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Little Girl in Old New York

<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> <h3>NEW RELATIONS</h3> New Year's Day was gayer than ever. The streets were full of throngs of men in twos up to any number, and carriages went whirling by. There were no ladies out, of course. Margaret had two of her school friends receiving with her, one a beautiful Southern girl whose father was in Congress, and who was staying on in New York, taking what we should call a post-graduate course now, perfecting herself in music and languages. Margaret was a real young lady now. Joe had taken her to several parties, and there had been quite a grand reception at the Beekmans'. The little girl was dressed in her blue cashmere and a dainty white Swiss apron ornamented with little bows like butterflies. Miss Butler thought she was a charming child. She stood by the window a good deal, delighted with the stir and movement in the street, and she looked very picturesque. Her hair, which was still light, had been curled all round and tied with a blue ribbon instead of a comb. Her mother said "it was foolishness, and they would make the child as vain as a peacock." But I think she was rather proud of the sweet, pretty-mannered little girl. There was one great diversion for her. About the middle of the afternoon two gentlemen called for her father. One was quite as old, with a handsome white beard and iron-gray hair, very stylishly dressed. He wore a high-standing collar with points, and what was called a neckcloth of black silk with dark-blue brocaded figures running over it, and a handsome brocaded-velvet vest, double-breasted, the fashion of the times, with gilt buttons that looked as if they were set with diamonds, they sparkled so. Over all he had worn a long Spanish circular which he dropped in the hall. The younger man might have been eighteen or twenty. Ben was waiting on the door. He announced "Mr. Bounett and Mr. Eugene Bounett." "We hardly expected to find any of the gentlemen at home," began the elder guest. "We are cousins, in a fashion, and my son has met the doctor——" "Father is at home," said Margaret in the pause. "Hanny, run down-stairs and call him." "Miss Underhill, I presume," exclaimed the young man. "I have seen your brother quite often of late. And do you know his chum, Phil Hoffman? Doctor, I ought to say," laughingly. "Oh, yes," and Margaret colored a little. Then her father came up. These were some of the Bounetts from New Rochelle, originally farther back from England and France in the time of the Huguenot persecution. Mr. Bounett's father had come to New York a young man seventy odd years ago. Mr. Bounett himself had married for his first wife a Miss Vermilye, whose mother had been an Underhill from White Plains. And she was Father Underhill's own cousin. She had been dead more than twenty years, and her children, five living ones, were all married and settled about, and he had five by his second marriage. This was the eldest son. They talked family quite a while, and Mrs. Underhill was summoned. The young man went out in the back parlor where the table stood in its pretty holiday array, and was introduced to Margaret's friends. They hunted mottoes, which was often quite amusing, ate candies and almonds and bits of cake while the elder people were talking themselves into relationship. Eugene explained that his next younger brother was Louis; then a slip of a girl of fifteen and two young cubs completed the second family. But the older brothers and sisters were just like own folks; indeed he thought one sister, Mrs. French, was one of the most charming women he knew, only she did live in the wilds of Williamsburg. Francesca was married in the Livingston family and lived up in Manhattanville. How any one could bear to be out of the city—that meant below Tenth Street—he couldn't see! "Is that little fairy your sister?" he asked. "Isn't she lovely!" Margaret smiled. She thought Mr. Eugene very flattering. Then the others came out, and Mr. Bounett took a cup of black coffee and a very dainty sandwich. He left sweets to the young people. And now that they had broken the ice, he hoped the Underhills would be social. They, the Bounetts, lived over in Hammersley Street, which was really a continuation of Houston. And they might like to see grandfather, who was in his ninetieth year and still kept to his old French ways and fashions. Miss Butler was very enthusiastic about the callers. "Why, you are quite French," she said, "only they show it in their looks." "We have had so much English admixture," and Father Underhill laughed with a mellow sound. "But I've heard that my great grandmother was a useless fine lady when they came to this country, and had