SOME OF THE OLD LANDMARKS
"Yes, all of us," said Ben. "We can tuck in the Deans. I only wish
Charles could go. Well, the house won't run away. And Mr. Audubon has
travelled all over the world. Mr. Whitney wrote an article about him.
That's the work I'd like to do--go and see famous people and write about
them."
Interviewing was not such a fine art in those days. Ben had enough of it
later on.
Dr. Joe had asked Mr. Audubon's permission to bring a crowd of children
to see him and his birds. He was getting to be quite an attraction in
the city.
When they packed up they found a crowd sure enough. But Dr. Hoffman took
Margaret and the little girl with him, as Charles had been allowed a
half day off for the trip. The drive was so full of interest. They went
up past the old Stuyvesant place and took a look at the pear-tree that
had been planted almost two hundred years ago and was still bearing
fruit. Then they turned into the old Bloomingdale Road, and up by
Seventy-fifth Street they all stopped to see the house where Louis
Philippe taught school when he was an emigrant in America. And now he
was on the throne, King of the French people, a grander and greater
position, some thought, than being President of the United States.
"For of course," said Jim, "he can stay there all his life, and the
President has only four years in the White House. After all, it is a big
thing to be a king."
And in a little more than two years he was flying over to England for
refuge and safety, and was no longer a king. Mr. Polk was still in the
White House.
It was an odd, low, two-story frame house where royalty had been
thankful to teach such boys as Ben and Jim and Charles. There was a
steep, sloping roof with wide eaves, a rather narrow doorway in the
middle of the front, carved with very elaborate work, and an old knocker
with a lion's head, small but fierce. The large room on one side had
been the schoolroom, and the board floor was worn in two curious rows
where the boys had shuffled their feet. The fireplace was what most
people came to see. It was spacious and had a row of blue and white
Antwerp tiles with pictures taken from the New Testament. They were
smoked and faded now, but they still told their story. The mantelpiece
and the doors were a mass of the most elaborate carving.
There were still some old houses standing in New York that had been
built with bricks brought from Holland. Charles was very much interested
in these curiosities and had found one of the houses down in Pearl
Street.
Then they drove up through McGowan's Pass, where Washington had planned
to make a decisive stand at the battle of Harlem Heights. There was the
ledge of rock and the pretty lake that was to be Central Park some day.
It was all wildness now.
There was so much to see that Dr. Joe declared they had no more time to
spend following Washington's retreat.
"But it was just grand that he should come back here to be inaugurated
the first President of the United States," said Charles. "I am proud of
having had that in New York."
"The city has a great many famous points," said Dr. Joe; "but we seem to
have lost our enthusiasm over them. Beyond there," nodding his head over
east, "is the Murray House that can tell its story. Handsome Mrs.
Murray, and she was a Quaker, too, made herself so charming in her
hospitality to the British generals that she detained them long enough
for Silliman's brigade to retreat to Harlem. Washington was awaiting
them at the Apthorpe House, and they had left that place not more than
fifteen minutes when the British came flying in the hot haste of
pursuit. So but for Mrs. Murray's smiles and friendliness they might
have captured our Washington as well as the city."
"That was splendid," declared Charles enthusiastically.
"And maybe as a boy Lindley Murray might have thought up his grammar
that he was to write later on to puzzle your brains," continued Dr. Joe.
"Well, that is odd, too. I'll forgive him his grammar," said Ben, with a
twinkle in his eye.
"And if we don't go on we will have no time for Professor Audubon and
the birds. But we could ramble about all day."
"I didn't know there were so many interesting things in the city. They
seem somehow a good ways off when you are studying them," replied
Charles.
He really wished Hanny was in the carriage. She was so eager about all
these old stories.
Then they went over to Tenth Avenue. There was the old Colonial house,
with its broad porch and wide flight of steps. It was country then with
its garden and fields, its spreading trees and grassy slopes.
