o 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 sa