Next morning the young Dorrances experienced for the first time the joy of going to market.
Their appointed household tasks were all done first, for Dorothy had insisted on that. Then she and Tessie had conferred as to what was needed, and she had made out a list.
Grandma Dorrance had decreed against a sailboat for the children alone; but they were at liberty to go in a rowboat.
So down the steps the four ran, and found Mr. Hickox waiting for them at the dock.
He had put a boat in the water for them. It was a round-bottomed boat, but wide and roomy; easy to row and provided with two pairs of shining oars.
"Can any of you row?" inquired Mr. Hickox, looking uncertainly at the children; "for I can't go along with you this morning. Mrs. Hickox, she wants me to work in the garden,—she says the weeds are higher 'n a kite."
"We can row," said Leicester; "but not so very well. We haven't had much experience, you know. But we're going to learn."
"I thought we'd each have a boat," said Fairy; "I want to learn to row. I want to be a 'sperinshed boat-lady."
"You can learn to row, baby, but you can't go in a boat all by yourself until you have learned."
"But I 'most know how now."
"Well I'll tell you how we'll fix it; two of us will row going over, and the other two can row coming back. To divide up evenly, suppose Dorothy and Lilian row over, and Fairy and I will row home." This was a bit of self-sacrifice on Leicester's part, for he was most eager to handle the oars himself.
Mr. Hickox quite appreciated the boy's attitude, and nodded approvingly at him but he only said: "All right, sonny, you sit in the stern and steer, and I make no doubt these young ladies'll row you over in fine shape."
Fairy was safely settled in the bow, with an admonition to sit still for once in her life; and then Dorothy and Lilian excitedly grasped the oars and splashed away.
It was not very skilful rowing, but it propelled the boat, and by the aid of Leicester's steering, they made a progressive, if somewhat zigzag course.
The morning was perfect. The lake calm and placid, with tiny soft ripples all over it. The green hills sloped down to its shore on all sides; while here and there, at long intervals, a house or a building gleamed white among the trees. The exhilarating air, and the excitement of the occasion roused the Dorrances' spirits far above normal,—which is saying a great deal.
The arms of the rowers grew very tired; partly because they were so unused to vigorous exercise, and partly because the rowing was far more energetic than scientific.
But the girls didn't mind being tired, and pulled away gleefully to an accompaniment of laughter and song.
Leicester would have relieved them, but they had promised grandma they would not move around or change places in the boat until they had become more accustomed to nautical ways.
But it was only a mile, after all, and they finally landed at Dolan's Point, and guided the bow of their boat up on to the beach in a truly shipshape manner. Fairy sprang out with a bound that landed her on the dry sand; Leicester followed, and then helped the exhausted but victorious galley-slaves to alight.
"Isn't it glorious!" cried Dorothy, panting for breath, but aglow with happiness.
"Fine!" agreed Lilian, but she looked a little ruefully at eight blisters on her pink palms.
"That's all right," said Leicester, cheerfully; "you'll get calloused after a while; blisters always have to come first."
"Oh, pooh, I don't mind them a bit," protested Lilian; for the Dorrances were all of a plucky disposition.
On they went, following the directions given them by Mr. Hickox, and making wonderful explorations at every turn.
Dolan's Point seemed to be occupied principally by a large boathouse. This belonged to a club-house, which was farther up the hill, and whose turrets and gables shining in the morning sunlight, looked like those of an old castle.
Their way lay across the point, and then they were to cross a small arm of the lake by means of a bridge.
Dorothy had hoped for a rustic bridge, and Leicester had told her that it would probably be two foot-planks and a hand-rail.
But when they saw the bridge itself, they were really struck speechless with wonder and delight. It was a floating bridge, built of logs. It was perhaps eight feet wide, and was made by logs laid transversely and close together. They were held in place by immense iron chains which went alternately over and under the logs at their ends. Except at the sides of the bridge, the logs were not visible for they were covered with a deep layer of soil on which grew luxuriant green grass. The thick grass had been mowed and cared for until it resembled a soft velvet carpet.