And there was Professor Audubon on the lawn with his wife and two
little grandchildren. He came and welcomed the party cordially. He had
met both doctors before. He was tall, with a fine fair face and long
curling hair thrown back, now snowy white. Once with regard to the
wishes of some friends while abroad he had yielded and had it cut
"fashionable," to his great regret afterward, and the reminiscence was
rather amusing. His wide white collar, open at the throat, added to his
picturesque aspect. Then he had a slight French accent that seemed to
render his hospitality all the more charming.
Ben and Charles knew that he had been nearly all over the Continent, and
had hardships innumerable and discouragements many, and had in spite of
them succeeded in writing and illustrating one of the most magnificent
of books. And when they trooped into the house and saw the stuffed birds
and animals, the pictures he had painted, and the immense folio volumes
so rich with drawings, it hardly seemed possible that one brain could
have wrought it all.
Everything, from the most exquisite hummingbird to an eagle and a wild
turkey. There was no museum of natural history then. Mr. Barnum's
collection was considered quite a wonder. But to hear this soft-voiced
man with his charming simplicity describe them, was fascination itself.
The little girl really wavered in her admiration for Mayor Harper. He
had been her hero _par excellence_ up to this time. A man who could
govern a city and make boots had seemed wonderful, but here was a man
who could keep the birds quite as if they were alive. You almost
expected them to sing.
He was very fond of children and Mrs. Audubon was hardly less
delightful. They could not see half the treasures in such a brief while,
and they were glad to be invited to come again. Ben did find his way up
there frequently, and Charles gleaned many an entertaining bit of
knowledge. When the little girl went again, the tender, eager eyes had
lost their sight, and the enthusiasm turned to a pathos that was sorrow
itself. But there was no hint of it this happy day, which remained one
of their most delightful memories.
Now that they were so near, Margaret said they must go and see Miss
Lois. Dr. Joe was quite a regular visitor, for Miss Lois was growing
more frail every week. Josie and Tudie thought they would like to see
another old house, and a harp "taller than yourself." Charles was much
interested. Jim had his mind so full of birds and hunting adventures he
could think of nothing else, and said he would rather walk around.
Miss Lois was quite feeble to-day, and said Margaret must be the
hostess. They went into the old parlor and examined the quaint articles
and some of the old-fashioned books. Josie wished they might try the
harp and see how it would sound, but no one would propose it if Miss
Lois was so poorly.
"It's very queer," said Hanny. "She played for me once. The strings are
rusted and broken, and it sounds just like the ghost of something, as if
you were going way, way back. I didn't like it."
The German woman was out in the kitchen and gave them each a piece of
cake. There was a quaint old dresser with some pewter plates and a
pitcher, and old china, and a great high mantel.
"You seem way out in the country," said Charles. "But it's pretty, too.
And the trees and the river and Fort Washington. Why, it's been like an
excursion. I am so glad you asked me to come."
Margaret entered the room. "She wants to see you, Hanny," she said
quietly. "And when she is stronger she would like the little girls to
come again."
Hanny went into the chamber. Miss Lois was sitting up in the big rocker,
but her face was as white as the pillow back of her head. And oh, how
thin her hands were! strangely cold, too, for a summer day.
"I'm very glad you came again, little Hanny," she said. "I had been
thinking of you and Margaret all day, and how good it was of your father
and you to hunt me up as you did. You've given me a deal of happiness.
Tell him I am thankful for all his kindness. Will you kiss me good-by,
dear? I hope you'll be spared to be a great comfort to every one."
Hanny kissed her. The lips were almost as cold as the hands. And then
she went out softly with a strange feeling she did not understand.
It was late enough then to go straight home. Dr. Joe had a little talk
with his mother, and the next day he took her up to Harlem. The children
went over to Daisy's in the afternoon and told her about "everything."
Mrs. Jasper insisted upon keeping them to supper.
