June came, and found the Dorrance Domain in full working order. The experiment seemed to be proving a complete success; and the six people who lived in the big hotel were collectively and individually happy.
Grandma Dorrance realized that all was well, and gave the children absolute liberty to do as they pleased from morning to night, feeling grateful that the circumstances permitted her to do this. Besides enjoying their happiness, the dear old lady was quite happy and contented on her own account. The delightful bracing air made her feel better and stronger; and the entire freedom from care or responsibility quieted her nerves.
Dorothy was complete mistress of the house. The responsibilities of this position had developed many latent capabilities of her nature, and she was daily proving herself a sensible, womanly girl, with a real talent for administration, and much executive ability. She was very kind to Tessie, realizing that the Irish, girl had no friends or companions of her own class around her; but Dorothy also preserved a certain dignified attitude, which became the relation of mistress and maid. She ordered the household affairs with good judgment, and was rapidly becoming an expert cook. This part of the domestic work specially appealed to her, and she thoroughly enjoyed concocting elaborate dishes for the delectation of her family. Sometimes these confections did not turn out quite right; but Dorothy was not discouraged, and cheerfully threw away the uneatable messes, and tried the same difficult recipes again, until she had conquered them.
The flaw in Dorothy's character was an over self-confidence; but this was offset by her sunny good-humored disposition, and she gaily accepted the situation, when the others teased her about her failures.
The days passed like beautiful dreams. The family rose late, as there was no special reason why they should rise early. The children spent much time on the water in their rowboats, and also renewed their acquaintance with Captain Kane, who took them frequently for a little excursion in theMamie Mead.
But perhaps best of all, Dorothy liked the hours she spent lying in a hammock, reading or day-dreaming.
She was fond of books, and had an ambition to write poetry herself. This was not a romantic tendency, but rather a desire to express in beautiful, happy language the joy of living that was in her heart.
She rarely spoke of this ambition to the others, for they did not sympathize with it, and frankly expressed very positive opinions that she was not a poet and never would be. Indeed, they said that Fairy had more imagination and poetic temperament then Dorothy.
Dorothy was willing to agree to this, for she in no way over-estimated her own talent,—she was merely acutely conscious of her great desire to write things.
So often for a whole afternoon she would lie in a hammock under the trees, looking across the lake at the hills and the sky, and assimilating the wonderful beauty of it all. This dreamy side of Dorothy's nature seemed to be in sharp contrast to her practical energetic power of work; it also seemed incongruous with her intense love of fun and her enjoyment of noisy, rollicking merriment.
But these different sides reacted on each other, and combined with Dorothy's natural frankness and honesty, made a sweet and wholesome combination. Had Dorothy been an only child, she might have been given too much to solitude and introspection; but by the counteracting influences of her diverting family, and her care of their welfare, she was saved from such a fate.
One day she was suddenly impressed with a conviction that Grandma Dorrance must often feel lonely, and that something ought to be done to give her some special pleasure.
"We all have each other," said Dorothy to the other children, "but grandma can't go chasing around with us, and she ought to have somebody to amuse her, at least for a time. So I think it would be nice to invite Mrs. Thurston up here to spend a week with us."
Mrs. Thurston was a lifelong friend of Mrs. Dorrance's, and moreover was a lady greatly liked by the Dorrance children.
"It would be very nice," said grandma, much gratified by Dorothy's thoughtfulness; "I don't really feel lonely, you know; it isn't that. But I would enjoy having Mrs. Thurston here for a time, and I am sure she would enjoy it too."
"Hooray for Mrs. Thurston!" shouted Leicester; "and say, Dot, I'd like to have company too. S'pose we ask Jack Harris to come up for a few days. I'm the only boy around these parts, and I declare I'd like to have a chum. Meaning no slight to my revered sisters."
"I want Gladys Miller," said Fairy. "The twins have each other, and Dorothy has grandma, but I don't seem to have any little playmate, 'cept Mrs. Hickox, and she's so supernumerated."
They all laughed at this, but Dorothy said, "Why, we'll each invite one guest. That's a fine idea! There's plenty of room, and as to the extra work, if we all do a little more each day, it won't amount to much. I'll ask Edith Putnam, and Lilian, of course, you'll want May Lewis."
"Yes, of course," cried Lilian; "I'd love to have May up here. I never once thought of it before."
"I'll tell you what!" exclaimed Leicester. "Now here's a really brilliant idea. Let Tessie invite some friend of hers too, and then she can help you girls with the work."
"Thatisa good idea," said Grandma Dorrance, approvingly. "We'd have to have extra help, with so many more people, and if Tessie has any friend who would like to come for a week, it would be very satisfactory. Of course we will pay her wages."
"Wowly-wow-wow!" exclaimed Leicester; "won't we have rackets! I say, Dot, give Jack that other tower room, right over mine, will you? He'd like it first-rate."
"Yes, and we'll give Mrs. Thurston that big pleasant room next to grandma's. Tessie and I will begin to-day to get the rooms ready."
"Hold on, sis, don't go too fast; you haven't had any acceptances yet to the invitations you haven't yet sent!"
"No, but they'll all come fast enough; we'll each write to-day, and we'll tell the people to get together, and all come up in a bunch," said Lilian. "I know May Lewis's mother wouldn't let her come alone, but with Mrs. Thurston, it will be all right."
"And Captain Kane can bring the whole crowd up from the station," said Leicester; "and we'll row down to the lock to meet them. And we'll have flags and bonfires and Chinese lanterns for a celebration. There's lots of Chinese lanterns up in one of the storerooms,—we'll just have to get some candles. Jiminy! won't it be fun!"
"Perhaps it will be too hard on you, Dorothy," said Mrs. Dorrance; "doubling the family means a great deal of extra cooking, you know."
"Oh, that will be all right, grannymother; and perhaps the lady Tessie invites will be able to help out with the cooking."
"Gladys's room must be next to mine," said Fairy, "so we can be sociarbubble. I shall take her to see Mrs. Hickox the first thing, and she'll proberly give us two gum-drops apiece."
Fairy's friendship with Mrs. Hickox was a standing joke in the family, and that lady's far from extravagant gifts of confectionery caused great hilarity among the younger Dorrances.
Full of their new project, they all flew to write their letters of invitation, and within an hour the six missives were ready, and Leicester volunteered to row over to Woodville with them. Tessie was delighted at the prospect, when Dorothy explained it to her.
