[Illustration: Cover]
DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE MOUNTAINS
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[Illustration: "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_
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
DOROTHY DAINTY
TRADE-MARK
Registered in U. S. Patent Office
Published, August, 1911
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
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 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 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.
* * * * *
"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."
"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.