never dressed herself or brushed her hair, and had to have a lady's maid until she died. She never learned to speak English, or only a few words, but she could play beautifully on a harp and recite the French poets so well that people came from a distance to see her. But her daughters had a great many other things to learn, and were very smart women. My own grandmother could spin on the big wheel and the little wheel equal to any girl when she was seventy years old." "How delightfully romantic!" cried Miss Butler. "There's a big wheel in the garret at Yonkers, and a little wheel, and a funny reel," said Hanny, who was sitting on Miss Butler's lap, "and we used to play the reel was a mill, and make believe we ground corn." "I've done many a day's spinning!" exclaimed Mrs. Underhill. "The Hunters raised no end of flax, and we spun the thread for our bed and table linen. One of our neighbors had a loom and did weaving. Cotton goods were so high we were glad to keep to linen. Ah, well, the world's changed a deal since my young days." They were disturbed by an influx of guests. The fashionable young men came late in the afternoon and evening. The gilt candelabrum on the mantel was lighted up, and it had so many branches and prisms it was quite brilliant. Then there were sconces at the side of the wall to light up corners, and these have come around again, since people realize what a soft, suggestive light candles give. The Underhills had no gas in their house, it was esteemed one of the luxuries. Even the outskirts of the city streets were still lighted with oil. Steve came in and teased the girls and begged them to eat philopenas with him. He seemed to find so many. And he said the best wish he could give them for 1845 was that they might all find a good husband, as good as he was making, and if they didn't like to take his word they were at liberty to go and ask his wife. Quite in the evening the two doctors called, and Joe announced that he was going to have a Christian supper and a cup of tea, so that he would be able to attend to business to-morrow, as half the city would be ill from eating all manner of sweet stuff. After he had chaffed the girls a while he took Doctor Hoffman down-stairs, "out of the crowd," he said, and Mrs. Underhill gave them a cup of delicious tea. She and Martha were kept quite busy with washing dishes and making tea and coffee. Joe had requested last year that they should not offer wine to the callers. He went out in the kitchen to have a talk with his mother about the Bounetts. Dr. Hoffman played with his spoon and would not have another cup of tea. Mr. Underhill wondered why he did not go up-stairs and have a good time with the girls. They could hear the merry laughter. "Mr. Underhill——" he began presently. "Eh—what?" said that gentleman, rather amazed at the pause. Doctor Hoffman cleared his throat. There was nothing at all in it, the trouble was a sort of bounding pulsation that interfered with his breath, and flushed his face. "Mr. Underhill, I have a great favor to ask." He rose and came near so that he could lower his voice. "I—I admire your daughter extremely. I should choose her out of all the world if I could——" Father Underhill glanced up in consternation. He wanted to stop the young man from uttering another word, but before he could collect his scattered wits, the young man had said it all. "I want permission to visit her, to see—if she cannot like me well enough to some day take me for a husband. I have really fallen in love with her. Joe will tell you all you want to know about me. I'm steady, thank Heaven, and have a start in the world beside my profession. I wanted you to know what my intentions were, and to give me the opportunity of winning her——" "I never once thought——" The father was confused, and the lover now self-possessed. "No, I suppose not. Of course, we are both young and do not need to be in a hurry. I wanted the privilege of visiting her." "Yes, yes," in embarrassed surprise. "I mean——" "Thank you," said the lover, grasping his hand. "I hope to win your respect and approval. Joe and I are like brothers already. I admire you all so much." Hanny came flying in with pink cheeks and eager eyes. "Where is Joe? Margaret wants him—she said I must ask them if they wouldn't please to like to dance a quadrille, and come up-stairs when they had finished their tea." Joe was sitting astride a chair, tilting it up and down and talking to his mother. "Oh, yes, your royal highness. Phil, if you have finished your tea——" and Joe laughed, inwardly knowing some other business had been concluded as well. They had a delightful quadrille. Then Miss Butler sang a fascinating song—"The Mocking-Bird." Two of the gentlemen sang several of the popular airs of the