GOING VISITING
"Don't you want to tell me about your little friend?" Mrs. French said
when she had put Hanny in the hammock, and hedged her about with silken
cushions. She sat in a willow rocker that Hanny thought quite as
fascinating as the hammock.
"Oh, yes," and Hanny smiled brightly, and, like a true biographer began
at the beginning, the first time the children had seen Daisy, with her
long golden curls and pallid face, like a snow-drift. And how Doctor Joe
had been in the hospital when she had the operation performed.
"Poor little thing!" exclaimed Mrs. French. "And now there is something
they can use that gives a blessed unconsciousness, and when you wake up
the worst of the pain is over. I do not know how any one could endure
such torture."
"Joe said she was very brave, though she fainted several times. And
she's growing straight and tall, and her hair curls lovely again. I have
always wished my hair curled naturally. It just twists a little at the
ends, but won't make ringlets."
People in those days curled their hair a great deal; but they had to put
it in papers. Patent curlers, like a great many other things, had not
been invented. When you wanted to be very fine, you went to the
hair-dresser's. The real society ladies had some one come to the house
to "do" their hair; and sometimes it was very elaborate.
Mrs. French thought curly hair would not improve the little girl. There
was something charming in her very simplicity, and her hair was like
floss silk.
As she told about Daisy she detailed bits of neighbourhood life, and
descriptions of the other children. Mrs. French heard about John Robert
Charles and his mother.
"But she's so different now. She is not real strong any more; and then
Charles is such a big boy, and goes out with his father. It's queer, but
Jim and he are great friends, and Jim goes over there to study with
Charles. Mrs. Reed did not use to like boys; and Jim is so full of fun
and pranks, mother calls them, and he knows so many funny stories!
Mother tries very hard not to laugh at them; but she can't always help
it."
The evening passed so quickly that it was bed-time before either of them
realised it. Mrs. French took the large square pillows off the bed, and
laid one of the silken spreads over the footboard. How beautiful and
soft they were, with great flowers so natural it seemed as if you could
pick them up! And the fragrance was so delicate and puzzling: one moment
you thought it violets, then it suggested roses and lilies and the smell
of newly cut grass.
Mrs. French kissed her, and said if she felt strange in the night to
call her; but she was asleep in five minutes, and never woke until quite
in the morning, it was so much more quiet than in First Street.
When she did sit up in the bed and glance around, she had a queer
feeling that she was a part of a fairy story, like the white cat in her
enchanted palace, waiting for the Prince, or perhaps Psyche, blown from
the hill-top to her beautiful place of refuge, where she found and lost
Love, and had to do many hard tasks before she could regain him.
She was quite sure, an hour or two later, that she _was_ in some
enchanted realm. There were such queer things,--some beautiful, and some
she thought very ugly, especially the grotesque idols.
"I couldn't believe a god like that had any power. And I am sure I
couldn't worship him," Hanny said emphatically.
"They beat their gods sometimes and break them to pieces, and go off and
get new ones. It seems very singular to us."
The little girl had been deeply interested in Judson, the missionary to
Burmah. There had been a good deal of romance about his last marriage,
to "Fanny Forester," who wrote tales and sketches and poems, and had
made herself quite a name for brightness and gay humour, and then had
surprised her friends by going to India as a missionary's wife. And she
knew Bishop Heber's beautiful poem to his wife all by heart, and often
sang "From Greenland's icy mountains." So she had a feeling that she did
know something about India.
But Mrs. French had really been there, and spent two months at Bombay,
and almost six months at Calcutta. There were so many gorgeous
things,--silks, and bright stuffs with threads of gold, jackets all
embroidery, and queer Eastern dresses, two made of pineapple cloth,--a
sheer, beautiful fabric,--and one had delicate flowers embroidered in
silk.
But the oddest of all, Hanny thought, was burning incense. Mrs. French
had several curious incense bowls and jars. She lighted one, and in a
little while the room was filled with an indescribable fragrance and a
hazy purplish air.
"They burn incense in the Roman Catholic churches. Joe took us one
Easter Sunday. It was very strange, I thought. And a little boy swung
the--something--"
"Censer."
"Oh, yes, censer. And the singing was beautiful. But we couldn't
understand the prayers; Joe said they were Latin. I suppose he could
follow them."
"No doubt; I have attended some very grand services in churches abroad
and in England."
The incense burned out presently, and they went downstairs to dinner.
