Mrs. Reed's recovery was very slow, however. Mrs. Bond went away when she could begin to go about the room and help herself. Cousin Jane was a good nurse, and she declared, "There wasn't work enough to keep her half busy." She did the mending and the ironing; Mr. Reed insisted they should have a washerwoman. Mrs. Reed sighed when she thought of the expense. It had been the pride of her life that she never had a fit of illness, and had never hired a day's work done except when Charles was born.

She was sure now that the house must be in an awful plight. She never found time to sit down in the morning and read a book or paper. Cousin Jane changed her gown every afternoon, and wore lace ruffles at the neck, just plain strips of what was called footing, that she pleated up herself. Then, too, she wore white muslin aprons,--a very old fashion that was coming back. And though Mrs. Reed couldn't find fault when she saw Charles and his father always as neat as a pin, still she was sure there must be a great need of thoroughness somewhere. She prided herself upon being "thorough."

Mrs. Underhill came over one day with the Doctor, and they had a really nice call. Of course Mrs. Reed couldn't understand how she ever managed with such a houseful of boys. Yet she was fresh and fair, and seemed to take life very comfortably. Then they were always having so much company at the Underhills.

"Yes," said Mrs. Underhill, with a mellow sort of laugh that agreed capitally with her ample person,--"yes, we have such a host of cousins,--not all own ones, but second and third. And since my daughter was married, the house seems lonesome at times. All the boys are away at work but Jim; and Hanny has so many places to go, that, what with lessons and all, I don't seem to get much good of her. But I've a nice kitchen-girl. She was a great trial when she first came, with her not knowing much English, and her German ways of cooking. But she's quite like folks now, and very trusty. How fortunate you found a relative to come in and do for you! And the Doctor says you must give up hard work for a long while to come."

Mrs. Reed sighed, and said she should be glad enough to get about again.

The Deans came over, and some of the other neighbours; and Mrs. Reed found it very pleasant. One afternoon late in March, Mr. Reed came home quite early, and carried his wife down into the dining-room. He had asked the Deans over to tea, and Doctor Joe. And there was the table, spick and span, the silver shining, the windows so clean you couldn't see there was any glass in them, the curtains fresh, the tablecloth ironed so that every flower and leaf in it stood out. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere!

The kitchen was in nice order; the range black and speckless, the closets sweet with their fresh white paper. And Cousin Jane's bread and biscuit were as good as anybody's, her ham tender and a luscious pink, her two kinds of cake perfection.

Charles sat next to his mother, a tall, smiling boy with a clean collar and his best roundabout. It was the first tea-party he ever remembered, and he was delighted. He was so polite and watchful of his mother that it really went to her heart.

For seven weeks the house had gone on without her, and she couldn't see any change for the worse. Mr. Reed looked uncommonly well, and was a very agreeable host. The Doctor complimented her, and said next week he should come and take her out driving; and that, to do him real credit, she must get some flesh on her bones.

It was a very pleasant time; and Charles was so happy that his mother wondered if there wasn't something better in the world than work and care.

CHAPTER VI

THE LAND OF OPHIR

Spring came on apace, and spring in New York had many beautiful features then. The Battery, the Bowling Green, City Hall Park, with its fountain, the College grounds, Trinity and St. Paul's churchyards, and the squares coming into existence farther up-town. Trees and grass and flowers delighted the eye, and lilacs made the air fragrant. All up the country ways there were patches of wild honeysuckle,--pinxter flowers, as it was called.

