Even Polly was satisfied with our young people before we entered New York Bay.  If anything in their “left pulmonaries” had remained unsoftened during the voyage out and the comradery of the Netherlands, it was melted into non-resistance by the homeward trip.  I could not long hold out against the evidence of happiness that surrounded me, and I gave a half-grudging consent that Jarvis and Jane might play together for the next three or four years, if they would not ask to play “for keeps” until those years had passed.  They readily gave the promise, but every one knows how such promises are kept.  The children wore me out in time, as all children do in all kinds of ways, and got their own ways in less than half the contract period.  I cannot put my finger on any punishment that has befallen them for this lack of filial consideration, and I am fifteen-sixteenths reconciled.

I was downright glad that Jack “made good” with Jessie Gordon.  She was the sort of girl to get out the best that was in him, and I was glad to have her begin early.  Try as I might, I could not feel unhappy that beautiful September morning as we steamed up the finest waterway to the finest city in the world.  Deny it who will, I claim that our Empire City and its environments make the most impressive human show.  There is more life, vigor, utility, gorgeousness about it than can be found anywhere else; and it has the snap and elasticity of youth, which are so attractive.  No man who claims the privilege of American citizenship can sail up New York Bay without feeling pride in his country and satisfaction in his birthright.  One doesn’t disparage other cities and other countries when he claims that his own is the best.

We were not specially badly treated at the custom-house,—­no worse, indeed, than smugglers, thieves, or pirates would have been; and we escaped, after some hours of confinement, without loss of life or baggage, but with considerable loss of dignity.  How can a self-respecting, middle-aged man (to be polite to myself) stand for hours in a crowded shed, or lean against a dirty post, or sit on the sharp edge of his open trunk, waiting for a Superior Being with a gilt band around his hat, without losing some modicum of dignity?  And how, when this Superior Being calls his number and kicks his trunk, is he to know that he is a free-born American citizen and a lineal descendant of Roger Williams?  The evidence is entirely from within.  How is he to support a countenance and mien of dignity while the secrets of his chest are laid bare and the contents of his trunk dumped on the dirty floor?  And how must his eyes droop and his face take on a hang-dog look when his second-best coat is searched for diamonds, and his favorite (though worn) pajamas punched for pearls.

There are concessions to be made for one’s great and glorious country, and the custom-house is one of them.  Perhaps we will do better sometime, and perhaps, though this is unlikely, the customs inspectors of the future will disguise themselves as gentlemen.  We finally passed the inquisition, and, with stuffed trunks and ruffled spirits, took cabs for the station, and were presently within the protecting walls at Four Oaks, there to forget lost dignities in the cultivation of land and new ones.