It was truly astonishing, even to Dorothy, how easily the machinery of a big hotel could be made to move along. The Dorrances all agreed that the Faulkners were no trouble at all, and that their presence in the Dorrance Domain added greatly to the happiness of all concerned. Doubtless the explanation of this lay in several different facts. To begin with, the Faulkners were most charming people; refined, tactful, and kind-hearted. It was their nature to make as little trouble as possible, wherever they might be.
On the other side, Dorothy's determination to succeed in her enterprise, grew with what it fed upon, and she became day by day more capable through experience. Also, she was ably assisted by Leicester and the girls, who were always ready to do anything she wished them to. Then, the servants were certainly treasures, and as Dorothy said, it would be a perfect idiot of a hotel proprietor who couldn't succeed under such advantages as she had.
With her success her ambitions grew.
Again sitting on the east veranda, one afternoon, she found herself wishing that another buggy would drive up and deposit two more such people as the Faulkners at her hotel office. If she could succeed with two, why not with four, or even six?
Indeed, in her imagination she saw a long procession of buggies bringing eager guests to the hospitality of the Dorrance Domain.
Acting on an impulse, she went in search of Mrs. Faulkner, and found that lady just coming down-stairs, dressed for afternoon, and quite ready for a chat.
So Dorothy carried her off to one of her favorite nooks which was a little vine-clad arbor on the east lawn.
This proprietor and guest had become firm friends in the few days they had been together. Dorothy admired Mrs. Faulkner's lovely gracious disposition, and her clever cultivated mind. Mrs. Faulkner saw great possibilities in Dorothy's character and took a sincere interest in the girl. Aside from this there was that subtle, inexplicable bond of sympathetic congeniality, which makes a real friendship possible.
"I want to talk to you seriously," said Dorothy.
"I'm all attention," said Mrs. Faulkner; "proceed with your seriousness."
"You and Mr. Faulkner have been here a week to-morrow," Dorothy went on, "and——"
"And you can't stand us any longer,—and you want to break it to me gently?"
"No, indeed, nothing of the sort! and you know that well. But I want to ask you frankly, and I want you to tell me honestly, how I have succeeded this week in what I have undertaken."
"What have you undertaken?" said Mrs. Faulkner, who dearly loved to make Dorothy formulate her thoughts.
"Why, I undertook to give you and Mr. Faulkner, in a general way, and so far as I could, just such comforts and accommodations as you would get at the average summer hotel."
"Is that all you tried to do?"
"I think," said Dorothy, speaking slowly, and thinking hard, "I think I tried to give you a little bit extra, in the way of home comforts and dainty service, to make up for the things that the average summer hotel provides, but which I can't give you."
"Like a brass band, for instance."
"Yes, a brass band, and a great array of bell-boys and porters, and Saturday night hops, and,—lots of things like that."
"Well," said Mrs. Faulkner, "to tell you the truth, I don't care two straws for brass bands, or Saturday night hops; and Mr. Faulkner doesn't either. We are both charmed with this place, and we are both absolutely happy and comfortable. So, if you are willing, we are quite ready to prolong our stay indefinitely. Mr. Faulkner enjoys the quiet and freedom from interruption, while he is pursuing his scientific studies. And as for myself, I want to get well rested this summer, for during the winter, my city life is very full of gayety and excitement."
"I'm so glad you are satisfied," said Dorothy, earnestly; "for this was an experiment, and I was so anxious it should succeed. Of course, on my side it is more than satisfactory. You and Mr. Faulkner are ideal boarders; you make no trouble at all, and you have helped me in lots of ways by your advice and suggestions. Now I want to ask your advice some more. You know what I can do,—you know the house, and all,—do you think, if I could get them, I could take two or three more boarders?"
"Do you think you could?" asked Mrs. Faulkner, smiling at Dorothy's eager face.
"Yes, I think so; but sometimes, you know, I'm apt to overrate my own ability. I could do the work all right,—or have it done,—but I'm not sure whether I could manage to satisfy people who might not be so lovely and amiable as you and Mr. Faulkner are. And another thing, I wouldn't want any more boarders if it would bother or annoy you two the least mite."
"Why do you think you would like to have more?"
"Because, Mrs. Faulkner, I want to earn more money. Grandmother is bothered with her financial affairs, and if we children could help her any, we'd all be so glad. You see we are an awful expense to her; but soon, I hope we'll be old enough to earn money for her instead. Now of course to have two boarders is a good help towards the living expenses of our own family; and I've counted up, and I think if I could have four, it would almost entirely pay our running account. And if I had six, I think we might begin to save money. Oh, Mrs. Faulkner, do you think we could do it?"
"Where would you get these boarders?"
"I don't know; but I thought I would ask you first, and see if you objected to having other people here. And then, if you didn't, I thought perhaps I'd write to some of my friends in the city, and see if any of them wanted to come up for a few weeks."
"You are a brave little girl, Dorothy," said Mrs. Faulkner, looking into the eager anxious eyes upturned to hers; "and I must tell you how much I appreciate your love for your grandmother, and your courage and pluck in taking up this burden of the family fortunes. I have watched you through the week, and I have noticed your many little self-denials and your unfailing patience and perseverance. I know who walked over to Woodport and back yesterday in the hot sun, in order that I might have cream for my peaches last night at dinner."
"Oh, how did you know?" cried Dorothy, blushing at her friend's praise; "but there was really nobody to send,—the children had been on several errands,—and so I just went myself."
"Yes, I know it; and that is only one instance that shows your determination to have things right. And with that plucky perseverance of yours, and with your pleasant house, and good helpers, I see no reason why you shouldn't take a few more boarders if you can get the right kind. Of course it wouldn't annoy Mr. Faulkner nor myself to have some other people here; and even if it did, we would have no right or wish to stand in your way. When you reach the stage of brass bands, and Saturday hops, that will be time for us to leave you, and push on into the wilderness."
"You needn't begin to pack your things to-day," said Dorothy, smiling, "as it isn't at all likely I can persuade anybody to come,—let alone a brass band."
