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A LITTLE GIRL OF LONG AGO
OR HANNAH ANN
A SEQUEL TO A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK
By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS
A. L. BURT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
TO
EDNA ESTELLE CORNER.
THE LITTLE GIRLS OF LONG AGO ARE GROWING OLD WITH
THE CENTURY, BUT GIRLHOOD BLOSSOMS AFRESH
WITH SPRING AND REMAINS
FOREVER A JOY.
A. M. D.
NEWARK, 1897.
CONTENTS
I. 1846
II. AN INTERVIEW WITH A TIGER
III. CHANCES AND CHANGES
IV. A WEDDING
V. WINTER HAPPENINGS
VI. THE LAND OF OPHIR
VII. THROUGH THE EYES OF YOUTH
VIII. GOING VISITING
IX. ANNABEL LEE
X. WITH A POET
XI. THE KING OF TERRORS
XII. UP-TOWN
XIII. OUT-OF-THE-WAY CORNERS
XIV. AMONG GREAT THINGS
XV. THE BEGINNINGS OF ROMANCE
XVI. COUNTING UP THE COST
XVII. A GLAD SURPRISE
XVIII. THE LITTLE GIRL GROWN UP
XIX. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE
XX. MISS NAN UNDERHILL
XXI. THE OLD, OLD STORY, EVER NEW
XXII. 1897
HANNAH ANN
CHAPTER I
1846
New Year's came in with a ringing of bells and firing of pistols. Four
years more, and the world would reach the half-century mark. That seemed
very ancient to the little girl in Old New York. They talked about it at
the breakfast-table.
"Do you suppose any one could live to see nineteen hundred?" asked the
little girl, with wondering eyes.
Father Underhill laughed.
"Count up and see how old you would be, Hanny," he replied.
"Why, I should be--sixty-five."
"Not as old as either grandmother," said John.
"If the world doesn't come to an end," suggested Hanny, cautiously. She
remembered the fright she had when she was afraid it would come to an
end.
"It isn't half developed," interposed Benny Frank. "And we haven't half
discovered it. What do we know about the heart of Africa or the
interior of China--"
"The great Chinese wall will shut us out of that," interrupted the
little girl. "But it can't go all around China, for the missionaries get
in, and some Chinese get out, like the two little girls."
"There is some outside to China," laughed Benny Frank. "And India is a
wonderful country. There is all of Siberia, too, and British America,
and, beyond the Rocky Mountains, a great country belonging to us that we
know very little about. I believe the world is going to stand long
enough for us to learn all about it. Some day I hope to go around a good
bit and see for myself."
"Some people," began Mrs. Underhill, "reason that, as it was two
thousand years from the Creation to the Deluge, and two thousand years
more to the birth of Christ, that the next two thousand will see the end
of the world."
"They are beginning to think the world more than four or five thousand
years old," said Benny Frank. He had quite a taste for science.
"It'll last my time out, I guess," and there was a shrewd twinkle in
Father Underhill's eye. "And I think there'll be a big piece left for
Hanny."
The little girl of eleven mused over it. She had a great many things to
think about, and her mother suggested presently that there were some
things to do. Margaret went upstairs to straighten the parlor and
arrange a table in the end of the back room for callers. Hanny found
plenty of work, but her small brain kept in a curious confusion, as if
it was running back and forth from the past to the future. Events were
happening so rapidly. And the whole world seemed changed since her
brother Stephen's little boy had been born on Christmas morning.
It was curious, too, to grow older, and to understand books and lessons
so much better, to feel interested in daily events. There was a new
revolution in Mexico; there was a talk of war. But everything went on
happily at home. New York was stretching out like a big boy, showing
rents and patches in his attire, but up-town he was getting into a new
suit, and people exclaimed about the extravagance.
As for Stephen's baby, there wasn't any word in Webster's Dictionary to
do him justice. He grew fat and fair, his nose became shapely, his
dimple was deeper, his chin double, and his pretty hands began to grasp
at everything. Stephen said the only drawback was that his hair would be
red. Hanny felt curiously teased about it. She couldn't be sure that it
was quite a subject for prayer; but she took great comfort in two lines
of the old hymn--
"Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpressed,"
and she hoped God would listen to the sincere desire of her heart.
Early in February the children were all excitement about Mr. Bradbury's
concert. The Dean children were among the chorus singers, and Charles
Reed had a prominent part. Would his mother let him go?--the children
all wondered.
"Mr. Reed can manage it," said Josie Dean, confidently. "Wives have to
mind their husbands about boys, because the men know best, and the boys
are to grow up into men."
