START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOROTHY DAINTY AT GLENMORE*** E-text prepared by Charles Franks and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/) and revised by Jason Isbell and Emmy Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 7479-h.htm or 7479-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/7/4/7/7479/7479-h/7479-h.htm) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/7/4/7/7479/7479-h.zip) DOROTHY DAINTY AT GLENMORE by AMY BROOKS With Illustrations by the Author [Illustration--Book Cover] [Illustration: "A LETTER FROM VERA!" ANSWERED DOROTHY.--_Page 3._] * * * * * Popular Stories. BY AMY BROOKS. Each illustrated by the Author. THE RANDY BOOKS. 12mo. Cloth. Cover Designs by the Author. _Net_ $1.00 each RANDY'S SUMMER. RANDY'S GOOD TIMES. RANDY'S WINTER. RANDY'S LUCK. RANDY AND HER FRIENDS. RANDY'S LOYALTY. RANDY AND PRUE. RANDY'S PRINCE. * * * * * For Younger Readers. DOROTHY DAINTY SERIES. Large 12mo. Cloth. Cover Designs by the Author. Set in large English type. Price, _net_, $1.00 each. DOROTHY DAINTY. DOROTHY'S PLAYMATES. DOROTHY DAINTY AT SCHOOL. DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE SHORE. DOROTHY DAINTY IN THE CITY. DOROTHY DAINTY AT HOME. DOROTHY DAINTY'S GAY TIMES. DOROTHY DAINTY IN THE COUNTRY. DOROTHY DAINTY'S WINTER. DOROTHY DAINTY AT THE MOUNTAINS. DOROTHY DAINTY'S HOLIDAYS. DOROTHY DAINTY'S VACATION. DOROTHY DAINTY'S VISIT. DOROTHY DAINTY AT CRESTVILLE. DOROTHY DAINTY'S NEW FRIENDS. DOROTHY DAINTY AT GLENMORE. THE PRUE BOOKS. 12mo. Cloth. Cover Designs by the Author. _Net_ $1.00 each. LITTLE SISTER PRUE. PRUE'S MERRY TIMES. PRUE AT SCHOOL. PRUE'S LITTLE FRIENDS. PRUE'S PLAYMATES. PRUE'S JOLLY WINTER. * * * * * A JOLLY CAT TALE. Large 12mo. Cloth. Profusely Illustrated. Price _Net_ $1.00 * * * * * Boston Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. Dorothy Dainty Trade-Mark Registered in U.S. Patent Office Published, August, 1917 Copyright, 1917, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. All rights reserved DOROTHY DAINTY AT GLENMORE Norwood Press Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass. U.S.A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I OFF TO GLENMORE 1 II THE FIRST SOCIAL 18 III MISCHIEF 40 IV A WONDERFUL TONIC 61 V A SLEIGHING PARTY 82 VI THE LOST NECKLACE 99 VII WHEN NANCY DANCED 122 VIII A BIT OF SPITE 138 IX THE WISHING-WELL 157 X A LIVELY WEEK 181 XI AN INNOCENT SNEAK-THIEF 202 XII A GLAD RETURN 219 ILLUSTRATIONS "A letter from Vera!" answered Dorothy (Page 3) _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE She wished that she might know what they were saying 32 "Oh, what a fright!" she cried 74 "This necklace is mine!" returned the accused girl excitedly 112 At the end of the wall Betty and Valerie waited 150 Drawing closer, Nancy whispered a rare bit of news 186 DOROTHY DAINTY AT GLENMORE CHAPTER I OFF TO GLENMORE The Stone House looked as fine, and its gardens as gay with flowers, as when the members of the household were to be at home for a season, for it always seemed at those times as if the blossoming plants did their best, because sure of loving admiration. But something entirely new was about to happen; something that made Dorothy Dainty catch her breath, while her dearest friend, Nancy Ferris, declared that she was wildly happy, except that the whole thing seemed so like a dream that she could hardly believe it. "That's just it, Nancy," said Dorothy. "It surely does seem like a dream." Yet it was true, and not a dream that Mr. Dainty was to be away from home for some months, that Mrs. Dainty was to accompany him, and that Aunt Charlotte would be with them, and that Dorothy and Nancy were to spend those months at a fine school for girls, and Vera Vane, merry, mischief-loving Vera, would be eagerly looking for them on the day of their arrival. One would almost wonder that the thought of being away at school should appeal to Dorothy and Nancy, but it was the novelty that charmed them. It was always delightful at the Stone House, and there had been summer seasons at shore and country that they had greatly enjoyed, but here was a new experience, and the "newness" was delightful. A letter from Vera had just arrived, and Dorothy, out in the garden when the postman had handed it to her, stood reading it. "Her letters are just like herself," she whispered. She looked up. Nancy was calling to her. "A letter from Vera!" answered Dorothy. "We shall have to hurry a bit," Nancy said, "James is strapping the two trunks, the suit-cases are out in the hall, and we must be ready in twenty minutes." "All right!" cried Dorothy. "Give me your hand and we'll run to the house." She tucked the letter into the front of her blouse, and then promptly forgot all about it. The "twenty minutes" sped on wings, and when at last Dorothy and Nancy sat side by side in the car, their trunks checked, their suit-cases, and umbrellas on the seat that had been turned over for them, they turned, each to look into the other's eyes. Dorothy's lip quivered, but she spoke bravely. "It is hard, this first trip away from home without mother or Aunt Charlotte with us," she said. Then quickly she added: "But it will be fine when we get used to being away from home." "Oh, yes, it will be _fine_!" Nancy said in a firm voice, but she looked down, lest her eyes show a suspicious moisture. As the journey progressed, their spirits rose. After all, it was not really "good-by," yet. Mrs. Dainty had postponed the actual "good-by" until a week after Dorothy and Nancy should have begun the school year at Glenmore. She knew that Vera Vane was a host in herself, her friend and chum, Elfreda was nearly her equal in active wit, and high spirits, and at least a few of the other pupils would have already formed a speaking acquaintance with the two new girls. The girls would have been assigned places in the classes for which they were fitted, and thus the school work would be planned, and their time closely occupied. Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte were also eager to know if the two who were so dear to them were comfortable, satisfied with their surroundings, and looking forward to a pleasant school year. Until thus assured, they could not set out on the journey, for the trip had been planned as a means of rest and recuperation for Mrs. Dainty. How could she rest, or enjoy the trip unless she were sure that Dorothy was absolutely content and happy? If Dorothy were happy, Nancy was sure to be, because the two were inseparable, and their tastes nearly identical. The two girls were a bit tired of looking from the window at the flying scenery, and Nancy expressed the wish that they had brought something with them to read. "I did," Dorothy said, with a laugh, and she drew Vera's letter from her blouse. She read it aloud, while Nancy leaned against her shoulder, enjoying it with her. "I wish you had come the first day that school opened, but I'll be on the lookout for you and Nancy. My! But we'll have fun and a plenty of it this year at Glenmore," she concluded, signed her name, and then added a postscript. "Patricia, and Arabella are here, both--no, _each_--oh, which _should_ I say? Anyway, they're acting just outrageous, and already they've earned the name that the girls have given them. They call them 'The Freaks,' and truly the name fits. They speak of Patricia as 'the one with the queer clothes,' and of Arabella as 'the medicine-chest.' "She's taking more pills, I do believe, than she ever did at home, and she wants folks to notice that. "The idea! I'm glad there are two _nice_ girls coming from Merrivale, although you'd never think Patricia ever _saw_ the place, for she talks of nothing but 'N'York.' My brother Bob always laughs about my long postscripts. It's lucky he can't see this one! "Lovingly, "VERA." Dorothy folded the letter, again placing it in her blouse, and then for a time they watched the passengers. Opposite them was a big woman, who possessed three bird-cages, two holding birds, and the third imprisoning a kitten. There was a lean man with a fat little girl beside him, who ate countless lunches, which were packed in a big basket, that seemed a veritable horn of plenty. Yet a bit farther up the aisle was a small boy with a large cage that he watched closely. A thick cloth covered it, but once, when the boy was not looking, a long brown furry arm reached out, and snatched mischievously at his sleeve. "It's a monkey," whispered Nancy, and the boy turned and grinned. "'F _he_ knew there was a monkey in that cage he'd make me put it in the baggage car," he said. Dorothy was tired with the long ride, and just as she was thinking that she could not bear much more of it, the brakeman shouted, "Glenmore! Glenmore!" and the two girls were glad enough to get out upon the platform. Glenmore, the village, was a lovely little country place, quiet, and evidently content with itself. Glenmore, the school, was a rambling, picturesque home for the pupils who came there. Once it had been a private mansion, but its interior had been remodeled to meet the requirements of a small, and select school for girls. A bit old-fashioned in that it was more genuinely homelike than other private schools, it held itself proudly aloof from neighboring buildings. It claimed that its home atmosphere was the only old-fashioned thing about it, and that was not an idle boast, for the old house had been equipped with every modern convenience. Its instructors were the best that a generous salary could tempt to Glenmore, and Mrs. Marvin, owner, promoter, and manager of the school, was an exceedingly clever woman for the position. As assistant, Miss Fenler, small, and wiry, did all that was required of her, and more. She had never been appointed as a monitor, but she chose to do considerable spying, so that the pupils had come to speak of her as the "detective." One of her many duties was to see that the carryall was at the station when new pupils were to arrive. Accordingly when Dorothy and Nancy left the train, and found themselves on the platform, Miss Fenler was looking for them, and she stowed them away in the carryall much as if they had been only ordinary baggage. Then, seating herself beside the driver, she ordered him to return. "Home," she said, and "home" they were driven, for "home" meant Glenmore to the colored man, who considered himself a prominent official of the school. Classes were in session when they reached Glenmore, so Miss Fenler went with them to the pretty room that was to be theirs, a maid following with suit-cases, the colored man bringing up the rear with one trunk, and a promise to return on the next trip with the other. A class-room door, half open, allowed a glimpse of the new arrivals. "See the procession with the 'Fender' ahead," whispered a saucy miss. "Her name's 'Fenler,'" corrected her chum. "I know that, but I choose to call her 'Fender,' because she's like those they have on engines to scoop up any one who is on the tracks. She's just been down to the station to 'scoop' two new pupils, and I guess--" A tap of a ruler left the sentence unfinished. Arabella Correyville, without an idea as to what was whispered, had seen the broad smile, and had heard the giggle. "Who was out there?" she wrote on a bit of paper, and cautiously passed it to Patricia Levine. "I don't know. I didn't see them, but they must be _swell_. They had ever so much luggage." That was just like Patricia. She judged every one thus. That a girl