“It would look better for Fly to sit on the anchor,” said Mrs. Allen, smiling.  “It is droll enough to see such a big thing walking off with a little girl under it.  Come, children, we have bought all we can carry.”

“Thank you kindly, lady,” said the evergreen woman, with another courtesy.

“I don’t see why she need thank you kindly, auntie,” said Dotty.  “You wouldn’t have bought her wreaths if you hadn’t liked ’em.”

They walked through a long space lined with such nice things that the children’s mouths watered—­oranges, figs, grapes, pears, French chestnuts larger than oil-nuts, and, as if that were not enough, delicious-looking pies, cakes, cold ham, and doughnuts.  On little charcoal stoves stood coffee-pots; and there was a great clattering of plates and cups and saucers, which men were washing in little pans, and wiping on rather dark towels.

“It strikes me I should enjoy going into one of those cuddy-holes and eating my dinner,” said Horace.  “I feel about starved.”

“You have a right to be hungry.  It is two o’clock.  How would you like some oysters?  In here is a large room, with tables; rather more comfortable than these ‘cuddy-holes,’ as you call them.”

“Only not nice,” said Prudy.  “O, Horace, if you should go once to an oyster saloon in Boston, you’d see the difference!”

“The probability is, I’ve been in Boston saloons twice to your once, ma’am.”

Which was correct.  She had been once, and he twice.

CHAPTER XII.

“GRANNY.”

Aunt Madge seated her four guests at a little table.

“Will you have oysters or scallops?”

“What are scallops?”

“They are a sort of fish; taste a little like oysters.  They come out of those small shells, such as you’ve seen pin-cushions made of.”

The children thought they should prefer oysters; and after the stews were ordered, Mrs. Allen went out, and soon returned with a dessert of cake, pie, and fruit.

“I thought I would bring it all at once,” said she, “just what I know you will like; and then sit down and be comfortable.  We’ll lay the wreaths under the table.  There are no napkins, girls (this isn’t Boston, you know); so you’d better tuck your handkerchiefs under your chins.”

“But is this the handsomest place they’ve got in New York, without any carpet to it?” whispered Dotty.

“We’ll see, one of these days,” replied auntie, with a smile that spoke volumes.

It was a very jolly dinner, and Mrs. Allen had to send for three plates of scallops; for the children found, after tasting hers, that they were very nice; all but Fly, who did not relish them, and thought it was because she did not like to eat pin-cushions.

“Now, little folks, if you have eaten sufficiently, and are thoroughly rested, shall we start for home?  I think a journey to Brooklyn is about enough for one day—­don’t you?  But you musn’t leave without seeing Granny.”