Hanny's interest was divided by Margaret being made ready for the
Valentine ball. Everybody was to go in a fancy dress. Dr. Hoffman chose
Margaret's, which was to be a lady of 1790. Miss Cynthia came and looked
over the old green-and-white brocade that had descended from Miss Lois.
It had a low square neck, and a bodice with deep points back and front,
laced with a silver cord. The front breadth, "petticoat," as it was
called, was white satin, creamy now with age, embroidered with pink and
yellow roses and mossy green leaves. The brocade fell away in a long
train, and at the joining was a cascade of fine old lace called Mechlin.
The elbow-sleeves were edged with it, and at the neck, the lace had a
fine wire run through it at the back that made it stand up, while in
front, it fell to a pretty point, and was clasped with a brooch. It had
been made for Miss Lois' wedding outfit when she was a happy young girl,
dreaming over a joyous future that had never come to pass.
But Margaret's hair they all thought the crowning glory. Miss Cynthia
was very fond of adorning people for parties, and so deft that she was
in frequent demand. She had brought a great high comb of beautiful,
clear shell that had belonged to her mother. There was a loose twist
made like the figure eight at the back, and in front, rows of dainty
puffs and ends of curls, that dropped down on her white forehead.
The brooch, too, was curious. It was a portrait painted on ivory of the
Marquis de Lafayette, and set round with beautiful pearls, one of Miss
Cynthia's precious belongings also.
When Margaret looked at herself in her mother's tall glass, she was so
mystified that she felt for a moment as if she was Miss Lois come back.
For when the gown fitted her, she must have been tall and slim and
young.
Hanny had begged to ask in all the girls, and was delighted to have
Daisy Jasper and her mother.
But when Dr. Hoffman came in Continental costume, with buff
small-clothes and black velvet coat, great buckles of brilliants at his
knees and lace ruffles at his wrists and shirt front, and his hair
powdered, they all exclaimed. He carried his three-cornered hat under
his arm as he bowed to the ladies.
John Underhill declared laughingly that he felt honoured by being the
footman to such a grand couple, as he helped them into the carriage.
"Why don't people dress as beautifully now?" said Daisy Jasper, with a
sigh. "Everything looks so plain."
Then the elders began to talk of past fashions. Miss Cynthia said her
mother's wedding gown was made with a full straight skirt six yards
around, and had one little hoop at the hips to hold it out. When Miss
Cynthia's elder sisters were grown, she cut it up and made them each a
frock, with skirts two and a quarter yards wide, short full waists, and
puffed sleeves. Big poke bonnets were worn with great bunches of flowers
inside, and an immense bow at the top, where the strings were really
tied. If you wanted to be very coquettish, you had the bow rather on one
side. The skirts barely reached the ankles, and black satin slippers
were to be worn on fine occasions; white or sometimes pale colours to
parties.
"And now we have come back to wide full skirts," said Miss Cynthia.
"We're putting stiffening in to hold them out. And there's talk of
hoops."
Another odd custom was coming into vogue. It was considered much more
genteel to say "dress." Frock had a sort of common country sound,
because the farmers wore tow frocks at their work. The little girl had
been laughed at for saying it, and she was trying very hard to always
call the garment a "dress." Gown was considered rather reprehensible, as
it savoured of old ladies' bed-gowns. Now we have gone back to frocks
and gowns.
"The Continental fashions were extremely picturesque," said Mrs. Jasper.
"And the men were strong and earnest, and equal to the emergencies of
the day, if they did indulge in adornments considered rather feminine
now. But I like the variety. The newly-arrived emigrants in their
native garb interest me."
"There are some around in Houston Street," laughed Ben. "Dutch girls
with flaxen hair and little caps, and those queer waists with shoulder
straps, and thick woollen stockings. Some of them wear wooden shoes. And
Irish women with great plaid cloaks and little shawls tied over their
heads, short skirts and nailed shoes that clatter on the sidewalk."
"I should like to see them," said Daisy.
"Joe ought to take you out on St. Patrick's day," returned Ben. "But
they soon reach the dead level of uniformity."
"Fancy an Indian in coat and trousers instead of blanket, war-paint, and
feathers," and Jim laughed at the idea.
"I think we shall hardly be able to reduce him to modern costumes. He
does not take kindly to civilisation."
"He's shamefully treated anyway."
"Oh, Jim, it won't do to take your noble red men from romance. The
heroes of King Philip's time have vanished."
Jim was reading Cooper, and had large faith in the children of the
forest. The next generation of school-boys called them "sneaking red
dogs," and planned to go out on the plains and shoot them.
"If we absorb all these people, we shall be a curiously conglomerate
nation by and by," exclaimed Mrs. Jasper.