could be every inch a lady, and at the same time, possess a small, well chosen wardrobe was past understanding; but any girl, however coarse in appearance and manner, could, with a display of many gaudy costumes, convince Patricia that she was a young person of great importance. Miss Fenler talked with them for a few moments, and then left them to unpack their belongings, saying that later, when they felt rested, they might come down to the reception hall and meet some of the girls who would be their classmates during the year. It was the custom, she said, for the pupils to meet for a social half-hour before dinner, to talk over the happenings of the day, their triumphs or failures in class-room, or at sports, or to tell what had interested those who had been out for a tramp. There had been an afternoon session that day for the purpose of choosing from the list of non-compulsory studies. "Usually," Miss Fenler explained, "the classes meet for recitations in the forenoon only, the afternoons being reserved for study, and when lessons were prepared, for recreation." Miss Fenler left them, closing the door softly behind her. Dorothy turned to look at Nancy. "What do you think of her?" Nancy said, asking the question that she knew was puzzling Dorothy. After a second's thought Dorothy said: "We shall get on with her, I believe, but I can't think Arabella or Patricia would be very comfortable here. Really, they will be obliged to study here, and Arabella won't want to, and I don't think Patricia could. If they don't study, how can they remain?" Nancy laughed outright. "Don't worry about those two funny girls," she said, "for if they _won't_ study, or _can't_ study, and so are not allowed to remain, you'll be just as happy, Dorothy dear, and for that matter, so will they." Later, when together they descended the quaint stairway, they found the ever-present Miss Fenler, waiting to present them. Vera Vane, and Elfreda Carleton, each with an arm about the other's waist, hastened forward to greet them. "Oh, we're so glad you and Nancy have--" "Just a moment Miss Vane, until you have been properly presented," Miss Fenler said, in a cold, precise manner. "But I've always known Dorothy--" "That makes no difference," the assistant said, and she presented them in formal manner. Vera raised her eyebrows, presented the tips of her fingers, and told Dorothy in a high, squeaky voice that she was _very_ glad to know her. Elf did the same in an exact copy of Vera's manner. Several of the pupils giggled, but to their credit, Dorothy and Nancy managed not to laugh. When a half-dozen girls had been presented, some one told Miss Fenler that Mrs. Marvin wished to see her, and what had begun in a stilted manner, became a genuine girl's social. When the clock in the hall chimed six, and they turned toward the long dining-room, the two new pupils had already made the acquaintance of several girls, who sat beside, and opposite them at the table. From a distant table Patricia and Arabella were turning to attract their attention. It had happened that Arabella had chosen to remain in her room during the half-hour reunion. "I don't feel like talking to a crowd of girls to-night," she had said. "My! If you don't care to talk to girls, it must be you'd rather talk to boys!" Patricia said, laughing. "I would _not_!" Arabella remarked, with a flash in her eyes that one rarely saw. "Oh, _do_ excuse me!" Patricia said, "but that's all right, for I'll stay right here and talk to you." Arabella was not in much of a mood for listening, either, but she thought it best not to say so. At any other time, Arabella would have listened for hours to whatever Patricia might care to say, but to-night she was in a contrary mood. CHAPTER II THE FIRST SOCIAL Two weeks at Glenmore, and Dorothy and Nancy were content. Letters from Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte assured them that the dear travelers were well, and that already Mrs. Dainty was feeling the benefit of the change of scene. Mrs. Dainty had engaged a large, front room at Glenmore for the two girls to enjoy as a sitting-room and study, from which led a tastefully furnished chamber, and already they called it their "school home." Patricia and Arabella had a fair-sized room farther down the corridor. Vera Vane and Elfreda Carleton were snugly settled in cozy quarters a few doors beyond the one that bore Dorothy's and Nancy's names. Patricia Levine had ordered a large card, elaborately lettered in red and green, announcing that: THIS SUITE IS OCCUPIED BY MISS P. LEVINE AND MISS A. CORREYVILLE A small card was all that was necessary, indeed only a small card was permitted, but Patricia did not know that. After her usual manner of doing things, she had ordered a veritable placard of the village sign painter, and when she had tacked it upon the door, it fairly _shouted_, in red and green ink. "There!" she exclaimed, "I guess when the other girls see that, they'll think the two who have this room are pretty swell." "Isn't it,--rather--loud?" ventured Arabella timidly. Patricia's eyes blazed. "_Loud?