CHAPTER V

TREASURE HOUSE

AT last the day came when Treasure House was finished. Painted, papered, furnished, it now lacked only the finishing touches that the eager hands of the Two D’s were ready to give.

A Saturday was to be devoted to this fascinating work, and bright and early, Dotty and Dolly were signalling each other from their bedroom windows that the time had arrived.

Rather slim and very hurried were their breakfasts, and very abstracted and absentminded their conversation.

“Dot,” said Mr. Rose, “do have a little scrap more of this nice bacon.”

Dotty looked at her father, unseeing, and letting her gaze rove to her mother, she said, “Which centrepiece would you put on the table first, Aunt Clara’s or the one Trudy made?”

“Use mine first,” spoke up Aunt Clara, “for Trudy’s is much handsomer, and you’d better keep it for a party occasion.”

“That’s so,” and Dotty nodded her head.

Meanwhile, Mr. Rose had sat patiently, serving fork and spoon held over the dish of curly, crisp bacon and golden eggs. “I asked you a question, Dotty,” he said, in an injured tone.

Again Dotty gave him that blank stare. “And, Mother,” she went on, “if you’d just as lieve we’d have that blue Japanese table mat, for the Study table, I’ll take it over with me. When I—”

“Dorothy Rose,” said her father, with mock severity, “_am_ I to hold this fork all day? Will you, or will you _not_, have some bacon?”

“What? Have what? Oh, Daddy, _did_ you bring the screw hooks home last night? You didn’t forget to get them, did you?”

“Bacon! Bacon! _Bacon!_” shouted Mr. Rose. “I said bacon!”

“And the doormat,—you promised to order the doormat, Father—”

“Bacon!”

“The fire sets came—”

“_Bacon!_”

“Oh, how you made me jump! No, I don’t want any bacon, I had some—I think. Anyway, I’m through breakfast, aren’t you, Dad? Do hurry up. I want you to go over with me—oh, there’s Doll!”

Dolly came in, her arms full of things for the house.

“I didn’t want to go in without you, Dot,” she said. “Goodness, aren’t you through breakfast yet? I couldn’t eat a thing, hardly.”

“Sit down here, and have some bacon, Dolly,” said Mr. Rose, hospitably.

“Dad, if you say bacon again, I’ll just perfectly fly! Dolly doesn’t want any, do you, Doll?”

“No, ’course not! I mean no, thank you, Mr. Rose. Oh, we can’t wait another minute. Come on, Dot!”

Dotty grabbed up some things she had ready to take, and the two flew out of the side door and over to Treasure House.

It was a gorgeous morning in late October, and as the house faced the south, the sun was already flooding the front piazza of their new domain. Each girl had a key, and as they went up the steps, Dolly began hunting in her coat pocket for hers.

“Old Slowy!” cried Dotty, and, her own key already in her hand, she snapped it into the lock, and threw open the door.

“Will you walk into my parlour, said the flyder to the spy!” and with a flourish she stood aside for Dolly to enter.

“No, we must go in together. Why, Dot, this first entrance ought to be a rite, a—a ceremonial, you know.”

“Ceremonial, your grandmother! Come on in!” and grabbing Dolly’s arm, the two bounced in, spilling their parcels, and laughing so hard that there was small suggestion of ceremony.

They fell breathless, in the two easy chairs that stood either side of the fireplace, and just grinned at each other.

“The day’s come!” exclaimed Dotty; “we’re really here! Oh, Doll, can you believe it?”

“No, I simpully _can’t_! It’s too good to be true! Now, shall we light a fire, or fix things up first?”

“How far have you progressed?” asked a voice at the door, and Mr. Rose came in, smiling. “Want any help? I’ve half an hour to spare. Can I start a fire for you?”

“Oh, do, Dad! And show us just how, and then we can do it ourselves after this.”

“Pooh,” said Dolly, “I know how to make a fire,—I learned long ago. But it would be better to have Mr. Rose make the first one, and see if the chimney draws all right.”

Dolly looked up the flue with the air of a connoisseur on fireplaces, and Mr. Rose laughed good naturedly at her.

“The secret of a successful fire is plenty of paper and kindling-wood,” he said, as he twisted newspapers into hard rolls. Then he added light sticks and finally good-sized logs, and declared the fire was laid.

“Now the lighting of this, your first hearth fire, should be a ceremony,” he said.

“There, Dotty, I told you we ought to have a ceremony! Which of us will light it?”

