A Little Girl of Long Ago - Amanda Minnie Douglas (top 100 novels of all time txt) 📗

was Frederica Bremer, a Swedish novelist, whose "Home or Family Cares and Family Joys" was Hanny's delight. And Irving was ever new and bright. "Salmagundi" always amused her father so much. The recent and delightful stories were the talk of every one.

Daisy was not such a ravenous reader. She was quite taken up with painting, and had done some very nice work in water-colours. She had a decided gift for catching resemblances, and had sketched some excellent likenesses. She confided to Hanny that her ambition was to paint portraits on ivory.

This spring a plan was mooted that almost rendered Hanny speechless. Mr. Jasper had some business connections abroad that needed his personal supervision, and he proposed to take his family. Tours to Europe were not a common occurrence then, and one could hardly run over for a six weeks' trip. Daisy had improved so much that she was sure to enjoy it; and there were some German baths Doctor Joe thought he would like her to try.

Italy had been the children's land of romance. But the Deans never expected to go; and Hanny was quite sure she should feel awfully afraid on the ocean. But Joe said some time when he had grown quite rich, and needed a rest for his tired-out body and nerves, he and Hanny might go,--ten years hence, perhaps. It wasn't nearly so formidable when you looked at it through the telescope of ten years; and Hanny could be learning French and German, and may be Italian. She had picked up a good deal of German already from Barbara, who had proved an excellent servant after she had acquired American ways.

The Jaspers would give up their house and store their choicest furniture. Opposite, a great many foreigners were crowding in; and down below, Houston Street and Avenue A. were filling up with them. We felt so large and grand then, with our great stretches of unoccupied land, that we invited the oppressed from everywhere. It was our boast that,--


"Uncle Sam was rich enough to give us all a farm."


Very good thrifty citizens many of them made; but some of the early experiences were not so agreeable. And people were beginning to think "up-town" would be the choice for residences. Even Mr. Dean had a vague idea of buying up there while property was cheap. Stephen and Margaret were trying to persuade their parents to do the same thing.

It would be dreadful to have Daisy go away for a whole year. When Daisy considered the point, it didn't seem as if she could leave all her girl friends and her dear Doctor Joe. But the days passed on, and the passage was taken. Mrs. Jasper asked the children in to a supper, which would have been delightful, except for the thought that it was a farewell supper. The table was spread in most artistic array; and Sam waited upon the company. They tried very hard to be merry; but every little while they would all subside and glance at each other with apprehensive eyes.

The grown people came in the evening. The most wonderful thing was that Mr. and Mrs. Reed were among the parents. Cousin Jane was still at the Reeds'; and, as she was "handy" about sewing, she had altered Mrs. Reed's old-fashioned gowns, and made her some new ones.

Mrs. Reed did not get real strong, and was troubled somewhat with a cough when cold weather came on. But she lost her weather-beaten look, and did gain a little flesh. She was very presentable in her black-silk dress, with some lace at the throat and wrists that she had bought at her marriage. She wore a little black-lace head-dress with a few purple bows; and she admitted to Charles that the Jaspers were very fine people, and she was sorry they were going away; but it would take a mint of money for a whole family to travel around like that.

The Jaspers' house was then dismantled; but they were going to board for about ten days. Hanny and Josie Dean went down to see the state-room and wish them _bon voyage_. Doctor Joe had given Mrs. Jasper counsel about everything that might happen to Daisy.

Then the signal was given for all who were not going to return on shore. There were some tender kisses and tears; and Doctor Joe took both girls by the arm and steadied them down the gang-plank. What a huge thing the steamer looked! But it was nothing compared to the later ones.

It was very lonesome. The night was pleasant, and Hanny sat out on the stoop with her father; but, whenever she tried to talk, something swelled up in her throat and made her feel like crying. But her father hugged her up close. She would always have him.

It had not seemed so sad to have Nora go away; in fact they could see her any time. And she had not loved Nora quite so well. She didn't love any girl as she loved Daisy, and it seemed as if she could not live a whole year without her.

They talked about it at school, and most of the girls envied her the splendid journey. "I don't know as I would mind being a little lame, if I could have such a beautiful face, and be taken everywhere," said one of the girls.

But Hanny didn't want to be anybody else, if she had to give up her own mother and father, and dear Joe and Ben and, oh, little darling Stevie.

