Dorothy Dainty at the Mountains Part 1

Dorothy Dainty at the Mountains.

by Amy Brooks.

CHAPTER I

AT THE CLEVERTON

THE 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 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 gra.s.s, 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 fas.h.i.+on, 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 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 gra.s.s 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.