On either side of the bridge was a hand-rail of rope, supported at intervals by wooden uprights. The rope rails and the uprights were both covered with carefully trained vines. Among these were morning-glory vines, and their pink and purple blossoms made an exquisite floral decoration.
Evidently the bridge was in charge of somebody who loved to care for it, and who enjoyed keeping it in order.
"Do you suppose we walk on it?" asked Fairy, with a sort of awe in her voice.
"Yes," said Leicester. "It must be meant for that; but isn't it the most beautiful thing you ever saw!"
It certainly was, and the children stepped on to it gently, and walked slowly as one would walk in a church aisle.
Although suspended at both ends, almost the whole length of the bridge rested on the water, and swayed gently with the rippling of the lake. It was a delicious sensation to walk on the unstable turf, and feel it move slightly under foot.
As they advanced further, it seemed as if they were floating steadily along, and Fairy grasped Leicester's hand with a little tremor. When they reached the middle of the bridge they all sat down on the grass, and discussed the wonderful affair.
"I shall spend most of my time here," said Dorothy; "it seems to be public property, and I like it better than any park I have ever seen."
"It's lovely," agreed Lilian; "I'd like to bring a book and sit here all day and read."
"But it's so funny," said Fairy; "it's a bridge, and it's a park, and it's a garden, and it's a front yard,—and yet all the time it's a bridge."
"Well, let's go on," said Leicester. "I suppose it will keep, and we can walk back over it. And if we don't get our marketing done, we'll be like the old woman who didn't get home in time to make her apple-dumplings."
"If she had found this bridge," declared Dorothy, "she never would have gone home at all, and her story would never have been told."
But they all scrambled up and went on merrily towards the grocery store.
The store itself was a delight, as real country stores always are. Mr. Bill Hodges was a storekeeper of the affable type, and expressed great interest in his new customers.
He regaled them with ginger-snaps and thin slivers of cheese, which he cut off and proffered on the point of a huge shiny-bladed knife. This refreshment was very acceptable, and when he supplemented it with a glass of milk all around, Dorothy was so grateful that she felt as if she ought to buy out his whole stock.
But putting on a most housewifely air, she showed Mr. Hodges her list of needs, and inquired if he could supply them.
"Bless your heart, yes," he replied. "Bill Hodges is the man to purvide you with them things. Shall I send 'em to you?"
"Oh, can you?" said Dorothy. "I didn't know you delivered goods. I'd be glad if you would send the bag of flour and the potatoes, but most of the smaller things we can carry ourselves."
"Well I swan!" exclaimed Mr. Bill Hodges; "you're real bright, you air. How did ye come over? Walk?"
"No, sir," said Leicester. "We came in a rowboat; and then walked across the Point and over the bridge. We think that bridge very wonderful."
"And very beautiful," added Lilian. "Who keeps it so nice?"
"And doesn't it ever fall down in the water?" asked Fairy; "or doesn't the mud wash off, or don't people fall off of it and get drownded? and how do you cut the grass, and how do you water the flowers? It's just like a conservatorory!"
As Mr. Bill Hodges was something of a talker himself, he was surprised to be outdone in his own line by the golden-haired stranger-child, who, apparently without effort, reeled off such a string of questions. But as they referred to a subject dear to his heart he was delighted to answer them.
"That bridge, my young friends, is my joy and delight. Nobody touches that bridge, to take care of it, but Bill Hodges,—that's me. I'm proud of that bridge, I am, and I don't know what I'd do, if I didn't have it to care for. I'm glad you like it; I ain't got nary chick nor child to run across it. So whenever you young folks feel like coming over to look at it, I'll be pleased and proud to have ye; pleased and proud, that's what I'll be; so come early and come often, come one and come all."
"We'll bring our grandmother over to see it," said Dorothy, "just as soon as we can manage to do so."
"Do," said Mr. Hodges, heartily. "Bring her along, bring her along. Glad to welcome her, I'm sure. Now I'll go 'long and help you tote your bundles to your boat. I don't have crowds of customers this time of day, and I can just as well go as not."
