Early in the next week Mrs. Underhill took the little girl and went up to Yonkers. She said she was homesick to see the boys. And oh, how glad they were to see her! Aunt Crete was laid up with the _tic douloureux_. Retty was full of work and house-cleaning, and her lover had come on. He was a Vermonter by birth, and an uncle in the Mohawk valley had brought him up. Then he had gone West, but not taken especial root anywhere. He was tall and thin, with reddish hair and beard, but the kindliest blue eyes and a pleasant voice. He and George had struck up a friendship already. And Retty confided to Aunt Margaret "that she was going to be married without any fuss, and Bart was goin' to turn in and help run the farm." Everything wore a different aspect even in this brief while. Mrs. Underhill had some things to pack up, that she was going to leave, a while at least, in the garret. Her sister-in-law was very glad to take anything she wanted to dispose of, since they had sold their furniture at the West. Oh, how wonderful the world was to the little girl! The trees were coming out in bloom, there were great bunches of yellow daffodils, and the May pinks were full of buds. And then the chickens, the ducks' nests full of eggs, the pretty little dark-eyed calf that the boys had tamed already! And the children at school! Everybody was wild over Hanny and glad to get her back. But it was queer she should miss her father so much when it came night. She went out on the old stoop and felt strangely lonesome. Then the boys came round, having done up their share of the chores. "Do you _reely_ like it, Hanny?" asked Jim. She knew he meant the city. "Well--father and Steve and Joe and John are there"--yet her tone was a little uncertain. "Are there any boys about?" "I don't know any. I haven't had time to find any girls. But there is a big public school round in Houston Street, and I guess there's a thousand children. You should see them coming out of the gate." "Hm'n! I don't believe there's a thousand children in all New York. That's ten hundred, Miss Hanny!" Hanny was sobered by the immensity of her statement, for she was a very truthful little girl. "What have you been doing all this time?" Jim asked impatiently. "Well--there was the house to get to rights. And we had to have some new clothes made. A girl laughed at me one day and said I looked queer." "If I'd been there I'd punched her head. Yes--I see you're mighty fine. Would _I_ look queer?" "Oh, boys always look alike," returned Hanny reflectively. "We had a beautiful walk one Sunday on the Battery, and I think," hesitatingly, "that all the boys had on roundabouts." "Are you sure they didn't have on overcoats?" "Don't plague her, Jim. Tell us about the Battery, Hanny." Hanny could describe that quite vividly. Jim soon became interested. When she paused he said, "What else?" She told them of her ride up to Harlem, and a walk down the Bowery to Chatham Square.