted and broken, and it sounds just like the ghost of something, as if you were going way, way back. I didn't like it." The German woman was out in the kitchen and gave them each a piece of cake. There was a quaint old dresser with some pewter plates and a pitcher, and old china, and a great high mantel. "You seem way out in the country," said Charles. "But it's pretty, too. And the trees and the river and Fort Washington. Why, it's been like an excursion. I am so glad you asked me to come." Margaret entered the room. "She wants to see you, Hanny," she said quietly. "And when she is stronger she would like the little girls to come again." Hanny went into the chamber. Miss Lois was sitting up in the big rocker, but her face was as white as the pillow back of her head. And oh, how thin her hands were! strangely cold, too, for a summer day. "I'm very glad you came again, little Hanny," she said. "I had been thinking of you and Margaret all day, and how good it was of your father and you to hunt me up as you did. You've given me a deal of happiness. Tell him I am thankful for all his kindness. Will you kiss me good-by, dear? I hope you'll be spared to be a great comfort to every one." Hanny kissed her. The lips were almost as cold as the hands. And then she went out softly with a strange feeling she did not understand. It was late enough then to go straight home. Dr. Joe had a little talk with his mother, and the next day he took her up to Harlem. The children went over to Daisy's in the afternoon and told her about "everything." Mrs. Jasper insisted upon keeping them to supper. Her mother had not returned when the little girl went to bed. It seemed so strange the next morning without her. Margaret was very quiet and grave, so the little girl practised and sewed, and then read a while. In the afternoon her mother came home and said Miss Lois had gone to be with her sister and her long-lost friends in the other country. A feeling of awe came over her. No one very near to her had died, and though she had not seen so very much of Miss Lois, for her mother had gone up quite often without her, the fact that she had been there so lately, had held her poor nerveless hand, had kissed her good-by in an almost sacred manner when she was so near death, touched her. Did she know? Hanny wondered. What was death? The breath went out of your body—and her old thoughts about the soul came back to her. It was so different when the world was coming to an end. Then you were to be caught up into heaven and not be put into the ground. She shrank from the horrible thought of being buried there, of being so covered that you never could get out. She decided that she would not so much mind if the world did come to an end. "Margaret," she said, "was it dreadful for Miss Lois to die?" "No, dear," returned her sister gently. "If we were all in another country, the beautiful heaven, and you were here all alone, would you not like to come to us? That was the way Miss Lois felt. It is so much better than living on here alone. And then when one gets old—no, dear, it was a pleasant journey to her. She had thought a great deal about it, and had loved and served God. This is what we all must do." "Margaret, what must I do to serve Him?" "I think trying to make people happier is one service. Being helpful and obedient, and taking up the little trials cheerfully, when we have to do the things we don't quite like." "I wish you would tell me something hard that I do not like to do." "Suppose I said I would not go out and play with the girls this afternoon." "I'd rather not of myself," said Hanny. "I feel like being still and thinking." Margaret smiled down in the sweet, serious face. There was no trial she could impose. "Then think of the beautiful land where Miss Lois has gone, where no one will be sick or tired or lonely, where the flowers are always blooming and there is no winter, where all is peace and love." "But I don't understand—how you get to heaven," said the puzzled child. "No one knows until the time comes. Then God shows us the way, and because He is there we do not have any terror. We just go to Him. It is a great mystery. No one can quite explain it." Elsie Hay came for her, but she said she was not going out, that she did not feel like playing. She brought her sewing, and in her mind wandered about heaven, seeing Miss Lois in her new body. They did not take her to the funeral. She went over to Daisy Jasper's and read to her, wondering a little if Daisy would be glad to go where she would be well and strong and have no more pain. But then she would have to leave her father and mother who loved her so very much. Miss Lois had left some keepsakes to Margaret. Two beautiful old brocaded silk gowns that looked like pictures, some fine laces, and a pretty painted fan that had been done expressly for her when she was young. A white embroidered lawn