rather feminine
now. But I like the variety. The newly-arrived emigrants in their
native garb interest me."

"There are some around in Houston Street," laughed Ben. "Dutch girls
with flaxen hair and little caps, and those queer waists with shoulder
straps, and thick woollen stockings. Some of them wear wooden shoes. And
Irish women with great plaid cloaks and little shawls tied over their
heads, short skirts and nailed shoes that clatter on the sidewalk."

"I should like to see them," said Daisy.

"Joe ought to take you out on St. Patrick's day," returned Ben. "But
they soon reach the dead level of uniformity."

"Fancy an Indian in coat and trousers instead of blanket, war-paint, and
feathers," and Jim laughed at the idea.

"I think we shall hardly be able to reduce him to modern costumes. He
does not take kindly to civilisation."

"He's shamefully treated anyway."

"Oh, Jim, it won't do to take your noble red men from romance. The
heroes of King Philip's time have vanished."

Jim was reading Cooper, and had large faith in the children of the
forest. The next generation of school-boys called them "sneaking red
dogs," and planned to go out on the plains and shoot them.

"If we absorb all these people, we shall be a curiously conglomerate
nation by and by," exclaimed Mrs. Jasper.

"As we were in the beginning," returned Father Underhill. "We started
from most of the nations of Europe. We have had a French state, Dutch
and German, English and Scotch, but the one language seems a great
leveler."

The little girls talked about the concert. Doctor Joe said he thought
Daisy might venture. She was beginning to grow quite courageous, though
the comments on her lameness always brought a flush to her cheek.
Sometimes he stopped at school for both girls, and the wheeling-chair
went home empty. His strong, tender arm was help enough.

Mr. Reed had quite a battle to win the day for his son. "The
singing-school was foolishness and a waste of time; and there was not a
moment to waste in this world, when you had to give a strict account of
it in the next." Mrs. Reed had never considered whether so much scouring
and scrubbing was not a waste of time, when everything was as clean as a
pin. When a very polite note from Mr. Bradbury reached Mr. Reed, begging
that Charles might be allowed to take a prominent part in the concert,
there was war, a more dreadful time than going to the barber had caused.

"Charles"--she occasiona