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 time to find any girls. But there is a big public school round in Houston Street, and I guess there's a thousand children. You should see them coming out of the gate."
"Hm'n! I don't believe there's a thousand children in all New York. That's ten hundred, Miss Hanny!"
Hanny was sobered by the immensity of her statement, for she was a very truthful little girl.