A Little Girl in Old New York by Amanda Minnie Douglas (reading diary TXT) 📕

the day. Their milk came from the Odells in West Farms, and their butter from Yonkers. To be sure, it wasn't quite like country living, and Mrs. Underhill was positive that no one gave such a flavor to butter as herself.

The Odells and some other relatives were down on Fourth of July. They had the lamb and peas, as I said, and at that date one kind of meat was considered enough. They had green-apple pie. There was a very early pie-apple on the farm and George had brought some down for his mother. He was well and happy as he could be "without the folks," and he shook his head a little ambiguously about Uncle Faid's method, and those of Mr. Finch.

They had some ice-cream and cake afterward. The little girl had never eaten any, and she thought it very queer. It would have been delightful but for the awful coldness of it! It froze the roof of her mouth and made an ache in the middle of her forehead. Steve told her people sometimes warmed it, and she ran out to the stove with her saucer.

"The land alive! What are you going to do with that cream?" almost shrieked Martha, who was washing dishes at the sink.

"Warm it," replied the little girl. "It's so cold."

Martha almost fell into a chair with the dish-cloth in her hand, and laughed as if she would have a fit. There was a suspicious sound from the dining-room as well, and the fair little face grew very red.

Steve came out.

"Here, Nannie, is mine that the weather has warmed, and I'll trade it for your peak of Greenland." He took the chunk out of her saucer, and poured the soft in.

"It is nicer," she said. "And you needn't laugh, Martha. When I am a big woman and make ice-cream I shall just boil it," and she walked back with grave dignity.

She took the Odell girls to Mrs. Dean's, and some other children flocked around the stoop. They had torpedoes and lady-crackers, that two children pulled, when they went off with a loud explosion in the middle and made you jump. There were real fire-crackers that the boys had, and pin-wheels and various simple fireworks. But the great thing would be going down to City Hall in the evening and seeing the fireworks there.

The Odells could not stay, to their sorrow. Mr. Underhill proposed to take the business wagon and put three seats in it, and ask the Deans to go with them. Mrs. Dean was very glad to accept for herself and the children. There was a young lady next door, Miss Weir, that Margaret liked very much, and she accompanied them. John had promised to take charge of the boys. Steve had dressed himself in his new light summer suit and gone off.

The little girl thought the display beyond any words at her command. Such mysterious rockets falling to pieces in stars of every color. There was a great dome of stars, and rays that presently shot up into heaven; there was a ship on fire, which really frightened her. And, oh! the noise and the people, the shouting and hurrahing, the houses trimmed with flags, the brass band that played all the patriotic songs, and the endless confusion! The little girl clung closely to her mother, glad she was not down on the sidewalk, for the people would surely have trodden on her.

They came home very tired. But the little girl had added to her stock of historical knowledge and knew what Fourth of July stood for. It was a very great day, the beginning of the Republic.

The boys were out early the next morning finding "cissers," crackers that had failed to burn out entirely, and still had a little explosive merit when touched by a piece of lighted punk. There was no school that day, and Steve took them up to West Farms to expend the rest of their hilarity. The little girl was pale and languid. Mrs. Underhill was quite troubled at times when friends said:

"Isn't Hanny very small of her age? Is she real strong? She looks so delicate."

This was why she had thought it best not to send her to school this summer. She read aloud to her mother and said one column in a speller and definer, and Margaret taught her a little geography and arithmetic. She could hem very nicely now. She had learned to knit lace, and do some fancy work that was then called lap stitching. You pulled out some threads one way of the cloth, then took three and just lapped them over the next three, drawing your needle and thread through. Now a machine does it beautifully.

There was another fashion, "fads" we should call them nowadays. A school-bag--they didn't call them satchels then--was made of a piece of blue and white bed-ticking, folded at the bottom. Every white stripe you worked with zephyr worsted in briar stitch or herring-bone or feather stitch. You could use one color or several. And now the old work and the bed-ticking has come back again and ladies make the old-fashioned bags with tinsel thread.

Margaret had made one, and the little girl had taken it up. She was quite an expert with her needle. She had found several delightful new books to read. The Deans had some wonderful fairy stories. She was enraptured with the "Lady of the Lake," and some of Mrs. Howitt's stories and poems. She had learned her way about, and could go out to the Bowery to do an errand for her mother. She knew some more little girls, and with her sewing, helping her mother, studying and reading and play, the days seemed too short.

