Dorothy felt it the most. As the oldest, she had the greatest sense of responsibility, and she felt that she ought in some way to amend the family fortunes, but just how she did not know. She well knew how difficult it is for a girl to earn any money without being especially trained in some branch of usefulness; and she had often thought that she would learn some one thing well, and so be prepared against a day of misfortune. And now the day of misfortune had come, and she was not ready for it. She could not bear to think of selling the town house; she would far rather sell the hotel, but that, it seemed, was out of the question.

Leicester, on the other hand, took a more cheerful view of the situation.

"Oh, I don't believe we'll have to sell the house," he said. "It isn't so bad as that, is it, grandma?"

"I don't know, Leicester," said the old lady helplessly; "I never did know much about business matters, and now I feel more confused than ever when I try to straighten them out."

"But if we could just get through this summer, grandmother, when we go back to the city in the fall I feel sure I can get a position of some kind and earn a salary that will help us all out."

"You are a good boy, Leicester," said Mrs. Dorrance; "but it is very uncertain about your getting a position; and too, I don't want you to leave school yet."

"No, indeed," said Dorothy. "It wouldn't be right for Leicester to leave school at fourteen; and anyway, I think he ought to go through college. Now I am sixteen, and I have education enough for a girl. So I'm the one to get a position of some kind in the fall, and earn money to help along."

"What could you do?" asked Lilian looking at her sister. She had ample faith that Dorothy could do anything she wanted to, and was merely anxious to know in which direction she would turn her talents.

"I don't know," said Dorothy, very honestly; "skilled labor is the only thing that counts nowadays, and I'm really not fitted for anything. I would like best to write things; but I don't believe anybody would buy them,—at least, not at first. So I suppose the only thing that I could do would be to go into a store."

"And sell candy?" asked Fairy, with a dawning interest in the plan.

"Don't talk like that, Dorothy dear," said grandma, gently; "of course I wouldn't let you go into a store, and also, I'm very much afraid that your poetry wouldn't find a ready market. That may come later, but it will probably be after years of apprenticeship."

"Well, something must be done," said Dorothy decidedly; "and you can't do it, grandma; so we children must. I think we are old enough now to take the responsibility off of your shoulders; or at least to help you in these troubles."

"I wish you could, my dear child, but I fear there is no practical way by which we can raise the money that I must have, except to sell the city house. It seems like a great sacrifice for a small reason; for you see if we just had money enough to pay our living expenses this summer, I could manage, I think, to come out nearly even by fall. But there is no way to provide for our living this summer, that I can see."

"Now I'm getting a clearer understanding of the case," said Leicester; "then if we children could earn money enough this summer to run the Dorrance Domain, we'd come out all right?"

"Yes, I think so, but how could you earn any?"

"I don't know," said Leicester, "but I've often read how other boys earned money,—and country boys, too. We might pick huckleberries and sell them, or we might raise a garden and sell things."

"Who would you sell them to?" asked Lilian, who was always practical. "Now I think a more sensible way would be to economize. Send away Tessie and Kathleen both; and then get along with fewer good things to eat. You know we've had everything just as we wanted it, and I'm sure we could cut down our table expenses. Then we could give up the horse,—although he is a dear——"

At this Fairy's wails began again, for she was devotedly attached to old Dobbin, the horse, and couldn't bear to think of parting with him.

"I think," said Grandma Dorrance, "that we will have to ask Mr. Lloyd to come up here and advise us; and then whatever he thinks best, we will do."

"Don't you have to pay Mr. Lloyd for his advice?" asked Dorothy, suddenly struck by the thought of what seemed to her an unnecessary expense.

"Yes," said Mrs. Dorrance; "that is, I pay him for attending to all of my business, and of course that includes his advice."

"I suppose we couldn't get along without him," said Dorothy, sighing; "but it does seem awful to pay him money that we need so much ourselves."

Mrs. Dorrance had a happy faculty of deferring unpleasant things to some future time; and not worrying about them meanwhile.

"Well," she said, "I will write to Mr. Lloyd to-morrow, and ask him to come up here; or if he can't come, to write me a letter advising me what to do. And until he comes, or his letter comes, we can't do anything in the matter, and there is no use worrying over it. I'd hate to discharge the servants, for you girls couldn't get along without anybody to help; and if we keep Tessie, Kathleen is no added expense, for her work well pays for her board."

This was not quite logical, but all were too miserable to notice it. For once the Dorrances went up-stairs to their beds without any whoops or hurrahs for Dorrance Domain.

As they were going up the great staircase, Lilian offered another of her practical, if not very attractive suggestions.

"We could," she said, "shut up the Domain, and all go to board with Mrs. Hickox for the rest of the summer. I'm sure she'd take us quite cheaply."

At this Leicester started the old Dorrance groan, which had not been heard before since their arrival at Lake Ponetcong.

They all joined in heartily, and groaned in concert, in loud, horrible tones that echoed dismally through the long corridors.

It was characteristic of their different natures that Grandma Dorrance went to bed, and immediately fell asleep in spite of her anxiety about her affairs; while Dorothy lay awake far into the night pondering over the problem.

She could form no plan, she was conscious only of a dogged determination that she would somehow conquer the existing difficulties, and triumphantly save the day.

She thought of Lilian's practical suggestions, and though she admitted them practical, she could not think them practicable. Surely there must be some way other than boarding at Mrs. Hickox's, or living on bread and tea.

