The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dorothy Dainty at the Mountains, by Amy Brooks This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Dorothy Dainty at the Mountains Author: Amy Brooks Release Date: September 25, 2009 [EBook #30088] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE MOUNTAINS *** Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Cover DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE MOUNTAINS Popular Stories. By AMY BROOKS. Each beautifully illustrated by the Author. THE RANDY BOOKS. 12mo. Cloth. Cover Designs by the Author. Price $1.00 each. RANDY'S SUMMER. RANDY'S GOOD TIMES. RANDY'S WINTER. RANDY'S LUCK. RANDY AND HER FRIENDS. RANDY'S LOYALTY. RANDY AND PRUE. RANDY'S PRINCE. —————— For Younger Readers. DOROTHY DAINTY SERIES. Large 12mo. Cloth. Cover Designs by the Author. Set in large English type. Price $1.00 each. DOROTHY DAINTY. DOROTHY'S PLAYMATES. DOROTHY DAINTY AT SCHOOL. DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE SHORE. DOROTHY DAINTY IN THE CITY. DOROTHY DAINTY AT HOME. DOROTHY DAINTY'S GAY TIMES. DOROTHY DAINTY IN THE COUNTRY. DOROTHY DAINTY'S WINTER. DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE MOUNTAINS. DOROTHY DAINTY'S HOLIDAYS. DOROTHY DAINTY'S VACATION. DOROTHY DAINTY'S VISIT. DOROTHY DAINTY AT CRESTVILLE. THE PRUE BOOKS. 12mo. Cloth. Cover Designs by the Author. Price $1.00 each. LITTLE SISTER PRUE. PRUE'S MERRY TIMES. PRUE AT SCHOOL. PRUE'S LITTLE FRIENDS. PRUE'S PLAYMATES. PRUE'S JOLLY WINTER. —————— A JOLLY CAT TALE. Large 12mo. Cloth. Profusely Illustrated. Price $1.00 "HERE! HERE!" CRIED DOROTHY, AND ECHO ANSWERED, "HERE,—ERE!"—PAGE 4. DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE MOUNTAINS BY AMY BROOKS AUTHOR OF "DOROTHY DAINTY SERIES," "THE RANDY BOOKS," "THE PRUE BOOKS," AND "A JOLLY CAT TALE" WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR Emblem BOSTON LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. DOROTHY DAINTY TRADE-MARK Registered in U. S. Patent Office Published, August, 1911 T COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. —————— All Rights Reserved —————— DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE MOUNTAINS Norwood Press Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. At the Cleverton 1 II. A Delightful Surprise 21 III. An Entertainment 42 IV. In A Birch Arbor 62 V. The Mountain Party 81 VI. The Echo Captured 101 VII. Floretta's Return 122 VIII. At the Fair 141 IX. Flossie's Letter 162 X. A Gift of Wildflowers 182 XI. Arabella Makes a Call 201 XII. A Serenade 222 ILLUSTRATIONS "Here! Here!" cried Dorothy, and echo answered, "Here,—ere!" (Page 4) Frontispiece FACING PAGE Often she looked back, as she sped over the road 32 "Oh, what a lovely, lovely story!" said Dorothy 66 With feet and hands she strove to loosen the tough, wiry vines 120 She took a few tripping steps, smiling at her reflection 176 She offered two cards to Floretta 210 DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE MOUNTAINS CHAPTER I AT THE CLEVERTON HE great hotel on the crest of the hill was bathed in sunlight that poured from a rift in the clouds, as if sent for the sole purpose of showing the grand portico, the broad piazza, and the flag that floated gracefully on the summer breeze. Its many windows seemed to be looking across the valley to opposite mountain peaks, and one could easily imagine that its wide, open doorway, smiled genially as if offering a welcome to all arriving guests. Two little girls ran across the lawn, the one with flaxen curls, the other with sunny brown ringlets. The fair-haired little girl had eyes as blue as the blue blossoms that she held in her hand, while her playmate's eyes [1] [2] were soft and brown, and told that her heart was loving and true. The little blue-eyed girl was Dorothy Dainty, and the child who clasped her hand was her dearest friend, Nancy Ferris. Nancy had no parents, and a few years before Dorothy's mamma had taken her under her care and protection, and she was being trained and educated as carefully as was Dorothy, the little daughter of the house. They had come to the Hotel Cleverton to spend the summer, and the first few days of their stay, they had explored all the land that lay immediately around the hotel, and had found many beautiful spots, but one thing held their interest,— they loved the echo, and never tired of awakening it. "Come!" cried Dorothy. "Run with me over to the white birches, and we'll shout, and listen!" Mrs. Dainty had told them the story of Echo, the nymph, who for loving Pan and following him and calling to him had been changed into a huge rock on the mountainside, and forever compelled to mock each voice she heard. The old legend of the nymph had caught their fancy, and often they paused in their play to shout, and listen to what seemed to them the voice of some fairy of the mountains. Now they stood beside the birches, Dorothy with one arm around a white trunk, and Nancy near her. At their feet were countless bluebells, overhead the blue sky, while across and beyond the valley rose the mountain capped by white clouds that looked as soft as swan's-down. "Here! Here!" cried Dorothy, and echo answered, "Here,—ere!" "Listen!" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands, and laughing with delight. "It answers as if it was a truly voice that heard and replied. "Nancy, I love you!" she cried, and again they plainly heard:— "Love you-oo!" They thought it great fun to shout and call, and hear their cries so cleverly repeated. And now another child ran out from the great doorway, paused a moment as if looking for some one, then, seeing the two little figures near the clump of birches, stole softly near them. On tiptoe, and with tread as soft and noiseless as a cat, she made her way over the short grass, until she was quite near them. Then, hiding behind a low bush, she watched them. How still she stood! For what was she waiting? Her bold eyes were full of mischief, as she whispered, "Oh, hurry up!" Dorothy Dainty put her hands to her mouth, trumpet fashion, and called: "Come and catch us!" and instantly the echo from the distant mountain and a shrill voice behind them, repeated: "Come and catch us!" "Oh, oh-o!" cried Dorothy, and Nancy ran to her, and threw her arms about her. "You ought not to frighten Dorothy like that!" cried Nancy. A saucy laugh answered her. "Well, it isn't nice to be shrieked at, and you do it just like the echo, you know you do, and it's enough to frighten any one," said Nancy. The little tease was not in the least abashed. She could imitate almost any sound that she had ever heard, and each success made her eager to repeat her efforts at mocking. "I made old Mrs. Hermanton fly up out of her chair, and drop her ball of worsted and knitting-needles, when I shouted close to her ear." "Why, Floretta!" cried Nancy. Now you think that was horrid, but I tell you it was funny. She'd just been telling about her darling little lap-dog that died ten years ago, and she got out her handkerchief to cry, and put it up to her eyes. "'Oh, if I only could hear his lovely bark again!' she said, and right behind her chair, I said: "'Ki-yi! Yip! Yip!' and she jumped up much as a foot from her seat." Nancy laughed. How could she help it? The old lady had told every man, woman, and child who sat upon the piazza, how much she had suffered in the loss of the dog. One testy old gentleman who was troubled with gout, spoke rather plainly. "Madam," he said, "I've heard that story every day of this week, and all I can say is, I wish you had gout in your feet as I have, and you'd have no time to waste [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] crying for a puppy!" He certainly was hopelessly rude, but one must admit every day is far too often to be forced to listen to an uninteresting tale. Floretta stood looking down at the toe of her shoe. She moved it from side to side along the grass for a moment, then she spoke again. "You know old Mr. Cunningham has gout, and is awful cross?" Dorothy and Nancy nodded. They did indeed know that. "Well, he sat on the piazza and laughed when I scared Mrs. Hermanton, so I want to know if he'll think it's funny every time I do things. You know he puts one foot up on a chair, and every time any one touches that chair ever so little, he cries: 'Oh, oh, oh!' and holds on to his foot. "The next time I'm near him, I'm going to make b'lieve hit my foot against something, and then I'll cry out, just 'zactly as he does: "'Oh, oh, oh!' and I'll hold on to my foot," said Floretta. "I know it's funny," said Dorothy, "but I don't think you ought to." "Well, you needn't. P'raps you couldn't do it just like other folks, but I can, and I'm going to!" said Floretta. She was a handsome child, but her boldness marred her beauty. She was, indeed, a clever imitator, but she had been told so too often. Her mother constantly praised her cleverness, and unwise friends applauded her efforts, until Floretta acquired the idea that she must, on all occasions, mimic some one. Sometimes those whom she mocked thought it clever, and laughed when they had thus been held up to derision. At other times Floretta found that she had chosen the wrong person to mimic, and had received a sharp rebuke. This taught her nothing, however. She thought any one who did not enjoy her antics must be very ill-natured, while her silly mother considered that Floretta had been abused. While Dorothy and Nancy were talking with Floretta, they were picking large bouquets of bluebells and a tiny white flower that grew as abundantly as the bluebells, and blossomed as freely. It pleased her, for the moment, to gather some of the blossoms, and soon the three were too busy to talk, each trying to see which could gather the largest bouquet. On the hotel piazza Mrs. Paxton sat, occupied with her embroidery, but not too busy to talk. She was never too busy to talk, if she could find any one to listen. Near her sat two ladies who had just arrived, and old Mr. Cunningham, who frowned darkly at the magazine that he was trying to read. It was not that the story displeased him that he frowned, but that he was bored with hearing what Mrs. Paxton was saying, mainly because she always said the same thing. "You see, with our wealth and position, it is impossible that little Floretta should ever make any use of her talents for any purpose other than the amusement of her friends," she said. One of the two ladies, whose fine face and sweet low voice bespoke refinement, looked fixedly at Mrs. Paxton, and wondered that any woman should be willing to boast so foolishly. The other, whose garments told of a great love of display, seemed interested, and even impressed. "What is her especial talent?" she asked, "I really should like to know. Is she musical?" "O dear, yes," Mrs. Paxton hastened to reply; "she plays delightfully, and she has a voice that is really quite unusual for a child; she dances, too, but her greatest gift is her power of imitation. She has a sensitive nature that is