_" she cried. "Well, what do you want? A card that will whisper?" "Maybe it's all right," Arabella said quickly, to which Patricia responded: "Of course it's all right. It's more than all right! It's very el'gant!" Arabella was no match for her room-mate, and whenever a question arose regarding any matter of mutual interest, it was always Patricia who settled it, and Arabella who meekly agreed that she was probably right. Arabella was not gentle, indeed she possessed a decidedly contrary streak, but she always feared offending Patricia, because Patricia could be very disagreeable when opposed. Patricia was still admiring the gaudy lettering when a door at the far end of the corridor opened. She sprang back into her room, closed the door and standing close to it waited to hear if the big card provoked admiring comment. Nearer came the footsteps. Could they pass without seeing it? They paused--then: "Well, just look at that!" "A regular sign-board!" A few moments the two outside the door stood whispering, then one giggled, and together they walked to the stairway and descended, laughing all the way. Patricia opened the door and peeped out. "It was that red-haired girl, and the black-haired one that are always together," she reported to Arabella. "Now, what in the world were they laughing at?" "Laughing at the big card, I suppose," Arabella said. "Well, there's nothing funny about that," Patricia said, hotly. "It cost ever so much more than the _teenty_ little cards on the other doors did." Patricia rated everything by its cost. "They knew that big card looked fine, and they certainly could see that the lettering was showy," she continued; "so why did they stand outside the door giggling?" "How do I know?" Arabella said. "Open the door, and we'll look at it again, and see if--" A smart tap upon the door caused Arabella to stop in the middle of the sentence. "S'pose it's those same girls?" whispered Patricia. "If I thought it was I wouldn't stir a step." A second rap, louder, and more insistent than the first brought both girls to their feet, and Patricia flew to open the door. Miss Fenler glared at them through her glasses. "Why did you not answer my first rap?" she asked. "We didn't know it was you," said Patricia. Ignoring the excuse, Miss Fenler continued: "I called to tell you to remove that great card, and put a small one in its place with only your names upon it, and in regard to your efforts to obtain work, you can not have any such notice upon your door. Instead you must leave your names at the office and I will see if any of the pupils will patronize you." "I don't know what you mean!" cried Patricia, flushed and angry. For answer Miss Fenler pointed to a line penciled on the lower edge of the placard which read: _Patching and mending done at reasonable prices._ "We never wrote that!" cried Arabella, "and we don't want to be patronized." "The red-haired girl, and the black-haired girl that are always together, stopped at the door and did something, and then went down stairs laughing all the way," screamed Patricia. "'Twas one of those two who wrote that." "I must ask you to talk quietly," Miss Fenler said, "and as to the writing, I'll look into that. In the meantime I'll get a small card for you to put in place of that large one." She left the room, and as soon as she was well out of hearing, Patricia vowed vengeance upon the two girls who had written the provoking legend. "I'll get even with them!" she said. "How will you?" Arabella asked. "I don't know yet, but you'd better believe I'll watch for a chance!" "I'll watch, too!" cried Arabella. It was the custom at Glenmore to hold a little informal reception on an evening of the third week after the school had opened. Its purpose was to have pupils of all the classes present so that those who never met in the recitation-rooms might become acquainted. When the announcement appeared upon the bulletin board it caused a flurry of excitement. Dorothy and Nancy had already found new friends, and were eager to meet others whose agreeable ways had interested them. "It's such a pleasant place," Dorothy said one morning as she stood brushing her hair, "and so many pleasant faces in the big class-room. I saw at least a dozen I'd like to know, when we were having the morning exercises, and there's ever so many more that we have yet to meet." "And Tuesday evening is sure to be jolly. There'll be a crowd to talk with, and one of the girls told me to-day that there's almost sure to be some music, either vocal or instrumental, and she said that last year they often had fine readers at the receptions," Nancy concluded. They were on their way to the class-room, when Patricia and Arabella joined them. "Is the social to be a dressy affair?" Patricia asked, adding: "I hope it is, because _I_ shall be dressy, whether any one else is or not." They had reached the class-room door so that there was no time for either Dorothy or Nancy to reply to the silly remark if they had cared to do so. * * * * * At eight o'clock nearly all the pupils had assembled in the big reception-room, and the hum of voices told that each was doing her best to outdo her neighbor. Near the center of the room a group of girls stood talking. It was evident that the theme of their conversation was not engrossing, for twice their leader, Betty Chase, had replied at random while her eyes roved toward the door, and Valerie Dare remarked that her chum had been reading such a romantic story, that she was eagerly looking for a knight in full armor to appear. "Be still!" cried Betty. "You know very well what I'm looking for." "I do indeed," Valerie admitted. "Say, girls! You all know the two that are always together, the one with goggles that we've dubbed the 'medicine chest,' and her chum who wears all the rainbow colors whenever and wherever she appears?" "Surely, but what are their names?" inquired a pale, sickly-looking girl who had joined the group. "Don't know their names," said Betty, "but I heard Miss Rainbow telling her friend that she intended to wear 'something very dressy' to-night, so I'm eager to see her. My! Here she comes now." "Good gracious!" gasped Valerie, under her breath. With head very high, Patricia rushed, rather than walked across the room, until she reached the center, when she stopped as if to permit every one to obtain a good view of her costume. Her bold manner made her more absurd even than her