Dorothy Dainty at Glenmore.

by Amy Brooks.

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 sh.o.r.e 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 a.s.signed places in the cla.s.ses 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 a.s.sured, 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 pa.s.sengers.

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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 a.s.sistant, 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."