Her mother had not returned when the little girl went to bed. It seemed
so strange the next morning without her. Margaret was very quiet and
grave, so the little girl practised and sewed, and then read a while. In
the afternoon her mother came home and said Miss Lois had gone to be
with her sister and her long-lost friends in the other country.
A feeling of awe came over her. No one very near to her had died, and
though she had not seen so very much of Miss Lois, for her mother had
gone up quite often without her, the fact that she had been there so
lately, had held her poor nerveless hand, had kissed her good-by in an
almost sacred manner when she was so near death, touched her. Did she
know? Hanny wondered. What was death? The breath went out of your
body--and her old thoughts about the soul came back to her. It was so
different when the world was coming to an end. Then you were to be
caught up into heaven and not be put into the ground. She shrank from
the horrible thought of being buried there, of being so covered that you
never could get out. She decided that she would not so much mind if the
world did come to an end.
"Margaret," she said, "was it dreadful for Miss Lois to die?"
"No, dear," returned her sister gently. "If we were all in another
country, the beautiful heaven, and you were here all alone, would you
not like to come to us? That was the way Miss Lois felt. It is so much
better than living on here alone. And then when one gets old--no, dear,
it was a pleasant journey to her. She had thought a great deal about it,
and had loved and served God. This is what we all must do."
"Margaret, what must I do to serve Him?"
"I think trying to make people happier is one service. Being helpful and
obedient, and taking up the little trials cheerfully, when we have to do
the things we don't quite like."
"I wish you would tell me something hard that I do not like to do."
"Suppose I said I would not go out and play with the girls this
afternoon."
"I'd rather not of myself," said Hanny. "I feel like being still and
thinking."
Margaret smiled down in the sweet, serious face. There was no trial she
could impose.
"Then think of the beautiful land where Miss Lois has gone, where no one
will be sick or tired or lonely, where the flowers are always blooming
and there is no winter, where all is peace and love."
"But I don't understand--how you get to heaven," said the puzzled child.
"No one knows until the time comes. Then God shows us the way, and
because He is there we do not have any terror. We just go to Him. It is
a great mystery. No one can quite explain it."
Elsie Hay came for her, but she said she was not going out, that she did
not feel like playing. She brought her sewing, and in her mind wandered
about heaven, seeing Miss Lois in her new body.
They did not take her to the funeral. She went over to Daisy Jasper's
and read to her, wondering a little if Daisy would be glad to go where
she would be well and strong and have no more pain. But then she would
have to leave her father and mother who loved her so very much.
Miss Lois had left some keepsakes to Margaret. Two beautiful old
brocaded silk gowns that looked like pictures, some fine laces, and a
pretty painted fan that had been done expressly for her when she was
young. A white embroidered lawn for Hanny, a pearl ring and six silver
spoons, besides some curious old books. Mrs. Underhill was to take
whatever she liked, and dispose of the rest. The good German neighbor
was to have the house and lot for the care she had taken of both ladies.
Mr. Underhill had arranged this some time before, so there would be no
trouble.
Everything in the house was old and well worn. There was a little china
of value, and the rest was turned over to the kindly neighbor.
Margaret and Hanny went up to visit grandmother, both grandmothers,
indeed. The old Van Kortlandt house was a curiosity in its way, and
though Hanny had seen it before she was not old enough to appreciate it.
The satin brocade furniture was faded, the great gilt-framed mirrors
tarnished, and all the bedsteads had high posts and hanging curtains,
and a valance round the lower part. Aunt Katrina was there and a cousin
Rhynders, a small, withered-up old man who played beautifully on a
jewsharp, and who sang, in a rather tremulous but still sweet voice,
songs that seemed quite fascinating to Hanny, pathetic old ballads such
as one finds in "The Ballad Book" of a hundred years ago. There was an
old woman in the kitchen who scolded the two farmhands continually; a
beautiful big dog and a cross mastiff who was kept chained, as well as
numerous cats, but Grandmother Van Kortlandt despised cats.
It was delightful to get home again, though now Elsie and Florence had
gone to see their grandmother, and the Deans were away also. But Daisy
Jasper kissed her dozens of times, and said she had missed her beyond
everything and she would not have known how to get along but for Dr.
Joe. Hanny had so much to tell her about the journey and her relatives.
"And I haven't even any grandmother," said Daisy. "There is one family
of cousins in Kentucky, and one in Canada. So you see I am quite
destitute."
Both little girls laughed at that.
Dr. Joe said Daisy was really improving. She walked about with her
crutch, but they were afraid one leg would be a little short.
Charles came over to see Hanny that very evening. He certainly had grown
taller, and had lost much of his timidity. He really "talked up" to Jim.
He was so fair and with the sort of sweet expression that was considered
girlish, and kept himself so very neat, that he was different from most
boys. I don't suppose his mother ever realized how much mortification
and persecution it had cost him.
She still toiled from morning to night. Charles began to wish she would
wear a pretty gown and collar and a white apron at supper time instead
of the dreadful faded ginghams. Everything had a faded look with her,
she washed her clothes so often, swept her carpets, and scrubbed her
oil-cloths so much. The only thing she couldn't fade was the
window-glass.
Charles and his father had grown quite confidential. They had talked
about school and college.
"Though I am afraid I don't want to be a minister," said Charles,
drawing a long breath as if he had given utterance to a very wicked
thought.
"You shall have your own choice about it," replied his father firmly.
"And there's no hurry."
It had been such a pleasure to walk down-town every morning with his
father. Broadway was fresh and clean, and the breeze came up from the
river at every corner. There were not so many people nor factories, and
there were still some lots given over to grassy spaces and shrubs.
Walking to business was considered quite the thing then.
He had a great deal to tell Hanny about "our" store, and what "we" were
doing. The new beautiful stock that was coming in, for then it took from
twelve to sixteen days to cross the ocean, and you had to order quite in
advance. He had learned to play several tunes on the accordeon, and he
hoped his father would let him take his four weeks' wages and buy one.
And Mr. Gerard had said he should be very happy to have all the girls
and their mothers come down some afternoon.
"And if Daisy only could go!"
"Isn't she beautiful?" said Charles. "She looks like an angel. Her short
golden hair is like the glory they put around the saints and the
Saviour, an aureole they call it."
"What a beautiful word."
"I thought at first she would die. But your brother is sure she will
live now. Only it's such a pity----" the boy's voice faltered a little
from intense sympathy.
Hanny sighed too. She knew what he meant to say. But the children
refrained from giving it a name. "Hanny, I think it's just splendid to
be a doctor. To help people and encourage them when you can't cure them.
He said one night when he stopped at the Deans that she might have been
dreadfully deformed, and now it will not be very bad, that when her
lovely hair gets grown out again it will not show much. I'm so glad."
They had cut the golden ringlets close to her head, for she could not be
disturbed during those critical weeks in the hospital.
When the Deans came home there was great rejoicing. And since there was
such a little time left for Charles to stay in the store they could not
wait for Elsie and Flossie.
"If we _could_ take Daisy," Hanny said to Joe. He dropped in nearly
every evening now. The city was very healthy in spite of August weather,
and young doctors were not wont to be overrun with calls.
"I don't see why you shouldn't. It would be the best thing in the world
for her to go out, and to be with other children and have some interests
in common with them. Yes, let us go down and see."
The family were all out on the stoop and the little paved court. They
were so screened from observation. Dr. Joe came and stood by Daisy's
chair, while Hanny sat on a stool and held the soft hand. Then he
preferred the children's request.
"Oh, it would be lovely!" Then the pale face flushed. "I don't believe
I--could."
"Why not?" asked Dr. Joe.
There was no immediate answer. Mrs. Jasper said hesitatingly: "Would it
be wise, doctor? One cannot help being--well, sensitive."