dress which was, as Betty Chase declared, "_surprising_!" Turning slowly around to the right, then deliberately to the left, she appeared to feel herself a paragon of fashion, a model dressed to give the pupils of Glenmore a chance to observe something a bit finer than they had ever seen before. As Patricia slowly turned, Arabella, like a satellite, as slowly revolved about her. Who could wonder that a wave of soft laughter swept over the room. It was evident that vanity equalling that of the peacock moved Patricia to turn about that every one might see both front and back of her dress, but no one could have guessed why Arabella in a plain brown woolen dress kept pace with her silly friend. It was not vanity that kept droll little Arabella moving. No, indeed. Thus far, Arabella had made no new acquaintances. As she entered the reception-room with Patricia she saw only a sea of strange faces, and with a wild determination at least to have Patricia to speak to, she trotted around her, that she might not, at any moment, find herself talking to Patricia's back. That surely would be awkward, she thought. Patricia's dress was a light gray silk, tastefully made, and had she been content to wear it as it had been sent to her from New York, she would have looked well-dressed, and no one would have made comments upon her appearance. The soft red girdle gave a touch of color, but not nearly enough to please Patricia. At the village store she had purchased ribbons of many colors, from which she had made bows or rosettes of every hue, and these she had tacked upon her slippers. Her hair was tied with a bright blue ribbon, and over the shoulders of her blouse she had sewed pink and yellow ribbons. Narrow green edged her red girdle. Blue and buff, rose and orange, straw-color and lavender, surely not a tint was missing, and the result was absolutely comical! One would have thought that a lunatic had designed the costume. And when she believed that her dress had been seen from all angles, Patricia left the reception-room, passing to a larger room beyond, where she seated herself, and at once assumed a bored expression. Not the least interest in other pupils had she. She had come to the little social to be gazed at, and as soon as she believed that all must have seen her, the party held no further interest for her. She heard the buzz of whispered conversation in the room that she had left, and she wished that she might know what they were saying. It was well that she could not. "What an unpleasant-looking girl!" said one. "Wasn't that dress a regular rainbow?" whispered another. "Oh, but she was funny, turning around for us to see her, just like a wax dummy in a store window," said a third. [Illustration: SHE WISHED THAT SHE MIGHT KNOW WHAT THEY WERE SAYING.--_Page 32._] "She's queer to go off by herself!" remarked the first one who had spoken. "We're not very nice," said Betty Chase, who thus far had not spoken, "that is not very kind, to be so busily talking about her." "Well, I declare, Betty, who'd ever dream that you, who are always getting into scrapes would boldly give us a lecture." Betty's black eyes flashed. "I know I get into funny scrapes," she snapped, "but whatever I do, I don't talk about people, Ida Mayo." "You don't have time to," exclaimed her chum, Valerie Dare. "It takes all your spare time to plan mischief." In the laugh that followed, Betty forgot that she was vexed. Patricia began to find it rather dull sitting alone in a room back of the reception-hall. She felt that she had entered the hall in a burst of glory; had fairly dazzled all beholders! She had believed that the girls would be so entranced with her appearance that they would follow her that they might again inspect her costume. She was amazed that she had been permitted to sit alone if she chose. The other pupils thought it strange that she should choose to remain alone instead of becoming acquainted with those who were to be her schoolmates for the year, but believing that she was determined to be unsocial, they made no effort to disturb her. Arabella, who had followed her, became curious as to what was going on in the hall, and from time to time, crept to the wide doorway, peeped out to get a better view, then returned to report what she had seen. "Everybody is talking to Dorothy and Nancy," she said in a stage whisper, then: "Vera Vane seems to know almost every one already, and Elf Carleton is telling a funny story, and making all the girls around her laugh. "And, Patricia, you _ought_ to come here and see Betty Chase. She has a long straw, and she's tickling Valerie's neck with it. Valerie doesn't dream what it is, and while she's talking, keeps trying to brush off the tickly thing. Come and see her!" Patricia did not stir. She longed to see the fun, but she felt rather abashed to come out from her corner. The sound of a violin being tuned proved too tempting, however, and she joined Arabella in the doorway. One of the youngest pupils stood, violin in hand, while, at the piano, Betty Chase was playing the prelude. Lina Danford handled the bow cleverly, and played her little solo with evident ease. Her audience was delighted, and gayly their hands clapped their approval. The two in the doorway stood quite still, and gave no evidence of pleasure. Arabella was too spunkless to applaud; Patricia was too jealous. Arabella, after her own dull fashion, had enjoyed the music. Patricia surely had not. Patricia never could bear to see or hear _any one_ do _anything_! "Let's go up to our room," she whispered. "P'rhaps some of the others will play or sing," ventured Arabella, who wished to remain. "_Let_ 'em!" Patricia said, even her whisper showing that she was vexed. "'_Let_ 'em?'" Arabella drawled. "Why I'll