Just a few days later, Mrs. Odell came down for some advice and help, for Janey was to be married.  Her betrothed was a well-to-do young farmer up in Sullivan County.  He was coming down in August to go to the World’s Fair; and he wanted to be married and make a general holiday of it.

“I am not much judge of such matters; but Stephen’s wife will go shopping with you.  I don’t know what we should do without her,” said Mrs. Underhill.

That very morning two silver-embossed envelopes came for Miss Nan Underhill.  One schoolmate was to be married in church at noon, and go to Niagara on a wedding journey.  The other was an evening ceremony with a reception afterward.  Mr. James Underhill had an invitation to this also.

Was all the world getting married, or being engaged!  Standing on the threshold, Hanny shrank back in dismay.  It was looking out of a tranquil cloister into a great, unknown world; and it gave her a mysterious shiver.  She didn’t feel safe and warm until she had dropped on her father’s knee, and had his strong, fond arms about her.

Dolly’s party was a great success.  The young people were invited to meet Miss Nan Underhill.  And Miss Nan wore her graduation dress and blue ribbons.  Blue gave her a sort of ethereal look; pink added a kind of blossomy sweetness.

Dolly knew so many young folks.  True, there were some older ones.  Ben and Delia came up for an hour.  Dolly said they were old-fashioned married people already.  Hanny thought there didn’t seem much difference, only Ben had a new strange sort of sweetness.  She was very fond of Delia; and it was a delight to feel free to go down to Beach Street.

Peter and Paulus Beekman came; and they were nice, fine, rather stout young men.  Peter was a lawyer; he and Jim were quite friends.  Paulus was in shipping business.

“Oh,” said Peter to Nan, “you look just as you did when you were a little girl and used to come to grandfather’s.  Do you remember that beautiful Angora cat?  That was grandfather’s sign.  He always took to people Katschina liked.  And your hair hasn’t grown any darker.  I like light hair.  Aunt Dolly has such beautiful hair!  And I’m glad you have not grown up into a great, tall May-pole.  I just adore little women.  When I marry, I am going to choose a ‘bonnie wee thing,’ like the wife in the song.”

Hanny flushed rosy red.  Oh, why would people talk about being married, and all that?  And if Peter wouldn’t look at her in just that way!  It gave her a touch of embarrassment.

But oh, they had a splendid time!  Modern young people would have been bored, and voted it “no spread at all.”  They played Proverbs, and What is my thought like? and everybody tried to bring out their very best, and be as bright and witty and joyous as possible.  They had plain cake and fancy cake, and a new kind of dainty crisp crackers; candies, nuts, raisins, and mottoes, which were the greatest fun of all.  Afterward, some dancing with the Cheat quadrille, and it was so amusing to “cut out,” or run away and leave your partner with his open arms, and a blank look of surprise on his face.

Doctor Joe came to take the little girl home; for he was quite sure Jim would want to take some one else’s sister.

“Aunt Dolly,” said Peter, when he was going away without any girl at all, though he had hoped to walk home with Hanny, “isn’t Nan Underhill just the sweetest little thing in the world?  I don’t wonder grandfather liked her so.  With that soft, indescribable hair, and her eyes, ­twilight eyes, some one put in a poem, ­and that cunning dimple when she smiles, and so dainty altogether.  What made you say she was not pretty?”

“Why, I said, she was not as handsome as Mrs. Hoffman.”

“She suits me ten times better.  She is like this,

    “’A creature not too bright or good
    For human nature’s daily food.’”

Dolly repeated the talk and the verses to Stephen.  “And Peter is such a solid, steady-going fellow.  He was really smitten.”

“The idea!  And with that child!”

Dolly laughed gaily.  “I suppose when our girls get to be eighteen, you will still think them children.  Why, I wasn’t quite fifty when you fell in love with me!”

Fifty!  How ridiculous it was to think of Dolly ever being fifty.  Ah, it is love alone that holds the secret of eternal youth!

“Well, I hope there won’t any one be foolish over Hanny, in a long while,” said Stephen, decisively.

“Foolish!” repeated Dolly, in a tone of resentment.  But then they both laughed.

The Odell girls came down to make a two days’ visit.  They went up to the Deans’ to tea; and the two engaged girls strayed off by themselves, with their arms about each other, and had confidences in which the masculine pronoun played an important part.  And poor Polly bewailed the prospect of being left alone.  If she had a brother like Jim, she wouldn’t mind.