day, and the party broke up. The little girl had gone to bed some time before, though she declared she wasn't a bit tired, and her eyes shone like stars. The very next day it snowed, so the ladies could have no day at all. There was sleigh-riding and merry-making of all sorts. One day Dr. Hoffman came and took Margaret and her little sister out in a dainty cutter. Then he used to drop in St. Thomas' Church and walk home with her evenings. Father Underhill felt quite guilty in not forewarning his wife of the conspiracy, but one evening she mistrusted. "Margaret is altogether too young to keep company," she declared in an authoritative way. "Margaret is nineteen," said her father. "And you were only twenty when I married you." "That's too young." "Seems to me we were far from miserable. As I remember it was a very happy year." "Don't be silly, 'Milyer. And you're so soft about the children. You haven't a bit of sense about them." In her heart she knew she would not give up one year of her married life for anything the world could offer. "Margaret knows no more about housekeeping than a cat," she continued. "Well, there's time for her to learn. And perhaps she will not really like the young man." "She likes him already. 'Milyer, you're blind as a bat." "Well, if they like each other—it's the way of the world. It's been going on since Adam." "It's simply ridiculous to have Margaret perking herself up for beaux." "I guess you'll have to let the matter go Hoffman is well connected and a nice young fellow." Yes, she had to let the matter go on. She was unnecessarily sharp with Margaret and pretended not to see; she was extremely ceremonious with the young man at first. She didn't mean to have him coming to tea on Sunday evenings, a fashion that still lingered. But Dolly was very good to the young lovers, and they had so many mutual friends. Then Margaret was quite shy, she hardly knew what to make of the attentions that were so reverent and sweet. She couldn't have discussed them with a single human being. Mr. and Mrs. Underhill had called on their new cousins in Hammersley Street. And on Washington's Birthday he took the little girl and Ben over. The street was still considered in the quality part of the town. The row was quite imposing, the stoops being high, the houses three stories and a half, with short windows just below the roof. The railing of the stoop was very ornate, the work around the front door and the fanlight at the top being of the old-fashioned decorative sort. They were ushered into the parlor by a young colored lad. It was a very splendid room, the little girl thought, with a high, frescoed ceiling and a heavy cornice of flowers and leaves. The side walls were a light gray, but they were nearly covered with pictures. The curtains were a dull blue and what we should call old gold, and swept the floor. There was a mirror from floor to ceiling with an extremely ornamental frame, the top forming a curtain cornice over the windows. At the end of the room was the same kind of cornice and curtains, but no glass. The carpet had a great medallion in the center and all kinds of arabesques and scrolls and flowers about it. The furniture was rather odd, divans, chairs, ottomans and queer-looking tables, and the little girl came to know afterward that two or three pieces had been in the royal palace of Versailles. A very sweet, dark-eyed, dark-haired woman came through the curtain. "I am Mrs. French," she said, in a soft tone, "and I am very glad to see you. Is this the little girl of whom I have heard so much? Be seated, please. Father is out, and he will be very sorry to miss you." She dropped on an ottoman and drew the little girl toward her. "Let me take off your hat and coat. There are some children who will be glad to see you. Mother will be up in a few moments. Do you know that I have been seriously considering a visit to you? Father and Eugene have talked so much about you." "And your grandfather——" "He is very well to-day. I was in his room reading to him. He will be pleased you have come." Mrs. Bounett came in with her daughter, a rather tall, lanky girl of fifteen, very dark, and with a great mop of black hair that was tied at the back without being braided. She looked as if she had outgrown her dress. This was Miss Luella. After a moment she came over to Ben, and asked him where he went to school, and if he had any pets. They had a squirrel and some guinea-pigs and a parrot that could talk everything. Didn't he want to see them? Hanny looked eager as well. "Can I take her?" asked Lu. "The boys are down-stairs. Don't be rough." It was rather dark. Lu caught Hanny in her arms and whisked her down to the dining-room. The boys were thirteen and eleven, and were playing checkers on the