The kind-hearted old man filled a basket with their purchases, and trudged along beside the children.
"Ain't it purty!" he exclaimed as they crossed the bridge. "Oh, ain't it purty?"
"It is," said Dorothy. "I don't wonder you love it."
"And there ain't another like it in the whole world," went on the prideful Hodges. "Of course there are floating bridges, but no-wheres is there one as purty as this."
The children willingly agreed to this statement, and praised the bridge quite to the content of its owner.
"Fish much?" Mr. Hodges inquired casually of Leicester.
"Well, we haven't yet. You see we only arrived yesterday, and we're not fairly settled yet."
"Find plenty of fishin' tackle over to my place. Come along when you're ready, and Bill Hodges'll fit ye out. Pretty big proposition,—you kids shakin' around in that great empty hotel."
"Yes, but we like it," said Leicester; "it just suits us, and we're going to have a fine time all summer."
"Hope ye will, hope ye will. There ain't been nobody livin' there now for two summers and I'm right down glad to have somebody into it."
"Why do you suppose they couldn't make it pay as a hotel?" asked Dorothy.
"Well, it was most always the proprietor's fault. Yes, it was the proprietor's fault. Nice people would come up there to board, and then Harding,—he was the last fellow that tried to run it,—he wouldn't treat 'em nice. He'd scrimp 'em, and purty nigh starve 'em. Ye can't keep boarders that way. And so of course the boarders kept leavin', and so the hotel got a bad name, and so nobody wants to try a hand at it again."
When they reached the boat, Mr. Hodges stowed their basket away for them, helped the children in and pushed the boat off.
With gay good-byes and promises to come soon again, the children rowed away.
Leicester and Fairy took the oars this time, and Fairy's comical splashing about made fun for them all. She soon declared she had rowed enough for one day, but Leicester proved himself well able to get the boat across the lake without assistance.
On Wednesday morning Fairy declared her intention of visiting Mrs. Hickox. She carried her kitten with her, and danced gaily along the road, singing as she went.
She found the house without any trouble, as it was the only one in sight; and opening the front gate, she walked up the flower-bordered path to the house, still singing loudly. She wore the kitten around her neck as a sort of boa, and this seemed to be a satisfactory arrangement to all concerned, for the kitten purred contentedly.
Fairy rapped several times at the front door, but there was no answer; so she walked leisurely around to the side of the house. There she saw another outside door, which seemed to open into a small room or ell attached to the house. She knocked at this door, and it was opened by Mrs. Hickox herself, but such a different looking Mrs. Hickox from the one who had called on them, that Fairy scarcely recognized her. Her hair was done up in crimping pins, and she wore a short black skirt and a loose white sacque.
"Goodness me!" she exclaimed, "have you come traipsing over here a'ready? What's the matter with your hotel, that you can't stay in it?"
"There's nothing a matter with the hotel, Mrs. Hickox," said Fairy, amiably; "but I said I'd come to see you on Wednesday, and so I came. I've brought my kitten."
"You've brought your kitten! for the land sake what did you do that for? Don't you know this is my milk-room? The idea of a kitten in a milk-room! Well I am surprised!"
"Oh, I think a milk-room is just the place for a kitten. Couldn't you give her a little drink of milk, she's awfully fond of it."
"Why I s'pose I could give her a little. Such a mite of a cat wouldn't want much; but I do hate cats; they're such pestering creatures."
"But this one doesn't pester, Mrs. Hickox," said Fairy, earnestly. "She's such a dear good little kitty. Her name is Mike."
"What a ridiculous name! I'm surprised that you should call her that."
"It isn't much of a name," said Fairy, apologetically. "But you see it's only temporaneous. I couldn't think of just the right name, so I just call her Mike, because that's short for my kitten."
"Mike! short for my kitten! Well so it is, but I never thought of it before."
"All our other animals have regular names," volunteered Fairy. "Our dog,—his name's Dare; our two rabbits are Gog and Magog,—Leicester named them; or at least he named one, and let Lilian name the other. They're twins you know,—the rabbits, I mean. Then we have a canary bird and he's named Bobab. That's a nice name, isn't it?"