"Shure, I'll ask me mother," she exclaimed; "she's afther bein' a fine cook, Miss Dorothy, an' yez'll niver regret the day she comes. Indade, she can turn her hand to annythin'."
Although Tessie was a superior type of Irish girl, and usually spoke fairly good English, when excited, she always dropped into a rich brogue which greatly delighted the children.
"Just the thing, Tessie; write for your mother at once, or I'll write for you, if you like, and I hope she'll come up with the rest of them."
"Shure, she will, Miss Dorothy; she lives all alone an' she can come as aisy as not. An' she's that lonesome for me, you wouldn't believe! Och, but she'll be glad of the chance."
Feeling sure that most if not all of their guests would accept the invitations, Dorothy, Lilian and Tessie,—more or less hindered by Fairy, who tried hard to help,—spent the afternoon arranging the bedrooms. It was a delightful task, for everything that was needed seemed to be at hand in abundance. The hotel when built, had been most lavishly and elaborately furnished, even down to the smallest details. The successive proprietors had apparently appreciated the value of the appointments, and had kept them in perfect order and repair. Moreover, as their successive seasons had been a continuous series of failures, and few guests had stayed at the hotel, there had been little wear and tear.
Although Mrs. Hickox had not lost her grudging demeanor regarding her eggs and vegetables, yet Fairy was able to wheedle some flowers from her now and then, with the result that the Dorrance Domain had assumed a most attractive and homelike general effect.
Of course, the individual rooms showed the taste and hobbies of their several owners; while the large parlor which the family had come to use as a general living-room had entirely lost all resemblance to a hotel parlor, and had become the crowning glory of the Dorrance Domain. The Dorrances had a way of leaving the impress of their personality upon all their belongings; and since the big hotel belonged to them, it had necessarily grown to look like their home.
"I think," said Dorothy, "if they all come, it would be nicer to use the big dining-room."
"And the little tables," cried Fairy; "two at each one, you know. Me and Gladys at one, and Leicester and Jack at another, and grandma and——"
"Oh, no, Fairy," said grandma, "that wouldn't be nice at all. It wouldn't even be polite. Use the big dining-room, if you wish, but let us all sit at one table. Surely, you can find a table big enough for ten."
"Oh, yes," cried Leicester; "there are a lot of great big round table-tops in the storeroom. They're marked 'banquet tables'; one of those will be just the thing."
"What do you do with a table-top, if it doesn't have any legs?" asked Fairy. "Do you put it on the floor, and all of us sit on the floor around it, like turkeys?"
"I suppose you mean Turks," said Leicester, instructively; "but no, we don't arrange it just that way. We simply put the big round table-top on top of the table we are now using, and there you are!"
"It will be beautiful," said Dorothy. "I do love a round table. You can make it look so lovely with flowers and things. I hope they'll all come."
Dorothy's hopes were fulfilled, and every one of the six who were invited sent a delighted acceptance. Tessie's mother, perhaps, expressed the most exuberant pleasure, but all seemed heartily glad to come.
They were invited for a week, and were expected to arrive one Thursday afternoon at about four o'clock.
Vast preparations had been made, for every one was interested especially in one guest, and each made ready in some characteristic way.
Dorothy, as housekeeper, spent all her energies on the culinary preparations. She delighted the heart of Mr. Bill Hodges by her generous orders, and she and Tessie had concocted a pantry-full of good things for the expected visitors.
Lilian had put the hotel in apple-pie order, and given finishing touches to the guests' rooms, and Fairy had performed her part by inducing Mrs. Hickox to let them have an extra lot of flowers. These flowers were all of old-fashioned varieties which grew luxuriantly in Mrs. Hickox's garden; and arranged with Lilian's exquisite taste, and by her deft fingers, they made really lovely decorations for parlor, dining-room and bedrooms.
As the guests would reach the Dorrance Domain by daylight, Leicester's plan of illuminating the grounds was scarcely feasible. But he had hung the Chinese lanterns on the veranda, and among the trees, and had put candles inside them, so they could light them up, and have their celebration in the evening.
It was arranged that the twins should row down to meet theMamie Meadand then get on board, and escort the guests up the lake, towing their own rowboat.
Dorothy preferred to stay at home, to attend to some last important details in the kitchen, and Fairy said she would sit with grandma on the veranda, and await the arrival.
Soon after four o'clock, Fairy ran into the house screaming to Dorothy that theMamie Meadwas in sight. This gave Dorothy ample time to run up-stairs for a final brush to her hair, and a final adjustment of her ribbons, and there was no air of a flurried or perturbed housekeeper about the calm and graceful girl who sauntered out on the veranda to greet her guests.
Fairy danced half-way down the steps to the dock, and then danced back again hand-in-hand with Gladys Miller. The others came up more slowly, and Grandma Dorrance rose with pleasure to welcome her dear friend Mrs. Thurston.
Then there was a general chorus of excited greetings all around.
The newcomers were so astonished and delighted at the novelty of the situation, that they could not restrain their enthusiasm; and the residents of the Dorrance Domain were so proud and happy to offer such unusual hospitality, that they too, were vociferously jubilant.
But the stranger among the newcomers was of such appalling proportions that Dorothy couldn't help staring in amazement.
Tessie's mother was quite the largest woman she had ever seen, and Dorothy privately believed that she must be the largest woman in the whole world. She was not only very tall, and also very broad, but she had an immense frame, and her muscles seemed to indicate a powerfulness far beyond that of an ordinary man.
To this gigantic specimen of femininity Dorothy advanced, and said pleasantly: "I suppose this is Kathleen?"
"Yis, mum; an' it's proud I am to be wid yez. The saints presarve ye, fur a foine young lady! An' wud yez be's afther showin' me to me daughter? Och, 'tis there she is! Tessie, me darlint, is it indade yersilf?"
Tessie had caught sight of her mother, and unable to control her impatience had run to meet her. Though Tessie was a fair-sized girl she seemed to be quite swallowed up in the parental embrace. Her mother's arms went 'round her, and Leicester exclaimed, involuntarily, "Somebody ought to rescue Tessie! she'll have every bone cracked!"
But she finally emerged, unharmed and beaming with happiness, and then she led her mother away to the kitchen, the big woman radiating joy as she went.