open to impressions, and she sees the funny side of everything. She really is a wonderful little mimic. You must see her to appreciate her charm." The quiet woman looked as if she thought this a doubtful accomplishment, but the one who had eagerly listened said: "Where is she? I should be so pleased to see her. Not all children are so interesting. Many are dull." "And lucky they are!" growled old Mr. Cunningham, under his breath, but the ladies did not hear that. [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] "I don't want these flowers now I've picked them," cried Floretta. "You can have them if you want them," she said, as she turned toward Dorothy. "I can't hold any more than I have," said Dorothy, "but you could—" "Then here they go!" cried Floretta, as she flung them broadcast, to lie and wilt in the sunlight. "Oh, it was too bad to throw them away," said Dorothy. "I was going to say, if you didn't care for them, perhaps Mrs. Hermanton might like them. She said she liked wild flowers and used to pick them, but her rheumatism won't let her pick them now." "Pooh! I wouldn't have bothered to take them back to her," Floretta replied; and turning about, she ran back to the hotel. "Come here, Floretta!" said Mrs. Paxton. "This lady wishes to see you." Usually Floretta when asked to do anything, preferred to do something else. This time, thinking that she saw an opportunity for a lark, she went promptly and paused beside her mother's chair. "This is Mrs. Dayne, Floretta. Mrs. Dayne, this is my little daughter." Floretta looked up and smiled, but said nothing. She had never been taught that she must reply courteously when spoken to. Her pretty face pleased Mrs. Dayne, who was much the same sort of woman that Mrs. Paxton was. She wished that Floretta could be induced to perform. Induced! She was already wondering if she would have a chance to show off. The opportunity came soon, and she was delighted. Mr. Cunningham had become drowsy, and his magazine dropped to the piazza floor. In stooping to recover it, he hurt his gouty foot, and cried out. "Oh, oh-o!" he cried, and like an echo, "Oh, oh-o!" cried Floretta, catching hold of her own foot and hopping wildly about. Of course Mrs. Paxton laughed gaily, as if Floretta had done a very smart thing, while Mrs. Dayne, who was as silly a woman as Mrs. Paxton, joined in the merriment, thus hoping to gain favor with her new friend. Mr. Cunningham, without a word, took his magazine and, limping painfully, left the piazza, and went indoors. Mrs. Vinton, an odd expression on her fine face, took her parasol from the chair where it lay, and went for a walk down the path toward the birches. She was disgusted with Mrs. Paxton, Floretta, and Mrs. Dayne, although she felt that the little girl was least of all at fault. She was only an untaught, untrained child, to be pitied rather than blamed. She knew that they would think her very unkind if she did not seem to approve of Floretta, and she could not laugh at cruelty. The child was indeed a clever imitator, but the fact remained that it was cruel to mock an outcry caused by pain. Dorothy and Nancy were coming toward her, on their way toward the hotel, their hands filled with blossoms, faces bright and smiling. They greeted her gaily, and Dorothy offered her some of the flowers. "I'll give half to you, and half to mamma," said Dorothy. "I mean, I will if you'd like to have them." "It is a sweet gift, and I shall enjoy them in my room," Mrs. Vinton said. "I have a lovely vase that is worthy to hold such beautiful blossoms." "I'll divide mine between Aunt Charlotte and Mrs. Hermanton," said Nancy. "You both like to give," said Mrs. Vinton. "Oh, yes!" they cried together, and as she left them, Dorothy said: "Isn't she a sweet, lovely lady?" "Yes, and I like to hear her talk, her voice always sounds so pleasant." Mrs. Vinton, as she walked along the little path, her flowers in her hand, thought of Dorothy and Nancy. "They are two dear little girls," she said, "and add to the charm of this lovely place." [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] T "Would you dare to give Mr. Cunningham some bluebells for his buttonhole?" said Nancy. "I'd like to, but I wouldn't dare." "I don't know," Dorothy said. "I'd like to, too, and he 'most always has a rosebud, but sometimes he doesn't. When we get back, if he's on the piazza, and hasn't a bud in his buttonhole, I'll try to dare to offer him some of these blossoms." Dear little Dorothy! She wondered if she would be rewarded with a frown! Floretta and her mother were not there, neither was Mrs. Dayne, but in a shady corner sat Mr. Cunningham. Nancy ran in to take her flowers to Aunt Charlotte and Mrs. Hermanton. Dorothy hesitated. She would have been even more timid, had she known how recently he had been offended. He looked up from his book, frowned, then smiled and nodded pleasantly. He had thought that Floretta had returned, and was pleasantly surprised to see Dorothy, instead. Softly she crossed the piazza until she stood beside him. "May I give you a few of these bluebells for your buttonhole?" she said. "They're only wild flowers, but they're pretty ones," she added, fearing that, after all, he might not care for them. "Why, thank you, my dear. I surely would like them, especially as they are offered me by a real little lady." He placed the cluster that she offered him in his lapel, as he spoke, and looked to Dorothy for approval. "They are wild flowers, truly," he said, "but I think they are quite