"Nice name? It's heathenish! What a queer lot of children you are, anyway."
"Yes, aren't we?" said Fairy, agreeably. "We Dorrances are all queer. I guess we inheritated it from my grandpa's people, because my grandma isn't a bit queer."
"Oh, isn't she? I think she's queer to let you children come up here, and do what you are doing."
"Oh, that isn't queer. You only think my grandma queer because you don't know her. Why, I used to think you quite queer before I knew you as well as I do now."
"You consider yourself well acquainted now, do you?"
"Oh, yes; when anybody visits anybody sociaberly, like I do you, they know each other quite well. But I think it's queer why you call this room a milk-room." Fairy looked around at the shelves and tables which were filled with jars and pans and baskets, and receptacles of all sorts. The floor was of brick, and the room was pleasantly cool, though the weather had begun to be rather warm.
"I call it a milk-room because that's its name," said Mrs. Hickox, shortly.
"But why is that its name?" persisted Fairy. "You keep everything else here as well as milk. Why don't you call it the butter-room or the pie-room?"
"Oh, I don't know. Don't pester me so with your questions. Here's a cookie; now I'll take you in the house, and show you the best room, and then you must go home. I don't like to have little girls around very much. Come along, but don't eat your cookie in the house; you'll make crumbs. Put it in your pocket until you get out of doors again."
"I won't pester," said Fairy; "you just go on with your work, whatever you were doing, and I'll play around by myself."
"By yourself! I guess you won't! Do you suppose I want a great girl like you rampoosing around my house! I've seen you fly around! You'd upset everything."
"I expect I would, Mrs. Hickox," said Fairy, laughing. "I just certainly can't sit still; it gives me the widgets."
"I guess I won't take you into the best room after all, then. Like as not you'd knock the doves over."
"Oh, do let me go! What are the doves? I'll promise not to knock them over, and I'll hold Mike tight so she can't get away. Oh, come, oh, come; show me the best room!"
As Mrs. Hickox's parlor was the pride of her life, and as she rarely had opportunity to exhibit it to anybody, she was glad of even a child to show it to. So bidding Fairy be very careful not to touch a thing, she led her through the hall and opened the door of the sacred best room.
It was dark inside, and it smelled a little musty. Mrs. Hickox opened one of the window-blinds for the space of about two inches, but even while she was doing so, Fairy had flown around the room, and flung open all of the other window sashes and blinds. Then before Mrs. Hickox could find words to express her wrath at this desecration, Fairy had begun a running fire of conversation which left her hostess no chance to utter a word.
"Oh, are these the doves? How perfectly lovely!" she cried, pausing on tip-toe in front of a table on which was a strange-shaped urn of white alabaster, filled with gaily-colored artificial flowers. On opposite sides of the rim of the urn were two stuffed white doves, facing each other across the flowers. "Where did you get them? Are they alive? Are they stuffed? What are their eyes made of? Were they your grandmother's? Oh, one of them had his wing broken. You sewed it on again, didn't you? But the stitches show. My sister has some glue, white glue, that would fix that bird up just fine. When I come next Wednesday, I'll bring that glue with me and we'll rip off that wing and fix it up all right."
"Well, I am surprised!" said Mrs. Hickox. "What do children like you know about such things? But still, if you think it would do well, I'd like to try it. I've got a newspaper clipping about that white glue, but I never saw any. Has your grandma unpacked her dress patterns yet?"
"I don't know," said Fairy. "I don't think she has any. We never make our own dresses."
"For the land sake! Why I thought they looked home-made. Well I am surprised! But hurry up and see the room, for I want to get them shutters shut again."
Fairy didn't see anything in the room that interested her greatly. The red-flowered carpet, the stiff black horsehair chairs, and the marble-topped centre-table moved her neither to admiration nor mirth.
"I've seen it all, thank you," she said. "Do you want it shut up again? What do you keep it so shut up for? Do you like to have it all musty and damp? I should think some of your newspaper clippings would tell you to throw open your windows and let in the fresh air and sunshine."
