One afternoon, about a week later, the children were again in their grandmother's room waiting for dinner-time.

To be exact, they weren't in the room, but were literally half in and half out. For Mrs. Dorrance's room had two front windows, and two children were hanging out of each, in a precarious and really dangerous way.

The twins, in one window, were vying with each other as to which could lean out farthest, without falling out; and in the other window Dorothy was leaning out as far as possible, and at the same time trying to keep a very excited Fairy from pitching headlong to the street.

The simple explanation of this acrobatic performance is, that they were looking for the postman. Not that they really thought he would come any sooner for their endangering their lives, but each young Dorrance considered it of the highest importance to catch the first glimpse of him.

"Oh, dear, do you suppose the house is sold?" said Lilian, for the dozenth time.

"Hi!" screamed Dorothy; "there he is! we'll soon know now."

Dorothy having won the game, they all tumbled into the room again, and Leicester started down-stairs for the mail.

"Gently, my boy, gently," warned his grandmother. "Don't go down whooping like a wild Indian."

Leicester assumed a sudden air of decorum, and disappeared; while the girls clustered around their grandmother, all talking at once.

"What do you think, grandmother?" cried Dorothy, "guess,—which way do you guess?"

"I guess, no," said Mrs. Dorrance, who was used to guessing games.

"I guess, yes!" shouted Lilian; "of course it's sold! and we'll have lots of money and we'll go to Europe, and Africa, and Chicago, and everywhere!"

"And over to Brooklyn," chimed in Fairy; "I do want to go to Brooklyn, 'cause I've never been there and Gladys Miller says it's awful funny, and besides——"

"A letter! here's a letter," cried Leicester, bouncing into the room; "open it, open it quick, granny dear!"

"I can't," said the old lady, helplessly; "you children make such a noise, I'm all bewildered. Open it, Dorothy, and read it aloud; and the rest of you, do try to keep still."

Eagerly, Dorothy tore open the letter, and began to read it:

Mrs. Elizabeth Dorrance:

Dear Madam:—I had a final interview to-day with Mr. Ware. As you know, he had about concluded to buy your hotel, but he has been making inquiries concerning it, and has learned that it has not been occupied for several years. He fears that he cannot make it pay as a business venture, and has therefore definitely decided not to buy it.

I do not wish to discourage you, my dear madam, but it looks to me as if it would not be possible to sell the hotel this season, and indeed, I doubt if you can ever dispose of it to your satisfaction. The next best course, in my opinion, would be for you to allow it to be sold at auction. This plan would enable you to pay the back taxes now due, and relieve you of further obligations of the same sort,—though I fear there would be little or no margin of profit for you in this arrangement.

However, should you think best to adopt this course, please advise me promptly, and I will take the necessary steps in the matter.

I am, my dear madam,
Respectfully yours,
"Lewis H. Lloyd."

At the conclusion of this letter the four Dorrance children groaned in concert. Their concerted groan was an old-established affair, and by reason of much practice they had brought it to a high state of perfection. It began with a low wail which deepened and strengthened through several bass notes, and then slid up to high C with a wild, final shriek. It was most effective as an expression of utter exasperation, but Mrs. Dorrance, though accustomed to it, lived in a state of fear lest it might cause the landlady to request them to give up their rooms.

"Oh, dear," said Lilian, after the groan had subsided, "I felt sure that Ware man was going to take the old place. I think he's mean!"

"I think Mr. Lloyd is mean," broke in Dorothy. "I don't like him!"

"It isn't his fault, my dear," said her grandmother. "He has done all in his power to sell the place, but it seems to be unsalable, except at auction. And that would probably mean that our financial affairs would be in no better state than they are now."

"I'd like to see Our Domain," said Leicester, thoughtfully; "what's it like, grandmother?"

"I don't know, dear; I've never seen it. Your grandfather never saw it either. He bought the property through an agent, merely as a speculation."

"Ho!" cried Leicester, "the idea of owning a Domain that nobody has ever seen! why, perhaps there is nothing there at all, and so of course nobody will buy it."

"People!" exclaimed Dorothy, suddenly, her eyes shining, and her whole air expressive of a wonderful discovery. And, too, when Dorothy said, "People!" in that tone of voice, the others had learned that she meant to announce one of her plans. As a rule, her plans were wild and impracticable schemes, but they were always interesting to listen to.

"People, I'll tell you exactly what we'll do. Grandma says we can't afford any extra expense this summer. So,—we'll go and live in our Domain!"

"Well, of all crazy things," said Lilian, in a disappointed tone. "I thought you were going to say something nice."

"It is nice," said Dorothy; "you think it isn't, because you don't know anything about it. I know all about it. Now listen and I'll tell you."

"Know all about it!" said Leicester; "you don't even know where it is!"

"Anybody can find that out," went on Dorothy; "and then when we find out, all we have to do is to go there. And then we'll live in the house, no matter what it is. It's ours, and so we won't have to pay any rent, and we girls will do all the housework and cooking, and so it won't cost near as much as boarding. And the difference will pay our traveling expenses to the Domain, wherever it is. And we won't need any new clothes to go to a place like that, and it will be perfectly lovely, as good as a prairie or a Texas, or anything! Now then!"

