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

of Houston Street school. Jim as usual had a splendid oration, one of Patrick Henry's. Ben acquitted himself finely. There was a large class of boys who had finished their course, and the principal made them an admirable address, in which there was much good counsel and not a little judicious praise as well as beneficial advice concerning their future.

But at Mrs. Craven's there was something more than the ordinary exercises. The front parlor was turned into an audience-room, and a platform was raised a little in the back parlor almost like a stage. There was a dialogue that was a little play in itself, and displayed the knowledge as well as the training of the pupils. Some compositions were read, and part of a little operetta was sung quite charmingly by the girls. Then there was a large table spread out with specimens of needlework that were really fine; drawing, painting, and penmanship that elicited much praise from the visitors.

The crowning pleasure was the little party given in the evening, to which any one was at liberty to invite a brother or cousin, or indeed a neighbor of whom their mother approved. And strange to relate, there were a good many boys who were really pleased to be asked to the "girls' party." Charles Reed came and had a delightful time. Josie had waylaid Mr. Reed again and told him all about it, and hoped he would let Charles come, and he said he would be very happy to. Mrs. Reed did not approve of parties for children, and Charles had been but to very few.

Mr. Underhill and Dr. Joe went down to the Harpers', having decided to place Ben there to learn a trade. Thinking it all over, he resolved to acquiesce, though he told Hanny privately that some day he meant to have a newspaper of his own and be the head of everything. But he supposed he would have to learn first.

Margaret and Hanny went with them, and found many changes since their first visit. The making of a book seemed a still more wonderful thing to the child, but how one could ever be written puzzled her beyond all. A composition on something she had seen or read was within the scope of her thought, but to tell about people and make them talk, and have pleasant and curious and sad and joyous happenings, did puzzle her greatly.

Ben was not to go until the first of September. So he would help Steve, go to the country for a visit, and have a good time generally before he began his life-work. Stephen's house was approaching completion, and it was wonderful to see how the rows of buildings were stretching out, as if presently the city would be depleted of its residents. One wondered where all the people came from.

John Robert Charles had grown quite confidential with his father and began to think him as nice as Mr. Underhill--not as funny, for Mr. Underhill had a way of joking and telling amusing stories and teasing a little, that was very entertaining, and never sharp or ill-natured.

He had carried off the honors of his class and was proud of it. Mr. Reed showed his satisfaction as well. Mrs. Reed was rather doubtful and severe, and thought it her duty to keep Charles from undue vanity. She was in a fret because she had to go away and leave the house and waste a whole month.

"I don't want to go," said Charles to his father. "It's awful lonesome up there in the mountains, and there's no one to talk to. Aunt Rhoda's deaf, and Aunt Persis hushes you up if you say a word. And the old gardener is stupid. There are no books to read, and I do get so tired."

"Well, we'll see," replied his father.

To his wife Mr. Reed said: "Why do you go off if you don't want to?"

"I won't have Charles running the streets and getting into bad company, and wearing out his clothes faster than I can mend them," she replied shortly.

It would not be entertaining for Charles in his office, and he didn't just see what the boy could do. But he met a friend who kept a sort of fancy toy store, musical instruments and some curios, down Broadway, and learned that they were very much in want of a trusty, reliable lad who was correct in figures and well-mannered. A woman came in the morning to sweep the store and sidewalk, to wash up the floor and windows, and do the chores. So there was no rough work.

"I'll send my boy down and see how you like him. I think he would fancy the place, and during the month you might find some one to take it permanently. There seems to be no lack of boys."

"You can't always find the right sort," said Mr. Gerard. "Yes, I shall be glad to try him."

Mr. Reed did not set forth the matter too attractively to his wife, not even to Charles, who had learned to restrain his enthusiasm before his mother. And though she made numerous objections, and the thought of bad company seemed to haunt her, she reluctantly decided to let him try it for a week. He would go down in the morning with his father, so he could not possibly begin his day in mischief.

Charles was delighted. The city was not over-crowded then. The Park gave "down-town" quite a breathing space.

Now a boy would think it very hard not to have any vacation after eleven months of study. He would be so tired and worn and nervous that ten weeks would be none too much. The children then studied hard and played hard and were eager to have a good time, and generally did have it. And now Charles was delighted with the newness of the affair. He walked up at night fresh and full of interest, and was quite a hero to the girls over on Mrs. Dean's stoop.

