CHAPTER V
GIRLS AND GIRLS
A week or so after Mrs. Underhill's return, one of the neighbors calledone afternoon and brought her two little girls, Josie and Tudie Dean.Tudie stood for Susan. The little girl was summoned, and the three,after the fashion of little girls, sat very stiff on their chairs andlooked at each other, then cast their eyes down on the carpet, fidgeteda little with the corners of their white aprons, and then gave anotherfurtive glance.
"Hanny, you might take the little girls out in the yard and gather anosegay for them." Flower roots and shrubs had been brought down fromthe "old place," and there was quite a showing of bloom.
The mothers talked meanwhile of the street, and Mrs. Dean spoke of thewonderful strides the city was making up-town. A few objectionablepeople had come in the old frame houses at the lower end of the street.When Mr. Dean built, some seven years ago, it was all that could bedesired, but already immigrants were forcing their way up HoustonStreet. If something wasn't done to control immigration, we should soonbe overrun. The Croton water had been such a great and wonderfulblessing. And did her little girl go to school anywhere? Josie and Tudiewent up First Avenue by Third Street to a Mrs. Craven, a rather youngishwidow lady, who had two daughters of her own to educate, and who wasvery genteel and accomplished. Little girls needed some one who hadgentle and pretty manners. There was a sewing-class, and all through thewinter a dancing-class, and Mrs. Craven gave lessons on the piano.Public schools were well enough for boys, but they were too rude andrough for little girls.
Mrs. Underhill assented. "She wouldn't think of sending Hannah Ann to apublic school."
"She looks like a very delicate child," commented Mrs. Dean.
"She's always been very well," said the mother, "but she _is_ small forher age. And all of my children have grown up so rapidly."
"I couldn't believe those young men belonged to you. And that tall,pretty young girl."
Mrs. Underhill smiled and flushed and betrayed her pride in her eightnice healthy children.
"I envy you some of your sons," Mrs. Dean went on. "I never had but thetwo little girls."
They came in now, each with the promised nosegay, and full of delight.They were round and rosy, and looked more like one's idea of a countrygirl than little lilybud Hannah. But they were all eager now, and evenher cheeks were pink. They had talked themselves into friendship. AndJosie wanted to know if Hanny couldn't come and see them, and if theycouldn't have their dishes out and have tea all by themselves?
Mrs. Dean looked up at Mrs. Underhill, and replied: "Why, yes, if hermother is willing. Saturday would be best, as you are not in school."
That was only two days off. Hanny's eyes entreated so wistfully. And theDeans lived only three doors away.
"Why, yes," answered her mother with a touch of becoming hesitation.
Hanny was telling this eventful interview over to Jim as they sat on thestoop that evening. Ben was reading a book, Jim was trying the toes ofhis shoes against the iron railing and secretly wishing he could gobarefoot.
"And they have a real play-house up-stairs in one room. There's two bedsin it and two bureaus, and oh, lots of things! Josie has seven dolls andTudie four. Tudie gave two of hers away, and Josie has a lovely big waxdoll that her aunt sent from Paris. And a table, and their mother letsthem play tea with bread and cake and real things. And I'm to go onSaturday."
Hanny uttered this in a rapid breath.
"Sho!" ejaculated Jim rather disdainfully. "They're not much if theyplay with dolls. Now _I_ know some girls----"
The boys had been at Houston Street public school not quite a week. Jimknew half the boys at least, already, and all the boys that lived on theblock. He wasn't a bit afraid of girls, either, though he generallycalled them "gals."
"There's some living down the street, and Jiminy! if they haven't gotnames! You'd just die of envy! Rosabelle May, think of it! And LilianAlice Ludlow. Lily's an awful pretty girl, too. And they wanted to knowall about you and Peggy."
"Did you tell her my name?" asked the little girl timidly.
"Well--don't you know you said you wished it was Anna?" Jim answeredslowly. "I just said it so it sounded like Anna. And Lily said she'dseen you riding with 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 thatafternoon to bring his little sister down. To tell the truth she wasvery ambitious to know the Underhills. They must be somebody, for theykept 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'ssister."
"That little country thing! I never thought of it. But I don't supposeshe really heard."
"If she _did_--what will you do?"
"Do?" Lily tossed her head. "Why, I shall act just as if I never said itor had seen her before or anything. You don't suppose I'm a goose inpin-feathers, do you? I want to get acquainted with them. Of course Ishall ask both boys to my birthday party. I should only ask the nicepeople in the street."
Margaret threw her pretty pink fascinator round Hanny's shoulders. Shedidn't need any hat this warm summer night. Hanny was very proud to walkdown the street with her brother, who knew so many girls already. Jimwasn't a bit afraid of being called a "girl boy." Quite a number ofpeople were sitting out on their stoops. It was the fashion then. Someof the ladies were knitting lace on two little needles that had sealingwax on one end, so the stitches could not drop off. There was muchpleasant chatting. The country ways of sociability had not all gone outof date.
They walked down to the lower end, where the houses were ratherirregular and getting old. Two or three had a small grass door-yard infront. 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 untilthey turned.
"Oh!" exclaimed Lily Ludlow in well-acted surprise. "Are you out takinga walk?"
"Yes," answered Jim, quite as innocently as if the matter had not beenarranged a few hours ago. "And this is my sister. And this is LilyLudlow, and this Belle May."
Alas for Hanny! Lily Ludlow was the girl who had called her "queer" andlaughed. 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 utmostnonchalance. She was quite ready for anything.
The little girl made an effort, but no words would come. She could neverlike this girl with the pretty name, she felt very sure.
"No," said Jim. "She's so small for her size that mother would beafraid 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 thecountry for anything."
We had not come to "Bet your life," and "There's where your head'slevel," in those days. But Jim answered for his sister--"You just guessI 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 wastoo young for their fun.
Belle May's mother called her presently, and the little girl said in awhisper: "Oh, Jim, we must go home."
Jim wondered if he might ask Lily to walk with them, so he could comeback 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. "Whydidn't you ask them to walk up our way! And you never said a word! Icould 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 dozentimes a day, and walk to
school with them, and they're nice and prettyand 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 onlyeight, and I'm almost thirteen. And Lily Ludlow's nearly eleven. Isuppose you _do_ feel strange among girls so much older."
"It isn't that," sobbed the little girl. How could she get courage totell him?
"Oh, Hanny, dear, don't cry." Jim's voice softened--they were nearinghome. "See here, I'll ask father to take us to Tompkins Square onSunday, and you shall paint out of my new box. There! and don't tell anyone--don't say a word to Ben."
He kissed her and wiped her eyes with the end of her starchy apron. Jimwas very coaxing and sweet when he tried.
"Joe's here," said Ben. "And he thought the wolves would eat you up ifyou went too far. He wants to see you."
Jim dropped down on the step. Hanny ran through the hall. They wereusing the back parlor as a sitting-room, and everybody seemed talking atonce. 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, andhe would shortly be a full fledged M.D. He was so jubilant and the restwere 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 theannouncement was enough for one night."
"You and Hanny'll be so stuck up there'll be no living with you," saidJim.
Hanny glanced up with a smiling face. If she had only looked that way atLily Ludlow! But even his schoolmate was momentarily distanced by thethought of such a prize. And he remembered later on with muchgratification that he could tell her to-morrow.
Miss Chrissy Ludlow had been sitting by the front window in her whitegown, half expecting a caller. When Lily entered, she inquired if thatlittle thing was the Underhill girl?
"Oh, that's the baby," and Lily giggled. "There's a young lady who goesto Rutgers--well, I suppose she isn't quite grown up, for she doesn'twear real-long dresses. And they have another brother in thecountry--six brothers!"
Chrissy sighed. If she only knew some way to get acquainted with theyoung woman. And all the brothers fairly made one green with envy.
"You keep in with them," she advised her sister. "You might as well lookup in the world for your friends."
There were not many people in the street who kept a carriage. Chrissylonged ardently to know them. And she had been almost fighting for aterm at Rutgers. Mr. Ludlow was a common-place man, clerk in ashoe-store round in Houston Street, and capable of doing repairs. Theyrented out the second floor, as they could not afford to keep the wholehouse. But since Chrissy had found out that they were distantconnections of some Ludlows quite well off and high up in the socialscale, she had felt extremely aristocratic. For a year she had been outof school, and now her mother thought she better learn dressmaking,since she was so "handy." She meant to get married at the first goodopportunity.
Mr. Thackeray in England was writing about snobs during this period. Hethought he found a great many in London. And even among the republicansimplicity of New York he could have found some.
Hanny's second attempt at social life was a much greater success. Thevisit at the Deans' was utterly delightful. The play-house wasenchanting. They dressed and undressed the dolls, they gave Hanny two,and called her Mrs. Hill, because Underhill was such a long name, andthey had an aunt by the name of Hill. They "made believe" days andnights, and measles and whooping cough, and earache and sore throat.Josie put on an old linen coat of her father's and "made believe" shewas the doctor. And oh, the solicitude when Victoria Arabella lay at thepoint 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 bebroken!" But the lovely child mended and was so weak for a while thatthe 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 couldrecruit in the country air.