“Both together, of course. Give us each a match, Dad.”

Mr. Rose gave each of the girls a match, and as they were about to strike them, he showed them where to touch the protruding ends of paper, which he had purposely arranged.

“Now,” he said, “One, Two, Three, _Go_! May joy attend all who surround the Hearthstone fires of Treasure House!”

The matches blazed, caught the paper, ignited the kindling, and flames shot up with a glow and a crackle.

It was an exciting moment for the two girls. They fell into each other’s arms, and while Dotty was shouting “Hooray!” at the top of her lungs, the tears were rolling down Dolly’s cheeks.

“You Goosie!” cried Dotty. “What under the sun are you crying about?”

“’Cause I’m so happy. And anyway, it’s my own house, I’ve got a right to cry in it, if I want to.”

But she was smiling now, the tense moment had passed, and together they danced wildly round the room.

“I’ll have to be going,” said Mr. Rose, looking at his watch, “you two Apache Indians had better calm down and get to work. There’s a lot to be done, I’m thinking.”

“But we’ve got all our lives to do it in,” said Dolly, laughing. “There’s no hurry, and I must get my eyes used to it a little first.”

Mr. Rose went off, and the two girls stood looking about, as if they never could look enough.

And this is what they saw. The Study, flooded with the Autumn sunlight, and bright with the blazing fire. Walls hung with plain paper of a lovely greyish green, with a bordering frieze of foliage in darker shades. Windows curtained with green silk over lace bordered scrim. Two wide window-seats, at opposite sides of the room, cushioned in green, and provided with many soft, ample-sized green cushions. The woodwork was white, the low bookshelves were white, and the furniture was Mission.

The two desks had arrived, and were placed at the two ends of the room. Theoretically, the whole room was divided in halves, Dolly owning the side toward her home, and Dotty the side toward hers. Under the window seats were little cupboards for school books, and besides, there was a roomy coat-closet for each, with shelves and hooks.

A big table in the middle of the room held an electrolier, and each girl was to fill her side of the table with such books or bric-à-brac as she saw fit. Altogether, it was the cosiest, homiest, dearest room a girl ever had to study or play in, and it thoroughly satisfied the Two D’s.

“Now let’s gaze on the dining-room,” said Dolly. “I haven’t seen it since last night.”

Arms round each other, they went to the next room. That, of course, was a north room, and so it had been furnished in yellow. The yellow wallpaper, with a border of daffodils, was like sunshine, and the chairs and table were of yellow painted wood. The curtains were of thin yellow silk, and the glass door of the cupboard showed a set of yellow china. A big yellow bowl, of Chinese ware, had been Mrs. Fayre’s especial gift; though the parents and relatives had all contributed generously to the furnishings. Bob and Bert had sent gifts; one a clock and one a picture.

Their pictures were few, as yet, for the girls didn’t want the discarded ones in their home attics, and preferred to wait till time should bring some good ones as Christmas or birthday gifts.

“You see,” said Dolly, as they talked this over, “we don’t want to get it all finished at once, or we’ll have nothing to look forward to. Let’s do it slowly, by degrees, and get first, just what we have to have.”

“Yes,” agreed Dotty, “only I’m so impatient, I can’t wait to do things slowly. I wish I could just wave my hand, and everything would be finished!”

“Goosie! Well, let’s go to work, and do up what’s to be done right now. Mother’s coming over pretty soon, and I want her to see it looking nice. I’ll make the dining-room fire,—or don’t we need one?”

“Not yet, Doll. We’ll be flying round, working, and that will keep us warm. Let’s not light it till afternoon.”

“All right. Come on and gaze at the kitchen.”

The kitchenette was a dream in shining nickel and white enamel. Mr. Fayre was a busy man, and hadn’t the time to devote to the children that Mr. Rose could command, so he had insisted on making up by putting in the entire electrical outfit. There was provision for cooking, toasting, coffee-making, candy-making, and some contraptions of which the girls did not yet know the use.

A small, but complete kitchen cabinet contained everything the most fastidious housekeeper could desire, and a wall cupboard held a supply of neatly hemmed dish towels, dusters and such matters.

“Isn’t it great!” exclaimed Dolly. “That white enamelled sink is dainty enough for a fairy’s bath! And do observe this corn-popper!”

“And this glass lemon-squeezer! Let’s make some lemonade now!”

“Oh, not now! It’s just after breakfast.”