"Suppose I present you with two more guests," said Mrs. Faulkner.
"Oh," cried Dorothy, "do you know of anybody? Who are they?"
"You may not like them altogether. They are two ladies who are now over at the Horton House. They are not enjoying it there, and they asked me to let them know if I found any place which I thought they would like. I'm sure they would like it here, and I know they would be glad to come; but, to be honest about it, they are a little fussy in some ways. They are spinsters, from Boston, and though they are refined and well-bred ladies, they are sometimes a little exacting in their requirements."
"I wouldn't mind what their requirements were, if I could meet them to their satisfaction."
"You mustn't take that stand too strictly, Dorothy dear; it is well to try to give your guests satisfaction, but some requirements are unreasonable, and it is a mistake to grant them. If these ladies come, you must exercise your judgment in your treatment of them, for they're the kind who are quite likely to impose on your good nature."
"Do you think they would come? How can I find out about them?"
"Yes, I'm sure they would come; and if you wish me to, I will write to them."
"Oh, thank you; I wish you would, please; that is, after I have spoken to grandma, and to the other children about it. What are their names?"
"Van Arsdale. Miss Marcia and Miss Amanda. They are quite as imposing as their names sound; but you need not be really afraid of them. Remember the Faulkners will always protect you from their ferocity."
Dorothy laughed; and kissing her good friend, ran away to find the other children. Having gathered them together, they all went up to Grandma Dorrance's room for a caucus.
"It's a new plan!" exclaimed Dorothy, perching herself on grandma's bureau. As a rule, the more excited the Dorrances were, the higher seats they selected. At present the twins were sitting on the headboard of the bed, and Fairy was making unsuccessful endeavors to climb up on the mantelpiece.
Grandma Dorrance, well accustomed to these gymnastics, sat in her easy chair, and placidly awaited Dorothy's further announcement.
"You see," Dorothy went on, "we've made, and we are making a great success of our boarders. I've just had a talk with Mrs. Faulkner and she's quite satisfied; and goodness knows we are."
"Yes," said Fairy, from a heap of sofa-pillows into which she had just tumbled, "I do think they are the loveliest people. Why, Mr. Faulkner says he's going to send to New York for a book, a-purpose for me. It's a lovely book, all about bugs and slugs and ear-wigs. We went walking yesterday, and he showed me the funny little houses where beetles and things live in. Oh, he is a nice man!"
"Yes," said Dorothy, starting afresh; "it's a great success all around; and therefore, my beloved brethren, this is my plan. If two boarders are good, four boarders are twice as good; and so, what do you think of taking two more guests into our hotel?"
"At the same rates?" asked Lilian.
"Yes," said Dorothy, "at the same rates. Just think! that will give us sixty dollars a week income, and it won't cost us much more than that to live, even with four boarders."
"Hooray!" cried Leicester, flinging a pillow up in the air, and catching it on his head, "hooray for the great financier! proprietor of the Dorrance Domain!"
This was followed by a series of ear-splitting cheers; a performance in which the Dorrances had indulged but seldom during the past week; but just now the occasion really seemed to demand it.
"Who are your millionaire friends?" asked Leicester, "and when do they arrive?"
"Oh, they don't know yet themselves, that they're coming," said Dorothy, airily; "and they're two ladies, and their name is Van Arsdale, and they're very aristocratic, and they want to be waited on every minute, and I'm sure they won't want any of us to make a speck of noise while they're here."
A long low growl from Lilian, started the Dorrance groan, and the other three joined in with such force and energy, that the next day Mr. Faulkner inquired privately of grandma the meaning of the fearful sounds he had heard the day before.
When they were quiet again, Dorothy explained the whole thing rationally, and they were all much pleased with her plan.
Grandma feared that the added responsibility would be too much for her oldest granddaughter; but the rest all promised to help, and the girls agreed that they could do even more of the parlor and dining-room work, and so give Tessie more time to help Kathleen in the kitchen.
"I suppose the Van Arsdale ladies will register," said Leicester, with a sudden remembrance of his last experience as a clerk.
"Yes, of course," said Dorothy; "and we mustn't giggle this time, either. I'm not at all sure they'll come, but I hope they will; and of course, if they do they must be received properly."
The Van Arsdale ladies did decide to come. On the receipt of Mrs. Faulkner's note they concluded that the Dorrance Domain was just the place for them, and they immediately began to make preparations for leaving the Horton House.
"Though it's a very queer thing, Amanda," the elder Miss Van Arsdale said to her sister, "it's a very queer thing for a young girl to be proprietor of a hotel. I must confess I don't understand it. And I'm not sure I want to be mixed up with any such ridiculous doings."
"But Mrs. Faulkner says that it's all right; and that we four will be the only boarders. That seems to me very exclusive. You know the Faulkners are all right,—her mother was a Frelinghuysen. I'm not afraid to risk it, as long as they recommend it."
"Well, we'll try it for a week, as Mrs. Faulkner advised; and if we don't like the girl proprietor, we won't have to stay any longer."
"I don't know what she can be, I'm sure. She can't be of our kind."
Judging from the effect presented to the eye, the Van Arsdale ladies and Dorothy Dorrance were not of the same kind.
They were both elderly spinsters of the type that looks older than it really is, yet tries to seem younger. They were tall and spare with high cheek bones, and aquiline, aristocratic noses. These noses seemed to turn up at everything; and though literally they didn't turn up at all, yet the effect of turning up was always there. Their large, light blue eyes were capable of a powerful and penetrating gaze, that was apt to be extremely disconcerting to the object of their stare. Both ladies had really beautiful hair of a soft, gray color, which they wore rolled over high pompadours. They were wealthy, and though economical and even penurious in some respects, each possessed an inordinate love of dress, and was willing to spend large sums for gorgeous fabrics made up in the latest styles. The incongruity of these middle aged and far from beautiful spinsters, trailing around soft exquisite robes of dainty coloring, and exquisitely made, afforded much scope for wonderment and curiosity wherever they went.