"Why they do say that," said Mrs. Hickox; "but of course I don't take it to mean the best room."
"We do," said Fairy, dancing around from window to window as she shut the blinds. "We have that great big parlor over at the Dorrance Domain flung wide open most of the time; and the little parlors, too, and the dining-room and all our bedrooms."
"Well, I am surprised!" said Mrs. Hickox. "It must fade your carpets all out, doesn't it?"
"I don't know; we haven't been there three days yet, so of course they haven't faded very much. I guess I must go home now. Leicester went out fishing this morning, and Dorothy and Lilian went to market, and I'm just crazy to see what they've accumerated."
"Well, run along," said Mrs. Hickox; "and you can come again next Wednesday, but don't bring your kitten the next time. When you do come again, I wish you'd bring some of that white glue you were talking about; I would certainly like to try it. Here, wait a minute, I'll give you some gum-drops; then you'll remember the glue, won't you?"
"I'd remember it anyway, Mrs. Hickox; but I do love candy, per-tickle-uly gum-drops."
"Well, here's three; don't eat them all to-day."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hickox," said Fairy, taking the three precious bits of candy. Then saying good-bye, she danced away with her kitten tucked under her arm.
Shortly after Fairy's departure, Mr. Hickox came dawdling along towards his own home.
"I do declare, Hickory Hickox, if you haven't been and wasted the whole morning, fooling with those Dorrance young ones! Now what have you been doing?"
"Oh, nothin' in particular. Just helpin' 'em get settled a bit. Lookin' after their boats and things, and buildin' a little house for them rabbits of theirs. That Leicester, he's a smart chap; handy with tools, and quick to catch on to anything."
"Well I am surprised! Wasting a whole morning building a rabbit-coop!"
"For the land's sake, Susan, it ain't wasted time. They pay me for all I do for 'em, and they pay me well, too."
"They're extravagant people. They have no business to hire you to work around so much, when you've got plenty to do at home."
"Oh, don't worry; Hickox'll look after things. It'll be all right."
Though he spoke carelessly, Mr. Hickox was in reality much disturbed by his wife's sharp speeches. Long years of married life with her had not yet enabled his gentle, peace-loving nature to remain unruffled under her stormy outbursts of temper. He stood, unconsciously and nervously fumbling with a wisp of straw he had plucked from a near-by broom.
"You're shiftless and idle, Hickory, and you don't know what's good for yourself. Now do stop fiddling with that straw. First thing you know, you'll be poking it in your ear. I cut out a newspaper clipping only yesterday, about a man who poked a straw in his ear, and it killed him. That's what you'll come to some day."
"No, I won't."
"Yes, you will! But just you remember this safe rule: never put anything in your ear, but your elbow. But you're so forgetful. I am surprised that a man can be as forgetful as you are! Throw that straw away,—it's safer."
"Yes, it's safer, Susan," and Mr. Hickox threw his straw away. "And when you sit down to dinner, I hope you will tie yourself into your chair. You may not fall off, but it's safer."
Mrs. Hickox gave her husband a scornful look, which was all the reply she usually vouchsafed to his occasional shafts of mild sarcasm.
"That big dog is a ridiculous extravagance," she went on. "He must eat as much as a man. I am surprised that people as poor as they are should keep such a raft of animals."
"Why the Dorrances aren't poor."
"Yes they are; and if they aren't they soon will be. Throwin' open that great big house for them few people, is enough to ruin a millionaire. That little girl says they use nearly every room in it."
"So they do," said Mr. Hickox, chuckling; "when I went over there this morning, they was every one in a different room; happy as clams, and noisy as a brass band."
"They're a terrible lot! I never saw anything like them."
"That Dorothy is a smart one," declared Mr. Hickox, with an air of great conviction. "Some day she'll set Lake Ponetcong on fire!"
"I wouldn't be at all surprised," said Mrs. Hickox, which was, all things considered, a remarkable statement.
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 the Mamie 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."
"That is a 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 the Mamie Mead and 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 the Mamie Mead was 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 the Mamie 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 just determined that 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."