"As we were in the beginning," returned Father Underhill. "We started
from most of the nations of Europe. We have had a French state, Dutch
and German, English and Scotch, but the one language seems a great
leveler."
The little girls talked about the concert. Doctor Joe said he thought
Daisy might venture. She was beginning to grow quite courageous, though
the comments on her lameness always brought a flush to her cheek.
Sometimes he stopped at school for both girls, and the wheeling-chair
went home empty. His strong, tender arm was help enough.
Mr. Reed had quite a battle to win the day for his son. "The
singing-school was foolishness and a waste of time; and there was not a
moment to waste in this world, when you had to give a strict account of
it in the next." Mrs. Reed had never considered whether so much scouring
and scrubbing was not a waste of time, when everything was as clean as a
pin. When a very polite note from Mr. Bradbury reached Mr. Reed, begging
that Charles might be allowed to take a prominent part in the concert,
there was war, a more dreadful time than going to the barber had caused.
"Charles"--she occasionally left off the John Robert--"was too big a boy
for such nonsense! It spoiled children to put them forward. He ought to
be thinking of his lessons and forming his character, instead of
spending his time over silly songs. And to sing on a public stage!"
"Some of the best families are to let their children participate in it.
I don't think it will hurt them," her husband said decisively.
Then she actually sobbed.
"You will ruin that child, after all the trouble I've taken. I've worked
and slaved from morning till night, made him get his lessons and be
careful of his clothes, and kept him out of bad company; and now I'm
not allowed to say a word, but just stand by while you let him go to
ruin. The next thing we'll have him in a nigger minstrel band, or
playing on a fiddle!"
"I've known some very worthy men who played on a fiddle. And all the
children growing up can't be minstrels, so perhaps our boy will be
compelled to find some other employment. I am going to have him like
other boys; and if it can't be so at home, I'll send him away to
school."
That was a terrible threat. To be gone months at a time, with no one to
look after his clothes!
Mrs. Reed went about the house sighing, and scrubbed harder than ever.
She made Charles feel as if he brought in dirt by the bushel, and
scattered it about in pure spite. She even refused his help in clearing
away the dishes; and she tried to make him wear his second-best clothes
that eventful evening.
Oh, what an evening it was! The hall was crowded. The stage was full of
children, one tier of seats rising above another. The girls were dressed
in white, and most of them had their hair curled. The boys had a white
ribbon tied in the buttonhole of their jackets. How eager and pretty
they looked! Hanny thought of the day at Castle Garden when the
Sunday-schools had walked.
It was a simple cantata, but a great success. Charles Reed sang
charmingly. His father had said, "Don't get frightened, my boy, and do
your very best;" and he was just as desirous of pleasing his father as
any one, even Mr. Bradbury.
Daisy Jasper could have listened all night, entranced. Tall Doctor Joe
sat beside her, easing her position now and then, while Hanny smiled and
made joyful comments of approval in so soft a tone they disturbed no
one.
"I've never been so happy in all my life," Daisy Jasper said to Doctor
Joe. "It seems as if I could never feel miserable again. There are so
many splendid things in the world that I am glad to live and be among
them, if I can't ever be quite straight and strong."
"My dear child!" Doctor Joe's eyes said the rest.
They waited for the crowd to get out. Charles came down the aisle with
his father and Mr. Bradbury, and Mr. Dean was escorting his little
girls. They had a very delightful chat, and were charmed with the leader
of the children's concert.
"Charles must take good care of his voice," said Mr. Bradbury. "It may
sometime prove a fortune to him. He is a fine boy, and any father might
well be proud of him."
"I just wish mother had wanted to be there," Charles said, as his
father was opening the door with his latch-key. The light was turned low
in the hall, and Mrs. Reed had gone to bed, an unprecedented step with
her.
Hanny found that she couldn't spend all the Saturdays with little
Stevie. She wished they were twice as long; but they always seemed
shorter than any other day. Dolly came down now and then, and was just
as bright and merry as ever.
But old Mr. Beekman grew more feeble, and was confined to the house most
of the time. Hanny had to go down-town and visit him and Katschina. He
was delighted to have her come, and Katschina purred her tenderest
welcome. She was like a bit of sunshine, with her cheerful smile and her
sweet, merry wisdom. She told him about the school and Daisy, their
plays and songs; and they were never tired of talking about Stephen's
baby. It could laugh aloud now; the reddish fuzz was falling out, and
the new soft hair shone like pale gold on his pink scalp.
There were so many other friends, the Bounett cousins, and Dele Whitney,
who was just as jolly as ever, with the old aunts down in Beach Street,
and who declared the little girl was the sweetest thing in the world,
and that some day she should just steal her, and carry her off to
fairyland.