The little girl had so many things to distract her attention that she wondered how grown-up people could be so tranquil with all their knowledges and their cares. She began to realise the great difference in tastes and characteristics, though she would not have quite comprehended that long word. Perhaps Ben, being in the midst of stories and books, and hearing so much talk about the great men of the day, roused the same train of thought in her, though I think hero-worship came natural to her. The Dean girls read the sweet pretty domestic stories with great relish. Miss Macintosh, Mary Howitt, and even Jane Austin were their delight. Hanny and Daisy were deeply interested in history. And during the last year some very spirited stories had been written on the Mexican war, and all the struggles of a few years before. The wealth and splendour of Montezuma and his sad ending, the wonders of that land of ancient romance, were rendered more real on account of the present struggle that Hanny and her father had followed closely. She kept in touch with all the generals. The hero of Monterey, General Worth, General Scott's entry into the city of Montezuma, General Watts Kearny, who led his men a thousand miles through the desert to seize Santa Fe, and hold New Mexico, and his brilliant young nephew, Philip, who was the first man to enter the gate of San Antonio, and who lost his left arm at the battle of Churubusco. Little did she dream, indeed, who could have dreamed then, that he was to be one of the heroes of another war, nearer and more dreadful to us!

Then there was a great celebration over the final victory. City Hall was crowded. There were some magnificent fireworks and much rejoicing. And though there were questions for diplomacy to adjust, we had gained California and New Mexico; and both were destined to have a great bearing on the future of the country.

When Hanny could spare time from this exciting topic and her lessons, there was little Stevie, who was the sweetest and most cunning baby alive, she was quite sure. He could run all over, and say ever so many words. The hard ones he had to shorten, so he called the little girl Nan, and Dolly and Stephen caught it up as well. When they came over to First Street, the neighbourhood paid him the highest honours. All the children wanted to see him, and walk up and down with him. He was so merry, laughing at the least little thing, and chattering away in his baby language, with a few words now and then in good English. And, oh, delight! his hair curled all over his head, and had a golden gleam to it. Certainly, as a baby, he was a tremendous success.

But the crowning point of this May was Hanny's birthday party. She was twelve years old. Dolly and Margaret came down to spend the day and help. Oddly enough, Hanny knew very few boys. First, she thought she would only have a girls' party. But there was Charlie, and some of her schoolmates had brothers; and Jim said he knew two splendid boys in school that he would like to ask; and when they counted them up, they found there were plenty enough.

They played games, of course,--pretty laughable things that had not gone out of fashion. And the supper-table was a feast to the eye as well as to the appetite. Toward the last, there were mottoes, and they had a good deal of fun in exchanging. Doctor Joe was as merry as any boy, in fact, he laid himself out, as people say, to make the party a success, for Hanny would have been a timid little hostess. Dolly and Margaret were not much behind.

After they went upstairs some one proposed the Virginia Reel. The older ones were not long in taking their places.

"Come," said Doctor Joe to Daisy Jasper. "It's very easy. You will have to learn some time."

"Will I surely have to?" and she gave an arch little smile.

"Yes. You are to learn all the things girls do, even if you can draw portraits, which every girl can't do."

"Oh, no," when she saw that he was in earnest; "I am afraid. And then, I--"

"You are not to be afraid." He put his arm about her and gently drew her out. "You are to be my partner."

Hanny stood second in the row, looking so bright and eager that she was absolutely pretty. And Jim's chum, the handsomest lad in the room, had chosen her. When she saw Daisy, she wanted to run down and kiss her, she was so delighted.

What with braces, and several appliances, Daisy now had only one shoulder that was a little high; and as she had grown stronger, she could get about without much of a limp. She was quite tall for her age, and every gesture and motion was very graceful, in spite of the misfortune. She sometimes danced at school.

Dolly struck up some merry music, and Stephen called off. How prettily they balanced and turned, and joined hands left and right, and marched down and up again, and then the first couple chassed down the middle!

When it was Hanny's turn, she came down looking like a fairy, and smiled over to her friend.

Daisy was a good deal frightened at first, and would have run away but for Doctor Joe's encouraging eyes. However, when her turn came, she did very well. By this time they were all so intent upon their own pleasure no one really noticed her. Oh, how jolly it was!

After that some of the children tried the three-step polka, and found it very fascinating. A little after ten, the plates of cream came in, and at half-past, they began to disperse.