as attractive as the buds I have been wearing," and Dorothy was glad that she had offered them. CHAPTER II A DELIGHTFUL SURPRISE HREE weeks had passed, and as nearly every day had been fair, the guests at the Cleverton had lived out of doors, appearing at the hotel at meal-time, and at night. Other wild flowers beside the bluebells were blossoming gaily, peeping up from the grass as if offering a welcome to all who looked at them; and even great rocks and ledges held tiny blossoming plants in their crevices. The pony, Romeo, had come to the mountains with the family, and seemed to enjoy the outing. Every morning Dorothy and Nancy went for a drive, and Romeo tossed his mane, and pranced as if to show his delight. One morning the pony was standing at the porch, waiting for his little mistress, who soon came running down the stairs. Floretta was standing in the hall, spinning a top. A sign on the wall plainly stated that children must not play in the hall, but that did not disturb Floretta. Deftly she wound the string, and the great top fell to the floor, where it hummed and spun as rapidly as if a boy's hand had flung it. She picked it up, and again wound it, this time throwing it with even greater force. "Look! Look!" she cried. "I b'lieve it spins faster every time I throw it!" Dorothy looked over the baluster at the humming top, but said nothing. She knew that Floretta had seen the notice; indeed a number of the children had stood in the hall when it had been tacked up. Looking up at Dorothy, Floretta noticed the whip in her hand. "Riding?" she asked. "Yes, for a little while," said Dorothy. "It's a lovely morning, and I mean to see how quickly Romeo will take me to the 'Spring.'" "I wouldn't care to ride horseback," said Floretta, rudely. [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] "You won't care to spin tops in this hall if Matson catches you," cried a shrill voice, from an upper hall. "Pooh! I'm not afraid of Matson," Floretta said, boldly, looking up at the boy who had tried to frighten her. "Oh, aren't you?" said the boy in a teasing voice. "Well, he manages this hotel, and he'll make you stop if he catches you!" "You stop, Jack Tiverton!" cried Floretta. "You'll be the one to stop!" said Jack, with a loud laugh. Dorothy crossed the hall, stepping around Floretta, who stood exactly in the way. Looking back, she saw Floretta show the tip of her tongue to Jack, while Jack, not to be outdone, made a most outrageous face. "I wish they weren't so horrid!" Dorothy said to herself, as she left the hall. Having mounted Romeo, with the groom's aid, she rode off down the lovely, shady road, the man on his horse, following at a respectful distance. She touched the pony lightly with her whip, and he responded by breaking into a gentle gallop. Dorothy's bright curls flew back from her flushed face, and she laughed as she flew over the road. The groom watched her admiringly, and marvelled that so small a girl could be such a perfect little equestrienne. The ride had brightened her eyes, and she always looked smaller than she really was when mounted upon Romeo. He was a handsome animal, with flowing mane and tail, and the groom spoke truthfully when he muttered: "Them two makes a high-bred pair. Miss Dorothy is a girl 'ristycrat, an' the little hoss is a hoss 'ristycrat, if ever there was one." The groom had been in the service of the Dainty family but a few months, but in that time he had become devoted to the little daughter of the house. All the servants loved Dorothy, and were almost as fond of Nancy Ferris. The young groom had heard Nancy's story, and he felt a deep interest in the little girl, who once had been a waif. Now, his pleasant face wore a smile as he followed Dorothy, and saw how firmly the little figure stuck to the saddle, and rode as if girl and pony were one and inseparable. They reached the "Spring," a spot whose beauty drew all travellers to it, and artists lingered there to paint, and thus perpetuate its charm. Romeo looked down at the clear stream that reflected his figure so perfectly. "He wants a drink," said Dorothy; "lead him to a good place, Thomas, please." He helped her to dismount, and then led the pony to a shady spot where he could drink, and enjoy the cool, clear water. Dorothy at once commenced to gather some of the lovely wild flowers that grew near the water's edge, but farther up the stream. "These are different from any that I've ever found here," she thought. Her hands were nearly filled with the lovely blossoms, and she was reaching out to grasp an especially pretty one, when a strangely familiar voice, just behind her, said: "I think I see some one I've often seen before!" Dorothy turned, and a little cry of surprise and pleasure escaped her lips. There were Mrs. Barnet and dear little Flossie coming toward her, while very near her was the owner of the voice, Flossie's handsome, merry-hearted Uncle Harry! Just behind him was his lovely young wife, and the baby in charge of a maid. "Oh, I am glad, so glad to see you!" cried Dorothy. "And Flossie Barnet, did you know you were coming up here, when I said 'good-by' to you and Molly Merton at Merrivale?" "I didn't know surely, but I almost knew," Flossie admitted, "but Uncle Harry said, 'Don't tell 'til you know,' and I didn't truly know until after you were gone." "Well, it's fine to have you here," said Dorothy, "but I do truly b'lieve it's almost nicer to be surprised, and have you;" and she threw her arm around Flossie, as she walked beside