"My dear child," interrupted Miss Baldwin, "I have passed through New York on an average six times a year for the last six years, and I have never yet met with the least annoyance or unpleasant adventure. Nobody has ever robbed or murdered me, or ever wished to do so, as far as I know. Why should we meet with anything now? New York might be better, no doubt; but it is not such a dreadful place after all, and a great many nice people live there. Do put all these worries out of your head, and think about something else. You will not enjoy your journey at all, at this rate; and I am sure I shall not."
Percy was nervously sensitive about annoying other people, and she at once resolved that, however much frightened she might be, she would not show it nor speak of it. This was a very good resolution, and Percy kept it all the way to New York. The train was behind time, and there was nobody to meet the little girl.
"What shall we do now?" asked Percy, trying to speak cheerfully, though her heart sank very low.
"I shall get a carriage and take you to Mrs. Ackerman's, and then go and stay at my sister's till to-morrow morning," answered Miss Baldwin. "I am not very sorry after all, that I have an excuse for stopping a day in New York. Oh, you need have no fears; we shall do perfectly well."
Nothing seemed to Percy more unlikely than that they should do perfectly well, when she saw the crowds of people in the streets, and realized what a great city she had come into. Nevertheless, she could have wished the ride to be longer; and her heart began to beat very fast when the carriage drew up at a very handsome brown house on Fifth Avenue.
"Here we are, all right," said Miss Baldwin. "See there the name on the door. Good-by, dear; I hope you will have a very nice time. The expressman will bring your trunk before long."
It seemed a dreadful thing to Percy to have to go alone up those stone steps and pull the bell; but she did it; and between the ringing and answering of the bell, she had time to think that probably her aunt would not be at home, and that perhaps she had come to the wrong house after all. The door was opened presently by a very stylish-looking, elderly coloured man, who looked at Percy in some surprise.
"Is—is my aunt at home? Mrs. Ackerman, I mean," Percy managed to say at last.
"Oh, yes!" replied Sylvester, all smiles, directly. "Missy will be the young lady that was expected to-morrow morning. Let me take your things, Miss, and please walk up-stairs. How you do favour your dear ma, to be sure. This way, Miss. Mrs. Ackerman is in her room, but she will be down directly. Take a seat by the fire."
Percy sank into the depths of the comfortable arm-chair placed for her by a bright, open fire in the handsomest room she had ever seen; and she waited what seemed to her an hour before anybody came—though in reality it was not more than ten minutes. The house seemed wonderfully still. The drawing-room opened into a beautiful conservatory, where there were plants in flower and birds in cages; there were handsome books on the tables and pictures on the walls, which Percy would have liked to look at, if she had not been too much scared. A solemn clock in the hall ticked loudly, and she could hear somebody moving over her head. Percy began to think about enchanted castles and the palace of the White Cat, when her reveries were interrupted by the entrance of a very handsome and handsomely dressed lady, whom Percy guessed at once to be her cousin Margaret.