While the Brooks family were talking so gratefully, and Maria counting over the cookies and cups of jelly for the twentieth time, Fly, was holding on to Horace's thumb, saying, as she skipped along,—"I hope the doctor'll take a knife, and pick Maria's eyes open, so she can see."

"Precious little you care whether she can see or not," said Dotty. "I don't think Fly has much feeling,—do you, Prudy?—not like you and I, I mean!"

"Pshaw! what do you expect of such a baby?" said Horace, indignantly. "You never saw a child so full of pity as this one is, when she knows what to be sorry for. But a great deal she understands about blindness! And why should she?—Look here, Topknot; which would you rather do? Have your eyes put out, and lots of candy to eat, or, your eyes all good, and not a speck of candy as long as you live?"

"I'd ravver have the candy 'thout blind-eyed?"

"But supposing you couldn't have but one?"

Fly reflected seriously for half a minute, and then answered,

"I'd ravver have the candy with blind-eyed!"

"There, girls, what did I tell you?"

"'Cause I could eat the candy athout looking, you know," added Fly, shutting her eyes, and putting a sprig of cedar in her mouth, by way of experiment.

"You little goosie," said Prudy; "when Aunt Madge was crying so about Maria, I did think you were a hard-hearted thing to look up and laugh; but now, I don't believe you knew any better."

"Hard-hearted things will soften," said auntie, kissing the baby's puzzled face. "Little bits of green apples, how hard they are! but they keep growing mellow."

"O, you little green apple," cried Dotty, pinching Fly's cheek.

"I was rather hard-hearted, if I remember, when I was an apple of that size," continued Aunt Madge. "I could tell you of a few cruel things I said and did."

"Tell them," said Horace; "please 'fess."

"Yes, auntie, naughty things are so interesting. Do begin and tell all about it."

"Not on the street, dears. Some time, during the holidays, I may turn story-teller, if you wish it; but here we are at the ferry; now look out for the mud."

"O, what a place," cried Fly, clinging to Horace, and trying to walk on his boots. "Just like where grampa keeps his pig!"

"How true, little sister! but you needn't use my feet for a sidewalk. I'll take you up in my arms. It snowed in the night; but that makes it all the muddier."

"Yes, it doesn't do snow any good to fall into New York mud," said Aunt Madge; "it is like touching pitch."

"I thought it felt like pitch," remarked Dotty; "sticks to your boots so."

"But, then, overhead how beautiful it is!" said Prudy. "I should think the dirty earth would be ashamed to look up at such a clear sky."

"But the sky don't mind," returned Horace; "it always overlooks dirt."

"How very sharp we are getting!" laughed auntie; "we have begun the day brilliantly. Any more remarks from anybody?"

"I should like to know," said Dotty, "what all those great wooden things are made for? I never saw such big hen-houses before!"

"Hear her talk!" exclaimed auntie. "Hen-houses, indeed! Why, that is Fulton Market. I shall take you through it when we come back. You can buy anything in there, from a live eel to a book of poetry."

"'In mud eel is,'" quoted Horace. "Reckon I'll buy one, auntie, and carry it home in a piece of brown paper. I believe Dotty is fond of eels."

"Fond of eels! Why, Horace Clifford, you know I can't bear 'em, any more'n a snake. If you do such a thing, Horace Clifford!"

Here Prudy gave her talkative sister a pinch; for they were surrounded by people, and Aunt Madge was giving ferry-tickets to a man who stood in a stall, and brushed them towards him into a drawer.

"Does he stay in it all night?" whispered Fly; "he can't lie down, no more'n a hossy can."

"Here, child, don't try to get down out of my arms. I must carry you into the boat. Do you suppose I'd trust those wee, wee feet to go flying over East River?"

"For don't we know she has wings on her heels?" said Aunt Madge.

Fly twisted around one of her little rubbers, and looked at it. She understood the joke, but thought it too silly to laugh at. East River lay smiling in the sun, white with sails.

"Almost as pretty as our Casco Bay," said Dotty. "'Winona;' is that the boat we are going in? But, Horace, you must cross to the other side, where it says 'Gentlemen's Cabin.'"

"How kind you are to take care of me! Wish you'd take as good care of yourself, Cousin Dimple."

And Horace walked straight into the "Ladies' Cabin." There were more men in it, though, than women; so he had the best side of the argument.

"Horace," said Aunt Madge, as they seated themselves, "where is your money?"

"Money? O, in the breast pocket of my coat."

"But don't you remember, my boy, I advised you to leave it at home? See that placard, right before your eyes."

"'Beware of Pickpockets!'" read Horace. "Well, auntie, I intend to beware."

Mrs. Allen did not like his lord-of-creation tone. It was not exactly disrespectful. He adored his aunt, and did not mean to snub her. At the same time he had paid no attention to her advice, and his cool, self-possessed way of setting it one side was very irritating. If Mrs. Allen had not been the sweetest of women, she would have enjoyed boxing his ears.

"I wish he was two years younger, and then he would have to obey me," thought she; "but I don't like to lay my commands on a boy of fourteen."