her. [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] [29] Tall, handsome Uncle Harry thought he saw a chance for a bit of a joke. "I wonder why some one isn't surprised to see me?" he said. "Oh, I am," said Dorothy, "and glad, too." "Well, thank you," said Uncle Harry; then with a face that he tried to make sad, he said: "But I know you aren't as glad as you were to see Flossie, because,—you didn't put your arm around my waist!" He had tried to look very glum, but his blue eyes were laughing. Big, handsome Uncle Harry could not look woebegone, and the two little girls laughed at his attempt. "The barge is taking our party over to the 'Cleverton,' and I see you have the pony, Dorothy," said Uncle Harry. "Will you run a race with the barge?" "Oh, yes, yes!" cried Dorothy, "and Romeo will come in ahead!" "If he does," said Uncle Harry, "I'll surely decorate him with a blue ribbon!" With many a laugh and jest, and much guessing as to which would be the winner, the merry party clambered into the barge; Dorothy mounted Romeo, and they were off over the road, on the way to the hotel. The horses, like the average barge horses, were not beauties, but they saw the pony rush forward, and they made an effort at speed. They plunged forward, at what, to them, seemed a reckless pace, but the fine, handsome Romeo shot past them, his nostrils dilated, and his eyes bright with excitement. Dorothy's gay laugh rang out as she passed them, and Uncle Harry, as he looked after the flying figure, exclaimed: "The little fairy! I believe no other child could ride so fearlessly as that!" Often she looked back, as she sped over the road. Try as they would, the old horses could not overtake her. As soon as the barge appeared in sight between the trees, she touched Romeo lightly with her whip-stock, and then she laughed gaily as he plunged forward, the old barge rattling along far behind. She did not permit Romeo to again slacken his pace, and thus arrived at the Cleverton before the barge was in sight, so slow had been its progress. "Oh, Nancy!" she cried, "Who do you think has come?" Often she looked back, as she sped over the road.—Page 31. OFTEN SHE LOOKED BACK, AS SHE SPED OVER THE ROAD.—PAGE 31. "Who has come?" Nancy asked. "Where are they?" "I mean you can't guess who is coming, and there they come now, Nancy, just look!" Nancy did look, saw the barge swinging around the curve of the road, saw a tiny handkerchief waving, and then a [30] [31] [32] sweet little face looked out to smile at her. "Oh, it's Flossie Barnet!" cried Nancy, joyfully, "and her mamma, and,—why, yes it is! It's Flossie's Uncle Harry!" He heard the cry, and heard the welcome in her voice. "Yes, it's Flossie's Uncle Harry, and all the other little girls' Uncle Harry who care to claim him for an uncle," he said, with a laugh, as he lifted his little niece down from the barge. "Oh, I'm so glad he came, too," said Dorothy, upon hearing which, he turned and lifting his hat, bowed, thus acknowledging the compliment that she had paid him. His eyes twinkled with pleasure, for he loved children, and he valued their regard. He was a big, manly fellow, with a warm heart, as loving, and as merry as that of a child. The Barnet party added much to the pleasure of little events and entertainments at the Hotel Cleverton. Flossie became, at once, a favorite with the other children, and her charming mother was deservedly popular with all. Uncle Harry, who possessed a fine voice, willingly sang whenever a musical program was arranged for an evening, while his lovely young wife, who was an accomplished pianist, played his accompaniments, or rendered solos, thus generously adding to the pleasure of the other guests. "I tell you what it is," said old Mr. Cunningham, "that big bank of clouds hanging over that mountain means rain, and plenty of it, I believe." "I think you are right," said Uncle Harry, "and if we do have a three days' rain, as we sometimes do, we shall have to use every effort to keep things humming, and so forget the storm." They had been sitting on the piazza, and talking of the days of uninterrupted sunshine that they had enjoyed, when, in a few minutes, the blue sky had been hidden, as if by a thin, pearly veil, while hanging over the mountain was the mass of leaden clouds that had seemed to prophesy rain. "Oh, I don't want it to rain," wailed Floretta, who stood near them, her pretty face puckered into a most unpleasant frown. "I'm afraid the weather can't be arranged especially for you," said Mr. Cunningham. He, like all the guests, was very tired of the child who was either whining, or boisterously, rudely gay. Just at this point, Mrs. Paxton came out on the piazza, a small note-book and pencil in her hand. She hastened toward the two gentlemen, and smiled as if she were conferring a favor. "With the chance of a stormy evening, we are trying to arrange a program that will give us a pleasant evening indoors," she said. "I am sure you will help me." She had smiled at both, and old Mr. Cunningham, who heartily disliked her, was only too glad to reply. "I'm not musical, madam," he said, "but I'll whistle 'Hail Columbia' for you, if you will promise not to reprimand me if I get off the key." "Dear, dear!" she cried. "You are always so amusing. One never knows if you are joking, or serious." "It would be very serious, and no joke, I assure you, if you were actually obliged to listen to my whistling," was the curt reply, and he turned once more to scan the sky and the distant mountains. Uncle