Just after this a black-bordered envelope came up from Hammersley Street. Grandfather Bounett, who had been very feeble of late, had died. Hanny had seen him a number of times since her memorable introductory visit. Luella had been sent to boarding-school, and was quite toned down, was indeed a young lady.

Doctor Joe had made frequent visits, and the old gentleman had told him many striking incidents of his life. Hanny used to think how queer the city must have been in seventeen hundred, when people had a black servant to carry the lantern so one could see to get about. She knew so much of the early history now,--the Dutch reign and the British reign and the close of the war.

Old Mr. Bounett looked like a picture in his handsome, old-fashioned attire; and he just seemed asleep. The large rooms and the hall were full, and men were standing out on the sidewalk. He had rounded out the century. A hundred years was a long while to live. There were a number of French people, and a chapter was read out of grandfather's well-worn French Bible.

Somehow it was not a sorrowful funeral. It was indeed bidding him a reverent God speed on his journey to the better land.

About ten days afterward, they were surprised by a visit from the eldest married daughter, Mrs. French, whom Hanny had taken such a fancy to years before.

"I've come of a queer errand," she explained, when they had talked over the ordinary matters. "I want a visit from little Miss Hanny. I have been away with my husband a good many times since we first met, and now he has gone to China, and will be absent still a year longer. I am keeping house alone, except as I have some nieces now and then staying with me. I want to take Hanny over on Friday, if I may, and she shall come back in time for school on Monday morning. I have a great many curiosities to show her. And perhaps some of her brothers will come over and take tea with us Sunday evening."

Hanny was a little shy and undecided. But her mother assented readily. She thought a change would do her good, as she had moped since Daisy's departure.

So it was arranged that Mrs. French should come on the ensuing Friday. Hanny almost gave out; but when the carriage drove up to the door, and Mrs. French looked so winsome and smiling, she said good-bye to her mother with a sudden accession of spirits.

They drove to Grand Street Ferry and crossed over on the boat. Williamsburg was a rather straggling place then. It was quite a distance from the ferry, not closely built up, though the street was long and straight. At the south side of the house was an extra lot in a flower and vegetable garden. The house was quite pretty, two stories with a peaked roof, and a wisteria going up to the top. There was a wide porch with a hammock hung already. All the air was sweet with a great bed of lilies of the valley,--quite a rarity then.

There was a long parlor, and then a music-room; in a sort of an ell, a dining-room and kitchen; upstairs, two beautiful sleeping chambers and a small sewing-room with a writing-desk and some book-shelves.

Hanny felt as if she were entering an Oriental palace. The doorways and windows were hung with glistening silk that had flecks of gold and silver in it; and there were such soft rugs on the floor your feet were buried in them. It was almost like a museum, with the queer tables and cabinets, and the curious fragrance pervading every corner.

They went upstairs and took off their hats and capes, which were one of this spring's fashions.

"This is my room," explained Mrs. French. "And with the door open you won't feel afraid in the guest-chamber."

"I have had to sleep alone since Margaret was married," returned the little girl. "No, I am not afraid."

"I thought I would not ask any one else. I wanted you all to myself," and Mrs. French smiled. "I have hosts of nieces and nephews. There was such a large family of us."

Hanny thought she would rather be the only guest now. She was quite fascinated with Mrs. French.

She bathed her face and brushed her hair. She had brought a pretty white ruffled apron. The little girls didn't wear black-silk aprons now; but they were taught to be careful of their clothes, and I think they were quite proud of their pretty aprons. Hanny's had dainty little pockets and a pink bow on each one.

The frocks were made shorter, and the pantalets kept them company. All that was really proper now, was a row of fine tucks and a ruffle, or an edge of needlework. There was some fine imported French needlework, much of it done in convents; but nearly every lady did it herself, and it was quite a great thing for a little girl to bring out her work and show it to aunts and cousins. No one dreamed then that there would be machines to make the finest and most exquisite work, and save time and eyesight.

Hanny looked very sweet and pretty in her pink lawn and white apron. Her hair was braided in the two tails that every little girl wore who had not curly hair. On grand occasions, Hanny's was put in curl-papers, and it made very nice ringlets, though it was still a sort of flaxen brown. But then she was fair, rather pale a good deal of the time. She flushed very easily though. There was an expression of trustful innocence that rendered her very attractive, without being beautiful like Margaret.

"Come and let us walk about the garden," said Mrs. French. "It is light enough to see the roses. They are my especial pride."

Hanny took the outstretched hand. She could not have explained it, but she did feel happy and at home with Mrs. French. There was a graciousness about her