ratic. The basement
windows had pretty lace curtains, and the dining-rooms had beaufets in
the corners, on which the glass and silver were arranged. The brass
doorknobs and the name-plate shone like gold, and the iron railings of
the stoops were finished with quite pretentious newels, that the
children called sentry boxes.

Grand Street, at the eastern end, had many private dwellings. Ridge and
Pitt and Willet streets were quite steep and made splendid coasting
places in winter. There was the Methodist church, in which many famous
worthies had preached, and even at the end of the century the old place
keeps its brave and undaunted front.

Strawberries did not come until June; and the girls took them round the
streets in tiny deep baskets. There were no such mammoth berries as we
have now; but, oh, how sweet and luscious they were! Little girls
carried baskets of radishes from door to door, and first you heard
"strawbrees," then something that sounded like "ask arishee," which I
suppose was brief for "ask any radishes."

The fish and clam men were a great delight to the children. One curious,
weather-beaten old fellow who went through First Street had quite a
musical horn, and a regular song.

"Fine clams, fine clams, fine clams, to-day,
That have just arrived from Rockaway.
They're good to boil, and they're good to fry,
And they're good to make a clam pot-pie.
My horse is hired, and my waggon isn't mine.
Look out, little boys, don't cut behind!"

Where the rhyme was lame, he made up with an extra flourish and trill to
the notes. The cats used to watch out for him. They seemed to know when
Friday came, and they would be sitting on the front stoops, dozing until
they heard the welcome sound of the horn. There were huckster waggons
with vegetables, and a buttermilk man.

An old coloured woman used to come round with brewer's yeast, and one
morning she had a great piece of black cambric twisted about her bonnet.

"Who are you in mourning for, auntie?" asked Margaret.

"My ol' man, Miss Margret. Happened so lucky! He jest died Sat'day
night, an' we buried him on Sunday, an' here I am goin' round on
Monday,--not losin' any time. Happened so lucky!"

Jim went into spasms of merriment over the economy of the incident.

CHAPTER III

CHANCES AND CHANGES

The Whitneys had moved in May, to the great regret of everybody. Their
family had changed considerably through the winter. Archiba