But the sisters cared little or nothing for the comments passed upon them. They bought their clothes, and wore them, purely for their own selfish enjoyment; and met with stares of cold contempt, the half-sarcastic praises offered by some daring ladies at the hotel.
The day that the Van Arsdales were expected at the Dorrance Domain, Dorothy and Leicester were prepared to receive them as they had the others. Lilian and Fairy were allowed to witness the performance this time, on the strict conditions that they were not to laugh, and none of the four were to look at each other.
And so when the Horton House stage came over for the second time, Grandma Dorrance, the three Dorrance girls, and the two Faulkners were on the veranda, while Leicester stood nobly at his post in the office.
Mr. Hickox appeared duly, and made everything all right as usual. But when he assisted the Van Arsdale ladies out of the stage, he remarked to himself that his wife would certainly be surprised if she could see them dresses.
The elder Miss Van Arsdale wore a silk of the exquisite shade known as pastel blue; it was made with a jaunty little jacket, opening over an elaborate white lace waist. A long gold chain hung around her neck, from which depended innumerable lockets, charms, pencils, purses and vinaigrettes, in a bewildering array. Her blue hat was decked with white ostrich plumes, and though Dorothy had been prepared by Mrs. Faulkner for this display, yet she had not expected quite such a gorgeous spectacle.
Miss Amanda Van Arsdale followed her sister; she wore a liberty silk gown of an old rose color, and a hat with long black ostrich feathers. She wore no necklace, but from her belt was suspended a large square bag made entirely of overlapping plates of gold, in which doubtless she carried the various impedimenta that her sister exhibited.
Though over-elaborate, these costumes were made in the latest fashion, and they looked like beautiful and costly gowns, which by some absurd mistake had been put on the wrong wearers.
The two advanced with a haughty and somewhat supercilious air, and Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner rose to greet them. Introductions to the Dorrances followed, and then Miss Van Arsdale raised her lorgnon, and treated Dorothy to a prolonged inspection.
"And you are the proprietor of this hotel?" she said.
"Yes," said Dorothy, smiling; "I am."
"Well," said Miss Van Arsdale, "you can't fool me. You look to me quite capable of being the proprietor of anything."
And somehow, in spite of her peculiar appearance and her brusque ways, Dorothy felt at once a decided liking for Miss Marcia Van Arsdale.
Mrs. Faulkner gave a little nod of satisfaction as she saw the good understanding between these two, and Mr. Faulkner said, genially:
"Yes, we think our proprietor a very capable young woman."
Then Dorothy ushered the ladies in to the office and paused at the desk.
Leicester confessed afterwards that he almost fell off his stool when he saw Dorothy bringing in two Birds of Paradise, with their feathers freshly painted. But at the time he preserved a straight face, and politely offered the register and the pen.
Miss Marcia, in a bold, dashing hand, signed for them both, and then Dorothy went herself to their rooms with them,—the faithful Hickox bringing up the rear.
On reaching the rooms, Dorothy offered to assist the ladies in removing their hats and veils, but Miss Marcia only stared at her. "Send me a maid," she said; "a lady's maid."
Then Dorothy, who was acting under Mrs. Faulkner's direction, said quietly:
"Miss Van Arsdale, this is not a fully equipped hotel, and we do not have ladies' maids. The chambermaid, Tessie, will attend to your rooms, and such outside service as you may require. Also, my sisters and I will be glad to help you occasionally, as we often help one another. But a regular ladies' maid to assist at your toilet, we cannot provide. May I help you unpin your veil?"
Miss Marcia Van Arsdale looked at Dorothy again through her glasses.
"You're the right sort," she said, "and I like your plain speaking. I'm plain-spoken myself. We'll get along all right, and I shall send for my parrot."
"Oh," exclaimed Dorothy, "have you a parrot?"
"Yes, a very beautiful and valuable bird. But I never take her anywhere, until I know just what sort of a place it's going to be. I shall send for her to-morrow."
Not knowing the high esteem in which Miss Van Arsdale held her parrot, Dorothy did not fully appreciate the magnitude of this compliment. So she merely said, "We shall be very glad to welcome Polly."
"I do not allow her to be called Polly," said Miss Van Arsdale, with a sudden return to her supercilious manner. "My bird's name is Mary,—and I strongly disapprove of nicknames of any sort."
A parrot named Mary struck Dorothy as very funny, but she was learning to control her sense of humor when necessary, and she replied: "Very well, Miss Van Arsdale, we shall be glad to welcome Mary."
"Thank you," said Miss Van Arsdale, formally; "and I will ask you to have her cage moved about at my direction, during the day, in accordance with the sun and the weather."
Dorothy considered a minute, and concluded that this was one of the times to humor Miss Van Arsdale.
So she said, "I will see to it that the cage is placed wherever you desire."
The repetition of this conversation to the others caused great hilarity.
"Mary!" cried Leicester; "a parrot called Mary! but I should not dare be so familiar with the bird as to call her Mary. I shall say Miss Mary, and shall always address her with my best dancing-school bow."
The parrot arrived duly, and proved to be such a superior bird, and so interesting and attractive, that the children all fell in love with her. The name of Polly was entirely unsuited to such a dignified creature, and Mary seemed far more appropriate.
The bird's plumage was of brilliant coloring, and Lilian declared that the Van Arsdale ladies copied their own clothes from Miss Mary's. The parrot was an exceedingly fine talker, and readily picked up new phrases.
Whenever the Van Arsdale ladies entered the room, Mary would remark, "Hurrah for Miss Marcia!" or, "Hurrah for Miss Amanda!" as the case might be. This hurrahing was quite in line with the Dorrances' own mode of expression, and they soon taught Mary to hurrah for each of them by name.
Although on the whole, the Misses Van Arsdale were satisfactory boarders, they were far more difficult than the easy-going Faulkners. Miss Marcia had a most irritating way of popping out of her room, and calling over the banister, "Clerk, clerk!"
Since the moment of registration, she had looked upon Leicester as the official clerk of the hotel, and applied to him a dozen times a day for things that she wanted or thought she wanted.
