Mr. Templeton's wife was just behind him. They both greeted the party as
if they had all been old friends. The house, a large white one, stood as
if in the act of climbing the hill. In front was a sloping lawn full of
brilliant flowers, bordered with house-leek, or "old hen and chickens,"
a plant running over with pink blossoms. Kyzie had not expected to see a
garden like this on the mountain.
At one side of the house, between two black oak trees, was a hammock,
and near it a large stone trough, into which water dripped from a
faucet. Two birds, called red-hammers, were sipping the water with
their bills, not at all disturbed by the arrival of strangers.
It was a small settlement. The hotel, by far the largest house in Castle
Cliff, looked down with a grand air upon the few cottages in sight.
These tiny cottages were not at all pretty, and had no grass or lawns in
front, but people from the city were keeping house in them for the
summer; and besides there were tents scattered all about, full of
"campers."
As the "bonnie Dunlees" and their elders entered the hotel, a merry
voice called out:--
"A hearty welcome to you, my friends, and three cheers for Castle
Cliff!"
Mr. and Mrs. Dunlee and the Sanfords walked on smiling, and the children
lingered awhile outside; but it was a full minute before any of them
discovered that the cheery voice belonged to a parrot, whose cage swung
from a tall sycamore overhead.
"Polly's pretty sociable," laughed Mr. Templeton. "Do you like animals,
young ladies? If so, please stand up here in a group, and you shall have
another welcome."
Then he clapped his hands and called out "Thistleblow!" and immediately
a pretty red pony came frisking along and began to caper around the
young people with regular dancing steps, making at the same time the
most graceful salaams, pausing now and then to sway himself as if he
were courtesying. It was a charming performance. The little creature had
once belonged to a band of gypsies, who had given him a regular course
of training.
"He is trying to tell you how glad he is to see you," said Mr.
Templeton, as the children shouted and clapped their hands.
"Oh, won't Bab like it, though!" cried Lucy. "Seems as if I couldn't
wait till to-morrow for Bab to get here, for then the good times will
begin."
But for Kyzie and Edith and Jimmy the good times had begun already. The
five Dunlees entered the house, little Eddo clinging fast to Jimmum's
forefinger. They passed an old lady who sat on the veranda knitting. She
gazed after them through her spectacles, and said to Mr. Templeton in a
tone of inquiry:--
"Boarders?"
"Yes," he replied, rubbing his chin, "and they have lots of jingle in
'em too; they're just the kind I like."
"Well, I hope they won't get into any mischief up here, that's all I've
got to say. Nobody wants to take children to board anyway, but you can't
always seem to help it."
And then the old lady turned to her knitting again; indeed her fingers
had been flying all the while she talked. Mr. Templeton looked at her
curiously, and wondered if she disliked children.
"I'd as lief have 'em 'round the house as her birds and kittens anyway,"
he reflected; for she kept a magpie, three cats and a canary; and these
pets had not been always agreeable guests at the hotel.
It was now nearly six o'clock, and savory odors from the kitchen mingled
with the balmy breath of the flowers stealing in from the lawn. The
Dunlee party had barely time for hasty toilets when the gong sounded for
dinner. The Templeton dining-room was large and held several tables. The
Dunlees had the longest of these, the one near the west window. There
were twelve plates set, though only nine were needed to-night. The three
extra plates had been placed there for the Hale family, who were
expected to-morrow. Mrs. Dunlee had told the landlord that she would
like the Hales at her table.
"And Bab will sit side o' me," said Lucy. "Oh, won't we be happy?"
As the Dunlees took their seats to-night and looked around the room they
saw a droll sight. The old lady, who had been knitting on the veranda,
was seated at a small table in one corner; and on each side of her in a
chair sat a cat! One cat was a gray "coon," the other an Angora; and
both of them sat up as grave as judges, nibbling bits of cheese. Mrs.
McQuilken herself, dressed in a very odd style, was knitting again. She
was a remarkably industrious woman, and as it would be perhaps three or
four minutes before the soup came in, she could not bear to waste the
time in idleness. Her head-dress was odd enough. It was just a strip of
white muslin wound around the head like an East Indian puggaree. Mrs.
McQuilken had many outlandish fashions. She was the widow of a
sea-captain and had been abroad most of her life. The children could
hardly help staring at her. Even after they had learned to know her
pretty well they still wanted to stare; and not being able to remember
her name they spoke of her as "the knitting-woman."
"Look, Lucy," whispered Jimmy; "there's a boy I know over there at that
little table. It's Nate Pollard."
