e did get off pretty often. Sometimes Joe, sometimes Father
Underhill, chaperoned the party; but they were allowed to go by
themselves as well. Girl friends joined them; Peter Beekman, and even
Paulus, thought it a great thing to be counted in.

Oh, the wonderful articles! It was a liberal education. Sevres china,
Worcestershire with its wonderful tint, Wedgwood, Doulton, Cloisonnee,
some rare Italian; and the tragic stories of Palissy, of Josiah
Wedgwood, and Charles III. of Naples taking his secret to Spain; some
queer Chinese ware, and Delft and Dresden, until it seemed as if half
the genius of the world must have been expended in the exquisite
productions.

And then the laces, the gossamer fabrics, the silks and velvets, the
jewels, the elegant things from barbaric Russia, the wonders of the
Orient, the plainer exhibit of our own land rich in mechanical wonders,
the natural products, the sewing-machine that now could do the finest of
work, the miniature looms weaving, the queer South American and Mexican
fabrications, the gold from California,--well, it seemed as if one never
could see it all.

Hanny wondered why Peter Beekman should want to stay close by her when
Daisy was so bright and entertaining, and when there were other girls.
When he looked at her so earnestly her heart gave a great throb, her
cheeks burned, and she wanted to run away.

He wished she wasn't so shy and so ready to shelter herself under
Charlie's wing, or her father's, or Joe's. And when she felt really safe
she was so merry and enchanting!

It was a day in August, rather warm, to be sure; but Polly Odell had
come down just on purpose to go, "for now that Janey was married and
gone the house was too horrid lonesome!" They stopped for Josie. Doctor
Joe brought Daisy up in the afternoon, and they were all in the
picture-gallery, where they were ever finding something new. Perhaps
Polly had made big eyes at Peter; perhaps Peter liked her because she
talked so much about Hanny. Anyhow, they had rambled off way at one end.
Daisy was resting, and telling the doctor about some pictures in the
Berlin gallery. Hanny moved up and down slowly, not getting very far
away. She was fond of interiors, and the homely Dutch or French women
cooking supper, or tending a baby, or spinning. And there were two
kittens she had never seen before, scampering about an old kitchen where
a man in his shirt-sleeves had fallen asleep over his paper. It seemed
to her s