Usually these applications were made by screaming from the head of the staircase. Sometimes the request was for stationery,—again for hot water, warm water, cold water, or ice water. Miss Amanda, too, made similar demands, and was given to calling for a glass of milk at five o'clock in the morning, or a few sandwiches after everybody had retired for the night.
But Dorothy was learning that the way to success is not always a primrose path, and she cheerfully did her best to accede to such of these demands as she considered just and reasonable. And she tried, too, to look at the justice and reasonableness from the standpoint of her guests' rather than her own opinions.
The children had agreed that whenever Miss Marcia desired Mary's cage moved, any one of the four was to do it. And it was fortunate that the task was thus divided, for Miss Marcia was fussy, and twenty times a day, or more, one of the Dorrances might be seen carrying the large cage from the hall to the veranda, from the veranda to the parlor, from the parlor to the upper balcony, and so on.
But as careful attention to Mary's welfare was one of the principal conditions of the Van Arsdales' continued stay at the Dorrance Domain, and too, as the children were one and all devoted to the bird, this work was not objected to.
Dorothy was most anxious to keep her four boarders through the rest of the summer. For the plan was working successfully, and though providing a well-spread and even bounteous table, Dorothy found she could save a little money. She was not avaricious nor mercenary, but she longed to be able, at the close of the season, to present Grandma Dorrance with at least a small sum of money, to help pay their winter expenses.
And so, when Miss Marcia one day made a proposition to her, Dorothy hailed it with delight.
The suggestion was that Miss Van Arsdale should ask her niece to come up to the Dorrance Domain to board, and to bring her whole family.
The family consisted of Mrs. Black, three small children and two nurses; Mr. Black might possibly come up occasionally, but would remain only a few days at a time.
Children! Dorothy remembered only too well, how children were objected to in boarding-houses, and she wondered if she dare undertake to have them in her hotel. She realized, too, that six or seven more people would necessitate some radical changes in her methods, and in her household appointments. Indeed, it meant a change from an experiment to the real thing. It meant assuming obligations much more formal than she was under towards her present guests.
On the other hand, Mrs. Black was wealthy, Miss Van Arsdale said, and quite willing to pay generously for all she received.
"I want to do it, Miss Marcia," said Dorothy,—"I want to do it very much; but it is a big question to decide. So I'll take twenty-four hours to think it over, and to discuss it with the others, and to-morrow I will let you know."
At the family conference on the subject, Grandma Dorrance said No. The gentle old lady was more than usually decided, and she said, that while the Faulkners and Van Arsdales were charming people, and more like visitors than boarders, a family of children, with nurses, was an altogether different matter, and meant far more trouble and complications than Dorothy could realize.
"Oh, grannymother dear," said Dorothy, "I don't think so. Miss Marcia says that Mrs. Black is a lovely lady, not a bit fussy; and children and nurses can't be as much responsibility as grown people. Why, they wouldn't be critical at all."
"Not critical, perhaps, but far more troublesome in their own way."
"Oh, I don't know," said Leicester; "the reason people didn't want us children in boarding-houses was because we made so much noise. Now we don't care how much noise these kids make, and there's room enough for the people who do care, to get away from the racket."
"We would have to have more servants," said Lilian; "and wouldn't that cut down the profits a good deal?"
"I've been thinking about that," said Dorothy, "and I've come to this conclusion. If we should take all these people, we would have to get another chambermaid, and another helper in the kitchen. A young girl to pare the vegetables, and help with the dish washing. Of course with so many extra people, more waitresses will be necessary; but as you say, Lilian, if we hire a lot of servants it will make our profits pretty slim. And so I propose that we three girls wait on the table."
"Oh, no, children," cried Grandma Dorrance; "I won't allow anything of that sort!"
"Now wait a minute, grandma," said Dorothy; "don't say things that you'll just have to take back afterwards. There is no disgrace at all in waiting on a table. Lots of college girls and boys do it right along, in the colleges,—and they go to summer hotels, too, and wait on the tables there. Now we children want to earn some money to help you; after you've taken care of us all these years, I'm sure it's no more than right. And if this way of earning money isn't easier and pleasanter than going into a store, I'll give up. What do the rest of you say?"
"I say, let's go ahead," declared Leicester; "if the four of us agree, we can persuade grandma. She never really refused us anything in our lives. And as to waiting on the table, I'd just as leave do it myself, as not. As you say, Dot, lots of college fellows do it, and it's no more disgrace than being president. And then we can all eat by ourselves afterwards, and have a jolly old time."
"I'd love to wait on the table," said Fairy; "I think it would be gorgeous fun. Shall we all wear caps, and aprons with big white wings sticking out of the shoulders?"
"No," said Dorothy, "not caps. We'll wear white aprons, but not with shoulder-ruffles."
"I shall have shoulder-ruffles on mine," said Leicester, decidedly; "and I shall wear a cap, too."
Even grandma laughed at this; but Dorothy said, "No, Less, I don't want you to wait on the table, at least not until we really need you. We girls can do it, with Tessie's help."
"Well, what can I do?" said Leicester; "it won't take all my time to register the people who come."
"There'll be enough for you to do, old fellow," said Dorothy; "you can go to market every day, and answer Miss Marcia's calls, and move Mary around. Then if you have any time left, you can amuse the three Black babies."
"Pickaninnies, are they?" said Leicester; "then I'll fill them up on watermelon."
Although Grandma Dorrance weakened somewhat in her disapproval of the plan, yet it was not until Mrs. Faulkner was called in, and her opinion asked, that grandma gave an entire consent.
Mrs. Faulkner was so sweet and sensible about the whole matter, and so judicious in her advice and suggestions, that grandma was much influenced by her view of the case.
Mrs. Faulkner quite agreed with Dorothy about the girls acting as waitresses, and strongly approved of the children's desire to add to their finances.
She also advised Dorothy to charge good prices for the accommodation of the children and nurses, because, she said, they were quite as great a responsibility in their way, as Mrs. Black herself.
As Dorothy had hoped, Mr. Bill Hodges was able to recommend a young girl whom he knew, to help Kathleen in the kitchen; and Tessie knew of a competent chambermaid who would be glad to come up from the city for a while.