"She jars the earth," said Jack Harris; "as long as she's on this side, the lake is liable to tip up, and flood this place of yours. But I say, Less, what a magnificent place it is! Do you run the whole shooting-match?"
"Yes, we do," said Leicester, trying to look modest and unostentatious. "It isn't really too big, that is,—I mean,—we like it big."
"Like it? I should think you would like it! It's just the greatest ever! I say, take me in the house, and let me see that, will you?"
The girls wanted to go too, and so leaving the elder ladies to chat on the veranda, the children ran in, and the Dorrance Domain was exhibited to most appreciative admirers.
Jack Harris was eager to see it all; and even insisted on going up through the skylight to the roof. This feat had not before been thought of by the Dorrance children, and so the whole crowd clambered up the narrow flight of stairs that led to the skylight, and scrambled out on the roof. Dorothy's dignity was less observable just now, and she and Edith Putnam romped and laughed with the other children as if they were all of the same age. The view from the roof was beautiful, and the place really possessed advantages as a playground. There was a railing all around the edge, and though the gables were sloping, many parts of the roof were flat, and Jack declared it would be a lovely place to sit on a moonlight night.
Then down they went again, and showing the guests to their various rooms, made them feel that at last they were really established in the Dorrance Domain. This naturally broke the party up into couples, and Leicester carried Jack off to his own room first, to show him the many boyish treasures that he had already accumulated.
Fairy flew around, as Jack Harris expressed it, "like a hen with her head off," and everywhere Fairy went, she dragged the more slowly moving Gladys after her, by one hand. Gladys was devoted to Fairy, and admired her thistledown ways; but being herself a fat, stolid child, could by no means keep up to Fairy's pace.
Dorothy took Edith Putnam to her room, and being intimate friends the two girls sat down together, and became so engrossed in their chat, that when nearly a half-hour later, Lilian and May Lewis came in to talk with them, Edith had not yet even taken off her hat.
Although dear friends of the Dorrances', Edith and May were of very different types.
Edith Putnam was a round, rosy girl, very pretty and full of life and enthusiasm. She was decidedly comical, and kept the girls laughing by her merry retorts. She was bright and capable, but disinclined for hard work, and rather clever in shifting her share of it to other people's shoulders.
May Lewis, on the other hand, was a plain, straightforward sort of girl; not dull, but a little diffident, and quite lacking in self-confidence. Not especially quick-witted,—yet what she knew, she knew thoroughly, and had no end of perseverance and persistence. She was of a most unselfish and helpful disposition, and Lilian well knew that without asking, May would assist her at her household tasks during the visit, and would even do more than her share.
Dorothy frankly explained to the girls what the household arrangements were in the Dorrance Domain, and said, that since certain hours of the day must be devoted to regular work by the Dorrance sisters, the guests would at such times be thrown upon their own resources for entertainment.
"Not I!" cried Edith; "I shall help you, Dorothy, in everything you have to do while I'm here. Indeed, I just think I'll do up your chores for you, and let you take a rest. I'm sure you need one. Not that you look so; I never saw you look so fat and rosy in your life; but you mustn't work too hard just because you have company. You mustn't do a single thing extra for us, will you?"
"You mustn't dictate to your hostess, miss," returned Dorothy, gaily; "and I hardly think you can assist me very much, for I look after the cookery part, and I think you've given me to understand that you detest cooking. Also, I most certainly shall do extra things while you're here. It is my pleasure to entertain my guests properly," and Dorothy smiled in her most grown-up manner.
"Good gracious! Dorothy Dorrance, did your manners come with your Domain, or where did you get that highfalutin air of yours?"
"Oh, that was put on purposely to impress you with my importance," said Dorothy, dimpling into a little girl again. "But truly, I must skip down to the kitchen now, and see if my Parker House rolls are rising, rose or having risen. No, you can't come, Edith; you'd spoil the rolls,—though you'd do it in a most well-meaning way. Now you girls all go out, and disport yourselves on the lawn, while I do my noble duty. Though I'm free to confess I'm scared to death of that awe-inspiring mother-person that Tessie has imported."
"I think she'll be helpful," said May Lewis. "She came up with us you know, and really she's wonderful. She looked after us all, and she's as funny as a red wagon."
"Red wagon!" exclaimed Edith; "she's nearer the size of a red automobile, and she has the same kind of energy that automobiles are said to have. I don't own one myself, so I don't know."
"I don't own one either," said Dorothy, "so I don't know how to manage one. But I suppose I must make a try at managing the bulky Kathleen,—so I may as well start."
The whole troop ran down the wide staircase, except Fairy, who slid down the banister, and leaving the others in the hall, Dorothy ran away to the kitchen.
There she found Kathleen proceeding in a manner quite in accordance with her appearance. She had assumed immediate and entire charge of the supper preparations, and was ordering Tessie about in a good-natured, but domineering way.
"Lave me have a bit o' red pepper, darlint," she was saying, as Dorothy came in; "this dhressin' is flat for the want of it. Ah, Miss Dorothy, is that you, thin? an' I'm jist afther shlappin' together yer salad-dhressin'. I obsarved the things all shtandin' ready an' I whacked 'em up."
"Why, that was very kind of you, Kathleen," said Dorothy; "it has helped me a great deal. Where are my rolls, Tessie?"
"They was risin' too fast, miss," said Kathleen, entirely ignoring her daughter's presence, "an' I set 'em in the pantry forninst, to kape 'em back."
"Good for you, Kathleen! you're a jewel. I was afraid those things would get too light. Now, if you'll get them for me, I'll mould them over."
"Shure, I moulded them over, miss. They're all ready to bake, an' it's Kathleen as'll bake 'em for ye."
"Well," said Dorothy, laughing, "there doesn't seem to be anything left for me to do. Will you dress the salad, Kathleen?"
"I will that, miss! Now don't bother yer purty head anny more about the supper. Shure, it's Kathleen will attind to it all, intoirely. This shcapegrace, Tessie, will show me where things do be, an' yez needn't show so much as the tip av yer nose, until it's all on the table."
"Kathleen, you're an angel in disguise, and not much disguised at that. Now look here, I'm very practical, and if you're going to stay here a week, we may as well understand each other from the start. I'd be delighted to leave this supper entirely in your hands; but are you sure that you can do everything satisfactorily? I'm rather particular, as Tessie can tell you, and to-night, I want everything especially nice, and well-served, in honor of my guests."
