couldn't have lived if it had been cholera. The doctors were all heroes;
and many of them have given their lives."

Yet the world went on, over the thousands who had dropped out of it.
Business resumed its sway; even amusements started up. But there were
many sad households.

And though the Underhills had not taken Cleanthe to their hearts with
quite the fervor Dolly had awakened, they loved her very tenderly now;
and she seemed to slip in among them with a new and closer bond.

There would be a good deal of business to settle. John thought it better
to look about for a new partner. Mr. Bradley had left quite a fortune
for the times. He had been investing in up-town property, and John
thought it would be wise to build, and sell or rent as his wife desired.
The old home was dismantled, the best of the furniture stored for
further use.

He tried to persuade his father to go farther up-town. Joe was also a
factor in this matter.

For though the cholera had spared Dr. Fitch, the infirmities of age and
hard work had overtaken him. A nephew who had recently graduated, and
had the prestige of the same name, was anxious to take the practice. Joe
felt as if circumstances were shaping a change for him; and he was ready
now to take up a life of his own.

Then the Deans sold, and were to go up a little farther. Sometime, and
before many years, there would be street-cars, instead of the slow,
awkward stages, and people could get to and fro more rapidly. The trend
was unmistakably up-town.

Mr. Reed hired out his house furnished, and went over to the Deans to
board.

It seemed to Hanny that no one was quite the same. Nora Whitney was
almost a head taller than Hanny, and was getting to be a very stylish
girl. Her voice was considered promising, and was being cultivated. But
poor old Pussy Gray had rounded out his life, and slept under a great
white rosebush at the end of the yard. Mrs. Whitney's hair was nearly
all white, and she was a very pretty woman. Mr. Theodore was showing
silver in both hair and beard; but Delia changed very little. Aunt Clem
went on living in her serene and cheerful fashion.

And then the bells rang out for the mid-century, 1850! How wonderful it
seemed.

"I wonder if any one of us will live to nineteen hundred," questioned
Hanny, with a strange thrill of awe in her voice.

"I don't suppose I will," replied her father; "but some of you may.
Why, even Stephen wouldn't be much above eighty; and y