So Dorothy wrote to Mrs. Black, and stated frankly what she had to offer, and what her rates were, and Mrs. Black telegraphed back that she might expect the whole family as soon as they could get there.
And so it came to pass, that again Leicester stood behind his open register, and the proprietor of the Dorrance Domain awaited her new relay of guests.
Though Dorothy was not as much embarrassed this time, as when she expected her first guests, and had far less sense of humor in the situation, she had a better poise and a greater self-confidence, which came necessarily from her so far successful experiences.
But when she saw the cavalcade approaching, her heart began to beat a little faster, and worse than that, she found it impossible to keep from laughing.
The Blacks had come up by rail, and had apparently annexed all the available vehicles at the station to transport them. There was a rockaway first, then two buggies, then two large spring wagons, and then a buckboard. In the wagons were several trunks, three baby-carriages and a number of queer-shaped forms carefully wrapped, which afterwards proved to be portable bath-tubs, a cradle and a folding crib.
Dorothy began to think that for once, Mr. Hickox would not prove equal to the occasion; but he reassured her with his usual statements that it would be all right, and that he would look after things.
The rockaway came first, and Mr. and Mrs. Black were helped out by Mr. Hickox in his most official manner.
Mrs. Black was a delicate, helpless-looking little lady; very pretty, in a pale blonde way, and seemingly very dependent on her big, good-looking husband. Mr. Benjamin Black was one of those hearty, cordial-mannered men, who make friends at once.
He brought Mrs. Black up the steps, and advancing to Dorothy with outstretched hand, said pleasantly: "I'm sure this is our proprietor, Miss Dorrance."
"Yes," said Dorothy, put at her ease at once, and shaking hands with them both; "I'm very glad to see you."
"We are glad to be here," said Mr. Black. "The trip was very warm and tiresome. But this place is most charming."
"And so cool and quiet," said Mrs. Black, sinking into a chair, and looking, Dorothy thought, as if she never meant to rise again.
By this time the other vehicles were depositing their cargoes, both human and freight, and for a moment Dorothy wondered if the Dorrance Domain were large enough to hold the entire collection.
One of the nurses was French, and was talking volubly in her own language to the two children who held her by the hands. One of these children, a girl of five years, was answering her nurse, also in French; while the other, a younger boy, was crying loudly, but whether in French or English, nobody could quite make out.
The other nurse was a large and stout German woman, who was crooning a German folk-song to the baby she carried in her arm. Apparently the baby cared little for German music, for the small infant was pounding its nurse's face with both tiny fists, and making strange gurgling sounds which might be caused either by joy or grief.
All these people came up on the veranda; and after persuading one of the drivers to stay and help him, Mr. Hickox began to carry the luggage into the house.
With a successful effort at composure, Dorothy paid no attention to the children and nurses, and conducted Mr. Black to the office.
"Ah," said he to Leicester; "how do you do, sir, how do you do? Fine place you have up here. Very fine place. Glad I brought my family. Hope they won't make you any trouble."
As the commotion on the veranda seemed to increase each moment, Leicester did not echo this hope, but spoke pleasantly to Mr. Black, and turned the register towards him.
The gentleman registered Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Black, Miss Sylvia Black, Master Montmorency Black, Miss Gwendolen Genevieve Black, Mlle. Celestine, and Fraülein Lisa Himmelpfennig.
Leicester looked proudly at this array of names which reached half-way down the page, and ringing for Mr. Hickox, he gave him the keys of the rooms set aside for the party, and the caravan started up-stairs.
Dorothy went with them, both because she thought it proper to do so, and because she felt an interest in seeing the family properly distributed.
Leicester left his official desk, and found plenty to do in disposing of the baby-carriages, and the other paraphernalia.
It was strange, Dorothy thought to herself as she came down-stairs, how much more easily, and as a matter of course she took the Blacks' arrival than she had the previous ones.
"I must have been born for a hotel proprietor," she said to herself; "for I don't feel any worry or anxiety about the dinner or anything. I just know everything will be all right."
As she reached the foot of the staircase, she met Fairy, who was just carrying Mary's cage into the north parlor.
"Hurrah for Dorothy!" croaked the parrot, catching sight of her.
"Ah, Miss Mary, you'll have a lot of new names to hurrah for now, and jaw-breakers at that. I shouldn't wonder if they'd break even a parrot's jaw, and they may bend that big yellow beak of yours."
"She can learn them," said Fairy, confidently. "Miss Mary can learn anything. She's the cleverest, smartest, educatedest bird in the whole world. There's nothing she can't learn."
"Pretty Mary," said the bird in its queer, croaking voice; "move Mary's cage. Hurrah for Fairy!"
"There, just hear that!" exclaimed Fairy, proudly; "now I rather guess a bird like that could learn to hurrah for anybody."
"Well," said Dorothy, "but you don't know yet that these children's names are Gwendolen Genevieve, and Montmorency."
"What!" cried Fairy, nearly dropping the cage, "of course no parrot could learn such names as those."
"And Miss Marcia objects to nicknames," said Dorothy. "These new people aren't a bit like their aunts, though."
"When are they coming down?" asked Lilian, who had joined her sisters; "I wish they'd get that procession of baby-carriages started. I want to see the show."
At that moment, the French nurse, Celestine, came down-stairs with the two older children. The little ones had been freshly dressed, and looked extremely pretty. Sylvia was in crisp white muslin, with fluttering bows of pink ribbon, and Montmorency wore a boyish garb of white piqué.
"Won't you speak to me?" asked Lilian, putting out her hand to the little girl.
"No," said the child, hiding her face in her nurse's apron; "do away. I's af'aid."
"Mees Sylvie,—she is afraid of everything," said Celestine; "she is a naughty—naughty,—a bad ma'amselle."
"No, no," cried Sylvia; "me not bad. Me dood ma'selle."
"Me dood!" announced three year old Montmorency; "me no ky. On'y babies ky. Me bid man!"
"You are good," said Fairy, "and you're a nice big man. Come with me, and I'll show you where I'm going to put this pretty green bird."
