CHAPTER I
1846
New Year's came in with a ringing of bells and firing of pistols. Four years more, and the world would reach the half-century mark. That seemed very ancient to the little girl in Old New York. They talked about it at the breakfast-table.
"Do you suppose any one could live to see nineteen hundred?" asked the little girl, with wondering eyes.
Father Underhill laughed.
"Count up and see how old you would be, Hanny," he replied.
"Why, I should be—sixty-five."
"Not as old as either grandmother," said John.
"If the world doesn't come to an end," suggested Hanny, cautiously. She remembered the fright she had when she was afraid it would come to an end.
"It isn't half developed," interposed Benny Frank. "And we haven't half discovered it. What do we know about the heart of Africa or the interior of China—"