The Dorrance Domain

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."

CHAPTER XX

A REAL HOTEL

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.

CHAPTER XXI

UPS AND DOWNS

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?"