Afterward, a niece and nephew, her brother's children, came. The girl
was not quite twelve, but most a head taller than Hanny, who felt rather
shy with her. The boy was older still, and his name was Harold, which
suggested to Hanny the last of the Saxon kings. But he was very dark,
and didn't look like a Saxon, she thought.
Mrs. French sent to the livery and ordered a carriage, and they all went
to drive. Hanny was quite conversant with upper New York and Westchester
County; but she had only been once to Brooklyn. It had quite a country
aspect then; but there were beautiful drives, and Greenwood Cemetery had
already some extremely handsome monuments.
There was something about Eva Bounett that suggested Lily Ludlow, and
kept Hanny from liking her cordially. She laughed at so many things,
made fun of them; and Hanny wondered if she was criticising her, and
would laugh at her when she returned home.
Now and then, Mrs. French would remark, "Don't, Eva, that is not a nice
thing to say." Still she was bright, and at times Hanny had to laugh.
She found so many Dickens' people along the streets; and really they did
look like the pictures by Cruikshank. And one tall fierce old woman,
with wisps of hair hanging about her neck, and an old torn shawl, who
was brandishing her arms and talking wildly, she said was Meg Merrilies.
The children remained to tea, and Harold played and sang some very
pretty songs afterward.
"But you ought to hear our sister Helen," declared Eva. "She sings in
church, and sometimes at concerts; she's just magnificent. She's
nineteen now. And Mary has a good voice; while I sing like a crow! Do
you do any of the fine things,--draw or paint? I take music lessons; but
I make my teacher's hour vexation of spirit, not vanity," and she gave a
satisfied kind of laugh.
"I study music and French. I embroider and crochet--"
"I hate sewing; I'd like to be a man and a sea-captain. Uncle French is
just magnificent; I hope he will take me to sea sometime; I'm not a bit
sick; are you?"
"I have never been to sea," replied Hanny.
"Well, just a little ways; I've been down to the Fishing Banks; and it's
awful rough. And last summer we were at Great South Bay, and went out in
a yacht; and I learned to row. At all events, I mean to marry a
sea-captain; and I'll just go with him every time."
One of the older brothers dropped in for the children. Eva was very
effusive in her good-bye, and kissed Hanny, and said she must surely
come to see her.
Hanny felt quite relieved when she was alone again with Mrs. French, who
talked of Helen and Mary, and seemed to admire them very much. "But I
don't know what they will do with Eva. My half-sister, Luella, was just
such a noisy harum-scarum; but she had only boys to play with. Now, she
is getting to be a nice lady-like girl."
Hanny recalled two visits in Hammersley Street when Luella had kept her
in a fright all the time.
They went to church Sunday morning, and heard Helen Bounett sing. It was
very fine and moving. Hanny wished Charles could hear her.
About mid-afternoon, as they were sitting on the front piazza, which was
shady now, Hanny espied her two brothers. Why, Ben was quite as tall as
Joe! He looked more like Stephen; but Joe was _very_ good-looking.
She flew down to meet them, and gave one hand to each brother.
"Oh," she cried joyfully, "I've had a lovely time! I've been to India
and China; and I've had incense and ginger preserve, and some beautiful
silks to take home, and a pineapple handkerchief, and a ginger-jar; and
I haven't been a bit homesick."
Mrs. French was watching the eager little face that looked so pretty in
its enthusiasm of love. Doctor Joe stooped and kissed her; Ben waited
until he was up on the porch.
They were very cordially welcomed. Mrs. French said she was afraid a
patient would come to hand at an inopportune moment.
"The city is desperately healthy," returned Joe, laughingly. "That's a
young doctor's experience. When I am wrinkled and grey-haired, I shall
probably tell a different story."
"What do you think I have?" turning to Hanny. "A letter from Mr. Jasper.
A steamer was just going out, so he sent a few lines."
He handed it to her while he resumed his conversation with Mrs. French.
Hanny devoured it with a thrill. A letter from across the ocean!
They had a very pleasant journey, with only one storm worth mentioning.
Mrs. Jasper, who had dreaded sea-sickness, had only a slight attack.
Aunt Ellen was ill four days, and Daisy a whole week. Once they were
quite alarmed about her. But her recovery was more rapid than they had
expected; and now they were all well, and the ladies would write more at
length.
An ocean voyage was quite an undertaking then. Some people of leisure
went by a packet, which took three weeks, occasionally longer.
It was very odd to think of Daisy Jasper in England. But how many times
Mrs. French had come home safely.
