he oddest of all, Hanny thought, was burning incense. Mrs. French
had several curious incense bowls and jars. She lighted one, and in a
little while the room was filled with an indescribable fragrance and a
hazy purplish air.

"They burn incense in the Roman Catholic churches. Joe took us one
Easter Sunday. It was very strange, I thought. And a little boy swung
the--something--"

"Censer."

"Oh, yes, censer. And the singing was beautiful. But we couldn't
understand the prayers; Joe said they were Latin. I suppose he could
follow them."

"No doubt; I have attended some very grand services in churches abroad
and in England."

The incense burned out presently, and they went downstairs to dinner.
Afterward, a niece and nephew, her brother's children, came. The girl
was not quite twelve, but most a head taller than Hanny, who felt rather
shy with her. The boy was older still, and his name was Harold, which
suggested to Hanny the last of the Saxon kings. But he was very dark,
and didn't look like a Saxon, she thought.

Mrs. French sent to the livery and ordered a carriage, and they all went
to drive. Hanny was quite conversant with upper New York and Westchester
County; but she had only been once to Brooklyn. It had quite a country
aspect then; but there were beautiful drives, and Greenwood Cemetery had
already some extremely handsome monuments.

There was something about Eva Bounett that suggested Lily Ludlow, and
kept Hanny from liking her cordially. She laughed at so many things,
made fun of them; and Hanny wondered if she was criticising her, and
would laugh at her when she returned home.

Now and then, Mrs. French would remark, "Don't, Eva, that is not a nice
thing to say." Still she was bright, and at times Hanny had to laugh.
She found so many Dickens' people along the streets; and really they did
look like the pictures by Cruikshank. And one tall fierce old woman,
with wisps of hair hanging about her neck, and an old torn shawl, who
was brandishing her arms and talking wildly, she said was Meg Merrilies.

The children remained to tea, and Harold played and sang some very
pretty songs afterward.

"But you ought to hear our sister Helen," declared Eva. "She sings in
church, and sometimes at concerts; she's just magnificent. She's
nineteen now. And Mary has a good voice; while I sing like a crow! Do
you do any of the fine things,--draw or paint? I take music lessons; but
I make my teacher's hour vexation of