"Now, there's talk for ye! You're the right kind of a lady to wurruk for. But, ye need have niver a fear; Kathleen'll do iverything jist as foine as yersilf or yer lady grandmother cud be afther desirin'."
"Very well, Kathleen, I shall trust you with the whole affair then. You can broil chickens, of course?"
"To a turrn, miss." Kathleen's large face was so expressive as she said this (and there was so much room on her face for expression), that Dorothy felt no further doubts as to the chickens.
She ran from the kitchen, laughing, and joined the group on the veranda.
"I'm a lady of leisure," she announced gaily; "that large and altogether delightful piece of architecture, called Kathleen, insists upon cooking the supper, over which I had expected to spend a hard-working hour."
"Jolly for Kathleen!" exclaimed Leicester, throwing his cap high in the air, and catching it on his head; "I do hate to have Dot working for her living, while we're all enjoying ourselves."
"Jolly for Kathleen!" echoed Jack Harris; "the lady of magnificent distances."
And though Grandma Dorrance did not join audibly in the general hurrah, she was no less glad that her pretty Dorothy was relieved from household drudgery on that particularly merry occasion.
The week at the Dorrance Domain passed all too quickly, in the opinion of the happy young people.
There was so much to do, and every day seemed to bring new pleasures. The weather was of the most beautiful June variety, and the lake was as smooth as glass and most pleasant to ride upon.
One day they all went out in rowboats, and called themselves a regatta. Another day, Captain Kane took them all for a sail in theMamie Mead.
But perhaps the nicest outing of all, was the day they had a picnic on the floating bridge. They carried their luncheon, and camped out on the bridge to eat it. Mr. Bill Hodges was delighted to grant them permission to do this, and brought them some fruit from his store as an addition to their feast.
"It's the strangest thing," said Edith Putnam, "to be on the land and on the water at the same time. Here we are, sitting on what seems to be good solid grass and earth; and yet if you dug a hole in it, you'd strike the lake right away."
"You'd strike logs first," corrected Jack Harris; "but if you bored through the logs you'd come to the water."
"It's perfectly lovely to feel the little swaying motion," said May Lewis, who in her quiet way was greatly enjoying the novel experiences. "I shall hate to go back to the city. How I envy you, Lilian, with a whole summer of this before you."
"But you're going away with your mother, next month, aren't you?"
"Yes; but we'll be cooped up in one or two little rooms at some seashore place; it is very different from having a whole hotel all to yourself."
"Indeed it is," said Dorothy; "we certainly did the wisest thing when we came up here this summer. And now that Kathleen is here, I have almost nothing to do in the kitchen, and the rest of the housework that I do have to look after is so light that I don't mind it a bit."
"That's because you're so clever," said Edith, sighing; "you're systematic and orderly, and have everything arranged just so. I don't see how you do it. I should forget half the things, and get the other half all mixed up."
"I believe you would," said Dorothy, laughing. "And I did get somewhat mixed up at first. But I learned by experience, and besides I was justdeterminedthat I would succeed. Because I proposed the whole scheme, and of course, I wanted it to be a success."
"And it is a success," returned Edith; "and you have made it so. You have lots of perseverance in your nature, Dorothy."
"It's nice of you to call it by that name," said Dorothy; "but I think it's just stubbornness. I've always been stubborn."
"We all are," said Leicester; "it's a Dorrance trait. Grandmother hasn't much of it, but Grandfather Dorrance was a most determined old gentleman."
"There's only one thing that's bothering me, about our good times," said Dorothy. "And that is, that grandma can't enjoy them as much as we do. She doesn't care about going in the boats, and she can't take the long walks that we can."
"It would be nice if you had a horse," said May; "then she could go for a drive sometimes."
"That would be lovely," agreed Dorothy; "but I know we couldn't afford to buy a horse. We haven't very much money. That's the main reason we came up here, because grandma said we couldn't afford to go to the places we used to go to."
"But you might hire a horse," suggested Jack; "you have a barn."
"Yes, there is a small barn," said Leicester. "I think it would be great to hire a horse; that wouldn't cost much, Dot."
"No," said Dorothy, "I don't believe it would. But who'd take care of the horse, and who'd drive grandma around?"
"Why, I can drive," said Leicester, "or if grandma wouldn't trust me, Mr. Hickox could drive her. He could take care of the horse, too."
"It's a good idea," said Dorothy; "let's go and ask Mr. Hodges about it now; he always knows about things of that sort."
The whole crowd scrambled to their feet, and ran gaily towards Mr. Hodges' place. They were not surprised, when he declared he had just the thing for them. A fat, amiable old horse, who was well accustomed to the steep mountain roads, and guaranteed perfectly safe; also a light road-wagon that would hold four, and that was very easy and comfortable. He would rent them this turn-out for ten dollars a week, and he declared that they would find it most convenient; not only for pleasure drives, but for going to market or other errands. Indeed, he said, that the proprietor who had last tried to run the hotel, had engaged that horse for the season.
It struck Dorothy as a good plan; and being always quick at decisions, she agreed then and there to take the horse and carriage for a week, saying she felt sure that Grandma Dorrance would approve.
Leicester said he would drive it home, and any of the girls who wished to, could go with him, the rest going back in the boats. Dorothy said she would go with him, as she wanted to tell grandma about it herself.
As Fairy expressed a great desire to ride behind the new horse, she and Gladys were tucked in the back seat, and they started off.
Such a ride as it was. The hills were very steep, "perfectly perpendickle," Fairy called them, and if the old horse had not known just how to walk on the mountain roads, accidents might very easily have happened.
As it was they reached home safely, and drove up triumphantly to the Dorrance Domain where grandma and Mrs. Thurston were sitting on the veranda.
As the children had surmised, grandma was delighted with the opportunity to drive about, but said that she would feel safer if Mr. Hickox held the reins.
As Mr. Hickox was never very far away, he had observed the horse's arrival, and came over to inquire into the matter.
The explanation pleased him, and he said amiably, "Don't worry. Hickox'll look after the horse; it'll be all right."
So Grandma Dorrance arranged with Mr. Hickox, by an addition to the payment they made him for his various services, to take care of the horse, and to drive them whenever they might require him to. Then she and Mrs. Thurston planned to go for a drive that very afternoon.
