Mrs. Chester was waiting for them in the hall. She was looking rather worried.
“Now, Paul, darling,” she began anxiously, as her small son came running down-stairs, followed by Dulcie and Molly, “you will promise Mother to be very careful about those dreadful crossings, won’t you? Take good care of him, Dulcie, and don’t let him attempt to cross while there is anything in sight.”
“I’ll take care of him,” promised Dulcie, rather proud of the charge, and just then Grandma’s stern voice was heard from the head of the stairs.
“Don’t be silly, Julia. Those children are quite capable of taking care of themselves. They are none of them babies. One would think to hear you talk that you considered that boy of yours either an infant or an idiot.”
“Grandma is rather a sensible old lady, even if she does scold,” remarked Paul, as they ran down the steps. “Mother wouldn’t have let me go out at all if it hadn’t been for her.”
“Grandma doesn’t believe in people making a fuss about things,” was Dulcie’s rather guarded reply, and Molly added, doubtfully:
“I think she’s a little kinder to you than she is to us, but then you are her truly grandchild, and we’re only steps.”
Fifth Avenue was a pretty sight that frosty afternoon. Children who live in New York in the twentieth century know little of the pleasures of winter, but in 1880 life was quite different. There were no “snow wagons” in those days, and the snow lay where it fell until a thaw came and melted it. Small boys and girls earned pennies by sweeping the crossings, and after a snowstorm every one who could manage to secure a sleigh did so, and the consequence was that Fifth Avenue, from Washington Square to Central Park, was lined with sleighs of every description, from the small one-horse cutter to the big stage sleigh, drawn by four horses. On this February afternoon the scene was a particularly gay one. The sun had come out, and the trees in the Square were all glittering with snow, while the constant tinkle of sleigh-bells filled the frosty air.
“I wish we could have an adventure,” said Molly, as they paused at the corner, waiting for an opportunity to cross. “I don’t feel a bit like just staying in the Square, and watching other people having fun with their sleds. Oh, look, Dulcie; there’s the stolen child. She’s sweeping the crossing.”
“What stolen child?” demanded Paul, eagerly.