But presently they pa.s.sed 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 ca.n.a.l through Lispenard's meadows over to the North River, where present Ca.n.a.l 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.

CHAPTER XI

THE LITTLE GIRL IN POLITICS

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 b.u.t.ter 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 cla.s.s 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 p.u.s.s.ies 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.

Sat.u.r.day was Sat.u.r.day 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.

"I _do_ like 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." Ben _could_ rise 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 she _did_ know 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.