Harry, of course, agreed to sing, his wife promised to play, and Mrs. Paxton moved toward where Mrs. Dainty and her companion, Aunt Charlotte, were sitting, with Dorothy and Nancy near them. "Will your little daughter sing for us this evening?" she asked. "We are eager to have quite a fine program." "Dorothy shall sing for you, surely," Mrs. Dainty said, "and Nancy, I am sure, will give a little solo." "Oh, does Nancy sing or play?" Mrs. Paxton asked, in surprise, for thus far Nancy had not exhibited her talent, whatever it might be. "She will give you a solo that shall be neither singing nor playing," Mrs. Dainty replied, with a quiet smile. "How very interesting!" said Mrs. Paxton. She had invited Dorothy to sing because other guests had expressed the wish to hear her. Here was a second child with talent of some kind! Well, Floretta's imitations of other people would certainly eclipse the efforts of the other little girls! Mrs. Paxton's sole idea in arranging the entertainment was for the purpose of showing Floretta's mimicry. A small figure paused a moment in the doorway, then stepped back, and peeped out, scanning the groups upon the [33] [34] [35] [36] [37] [38] M piazza. "She isn't there!" he whispered. "She's backed out, an' she said she'd do it!" He drew back into the shadow, and waited, hoping that when he looked again he might see her. A second peep at the guests on the piazza showed that Floretta was not among them. "She didn't try to do it!" he muttered. He held something in his hand, which he kept behind his back. He was about to peep again when a light hand touched his shoulder. He turned, and there stood Floretta, looking prettier than usual in her short white frock, white shoes, and pink hair ribbons. "Did you get one?" whispered Jack. "Look!" said Floretta, and from behind her back she produced a long corn-cob. "I took mine from the table at noon, when ma wasn't looking, and ran from the dining-room, and hid it in our room," said Floretta. "How did you get yours?" "I asked the head waiter to get mine for me," said Jack, "and he acted as if he thought me a ninny. He gave it to me all the same, and asked what I was up to. I didn't tell him, though." They giggled softly. "Ready?" whispered Jack, softly. "Yes," whispered Floretta, and then, with corn-cobs held to their mouths, and their fingers working as if playing upon flutes, they marched out on to the piazza, loudly singing, "Hail Columbia." Some of the guests laughed, none so loudly as Mrs. Paxton, who declared that it taxed her intellect to imagine what put such outrageously funny notions into children's heads. "I can answer that, madam, and without trying very hard, either. It's Satan, madam, Satan, who from watching their actions, takes them to be his near relatives," said Mr. Cunningham. Meanwhile the little procession of two, encouraged by the laughter, marched in and out between the groups of guests, until unlucky Floretta let her corn-cob slip from her fingers, the moist, sticky thing falling upon the light silk skirt of a lady who sat near Mrs. Paxton. "There, there, Floretta, never mind," said Mrs. Paxton; then turning to the wearer of the gown, she said, "I don't think it will stain it in the least. Children will be children, and must have their fun!" CHAPTER III AN ENTERTAINMENT RS. PAXTON had laughed at what she chose to call the "funny" antics of Floretta and Jack, but in truth, she had been very angry. She swept from the piazza, Floretta, firmly grasped, walking beside her. Jack Tiverton's mother took him to her room, where she could talk to him, without fear of interruption. Floretta sat on a low divan, sullen and obstinate. For twenty minutes she had listened, while her mother had told what a disrespectful thing she had done. "I don't see how it was not respectful," grumbled Floretta, "we were just having a little fun." "And it was fun at my expense," said Mrs. Paxton. "I was annoyed, just when I was making plans for a fine entertainment, to have you and that boy parade out on to the piazza with those old corn-cobs, singing, or rather howling, like young savages!" This, and much more Floretta was forced to listen to, but during the remainder of the scolding, she did not speak, or reply in any way. She was still very sullen when her mother left the room, and no one saw her until she appeared in the dining-room at dinner. She tasted one dish after another, but managed to eat but little dinner. She wished her mother to think that the [39] [40] [41] [42] [43] [44] scolding had made her ill. It proved to be wasted effort. Mrs. Paxton had been so interested in what Mrs. Dayne was saying that she had not noticed that Floretta let the various courses go untasted. She had hoped to worry her mother, but had only punished herself! She was very hungry when they left the table, and also very angry. "I might just as well have eaten my dinner," she muttered, "she never noticed that I didn't." When the hour arrived that had been set for the concert, every guest was present, and all were talking and laughing gaily, and very glad that an evening's amusement had been provided. Outside, the rain was descending in torrents, while a cold wind whistled around the corners, as if demanding admittance. Indoors the heavy red hangings were drawn over the lace draperies, great logs blazed in the fireplaces, while over all softly shaded lights gave an air of cozy comfort that made one feel sheltered and safe from the storm. A group of ladies sat chatting together, and one, a recent