As the Dorrance children were fond of all animals, the horse at once became a great pet, and though the elder ladies never went out except with Mr. Hickox, the young people went early and often, and both Dorothy and Leicester soon learned to be good and careful drivers.
With another diversion added to their catalogue of pleasures, the days flew by faster than ever, and although the guests stayed a fortnight instead of only a week, everybody was sorry when the day came for them to depart.
"It has been all pleasure," said Dorothy, "and not a bit of trouble; for you all made yourselves so handy and helpful that it was just like one big family."
"It has been a great treat to me," said Mrs. Thurston. "I have enjoyed every minute of it, and I have improved wonderfully in health and strength. I think you are a wonder, Dorothy; not many girls of sixteen have your powers of management. It is a gift, just as other talents are, and you not only possess it, but you have appreciated and improved it."
Dorothy blushed at Mrs. Thurston's kind praise, and inwardly resolved, that since Mrs. Thurston considered her household capability a talent, she certainly would endeavor to cultivate and improve it.
So the guests all went away, except Kathleen.
She begged so hard to be allowed to stay for a time longer, that Mrs. Dorrance consented.
"Shure, it isn't the wages I do be afther wantin', mum, but I likes to shtay here, an' I'll do all the wurruk for me boord."
This seemed a fair arrangement, as Kathleen really wanted to stay with her daughter, and the Dorrances were very glad of the big woman's services. She was an indefatigable worker, and really seemed to enjoy all sorts of hard work. She would rise early in the morning, and wash windows or scrub floors before breakfast time. She was so capable and willing, that it seemed as if she fairly took charge of the entire family; and she was so large and strong that no hard work baffled her, and no exertion tired her.
Although the Dorrances naturally missed their guests, yet when they were alone again they were by no means lonely. They were a host in themselves; the children were congenial and thought there was nobody quite so nice as each other.
The days went by happily, and each one only made them more glad that they owned the Dorrance Domain and that they had come to live in it.
It was the third week in June when Grandma Dorrance received a letter from Mr. Lloyd, the contents of which were far from pleasant.
She called the children together in the great parlor, which they had come to use as a living-room, and her pale face quite frightened Dorothy.
"What is the matter, grannymother dear?" she said. "Has Mr. Lloyd found some one who wants to rent the hotel, and must we vacate at once?"
"Oh, don't mention such a calamity as that," cried Leicester; "if a man came up here to rent this hotel I should tell him to march right straight back again. The house is engaged for the season."
"It's far worse than that, children dear," said grandma; "Mr. Lloyd tells me in his letter that a great deal of repairing is necessary in the Fifty-eighth Street house. This will cost a great deal of money, and I have not enough to pay the bills."
Mrs. Dorrance looked so pathetically helpless as she made this admission, that Dorothy flew to her and kissed her, exclaiming, "Don't worry, grandma dear, it must all come out right somehow, for you know we are saving money this summer."
"I'm not so sure of that, Dorothy; I'm afraid we've been rather extravagant of late. Having so much company for a fortnight, was really very expensive; and the horse is an added expense, and the two servants,—and altogether I feel quite sure we have spent more money than we could well afford."
"I never once thought of it, grandma," said Dorothy; "I just ordered the things that I thought it would be nice to have, and I didn't realize how the bills would count up. Are they very big?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Dorrance. "Mr. Hodges' bill is quite three times as much as I had allowed for it; and I owe Mr. Hickox as much more. He has done a great deal of work for us, you know, and of course he must be paid."
"Oh, isn't it dreadful," said Lilian, "to have our lovely summer spoiled by money troubles!"
At this Fairy began to cry. The Dorrances didn't often cry, but when they did, they did it quite as noisily as they did everything else; and Fairy's manner of weeping, was to open her mouth as widely as possible in a succession of loud wails, at the same time digging her fists into her eyes.
She presented such a ridiculous picture that the children couldn't help laughing.
"Do stop that hullaballoo, baby," implored Leicester, "or we'll be so anxious to get rid of you that we'll offer you to Mr. Bill Hodges in settlement of his account."
Fairy was not seriously alarmed by this awful threat, but she stopped crying, because she had suddenly thought of a way out of the difficulty.
"I'll tell you how we can get some money," she said earnestly; "sell the horse!"
The other children laughed at this, but Grandma Dorrance said gently, "We can't do that, dear, for the horse isn't ours. We can't sell the hotel, for nobody seems to want it; so I can't see any way by which we can get any money except to sell the Fifty-eighth Street house."
The children looked aghast at this, for it was their cherished dream some day to return to the big city house to live. They didn't quite know how this was to be accomplished, but they had always thought that when Leicester began to earn money, or perhaps if Dorothy became an author, they would be able to return to the old home.
And so Grandma Dorrance's announcement fell on them like a sudden and unexpected blighting of their hopes.
Dorothy felt it the most. As the oldest, she had the greatest sense of responsibility, and she felt that she ought in some way to amend the family fortunes, but just how she did not know. She well knew how difficult it is for a girl to earn any money without being especially trained in some branch of usefulness; and she had often thought that she would learn some one thing well, and so be prepared against a day of misfortune. And now the day of misfortune had come, and she was not ready for it. She could not bear to think of selling the town house; she would far rather sell the hotel, but that, it seemed, was out of the question.
Leicester, on the other hand, took a more cheerful view of the situation.
"Oh, I don't believe we'll have to sell the house," he said. "It isn't so bad as that, is it, grandma?"
"I don't know, Leicester," said the old lady helplessly; "I never did know much about business matters, and now I feel more confused than ever when I try to straighten them out."
"But if we could just get through this summer, grandmother, when we go back to the city in the fall I feel sure I can get a position of some kind and earn a salary that will help us all out."
"You are a good boy, Leicester," said Mrs. Dorrance; "but it is very uncertain about your getting a position; and too, I don't want you to leave school yet."
"No, indeed," said Dorothy. "It wouldn't be right for Leicester to leave school at fourteen; and anyway, I think he ought to go through college. Now I am sixteen, and I have education enough for a girl. So I'm the one to get a position of some kind in the fall, and earn money to help along."
"What could you do?" asked Lilian looking at her sister. She had ample faith that Dorothy could do anything she wanted to, and was merely anxious to know in which direction she would turn her talents.
