Winifred, of course, consented eagerly; and, having procured the child a cup of hot bouillon at a druggist's as a preventive against hunger, we climbed up the great iron stairs of the elevated station at Fourteenth Street and Sixth Avenue, and were soon seated in the car.
It seemed very wonderful to Winifred that we should be flying through the air at such a rate of speed; but she was delighted with the swift motion and had no thought of fear. She kept looking in with eager curiosity at the houses or the shops as we passed by their second- or third-story windows, and down at the pigmy-like people on the sidewalk, making continual exclamations of wonder or interest.
We got out at the Battery; and before taking the East Side car up town I let Winifred take a run in Battery Park, so that she might have a glimpse of the bay and the huge ferry-boats landing their loads of passengers, and the funnels of the steamers or the masts of tall vessels in the offing.
"Across all that water," she cried, stretching out her arms with a pretty and graceful gesture, "is my home—my dear hills, the Dargle, and the people that I love!"
She sniffed the salt air as though it were wine; and ran about in the alleys, gazing longingly at the green grass, while I sat upon a bench and waited. At last I reminded her that time was flying, and that she would be a very hungry little girl by the time we made our trip up the East Side of the city and got down again to luncheon.
We were soon seated in a Third Avenue elevated car and passed up Chatham Square and the Bowery—that great thoroughfare, where such curious people congregate; where the very shops have a different air, and the oyster-saloons and other places of refreshment seem to revel in strange sign-boards and queerly-worded advertisements. The Jews are there in large numbers, as also Syrians, Chinese, and other Orientals, so that it has a strange and foreign air.
It all amused and interested Winifred, and she called my attention every now and again to some grotesque figure on the sign-boards or to some poster on the wall. I pointed out to the child Stuyvesant Park and Union Square Park as a rest to the eyes tired with so much sight-seeing. Then we jogged up the uninteresting and uninviting Third Avenue till finally we were in the vicinity of Harlem Bridge and away up in the open country, past Harlem and Mott Haven, and well up toward High Bridge itself.
At last I called a halt, and we alighted and began the descent again. I resolved to take the little girl to luncheon at the Waldorf as a special treat, so that she might see modern luxury, so far as hotels are concerned, at its height. We sat in the Empire dining-room, with the imperial eagle of the great Napoleon on our chair-backs and a large bunch of fragrant pink roses on the table before us. Our soup was brought in small silver bowls, which reminded Winifred of Niall's treasures. She much enjoyed the very choice and daintily served luncheon which I ordered for her, particularly the sweet course and the dessert. An orchestra was playing all the time of luncheon, changing briskly from grave to gay; and its strains helped to make the whole scene dreamlike and unreal to the child of Nature, accustomed only to the glory of the hills.
Other wonders awaited her: the café, with its ever-blossoming trees, and the goldfish swimming in its ponds; the onyx stairway, and the Louis Quinze salon, with its inlaid cabinets, its brocaded furniture, and above all its gilt piano. This last object seemed to cap the climax of splendor in Winifred's eyes. I think, indeed, that very modern hotel seemed to her a page from the Arabian Nights—some Aladdin's palace which the genii had built up. She was very pleased, too, with the private dining-room upstairs, where the turning on of the electric light showed such a display of china of all sorts.