Jim had been wondering what they would say at home. Of course he knew now he ought not have stayed. But nothing _had_ happened, and Hanny was all right, and--well, he would face the music whatever it was. If Dele could be trusted, why not he? There had been a good deal of anxiety. Mrs. Underhill had expected them home by six, but their father said: "Oh, give them a little grace." But when seven o'clock came she went down to Whitney's to inquire. The table was still standing. Mrs. Whitney sat at the head with a book in her hand; Dave, the second son, was smoking and reading his paper. Both girls had gone out. "Oh, Mrs. Underhill, don't feel a bit worried! They'll come home all safe. I shouldn't wonder if Dele had taken them over to her aunt's, and she'll never let them come home without their supper. She's the greatest hand for children I ever saw. And Dele's so used to going about. Then everybody's out on Saturday night. Dear me! I haven't given it an anxious thought," declared Mrs. Whitney. But Mrs. Underhill could not take it so comfortably. "There's so many of them we should hear if anything had happened," said John. "And there is no use looking, for we shouldn't know where they are; Jim's pretty good stuff too, for a country boy. Now, mother, don't be foolish." But she grew more and more uneasy. If she had not let Hanny go! What could she have been thinking of to do such a thing? After nine Mr. Underhill walked out to the Bowery, and watched every stage that halted at the corner. Men, women, and children alighted, but no little girl. Oh, where could she be? He felt almost as if the world was coming to an end. Then a familiar group all talking at the same time stepped out on the sidewalk. A big girl and two little ones. "O father, father!" cried Hanny. He wanted to hug her there in the street. It seemed to him he had never been so glad and relieved in all his life, or loved her half so well. "Where _have_ you stayed so long?" "We went to two museums," said Hanny, before the elders could find their tongues. "And oh, father, we saw Tom Thumb and he's just as little and cunning as a baby! And he shook hands with me. A gentleman held me up. It was beautiful, but I'm awful tired." "Oh, _were_ you troubled?" cried Delia. "Why didn't you just go in to ma and she would have told you that I always come up right, and that nothing ever happens to me, I'm so used to taking care of children. Why, when we lived down town I used to take out the neighbors' children--over to Staten Island and to Williamsburg, and always brought them home safely. Then we hadn't half seen the curiosities, and we should have missed the nice time with that lovely little Tom Thumb. And we thought it such capital fun!"