Here Dotty ran up some steps, and rang a bell. She thought the damask
curtains looked familiar.

"No, no," cried she, running down again, as fast as the mouse ran down
the clock; "my auntie don't keep onions in her bay window, I hope!"

It was hyacinth bulbs, in glass vases, which had excited Dotty's
disgust.

"O, I guess I'm on the wrong side of the street; no wonder I can't find
the house. There, I see a chamber window open; _our_ chamber window was
open. I'm going to cross over and get near enough to see if there's a
little clock on the shelf that ticks like a dog wagging his tail."

No, there was no clock of any sort, and where the shelf ought to be was
a baby's crib.

"Well, any way, here's that beautiful church, with ivy round it; it's
ever so near auntie's; so I'll keep walking."

Dotty was right when she said the church was near auntie's--it was
within three doors; but she was wrong when she kept walking precisely
the wrong way. She crossed over to Sixth Avenue. Now, where were the
brown houses? She saw the horse-cars plodding along, and tried to read
the words on them.

"'Sixth Ave. and Fifty-Ninth Street.' Why, what's an _ave_? I never heard
of such a thing before; we don't have 'aves' in Portland. There are ever
so many people getting out of that car. While it stops, I'll peep in,
and see where it's going to. Perhaps there's a name inside that tells."