She was quite astonished at the little girl's attainments, and her simplicity she thought charming. When Stephen came for her, Mrs. Morris said:
"I have really fallen in love with your little sister. You must bring her down again. We think there's nothing to compare with our Bowling Green and the Battery."
They bade each other a pleasant adieu. It was time to go home, indeed. The little girl felt very happy and joyous, and she thought her pretty clothes had helped. Perhaps they had.
She sat on her father's knee that night telling him about Mrs. Morris. And she suddenly said:
"Father, what was the Reign of Terror?"
"The Reign of Terror? Oh, it was a horrible time of war in France. Where did you pick up that?"
"There was an old man in the Green who had on a queer sort of dress—knee-breeches and buckles on his shoes like those of grandfather's. And ruffles all down his shirt-bosom and long, curly, white hair. And Mrs. Morris said he was in prison in the Reign of Terror, and then came to America with his daughter, and that his mind had something the matter with it. Do you suppose he got awfully frightened?"
"I dare 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."