the tune
on his knee.

They did not stop to see Tom Thumb again, but went straight down-stairs.
Walter said good-night and declared he had had a splendid time, and Dele
must thank Cousin The again. The four others bundled into the stage,
which was crowded, but some kindly disposed people held both Nora and
Hanny. They had quite a habit of doing it then.

Jim had been wondering what they would say at home. Of course he knew
now he ought not have stayed. But nothing _had_ happened, and Hanny was
all right, and--well, he would face the music whatever it was. If Dele
could be trusted, why not he?

There had been a good deal of anxiety. Mrs. Underhill had expected them
home by six, but their father said: "Oh, give them a little grace." But
when seven o'clock came she went down to Whitney's to inquire. The
table was still standing. Mrs. Whitney sat at the head with a book in
her hand; Dave, the second son, was smoking and reading his paper. Both
girls had gone out.

"Oh, Mrs. Underhill, don't feel a bit worried! They'll come home all
safe. I shouldn't wonder if Dele had taken them over to her aunt's, and
she'll never let them come home without their supper. She's the greatest
hand for children I ever saw. And Dele's so used to going about. Then
everybody's out on Saturday night. Dear me! I haven't given it an
anxious thought," declared Mrs. Whitney.

But Mrs. Underhill could not take it so comfortably.

"There's so many of them we should hear if anything had happened," said
John. "And there is no use looking, for we shouldn't know where they
are; Jim's pretty good stuff too, for a country boy. Now, mother, don't
be foolish."

But she grew more and more uneasy. If she had not let Hanny go! What
could she have been thinking of to do such a thing?

After nine Mr. Underhill walked out to the Bowery, and watched every
stage that halted at the corner. Men, women, and children alighted, but
no little girl. Oh, where could she be? He felt almost as if the world
was coming to an end.

Then a familiar group all talking at the same time stepped out on the
sidewalk. A big girl and two little ones.

"O father, father!" cried Hanny.

He wanted to hug her there in the street. It seemed to him he had never
been so glad and relieved in all his life, or loved her half so well.

"Where _have_ you stayed so long?"

"We went to two museums," said Hanny, before the elders could find their
tongues. "And oh, father, we saw Tom Thumb