large dining-table. Everything looked so immensely big to Hanny. The shelves of the sideboard were full of glass and silver and queer old blue china; the chairs had great high backs and were leather-covered. "We want to see the guinea-pigs," said Lu. "But I'll take her out to see the parrots first." There was a fat colored woman in the kitchen who suggested Aunt Mary. They went through to a little room under the great back porch, made in the end of the area. There were two parrots and a beautiful white paroquet. Polly was sulky. "Mind your business!" was all she would say. Dan soon began to be quite sociable, declaring "He was glad to see them, and would like to have some grapes." "You shut up!" screamed Polly. "I'll talk as much as I like." "No, you won't. I'll come and choke you." "Do if you dare!" Then they shrieked at each other with the vigor of fighting cats. Polly rustled around her cage as if she would be out the next moment. Hanny clung to Lu and was pale with fright. "They can't get out. They'd tear each other to pieces when they're mad, and sometimes they're sweet as honey. Pa's going to sell one of them, but we can't decide which must go. Polly talks a lot when she's in the mood. I don't know what's ruffled her so. Polly, my pretty Polly, sing for me, and the first time I go out I'll buy you some candy with lots of peanuts in it—lots—of—peanuts," lingeringly. "Polly sing! Oh, ho! ho! Polly can't sing no more'n a crow," squeaked out Dan. "Can too, can too!" "Pretty Polly! Polly want a cracker. Polly sing for her dear Dan. Oh, boo hoo!" Polly screamed in a tearing rage. The young colored lad entered. "Miss Lu, de birds disturb yer gramper. Lemme take Polly. You bad bird, you're goin' in a dungeon." With that he whisked Polly off. Dan laughed gleefully. The boys came, and Dan went through his stock accomplishments, much to their delight. "But Polly's a sight the funniest," declared Lu. "Only she has such a horrid temper and it just grows worse. We had a monkey and that got to be so awful bad. Now let's go and see the guinea-pigs." They were up on the top floor. "We had them down cellar," explained one of the boys, "but some of them died. 'Gene said 'twas too dark and damp." The children trudged up-stairs. There was a pen in a small room which seemed a receptacle for all sorts of broken toys. Ah, how pretty the little things were; black-and-yellow-spotted, bright-eyed, and soft-coated, with a tiny sort of squeak, and tame enough to be caught. Lu offered one to Hanny, but she drew back in half fear. Then they brought in the squirrel, and he was a handsome fellow with beady eyes and a bushy tail, and when they let him out he ran up on any one's shoulder. "If it was only warm, we'd go out and have a swing. Oh, don't you want a ride? Here's our horse. We don't care much for it now, though in summer we have it out-of-doors." Hanny was speechless with amaze. She had never seen so large a one in the stores. He was covered with real hair, had a splendid mane and tail and beautiful eyes. His silver-mounted red trappings were extremely gorgeous. "He's magnificent!" declared Ben. "Hanny, just try him. Don't be a little 'fraid-cat!" as she hung back. "See here!" Lu sprang on and took an inspiriting gallop. The horse worked with springs and seemed fairly alive. Afterward Hanny ventured and found it exhilarating. Oh, if she could only have one! "I suppose it cost a good deal," she questioned timidly. Jeffrey laughed. "'Gene picked it up at an auction where people were being sold out, and he got it for a song," he said. "But we've outgrown it. I'd like a real pony. I wish pa'd keep a horse." "We have two," said the little girl. "Pshaw now! you're joking." "No," rejoined Ben quietly. "We brought them down from the farm. Father and Steve needed them." "Do you own a farm, too?" Jeffrey asked in amaze. "Why, you must be all-fired rich!" "No, we're not so very rich," said Ben soberly. "Our house in First Street isn't nearly as big and as handsome as this. But we did have a big one in the country. Uncle lives there now, and we have a hundred acres of land." "Jiminy!" ejaculated the young boy. "Chillen! Chillen, please bring de company down to your gramper." "Oh, I'm 'fraid you're going away," said Lu. "You're awful sweet! I just wish I had a little sister. I wish you'd come and stay a week. But I s'pose you'd feel like a cat in a strange garret. I'd be real good to you, though." She caught Hanny in her arms and fairly ran down-stairs with her. "You're the littlest mite of a thing! Why, you're never nine years old! You're just like a doll!" "Oh, please let me walk," entreated Hanny. Their mother stood in the lower hall. "You boys go down-stairs or in the parlor. So many children confuse grandpa. Lu, you look