"Yet you do not want to keep this little girl forever secluded. There
are so many enjoyable things in the world. It is not even as if Daisy
had brothers and sisters who were coming in hourly with all manner of
freshness and fun."
"I can't bear people to look at me so. I can almost hear what they
say----"
Daisy's voice broke in a short sob.
"My dear child," Dr. Joe took the other hand and patted it caressingly.
"It is very sad and a great misfortune, but if you had to remember that
it came from the violence of a drunken father, or the carelessness of an
inefficient mother, it would seem a harder burden to bear. We can't tell
why God allows some very sad events to happen, but when they do come we
must look about for the best means of bearing them. God has seen fit to
make a restoration to health and comparative strength possible. I think
He means you to have some enjoyment as well. And when one gets used to
bearing a burden it does not seem so heavy. Your parents are prosperous
enough to afford you a great many indulgences, and you must not refuse
them from a spirit of undue sensitiveness. And then, my little girl, God
has given you such a beautiful face that it cannot help but attract.
Can't you be brave enough to take the pleasures that come to you without
darkening them by a continual sense of the misfortune?"
Daisy was crying now. Dr. Joe pressed the small figure to his heart, and
kissed her forehead. He had been unusually interested in the case, but
he knew now some effort must be made, some mental pain endured, or her
life would drop to weariness. Mrs. Jasper was very sensitive to comment
herself.
Mr. Jasper began to walk up and down the path.
"Yes, doctor," he exclaimed; "what you say is true. You have been such a
good friend to my little girl. We want her to be happy and to have some
companionship. The children up your way have been very kind and
sympathetic. I like that young lad extremely. It is only at first that
the thing seems so hard. Daisy, I think I would go."
He came and kissed his unfortunate little girl.
"Oh, do!" entreated Hanny softly. "You see, it will be like the ladies
of long ago when they went out in their chairs. There's some pictures in
the old books Miss Lois sent us, and the funny clothes they wore. I'll
bring them over some day. I read about a lady going to Court in her
chair. And there were two or three pretty maids to wait on her. We'll
make believe you are the Countess Somebody, and we are the ladies in
waiting. And we'll all go to the Palace. The King will be out; they're
always on hunting expeditions, and the Prince, that will be Charles,
there was a bonnie Prince Charlie once, will take us about and show us
the lovely things in the Palace----"
Hanny had talked herself out of breath and stopped.
Mr. Jasper laughed. "Upon my word, Miss Hanny, you would make a good
stage manager. There, could you have it planned out any nicer, Daisy? I
shall have to be on hand to see the triumphal procession as it goes down
Broadway."
Hanny's imagination had rendered it possible.
Joe swung her up in his strong arms.
"We think a good deal of our Hanny," he said laughingly. "If she was
smaller she might be exhibited along with Tom Thumb, but she's spoiled
that brilliant enterprise, and yet she stays so small that we begin to
think she's stunted."
"Oh, Joe, do you really?" she cried.
"We shall have to call her the little girl all her life. And you know
she's bothered a good deal about her name, which isn't at all pretty,
but she takes it in good part, and puts up with it."
"I call her Annie sometimes," said Daisy.
"Ann is but plain and common,
And Nancy sounds but ill;
While Anna is endurable,
And Annie better still,"
repeated Dr. Joe. "So you see we all have some trials. To be a little
mite of a thing and to be called Hanneran is pretty bad. And now, little
mite, we must go back home. When will the cavalcade start? I must be on
hand to see it move."
"About three, Charles said. Oh, it will be just delightful!"
Now that Hanny had been put down she hopped around on one foot for joy.
They said good-night and walked up home.
"Don't you think I _will_ grow some, Joe?" she asked, with a pretty
doubt in her tone. "I did grow last year, for mother had to let down my
skirts."
"I don't want you to grow too much. I like little women," he answered.