"I don't know," said Dorothy, very honestly; "skilled labor is the only thing that counts nowadays, and I'm really not fitted for anything. I would like best to write things; but I don't believe anybody would buy them,—at least, not at first. So I suppose the only thing that I could do would be to go into a store."
"And sell candy?" asked Fairy, with a dawning interest in the plan.
"Don't talk like that, Dorothy dear," said grandma, gently; "of course I wouldn't let you go into a store, and also, I'm very much afraid that your poetry wouldn't find a ready market. That may come later, but it will probably be after years of apprenticeship."
"Well, something must be done," said Dorothy decidedly; "and you can't do it, grandma; so we children must. I think we are old enough now to take the responsibility off of your shoulders; or at least to help you in these troubles."
"I wish you could, my dear child, but I fear there is no practical way by which we can raise the money that I must have, except to sell the city house. It seems like a great sacrifice for a small reason; for you see if we just had money enough to pay our living expenses this summer, I could manage, I think, to come out nearly even by fall. But there is no way to provide for our living this summer, that I can see."
"Now I'm getting a clearer understanding of the case," said Leicester; "then if we children could earn money enough this summer to run the Dorrance Domain, we'd come out all right?"
"Yes, I think so, but how could you earn any?"
"I don't know," said Leicester, "but I've often read how other boys earned money,—and country boys, too. We might pick huckleberries and sell them, or we might raise a garden and sell things."
"Who would you sell them to?" asked Lilian, who was always practical. "Now I think a more sensible way would be to economize. Send away Tessie and Kathleen both; and then get along with fewer good things to eat. You know we've had everything just as we wanted it, and I'm sure we could cut down our table expenses. Then we could give up the horse,—although he is a dear——"
At this Fairy's wails began again, for she was devotedly attached to old Dobbin, the horse, and couldn't bear to think of parting with him.
"I think," said Grandma Dorrance, "that we will have to ask Mr. Lloyd to come up here and advise us; and then whatever he thinks best, we will do."
"Don't you have to pay Mr. Lloyd for his advice?" asked Dorothy, suddenly struck by the thought of what seemed to her an unnecessary expense.
"Yes," said Mrs. Dorrance; "that is, I pay him for attending to all of my business, and of course that includes his advice."
"I suppose we couldn't get along without him," said Dorothy, sighing; "but it does seem awful to pay him money that we need so much ourselves."
Mrs. Dorrance had a happy faculty of deferring unpleasant things to some future time; and not worrying about them meanwhile.
"Well," she said, "I will write to Mr. Lloyd to-morrow, and ask him to come up here; or if he can't come, to write me a letter advising me what to do. And until he comes, or his letter comes, we can't do anything in the matter, and there is no use worrying over it. I'd hate to discharge the servants, for you girls couldn't get along without anybody to help; and if we keep Tessie, Kathleen is no added expense, for her work well pays for her board."
This was not quite logical, but all were too miserable to notice it. For once the Dorrances went up-stairs to their beds without any whoops or hurrahs for Dorrance Domain.
As they were going up the great staircase, Lilian offered another of her practical, if not very attractive suggestions.
"We could," she said, "shut up the Domain, and all go to board with Mrs. Hickox for the rest of the summer. I'm sure she'd take us quite cheaply."
At this Leicester started the old Dorrance groan, which had not been heard before since their arrival at Lake Ponetcong.
They all joined in heartily, and groaned in concert, in loud, horrible tones that echoed dismally through the long corridors.
It was characteristic of their different natures that Grandma Dorrance went to bed, and immediately fell asleep in spite of her anxiety about her affairs; while Dorothy lay awake far into the night pondering over the problem.
She could form no plan, she was conscious only of a dogged determination that she would somehow conquer the existing difficulties, and triumphantly save the day.
She thought of Lilian's practical suggestions, and though she admitted them practical, she could not think them practicable. Surely there must be some way other than boarding at Mrs. Hickox's, or living on bread and tea.
"At any rate," she thought to herself as she finally fell asleep, "nothing will be done until Mr. Lloyd is heard from, and that will give me at least two or three days to think of a plan."
But try as she would, the next day and the next, no acceptable plan would come into Dorothy's head.
"We are the most helpless family!" she thought to herself, as she lay in the hammock under the trees. "There is positively nothing that we can do, that's of any use. But I will do something,—Iwill! I WILL!" and by way of emphasizing her determination she kicked her heel right through the hammock.
The other children did not take it quite so seriously. They were younger, and they had a hazy sort of an idea that money troubles always adjusted themselves, and somehow got out of the way.
Leicester and Dorothy talked matters over, for though younger, he considered himself the man of the house, and felt a certain responsibility for that reason. But he could no more think of a plan than Dorothy could, and so he gave the problem up in despair, and apparently Dorothy did also.
However, even a serious trouble like this, was not sufficient to cast down the Dorrances' spirits to any great extent.
They went their ways about as usual; they rowed and fished and walked and drove old Dobbin around, while their faces showed no sign of gloom or depression. That was the Dorrance nature, to be happy in spite of impending disaster.
Mr. Lloyd's letter came, but instead of helping matters, it left them in quite as much of a quandary as ever. He said that it would be impossible to sell the town house during the summer season. That the repairs must be made, or the tenants would not be willing to stay. He advised Mrs. Dorrance to retrench her expenses in every possible way, and stated further, that although the repairs must be made at once, it would not be necessary to pay the bills immediately on their presentation.
He said that although he would be glad to run up to see them in their country home, he could not leave the city at present, but he might be able to visit them later on.
Altogether it was not a satisfactory letter, and Leicester expressed open disapproval.
"That's a nice thing," he said, "to tell us not to pay our bills! As if we wanted to live with a lot of debts hanging over our heads!"
"I think it's lucky that we don't have to pay them right off," said Dorothy; "something may happen before we have to pay them."
Dorothy had a decided touch of the Micawber element in her nature and usually lived in the hope of something happening. And, to do her justice, it often did.
To the surprise of the others Fairy seemed very much impressed by the gravity of the situation, and more than that she seemed to think that it devolved on her to do something to relieve it. She walked over to Mrs. Hickox's to make her usual Wednesday visit, and though she skipped along as usual she was really thinking seriously.
She found Mrs. Hickox sitting on a bench under a tree paring apples, and Fairy sat down beside her.
