"Yes; the South Mountains, a spur of the famous Blue Ridge range, will make an ideal spot in which to spend a few weeks during the summer months."

"It must be a beautiful spot," said the girl. "I love the mountains, and always have. The Catskills especially, will always be dear to me.

When do we start, auntie?"

"As soon as you have perfected your arrangements with Herr Deichenberg, and have rested sufficiently from your journey."

"Herr Deichenberg? Oh, then you have already found my teacher?"

"Yes; and a perfect treasure he is, or I miss my guess. Do you remember David Warfield in 'The Music Master,' which we saw at the theater a year ago?"

"Indeed, yes, auntie. How could one ever forget?"

"Herr Deichenberg is a musician of the Anton Von Barwig type--kind, gentle, courteous--withal, possessing those sterling qualities so ably portrayed in the play by Mr. Warfield. The Herr has the most delightful brogue, and a shy manner, which I am sure will not be in evidence during lesson hours."

"And I am to be taught by a real musician?"

"Yes."

"What a lucky girl I am!"

"If you think so, dear, I am pleased. I have tried to make you happy."

"And you have succeeded beyond my fondest expectations. There is nothing any girl could have that I have wanted for, since coming to live with you. You are the finest, best and bravest auntie in the whole, wide world!"

"Oh, Dorothy!"

"It's true, and you know it. It's too bad other girls are not so fortunate. To think of your having my vacation all planned before I reached home. I said I am tired of railroad trains, but I've changed my mind; I am perfectly willing to ride as far as the South Mountains and return."

"But in this instance we are not going on a train, my dear."

"Not going on a train?" queried Dorothy, a blank expression on her face. Aunt Betty shook her head and smiled.

"Now, I've mystified you, haven't I?"

"You surely have. The trolleys do not run that far, so how--?"

Dorothy paused, perplexed.

"There are other means of locomotion," said Aunt Betty in her most tantalizing tone.

"Yes; we might walk," laughed the girl, "but I dare say we shall not."

"No; we are going in an automobile."

"In an automobile? Oh, I'm so glad, auntie. I--I--" Dorothy paused and a.s.sumed a serious expression. "Why, auntie, dear, wherever are we to get an automobile? You surely cannot afford so expensive a luxury?"

"You are quite right; I cannot."

"Then--?"

"But Gerald and Aurora Blank have a nice new car, and they have offered to pilot our little party across the state."

"Then I forgive them all their sins!" cried Dorothy. "Somehow, I disliked them when we first met; and you know, dear auntie, they _were_ rude and overbearing during the early days on the houseboat."

"But before the end of the trip, through a series of incidents which go a long way toward making good men and women out of our boys and girls, they learned to be gentle to everybody," Aunt Betty responded, a reminiscent note in her voice. "I remember, we discussed it at the time."

"I must say they got over their priggishness quickly when they once saw the error of their ways," said Dorothy.

"Yes. Gerald is growing into a fine young man, now. You know his father failed in business, so that he was forced to sell the houseboat, and that Uncle Seth bought it for you? Well, Gerald has entered into his father's affairs with an indomitable spirit, and has, I am told, become quite an a.s.sistance to him, as well as an inspiration to him to retrieve his lost fortunes. The Blanks have grown quite prosperous again, and Mr. Blank gave the auto to Gerald and Aurora a few weeks since to do with as they please."

"I'm glad to hear of Gerald's success. No doubt he and Jim will get along better this time--for, of course, Jim is to be included in our party?"

"Indeed we should never go a mile out of Baltimore without him!"

sniffed Aunt Betty. "It was expressly stipulated that he was to go.

Besides Jim, Gerald, Aurora, and ourselves, there will be no one but Ephraim, unless you care to invite your old chum, Molly Breckenridge?"

"Oh, auntie, why do you suggest the impossible?" Dorothy's face went again from gay to grave. "Dear Molly is in California with her father, who is ill, and they may not return for months."

"I'd forgotten you had not heard. Molly returned east with her father some two weeks since, hence may be reached any time at her old address."

"That's the best news I have heard since you told me I was to study under Herr Deichenberg," Dorothy declared. "I'll write Molly to-day, and if she comes, she shall have a reception at Bellvieu fit for a queen."

Molly and Dorothy had first met during Dorothy's schooldays at the Misses Rhinelanders' boarding academy in Newburgh, where they had been the life of the school. Their acquaintance had ripened into more than friendship when, together, they traveled through Nova Scotia, and later met for another good time on the western ranch of the railroad king, Daniel Ford. More than any of her other girl friends Dorothy liked Molly, hence the news that she had returned east, and that she might invite her to share the outing in the South Mountains, caused Dorothy's eyes to glow with a deep satisfaction.

"And now that we have discussed so thoroughly our prospective outing," said Aunt Betty, "we may change the subject. It remains for me to arrange an early meeting for you with Herr Deichenberg. The Herr has a little studio in a quiet part of the city which he rarely leaves. It is quite possible, however, that I can induce him to come to Bellvieu for your first meeting, though I am sure he will insist that all your labors be performed in his own comfortable domicile, where he, naturally, feels perfectly at home.

"I visited the studio some weeks ago--shortly after I received your Uncle Seth's letter, in fact. The Herr received me cordially, and said he would be delighted to take a pupil so highly recommended as Miss Dorothy Elisabeth Somerset-Calvert."

"To which I duly make my little bow," replied the girl, dropping a graceful curtsey she had learned from Miss Muriel Tross-Kingdon.

"My dear Dorothy, that is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen you do. As Ephraim would express it, it is 'puffectly harmonious.'

Indeed, you _have_ improved since going to Canada, and it pleases me immensely."

Aunt Betty's admiration for her great-niece was so thoroughly genuine that Dorothy could not refrain from giving her another hug.

"There, there, dear; you overwhelm me. I am glad to be able to pay you an honest compliment. I have no doubt you have acquired other virtues of which I am at present in ignorance."

"Aunt Betty, you're getting to be a perfect flatterer. And what about the vices I may have acquired?"

Aunt Betty smiled.

"They are, I am sure, greatly in the minority--in fact, nothing but what any healthy, mischievous girl acquires at a modern boarding school. Now, in my younger days, the schoolmasters and mistresses were very strict. Disobedience to the slightest rule meant severe punishment, and was really the means of keeping pent up within one certain things from which the system were better rid. But I must go now and dress. When you have rested and completed your toilet, pa.s.s by my room and we'll go on the lawn together."

With a final kiss Aunt Betty disappeared down the hall, leaving Dorothy alone with her thoughts.

"Dear old auntie," she murmured. "Her chief desire, apparently, is for my welfare. I can never in this world repay her kindness--never!"

Then, seized with a sudden inspiration, she sat down at her writing desk by the big window, overlooking the arbor and side garden, and indicted the following letter to her chum: