The next thing that attracted her attention was one of the great vans, drawn by enormous dray-horses.
"Look at their big legs and feet!" laughed Winifred—"as big as a tree almost! Oh, I wish Barney and Moira could see them!"
The ladies' dresses, too, astonished her—especially of those who drove in the carriages; for she had never seen such costumes before.
At last I was ready, and we passed down the stairway, with its heavy piled moquette carpet, to the street without. Just across the way was a florist's, and I told Winifred we should make our first visit there. We had to wait a favorable moment for crossing Broadway. The child was naturally fearless, but she was somewhat afraid of the multitude of vehicles—cars, carts, and private carriages—which formed a dense mass between the two sidewalks.
"Yet crossing the street up here is nothing," I said. "Wait till you try it some day down on lower Broadway—at Wall Street, for instance, or near the City Hall Park."
"This is bad enough!" cried Winifred. "You feel as if some of the horses must step on you."
However, we got safely across, with the aid of a tall policeman, who piloted us through the crowd, putting up an authoritative hand to stop a horse here, or signing to a driver there to give place. We entered the florist's shop. It was like going from winter to a lovely spring day. The fragrance from the many flowers was exquisite but almost overpowering. Masses of roses, of carnations, of chrysanthemums were there in the rarest profusion; flowering plants, palms, costly exotics, made the place seem like some tropical garden under Southern skies. The sight of the violets brought the tears to Winifred's eyes: they reminded her of her home beyond the sea. But when she heard the price of them she was amazed.
"Why, we get them for nothing in the Dargle—as many as we want—coming on the spring," she whispered. "Don't give so much money for them."
She persisted so much in the idea that it would be fearful to waste money on flowers which might be had at home for nothing, that I bought her roses instead. I made her select a bunch for herself from the mass. She was charmed with their variety of color, varying from the pale yellow of the tea-rose to the deepest crimson. We recrossed the street, and I made her go back to the hotel with the roses, so that they might keep fresh in water. When she came down again to where I was waiting on the sidewalk, I said: