CHAPTER II
REBELLIOUS HEARTS
Although Mrs. Cooper's boarders were privileged to sit in the parlor inthe evening, the Dorrances rarely availed themselves of this permission.For the atmosphere of the formal and over-punctilious drawing-room waseven more depressing than that of the dining-room. And even had thechildren wanted to stay there, which they didn't, Mrs. Dorrance wouldhave been afraid that their irrepressible gayety would have been toofreely exhibited. And another thing, they had to study their next day'slessons, for their hours between school and dinner-time were alwaysspent out of doors.
And so every evening they congregated in their grandmother's room, andwere studious or frivolous as their mood dictated.
To-night they were especially fractious.
"Grannymother," exclaimed Lilian, "it just seems as if I _couldn't_live in this house another minute! there is nobody here I like, exceptour own selves, and I just hate it all!"
"Did _you_ go to school to-day, my little man?" said Leicester, shakinghis finger in such funny imitation of Mr. Bannister, that Lilian had tolaugh, in spite of her discontentment.
"I'm so tired of him, too," went on Lilian, still scowling. "Can't we goand live somewhere else, grandmother?"
Mrs. Dorrance sighed. She knew only too well the difficulty of securingdesirable rooms in a desirable locality with her four lively youngcharges; and especially at the modest price she was able to pay. Alreadythey had moved six times in their two years of boarding-house life, andMrs. Dorrance dreaded the thought of a seventh similar experience.
"Lilian, dear," she said, gently, "you know how hard it is to find anynice boarding-house where they will take four noisy children. And I'msure, in many respects, this is the best one we've ever found."
"I suppose it is," said Dorothy, looking up from the French lesson shewas studying, "but I know one thing! as soon as I get through school,and I don't mean to go many years more, we're going to get away fromboarding-houses entirely, and we're going to have a home of our own. Idon't suppose it can be in Texas, or the Desert of Sahara, but we'llhave a house or an apartment or something, and live by ourselves."
"I wish you might do so," said her grandmother, "but I fear we cannotafford it. And, too, I think I would not be able to attend to thehousekeeping. When we used to have plenty of servants, it was quite adifferent matter."
"But granny, dear," cried Dorothy, "I don't mean for you to housekeep. Imean to do that myself. After I get through school, you know, I'll havenothing to do, and I can just as well keep house as not."
"Do you know how?" asked Fairy, staring at her oldest sister withwide-open blue eyes.
"Can you make a cherry pie?" sang Leicester. "I don't believe you can,Dot; and I'll tell you a better plan than yours. You wait until _I_ getout of school, and then I'll go into some business, and earn enoughmoney to buy a big house for all of us."
"Like the one in Fifty-eighth Street?" said Dorothy, softly.
The children always lowered their voices when they spoke of the house onFifty-eighth Street. Two years ago, when their grandfather died, theyhad to move out of that beautiful home, and none of them, not evenlittle Fairy, could yet speak of it in a casual way.
The children's father had died only a few years after their mother, andthe four had been left without any provision other than that offered bytheir Grandfather Dorrance. He took them into his home on Fifty-eighthStreet, and being a man of ample means, he brought them up in agenerous, lavish way. The little Dorrances led a happy life, free fromcare or bothers of any sort, until when Dorothy was fourteen,Grandfather Dorrance died.
His wife knew nothing of his business affairs, and placidly supposedthere was no reason why she should not continue to live with thechildren, in the ways to which they had so long been accustomed.
But all too soon she learned that years of expensive living had madedecided inroads upon Mr. Dorrance's fortune, and that for the future hermeans would be sadly limited.
Mrs. Dorrance was a frail old lady, entirely unused to responsibilitiesof any kind; her husband had always carefully shielded her from alltroubles or annoyances, and now, aside from her deep grief at his death,she was forced suddenly to face her changed circumstances and theresponsibility of her four grandchildren.
She was crushed and bewildered by the situation, and had it not been forthe advice and kind assistance of her lawyer, Mr. Lloyd, she would nothave known which way to turn.
Dorothy, too, though only fourteen years old, proved to be a staunchlittle helper. She was brave and plucky, and showed a courage andcapability that astonished all who knew her.
After Mr. Dorrance's affairs were settled up, it was discovered that thefamily could not remain in the home. Although the house was free ofincumbrance, yet there was no money with which to pay taxes, or to paythe household expenses, even if they lived on a more moderate scale.Only a few years before his death, Mr. Dorrance had invested a large sumof money in a summer hotel property. This had not turned outadvantageously, and though Mrs. Dorrance could not understand all of thebusiness details, she finally became aware that she had but a net incomeof two thousand dollars to support herself and her grandchildren.
Helpless and heart-broken as she was, she yet had a certain amount ofindomitable pride, which though it might break, would never bend.
In her quiet, gentle way she accepted the situation, and endeavored tofind a suitable boarding-place that would come within her means. The bighouse had been rented to strangers, as Mr. Lloyd considered that abetter investment than selling it. The furniture had been sold, excepta few choice personal belongings which had been stored away againstbetter days.
With a cheerful placidity, which was but the reaction of her utterhelplessness, Mrs. Dorrance began her new life.
The children took the change more easily. Although they fretted andstormed more, yet that very fact gave a sort of outlet to theirdisappointment, and, too, their youth allowed them to adapt themselvesmore easily to the changed conditions.
And had it been possible for them to have a home of their own, theywould perhaps have been as happy as in their grandfather's mansion.
But Mrs. Dorrance well knew her own limitations, and realized that ather age she could not take up the unaccustomed cares of housekeeping.
And so they boarded; and it was unsatisfactory to all concerned;principally because children do not agree with boarding-houses and _viceversa_.
* * * * *
"Well, there is one thing to look forward to," said Dorothy, in hercheerful way; "it's the first of May now. In a month, school will beover for this term, and then we can go to the seashore or the country,and get away from Mrs. Cooper's for the summer, anyhow."
"Yes," exclaimed Lilian, "won't it be fun! I vote for the country thisyear. What do you say, Leicester?"
The twins, though possessing strong individual opinions, usuallyreferred all questions to each other, though this by no means implied achange of mind on the part of either.
"Country's all right," said Leicester, "but I like mountains.Mountainous country, you know; I don't mean Pike's Peak or MountWashington."
"I like the seashore," said Fairy. "'Course you needn't go there just'cause I like it,--but I do think it's awful nice. There's the water youknow, and the big waves come in all tumble-bumble,--oh, it's beautifulto see them! And if I could have a new bathing-suit trimmed with redbraid like Gladys Miller's, I do think----"
"Wait a minute, Fairy," said her grandmother; "you're doing yourthinking too soon. I'm sorry, children, more sorry than I can tell you,but I don't see how we can go away this summer, to the mountains orseashore or anywhere else."
"Oh, grannymother!" cried Dorothy in dismay; "you don't mean we muststay in the city all summer!"
"I'm afraid so, my dear. I can't see any hope for anything else."
"But grandma, we went last year, and we stayed all summer, and we had alovely time." This from Lilian, whose brown eyes were already fillingwith tears.
"In the city! all summer! well, I just guess _not_!" shouted Leicester."I'm going off of Manhattan Island, if I have to go as a tramp."
"Tramping isn't so bad," said Lilian, brightening up; "we could carryour things in handkerchiefs slung on sticks over our shoulders."
"But grannymother couldn't tramp," said Fairy.
"The streets will be broad and the lanes will be narrow, So we'll have to take grannymother in a wheel-barrow,"
chanted Dorothy. "But tell us truly, granny, dear, why can't we goaway?"
Grandmother Dorrance looked sad, but her face wore that air of placiddetermination which the children had come to look upon as indicative offinal and unalterable decision.
"This last winter," she said, "was much more expensive than the winterbefore. There was the doctor and the nurse, when Fairy was ill; we arepaying a little more board here than we did at Mrs. Watson's; and then,somehow, your clothes seem to cost more every year. I don't know how itis, I'm sure," and the sweet old face assumed the worried look thatalways pained Dorothy's heart, "but somehow there isn't any money leftfor a summer trip."
"But grandma," said Leicester, with a great desire to be businesslike,"can't we find a place to board in the country, for just the same priceas we pay here?"
"No, it always costs a little more per week at any summer place than inthe city. And that is not all; there are the traveling expenses, andyou'd all need new summer clothes, and there are many extra expenses,such as laundry work, and things that you children know nothing about."
Dorothy sat thinking. She had closed her French book and sat with herelbows on the table in front of her, and her chin in her hands. DorothyDorrance was a very pretty girl, although it had never occurred to herto think so. She had dark eyes like her father's, but had inherited hermother's blonde hair. Not golden, but a light golden-brown, which fellinto soft shining curls which tossed about her temples, and escaped fromthe thick twist at the back of her head. She had a sunshiny smile, whichwas almost always visible, for Dorothy was light-hearted and of a merrynature. She was an all-round capable girl, and could turn her hand toalmost anything she undertook. She had a capable mind too, and oftenastonished her grandmother by her intelligent grasp of business mattersor financial problems. Indeed, Dorothy at sixteen had a far morepractical knowledge of the ways and means of existence than Mrs.Dorrance at seventy.
"Grandmother," she said at last, after she had sat for some minutesstaring straight ahead of her, and looking, as Leicester said, "almostas if she were really thinking." "Grandmother, I think we are old enoughnow,--at any rate I am,--to know something about our income. How muchmoney do we have a year?"
"That's easily told, my child; since your grandfather's death we havevery little. I own the house on Fifty-eighth Street, but from the rentof that I have to pay taxes and repairs. Of course Mr. Lloyd attends toall these matters, and his judgment is always right, but I can't helpthinking there is very little profit in that house."
"Wouldn't it be better to sell that house, and invest the money in someother way?" said Dorothy, straightforwardly.
"Mr. Lloyd says not, dearie, and of course he knows. Then besides that,I own the large hotel property which your grandfather bought a fewyears before he died. But as I cannot rent it, and cannot sell it, it isnot only no source of income to me, but it is a great expense."
"Oh, 'Our Domain' up in the mountains," said Dorothy.
"Yes, 'Our Domain'; but I wish it were the Domain of somebody else,"said her grandmother.
This hotel property had always been called "Our Domain," by the familyand when Mr. Dorrance was alive, had been looked upon as a sort of ajoke, but the present view of the situation did not seem at allhumorous.
"Never mind," said Leicester, who was always hopeful, "I think it's verynice to own a Domain. It makes us seem like landed proprietors, and someday, who knows, it may prove valuable."