A Little Girl of Long Ago; Or, Hannah Ann. Amanda M. Douglas
his arm, and said in a voice still a trifle shaky—
"Weren't you the least bit frightened, Joe?"
"Why, I never imagined there was any danger until it was over. I think so many people rather dazed Mr. Tiger."
"Oh, if anything had happened to you, what should I do?" asked Daisy, with lustrous eyes.
"Nothing is going to happen to me. You have been a brave girl this afternoon, and it is not the first time either."
Her cheek flushed with pleasure.
It was a great thing to talk over, that and the ride on the elephant. Hanny found her natural history, and she and her father read about elephants most of the evening.
The days were so pleasant that the children often took Daisy out in her chair to see them at their plays. They went around to Houston Street, to the German settlement, as it was beginning to be called. Lena and Gretchen were out on their stoop with their knitting, and the baby between them. They were Lutherans, and they looked quite different from the Jews.
There were still quaint old houses in Ludlow and Orchard streets—two stories with dormer windows in the roof, and some frame cottages with struggling grass-plots. No one dreamed of the tall tenements that were to take their places, the sewing-machines that were to hum while the workers earned their scanty pittance, and swarms of children crowded the streets.
Everybody had more leisure then. Some of the women sat and chatted while their little ones played about.
A little girl came out of an alley way with a peculiar jerky movement, like a hop and a skip, while she kept one hand on her knee. Her hip was large, her shoulder pushed up and apparently bent over.
"Hello!" she said to Hanny. "What's the matter with her?" nodding her head. "Wish't I had a cheer like that. I'd cut a great swell. My! ain't she pritty?"
"She's been ill," returned Hanny.
The child stared a moment and then hopped on.
"Her father works about the stable," explained Hanny, with rising colour. "She comes up sometimes. They're very poor. Mother gives them ever so many things. She can't stand up straight; but she doesn't seem to mind. And one leg is so much shorter. The boys call her Cricket, and Limpy Dick."
"Oh, Hanny, if I were poor and like that!" The tears came in Daisy's eyes. "I can stand up straight, and I am getting to walk quite well. I have so much that is lovely and comforting; and oughtn't one be thankful not to be real poor?"
The little lameter went hopping across the street, and called to some children "to look at the style!"
Down by the corner there was a candy and notion store, kept by an old woman with a queer wrinkled face framed in with a wide cap-ruffle. She had a funny turned-up nose, as if it had hardly known which way to grow, and such round red-apple cheeks. When it was pleasant, she sat in the doorway, regardless of the fate of the heroic young woman of Norway.
"Good day!" she ejaculated. "The Lord bless ye. Yon's got a pretty face, an' I hope it will bring her good fortune." She nodded, and her cap-ruffle flapped over her face.
"If ye see that omadhawn of a Biddy Brady in yer travels, jist send her home. The babby's screamin' himself into fits. Won't her mother give it to her whin she comes in!"
Down below the next corner, there was a throng of children. One big boy was whistling a jig tune, and clapping on his knee.
"That's old Mrs. McGiven," explained Hanny. "The school-children go there for cake and candy and slate pencils, because hers have such nice sharp points. And—Biddy Brady!"
Jim was with the boys. He gave Hanny a nod and laughed and joined the whistling.
"Oh, Jim—Biddy's baby is crying—"
"Come, start up again, Biddy. You haven't given us half a cent's worth! You don't dance as good as the little Jew girl on the next block."
"Arrah now—"
"Go on wid yer dancin'."
Biddy was a thin, lanky girl with straight dark hair that hung in her eyes and over her shoulders. A faded checked pinafore, with just plain arm-holes, covered her nearly all up. To her spindle legs were attached mismatched shoes, twice too large, tied around the ankles. One had a loose sole that flapped up and down. It really wasn't any dancing, for she just kicked out one foot and then the other, with such vigor that you wondered she didn't go over backward. Her very earnestness rendered it irresistibly funny. She certainly danced by main strength.
Hanny began again. "Jim, her baby is crying—"
"He gets his living by crying. I've never heard of his doing anything else."
Biddy brought her foot down with an emphatic thump.
"There now, not another step do yees get out o' me fur that cint. I've give ye good measure and fancy steps throwed in. An' me shoe is danced off me fut, an' me mammy'll lick me. See that now!" and she held up her flapping sole.
They had to yield to necessity, for none of the crowd had another penny. When Biddy realised the fact, she ran off home and bought a stick of candy to solace herself and the baby. Mrs. Brady went out washing, and Biddy cared for the baby when she wasn't in the street. It must be admitted the babies languished under her care.
The school-children had a good deal of fun hiring her to dance. Biddy was shrewd enough about the pennies.
Jim joined the cavalcade as the boys went their way.
"Why, she likes the money," he said in answer to an upbraiding remark from Hanny. "That's what she does it for."
"It was very funny," declared Daisy. "She's such a straight, slim child in that long narrow apron. If it hadn't been for the baby, I would have given her a penny."
They went on down the street. There were several fancy-goods stores and some pretty black-eyed Jewish children with the curliest hair imaginable. There was the big school across the way, and a great lock factory, then a row of comparatively nice dwellings. They turned into Avenue A., and were in a crowd of Germans. The children and babies all had flaxen or yellow hair and roundish blue eyes. The mothers were knitting and sewing and chattering in their queer language. Even the little girls were knitting lace and stockings. The boys seemed fat and pudgy. They stared at the chair and its inmate, but Sam went quietly along. Here were German costumes sure enough.
They turned up Second Street, and so around First Avenue, home.
"Why, it's like going to foreign countries," Daisy said. "Some of the children were very pretty. But that Biddy Brady—I can see her yet."
The very next day Daisy drew two pictures, and held them before Hanny.
"Why, that's Biddy Brady!" the little girl said, with a bright wondering laugh. "And that's old Mrs. McGiven! They're splendid! How could you do it?"
"I don't know. It came to me."
Mrs. Craven said the old lady was excellent. And she laughed about Biddy Brady's dancing.
Sometimes they went up to Tompkins' Square. They would study their lessons or do a bit of crocheting. Daisy was learning a great many things. Or they went a little farther up and over to the river, which was much wider at that time. The old farms had been cut up into blocks; but while they were waiting for some one to come along and build them up, the thrifty Germans had turned them into market gardens, and they presented a very pretty appearance.
They could see the small clusters of houses on Long Island, and the end of Blackwell's Island—a terrible place to them. The boys had seen the "Black Maria," which the little girl thought must be some formidable giant negress capable of driving the criminals along as one would a flock of sheep, and she was quite surprised when she learned it was a wagon merely. The East River was quite pretty up here, and the ferry-boats made a line of foam that sparkled in the sun.
Occasionally Doctor Joe joined the party, and took them in other