"Of course I'm only twelve," she began, "but really I can do a great many things; only the trouble is none of them seem to be remunerary."
The two had become great friends, and though Mrs. Hickox was a lady of uncertain affections, she had taken a great fancy to Fairy, and in her queer way showed a real fondness for the child. She had also become accustomed to Fairy's manner of plunging suddenly into a subject.
"What is it you want to do now?" she said.
"Well, you see," said Fairy, "we've failed, or absconded, or something like that; I don't know exactly all about it, but we're awful poor, and we can't have anything more to eat. Some of us want to come to board with you, and some of us don't. You see it's very complicrated."
"Yes, it seems to be," said Mrs. Hickox; "but how did you get so poor all of a sudden? I always said you were all crazy and now I begin to believe it. Your grandmother——"
"Don't you say a word against my grannymother!" cried Fairy, with flashing eyes. "She's the loveliest, best and wisest lady in the whole world. Only somehow she just happened to lose her money, and so of course us children want to help her all we can, and I just don't happen to know what to do to earn money, that's all. And I thought you might know some way to tell me."
"I don't believe there's anything a child of your age could do to earn money," said Mrs. Hickox. "But now that I come to think of it, I did cut out a clipping just the other day, telling how to earn a good salary at home."
"Oh, that will be just the thing!" cried Fairy, dancing around in glee; "I'd love to earn a big salary and stay right there at the Dorrance Domain to do it. Do try to find it."
Mrs. Hickox was in the habit of sticking away her clippings in various queer places. She pulled out a bunch from behind the clock, and ran them over; "How to Take Out Ink Stains," "How to Wash Clothes in Six Minutes," "How to Protect an Iron Lawn Fence," "How to Stuff Birds, Taught by Mail," "Sure Cure for Rheumatism," "Recipe for Soft Soap."
None of these seemed to be what was wanted, so Mrs. Hickox hunted through another bunch which she took out of an old and unused teapot.
Fairy danced around with impatience while her hostess went through several collections.
"Oh, here it is," she said, at last, and then she read to the child a most promissory advertisement which set forth a tempting description of how any one might earn a large fortune by directing envelopes. The two talked it over, and Fairy wrote for Mrs. Hickox a sample of her penmanship, whereupon the lady at once declared that the scheme was impossible. For she said nobody could read such writing as that, and if they could, they wouldn't want to.
Fairy's disappointment was quite in proportion to the vivid anticipations she had held, and she was on the verge of one of her volcanic crying spells, when Mr. Hickox came in.
"Well, well, what's the trouble?" he said in his cheery way, and when Fairy explained, he responded:
"Well, well, little miss, don't you worry,—don't you worry one mite! Hickox'll fix it. It'll be all right!"
And so comforting was this assurance, and so sanguine was the Dorrance temperament, that Fairy felt at once that everything was all right, and dismissed the whole subject from her mind.
One afternoon, Dorothy sat on the front veranda, day-dreaming.
It was difficult to say which was the front veranda,—the one that faced the road, or the one that looked out on the lake. The house could be considered to front either way.
But Dorothy was on the veranda that faced the road, and it was a lovely warm, hazy day, almost the last of June, and notwithstanding her responsibilities, Dorothy was in a happy frame of mind.
She watched with interest, a carriage that was coming along the road towards her. It was nothing unusual in the way of a carriage, but there was so little passing, that anything on four wheels was always noticeable. This was a buggy, and contained a lady and gentleman who seemed to be driving slowly and talking fast.
To Dorothy's surprise, when they reached the entrance of the Dorrance Domain, they turned in, and drove up towards the house.
As they stopped in front of the steps, Dorothy rose to greet them; but though courteous in manner, beyond bestowing a pleasant smile, they took no notice of her. The gentleman got out first, then helped the lady out, and after a blank look around for a moment, as if expecting somebody, he threw his lines carelessly around the whip and escorted the lady into the house.
The doors were all open as usual, and Dorothy was so amazed to see them walk past her, that she said nothing.
Grandma Dorrance was lying down in her room; the twins had gone out rowing, and Fairy was down at the dock with Mr. Hickox, fishing.
The two servants were far away in the kitchen, and so the strangers walked through the great hall and out on the west veranda without seeing anybody.
Nonplussed, they returned to the office, and noted the unused look of the desks and counters there.
"Where do you suppose the clerk can be?" said the gentleman.
"Let us ask that young girl on the veranda," said the lady, and together they returned to where Dorothy was sitting.
"Excuse me," said the strange gentleman, "but can you tell me where I may find the clerk of this hotel?"
"There isn't any clerk," said Dorothy, smiling, as she rose to greet them.
"Then will you tell me where I can find the proprietor?"
Like a flash, an inspiration came to Dorothy. She realized in an instant that these people were looking for board; and equally quickly came the thought that she might take them to board, and so earn some of the money that she had been worrying about. It would certainly be no more difficult to have boarders than visitors.
And so, on the impulse of the moment, Dorothy replied:
"I am the proprietor."
"But I mean the proprietor of the hotel,—the owner of the place."
"My grandmother is the owner of this hotel; and if anybody is proprietor of it, I am. May I ask if you are looking for board?"
"Yes, we are," said the lady, impulsively; "and if you are the proprietor, I'm quite sure we want board at this hotel."
"Will you sit down, and let us talk this matter over," said Dorothy, offering them veranda chairs. "I would like to explain just how things are."
The strangers seated themselves, and looked at Dorothy with some curiosity and a great deal of interest. It was certainly unusual to come across a pretty girl of sixteen, who, in her ruffled lawn frock looked quite like the typical guest of a summer hotel, and then to be calmly told that she was the proprietor.
Dorothy also looked with interest at her visitors. The man was tall and large, of perhaps middle age; his face was kind and serious, but a smile seemed to lurk in his deep blue eyes. The lady seemed to be younger, and was very pretty and vivacious. She had curly brown hair, and her brown eyes fairly danced with fun at the idea of Dorothy as a hotel proprietor.
"You see," said Dorothy, as they all sat down, "this hotel is my grandmother's property; but as we couldn't rent it, we have all come here to live for the summer. My grandmother is quite old, and not at all strong, so the household management is entirely in my charge. I would be very glad to take some boarders if I could satisfy them and make them comfortable. I have never kept boarders, but," and here Dorothy's smile brought out all her dimples, "I have entertained company successfully."