too utterly harum-scarum. Do go and brush your hair." Between the parlor and the back room was a space made into a library on one side and some closets on the other. Sliding doors shut this from the back room. This was large, with a splendid, high-post bedstead that had yellow silk curtains around it, a velvet sofa, and over by the window some arm-chairs and a table. And out of one chair rose a curious little old man, who seemed somehow to have shrunken up, and yet he was a gentleman from head to foot. His hair was long and curled at the ends, but it looked like floss silk. His eyes were dark and bright, his face was wrinkled, and his beard thin. Hanny thought of the old man at the Bowling Green who had been in the Bastille. His velvet coat, very much cut away, was faced with plum-colored satin, his long waistcoat was of flowered damask, his knee-breeches were fastened with silver buckles, and his slippers had much larger ones. There really were some diamonds in them. His shirt frill was crimped in the most beautiful manner, and the diamond pin sparkled with every turn. "This is grandpa," said Mrs. French. "We are all very proud of him that he has kept his faculties, and we want him to live an even hundred years." The old man smiled and shook his head slowly. He took Hanny's hand, and his was as soft as a baby's. He said he was very glad to see them both; he and their father had been talking over old times and relationships. His voice had a pretty foreign sound. It was a soft, trained voice, but the accent was discernible. "And you were here through the War of the Revolution," said Ben, who had been counting back. "Yes. My father had just died and left nine children. I was the oldest, and there were two girls. So I couldn't be spared to go. The British so soon took possession of New York. But in 1812 I was free to fight for liberty and the country of my adoption. We were never molested nor badly treated, but of course we could give no aid to our countrymen. It was a long, weary struggle. No one supposed at first the rebels could conquer. And all that is seventy years ago, seventy years." He leaned back and looked weary. "You must come down some Saturday morning when he feels fresh and he will tell you all about it," said Mrs. French. "His memory is excellent, but he does get fatigued." "I wonder if you ever saw the statue of King George that was in Bowling Green," Hanny asked, with a little hesitation. "They made bullets of it." "Ah, you know that much?" He smiled and leaned over on the arm of the chair. "Yes, my child. The soldiers met to hear the Declaration of Independence read for the first time. Washington was on horseback with his aides around him. The applause was like a mighty shout from one throat. Then they rushed to the City Hall and tore the picture of the king from its frame, and then they dragged the statue through the streets. Yes, its final end was bullets for the rebels, as they were called. As my daughter says, come and see me again, and I will tell you all you want to hear. You are a pretty little girl," and he pressed Hanny's hand caressingly. Then they said good-by to him and went back to the parlor. "He always dresses up on holidays," said Mrs. French smilingly, "though he continues to wear the old-fashioned costume. He has had a number of calls to-day. People are still interested in the old times. And believe me, I shall take a great deal of pleasure in continuing the acquaintance. You may expect me very soon." Luella kissed Hanny with frantic fervor and begged her to come again. She was so used to boys, she cared nothing about Ben. The little girl had so much to tell Jim, who had been skating. The quarrelling parrots, the beautiful house, the queer little guinea-pigs, and the splendid hobby-horse that they didn't seem to care a bit about. "And Lu is a good deal like Dele, only not so nice or so funny, and her hair is awful black. She ran down-stairs with me in her arms and I was 'most frightened to death. I don't believe I would want to be her little sister. And the grandpa is like a picture of the old French people. And to think that he doesn't read English very well and always uses his French Bible. There were so many foreign people in New York at that time, I s'pose they couldn't all talk English." "And they had preaching in Dutch after 1800 in the Middle Dutch Church," said Jim. "And even after the sermons were in English the singing had to be in Dutch. Aunt Nancy said the place used to be crowded just to hear the people sing." "It's queer how they could understand each other. Do you suppose the children had to learn every language?" Jim gave a great laugh at that. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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