Of course they must go out and see the flowers: the beautiful red rose
whose mother, or grandmother, had come from the Escurial at Madrid; and
a real English hawthorn, from Windermere, just out of bloom now; and
several valuable and curious foreign plants, quite common at this day.
At the southern end there was a conservatory for the housing of the more
delicate ones.
Ben was wonderfully interested with the indoor curiosities, and a case
of stuffed birds, the like of which he had never seen. They had a little
more incense too, and opened jars of rare perfume that was nobody knew
how many years old. There were some Chinese paintings on fine
transparent silk, and ivory carvings that were enough to puzzle the
most astute brain. Ben thought he would like to spend at least a month
over them.
Supper-time came too soon. Mrs. French said she had enjoyed every moment
of Hanny's visit, and hoped to have her a whole week in the summer
vacation, and the young men must feel they would be welcome any time.
"I've just been crowded full of delight," exclaimed Hanny, with her
good-bye kiss.
It was quite a walk down to the ferry; then they had their sail across.
How still and tranquil everything seemed! When they reached the city,
people were going to church, and a few last bells were ringing. They
walked leisurely up Grand Street; and, at the junction of East Broadway,
Joe said he would run up to the office to see if he was needed for
anything. Then Ben and Hanny kept on. There were a good many private
residences in Grand Street, but the stores were creeping along. Already
they began to show foreign names, and on some stoops a whole Jewish
family would be sitting with their black-eyed children. And so many of
them had such beautiful curling hair that it made Hanny sigh.
Across Norfolk Street to Houston, and a turn in their own First Street.
Mr. Underhill had walked down to the corner, and was sauntering about.
He was very glad to get his little girl home and hear about the good
time.
A fortnight later, the little girl had a letter from Daisy Jasper, all
to herself. They had gone straight up to London on account of business,
and were at a hotel; but it was all so queer and unlike New York. She
certainly did like her own city best. But there would be so many things
to see; not the least among them would be the Queen and Prince Albert,
and the royal children, who were often out driving, and the Mall and the
Row, and the palaces, and the Tower, and the great British Museum! Daisy
thought, if she went everywhere, it would take a whole lifetime. She was
beginning to feel very well; but she admitted that she was awfully
seasick, and that it was "horrid." She wanted Hanny, and dear Doctor
Joe. And Hanny must tell her about everybody in the street. She must get
some thin foreign paper, so the postage wouldn't cost so much.
For then postage was regulated by the distance, and we had no
international union. I think we were doing without a good many useful
things; yet the older generation professed to believe there was so much
luxury and ease that people would be soon demoralised.
Jim had rather fallen behind, with all his fun and nonsense, and was
studying day and night. He wasn't going to have Charley Reed get so far
ahead of him! Examinations were coming on, and he didn't want any one to
be ashamed of him, neither did he want to be conditioned.
The little girl was studying very hard also, and reading a great deal.
She had taken up the wonderful things of London that had been
accumulating year by year. She had thought New York was getting quite
ancient, but, oh, dear! England had been colonised by Julius Caesar, and
was a country with a government even before that.
There was no one to go out with, and she was too old to play. Last
summer, they had gone around with Daisy in her wheeling-chair, and found
so many amusing incidents, beside being out of doors in the vivifying
air and sunshine. Josie Dean was almost a young lady, so tall that she
wore her hair in a French twist, with a pretty silver comb, which was as
much a girl's ambition as the big shell comb had been her mother's. And
Tudie was just crazy over worsted work. She was doing a pair of covers
for large ottomans, and then meant to go at the back and seat for a
daintily carved reception-chair. There were some nice schoolmates who
lived up above Mrs. Craven's; but they seldom came down to First Street.
And as the little girl never complained, no one seemed to notice that
she grew pale and thin, until one day Mrs. Underhill exclaimed:--
"Mercy me! What is the matter with that child! She looks like a ghost."
"She never does have red cheeks except when she is excited," said her
father. "But she has fallen away."
"Too hard study and too much staying in the house," said Doctor Joe.
"But I _must_ study one week more," declared the little girl. "I'm going
to have a beautiful French exercise,"--they didn't always adapt their
adjectives to the fine shades of meaning,--"and I'm at the head in
history. I want to get in the senior grade. I feel well, only tired, and
my head aches sometimes."
Doctor Joe examined her pulse and nodded.
"I'll give you the week," he said; but her heart went up to her throat.