He waved his hand toward him and Nate waved in reply. At home Jimmy had
not known Nate very well, for he was older than himself and in higher
classes; but here among strangers Jimmy-boy was glad to see a familiar
face. Mr. and Mrs. Pollard were with their son. Perhaps they had all
come for the summer. Jimmy hoped so.
There were two colored servants gliding about the room, and a pretty
waiting-maid.
"O dear, no cook from Cathay," whispered Kyzie to Edith.
"I don't know what you mean."
"I mean I wanted a cook from Cathay or Cipango," went on Kyzie, laughing
behind her napkin.
"I'm going to shake you," said Edith, who suddenly bethought herself
that Cathay and Cipango were the old names for China and Japan. This had
been part of her history lesson a few days ago. How Kyzie did remember
everything!
At that moment the colored man from Georgia stood at her elbow with a
steaming plate of soup. Lucy looked at him askance. Why couldn't he have
been a Chinaman with a pigtail? She had told Bab she was almost sure
there would be a "China cook" at the mountains, and when he passed the
soup he would say, "Have soup-ee?" Bab had been in Europe and in Maine
and in California, but knew very little of Chinamen and had often said
she "wanted to eat China cooking."
The dinner was excellent. Eddo enjoyed it very much for a while; then
his head began to nod over his plate, his spoon waved uncertainly in the
air, and Maggie had to be sent for to take him away from the table.
The ride up the mountain had been so fatiguing that by eight o'clock all
the Dunlees, little and big, were glad to find themselves snugly in bed.
They slept late, every one of them, and even the woodpeckers, tapping on
the roof next morning, failed to arouse them with their "Jacob, Jacob,
wake up, wake up, Jacob!"
After breakfast Edith happened to leave the dining-room just behind Mrs.
McQuilken, who held her two cats cuddled up in her arms like babies,
and was kissing their foreheads and calling them "mamma's precious
darlings." As Edith heard this she could not help smiling, and Mrs.
McQuilken paused in the entry a moment to say:--
"I guess you like cats."
"I do, ma'am. Oh, yes, very much."
"That's right. I like to see children fond of animals. Now, I've got a
new kitty upstairs, a zebra kitty, that you'd be pleased with. It's a
beauty, and _such_ a tail! Come up to my room and see it if you want to.
My room's Number Five. But don't you come now; I shall be busy an hour
and a half. Remember, an hour and a half."
Edith thanked her and ran to tell Kyzie what the "knitting-woman" had
been saying.
"Go get your kodak," said Kyzie. "Nate Pollard is going to take us all
out on an exploring expedition. You know he has been in Castle Cliff a
whole week, and knows the places."
"First thing I want to see is that mine," said Lucy, as they all met
outside the hotel.
"The mine?" repeated Kyzie, and looked at Eddo. "I'm afraid it isn't
quite safe to take little bits of people to such a place as that. Do you
think it is, Nate?"
"Rather risky," replied Nate.
Eddo had caught the words, "little bits of people," and his eyes opened
wide.
"What does _mine_ mean, Jimmum?"
"A great big hole, I guess. See here, Eddo, let's go in the house and
find Maggie."
"Yes," chimed in Edith, "let's go find Maggie. There's a _beau_-tiful
picture book in mamma's drawer. You just ask Maggie and she'll show you
the picture of those nice little guinea-pigs."
Though very young, Eddo was acute enough to see through this little
manoeuvre. It was not the first time the other children had tried to get
him out of the way. They wanted to go to see a charming "great big hole"
somewhere, and they thought he would fall into it and get hurt. They
were always thinking such things--so stupid of them! They thought he
used to run after "choo choos" and talk to them, when of course he never
did it; 'twas some other little boy.
"I want to go with Jimmum," said he, stoutly. "You ought to not go
'thout me! _I_ shan't talk to that mine. _I_ shan't say, 'Come, little
mine, Eddo won't hurt oo.' No, no, not me! I shan't say nuffin', and I
shan't fall in the hole needer. So there! H'm! 'm! 'm!"
It was not easy to resist his pleading. Perhaps Aunt Vi saw how matters
were, for she appeared just then, bearing the news that she and Uncle
James were going to drive, and would like to take one of the children.
"And Eddo is the one we want. He is so small that he can sit on the seat
between us. Aren't the rest of you willing to give him up just for this
morning? He can go to walk with you another time."
So they all said they would try to give him up, and he bounded away with
Aunt Vi, his dear little face beaming with proud satisfaction.