"Ess," said the little boy, and grasping hold of Fairy's frock he willingly trotted along by her side.
Whereupon Sylvia, overcoming her bashfulness, concluded she, too, wanted to go with the green bird.
So Celestine and her charges accompanied the Dorrance girls to the north parlor, and there they found the Van Arsdale ladies, who sat waiting in state to receive their newly arrived relatives.
The days that followed were crammed full of both business and pleasure. Dorothy rose each morning, buoyant with eager hope that all would go well, and went to bed each night, rejoicing in the fact that in the main it had done so.
There was plenty of work to do; but it was cheerfully done, and many hands made it light, and comparatively easy. There were many small worries and anxieties, but they were overcome by perseverance and determination.
The Dorrance pride was inherent in all four children, and having set their hand to the plough, not only were they unwilling to turn back, but they were determined to make the best possible furrow. Although Dorothy was at the helm, and all important matters were referred to her, yet the others had their appointed tasks and did them each day, promptly and well.
Now that the Domain had assumed more of the character of a hotel, the Dorrances saw less of their boarders, socially. Also the large dining-room was used, and the guests seated in families at various tables. This gave a far more hotel-like air to the house, and though perhaps not quite as pleasant, it seemed to Dorothy the right thing to do.
The Faulkners were ideal boarders; the Van Arsdales, though more exacting, were just and considerate; but the Blacks, as Leicester expressed it, were a caution.
Mrs. Black was a continual and never-pausing fusser. Mr. Black remained two days to get them settled, and then returned to the city. Immediately after his departure, Mrs. Black insisted on changing her room.
"I didn't want to bother my husband about it," she said to Dorothy, "for he thinks I'm so fickle-minded; but truly, it isn't that. You see, the sun gets around to this room at just half-past three, and that's the time I'm always taking my nap, and so of course it wakes me up. Now you see, I can't stand that,—when I came up here for rest and recuperation. And so, my dear Miss Dorrance, if you don't mind, I'll just take some other room. I'm sure you have plenty of them, and if that big, strong Mr. Hickox will help move my things, I'm sure it will be no trouble at all. Perhaps your sister Fairy will look after the children a little bit, while Celestine and Lisa assist me. The baby is asleep, and perhaps she won't waken, but if she does, would Miss Lilian mind holding her for just a little while? or she might take her out in her baby-carriage for a bit of a ride. I'm sorry to be troublesome, but you see for yourself, I really can't help it."
If Mrs. Black really was sorry to be troublesome, she must have been sorry most of the time. For she was everlastingly making changes of some sort, or desiring attention from somebody, and she quite imposed on the good nature of the younger Dorrances, by begging them to take care of her children upon all too frequent occasions. Once, even Leicester was surprised to find himself wheeling Montmorency up and down the veranda, while Mrs. Black finished a letter to go in the mail.
The Van Arsdale ladies also were under the calm, but imperious sway of their fragile-looking niece. It was nothing unusual to see Miss Marcia and Miss Amanda each holding one of the fretful children, and making frantic endeavors to amuse their young relatives. The nurses were competent, but Mrs. Black so often had errands for them that their young charges were frequently in the care of other people.
Dorothy talked this matter over with Mrs. Faulkner, and as usual was wisely counseled by that lady. She advised, that in so far as Lilian and Fairy wished to play with the Black children, they should do so; but in no way were they under obligation to assist Mrs. Black in the care of her little ones. And, if she requested this at times when the girls had duties to perform, or indeed at a time when they wished to take their recreation, Mrs. Faulkner said they were perfectly justified in asking Mrs. Black to excuse them.
Dorothy told this to her sisters, who were thereby much relieved; for though fond of the children, they did not, as Lilian said, wish to be pushing around those Black babies in perambulators from morning till night. But somehow the babies caused a great deal of commotion, and Dorothy began to understand why boarding-house keepers preferred grown people.
One day as the Dorrance girls sat on the veranda, Celestine came running to them, wringing her hands, after her French method of showing great dismay, and exclaiming:
"Mees Sylvie,—she have fallen into ze lake!"
"What!" exclaimed the three girls at once, jumping up, and running towards the lake; "where did she fall in? How did it happen?"
"Non, non,—not zat way! zis a-way," and Celestine started down a path that did not lead towards the lake. "I have pull her out; she is not drown,—but she is,—oh, so ver' soil,—so, vat you say,—muddy, oh, so much muddy!"
"Never mind the mud if the child isn't drowned," cried Lilian; "but this is not the way to the lake. You said she fell in the lake."
"Not ze gran' lake, mees, but ze small lake,—ze ver' small, p'tit lake."
"Oh, she means nothing but a mud-puddle!" cried Fairy, who had run ahead of the rest, and found Sylvia lying on the grass, chuckling with laughter, while her pretty clothes were a mass of mud and wet.
"I falled in!" she cried, gleefully; "I failed in all myself, when C'lestine wasn't looking. Ain't I a funny dirl?"
"No, I don't think it's funny," began Dorothy, and then she paused, realizing that it was not her duty to reprimand Mrs. Black's children, and, too, Sylvia certainly did look funny. Not only her white dress, but her face and hands, and her dainty white slippers and stockings were bespattered with brown mud, and Lilian said that she looked like a chocolate éclair.
Another day, Celestine approached Dorothy with the pleasing news that, "Master Montmorency, he must have upsetted the blanc-mange."
Dorothy flew to verify this statement, and found that the son of the house of Black had indeed overturned a large dish of Bavarian cream, which Kathleen had made for that evening's dessert. It had been set out on the back porch to cool, and though protected by a wire screen cover, the enterprising youth had succeeded in wrecking the whole affair.
Dorothy's record for good-nature was seriously menaced by this mischievous prank, and she would probably have told Mrs. Black her honest opinion of the transgressing infant; but Kathleen's view of the case disarmed her.
"Whisht, now, darlint," said the big peace-maker, "niver you mind. I'll whishk up another bowl full in a minute, shure. The shpalpeen didn't mane anny harrum. Troth, he's nothin' but a baby. Wasn't ye wan yersilf wanst? Go 'long wid ye, now, and lave me to me wurruk."
