"And I feel like quoting a bit out of a letter of the Poet Gray," said Ben. "'Do you not think a man may be the wiser, I had almost said better, for going a hundred or two miles?' We have gone a tenth or so of that, and I feel ever so much richer as well as wiser. How is it with you, little Hanny?"

"I've been to the land of heroes," she replied, with a soft smile. "I shall insist that Jim must honour New Jersey in the future."

"Bravo!" said Mr. Whitney. "And there are many more heroes in it, and I think some heroines, that we must hunt up at a leisure day. There was Ann Halsted of Elizabethtown, who saw the British foraging expedition coming over from Staten Island, where the ship lay at anchor; and, donning a suit of her father's clothes, and taking an old musket, she went down to the only road they could come up, and blazed away at them with such intrepidity that the red-coats were alarmed lest a whole squad might be quartered there, and retreated in haste. It was said when Washington heard of it, he toasted the young lady. And there were the brave women of Valley Forge."

"And Moll Pitcher, don't forget her," put in Ben. "We in New York don't own quite everything."

They went rumbling into the tunnel, and Hanny started. She was used to the Harlem tunnel; but this came upon her unexpectedly.

"And there are three considerable tunnels," laughed Delia. "Yet there are people who believe the State is one vast sandy plain, and that the agricultural products are solely watermelons and peaches. Some one always stands ready to believe ridiculous things."

"Hereafter, we will take up the cudgels for New Jersey," declared Ben.

"I am hungry as a bear! That rye bread was splendid, wasn't it! We must ask mother to make some, Joe."

Mr. Whitney begged them to stop to tea; but Doctor Joe thought they had better get home. They were late, of course; but Mrs. Underhill had a nice supper for them.

When Jim heard about Captain Alden, he half wished he had gone.

"But I had to come in and save the day, or we should have been beaten out of sight, so I was of some use," he announced.

Mrs. Underhill was put on her mettle by hearing about Mrs. Alden's rye bread; and the very next week she made some quite as splendid.

Hanny displayed her sprig of hawthorn,--real hawthorn.

"Are you sure it isn't artificial?" asked Jim, teasingly.

"An artificial branch can't grow," she said indignantly.

The next week at school, the girls' compositions had to be read aloud; and Hanny wrote about her tour, which received the highest commendation.

Delia came up to get the story of the man who had been on board the slave ship. She had a sketch of her own under way, and she wanted to make it very thrilling.

"And I shall have to give you half the money for it," she said laughingly.

It had a rather amusing hitch about its acceptance. The editor of the paper to which it was offered liked it extremely for its vigourous treatment, but begged her to use a masculine name, or simply initials, because it didn't sound like a young girl's story.

She told this over with great gusto, and showed her check for twenty dollars. But Mr. Underhill magnanimously refused to accept the half of it.

"I don't approve of so much mannishness in a girl," Mrs. Underhill said decisively. In her heart she wished Ben did not like her so well. But they really were more like two boys than lovers.

She took every occasion to make sharp little comments. Delia was rather careless in her attire; and while she dressed her heroines in the styles of their period, or in good taste, if they were modern, she had a rather mismatched look herself, except when she wore white, which she nearly always did evenings at home.

And she made home a really delightful place. She was quite ambitious for reception evenings. Mrs. Osgood was holding them for a literary circle.

Of course she could not aim at anything as elegant as that; but newspaper men, young and old, were in the habit of dropping in upon Mr.

Whitney quite informally. About ten, they might be asked down to the dining-room, where there was a dainty little spread, sometimes a Welsh rarebit that Dele could concoct to perfection. To be sure, they smoked the room blue; and Mr. Whitney often brought out a bottle of wine, as was the custom then; true, he waited until Delia and Nora had gone upstairs, and taken some of the younger men. Delia had made a strong protest against it, in her humourous way.

"I don't so much mind you old fellows, who, if you haven't sense enough not to addle your brains, never will have. But the young men oughtn't have the temptation thrust in their way. They think it looks smart and manly; and they make themselves so silly that I'm like a lump of ice to some of them. I like clear-brained people."

