Jimmy, Lucy, and All | Page 4

hammock,
and near it a large stone trough, into which water dripped from a faucet.
Two birds, called red-hammers, were sipping the water with their bills,
not at all disturbed by the arrival of strangers.
It was a small settlement. The hotel, by far the largest house in Castle
Cliff, looked down with a grand air upon the few cottages in sight.
These tiny cottages were not at all pretty, and had no grass or lawns in
front, but people from the city were keeping house in them for the
summer; and besides there were tents scattered all about, full of
"campers."
As the "bonnie Dunlees" and their elders entered the hotel, a merry
voice called out:--
"A hearty welcome to you, my friends, and three cheers for Castle
Cliff!"
Mr. and Mrs. Dunlee and the Sanfords walked on smiling, and the
children lingered awhile outside; but it was a full minute before any of
them discovered that the cheery voice belonged to a parrot, whose cage
swung from a tall sycamore overhead.
"Polly's pretty sociable," laughed Mr. Templeton. "Do you like animals,
young ladies? If so, please stand up here in a group, and you shall have
another welcome."
Then he clapped his hands and called out "Thistleblow!" and
immediately a pretty red pony came frisking along and began to caper

around the young people with regular dancing steps, making at the
same time the most graceful salaams, pausing now and then to sway
himself as if he were courtesying. It was a charming performance. The
little creature had once belonged to a band of gypsies, who had given
him a regular course of training.
"He is trying to tell you how glad he is to see you," said Mr. Templeton,
as the children shouted and clapped their hands.
"Oh, won't Bab like it, though!" cried Lucy. "Seems as if I couldn't wait
till to-morrow for Bab to get here, for then the good times will begin."
But for Kyzie and Edith and Jimmy the good times had begun already.
The five Dunlees entered the house, little Eddo clinging fast to
Jimmum's forefinger. They passed an old lady who sat on the veranda
knitting. She gazed after them through her spectacles, and said to Mr.
Templeton in a tone of inquiry:--
"Boarders?"
"Yes," he replied, rubbing his chin, "and they have lots of jingle in 'em
too; they're just the kind I like."
"Well, I hope they won't get into any mischief up here, that's all I've got
to say. Nobody wants to take children to board anyway, but you can't
always seem to help it."
And then the old lady turned to her knitting again; indeed her fingers
had been flying all the while she talked. Mr. Templeton looked at her
curiously, and wondered if she disliked children.
"I'd as lief have 'em 'round the house as her birds and kittens anyway,"
he reflected; for she kept a magpie, three cats and a canary; and these
pets had not been always agreeable guests at the hotel.
It was now nearly six o'clock, and savory odors from the kitchen
mingled with the balmy breath of the flowers stealing in from the lawn.
The Dunlee party had barely time for hasty toilets when the gong

sounded for dinner. The Templeton dining-room was large and held
several tables. The Dunlees had the longest of these, the one near the
west window. There were twelve plates set, though only nine were
needed to-night. The three extra plates had been placed there for the
Hale family, who were expected to-morrow. Mrs. Dunlee had told the
landlord that she would like the Hales at her table.
"And Bab will sit side o' me," said Lucy. "Oh, won't we be happy?"
As the Dunlees took their seats to-night and looked around the room
they saw a droll sight. The old lady, who had been knitting on the
veranda, was seated at a small table in one corner; and on each side of
her in a chair sat a cat! One cat was a gray "coon," the other an Angora;
and both of them sat up as grave as judges, nibbling bits of cheese. Mrs.
McQuilken herself, dressed in a very odd style, was knitting again. She
was a remarkably industrious woman, and as it would be perhaps three
or four minutes before the soup came in, she could not bear to waste the
time in idleness. Her head-dress was odd enough. It was just a strip of
white muslin wound around the head like an East Indian puggaree. Mrs.
McQuilken had many outlandish fashions. She was the widow of a
sea-captain and had been abroad most of her life. The children could
hardly help staring at her. Even after they had learned to know her
pretty well