A Little Girl in Old New York by Douglas

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A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK

By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS

New York Dodd, Mead and Company

To _DOROTHY MOORE_, A LITTLE GIRL OF TO-DAY, FROM HER MAMMA'S FRIEND, AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. NEWARK, 1896.

CONTENTS

I. THE LITTLE GIRL

II. GOOD-BY TO AN OLD HOME

III. FINE FEATHERS FOR THE LITTLE WREN

IV. A LOOK AT OLD NEW YORK

V. GIRLS AND GIRLS

VI. MISS DOLLY BEEKMAN

VII. MISS LOIS AND SIXTY YEARS AGO

VIII. THE END OF THE WORLD

IX. A WONDERFUL SCHEME

X. A MERRY CHRISTMAS

XI. THE LITTLE GIRL IN POLITICS

XII. A REAL PARTY

XIII. NEW RELATIONS

XIV. JOHN ROBERT CHARLES

XV. A PLAY IN THE BACKYARD

XVI. DAISY JASPER

XVII. SOME OF THE OLD LANDMARKS

XVIII. SUNDRY DISSIPATIONS

XIX. WHEN CHRISTMAS BELLS WERE RINGING

A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK

CHAPTER I

THE LITTLE GIRL

"How would you like to go to New York to live, little girl?"

The little girl looked up into her father's face to see if he was "making fun." He did sometimes. He was beginning to go down the hill of middle life, a rather stout personage with a fair, florid complexion, brown hair, rough and curly, and a border of beard shaved well away from his mouth. Both beard and hair were getting threads of white in them. His jolly blue eyes were mostly in a twinkle, and his good-natured mouth looked as if he might be laughing at you.

She studied him intently. Three months before she had been taken to the city on a visit, and it was a great event. I suspect that her mother did not like being separated from her a whole fortnight. She was such a nice, quiet, well-behaved little girl. Children were trained in those days. Some of them actually took pride in being as nice as possible and obeying the first time they were spoken to, without even asking "Why?"

The little girl sat on a stool sewing patchwork. This particular pattern was called a lemon star and had eight diamond-shaped pieces of two colors, filled in with white around the edge, making a square. Her grandmother was coming to "join" it for her, and have it quilted before she was eight years old. She was doing her part with a good will.

"To New York?" she repeated very deliberately. Then she went on with her sewing for she had no time to waste.

"Yes, Pussy." Her father pinched her cheek softly. The little girl was the most precious thing in the world, he sometimes thought.

"What, all of us?" You see she had a mind to understand the case before she committed herself.

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