Vacation did not begin until the 1st of August. The boys were to go up to Yonkers and help George and Uncle Faid. They were quite ready for new ventures.

When Margaret came home the last day of school with a really fine report, her mother felt quite proud of her. The little girl, with large eyes and a mysterious expression, begged her to come into the parlor and see something. She smiled and took Hanny's small hand in hers. The furniture had been moved about a little. And oh, what was this? The little girl's eyes were stars of joy.

"It's your piano and mine," she said. "Yours till you get married and go away, and then mine forever and ever. Joe gave fifty dollars of his prize money toward it. Wasn't he lovely? And oh, Margaret, such beautiful music as it makes!"

The little girl with one small finger struck a key. The sound seemed to fascinate her. Margaret caught her in her arms and kissed the enraptured face.

"We shall be too happy, I'm afraid. I shouldn't have had the courage to ask for a piano, but it's the one thing above all others that I have wanted. Oh, it's just too delightful!"

Mrs. Underhill said: "It's a great piece of wastefulness, but the boys would have it. I'm sure I don't see where you're going to get time to learn everything. And you'll never know anything about housekeeping. I should be ashamed to have any one marry you."

People didn't hustle off to the country the day school closed. Indeed, some didn't go at all. The children played on the shady side of the street. The little girls had "Ring around a rosy," that I think Eve's grandchildren must have invented. Then there was "London Bridge is falling down," "Open the gates as high as the sky," and


"Here come two lords quite out of Spain
A-courting for your daughter faire,"


and after a great deal of disputing and beseeching they obtained "daughter faire," and averted war. And "Tag" never failed with its "Ana mana mona mike." You find children playing them all yet, but I think the wonderful zest has gone out of them.

In the evening a throng of the First Street children who had pennies to spend used to go up to the corner of Second Street and Avenue A. An old colored woman sat there, with a gay Madras turban, and a little table before her, that had a mysterious spring drawer. On one side she had an earthen jar, on the other a great pail with a white cloth over it, that emitted a steamy fragrance. And she sang in a sort of chanting tone:

"H-o-t corn, hot corn. Here's your nice hot corn, s-m-okin' h-o-t. B-a-ked pears, baked pears--Get away, chillen,' get away, 'les you've got a penny. Stop crowdin'."

They had enough to eat at home, but the corn was tempting. One night one boy would treat and break the ear of corn in two and divide. And the baked pears were simply delicious. The old woman fished them out with a fork and put them on a bit of paper. Wooden plates had not been invented. And the high art was to lift up your pear by the stem and eat it. Sometimes a mischievous companion would joggle your arm and the stem would come out--and oh, the pear would drop in a "mash" on the sidewalk. You could not divide the pear very well, though children did sometimes pass a "bite" around. But we lived in happy innocence and safety, for the deadly bacillus had not been invented and ignorance was bliss.


CHAPTER VI

MISS DOLLY BEEKMAN

It seemed curiously still after the boys went away. Margaret took two music lessons a week and gave the little girl half a one. And one day Stephen came in and said:


"Go dress yourself, Dinah, in gorgeous array,
And I'll take you a-drivin' so galliant and gay."


"Both of us?" asked the little girl.

"Yes--both of us. I have my new buggy and silver-mounted harness. You must go out and christen it for good luck. Hurry, Peggy, and put on your white dress."

Miss Blackfan had been again and made them two white frocks apiece. The little girl had "wings" over her shoulders and they made her less slim. She wore a pink sash and her hair was tied with pink. Her stockings were as white as "the driven snow," and her slippers looked like dolls' wear. They were bronze and laced across the top several times with narrow ribbon tied in a bow at her instep. She had a new hat, too, a leghorn flat with pale pink roses on it. It cost a good deal, but then it would "do up" every summer and last years and years. Fashions didn't change every three months then. Margaret had a pretty gipsy hat, with a big light-blue satin bow on the top, and the strings tied under her chin, and it made quite a picture of her. Her sleeves came a little below the elbow, and both wore black silk "openwork" mitts that came half-way up the arm.

There had been a shower the night before and the dust was laid. They went over Second Street to the East River, where one or two blocks were quite given over to colored people. There was an African M. E. church, that the little girl was very curious to see. Folks said in revival times they danced for joy. Crowds used to go to hear the singing.

"But do they dance?" asked the little girl wonderingly. She couldn't quite reconcile it with the gravity of worship.

"They simply march up and down the aisles keeping time to the tunes. Well--the Shakers dance in the same fashion." Stephen had been up to