"Whew!" exclaimed Leicester; "I do believe you've struck it right this time. It will be great! I'll do my share of the work,—it will be just like camping out. What do you suppose the house is like?"

"Isn't it lovely not to know!" cried Lilian; "everything about it will be such a surprise. When can we go, grandmother?"

"Oh, my dears, how you rattle on," said Mrs. Dorrance, half-laughing, and yet beginning to take an interest in Dorothy's plan.

Fairy was keeping up a running fire of conversation, but nobody paid any attention to her.

"Where is the place, grandmother?" asked Dorothy, who was taking it all a little more seriously than the others; "you must know at least what state it's in."

"Oh, yes, I know that. It's on the shore of Lake Ponetcong,—in the northern part of New Jersey."

"What a fearful name!" cried Leicester; "but I don't care if it's called Alibazan, so long as there's a lake there. You never told us about the lake before."

"A lake!" said Lilian, with an ecstatic air; "I shall just stay on that all the time. I shall have a rowboat and a sailboat and a canoe——"

"And a cataraman," supplemented her brother; "you can use the hotel for a boathouse, Lilian, and we'll build a little cabin to live in."

"Don't go so fast, children," said Mrs. Dorrance; "if you'll give me a minute to think, I'm not sure but I could see some sense in this arrangement."

"Oh, granny, dear," cried Dorothy, clasping her hands beseechingly; "do take a minute to think. Take several minutes, and think hard, and see if you can't think some sense into it."

"As you say," began Mrs. Dorrance, while the children were breathlessly quiet in their anxiety, "the living expenses would be very much less than in any boarding-house. And in a country-place like that, you would not need elaborate clothes. But there are many things to be considered; you see, I've no idea what the house is like, or in what condition we would find it."

"Oh, never mind that," pleaded Dorothy; "let's take our chances. That will be the fun of it, to go there, not knowing what we're going to. And anyway, we'll have room enough."

"Yes," said Mrs. Dorrance, smiling; "in a hotel you will probably have room enough. But what do you mean by saying you can do the housework? In the first place you're not strong enough, and secondly, you don't know how."

"I'll do the work," said Fairy. "I don't care if I am only twelve, I can cook; 'cause when I went to Gladys Miller's one day, she had a little stove and she showed me how. I'll do all the cooking, and you other girls can do the domesticker work. Leicester can do all the man's work, and grannymother can be a Princess of high degree, and just sit and look on. And then on some days——"

"Oh, yes, we know how to work," interrupted Dorothy. It was always necessary to interrupt Fairy if anybody wanted to say anything.

"And I won't mind how much I have to do, if we have some outdoors around us. Only think, it's May out of doors now, and here we have to stay shut up in this old boarding-house, same as in December."

"You may go out for a while if you care to, little girl," said Leicester, assuming a grown-up air.

"I don't want to go out on paved streets," said Dorothy; "I want green fields and trees and cows."

"I want free life and I want fresh air," sang Leicester, "and I do believe we are going to get it. Come, granny, speak the word,—say we may go."

"I can't say, positively," said Mrs. Dorrance, "until I write to Mr. Lloyd and see what he thinks of it. If he agrees to the plan, I suppose we might try it. But it is all so uncertain."

"Never mind the uncertainty," said Dorothy; "just leave it all to me. Now see here, grandmother, for twelve years you've looked after us children, and taken care of us, and now, I think we're getting old enough to look after ourselves. Anyway, let us try it. Let us all go up to the Domain, and spend the summer there. We'll do the best we can, and if we fail it will be our own fault. You're not to have any responsibility, you're just to be there as a kind of guardian angel and general adviser. Nothing very dreadful can happen to us,—at least, nothing half so dreadful as staying in the city all summer. Now just write to Mr. Lloyd, and don't ask his opinion, but tell him you've decided to do this, and just ask him how to get there."

"We can tell how to get there, ourselves," said Leicester; "let's look it up on the map. Fairy, get the big atlas, will you?"

Though Fairy was always called upon to wait on the other children, it was by no means an imposition, for the child was always dancing around the room anyway, and dearly loved to do things for people.

Soon three of the Dorrance children were gathered around the table studying the map. Fairy, in order to see better, had climbed up on the table, and was eagerly following with her tiny forefinger the track of Leicester's pencil.

"It isn't so very far, after all," he announced. "It's just across the ferry, and then up on the railroad till you get to it. It looks awfully near. Oh, I wish we were going to start to-morrow."

"Why can't we?" said Lilian, who always favored quick action.

"There's no reason," said Mrs. Dorrance, smiling at the impetuous children; "of course we can just as well take the seven o'clock train to-morrow morning as not!"

"Now you're teasing, grandma," said Lilian; "truly, when can we go?"

"Just the minute school closes," answered Dorothy. "I suppose we must stay for that,—I must, anyway; but we could get off the last week in May."

Here the announcement of dinner put an end to their planning for the present, but so gay of heart were they over their happy anticipations, that for once they didn't mind the gloomy dining-room and their irritating fellow boarders.