Jim’s girls were a kind of standing amusement to the family.  This was a case where there was safety in numbers, Mrs. Underhill felt assured.  If she had known of the episode of Lily Ludlow, her confidence would have been a little shaken.  Jim was a general lover of the sex, and a good-looking, entertaining young fellow is apt to be spoiled.

Just now he had a penchant for Daisy, who teased him, and was as uncertain as an April shower.  She and Hanny were inséparables.  Jim took them round to Dolly’s, or down to Ben’s, or to Mrs. Hoffman, who had a new grand piano, and had refurnished her parlor, quite changing the simplicity of her first wedded life.  Through the winter, she had given fortnightly receptions, that had an air and grace of the highest refinement.  You always met some of the best and the most entertaining people.  It was not a crush and a jam; but men and women really talked at that period, and brought out their best.  Knowledge was not at a discount.

Young ladies came to call on Miss Underhill; and in the evenings, they brought their brothers or admirers.  When she knew of it beforehand, she always had Daisy to help.  Sometimes the whole party would go out for a little walk, and have some cream or water ices.  The city was still so airy and open, you did not have to fly out of it at the first pleasant day.

This summer, nearly everybody was staying at home, and waiting for the big fair to open.  Rooms at hotels and private houses were engaged; and the plainer country people came in to visit.  There would be crowds, of course.

The Underhills had invited some of the elder relatives, since they had plenty of room.

And on July 4th, this great event occurred.  The President, Mr. Franklin Pierce at that time, was the grand master of the occasion.  Oh, what a Fourth of July it was!  The grounds were crowded.  The military were out in force; and the fireworks would have done credit to the empire of China.  Never had the city seen such a gala time; the Victory of Peace it was called.

The men had it largely to themselves this day.  It was more the ceremonies, than the articles exhibited, that attracted attention.  That came later on.

There was a great influx of visitors in the city.  The streets were thronged; the stages were crowded.  One wonders what they did without electric cars.  But numbers of people still kept carriages, and temporary lodging-houses were erected in the vicinity of the Palace.  It certainly was a great thing for that day.  And the interior, with its handsome dome, its galleries, its arched naves, and broad aisles, had a striking and splendid effect.

And, oh, the riches of the world that had contributed some of its choicest treasures!  There were many people who never expected to go to Europe, and who were glad beyond measure to have it come to them.  Here was the largest collection of paintings and sculpture that had ever been gathered in New York.  Then, for the first time, we saw Powers’ matchless Greek slave, and Kiss’ Amazon, and many another famous marble.  There was the row of the Apostles by the sculptor Thorwaldsen, about which there was always a concourse of people; and some of the devout could almost see them in the flesh.

We have had a Centennial since, and a famous White City, and almost any day, in New York, you can see some famous pictures and statuary.  Then people run over to Europe, and study up the galleries, and write books of exquisite descriptions; but it was not so at that time.  There is the grand Museum of Art near to where the old Palace stood; but all was new then.  We had not been surfeited with beauty; we had not had a flood of art critics, praising or denouncing, and schools of this or that fad.  It is good for cities, as well as nations, that they should once be young, and revel in the enchanting sense of freshness and delight.

Presently, it became a sort of regular thing to go, ­a kind of summer-day excursion.  There were delightful walks and drives up above.  Bloomingdale was still a garden of sweetness.  Riverside was unknown, only as the beautiful bank of the Hudson.  You went and carried your lunch, or you found some simple cottage, where a country-woman dispensed truly home-made bread, and delicious ham, and a glass of milk, buttermilk on some days.

The remembrance of it to Hanny Underhill, through all her after years, was as of a golden summer.  The little knot of young people kept together.  When Josie Dean recovered somewhat, from the first transports of her engagement, she proved very companionable.  Charles, in his long vacation, was quite at their service.  Jim couldn’t always be at liberty; but he did get off pretty often.  Sometimes Joe, sometimes Father Underhill, chaperoned the party; but they were allowed to go by themselves as well.  Girl friends joined them; Peter Beekman, and even Paulus, thought it a great thing to be counted in.

Oh, the wonderful articles!  It was a liberal education.  Sevres china, Worcestershire with its wonderful tint, Wedgwood, Doulton, Cloisonnee, some rare Italian; and the tragic stories of Palissy, of Josiah Wedgwood, and Charles III. of Naples taking his secret to Spain; some queer Chinese ware, and Delft and Dresden, until it seemed as if half the genius of the world must have been expended in the exquisite productions.

And then the laces, the gossamer fabrics, the silks and velvets, the jewels, the elegant things from barbaric Russia, the wonders of the Orient, the plainer exhibit of our own land rich in mechanical wonders, the natural products, the sewing-machine that now could do the finest of work, the miniature looms weaving, the queer South American and Mexican fabrications, the gold from California, ­well, it seemed as if one never could see it all.

