w York? She has some little
girls."

"You might like to go," she returned with a touch of hesitation.

"To see the little girls?" smilingly.

"To see a great city. Do you suppose they are very queer--and Dutch?"

He laughed at that.

"But the Dutch people went there and settled, just as the Puritans came
here. And I think I like the Dutch because they have such a merry time
at Christmas. We read about them in history at school."

"And then the English came, you know. I think now there is not much that
would suggest Holland. I have been there."

Then Doris was eager to know what it was like, and Uncle Winthrop was
interested in telling her. They forgot all about Salem--at least, Doris
did until she was going to bed.

"If you _do_ go you must be very careful a witch does not catch you, for
I couldn't spare my little girl altogether."

"Uncle Winthrop, I am going to stay with you always. When Miss
Recompense gets real old and cannot look after things I shall be your
housekeeper."

"When Miss Recompense reaches old age I am afraid I shall be quaking for
very fear."

"But it takes a long while for people to get very old," she returned
decisively.

Betty came over the next day to tell her they would start on Thursday
morning, and were going in a sloop to Marblehead with a friend of her
father's, Captain Morton.

It was almost like going to sea, Doris thought. They had to thread their
way through the islands and round Winthrop Head. There was Grover's
Cliff, and then they went out past Nahant into the broad, beautiful bay,
where you could see the ocean. It seemed ages ago since she had crossed
it. They kept quite in to the green shores and could see Lynn and
Swampscott, then they rounded one more point and came to Marblehead,
where Captain Morton stopped to unload his cargo, while they went on to
Salem.

At the old dock they were met by a big boy and a country wagon. This was
Foster Manning, the eldest grandson of the family.

"Oh," cried Betty in amazement, "how you have grown! It _is_ Foster?"

He smiled and blushed under the sunburn--a thin, angular boy, tall for
his age, with rather large features and light-brown hair with tawny
streaks in it. But his gray-blue eyes were bright and honest-looking.

"Yes, 'm," staring at the others, for he had at the moment forgotten his
aunt's looks.

Betty introduced them.

"I should not have known you," said Aunt Electa. "But boys change a good
deal in two years