A Little Girl in Old New York - Amanda Minnie Douglas (the beginning after the end read novel txt) 📗

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 pussies 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.

Saturday was Saturday 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.

Joe looked just splendid, the little girl decided. If she could only have seen Dolly!

The Beekman coach was sent up for Margaret, who kissed her little sister and went off like Cinderella!

"Oh, do you suppose she will meet the king's son?" asked Hanny, all excitement.

"Oh, child, what nonsense!" exclaimed her mother.

It wasn't the king's son; but young Doctor Hoffman was there, and Margaret danced several times with him. They talked so much about Joe that Margaret felt very friendly with him.

After that the world ran on in snow, in sunshine, and in rain. The days grew longer. March was rough and blowy. Mother Underhill had to go up in the country for a week, for Grandfather Van Kortlandt died. He had been out of health and paralyzed for a year or two. Aunt Katrina had been staying there, and they would go on in the old house until spring. She was grandmother's sister. Of course no one could feel very sorry about poor old Uncle Nickie, as he was called. He had always been rather queer, and was no comfort to himself, for he had lost his mind, but everybody admitted that grandmother had done her duty, and the Van Kortlandt children, grown men and women, thanked her for all her good care.

Oh, what fun the children had on the first of April! What rags were pinned to people--what shrieks of "My cat's got a long tail!" And there on the sidewalk would lay a tempting half-dollar with a string out of sight, and when the pedestrian stooped to pick it up--presto! how it would vanish. When one enterprising wight put his foot on it and picked it up triumphantly the boys called out:

"April fool! That's an awful sell, mister! It's a bad half-dollar."

They watched and saw him bite it and throw it down. Then they went after it and had their fun over and over again. Stephen had given the half-dollar to Jim with strict injunctions not to attempt to pass it or he'd get a "hiding," which no one ever did in the Underhill family. Mrs. Underhill declared "'Milyer was as easy as an old shoe, and she didn't see what had kept the children from going to ruin." Joe always insisted "it was pure native goodness."

Then they called out to the carters and other wagoners: "Oh, mister, say! Your wheel's goin' round!" And sometimes without understanding the driver would look and hear the shout.

They had another trick they played out in the Bowery. Boys had a reprehensible trick of "cutting behind," as the stages had two steps at the back, and the boys used to spring on them and steal rides. It was such a sight of fun to dodge the whip and spring off at the right moment. Sometimes a cross-grained passenger who had been a very good boy in his youth would tell.

On this day they didn't steal the ride. They called out