"I should be delighted to come," exclaimed the lady, "if you are quite sure you want us, and if your grandmother would not object."
"Oh, no, she would not object; the question is, whether I could make your stay satisfactory to you. We have plenty of room; I could promise you a good table and good service. But as there are no other guests, you might be lonely."
"We are not afraid of being lonely," said the gentleman, "for my wife and I are not dependent on the society of other people. But let me introduce myself before going further; I am Mr. James Faulkner, of New York City. Mrs. Faulkner and myself have been staying over at the Horton House, and that hotel is far too gay and noisy to suit our tastes. I'm a scientific man, and like to spend much of my day in quiet study. Mrs. Faulkner, too, likes to be away from society's demands, at least for a season. Therefore I must confess your proposition sounds most attractive, if the minor details can be arranged."
"I am Dorothy Dorrance," Dorothy responded, by way of her own introduction, "and my grandfather was Robert Hampton Dorrance. He has been dead for two years, and he left us this hotel property, which as we have been unable to rent, we decided to occupy. I would be glad to add to our income, and if you think you could be comfortable here, might we not try it for a week?"
"Oh, do let us try it," cried Mrs. Faulkner, eagerly; "do say yes, James,—this is such a lovely spot, and this hotel is quite the most attractive I have seen anywhere. Only fancy having no other guests but ourselves! it would be ideal. Oh, we must certainly come! I will decide it; we will come for a week at any rate."
"Very well, my dear, you shall have your own way. May I ask your rates, Miss Dorrance?"
Dorothy hesitated. She felt very inexperienced, and while she was fearful of over-charging, yet her practical instincts made her also beware of undervaluing the accommodations she knew she could supply.
"I don't know," she said, frankly, "what I ought to charge you. But you may have the best rooms in the house, and,"—here she smiled, involuntarily,—"as many of them as you wish. We have a really superior cook, and an experienced waitress. We have boats, and a horse and carriage, which you may use when you care to. As I know nothing of summer hotel charges, I would be glad if you would tell me what you think would be right for you to pay."
Dorothy's frank honesty, and her gentle refined courtesy made a most favorable impression on Mr. Faulkner, and he responded cordially.
"For what you offer, Miss Dorrance, I think it would be fair if we should pay you the same as we are now paying over at the Horton House; that is, fifteen dollars a week, each, for Mrs. Faulkner and myself."
Dorothy considered a moment. She was a quick thinker, and she realized that this amount of money would help considerably towards the living expenses of the family. And the price could not be exorbitant since Mr. Faulkner offered it himself.
"That will be entirely satisfactory to me," she said, "and I shall hope, on my part, to satisfy you. When would you like to come?"
"I'd like to come to-morrow," said Mrs. Faulkner. "I've stood the Horton House just as long as I can. And our week is up to-morrow. But, excuse me, my dear, aren't you very young for these responsibilities?"
"I'm sixteen," said Dorothy, "and grandmother thinks my talents are of the domestic order. But I could not undertake to have you here were it not that our cook is not merely a cook, but a general manager and all-round housekeeper. And now, Mrs. Faulkner, if you really think of coming, wouldn't you like to select your rooms?"
Just at this moment, Fairy came flying through the long hall at her usual break-neck pace, and landed turbulently in the midst of the group.
"Oh, Dorothy," she cried, "we caught fish, and fish, and fish!"
"This is my sister Fairy," said Dorothy, "and I must explain, that when I said it would be quiet here, I neglected to mention that there are four of us children; and the truth is we are dreadfully noisy at times. Fairy, dear, this is Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner, who are perhaps coming to board with us."
With the pretty politeness that always underlay the boisterousness of the Dorrances, Fairy put out her hand to the strangers, saying: "I'm very glad to see you. Are you really coming to stay with us? You must 'scuse me for rushing out like that, and nearly knocking you over, but I was so 'cited about my fish."
Fairy always looked more than usually fairy-like when she was excited. Her gold curls tumbled about her face, and the big white bow which topped them stood at all sorts of flyaway angles. She poised herself on one foot, and waved her hands dramatically as she talked.
Mrs. Faulkner was charmed with the child, and being possessed of some artistic ability, she privately resolved to make a sketch of Fairy at the first opportunity.
The two sisters escorted the guests through the hall, if Fairy's hop, skip and jump could be called an escort, and Dorothy showed them the lake view from the west piazza.
Mrs. Faulkner was enthusiastic over this, and declared that nothing would induce her to stay anywhere else but at the Dorrance Domain.
Mr. Faulkner, too, was impressed by the beauty of the lake. It was always most picturesque in the late afternoon, and just now the clouds, lit up by the western sun, were especially beautiful. The lake itself was not calm, but was covered with smooth little hills of water, which here and there broke into white foam.
Some distance out, a boat could be seen, containing two people.
"That's my brother and sister," said Dorothy; "they are twins. They are fourteen, and are perhaps the noisiest of us all. You see," she went on, smiling, "I'm preparing you for the worst. Grandmother had great difficulty with the New York boarding-house keepers, because they thought the Dorrance children too lively. So I want you to be fully warned that we do make a great deal of noise. Somehow we can't help it."
"We don't yell so much as we used to," said Fairy, hopefully; "you see, Mrs. Faulkner, when we used to be cooped up in a boarding-house we just had to make an awful racket, 'cause we were so miserabubble. But here we have room enough to scamper around, and so we don't holler so much."
"I rather think we can survive your demonstrations of animal spirits," said Mr. Faulkner, with his kindly smile. "It will be a pleasant relief from the brass band which is the noise-producer over at the Horton House."
"We haven't any brass band," said Dorothy, suddenly realizing that they lacked many things popularly supposed to belong to a summer hotel.
"That's one reason why I want to come," said Mrs. Faulkner.
"I hope you will decide to come," said Dorothy; "and now, if you will excuse me a minute, I think I will ask my grandmother to come down and sanction our plan."
Leaving the strangers to be entertained by Fairy, Dorothy ran up to her grandmother's room and tapped at the door.
A few moments served to explain matters to Mrs. Dorrance, and though a little bewildered by Dorothy's sudden proposal, she thought the plan a good one, and went down prepared to give the strangers a cordial reception.
The Faulkners were much pleased with the gentle, gracious old lady, and Mrs. Dorrance decided at a glance that the newcomers were sensible and kindly people.