This Dorothy was glad enough to do, and she walked away, feeling that Kathleen had taught her a lesson in making allowance for the unconsciousness of a child's wrongdoing.
When she reached the west veranda she found the whole family and all the guests gathered there in a great state of excitement.
Following Lilian's pointing finger with her eyes, she saw Mary, the parrot, perched calmly on a high limb of an evergreen-tree.
"How did she get out?" cried Dorothy, aghast.
"Sylvia opened the cage door," answered Lilian, "when no one was looking,—and Mary just walked out. You should have seen her climbing that tree. She went up branch by branch."
The parrot looked triumphantly down at the crowd, and remarked, "Mary is high up; Mary is very high up."
"Come down, Mary," said Dorothy, beseechingly; "come down, Mary,—pretty Mary,—come down to Dorothy."
"Hurrah for Dorothy!" cried the parrot,—"hurrah for Sylvia! hurrah for the Dorrance Domain!"
This last cheer had been taught to Mary by Leicester, after many long and patient lessons, and never before had Mary spoken it so plainly and distinctly.
By this time the Van Arsdale ladies were in tears; Fairy, too, was weeping, for she felt sure Mary would fly away and never come back. The Black children required very little encouragement to start their lachrymal glands, and seeing the others' tears, immediately began to howl in various keys.
"Don't cry, don't cry!" said Mary, from her high perch.
"Come down, Mary," said Dorothy, coaxingly, and showing an apple and a cracker which she had procured; "come down and get your dinner."
But no urgings would induce the bird to come down. She cocked her eye wickedly, and hurrahed for everybody in turn, but utterly refused to descend.
"Ach, donnerblitzen!" exclaimed German Lisa. "Denn du bist ein dumkopf! Kommst du jetz hinein!"
"Ciel! what a bird it is!" wailed Celestine, wringing her hands; "ah, Marie, belle Marie, come down, cherie!"
But the French coaxing, and the German scolding had no more effect on Mary than the weeping of the Van Arsdale ladies and the screaming of the children. She fluttered her wings, and seemed about to depart. Then she would look at them again, and with her exasperating winks, would hurrah enthusiastically.
"If she'll only stay there long enough, perhaps I can lasso her," said Leicester, running in the house for a string.
"No," said Mr. Faulkner, who followed him in, "I'm afraid that would frighten her; but if you had a butterfly net, with a very long handle, we might catch her with that."
"Just the thing," said Leicester; "and there is one in the storeroom; I remember seeing it there."
He brought it, but the handle was not long enough; so Mr. Faulkner proposed that they try placing a ladder against another tree near by, and then from the top of that, endeavor to reach the bird with a net.
Mary watched the proceedings with great interest. "Catch Mary!" she cried; "catch pretty Mary!"
"You bet we will!" cried Leicester, and when the ladder was adjusted he climbed to the top of it, carrying the long-handled net with him.
They all thought the bird would be frightened at the net and fly away, or at least attempt to do so.
But she seemed to think it a game in which she played an important part, and she sat quietly on the branch, occasionally remarking, "Catch Mary, pretty Mary!"
With a sure aim, Leicester pushed the net towards the bird and brought it down over her head, then with a dextrous twist, he turned it upside down, with the bird in it, and lowered it carefully to Mr. Faulkner, who was standing below. At this unexpected indignity, Mary set up a ferocious squawking, the Black children redoubled their yells, and the Dorrance children cheered with delight.
Mary was taken from the net, unharmed, and restored to her happy mistress, who determined to send to town at once for a padlock for the cage door.
But though commotions such as these were of frequent, almost daily occurrence; yet when they were not such as to interfere with the routine of her household management, Dorothy did not allow them to worry her.
Although usually busy all the morning, she found many spare hours for rest and recreation in the afternoon; and the evenings were always delightful. The Black children were then safely in bed, and could make no trouble. The Dorrances were at liberty to be by themselves, or with their boarders, as they wished.
As Mr. Faulkner played the guitar, and Leicester could pick a little on the mandolin, and as they all could sing,—or fancied they could,—there were often very jolly concerts on the veranda, or, on moonlight evenings, out in the boat.
Mr. Black came up every week, and when he discovered the array of musical talent already there, he brought his banjo, and added greatly to the fun. Sometimes on rainy evenings, they would all congregate in the great empty ballroom, and play merry games. On such occasions, the Blacks and Faulkners seemed almost as young, and nearly as noisy as the Dorrances.
One day Leicester came to Dorothy, with a letter.
"Jack Harris has just written me," he said, "and he wants to come up here and board for a month; what do you think?"
"Let him come, by all means," said Dorothy, heartily; "he won't be a bit of extra trouble, and if he will pay our regular rates I shall be glad to have him. The Dorrance Domain is now a fully established summer hotel; and we are prepared to receive all who apply."
It was nearly a week after Leicester had written to Jack Harris, telling him that he might come up and board at the hotel, when, one afternoon, the Dorrance children heard queer sounds coming up from the direction of the dock.
All four ran to look over the rail of the upper landing, and saw a strange-looking craft anchored at the dock. On the dock were two boys and Mr. Hickox; the latter gentleman apparently much excited and interested.
"It's Jack Harris!" cried Leicester, "and another fellow with him; and, oh, I say, girls, they've got a motor-boat!"
"What's a motor-boat?" cried Fairy; but as all four were then flying down the steps at a rapid speed, nobody answered her.
Wondering who the second boy could be, and filled with delightful curiosity as to the wonderful motor-boat, the Dorrances reached the dock with astonishing rapidity.
"Hi, Jack," cried Leicester, "thought you were coming up by train. What a dandy boat! Yours?"
"No," said Jack, whipping off his cap, and shaking hands with Dorothy; "it belongs to my chum here, Bob Irwin. I've brought him along, Dorothy, and I hope you can take us both in. Less said you had plenty of room. I would have written, but Bob only decided to come at the last minute, and we were so busy and excited getting the boat off, that I forgot to telegraph, though I meant to do so."