have to let 'em. I couldn't stop them, and I don't want to. I'd like to hear them." "Then stay and hear them!" snapped Patricia, and she rushed out into the midst of the groups of listeners, and dashed up the stairway before Miss Fenler could stop her. What could have been more rude and ill-bred than to leave in such haste, thereby disturbing those who were enjoying the music? Arabella's first thought was to follow Patricia lest she be angry, but she saw Miss Fenler's effort to stay Patricia, and she dared not leave the room. Arabella felt as if she were between two desperate people. She feared Miss Fenler, as did every pupil at Glenmore, and by remaining where she was, she certainly was not offending her, but she could not forget Patricia. What a temper she would be in when, after the concert was over, Arabella, cautiously, would turn the latch, and enter their chamber! Patricia was wide awake, and listening, when at last Arabella reached their door. Softly she tried to open it so carefully that if Patricia were asleep she might remain so. Patricia had turned the key in the lock, and she fully enjoyed lying comfortably on the bed, and listening while on the other side of the door her chum was turning the knob first one way and then the other. There's no knowing how long she would have permitted Arabella to stand out in the hall, but suddenly she remembered that Miss Fenler strode down the corridors every night after lights were supposed to be out, just to learn if any one of the girls were defying the rule. With a rather loud "O _dear_!" Patricia flounced out of bed, went to the door, pretended to be so sleepy that she could not at once find the key, and then, as the door opened, gave an exaggerated yawn. For once Arabella was quick-witted. "Miss Fenler is just coming up the stairs," she said. Patricia forgot the scolding that she had been preparing for Arabella, and instead she said: "Hurry! Put out the light. You can undress in the dark, but for goodness' sake, don't stumble over anything!" CHAPTER III MISCHIEF A few days later, Dorothy stood at the window looking out upon a windswept road, where not even so much as a dry leaf remained to tell of the vanished Autumn. The sky was cloud-covered, and the gaunt trees bent and swayed as if a giant arm were shaking them. "We missed our afternoon trip down to the village," she said, "but no one would care to walk in this gale, and even--why, who--? Nancy, come here! _Isn't_ that Patricia?" Nancy ran to the window. "Why, no--yes,--Well, it certainly is Patricia," she said. "And just look at the parcel she's carrying!" "Whatever it is, she must have wanted it, to go out such day as this," said Nancy, "and look! Miss Fenler is out on the porch,--why, she's actually feeling of it to see what's in the parcel. Really, I don't see why it's all right for her to do that." "It does seem queer," agreed Dorothy, "but you know it is the rule that the girls must not bring large parcels into this house, unless they're willing to show what is in them. "There! The paper has burst open, and,--Well, did you see that?" Miss Fenler was actually thrusting a long bony finger into the opening with the hope of learning if anything that had been forbidden, was being smuggled into the house inside the folds of gayly flowered goods that Patricia had declared was a tea-gown. After a moment, Miss Fenler nodded as if dismissing the matter, and Patricia, her chin very high, passed into the hall. Miss Fenler turned to look after her, as if not sure if she had done wisely in permitting Patricia to enter with so large a bundle, without first compelling her to open it, and spread its contents for inspection. Patricia's eyes had flashed when questioned about her parcel, but once inside the hall, her anger increased, and she mounted the stairs, tramping along the upper hall so noisily that several pupils looked out to learn who had arrived. Farther down the hall a door opened, and Betty Chase's laughing face looked out. She, too, had seen Patricia and Miss Fenler on the porch and, while she did not like Patricia, she detested the woman who seemed to enjoy spying, so her sympathy was, of course, with the pupil. "Had a scrap with the 'Fender'? I'd half a mind to say 'cow-catcher,'" she said. "Well, what if I did?" Patricia said, rudely, and walked on toward her room. Betty looked after her. "Well, of all things!" she whispered, then said, "The next time you need sympathy, try to buy some at the grocer's. Don't look to me!" Patricia had done a rude, and foolish thing. Betty Chase was a favorite, and Patricia had longed to be one of her friends, but thus far Betty had been surrounded by her classmates, who hovered about her so persistently that the pupils from Merrivale had not yet become acquainted with her. Betty had hailed Patricia pleasantly, and she really might have paused for a little chat, but she was one of those unpleasant persons who, when some one person has annoyed her, is vexed with the whole world. She took little heed as to where she was going, and stamped along, muttering some of the many wrathful thoughts that filled her mind. Reaching a door that stood ajar, she pushed it open, and rushed in exclaiming: "The horrid old thing tried to pick open my parcel, but I wouldn't let her. I guess Miss Sharp-eyes won't try again to--Why, where are you, Arabella?" A tall, thin girl with a pale face and colorless hair emerged from the closet where she had been hanging some garments. "Do you rush into people's rooms, and call them names?" she asked in a peculiar drawl. Patricia for once, was too surprised to speak. "My name is not Arabella, nor Miss Sharp-eyes," concluded the girl. "I--I beg your pardon. I thought this was my own room," gasped Patricia, and rushing from the room, opened the next door on which her own name and Arabella's appeared. She flew in, banging the door behind her. Arabella sprang to her feet, dropped her glasses, picked them up, and setting them upon her nose, stared through them at Patricia. "Don't you speak a single word!" commanded Patricia, "for I'm 'bout as mad as I can be now, and if I get any madder--" She stopped in sheer amazement, for Arabella had put on her hat, and was now getting into her coat. "Where are you going?" demanded Patricia, but Arabella put her left hand over her lips, while with her right she slipped another button into its buttonhole, and sidled toward the door. Patricia sprang forward, locked the door, took Arabella by the shoulder, and pushed her toward a chair. Surprised, and calmed by Arabella's silence, and her attempt to leave the room, Patricia now spoke in an injured tone. "I'd never believe you'd start to go out, when I'd just come in so vexed, and with loads of things to tell you. For goodness' sake, can't you answer?" "You told me not to say a word," said Arabella, "and you looked so cross that I just didn't dare to, and I was going out so I'd be sure not to." Patricia was flattered to learn that Arabella had actually been afraid of her. "Goosie!" she cried, "when will you learn that I don't always mean all that I say! Old Sharp-eyes didn't really open my bundle. Come over here and see what was hidden in it." She opened the parcel of gaily-flowered cotton, and began to unfold the goods. "There!" she cried when the last fold was loosed, and six packages were proudly displayed. "Good gracious!" cried Arabella, "I don't see how you got inside the door with all those things, for I saw her pinching your bundle, and you'd think that she must have felt those little parcels even if they were wrapped inside that cloth." "Well, you may be very sure she didn't feel them, for if she had, I'd never had them to show you." It was, indeed, a fixed rule at Glenmore that pupils, except by special permission, should bring no food into the building, the reason being that plenty of good food was provided at meal times, and eating between meals was forbidden. Patricia's idea of a "treat" was a variety of all sorts, but never a thought had she as to whether the articles that she chose would combine well. Arabella, often annoyed with indigestion, gazed at the "treat" that Patricia had placed upon the little table, and wondered how she would feel when she had eaten her share. And eat it she must, for Patricia never would forgive her if she did not. More than that, she must not refuse anything, because Patricia would consider that a sure sign that her "treat" had failed to please, and for a week at least, would talk of Arabella as ungrateful. * * * * * In a room farther up the corridor, Vera and Elf were laughing and chuckling over much the same trick as that which Patricia had played, only that Vera and Elf had brought a huge parcel into the house, and had not been questioned regarding it. It was late afternoon when Vera had returned from the village. Dorothy saw her far up the road, and wondered why she walked so slowly, but as she neared the gateway, it was evident that she carried a heavy parcel. Her storm-coat had a deep cape, but it only partly hid the bundle. She looked up toward the window where Dorothy stood, laughed, and made a gesture to indicate that she was going around to the rear of the house. "Nancy, what do you suppose the girls are up to?" "Vera has just come from the village with a bundle twice as big as the one Miss Fenler found Patricia bringing in, and she has gone around toward the back door with it." "She's trying to dodge Miss Fenler," Nancy said. "But, Nancy, she can't get to her room from the back way. The back door leads into the kitchen. There's no back stairway." "I know that," Nancy said, "but Vera isn't going around the house for the sake of a walk. She's intending to get in the back way I do believe. I wonder if she has coaxed one of the maids to help her. Come on, down the hall to the big window that has a balcony under it. We'll see if she really gets in." Dorothy clasped Nancy's outstretched hand and they ran softly along the hall, reaching the window just in time to see a bulky-looking bundle swinging from a rope, and occasionally bumping against the house as it made its way slowly upward. On the ground stood Vera eagerly looking up, while, from the window of their room Elf reached out, desperately struggling to draw the heavy bundle up to the window sill. "Don't stand there looking up at me!" she said in a voice hardly above a whisper. "Come up here before somebody sees you." Vera lost no time in doing as Elf said, while Dorothy and Nancy wasted not a moment, but sped down the hall, and once safely in their room, sat down, laughing at what they had seen. Meanwhile, Vera raced along the hall, and into her room, flew to the window and soon the precious bundle lay on the floor, the two girls bending over it. "Oo-oo! Cream-cakes! A box of fudge, frosted cake!" cried Elf, then. "What's in this tin can?" "Oysters," said Vera, "and we'll have a hot stew to-night after every one is in bed!" "My! But how can we cook it?" Elf asked. "In the can," said Vera. "That's easy 'nough. There's a pint of oysters, and three pints of milk all shaken up together in that two-quart can. We can heat it over the gas jet. I'm sure they'll cook all right." "Why, Vera Vane! It will take _hours_ to make it boil over that gas jet. I guess we'll enjoy taking turns holding it, while we wait for it to cook!" "Pooh! It'll taste so good we'll forget our arms ache when we get the very first spoonful!" Elf was not sure about that, but Vera had a way of speaking as if what she said settled