how. Ben thought it a great way
up-town; and he often went to the Whitneys to tea, when he wanted his
evening. Jim grumbled a little, too; there were no nice fellows around.
Joe insisted that he had better not hunt up any, but pay strict
attention to his studies, for he was falling dreadfully behind. But when
Jim had to work or study, he went at it with all his might and main, and
generally managed to catch up.

The little girl and her father were perhaps the best pleased. He liked
the little garden spot. He was not confining himself very closely to
business now. There were so many pretty walks around, for it was still
quite rural, and you could find a few wild flowers. There was another
very amusing feature farther up-town, and that was the "squatters," with
their pigs and goats and geese, and their rich, wonderful brogue, their
odd attire, which was in the same style as when they landed. Connemara
cloaks had not then attracted the fashionable eye; but the women seemed
to wear them to keep out both heat and cold. Red, green, and plaided
seemed the favourites. The wide cap-ruffles caught the breeze, for one
always found a breeze in this vicinity.

The little girl's happiness was rendered complete by the gift of a
beautiful Maltese kitten about half-grown. It had a black nose, and
black pads to its feet, and a fashion of pricking up its small ears like
a dog. There was a great discussion about a name; and Joe suggested
"Major," as she was still fond of military heroes.

One evening Ben said: "Jim, the Whitneys are going over into Jersey on
an exploring expedition, to view some curious old places, Cockloft Hall
among them. Don't you want to go?"

Jim glanced up lazily. The boys were to play ball, as they often did, on
Saturday afternoon.

"Oh, that's the place where the Salmagundi Club used to meet," cried
Hanny, with eager interest. "It is in Newark."

"Yes; and there's another queer nest on the Passaic where a great
sportsman lives, Henry William Herbert, the Frank Forrester of some
stirring adventures. Mr. Whitney is to see him. And there are some other
old haunts; Delia was looking them up,--the Kearny house, and an old
place that was once used as a sort of fort."

"Dele Whitney goes round just like a boy!" said Jim, disdainfully.

"Well, why shouldn't she go with her brother?"

"Oh, Ben, can't I go with you?" pleaded Hanny.

"Jersey's a queer sort of State," said Jim, teasingly. "The Blue Laws
are still i