Stevie was asleep upstairs on Nan's bed. All the girls had to go and look at him; and when Dolly picked him up, and bundled his cloak about him, and put on his cap, he only stretched a little and settled himself, being as famous a sleeper as some of his Dutch ancestors. But the girls had to kiss him; and then he did wake up and laugh and rub his eyes with his fat fist. Before Stephen had him settled on his shoulder, he was asleep again.

"Oh!" cried Hanny, "it's _his_ first party as well as mine. And when he gets old enough, I'll have to tell him all about it."

"Yes," laughed his father. "His memory can hardly he depended upon now."

Jim's friend came to wish Hanny good-night, and say that he had enjoyed himself first rate,--quite a boy's word then. And he added, "I think your doctor-brother is the nicest man I ever met. If my mother is ever ill, I mean she shall have him. He is so sweet and kindly. And that Miss Jasper is a beautiful girl!"

Hanny flushed with delight.

One day, not long afterwards, Mrs. Jasper took both little girls down to Stewart's beautiful store at the corner of Chambers Street and Broadway.

When the ladies were out for a promenade, they used to drop in and see the pretty articles. It was the finest store in New York; kid-gloves and laces were specialties, but there were no end of elegant silks and India shawls, which were considered family heir-looms when you became the owner of one.

Some of the more careful business-men shook their heads doubtfully over the young merchant's extravagance, and predicted a collapse presently.

But he went on prospering, and even built another marble palace, and a marble dwelling-place for himself.

Then the Reeds and the Underhills were full of interest in their boys who were to pass examinations for Columbia College. Charles stood high, but he was rather nervous about it; and Jim never studied so hard in all his life as the last three months. When there was any doubt, or even when there wasn't, he pressed Joe into service. However, they both came off with flying colours. Charles was the best scholar, undoubtedly; but Jim had a way of making everything tell in his favour.

Miss Lily Ludlow had quite given Jim the cold shoulder; but now she smiled upon him again. Her sister had married very well; but Lily had quite resolved upon a rich husband. Still it would be something to have the young and good-looking collegian in her train.

Mrs. Jasper pleaded to take Hanny with them to Saratoga for a little while; and Margaret said she and her husband would go up and spend a week and bring her home. The Jaspers were to stay at a quiet cottage; and, after much persuasion, Mrs. Underhill consented, though she had an idea a fashionable watering-place was hardly proper for little girls; and her father was very loath to give her up even for a few weeks.

To tell the truth, the little girl was rather homesick for a night or two. There was so much to see, so many drives and all; but she had never been away alone before. And she did so miss sitting in her father's lap, and kissing him good-night. She was too big a girl of course; and one time her mother asked her if she meant to keep up the habit when she was a woman grown!

She had not thought of being grown-up. And she wished she could stay a little girl forever. Josie Dean was quite womanly already, and didn't want to wear her hair in "pigtails" any more--indeed, quite fretted because her mother wouldn't let her put it up. But Tudie confessed to Hanny "that she should be awful sorry when she was too big to play with dolls."

"I put my beautiful doll away the Christmas Stevie was born," said Hanny.

"Oh, well, if we had a big brother married, and a lovely little baby like that, I wouldn't mind so much. But Josie is going to study and teach, and--oh, dear! Hanny Underhill, you're just the luckiest girl I know."

And the Deans thought it another piece of luck that she should go to Saratoga.

They went to Congress Hall, and drank some of the water that Hanny thought just horrid. Daisy didn't like it very much; but it had proved beneficial the summer before. And they used to watch the beautifully attired ladies promenade the long piazza. Such lovely lawns and organdies and embroidered white gowns; such laces and sashes and ribbons! Every afternoon they were out in force. They promenaded up and down the street too, with dainty parasols, and often times no bonnet, but a little square of lace with long lappets.

One evening after Margaret and the Doctor came, they all went in to the hop to look on. Hanny thought the dancing a bewitching sight, and could have stayed up until midnight watching it. There were a good many quite famous people whom Dr. Hoffman knew, and Hanny had seen on Broadway or up at Washington Square.