So upstairs they had music and recitations. Every young man of any elocutionary ability felt himself empowered to recite "The Raven," that much admired and sharply discussed poem by the Poet Poe, whose melancholy end still created much interest. Critical spirit ran high.

One party could see only a morbid faculty heightened by opium and intoxicants; others found the spirit of true and fine genius in many of his efforts, and believed the circumstances of his life had been against him.

Ben was reading one evening in Doctor Joe's cosy library, enjoying the most capacious arm-chair, and improvising a foot-rest out of one not quite so luxurious. The Doctor had been making out bills, and feeling quite encouraged, perhaps lighter-hearted than he would when he had waited a year for the payment of some of them.

"Joe," began his brother, abruptly, "what do you suppose makes mother so bitter about Delia Whitney?"

"Bitter?" repeated Joe, in the tone of indecision people often use when a proposition or question takes them by surprise.

"Yes. We all used to be so nice and jolly together, and Delia likes us all so much. Hanny has such good times down there, with the old lady who sings such pretty old-fashioned songs, if her voice is rather cracked and tremulous; and Nora is bright and entertaining. But the other day mother wouldn't let her go; and she was dreadfully disappointed; and mother is not as cordial to Delia as she used to be. Dele spoke of it."

Ben looked straight at his brother, out of the frankest of eyes. It was Joe who changed colour.

"I hate things to go crosswise. And when something keeps you just a little ruffled up all the time--"

Ben drew his brows. Was he really unconscious of the trouble?

"You go there a good deal, you know. Some of the men are not quite the company a young fellow should choose, mother thinks."

That was begging the main issue, of course.

"I don't see much of the older men. They're mostly smoking downstairs, and I don't care a bit for that. But their talk is often worth listening to. People who just keep in one little round have no idea how rich the world is growing intellectually, scientifically; and on what broad lines it is being laid."

"It is not the men altogether. Ben, you don't go anywhere else. Perhaps it would be wisdom to enlarge your acquaintance among girls, young ladies," and Joe gave a short laugh that betrayed the effort.

"I don't care a penny for girls in general," said Ben, with elderly gravity. "Delia sometimes asks them in; and we seldom have as good a time. She's a host in herself; and I've always liked her."

"You haven't had a very wide experience. And you are too young to make up your mind about--anything."

Ben started up suddenly and flushed. What a fine, strong, solid face he had! It wasn't the face of one turned about with every wind of doctrine; it was not as handsome as Jim's bid fair to be, but it had hardly a weak or selfish line in it. Ben had always been such a good, generous, steady boy.

"You don't mean," he began with a little gasp,--"Joe, you can't think that mother--that any one would object if the time came for me to--to marry Delia?"

"You are too young to think of such things, Ben," said his brother, gently.

"Why--I've been thinking of it ever since Mr. Theodore came home. We were talking one time about going to Europe--"

"Are you really engaged, Ben?"

The young fellow laughed and blushed.

"Well--I suppose not exactly," he answered slowly. "We've never come to that boshy stuff you find now and then in stories. But we know all about each other's plans; and we like so many of the same things; and we always feel so comfortable together, not a bit as if we were trigged up in Sunday clothes. I don't think she's the most beautiful girl in the world; but she has lovely eyes, and I've never seen a handsome girl I have liked as well. Steve chose his own wife, and so did John.

Cleanthe's a splendid housekeeper; but she doesn't have time to read a newspaper. Dolly's well informed, and has something fresh to talk about.

But it seems to me Margaret is always caring about society and etiquette, and who is in our set, and a hundred things that bore me.

Phil has all his life been used to style, so Margaret's just the one for him. And why shouldn't I have just the one for me?"

Joe laughed heartily then.

"I'd wait a year or two," he answered drily. "You are not out of your time; and it is an unwise thing to take the responsibilities of life too early. Delia may fancy some one else."

"Oh, no, she won't," replied Ben, confidently. "We just suit. I can't explain it to you, Joe; but it is one of the things that seem to come about without any talking. Are some things ordained? I should be awful sorry to have mother object to it; but I know Dolly would stand by us when the time came."