are say he did, my dear. When you are a big girl you will learn all
about it in history. But you needn't hurry. There are a great many
pleasanter things to learn."

She leaned her head down on her father's shoulder and thought how sad it
must be to lose one's mind. Was that the part of you always thinking?
How curious it was to always think of something! Your feet didn't always
walk, your hands didn't always work, but that strange thing inside of
you never stopped. Oh, yes, it had to when you were asleep. But then you
sometimes dreamed. And the little girl fell fast asleep over psychology
that she didn't know a word about.

Early in the next week Mrs. Underhill took the little girl and went up
to Yonkers. She said she was homesick to see the boys. And oh, how glad
they were to see her! Aunt Crete was laid up with the _tic douloureux_.
Retty was full of work and house-cleaning, and her lover had come on. He
was a Vermonter by birth, and an uncle in the Mohawk valley had brought
him up. Then he had gone West, but not taken especial root anywhere. He
was tall and thin, with reddish hair and beard, but the kindliest blue
eyes and a pleasant voice. He and George had struck up a friendship
already. And Retty confided to Aunt Margaret "that she was going to be
married without any fuss, and Bart was goin' to turn in and help run the
farm."

Everything wore a different aspect even in this brief while. Mrs.
Underhill had some things to pack up, that she was going to leave, a
while at least, in the garret. Her sister-in-law was very glad to take
anything she wanted to dispose of, since they had sold their furniture
at the West.

Oh, how wonderful the world was to the little girl! The trees were
coming out in bloom, there were great bunches of yellow daffodils, and
the May pinks were full of buds. And then the chickens, the ducks' nests
full of eggs, the pretty little dark-eyed calf that the boys had tamed
already! And the children at school! Everybody was wild over Hanny and
glad to get her back.

But it was queer she should miss her father so much when it came night.
She went out on the old stoop and felt strangely lonesome. Then the boys
came round, having done up their share of the chores.

"Do you _reely_ like it, Hanny?" asked Jim.

She knew he meant the city.

"Well--father and Steve and Joe and John are there"--yet her tone was a
little uncertain.

"Are there any boys about?"

"I don't know any. I haven't had t