"Oh, Joe, how could you keep her out so late! Do you know it's almost three o'clock?" Then the mother folded her to her heart. It seemed as if she had been snatched from some great danger; and now that she had her safe and sound, she felt as if she should never let her go again. "You're all excitement, Hanny; you tremble like a leaf. Such dissipations are bad for growing girls." "Oh, mother, I think I'm done growing," Hanny laughed, with a soft ring of music in her voice. "I have wanted to be tall like Margaret; but now I do not mind a bit. I think I shall always be father's little girl. And the dancing was so delightful; but you can't think how queer and long the supper was. And Mr. Thackeray really shook hands with me. He has two little girls, and they haven't any mother. If you could have seen Daisy! And she dances beautifully." "Hanny, your tongue runs like a mill-race. Do keep still, child. Cynthia has you pinned in every fashion. I hope your dress looked nice enough for a little girl. There, I'll take care of them all. You will never want to get up in the morning." When she had hung the dress out of sight, she felt as if she had her little girl once more. And the little girl fell asleep to the sound of the most delicious music ever floating through one's brain. CHAPTER XIX THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE Yes, Hanny Underhill was a little girl again in gaiter-length dresses, and her braids tied across at the back of her head. They let her sleep until the latest moment; and then she had to hurry off to school. But her eyes were bright; and she could have danced along the street, if it had been the proper thing to do. Daisy did not fare so well. She had a headache, and was very languid. Joe said Hanny had better not go down; and that Daisy would be all right to-morrow. So Hanny studied her lessons, and began to read "Vanity Fair" aloud to grandmother. But grandmother said she didn't care about such a silly girl as Amelia; and though there were wretched women in the world, she didn't believe any one ever was quite so scheming and heartless as Becky. Then Hanny told her father about the dancing, and the partners she had, and Mr. Andersen, who was going back to Germany to marry some distant cousin. Altogether, it was a splendid time, only she felt as if there had been some kind of a Cinderella transformation; and that she was safe only as long as she wore short frocks. A week afterward, Mr. Andersen returned to the city, and Hanny was invited down to tea at the Jaspers. They had a nice time, only the talk was not quite so charming as when it was interspersed with dancing. He was to go to Paris also. And now Louis Napoleon had followed in the footsteps of his illustrious uncle, and was really Emperor of France. What a strange, romantic history his had been!