time to
learn everything. And you'll never know anything about housekeeping. I
should be ashamed to have any one marry you."

People didn't hustle off to the country the day school closed. Indeed,
some didn't go at all. The children played on the shady side of the
street. The little girls had "Ring around a rosy," that I think Eve's
grandchildren must have invented. Then there was "London Bridge is
falling down," "Open the gates as high as the sky," and

"Here come two lords quite out of Spain
A-courting for your daughter faire,"

and after a great deal of disputing and beseeching they obtained
"daughter faire," and averted war. And "Tag" never failed with its "Ana
mana mona mike." You find children playing them all yet, but I think the
wonderful zest has gone out of them.

In the evening a throng of the First Street children who had pennies to
spend used to go up to the corner of Second Street and Avenue A. An old
colored woman sat there, with a gay Madras turban, and a little table
before her, that had a mysterious spring drawer. On one side she had an
earthen jar, on the other a great pail with a white cloth over it, that
emitted a steamy fragrance. And she sang in a sort of chanting tone:

"H-o-t corn, hot corn. Here's your nice hot corn, s-m-okin' h-o-t.
B-a-ked pears, baked pears--Get away, chillen,' get away, 'les you've
got a penny. Stop crowdin'."

They had enough to eat at home, but the corn was tempting. One night one
boy would treat and break the ear of corn in two and divide. And the
baked pears were simply delicious. The old woman fished them out with a
fork and put them on a bit of paper. Wooden plates had not been
invented. And the high art was to lift up your pear by the stem and eat
it. Sometimes a mischievous companion would joggle your arm and the stem
would come out--and oh, the pear would drop in a "mash" on the sidewalk.
You could not divide the pear very well, though children did sometimes
pass a "bite" around. But we lived in happy innocence and safety, for
the deadly bacillus had not been invented and ignorance was bliss.

CHAPTER VI

MISS DOLLY BEEKMAN

It seemed curiously still after the boys went away. Margaret took two
music lessons a week and gave the little girl half a one. And one day
Stephen came in and said:

"Go dress yourself, Dinah, in gorgeous array,
And I'll take you a-drivin' so galliant and gay."

"Both of us?" asked the little girl.

"Ye