the matter, so although not convinced, Elf made no reply. "Come! Help me put these things away," cried Vera. "We don't want any one to know about our fine little after-bedtime party, and we ought to hide our treat before some one comes to our door." So the cakes and fudge were placed on the shelf in the closet, where with the big can full of oysters and milk they became close neighbors with the hat-boxes. Then Vera and Elf sat down to prepare their lessons for the next day. They had invited Betty Chase and her chum, Valerie Dare, to spend the evening with them, and enjoy the treat. They were to go to bed at the usual time, have their light out at nine o'clock, and as soon as they heard Miss Fenler pass down the hall, and then descend the stairs, they were to open their door softly, close it behind them, and then, with greatest caution, make their way along the hall to Vera's room. Night came, their lessons were prepared for the morrow, their lights were out, when they heard Miss Fenler pass their door, then,--why did she return and pass the door a second time? Was it imagination, or did she pause before going on? Their hearts beat faster, and Valerie laid her hand over hers, she afterward said, to hush it so that the dreaded Miss Fenler might not hear it. "Has she gone?" whispered Betty, to which Valerie, who was nearest the door, replied with a low, "Sh--!" Farther up the corridor two others listened. Not a sound was heard in the hall, and Betty Chase cautiously opened the door a few inches. A board in the floor creaked, and she shut the door so quickly that she forgot to be careful, and one might have heard it the length of the hall. "Oo-oo!" whispered Valerie. "You let me manage that door, please, the next time it's opened." "When'll the next time be?" whispered Betty with a chuckle. "Now!" whispered Valerie, and stepping out into the hall, they carefully closed the door, then ran softly along to Vera's door, and tapped upon the panel with a hat-pin for a knocker. The door opened and they were only too glad to have it close behind them. Yet a bit longer they waited before lighting up, and while they waited, they sat upon the bed and talked in whispers. The street lamp threw a band of light across the room. Five minutes later, the blankets were taken from the bed and hung over the door, that no ray of light from the room might be visible in the hall, through either crack or keyhole. A second blanket was pinned to the curtains, that neither coachman nor maid returning from the town might catch a glimpse of light. Then the fun began. They had become bolder, and forgetting to whisper, talked in undertones. Vera, mounted on a cushioned stool, was holding the can over the gas jet, and watching eagerly for some sign of boiling. "The milk is steaming," she announced. "S'pose it's done?" "Not yet, goosie!" Elf replied, "and I _know_," she continued, "'cause I remember hearing our cook say that the stew was ready when the oysters looked all puckered around their edges." "O gracious! If that's true, somebody'll have to come and hold this old can a while. My arm is about broken!" Betty seized the can, and mounted the stool, and Vera, thus relieved, ran to the closet, returning with the cream-cakes and the fudge. The white counterpane stripped from the bed, and spread upon the floor, served as a lunch-cloth, and when the "goodies" were set upon it, the big can in the center, steaming, if not boiling, the four sat cross-legged around the feast, and prepared to enjoy it. Salt and pepper in abundance had been thrown into the can, so that while it lacked sufficient cooking, it surely did not lack seasoning. Bravely each tried to eat her share, but so salt was it, that it almost brought the tears. The cream-cakes were fine, and the girls were laughing softly over Betty's remark that no one knew of their little "party," when a knock upon the door caused Valerie to drop her cream-cake. In an instant she had rolled over, crawled under the bed, Betty following, while Vera and Elf sprang into bed, drawing the coverings to their chins to hide that they were fully dressed. It was one of Miss Fenler's rules that pupils should never lock their doors. Now in a harsh voice she called: "Open this door _at once_!" Vera sprang to the floor, shut off the gas, softly turned the key in the lock, and was back in bed and covered up to her eyes, in a second. Upon opening the door, Miss Fenler stumbled into the blanket that hung from the door-frame. Crossing the room to light the gas, she put her right foot directly upon a cream-cake, while with her left she upset the can of stew. An angry exclamation, properly stifled, caused the two under the bed to nudge each other, while struggling not to laugh. Vera and Elf lay quite still, the puff drawn up to their closely shut eyes. Miss Fenler lit the gas, and it was just as well that the culprits dared not open their eyes, for the face that she turned toward them was not pleasant to see. She was desperately angry. "What does this mean?" she cried shrilly. Vera and Elf breathed heavily, as if soundly sleeping. "You're not asleep!" she declared, "and I insist that you answer me. Again I ask, what does this mean?" Vera and Elf breathed harder than before, Vera adding a soft little snore. "Oh, very well!" cried Miss Fenler. "If you are determined not to reply to-night, I will report you to Mrs. Marvin, and you may make your explanations to her to-morrow." She left the room, her anger increased by their obstinate pretense of slumber. CHAPTER IV A WONDERFUL TONIC Vera awoke long before daylight, and lay thinking. "That's just the way I do things," she said in a
{'title': 'Dorothy Dainty at Glenmore by Amy Brooks', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}