arrival, was saying that she had understood that children were not permitted as guests at the Cleverton. "There are only a few children here," Mrs. Vinton said, "and some of them are charming." "While others are not?" questioned the stranger, with an odd smile. "I'd rather not say just that," Mrs. Vinton said, "but I will say that Mrs. Dainty's little daughter, and Dorothy's little friend, Nancy, and Flossie Barnet, are three of the sweetest children I have ever met. My stay here is brighter and far pleasanter because they are also here." "Dorothy Dainty is an unusually fine singer for a child," another lady said, "and she is to sing for us to-night. I believe Nancy Ferris is to do something, but I do not know what. Does any one know if Nancy sings?" "I've not the least idea what her talent is," said a pleasant-voiced matron, "but she is such a bright, interesting child that I feel sure that whatever she is able to do at all, she will do exceedingly well." "Aunt Vera is to play a solo for the first number," said little Flossie Barnet, to a lady who sat near her. "That is delightful," said the lady, "and what are you to do?" "Oh, I'll listen, and listen," said Flossie, "and then, I'll clap to show how much I liked what the people did." "And your friend Dorothy is to sing," said the lady, "do you know what Nancy does?" "Oh, yes, I do!" cried Flossie, "and she does it so lovely, you'll wonder how she could! I'm not to tell what she'll do, none of us are to tell. You'll see when she does it!" "Dear little girl, you seem quite as happy as if you were to be a soloist," said the lady. "Why, yes," said Flossie, "for when the other little girls do pretty things, I see them, but I couldn't see myself do anything!" "Oh, you sweet, funny little girl," the pleasant-faced lady said, as she drew Flossie closer, "I never knew so dear a child." "Dorothy and Nancy are dear," said Flossie, "and oh, you haven't seen Molly Merton! She's another one of my little friends, and she's always lovely to play with. We're always together when I'm at home at Merrivale." Before the lady could express regret that she did not know Molly, the orchestra began the opening chords of an overture. The musicians gave an afternoon and evening concert daily, throughout the season, but to-night their numbers were to be interspersed with solos given by the guests. The orchestra was generously applauded, and then a slender figure in a gown of soft, pink satin seated itself at the piano, and with light touch and brilliant execution, played a rondo that delighted all. In response to repeated applause, she played the "Caprice Hongroise," which aroused wild enthusiasm. She smiled, and bowed gracefully in acknowledgment, then turning toward her husband, who now stood beside her, took from his hand the duplicate of the song that he was to sing. She always played his accompaniments. How full of music was his rare voice, how like the tones of a silver trumpet when he sang "A Song of the Sea," how tender his tones when for a second number, he sang an "Italian Love Song!" "Didn't he sing fine, just fine?" Flossie asked, eagerly. [45] [46] [47] [48] [49] "Indeed he did," the lady replied, "I never heard a more excellent voice." "Well, he's my own Uncle Harry!" said Flossie, a world of love and pride in her voice. A young girl played a serenade on the guitar, and a member of the orchestra played a waltz for violin, and both were encored. Those who were to perform were in a small room awaiting their turn. They were laughing and chatting while they waited, and all, save a little girl, who kept apart from the others, seemed bright and happy. Her eyes were dull, and her red lips pouting. It was Floretta Paxton, and she was watching Nancy Ferris, noticing every detail of her costume, and looking as unpleasant as possible. Nancy wore a frock of white gauze, thickly strewn with tiny gold spangles. Her girdle was white satin, her slippers were white, and she wore a cluster of pink rosebuds in her hair. "What's she going to do?" Floretta asked in a fretful voice, but Mrs. Paxton, who stood beside her, could not tell her that. She knew no more of Nancy's talent than Floretta did. Floretta had been angry in the afternoon; she had foolishly refused dinner, and was very hungry; she was made more angry because hers was not the first number on the program, and now, here was Nancy Ferris wearing a beautiful frock that far outshone her own! She was wearing a simple pink muslin, and had felt that she was finely dressed, until Nancy appeared. The satin girdle, the white slippers, and the spangles were more than she could forgive. "What's she going to do?" she asked again, more fretfully than before. "I don't know," Mrs. Paxton said. "Well, I won't do a thing 'til I do know!" said Floretta. Silly little girl! Always a jealous child, she now thought that Nancy might be another impersonator or imitator, and she was nearly wild. The orchestra was now playing a dreamy waltz. Nancy's foot tapped the measure. Her eyes were brighter. "What is she going to do?" whispered Floretta. The tall man, who had been announcing the numbers, now swung aside the portière, and Nancy slipped from her chair, ran out upon the stage, and then,—oh, the fairy motion of her arms, the lightness with which, on the tips of her toes, she flew across the stage! With her finger-tips she lifted the hem of her skirt, and courtesied low, then away in a dreamy whirl she sped, turning to look over her shoulder, and laugh at the faces that showed greatest