“DENNISTON HALL”
They reached Greenborough Monday evening, and it took the rest of that
week to get the house settled. Even after the carpets were laid and the
heavy furniture put in place, there was much to do in the way of hanging
pictures and arranging ornaments, and each of Betty’s good friends
continued to superintend the special apartments they had chosen.
Betty wandered about the house from room to room, wondering why her
friends were so good to her.
She stopped in the music-room, where Richard Van Court was at work, and
put the question to him.
The young man was sitting on top of a step-ladder, and held in his arms
a marble bust of Franz Liszt.
[Illustration: “‘POPINJAY, YOU OUGHT TO KNOW BETTER THAN TO ASK SUCH
DIFFICULT CONUNDRUMS.’”]
He scowled at her, and said: “Popinjay, you ought to know better than to
ask such difficult conundrums while I’m carefully placing Liszt in his
niche. However, I’ll answer you, as I’m so good-natured. Hello! I’ve
made a startling discovery. The late lamented Franz Liszt had a
defective ear. Now who would have supposed that? Yes, it’s certainly
chipped. Methinks ’twould be better to present the gentleman to the
public gaze in profile. But to return to the subject in hand—why,
child, we are not setting up your household gods out of pure charity. It
is principally because we enjoy the work ourselves. Brewster, in there,
is just in his element arranging those books on their shelves; Grace is
having a lovely time in the parlor; mother is happy pottering about
up-stairs; and old Morris is doubtless all the happier because the
kitchen range smokes. So you see, Jocoseria, it is not all disinterested
affection, though we are all fond of you. See?”
“Yes, sir,” said Betty; “and I’m glad you like it, for I could never
repay you otherwise.”
Even the stately Miss Margaret Van Court wanted a share in the goings
on, and she offered to look after the great front veranda. This she
transformed into a most inviting place, with awnings, rugs, palms,
hammocks, and wicker settees and tables, and the whole party sat here
one afternoon, resting from their labors.
“What are you going to call this place, Betty?” said Mr. Dick. “Your
local habitation ought to have a name.”
“Oh, yes; let us think of some appropriate name for it,” said Miss
Grace. “How would ‘Brooklawn’ do?”
“Too wishy-washy for such a unique home,” said Mr. Dick. “Think of
something expressive, like ‘The Popinjay’s Nest.’”
“No,” said Miss Margaret; “choose a name that describes the house.”
“The house is mostly hall,” said Mrs. Van Court, laughing. “I never saw
so many halls and stairs in one house before.”
“Yes, that’s a good name—‘Mostly Hall,’” said Dick, gravely. “How do
you like that, Popinjay?”
“It’s pretty,” said she, unconscious of any joke; “but I’m thinkin’ I’d
like a name that would be remindful of my grandfather.”
“That’s right, that’s right,” said Mr. Morris. “Old Dennis McGuire’s
name ought to be honored by his granddaughter.
Dennis—Denniston—‘Denniston Hall.’ How’s that?”
“I think just ‘Denniston’ is prettier,” said Mrs. Van Court.
“Now, wait a minute,” said Mr. Morris. “‘Denniston’ for the whole place,
and ‘Denniston Hall’ for the house itself.”
And so the name was settled. Of course the story of Betty’s fortune had
spread rapidly among the gossips of Greenborough, and she had become
what Mr. Richard called a “local celebrity.” Whenever she returned from
a trip to the village, he inquired if the spectators had thrown buns to
her or poked her with their parasols.
Betty didn’t mind this chaff, but her wealth subjected her to many petty
annoyances. It seemed as if all the domestics in town wanted to enter
her service. Applicants of all kinds, from butler to scullery-maid,
fairly swarmed round the Denniston doors, and even attacked the Van
Court house. But Mrs. Van Court finally arranged the corps of servants
to her complete satisfaction, and Betty’s modest establishment consisted
of a cook, a kitchen-maid, a neat waitress, and a parlor-maid.
Ellen was the cook. She had been among the first applicants for the
position, and reminded Betty of her promise. As she had already left
Mrs. Tucker’s house, Mrs. Van Court felt no hesitation in engaging her,
and Betty was delighted to benefit her old friend.
Pete, the ashman, was employed as head gardener, for Betty remembered
his kindness; and though he had little knowledge of gardening, he had
great administrative ability, and was to act as overseer and general
utility man about the place, and to let the under-gardeners do the work.
“Miss Betty,” he said, falling at once into the attitude of respect
called for by her changed position, “I’ll wurrk me finger-ends off fer
ye, so I will; an’ I’ll niver shlape, night nor day, but pathrol the
place ag’in’ the burgulars.”
However, this extreme watchfulness was not necessary, for Greenborough
was a quiet place; and besides, Mr. Morris had presented the young
housekeeper with an enormous St. Bernard dog, which, though gentle as a
kitten to his friends, was yet a safeguard against intruders.
The dog was named “Sydney,” in honor of Mr. Morris’s Australian home;
and the day the little lawyer left Greenborough, he told the dog that
Betty was to be his especial charge, and he must let no harm come to
her.
* * * * *
And now Denniston was rapidly nearing completion, and Betty was
impatient to take possession.
Lame Jack had been adopted as a brother. There was no formal adoption,
of course, for poor Jack had no guardian to dispute his possession.
Betty simply asked him if he would come and live at Denniston for the
rest of his life.
“Will I!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Well, I rather
guess I _will_! Do yer _mean_ it, Bet?”