The cavalcade, as Dr. Joe called it, did start the next day. Daisy's
mother and her Aunt Ellen went, Mrs. Dean and Margaret, and four little
girls, including Nora Whitney, who was growing "like a weed." They went
out to Broadway and then straight down. Of course people looked at them.
The children were so merry, and really, Daisy in her chair with her
colored attendant was quite an unusual incident. Aunt Ellen had let her
carry her pretty dove-colored sunshade. It was lined with pink and had a
joint in the handle that turned it down and made a shelter from too
curious eyes. There were a good many people out. It was not necessary
then to go away for the whole summer in order to be considered
fashionable. People went and came, and when they were home they
promenaded in the afternoon without losing caste.
Stores were creeping up Broadway. "Gerard & Co." was on the block above
the Astor House, a very attractive notion and fancy store. The window
was always beautifully arranged, and the cases were full of tempting
articles. There were seats for customers, and across the end of the long
store pictures and bijou tables and music-boxes were displayed. In a
small anteroom there was a workshop where musical instruments, jewelry
and, trinkets were repaired.
Sam lifted out his young mistress and carried her in. Charles came
forward to receive his guests, and though he flushed and showed some
embarrassment, acquitted himself quite creditably. Mr. Gerard, with his
French politeness, made them very welcome and took a warm interest at
once in Daisy. She sat by the counter with Sam at her back, and looked
quite the countess of Hanny's description. Mr. Gerard brought her some
rare and pretty articles to examine. The others strolled around, the
children uttering ejaculations of delight. Such elegant fans and card
cases and mother-of-pearl _portemonnaies_ bound with silver and steel!
Such vases and card receivers--indeed, all the pretty bric-a-brac, as we
should term it nowadays.
But the greatest interest was aroused by the music-boxes. The children
listened enchanted to the limpid tinkle of the tunes. It was like
fairy-land.
"Oh," cried Daisy, with a long sigh of rapture; "if I only could have a
music-box! Then I could play for myself. And it is so beautiful. Oh,
mamma!"
Mrs. Jasper inquired prices. From twenty-four dollars to beyond one
hundred. There was one at forty dollars that played deliciously, and
such a variety of tunes.
"And when you tire of them you can have new music put in," explained Mr.
Gerard.
"And you don't have to learn all the tiresome fingering," commented
Hanny.
"If I had a piano I shouldn't ever think it tiresome," said Charles.
"Oh, yes, you would, even when you loved it and tried to learn with all
your might. Tunes give you a joyful sort of feeling," and Hanny's eyes
sparkled.
"And you could dance to this," Tudie whispered softly, while her eyes
danced unmistakably.
Mrs. Jasper examined several of them and listened to the tunes. They
came back to that for forty dollars.
"We will have to talk to papa. He thought he might drop in."
The children did not tire of waiting. Hanny thought she might spend a
whole day looking over everything, and listening to the dainty,
enchanting music. But Mrs. Dean said she _must_ go.
Just at that instant Mr. Jasper arrived, having been detained. His wife
spoke in a little aside, and he showed his interest at once. Why, yes, a
music-box could not fail to be a great delight to Daisy.
Mr. Gerard wound up two or three of them again. Then the ladies decided
they would ride up in the stage with the children. Mr. Jasper and Sam
would see to Daisy's safety.
And the result was that Mr. Jasper bought the music-box, ordering it
sent home the next day. Daisy was speechless with joy. Sam carried her
out and put her into her chair.
"I don't believe I shall ever be afraid to go out again," she said
eagerly. Indeed she did not mind the eyes that peered at her now. Some
were very pitying and sympathetic.
As Charles was putting away many of the choice articles for the night
Mr. Gerard slipped a dollar into his hand.
"That's your commission," he said smilingly, "on unexpected good
fortune. And I shall be so sorry to lose you. I wish it was the first of
August instead of the last, or that you didn't want to go back to
school."