A Little Girl of Long Ago by Amanda Minnie Douglas (e reader txt) 📖

make me a nice pillow-cushion, out of some of your bits of silk."

People made real sensible patchwork then, or worked a cover in worsted, with perhaps a pretty bunch of flowers.

The house had a basement-kitchen at the back, and a dumb-waiter like Margaret's. Mrs. Underhill thought at first she shouldn't like it. There was a spacious area, which made Hanny think of Mrs. Dean's in First Street, where they used to play tea.

It took a long while to get settled, somehow. Ben thought it a great way up-town; and he often went to the Whitneys to tea, when he wanted his evening. Jim grumbled a little, too; there were no nice fellows around. Joe insisted that he had better not hunt up any, but pay strict attention to his studies, for he was falling dreadfully behind. But when Jim had to work or study, he went at it with all his might and main, and generally managed to catch up.

The little girl and her father were perhaps the best pleased. He liked the little garden spot. He was not confining himself very closely to business now. There were so many pretty walks around, for it was still quite rural, and you could find a few wild flowers. There was another very amusing feature farther up-town, and that was the "squatters," with their pigs and goats and geese, and their rich, wonderful brogue, their odd attire, which was in the same style as when they landed. Connemara cloaks had not then attracted the fashionable eye; but the women seemed to wear them to keep out both heat and cold. Red, green, and plaided seemed the favourites. The wide cap-ruffles caught the breeze, for one always found a breeze in this vicinity.

The little girl's happiness was rendered complete by the gift of a beautiful Maltese kitten about half-grown. It had a black nose, and black pads to its feet, and a fashion of pricking up its small ears like a dog. There was a great discussion about a name; and Joe suggested "Major," as she was still fond of military heroes.

One evening Ben said: "Jim, the Whitneys are going over into Jersey on an exploring expedition, to view some curious old places, Cockloft Hall among them. Don't you want to go?"

Jim glanced up lazily. The boys were to play ball, as they often did, on Saturday afternoon.

"Oh, that's the place where the Salmagundi Club used to meet," cried Hanny, with eager interest. "It is in Newark."

"Yes; and there's another queer nest on the Passaic where a great sportsman lives, Henry William Herbert, the Frank Forrester of some stirring adventures. Mr. Whitney is to see him. And there are some other old haunts; Delia was looking them up,--the Kearny house, and an old place that was once used as a sort of fort."

"Dele Whitney goes round just like a boy!" said Jim, disdainfully.

"Well, why shouldn't she go with her brother?"

"Oh, Ben, can't I go with you?" pleaded Hanny.

"Jersey's a queer sort of State," said Jim, teasingly. "The Blue Laws are still in operation. You are not allowed to stay out after dark."

"Are they printed in blue? And you don't mean to stay out after dark, do you, Ben?"

Hanny's expression was so simply honest they all laughed, which rather disconcerted her.

"It is because you feel pretty blue when you have to obey them; and Jersey is out of the United States."

"It just isn't, Mr. Jim!" cried Hanny, indignantly. "It's one of the Middle States."

It was quite the fashion then to laugh at New Jersey, in spite of the geography; though even at that remote date New Jersey peaches were held in high esteem.

"But if you went with Dele Whitney, we shouldn't know when to look for you--hardly where," and Jim winked.

That was an allusion to an old visit at the Museum, when they stayed all the evening, for the same admittance.

"I've half suspected you were the ringleader of that scheme, Jim," said his doctor-brother. "I have a mind to go. One good thing about the Whitneys is that you can invite yourself, and no one takes umbrage."

"Oh, do go!" said Ben; and Hanny came around to give his hand a tender, persuasive squeeze. "I haven't explored the State very much, but it has some curious features. The magnolia and many Southern flowers grow there. I believe almost every kind of mineral, even to gold, is found in the State. And it is rich in historic lore."

"There was Valley Forge," said Hanny, softly.

"Yes, the Delaware River is beautiful. And the Passaic winds half around the State. It is twenty-seven miles by water,--a delightful sail we must take some time, Hanny."

"We shouldn't have time for that now. We are to start at one. Delia'll be glad enough to have you go, Hanny."

"Then you may count on us," returned Joe.

"Well, I'll take the ball game," said Jim.

Mrs. Underhill had been settling on a final negative. She had a little feeling about Delia Whitney; she could not quite approve of grown girls running about so much with boys. And she thought if she was going to set up for a genius, she ought to be delicate and refined. But Joe always carried the day, and she could trust her darling with him.

