“It was, I think, at this same time—­our last year in Vermont—­that a large ball, for young people only, was given in our neighborhood.  Much speculation was excited among our young friends as to whether Horace would dance at this ball, and especially if he would fetch a partner with him.  It was the general opinion that he would not, as he did not bear a high reputation for gallantry.  Great, then, was the astonishment of all present when Horace entered the ballroom with Anne Bush, the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, upon his arm.  He opened the ball with her, and his deportment quite silenced those who had questioned his appearance.

“Before long, preparations for another journey were in progress.  Father had earned money sufficient to buy some land, and I heard that we were going to Pennsylvania.  I was, however, too young to be much impressed by this news, and it was not until I saw mother once more in tears that its importance was apparent to me.  This time mother wept as bitterly as before, for not only was she to be separated by a greater distance from her family in New Hampshire, to whom she was fondly attached, and from the pleasant circle of friends she had made in Westhaven, but her darling among us children, her beautiful eldest boy, of whom she was so proud, was to be left in Vermont.”

CHAPTER IX.

A Picnic at Croton Dam—­The Waterworks—­A Game of Twenty Questions—­Gabrielle as a Logician—­Evangeline’s Betrothal—­Marguerite’s Letter—­Description of Chappaqua—­Visitors—­Edmonia Lewis.

June 26.

Gabrielle and I have just returned from spending the day at Croton Dam.  A large party from the prominent families of Chappaqua was organized by Miss Murray, the pretty daughter of one of our neighbors, and at nine o’clock a number of carriages, packed to overflowing with young people and lunch-baskets, and led off by a four-horse wagon, started caravan-wise from the place of rendezvous, Mr. Murray’s elegant grounds.

The drive was a very pretty one, skirting for some distance the beautiful little lake that supplies the great thirsty city of New York; and the spot chosen for the picnic—­shady, terrace-like heights, with a gradual slope to meet the water, and a rough bench here and there—­was declared the most suitable place in the world to lay the cloth.  One or two members of the party remained behind to unload the carriages, count the broken dishes, and estimate the proportion of contributions—­many people fetching salt in abundance but forgetting sugar, whilst others furnished elaborately frosted cakes, but omitted such necessaries as knives and forks.  Meantime, we climbed the stone steps leading to the waterworks, and after a glimpse of the seething dark-green water through the heavy iron grating, we hunted up the overseer and asked him to unlock the doors for us, that we might have a nearer view.  He assented, and admitted us very obligingly, giving us meantime a graphic description of the yearly journey of the Inspector in a boat down the dark passage to New York, and pointing out the low narrow place of entry from the water-house where they must lie down in the boat.