for Hanny, a pearl ring and six silver spoons, besides some curious old books. Mrs. Underhill was to take whatever she liked, and dispose of the rest. The good German neighbor was to have the house and lot for the care she had taken of both ladies. Mr. Underhill had arranged this some time before, so there would be no trouble. Everything in the house was old and well worn. There was a little china of value, and the rest was turned over to the kindly neighbor. Margaret and Hanny went up to visit grandmother, both grandmothers, indeed. The old Van Kortlandt house was a curiosity in its way, and though Hanny had seen it before she was not old enough to appreciate it. The satin brocade furniture was faded, the great gilt-framed mirrors tarnished, and all the bedsteads had high posts and hanging curtains, and a valance round the lower part. Aunt Katrina was there and a cousin Rhynders, a small, withered-up old man who played beautifully on a jewsharp, and who sang, in a rather tremulous but still sweet voice, songs that seemed quite fascinating to Hanny, pathetic old ballads such as one finds in "The Ballad Book" of a hundred years ago. There was an old woman in the kitchen who scolded the two farmhands continually; a beautiful big dog and a cross mastiff who was kept chained, as well as numerous cats, but Grandmother Van Kortlandt despised cats. It was delightful to get home again, though now Elsie and Florence had gone to see their grandmother, and the Deans were away also. But Daisy Jasper kissed her dozens of times, and said she had missed her beyond everything and she would not have known how to get along but for Dr. Joe. Hanny had so much to tell her about the journey and her relatives. "And I haven't even any grandmother," said Daisy. "There is one family of cousins in Kentucky, and one in Canada. So you see I am quite destitute." Both little girls laughed at that. Dr. Joe said Daisy was really improving. She walked about with her crutch, but they were afraid one leg would be a little short. Charles came over to see Hanny that very evening. He certainly had grown taller, and had lost much of his timidity. He really "talked up" to Jim. He was so fair and with the sort of sweet expression that was considered girlish, and kept himself so very neat, that he was different from most boys. I don't suppose his mother ever realized how much mortification and persecution it had cost him. She still toiled from morning to night. Charles began to wish she would wear a pretty gown and collar and a white apron at supper time instead of the dreadful faded ginghams. Everything had a faded look with her, she washed her clothes so often, swept her carpets, and scrubbed her oil-cloths so much. The only thing she couldn't fade was the window-glass. Charles and his father had grown quite confidential. They had talked about school and college. "Though I am afraid I don't want to be a minister," said Charles, drawing a long breath as if he had given utterance to a very wicked thought. "You shall have your own choice about it," replied his father firmly. "And there's no hurry." It had been such a pleasure to walk down-town every morning with his father. Broadway was fresh and clean, and the breeze came up from the river at every corner. There were not so many people nor factories, and there were still some lots given over to grassy spaces and shrubs. Walking to business was considered quite the thing then. He had a great deal to tell Hanny about "our" store, and what "we" were doing. The new beautiful stock that was coming in, for then it took from twelve to sixteen days to cross the ocean, and you had to order quite in advance. He had learned to play several tunes on the accordeon, and he hoped his father would let him take his four weeks' wages and buy one. And Mr. Gerard had said he should be very happy to have all the girls and their mothers come down some afternoon. "And if Daisy only could go!" "Isn't she beautiful?" said Charles. "She looks like an angel. Her short golden hair is like the glory they put around the saints and the Saviour, an aureole they call it." "What a beautiful word." "I thought at first she would die. But your brother is sure she will live now. Only it's such a pity——" the boy's voice faltered a little from intense sympathy. Hanny sighed too. She knew what he meant to say. But the children refrained from giving it a name. "Hanny, I think it's just splendid to be a doctor. To help people and encourage them when you can't cure them. He said one night when he stopped at the Deans that she might have been dreadfully deformed, and now it will not be very bad, that when her lovely hair gets grown out again it will not show much. I'm so glad." They had cut the golden ringlets close to her head, for she could not be disturbed during those critical weeks in the hospital. When the Deans came home there was great