surprise. On swept the strains of sweetest music, and little Nancy, carried away with love of the music, danced more charmingly than ever before. Aunt Charlotte and Mrs. Dainty watched her flying figure, and often as they had seen her, they knew that she was excelling herself. "Nancy, Nancy, dear child!" murmured Aunt Charlotte. Now, with her feet crossed, and still on the tips of her toes she whirled like a top, did the graceful rocking step, swayed like a flower in the wind, whirled about again, courtesied once more, and laughing like a merry, dark-eyed sprite, ran back into the little waiting-room. Oh, what thunders of applause greeted her, yet she sat quietly chatting with a lady who stood near her! Again and again they seemed to be begging that the little dancer might return. "I'll bow to them," said Nancy, and she ran out to do so. "Once more, once more!" cried an eager voice, and then more clapping, and even a few shrill whistles from some very young men begged her to respond. She extended her arms for a second, then whirling rapidly, she repeated the last half of the dance, courtesied again, and when she ran back to the little room, Dorothy embraced her tenderly. "Oh, Nancy darling!" she cried, "you never danced finer. Do you know how pleased every one is?" "I danced to please and surprise them," said Nancy. "I do love to see people look happy. They couldn't remember how hard it was raining while I was whirling and dancing for them." Floretta, now more unhappy than before, turned so that she might not see Nancy, nor note the shimmer of her [50] [51] [52] [53] [54] [55] spangles. Mrs. Paxton, who had been talking with a friend, now turned toward Floretta. "Come!" she said, "now run out, and do your very best, Floretta." "I'm not going out!" said Floretta. "What an idea!" cried Mrs. Paxton. "Of course you'll run out, and show every one how cute you are. Why, I planned this entertainment just to give you a chance to show off!" "And made me the last one on the whole list!" snarled Floretta. "Come, come!" cried her mother, "every one couldn't be first. I thought I'd have the others perform first, and then you could show who was the smartest! Come! They're just wild to see what you can do, and they're waiting." "They'll have to wait!" hissed Floretta, like a cross little cat. It was no use to urge, plead, or insist. Floretta was stubborn, and when once she had determined what she would, or would not do, nothing could move her. Prayers and threats were equally useless. Dorothy sang very sweetly, and was cordially received. Uncle Harry and his wife sang a charming duet that delighted all, the orchestra played a military caprice, and then the remainder of the evening was spent in a little, informal dance. All was light, laughter, and music, and there were two kinds of music that gladdened their hearts,—the sweet music of the violins, and the still sweeter melody of happy voices! Silly little Floretta had ruined the evening for no one save her own jealous little self. Because she could not be the first on the program, she would not appear at all, although, at heart, she longed to show her really clever mimicry. Later, after having sulked during the early part of the evening, she refused to join the dancers, and ran away to her room, angry, very angry with every one save the one person who was really at fault,— herself. Her efforts at imitating would surely have amused, and would, doubtless, have been well received. She was rather a graceful dancer, in any of the ordinary ballroom dances, and she thus might have joined the other children when the concert was over. She had needlessly spent a most unhappy evening. Now, in her room, she heard the strains of the orchestra, and for the first time realized how foolish she had been. "I had a chance, and I lost it," she sobbed, but her tears were not tears of grieving. They were angry tears, and the droll part of it was that while she alone was at fault, she was angry with every one but herself. For a few moments she lay, her face hidden in her pillow. Then, she turned over into a more comfortable position, and softly she whispered, "I'll do enough to-morrow to make up!" She did not say what she intended to do, but the idea evidently pleased her, for she laughed through her tears. She sprang from her bed, found a box of bonbons that her mother had won as a prize in an afternoon whist party the day before, and crept back into bed. When she had eaten nearly all of the candy, she sat up and in the softly shaded light, looked at the box with its few remaining bits of candy. She was wondering where she could hide it. "Ma will surely notice the empty box, or anyway, I've made it almost empty," she said. "She might not miss it if I hid it!" She had never been taught to be honest, so whenever she did a naughty thing, her first thought was to hide, or cover up the act. She never felt regret. No one ever heard her gently say, "I'm sorry." Softly she crept from her bed, and made her way across the floor to the dressing-case. She put the box upon the floor, and pushed it well under it, and wholly out of sight. "There!" she whispered. "That's all right. I would have finished the candy, but I didn't want the whole of it. I ate the best of it. The others weren't very nice." Down in the long parlor the guests were no longer dancing. They were resting, and listening to a lovely barcarolle played softly by the orchestra. Flossie, clinging to Uncle Harry's hand, drew him toward the window. [56] [57] [58] [59] [60]