"At any rate," she thought to herself as she finally fell asleep, "nothing will be done until Mr. Lloyd is heard from, and that will give me at least two or three days to think of a plan."

But try as she would, the next day and the next, no acceptable plan would come into Dorothy's head.

"We are the most helpless family!" she thought to herself, as she lay in the hammock under the trees. "There is positively nothing that we can do, that's of any use. But I will do something,—I will! I WILL!" and by way of emphasizing her determination she kicked her heel right through the hammock.

The other children did not take it quite so seriously. They were younger, and they had a hazy sort of an idea that money troubles always adjusted themselves, and somehow got out of the way.

Leicester and Dorothy talked matters over, for though younger, he considered himself the man of the house, and felt a certain responsibility for that reason. But he could no more think of a plan than Dorothy could, and so he gave the problem up in despair, and apparently Dorothy did also.

However, even a serious trouble like this, was not sufficient to cast down the Dorrances' spirits to any great extent.

They went their ways about as usual; they rowed and fished and walked and drove old Dobbin around, while their faces showed no sign of gloom or depression. That was the Dorrance nature, to be happy in spite of impending disaster.

Mr. Lloyd's letter came, but instead of helping matters, it left them in quite as much of a quandary as ever. He said that it would be impossible to sell the town house during the summer season. That the repairs must be made, or the tenants would not be willing to stay. He advised Mrs. Dorrance to retrench her expenses in every possible way, and stated further, that although the repairs must be made at once, it would not be necessary to pay the bills immediately on their presentation.

He said that although he would be glad to run up to see them in their country home, he could not leave the city at present, but he might be able to visit them later on.

Altogether it was not a satisfactory letter, and Leicester expressed open disapproval.

"That's a nice thing," he said, "to tell us not to pay our bills! As if we wanted to live with a lot of debts hanging over our heads!"

"I think it's lucky that we don't have to pay them right off," said Dorothy; "something may happen before we have to pay them."

Dorothy had a decided touch of the Micawber element in her nature and usually lived in the hope of something happening. And, to do her justice, it often did.

To the surprise of the others Fairy seemed very much impressed by the gravity of the situation, and more than that she seemed to think that it devolved on her to do something to relieve it. She walked over to Mrs. Hickox's to make her usual Wednesday visit, and though she skipped along as usual she was really thinking seriously.

She found Mrs. Hickox sitting on a bench under a tree paring apples, and Fairy sat down beside her.

"Of course I'm only twelve," she began, "but really I can do a great many things; only the trouble is none of them seem to be remunerary."

The two had become great friends, and though Mrs. Hickox was a lady of uncertain affections, she had taken a great fancy to Fairy, and in her queer way showed a real fondness for the child. She had also become accustomed to Fairy's manner of plunging suddenly into a subject.

"What is it you want to do now?" she said.

"Well, you see," said Fairy, "we've failed, or absconded, or something like that; I don't know exactly all about it, but we're awful poor, and we can't have anything more to eat. Some of us want to come to board with you, and some of us don't. You see it's very complicrated."

"Yes, it seems to be," said Mrs. Hickox; "but how did you get so poor all of a sudden? I always said you were all crazy and now I begin to believe it. Your grandmother——"

"Don't you say a word against my grannymother!" cried Fairy, with flashing eyes. "She's the loveliest, best and wisest lady in the whole world. Only somehow she just happened to lose her money, and so of course us children want to help her all we can, and I just don't happen to know what to do to earn money, that's all. And I thought you might know some way to tell me."

"I don't believe there's anything a child of your age could do to earn money," said Mrs. Hickox. "But now that I come to think of it, I did cut out a clipping just the other day, telling how to earn a good salary at home."

"Oh, that will be just the thing!" cried Fairy, dancing around in glee; "I'd love to earn a big salary and stay right there at the Dorrance Domain to do it. Do try to find it."

Mrs. Hickox was in the habit of sticking away her clippings in various queer places. She pulled out a bunch from behind the clock, and ran them over; "How to Take Out Ink Stains," "How to Wash Clothes in Six Minutes," "How to Protect an Iron Lawn Fence," "How to Stuff Birds, Taught by Mail," "Sure Cure for Rheumatism," "Recipe for Soft Soap."

None of these seemed to be what was wanted, so Mrs. Hickox hunted through another bunch which she took out of an old and unused teapot.

Fairy danced around with impatience while her hostess went through several collections.

"Oh, here it is," she said, at last, and then she read to the child a most promissory advertisement which set forth a tempting description of how any one might earn a large fortune by directing envelopes. The two talked it over, and Fairy wrote for Mrs. Hickox a sample of her penmanship, whereupon the lady at once declared that the scheme was impossible. For she said nobody could read such writing as that, and if they could, they wouldn't want to.

Fairy's disappointment was quite in proportion to the vivid anticipations she had held, and she was on the verge of one of her volcanic crying spells, when Mr. Hickox came in.

"Well, well, what's the trouble?" he said in his cheery way, and when Fairy explained, he responded:

"Well, well, little miss, don't you worry,—don't you worry one mite! Hickox'll fix it. It'll be all right!"

And so comforting was this assurance, and so sanguine was the Dorrance temperament, that Fairy felt at once that everything was all right, and dismissed the whole subject from her mind.