The truth was, Horace had a large swelling on the top of his head, known by the name of self-esteem; and it had got bruised a little the day before, when he was obliged to stand one side, and let his aunt manage about finding Flyaway.

"I suppose she thinks I'm a ninny, just because I don't understand this bothersome city; but I reckon I know a thing or two, if I don't live in New York!"

And the foolish boy really took some satisfaction in slapping his breast pockets, and remarking to his friends,—

"'Twould take a smart chap to get his hand in there without my knowing it. O, Prudy, where's your wallet? And yours, Dotty? I can carry them as well as not. There's no knowing what kind of a muss you may be getting into before night."

Prudy gave up hers without a word, but Dotty demurred.

"I guess I've got eyes both sides my head, just the same as Horace has, if I am a girl."

She and Cousin Horace usually agreed, but this visit had begun wrong.

"Very well, Dot; if you think 'twould be any consolation to you to have somebody come along with a pair of scissors, and snip off your pocket, I don't know as it's any of my business."

"See if they do," replied Dotty, clutching her pocket in her right hand.

They had been speaking in loud tones, and perhaps had been overheard; for two men, on the same seat, began to talk of the unusual number of robberies that had happened within a few days and to wonder "what we were coming to next." In consequence of this, Dotty pinned up her pocket. When they reached Brooklyn, she gave her left hand to Horace, in stepping off the boat, and walked up Fulton Street, with her right hand firmly grasping the skirt of her dress.

"Good for you, Dimple!" said Horace, in a low tone; "that's one way of letting people know you've got money. Look behind you! There's been a man following you for some time."

"Where? O, where?" cried Dotty, whirling round and round in wild alarm; "I don't see a man anywhere near."

"And there isn't one to be seen," said Aunt Madge, laughing; "there's nobody following you but Horace himself. He had no right to frighten you so."

"Horace!" echoed Dotty, with infinite scorn; "I don't call him a man! He's nothing but a small boy!"

"A small boy!" She had finished the business now.

"The hateful young monkey!" thought Horace. "I shouldn't care much if she did have her pocket picked."

If he had meant a word of this, which he certainly did not, he was well paid for it afterwards.

They went to Greenwood Cemetery, which Dotty had to confess was handsomer than the one in Portland. Fly thought there were nice places to "hide ahind the little white houses," which frightened her brother so much, that he carried her in his arms every step of the way. After strolling for some time about Greenwood, and taking a peep at Prospect Park, they left the "city of churches," and entered a crowded car to go back to the ferry.

"Look out for our money," whispered Prudy; "you know auntie says a car is the very place to lose it in."

"Yes; I'll look out for your pile, Prue, though I dare say you don't feel quite so easy about it as you would if Dot had it."

"Wow, Horace, don't be cross; you know it isn't often I have so much money."

Aunt Madge here gave both the children a very expressive glance, as much as to say,—

"Don't mention private affairs in such a crowd."

Colonel Allen said if his wife had been born deaf and dumb nobody would have mistrusted it, for she could talk with her eyes as well as other people with their tongues.

When they were on the New York side once more, Mrs. Allen said,—

"Now I will take you through Dotty's hen-houses. What have we here? O, Christmas greens."

A woman stood at one of the stands, tying holly and evergreens together into long strips, which she sold by the yard.

"We must adorn the house, children. I will buy some of this, if you will help carry it home."

"Load me down," said Horace; "I'll take a mile of it."

"Loaden me down, too; I'll take it a mile," said Fly.

"Give me that beautiful cross to carry, auntie."

"Are you willing to carry crosses, Prudy? Ah, you've learned the lesson young!"

"I like the star best," said Dotty; "why can't they make suns and moons, too!"

"Will you have a hanker, my pretty miss?" said the woman, dropping a courtesy.

"I never heard of a hanker; it looks some like a kettle-hook. Let's buy it; see how nicely it fits on Fly's shoulder."

"It would look better for Fly to sit on the anchor," said Mrs. Allen, smiling. "It is droll enough to see such a big thing walking off with a little girl under it. Come, children, we have bought all we can carry."

"Thank you kindly, lady," said the evergreen woman, with another courtesy.

"I don't see why she need thank you kindly, auntie," said Dotty. "You wouldn't have bought her wreaths if you hadn't liked 'em."

They walked through a long space lined with such nice things that the children's mouths watered—oranges, figs, grapes, pears, French chestnuts larger than oil-nuts, and, as if that were not enough, delicious-looking pies, cakes, cold ham, and doughnuts. On little charcoal stoves stood coffee-pots; and there was a great clattering of plates and cups and saucers, which men were washing in little pans, and wiping on rather dark towels.

"It strikes me I should enjoy going into one of those cuddy-holes and eating my dinner," said Horace. "I feel about starved."

"You have a right to be hungry. It is two o'clock. How would you like some oysters? In here is a large room, with tables; rather more comfortable than these 'cuddy-holes,' as you call them."

"Only not nice," said Prudy. "O, Horace, if you should go once to an oyster saloon in Boston, you'd see the difference!"

"The probability is, I've been in Boston saloons twice to your once, ma'am."

Which was correct. She had been once, and he twice.