It was Margaret's Saturday, so Hanny ran around in the morning to tell her of the new arrangements. They were to meet the Whitneys at Courtlandt Street, so they had an early lunch, and started in good time. Hanny was so interested in everything that she was a charming companion.

It seemed queer that Mr. Whitney could remember when there was no railroad, and you travelled mostly by stage-coaches. It had cost almost a quarter then, with the ferriage and toll-gates, if you walked to Newark. And now you could go through to Washington on the train.

She thought it quite a fearful thing to go through the Harlem tunnel; but here there was a road cut through great, high, frowning rocks that made you feel as if you were in a dungeon. Then a long, level stretch of salt meadows with ditches cut across them, that suggested a vague idea of Holland. We did not know the world quite so well then.

Newark, in those days, was a sort of country town with country roads in all directions. At intervals, a stage went up Broad Street, which was handsome and wide and lined with stately trees. They thought it best to wait awhile for this, lest Hanny should get too tired.

"But you can't half see," declared Delia.

"When we come to the curiosities, we will get out," said Mr. Whitney. "We can't afford to miss them."

They passed a pretty park full of magnificent elms, with an old grey stone church standing in it, one of the oldest churches in the State. There were a number of stores, interspersed with private dwellings, and everything wore a sort of leisurely aspect. A little farther up was another park,--commons, they were called then. The modest old houses and large gardens and fields gave it a still more complete country aspect.

The stage stopped at a tavern where some people were waiting. The sign was "The Black Horse Tavern."

"We will get out and begin our adventures," said Mr. Whitney, smilingly. "This little sort of creek was called First River. I dare say in past days it came rushing over the hill in quite a wild way."

"Is there a Second River?" asked Delia, mirthfully.

"Indeed there is, at Belleville. There used to be an old mill hereabouts, and this was the mill brook. Once or twice, in a freshet, the stream has risen so that it swept the bridge away."

"It's meek enough now," said Ben. "Black Horse Tavern! That ought to be in a book."

It was a small one-story building, looking very old even then. Over opposite, a pretty house stood on a slight elevation, that dated back to 1820, with its sloping lawn and green fields, its churn and bright milkpans standing out in the sunshine.

"We shall have to go round, as the frogs advise," said Mr. Whitney, looking about him with an air of consideration. "We might get through some of these driveways; but there seems to be no regular street."

"And if we go round?" commented Delia, questioningly.

"We go straight up this road until we come to a winding path called the Gully, then down to the river, where we shall find Herbert's, thence down the river to Cockloft Hall. But we will return by the upper railroad, as we shall be near that."

"Come on, then," said Dele, laughingly, when her brother had ended his explanations, "if you _can_ go straight on a crooked road; and if Hanny gets tired, Ben and I will make a chair and carry her."

Joe smiled down at his little sister. He had linked his arm within hers. Ben and Delia were fond of falling behind. They were so merry, that Hanny was a little curious to know what they found to laugh about. It does not take much to amuse healthy young people before their tastes become complicated.

The old road wound a little, and had the curves that prove no one horse or man ever walks in a straight line. But, oh, how beautiful it was with the fruit-trees and shrubbery in bloom, wild flowers, and stretches of meadow, where cows were pastured, and here and there a small flock of sheep! Up above, on the brow of a hill, a wooded background gave it a still more picturesque appearance.

They passed an old stone house on the west side that was really a Revolutionary relic. The stone ran up to the eaves; but the two gables were of timber. It was on quite a bit of hill then, and had broken stone steps up to the first terrace, where great clumps of brownish yellow lilies were in bloom. When strolling parties of British soldiery went marauding about, the residents of this vicinity used to flee to the old Plum house as a place of refuge. The heavy double doors and wooden shutters could not well be battered down, though bullet-marks could be traced here and there.

A Captain Alden lived in it now, who was himself quite a character. He had been in the British navy, with Admiral Nelson's command. When his time in the service ended, he had shipped with what he understood was a merchant vessel, but on learning it was a slaver, bound for Africa to gather up a human cargo, he sprang overboard, when he saw a vessel passing that halted for his signal. Several shots were fired at him, which he escaped. Later on, he was impressed in the naval service again, but at the first opportunity came to America. A hale, hearty old man, rather short in stature, but lithe and active, and with a merry look on his weather-beaten face, he was still proud of his schooner that lay at Stone Dock, at the launching of which, in the early part of the century, the Jersey Blues had turned out, and Major Stevens had christened it the "Northern Liberties." It had been all built of Essex County lumber, and constructed on the Passaic. But the river had been quite a famous stream in those days. There were no factories using up its volume of water.

They sat on the stone coping and listened to the Captain's stories, indeed, could have spent all the afternoon,