Hanny wondered why Peter Beekman should want to stay close by her when Daisy was so bright and entertaining, and when there were other girls.  When he looked at her so earnestly her heart gave a great throb, her cheeks burned, and she wanted to run away.

He wished she wasn’t so shy and so ready to shelter herself under Charlie’s wing, or her father’s, or Joe’s.  And when she felt really safe she was so merry and enchanting!

It was a day in August, rather warm, to be sure; but Polly Odell had come down just on purpose to go, “for now that Janey was married and gone the house was too horrid lonesome!” They stopped for Josie.  Doctor Joe brought Daisy up in the afternoon, and they were all in the picture-gallery, where they were ever finding something new.  Perhaps Polly had made big eyes at Peter; perhaps Peter liked her because she talked so much about Hanny.  Anyhow, they had rambled off way at one end.  Daisy was resting, and telling the doctor about some pictures in the Berlin gallery.  Hanny moved up and down slowly, not getting very far away.  She was fond of interiors, and the homely Dutch or French women cooking supper, or tending a baby, or spinning.  And there were two kittens she had never seen before, scampering about an old kitchen where a man in his shirt-sleeves had fallen asleep over his paper.  It seemed to her she could see them move.

A man of six or seven and twenty, young for his years, yet with a certain stamp of the world and experience, went slowly along, glancing at the visitors in a casual manner.  Of course he would know Miss Jasper and Dr. Underhill.  It was like looking for a needle in a hay-stack; but Mrs. Jasper had suggested the picture-gallery; and suddenly he saw a small figure and fair face under a big leghorn hat full of wild roses and green leaves.  She was smiling at the playful kittens.  Oh, it surely was Miss Nan Underhill!

He came nearer; and she looked startled, as if she might fly.  What a delicious colour drenched her face!

“Oh, you surely haven’t forgotten me!” he cried.  “I should remember you thousands of years, and I could pick you out of a world full of women.”

“I ­” Then she gave her soft little laugh, and the colour went fluttering all over her face in a startled, happy manner.  “But I thought ­”

“Did you think me a fixture in German wilds?  Well, I am not.  It’s a long, long story; but I have come over now for good, to be a true American citizen all the rest of my days.  The steamer arrived last night; but I couldn’t get off until nearly noon.  Then I went to a hotel and had some dinner, and came up to see Mrs. Jasper.  She sent me here.  Where are the others?”

“Daisy is ­” she glanced about ­“oh, down there with my brother, ­and Miss Odell” ­how queer that sounded!

“Let us stop here and rest until I get my breath and summon enough fortitude to encounter them.  You are dreadfully surprised, I see by your face, I don’t wonder.  I must seem to you dropped from the clouds.”

She wasn’t a bit afraid, and sat down beside him.  And she wondered if he had married the German cousin and brought her over; but it was strange not to mention her.  It must be, however, if he was going to live in America.

“Oh, do you remember that night and the Spanish dance?  I have shut my eyes and danced it ever so many times in memory.  And you sent me away,” ­with a soft, untranslatable laugh.

“I ­” She looked amazed.  She seemed caught and held captive in the swirl of some strange power.  The colour fluttered up and down her sweet face, and her eyelids drooped, their long, soft lashes making shadows.

“Yes, you said I ought to go; and I shall always be glad I went,” ­in a confident tone.

“Your cousin?” she said inquiringly, with no consciousness that a word would swerve either way.

“Yes.  You know I told you my father’s wishes.  That sort of thing doesn’t seem queer to continental people.  But it was not so much his as the aunt’s, ­the relation is farther back than that; but it serves the same purpose.  She had known about my father, and was desirous of being friends.  So after I was home about a week, and had confessed to my father that the prospect of the marriage was not agreeable to me, he still begged me to go.”

Hanny looked almost as if she was disappointed.  He smiled and resumed: ­

“It is a lonely spot on the Rhine, not far from Ebberfeld.  We will look it up some day.  I don’t know how people can spend their lives in such dreary places.  I do not wonder my grandmother ran away with her brave lover.  The castle is fast going to ruins.  There was a brother who wasted a great deal of the patrimony before he died.  The Baroness is the last of her race.  There is a poor little village at the foot of the mountain, and some peasants who work the land; and then the cousin, who is expected to rehabilitate the race by marrying a rich man.”

“Yes.”  There was such a pretty, eager interest and pity in her eyes that he smiled.

