"
The two boys passed east to Second avenue, south to Twenty-third
street, and there crossed the East River on the old Greenpoint ferry.
Still walking east, an hour before daylight they came to a cottage
in the vicinity of Newtown Creek, and here Nestor paused and knocked
gently on a door which seemed half hidden by creeping vines, which,
leafless at that time of the year, rattled noisily in the wind.
The door was opened, presently, by a middle-aged lady of pleasant
face and courteous manner. She held a night-lamp high above her
night-capped head while she inspected the boys standing on the
little porch. Nestor broke into a merry laugh.
"Are you thinking of burglars, Aunty Jane?" he asked. Then he
added, "Burglars don't knock at doors, Aunty. They knock people
on the head."
"Well, of all things, Ned Nestor!" exclaimed the lady, in a tone
which well matched her engaging face. "What are you doing here
at this time of night?"
"I want to leave a friend here for the day," was the reply. "Come,
Aunty, don't stand there with the lamp so high. You look like the
Statue of Liberty. Let us in and get us something to eat. I'm hungry."
"I suspected it" smiled the lady. "You always come to Aunty Jane
when you are hungry, or when you've got some one you are hiding.
Well, come in. I'm getting used to your manners, Ned."
The boys needed no second invitation to step inside out of the cold
wind. After Fremont had been presented to Aunty Jane, they were
shown to the sitting-room--an apartment warmed by a grate fire and
looking as neat as wax--where they waited for the promised breakfast.
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