Bob Irwin was a big, jolly-looking boy, of about seventeen or eighteen, and his smile was so broad and comprehensive that the Dorrances felt acquainted at once.
"Indeed we have plenty of room," said Dorothy, answering young Irwin's greeting; "and we're very glad to have you both,—and your boat too," she added, still looking with a sort of fascination at the trim little affair.
"She is a jolly little craft," said Bob Irwin, frankly; "I've only had her a few weeks. I named her Shooting Star, because she goes like one. We came all the way up from Jersey City by the canal."
"All the way!" exclaimed Lilian; "what fun you must have had coming through the locks!"
"Well yes,—but there were so many of them. The planes were worse, though; Shooting Star didn't take to those kindly at all. However, we're here; and if you'll keep us, we'll all have a good deal of fun on this lake."
"I didn't know you could come all the way by canal," said Leicester. "Are they willing to open the locks for you?"
"Oh, Bob's uncle is a Grand High Mogul or something in the canal company, and he gave us a permit. I tell you it was great fun; the boat goes like a greased arrow."
"Would you like to go for a little spin around the lake, now, all of you?" asked Bob.
"No,—not now," said Dorothy, looking at her watch. "We'd love to, but it is too near dinner-time for us to go now. You know, as hotel proprietors, we have duties to attend to at scheduled hours; and we must be found at our posts."
Though said with apparent carelessness, this was really a brave bit of self-denial on Dorothy's part. For she was eager to try the pretty boat, and, too, there was nearly a half hour before her presence at the hotel was actually necessary.
But she had learned by experience that to go out on the lake was a proceeding which could not be accurately timed, and she knew that her duty pointed towards keeping on the safe side. Beside this, she must have another room put in readiness, for she had expected only Jack.
"But I do want to go out in the motor-boater," cried Fairy, dancing around the dock, and waving her arms. "Will you take us some other time, Mr. Bob?"
"Indeed I will," said Bob, heartily; "and anyway, it's just as well to take our traps up now, and get settled."
"Hickox is your man," said that long individual, suddenly interrupting his own investigation of the marvelous boat. "Hickox'll cart your truck up the hill. Where might it be?"
"Here you are," and Bob sprang into the Shooting Star and tossed out three suit cases and a lot of odds and ends of luggage. "But we fellows can carry them up."
"No, sir, no, sir; Hickox'll look after things. It'll be all right."
Jack laughed at the familiar phrases, and Bob Irwin looked on with amusement while Mr. Hickox stowed the things in his queer-looking cart.
"And this is for you and your sisters, Miss Dorothy," said Bob, as he emerged with a final parcel.
There was no mistaking the contents of the neatly tied up box of candy; but it was of such a size that it nearly took the girls' breath away.
"Oh, thank you," cried Dorothy, dimpling with smiles. "I haven't had a speck of New York candy since I've been here. And the Woodville gum-drops are so highly colored and so stiff inside, that they're not a bit of fun."
"They were made summer before last, too," said Leicester; "they ought to be sold as antiques."
"A whole big box of candy for our very own!" cried Fairy; "oh, that's better than the promoter-boat, or whatever you call it. And part of the candy is my very own, isn't it, Mr. Bob?"
"Yes, indeed; to do whatever you like with."
"Then I shall give half of my share to Mrs. Hickox. She'll be so surprised. I don't believe she ever saw any real choklits or butter-cuppers."
Leicester carried the precious box, and the six children climbed the steps to the Dorrance Domain. Naturally, Fairy reached the top first, and ran up the veranda steps, shouting, "Oh, grannymother! we've got two new boarders, and they came in an automobile-ship, and they brought a bushel of candy, real splendiferous New York candy,—and his name is Bob!"
Grandma Dorrance had always liked Leicester's friend Jack, and she willingly extended her welcome to the pleasant-faced Bob.
The two boys were a decided addition to the gayety of the Dorrance Domain.
And the Shooting Star proved to be an equally desirable adjunct. Instead of rowing over to Dolan's Point each morning for the marketing, or harnessing old Dobbin and driving there, the swift little motor-boat did the errand in less than half the time, and was moreover a pleasure and delight.
Besides this there were merry excursions on the lake in the afternoons and evenings.
One day, when they had started out immediately after luncheon, and, owing to Mr. Black's expected arrival, were to have a late dinner, the six children made an exploring tour of the whole lake.
"I want to find out," said Bob, as they started off, "what feeds this lake. There must be several inlets and some of them large ones. A lake nine miles long has got to be fed by something."
"This lake is so tame it would eat out of your hand," said Leicester.
"Even so, I wouldn't want to feed it," said Dorothy; "my present array of table boarders is quite enough for me, thank you."
"There is an inlet," said Lilian, "just this side of Dolan's Point. The one that has the floating bridge across it, you know."
"But that isn't enough to make any impression on this big lake," insisted Bob; "there must be two or three arms somewhere, and if there are, we'll find them to-day; for I'm going all around the shores of the lake."
So the Shooting Star shot ahead, and skirted the margin of the lake for miles and miles.
But except the one at Dolan's Point, no inlet of any sort was discovered, and the round trip was completed by a crowd of mystified explorers.
"It's the queerest thing!" said Bob, whose scientific inquiries were prompted by a tenacious mind. "The water in Lake Ponetcong certainly must come from somewhere."
"I think it rains in," said Fairy, with a sage expression. "It hasn't rained much this summer, but it rained a lot when we were in New York, and I s'pose the water just stayed in."
"I think it just was here from the beginning," said Lilian, "and somehow it never got away."
"That would do for some lakes," said Dorothy; "but here, they're always letting it out through the locks; and it does seem as if it would have to be filled up again, some way."
That evening the children put the puzzling question to Mr. Faulkner. He was a great favorite with the crowd of young people, and though a scientific man, he was capable of making explanations that were entirely comprehensible to their youthful minds.
They were all interested, though perhaps Bob Irwin was more especially so, in learning that Lake Ponetcong was fed entirely by springs in its bed.