“She is six and twenty; tall, fair, with a sorrowful kind of face, that has never been actually happy or pretty.  Who could be happy in that musty old rookery!  The father, I believe, did very little for their pleasure, but spent most of his time in town, wasting their little substance.”

“Oh, poor girl!” cried Hanny, thinking of her own father, so loving and generous.

“She seemed to me almost as old as her mother.  And then she told me her troubles, poor thing, and I found her in heart and mind a sort of inexperienced child.  She has had a lover for two years; an enterprising young man, who is superintendent of an iron mine some fifty miles distant.  It is the old story over again.  I wish he had my grandfather’s courage and would run away with her.  He has no title nor aristocratic blood, and the mother will not consent.  But I had made up my mind before I went there, and even if I had been fancy free, I couldn’t resign myself to live in that old ruin.”

“Oh, what will she do?”

“I advised her to run away.”  Herman Andersen laughed softly.  “But I think I persuaded them both to come to the city and visit my father.  They will find business isn’t so shocking.  They have lived in loneliness until they know very little of the real world.  The old castle is not worth saving.  Then I went home, and after a good deal of talking have arranged my life in a way that is satisfactory to my father, and I hope will be eminently so to myself.  Some day I will tell you about that.  Now where shall we find the others?” and he rose.

“Daisy is down here.”  Hanny rose also; but she had a queer sort of feeling, as if the world was turning round.

It seemed to Doctor Joe that he so rarely had a good talk with Daisy now, that he would make the most of this opportunity.  Jim was always hovering about her.  It was natural she should like the younger people.  He was like a very much older brother.  She was looking pale and tired.  She could not stand continual dissipation.  And while she often had a brilliant color and Hanny very little, the latter possessed by far the most endurance.

She liked to be alone with Doctor Joe.  There was something restful and inspiriting, as if she absorbed his generous, superabundant strength.

So they almost forgot about Hanny, or thought her with the others.  And now she came walking slowly down to them with a strange young man.

“Why, who can it be?” in a tone of surprised inquiry.

Daisy Jasper studied a moment.  “Why, it looks like ­no, it cannot be ­yes, it is Mr. Andersen.”

“I thought he was in Germany.”

Daisy looked puzzled.  Then she sprang up with a quick colour and a smile of pleasure, stretching out both hands.

“Oh, Miss Jasper!” and Mr. Andersen took her hands in a fervent clasp.  “Do you know this is going to be a red-letter day in my life, ­one of the happiest of days?  Your mother sent me up here on a venture.  First, I found Miss Underhill, and now you.  And one might go all over the world and miss one’s best friends.  Ah, Dr. Underhill!”

A curious shock went over Dr. Underhill.  He had to compel himself to take the outstretched hand.  For what had this young man “crossed the seas?” He was not going to marry the cousin.

“But when did you come?” inquired Daisy.  It was odd, but he took the seat the other side of her, and Hanny was by Joe.

Then Mr. Andersen told his voyage all over again, and that he had come for good.  He was to take his father’s money share in the house here, and his father’s was to be transferred to Paris, where one of the elderly partners was in failing health and wished to retire.

“I am just delighted,” exclaimed Daisy, enthusiastically.  “If you would only come and board at our house!  There are some people going away.  Wouldn’t it be splendid, Hanny?”

Hanny assented with a smile.

“I will see if I can find the others,” said the doctor, rising and looking at his watch.  “Father was to drive up with the Surrey at half-past five.  Don’t go away from here.”

He walked slowly, looking a few moments in every room.  Yes ­there was Charles.  He caught his eye and beckoned.

The estrays soon rejoined the others.  Then they went out to the southern entrance, and so along to the gateway.

Yes, there was Mr. Underhill.  He would take the four girls, and one more, as he had a team.  This was decided to be Mr. Andersen, as he was to go to the Jaspers’ to tea.  The others would ride down in the stage.  The doctor said he must make a few calls.  Mr. Beekman expressed his intention of coming up in the evening, as Miss Odell was going to stay; and Miss Odell’s eyes shone with delight.

Daisy having a lover!  Dr. Underhill had not felt alarmed about Jim’s attentions, he had so many fancies.  But this young man ­

Would it be best or wise for Daisy to marry?  She appeared quite well, but she was not strong, and there was a remnant of the old spinal trouble that came out now and then in excruciating nervous headaches.  Somehow she had seemed his especial property since she had cried in his arms with all the pain and suffering, and he had encouraged her to bear the little more.  He had meant always to stand her friend.  It wasn’t likely he would marry, for he had seen no one yet that he wanted.  But if this child went out of his life!  For, alas! the child had grown to womanhood.