There were not many people going through this street. Houston Street was quite a thoroughfare. But the few who did pa.s.s looked at the merry group of girls and at the pale invalid whose chair told the story, and gave them all a tender, sympathetic thought.

All except Lily Ludlow. She was rather curious about the girl in the chair and made an errand out to the Bowery. When Hanny saw who was coming she turned around and talked very eagerly to Elsie Hay, and pretended not to know it. Lily had her President, and Jim admired her, that was enough.

"You're very tired, Missy," Sam said presently.

"Yes," replied Daisy. "I think I'll go home now. And will you all come to see me to-morrow? Oh, it is so nice to know you all! And p.u.s.s.y Gray is just angelic. Please bring him, too."

They said good-by. For some moments the little girls looked at each other with wordless sorrow in their eyes. I think there were tears as well.

CHAPTER XVII

SOME OF THE OLD LANDMARKS

"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 s.p.a.cious 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 ma.s.s 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 Pa.s.s, 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 gra.s.sy 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 ill.u.s.trating 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 G.o.d. This is what we all must do."