Mrs. Dean came up with a basket and said it was supper time. Shearranged a side table to hold some of the things. There was a nice whitetablecloth and Josie's pretty dishes. There was a pitcher of hot waterto make cambric tea, square lumps of sugar, dainty slices of breadalready spread, smoked beef, pot-cheese, raspberries, cherry-jam, andtwo kinds of cake. Well, it was just splendid.
Then they went out on the sidewalk and skipped up and down. There wasquite an art in skipping gracefully without breaking step. When theywere warm and tired they came in, and Mr. Dean played on the piano forthem.
At seven o'clock Mr. Underhill walked up for his little girl, whosecheeks were pink and her eyes shining like stars. He sat on the stoopand talked a little while with Mr. Dean, and said most cordially theother girls must come and take tea with Hanny. And if they liked hewould take them out driving some day. That was a most delightfulproposal.
Jim let the whole school know the next week that his "big brother" hadwon a prize of one hundred dollars. And when Joseph passed with honorand took his degree, they were all proud enough of him.
"Mother," said the little girl after much consideration, "if any of usget sick will we have to pay Joe like a truly doctor?"
"Well--why not?" asked Mrs. Underhill. "That will be his way of earninghis living."
The little girl drew a long breath. "He might come and live with usthen. 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 motherlaughingly.
That puzzled the little girl a good deal, and when she had anopportunity she asked her father if he had faith in Joe.
"Well," her father seemed to hesitate, "he might doctor Tabby, but Iwouldn't let him experiment on Dobbin or Prince."
Hanny's face was a study in gravity and disappointment. "And if _I_ wassick?" she ventured with a very long sigh.
Then her father hugged her up in his arms until she was breathless, andscrubbed her soft little face with his whiskers, and both of themlaughed. But Joe promised one day when he was home to doctor her fornothing, so that point was settled.
They had a great time Fourth of July. Lamb and green peas were theregulation dinner. Steve sent a wagon up every morning with the freshestvegetables there were in market, and the meat for the day. Their milkcame from the Odells in West Farms, and their butter from Yonkers. To besure, it wasn't quite like country living, and Mrs. Underhill waspositive that no one gave such a flavor to butter as herself.
The Odells and some other relatives were down on Fourth of July. Theyhad the lamb and peas, as I said, and at that date one kind of meat wasconsidered enough. They had green-apple pie. There was a very earlypie-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 shookhis head a little ambiguously about Uncle Faid's method, and those ofMr. Finch.
They had some ice-cream and cake afterward. The little girl had nevereaten any, and she thought it very queer. It would have been delightfulbut for the awful coldness of it! It froze the roof of her mouth andmade an ache in the middle of her forehead. Steve told her peoplesometimes warmed it, and she ran out to the stove with her saucer.
"The land alive! What are you going to do with that cream?" almostshrieked 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, andlaughed as if she would have a fit. There was a suspicious sound fromthe 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 itfor your peak of Greenland." He took the chunk out of her saucer, andpoured the soft in.
"It is nicer," she said. "And you needn't laugh, Marth
a. When I am a bigwoman and make ice-cream I shall just boil it," and she walked back withgrave dignity.
She took the Odell girls to Mrs. Dean's, and some other children flockedaround the stoop. They had torpedoes and lady-crackers, that twochildren pulled, when they went off with a loud explosion in the middleand made you jump. There were real fire-crackers that the boys had, andpin-wheels and various simple fireworks. But the great thing would begoing down to City Hall in the evening and seeing the fireworks there.
The Odells could not stay, to their sorrow. Mr. Underhill proposed totake the business wagon and put three seats in it, and ask the Deans togo with them. Mrs. Dean was very glad to accept for herself and thechildren. There was a young lady next door, Miss Weir, that Margaretliked very much, and she accompanied them. John had promised to takecharge of the boys. Steve had dressed himself in his new light summersuit 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. Therewas 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! thenoise and the people, the shouting and hurrahing, the houses trimmedwith flags, the brass band that played all the patriotic songs, and theendless confusion! The little girl clung closely to her mother, gladshe was not down on the sidewalk, for the people would surely havetrodden on her.
They came home very tired. But the little girl had added to her stock ofhistorical knowledge and knew what Fourth of July stood for. It was avery great day, the beginning of the Republic.