"I hope you will bring them down even if you shouldn't want to buy anything. Mr. Gerard said the stock was low now, as it is the dullest season of the year. But there are such beautiful articles for gifts, china cups and saucers and dainty pitchers and vases, and sets like yours, Josie, some ever so much smaller, and a silver knife and fork and spoon in a velvet case, and lovely little fruit-knives and nut-picks and ever so many things I have never heard of. And musical instruments, flutes and flageolets and violins, and oh, the accordeons! There are German and French. Oh, I wish I _could_ own one. I know I could soon learn to play on it!" declared Charles eagerly.

In that far-back time an accordeon really was considered worth one's while. A piano was quite an extravagance. A good player could evoke real music out of it, and at that period it had not been handed over to the saloons. In fact, saloons were not in fashion.

The children listened enchanted. It was a great thing to know any one in such a store. Mrs. Dean promised to take them all down.

Hanny had a new source of interest. Dr. Joe had told her a very moving story when he was up to tea on Sunday evening, about a little girl who had been two months in the hospital and who had just come home for good now, who lived only a little way below them. It was Daisy Jasper, whom they had seen a little while last summer in a wheeling chair, and who had disappeared before any one's curiosity could be satisfied. She was an only child, and her parents were very comfortably well off. When Daisy was about six years old, a fine, healthy, and beautiful little girl, she had trodden on a spool dropped by a careless hand and fallen down a long flight of stairs. Beside a broken arm and some bruises she did not seem seriously injured. But after a while she began to complain of her back and her hip, and presently the sad knowledge dawned upon them that their lovely child was likely to be a cripple. Various experiments were tried until she became so delicate her life appeared endangered. Mr. Jasper had been attracted to this pretty row of houses standing back from the street with the flower gardens in front. It seemed secluded yet not lonely. She grew so feeble, however, that the doctors had recommended Sulphur Springs in Virginia, and thither they had taken her. When the cool weather came on they had gone farther south and spent the winter in Florida. She had improved and gained sufficient strength, the doctors thought, to endure an operation. It had been painful and tedious, but she had borne it all so patiently. Dr. Mott and Dr. Francis had done their best, but she would always be a little deformed. The prospect was that some day she might walk without a crutch. Joe had seen a good deal of her, and at one visit he had told her of his little sister who was just her age, as their birthdays were in May.

Hanny had cried over the sorrowful tale. She thought of her early story heroine, "Little Blind Lucy," whose sight had been so marvellously restored. But Daisy could never be quite restored to straightness.

After supper Joe had taken her down to call on Daisy. Oh, how pretty the gardens were, a beautiful spot of greenery and bloom, such a change from the pavements! A narrow brick walk ran up to the house, edged with rows of dahlias just coming into bloom. On the other side there were circles and triangles and diamond-shaped beds with borders of small flowers, or an entire bed of heliotrope or verbena. The very air was fragrant. Up near the house was a kind of pavilion with a tent covering to shield one from the sun.

Daisy, with her mother and aunt, were sitting out here when Dr. Joe brought his little sister. Daisy's chair was so arranged that the back could be adjusted to any angle. It was of bamboo and cane with a soft blanket thrown over it, a pretty rose color that lighted up the pale little girl whose languor was still perceptible.

After a little Mrs. Jasper took Dr. Joe into the house, as she wanted to question him. Then Hanny and Daisy grew more confidential. Daisy asked about the children in the neighborhood and thought she would like to see Nora and Pussy Gray. She was very fond of cats, but theirs, a very good mouser, was bad-tempered and wanted no petting. And then the Dean girls and Flossy and Elsie Hay, and last but not least of all, Charles Reed with his beautiful voice.

"I do so dearly love music," said Daisy longingly. "Auntie plays but she doesn't sing. Mamma knows a good many old-fashioned songs that are lovely. When I am tired and nervous she sings to me. I don't suppose I can ever learn to play for myself," she ended sadly.

Hanny told her she was learning and could play "Mary to the Saviour's Tomb" for her father. And there were the boys and Stephen and her lovely married sister Dolly and her own sister Margaret.

"Oh, how happy you must be!" cried Daisy. "I should like such a lot of people. I never had any brothers or sisters, and I _do_ get so lonesome. And the doctor is so pleasant and sweet; you must love him a great deal."

"I can't tell which one is best. Steve teases and says funny things, and is--oh, just