rejoicing. And since there was such a little time left for Charles to stay in the store they could not wait for Elsie and Flossie. "If we could take Daisy," Hanny said to Joe. He dropped in nearly every evening now. The city was very healthy in spite of August weather, and young doctors were not wont to be overrun with calls. "I don't see why you shouldn't. It would be the best thing in the world for her to go out, and to be with other children and have some interests in common with them. Yes, let us go down and see." The family were all out on the stoop and the little paved court. They were so screened from observation. Dr. Joe came and stood by Daisy's chair, while Hanny sat on a stool and held the soft hand. Then he preferred the children's request. "Oh, it would be lovely!" Then the pale face flushed. "I don't believe I—could." "Why not?" asked Dr. Joe. There was no immediate answer. Mrs. Jasper said hesitatingly: "Would it be wise, doctor? One cannot help being—well, sensitive." "Yet you do not want to keep this little girl forever secluded. There are so many enjoyable things in the world. It is not even as if Daisy had brothers and sisters who were coming in hourly with all manner of freshness and fun." "I can't bear people to look at me so. I can almost hear what they say——" Daisy's voice broke in a short sob. "My dear child," Dr. Joe took the other hand and patted it caressingly. "It is very sad and a great misfortune, but if you had to remember that it came from the violence of a drunken father, or the carelessness of an inefficient mother, it would seem a harder burden to bear. We can't tell why God allows some very sad events to happen, but when they do come we must look about for the best means of bearing them. God has seen fit to make a restoration to health and comparative strength possible. I think He means you to have some enjoyment as well. And when one gets used to bearing a burden it does not seem so heavy. Your parents are prosperous enough to afford you a great many indulgences, and you must not refuse them from a spirit of undue sensitiveness. And then, my little girl, God has given you such a beautiful face that it cannot help but attract. Can't you be brave enough to take the pleasures that come to you without darkening them by a continual sense of the misfortune?" Daisy was crying now. Dr. Joe pressed the small figure to his heart, and kissed her forehead. He had been unusually interested in the case, but he knew now some effort must be made, some mental pain endured, or her life would drop to weariness. Mrs. Jasper was very sensitive to comment herself. Mr. Jasper began to walk up and down the path. "Yes, doctor," he exclaimed; "what you say is true. You have been such a good friend to my little girl. We want her to be happy and to have some companionship. The children up your way have been very kind and sympathetic. I like that young lad extremely. It is only at first that the thing seems so hard. Daisy, I think I would go." He came and kissed his unfortunate little girl. "Oh, do!" entreated Hanny softly. "You see, it will be like the ladies of long ago when they went out in their chairs. There's some pictures in the old books Miss Lois sent us, and the funny clothes they wore. I'll bring them over some day. I read about a lady going to Court in her chair. And there were two or three pretty maids to wait on her. We'll make believe you are the Countess Somebody, and we are the ladies in waiting. And we'll all go to the Palace. The King will be out; they're always on hunting expeditions, and the Prince, that will be Charles, there was a bonnie Prince Charlie once, will take us about and show us the lovely things in the Palace——" Hanny had talked herself out of breath and stopped. Mr. Jasper laughed. "Upon my word, Miss Hanny, you would make a good stage manager. There, could you have it planned out any nicer, Daisy? I shall have to be on hand to see the triumphal procession as it goes down Broadway." Hanny's imagination had rendered it possible. Joe swung her up in his strong arms. "We think a good deal of our Hanny," he said laughingly. "If she was smaller she might be exhibited along with Tom Thumb, but she's spoiled that brilliant enterprise, and yet she stays so small that we begin to think she's stunted." "Oh, Joe, do you really?" she cried. "We shall have to call her the little girl all her life. And you know she's bothered a good deal about her name, which isn't at all pretty, but she takes it in good part, and puts up with it." "I call her Annie sometimes," said Daisy. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Ann is but plain and common, And Nancy sounds but ill; While Anna is endurable, And Annie better still," </div> </div> repeated Dr. Joe. "So you see we all have some trials. To be a little mite of a thing and to be called Hanneran is pretty bad. And now, little mite, we must go back home. When will the cavalcade start? I must be on hand to see it move." "About three, Charles said. Oh, it will be just delightful!" Now that Hanny had been put down she hopped around on one foot for joy. They said good-night and walked up home. "Don't you think I will grow some, Joe?" she asked, with a pretty doubt in her tone. "I did grow last year, for mother had to let down my skirts." "I don't want you to grow too much. I like little women," he answered. The cavalcade, as Dr. Joe called it, did start the next day. Daisy's mother and her Aunt Ellen went, Mrs. Dean and Margaret, and four little girls, including Nora Whitney, who was growing "like a weed." They went out to Broadway and then straight down. Of course people looked at them. The children were so merry, and really, Daisy in her chair with her colored attendant was quite an unusual incident. Aunt Ellen had let her carry her pretty dove-colored sunshade. It was lined with pink and had a joint in the handle that turned it down and made a shelter from too curious eyes. There were a good many people out. It was not necessary then to go away for the whole summer in order to be considered fashionable. People went and came, and when they were home they promenaded in the afternoon without losing caste. Stores were creeping up Broadway. "Gerard & Co." was on the block above the Astor House, a very attractive notion and fancy store. The window was always beautifully arranged, and the cases were full of tempting articles. There were seats for customers, and across the end of the long store pictures and bijou tables and music-boxes were displayed. In a small anteroom there was a workshop where musical instruments, jewelry and, trinkets were repaired. Sam lifted out his young mistress and carried her in. Charles came forward to receive his guests, and though he flushed and showed some embarrassment, acquitted himself quite creditably. Mr. Gerard, with his French politeness, made them very welcome and took a warm interest at once in Daisy. She sat by the counter with Sam at her back, and looked quite the countess of Hanny's description. Mr. Gerard brought her some rare and pretty articles to examine. The others strolled around, the children uttering ejaculations of delight. Such elegant fans and card cases and mother-of-pearl portemonnaies bound with silver and steel! Such vases and card receivers—indeed, all the pretty bric-a-brac, as we should term it nowadays. But the greatest interest was aroused by the music-boxes. The children listened enchanted to the limpid tinkle of the tunes. It was like fairy-land. "Oh," cried Daisy, with a long sigh of rapture; "if I only could have a music-box! Then I could play for myself. And it is so beautiful. Oh, mamma!" Mrs. Jasper inquired prices. From twenty-four dollars to beyond one hundred. There was one at forty dollars that played deliciously, and such a variety of tunes. "And when you tire of them you can have new music put in," explained Mr. Gerard. "And you don't have to learn all the tiresome fingering," commented Hanny. "If I had a piano I shouldn't ever think it tiresome," said Charles. "Oh, yes, you would, even when you loved it and tried to learn with all your might. Tunes give you a joyful sort of feeling," and Hanny's eyes sparkled. "And you could dance to this," Tudie whispered softly, while her eyes danced unmistakably. Mrs. Jasper examined several of them and listened to the tunes. They came back to that for forty dollars. "We will have to talk to papa. He thought he might drop in." The children did not tire of waiting. Hanny thought she might spend a whole day looking over everything, and listening to the dainty, enchanting music. But Mrs. Dean said she must go. Just at that instant Mr. Jasper arrived, having been detained. His wife spoke in a little aside, and he showed his interest at once. Why, yes, a music-box could not fail to be a great delight to Daisy. Mr. Gerard wound up two or three of them again. Then the ladies decided they would ride up in the stage with the children. Mr. Jasper and Sam would see to Daisy's safety. And the result was that Mr. Jasper bought the music-box, ordering it sent home the next day. Daisy was speechless with joy. Sam carried her out and put her into her chair. "I don't believe I shall ever be afraid to go out again," she said eagerly. Indeed she did not mind the eyes that peered at her now. Some were very pitying and sympathetic. As Charles was putting away many of the choice articles for the night Mr. Gerard slipped a dollar into his hand. "That's your commission," he said smilingly, "on unexpected good fortune. And I shall be so sorry to lose you. I wish it was the first of August instead of the last, or that you didn't want to go back to school." <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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