“Yes, I do,” said she, as she grasped his outstretched hands, this being
the only method either knew of ratifying a treaty. “I want you to come;
an’ you mustn’t call me Bet. An’ we’ll both learn things, an’ be real
nice people.”
“All right, Bet—Betty, I mean. I’ll do jest what yer want me to, an’
I’ll try an’ be a tiptop brother. Say, are yer goin’ ter be yer own
boss?”
“Why, yes, Jack, or—no, not exactly. I’ve bought me a gran’mother, an’
she’ll tell me some what to do; an’ I’m goin’ to have a governess to
teach me book-learnin’ an’ train me in good manners.”
“H’m!—who’s goin’ ter boss me?”
“Nobody will boss you, Jack, unless you want them to; but I know you’ll
love the gran’mother.”
“Well, I’ll come; an’ if you’re too high-toned fer me I’ll light out,
fer I can’t stand much fixin’s, an’ that’s sure.”
“All right, Jack; come and try it, an’ if it don’t suit, you can leave
whenever you like.”
[Illustration: “‘MISS BETTY, I’ll WURRK ME FINGER-ENDS OFF FER YE, SO I
WILL!’”]
Saturday afternoon was the time set for Betty to install herself in her
home, and Saturday morning the Van Court ladies went over to Denniston
to assure themselves that everything was in readiness.
The servants had arrived, and Mrs. Kinsey was expected on the
four-o’clock train, and would bring the baby and nurse with her.
Betty could scarcely wait until luncheon was over; then she ran for her
hat, and sat down on the Van Courts’ veranda to wait for the carriage
which was to come for her—her own carriage, driven by her own coachman!
She couldn’t realize it, but then she had long since given up trying to
realize things. It all seemed like a fairy tale, and she often pinched
herself to make sure she was not dreaming.
Presently the carriage came, and Betty said good-by to the friends who
had been so kind.
“Oh, no, Betty, not good-by,” said Miss Grace, “only good afternoon; for
we shall come to see you often, and you must come here whenever you
wish.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Van Court; “if anything goes wrong in your
household,—and sometimes things do,—come at once to me for help.”
Betty thanked them again and again, and her eyes were moist as she
stepped into her carriage. They let her go alone, for they knew her
independent spirit, and felt sure it would not seem so much her own home
if any one else had even a seeming authority there.
So Betty drove away in state, waving her hand to the ladies on the
veranda, and feeling as if she had grown up very suddenly.
“To Denniston,” she said to the coachman, with the same air and
intonation that Mrs. Van Court used in giving orders; and the man,
Barney, who had considered Betty’s patronage as a joke, realized at once
that she was mistress.
As they neared Denniston, Betty pinched her arm, saying to herself: “I
_am_ awake, an’ I’m goin’ in my own carriage to my own home. I’m Betty
McGuire still, but at last I’ve got a home an’ a family!”
Up the long avenue of trees, and then they stopped at the steps of the
beautiful veranda. Betty got out, saying, “I’ll want the carriage again,
please, in time to go to meet the four-o’clock train,” and smiling so
pleasantly that Barney concluded his small mistress was as kind as she
was dignified.
Betty went at once to her own lovely room, which Mrs. Van Court had
further beautified with fresh flowers that morning, and taking off her
hat, threw herself on the couch in a burst of happiness.
“It’s true, it’s true!” she exclaimed, “an’ I’m here, an’ my family is
soon comin’; an’ oh, how happy I am!”
Then she roamed about the house, peeped into some of her new books,
struck a few keys of the piano, and finally paused before a door she had
never noticed before. It was locked, but the key turned easily, and the
door slid back, disclosing what seemed to be an elevator.
[Illustration: “ALMOST PETRIFIED WITH FRIGHT, BETTY STOOD PERFECTLY
STILL.”]
“It is,” she thought. “I remember now that Mrs. Ryan said, ‘That’s the
elevator to the tower,’ an’ I didn’t know then what she meant; but I
know now: it’s like they have in the big New York stores an’ the hotel.
But I don’t know how this one works.”
She stepped inside and pulled the rope, as she had seen the
elevator-boys do.
Then the door slid softly shut, and the elevator began to rise. Betty
laughed with glee, wondering if it would go to the tower without
stopping. It did; and being automatic, when it reached the top, it
stopped at a closed door, the sill of which was about a foot wide.
Betty stepped out on this ledge, and tried to open the door, which was
evidently a sliding one; but it would not open, and, to her horror, she
felt rather than saw the elevator going down again. She turned her head,
only to discover that it was too late to jump into the descending car,
and, almost petrified with fright, she stood perfectly still. Indeed,
that was the only thing to do. With her face and outstretched hands
against the smooth wood of the door, and her feet on the narrow sill,
she knew that if she looked round again she must become dizzy and fall
at once.
But what was the alternative?
Only to stand there until help came or—until she lost control of her
senses.
Betty had never fainted, but she knew what it meant, and she knew the
necessity for keeping calm. She set her teeth, and resolved to stand
perfectly still and call for help. She had to turn her head a little to
run any chance of making her voice heard, but she dared not turn it far
enough to look down into that dreadful abyss. Then she called:
“El-len! El-len!” But no one replied.
“El-len!” she called again; then, more hopefully: “Pete! Pete!”
But no one down-stairs could hear the voice of the little girl away up
in the tower, and at last Betty’s hands began to grow numb and all her
joints seemed to stiffen. With a last despairing cry of “El-len!” her
voice failed her, and she stood helpless.