What if he had _not_ given her the week!
They all came off with flying colours. Charles's Latin was the finest;
but he had been studying it several years. Jim's essay won him much
praise. And the little girl achieved her heart's desire. She was in the
second grade of the seniors, and would graduate in two years.
They had hardly decided what to do with her; but one day Mrs. Odell came
down with Polly, who had cheeks like roses and was fat as a seal, her
mother said.
"You just let her come up and stay awhile with us, and drink buttermilk,
and run out of doors and play in the hay. She's lived in the city long
enough for a country girl, and she wants a change to freshen up her
blood. She's fairly blue, she's so white."
"That wouldn't be a bad idea," rejoined Mr. Underhill. "We could drive
up every few days and see her."
Mrs. Underhill looked up much interested.
Margaret was engrossed with her baby, and then she went out driving
every day, though they did talk of going away for a week the last of the
summer. She was very fond of having her little sister visit her, and
Hanny enjoyed the talks about books and the delightful people the
Hoffmans were always meeting.
All the Beekman daughters were going to stay awhile at the farm and
discuss the settlement of the estate. The city authorities were to cut
two streets through it in the early autumn. They had a very fair offer
for the house, from a second or third cousin who fancied he wanted a
part of the old family estate. The ground, of course, was too valuable
for farming purposes. Annette's husband, who was in a shipping firm then
on Water Street, preferred living down-town. So Mrs. Beekman would keep
the old city house, and they would live together.
Dolly proposed to take the little girl, for there would be a large
out-of-doors.
"There are too many grown people," declared Doctor Joe. "She's too old
herself, and too anxious for knowledge of all kinds. She wants to run
and play with children. We must keep her a little girl as long as
possible, and not bother her brains with the wisdom of the ages. Send
her up to West Farms. As Father says, we can see her every few days."
That settled the matter. Father Underhill did not care to give her up
anyhow, and he was best pleased with this plan. Mrs. Underhill imagined
she had so many things to do, as mothers of households did in those
days, and somehow she did not like to hurry Hanny about as she had
Margaret. There really was not so much sewing. Joe insisted upon
ordering his shirts made; and Margaret had sent Ben half-a-dozen for
Christmas. Then Barbara was very efficient, and, with true German
thrift, improved every moment. She insisted on darning the stockings and
knitting the woollen ones for winter. She was also a very neat hand at
sewing.
Mrs. Underhill had learned another lesson in her city life. There were a
good many poor people who really needed work, and she found it a much
wiser plan to give them employment and pay them for it, and advise them
to lay in coal and various other matters for winter. She was not a
stingy woman; but she did not believe in confirming people in indolent
habits.
Martha came often to see them; and at times she felt almost jealous of
Barbara. But she had a very pleasant home, and her stepchildren proved
tractable. She did a good deal of church work, and through her Mrs.
Underhill heard of really worthy poor people.
Hanny wasn't a bit enthusiastic about going to West Farms.
"Janey and Polly seem so childish," she said to her brother Joe.
"And you are getting to be a little old woman. We don't want you to turn
old and grey before your time, and have to wear spectacles and all
that."
"But I can see the least little thing," protested the child, earnestly.
"And if I do go, can't I take my 'Queens of England' with me? I had so
many lessons that I couldn't read them as I wanted to."
Margaret had sent the volumes to her for a birthday gift. She had just
skimmed through them, and was saving them up for her leisure time.
Everybody was talking about them, and recommending them to girls. Miss
Strickland certainly knew how to interest readers.
Doctor Joe shook his head, with a sort of mirthful regret which couldn't
help but soothe the disappointment a little.
"I don't want you to read or to study, but just run out in the sunshine
and get fat. If we have such a poor pale little thing in our family,
people will wonder if I really am a good physician."
He looked so grave, not a bit as if he was "making fun," that she gave a
sort of sighing assent.
"If you get real homesick, you need not stay more than a fortnight. But
there is a good deal to learn out of doors. There are trees and wild
flowers and birds. I'll come up now and then and take you out driving."
"I shall like that. I suppose I may write to Daisy Jasper?" she returned
with a flash of spirit. "You see I want to know about London, and
Berlin, and ever so many places, so that I won't seem like an ignoramus
when she comes back."
"You will have all winter to learn about them." Then he kissed her and
went off about his own business.
She had to go and say good-bye to Stevie, who was just too sweet for
anything, and Annie, and dark-eyed Daisy Hoffman.