"Here come two lords quite out of Spain
A-courting for your daughter faire,"
and after a great deal of disputing and beseeching they obtained "daughter faire," and averted war. And "Tag" never failed with its "Ana mana mona mike." You find children playing them all yet, but I think the wonderful zest has gone out of them.
In the evening a throng of the First Street children who had pennies to spend used to go up to the corner of Second Street and Avenue A. An old colored woman sat there, with a gay Madras turban, and a little table before her, that had a mysterious spring drawer. On one side she had an earthen jar, on the other a great pail with a white cloth over it, that emitted a steamy fragrance. And she sang in a sort of chanting tone:
"H-o-t corn, hot corn. Here's your nice hot corn, s-m-okin' h-o-t. B-a-ked pears, baked pears—Get away, chillen,' get away, 'les you've got a penny. Stop crowdin'."
They had enough to eat at home, but the corn was tempting. One night one boy would treat and break the ear of corn in two and divide. And the baked pears were simply delicious. The old woman fished them out with a fork and put them on a bit of paper. Wooden plates had not been invented. And the high art was to lift up your pear by the stem and eat it. Sometimes a mischievous companion would joggle your arm and the stem would come out—and oh, the pear would drop in a "mash" on the sidewalk. You could not divide the pear very well, though children did sometimes pass a "bite" around. But we lived in happy innocence and safety, for the deadly bacillus had not been invented and ignorance was bliss.
CHAPTER VI
MISS DOLLY BEEKMAN
It seemed curiously still after the boys went away. Margaret took two music lessons a week and gave the little girl half a one. And one day Stephen came in and said:
"Go dress yourself, Dinah, in gorgeous array,
And I'll take you a-drivin' so galliant and gay."