by Carolyn Wells, originally begun January 1899
"DENNISTON HALL"
They reached Geenborough 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.
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 't would 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 gran'father."
"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 did n'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 f er 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 must n'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 f er 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."
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 could n'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.
"It is," she thought. "I remember now that Mrs. Ryan said,' That's the elevator to the tower, an' I did n'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.
...to be continued
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