The boys were out early the next morning finding "cissers," crackersthat had failed to burn out entirely, and still had a little explosivemerit when touched by a piece of lighted punk. There was no school thatday, and Steve took them up to West Farms to expend the rest of theirhilarity. The little girl was pale and languid. Mrs. Underhill was quitetroubled at times when friends said:
"Isn't Hanny very small of her age? Is she real strong? She looks sodelicate."
This was why she had thought it best not to send her to school thissummer. She read aloud to her mother and said one column in a spellerand definer, and Margaret taught her a little geography and arithmetic.She could hem very nicely now. She had learned to knit lace, and do somefancy work that was then called lap stitching. You pulled out somethreads one way of the cloth, then took three and just lapped them overthe next three, drawing your needle and thread through. Now a machinedoes it beautifully.
There was another fashion, "fads" we should call them nowadays. Aschool-bag--they didn't call them satchels then--was made of a piece ofblue and white bed-ticking, folded at the bottom. Every white stripe youworked with zephyr worsted in briar stitch or herring-bone or featherstitch. You could use one color or several. And now the old work and thebed-ticking has come back again and ladies make the old-fashioned bagswith tinsel thread.
Margaret had made one, and the little girl had taken it up. She wasquite an expert with her needle. She had found several delightful newbooks to read. The Deans had some wonderful fairy stories. She wasenraptured with the "Lady of the Lake," and some of Mrs. Howitt'sstories and poems. She had learned her way about, and could go out tothe Bowery to do an errand for her mother. She knew some more littlegirls, and with her sewing, helping her mother, studying and reading andplay, the days seemed too short.
Vacation did not begin until the 1st of August. The boys were to go upto Yonkers and help George and Uncle Faid. They were quite ready for newventures.
When Margaret came home the last day of school with a really finereport, her mother felt quite proud of her. The little girl, with largeeyes and a mysterious expression, begged her to come into the parlor andsee something. She smiled and took Hanny's small hand in hers. Thefurniture had been moved about a little. And oh, what was this? Thelittle girl's eyes were stars of joy.
"It's your piano and mine," she said. "Yours till you get married and goaway, and then mine forever and ever. Joe gave fifty dollars of hisprize money toward it. Wasn't he lovely? And oh, Margaret, suchbeautiful music as it makes!"
The little girl with one small finger struck a key. The sound seemed tofascinate her. Margaret caught her in her arms and kissed the enrapturedface.
"We shall be too happy, I'm afraid. I shouldn't have had the courage toask for a piano, but it's the one thing above all others that I havewanted. Oh, it's just too delightful!"
Mrs. Underhill said: "It's a great piece of wastefulness, but the boyswould have it. I'm sure I don't see where you're going to get time tolearn everything. And you'll never know anything about housekeeping. Ishould be ashamed to have any one marry you."
People didn't hustle off to the country the day school closed. Indeed,some didn't go at all. The children played on the shady side of thestreet. The little girls had "Ring around a rosy," that I think Eve'sgrandchildren must have invented. Then there was "London Bridge isfalling down," "Open the gates as high as the sky," and
"Here come two lords quite out of Spain A-courting for your daughter faire,"
and after a great deal of disputing and beseeching they obtained"daughter faire," and averted war. And "Tag" never failed with its "Anamana mona mike." You find children playing them all yet, but I think thewonderful zest has gone out of them.
In the evening a throng of the First Street children who had pennies tospend used to go up to the corner of Second Street and Avenue A. An oldcolored woman sat there, with a gay Madras turban, and a little tablebefore her, that had a mysterious spring drawer. On one side she had anearthen jar, on the other a great pail with a white cloth over it, thatemitted a steamy fragrance. And she sang in a sort of chanting tone:
"H-o-t corn, hot corn. Here's your nice hot corn, s-m-okin' h-o-t.B-a-ked pears, baked pears--Get away, chillen,' get away, 'les you'vegot a penny. Stop crowdin'."
They had enough to eat at home, but the corn was tempting. One night oneboy would treat and break the ear of corn in two and divide. And thebaked pears were simply delicious. The old woman fished them out with afork and put them on a bit of paper. Wooden plates had not beeninvented. And the high art was to lift up your pear by the stem and eatit. Sometimes a mischievous companion would joggle your arm and the stemwould come out--and oh, the pear would drop in a "mash" on the sidewalk.You could not divide the pear very well, though children did sometimespass a "bite" around. But we lived in happy innocence and safety, forthe deadly bacillus had not been invented and ignorance was bliss.