“Well, it’s eleven o’clock, just the same.”

“It is! Whew! we must fly round. Don’t talk about lemonade, Dot; let’s put our books on their shelves, and fix the mantel and table.”

“All right, say we do.”

A basket of trinkets from each house stood waiting, and the two unpacked and placed their treasures. Such absorbing work as it was! No very valuable things had been brought, lest light-fingered gentry should prowl round some dark night, but lots of pretty things were available.

“’Course we divide the mantel, same’s everything else,” observed Dolly, as she came, with a tiny ivory elephant and a larger teakwood one. “Let’s put Bert’s clock in the middle, and then each fix our own half. I’ve just got to have my two dearie efelunts here, and the brass candlestick Grandma gave me. There, I think that’s enough for my end.”

“Looks awful skinny. I’ve a lot of stuff for my half. See; this pair of vases, and this plaster cast of Dante, and this big white china cat, and this inkstand—”

“Oh, Dot, don’t put an inkstand up there! Put that on your desk.”

“Oh, it isn’t a using inkstand. It’s just a show one. Aunt Clara gave it to me last Christmas. See, it’s iridescent glass.”

“I know it is, but it looks like fury up there, and your end is too crowded, anyway.”

“Pooh, I think yours is too skimpy. Looks awful vacant, with nothing but two elephants and a candlestick!”

“But it’s right not to have such a lot of dinky doodaddles all over the place. Your end looks like a junk shop!”

But, imperturbably, Dotty added a big, pink-lined conch shell and a fussy beribboned calendar. “I like what I like, Dolly Fayre, and I’ve as much right to fill up my space as you have to waste yours. You might rent out a few square feet to me.”

“’Deed I won’t! Dot, that bunch of rubbish is fierce! All the girls will laugh at it.”

“Let ’em, I don’t care. I’ve had that shell ever since I was a tiny mite. It’s my oldest treasure.”

“Your old-fashionedest, you mean. Say, Dot, weed out half of those frights, and I’ll give you one of my candlesticks. They’d look fine at each end.”

“No-sir-ee! I insist on my rights, my whole rights and nothing but my rights! E pluribus unum, Erin go bragh!”

Dotty executed a species of war dance, and shook her fist defiantly at Dolly, who was standing off, admiring her end of the mantel and making wry faces at Dotty’s.

Suddenly Dolly broke into laughter. “We’ll have these scraps all the time, Dot, so I s’pose we may as well make up our minds to let each other do as we please.”

“I like your grammar, and I agree to your dic—dic—what do you call it?”

“Dictum?”

“Yes, dictum. Only you needn’t try to dictum _me_! We’re joint monarchs of all we survey, and we must let each other survey in our own way. I think my mantel layout is pretty fine. If you don’t I can’t help it.”

“No,” sighed Dolly, “and you can’t help having awful taste in decoration, either.”

“Taste is a matter of opinion, and I opine that my mantel looks as good as yours, only different.”

Then both girls grinned at each other, and the peace was unbroken. But the mantel did look funny!

“Now for our books. Thank goodness, we haven’t got to share our bookshelves, and we can fix the things as we like.”

“We did on the mantel,” said Dolly, laughing. “Well, my nonsense books go above, and my girls’ books below. ‘Alice’ first; then ‘Lear,’ and then the ‘Just so Stories.’”

“Well, of course, I’m doing mine different. I’m putting my highbrow books up top. Shakespeare first, and then—”

“Don’t say Milton! You know you’ll _never_ read those things out here, or anywhere, except when you have to write themes on them!”

“But amn’t I going to write themes out here? What are our desks for, I’d like to know?”

“Yes, I s’pose so. Oh, well, fix your books as you like; you will anyway.”

“’Course I will. And I hereby give you permission to do the same.”

“Thank you, oh, _thank_ you! It’s tiresome work, isn’t it?”

“Jiminy! I should say it was! Come on, Doll, let’s make some lemonade. I’m choked with dust and with some old dry lingo that leaked out of my wise books. Come on, Dollums.”

“All right. Got any lemons?”

“Yep, brought some on purpose. Sugar too. And we can make it in that darling kitchenettio!”

Away the girls went, and concocted lemonade that tasted like fairy nectar. To squeeze lemons by means of their own glass squeezer, to get sugar out of their own sugar-box (after they had put it in), to draw water from their own flashing, shining, silver-plated faucets,—this was joy indeed!

“Seems to me I never tasted anything so good,” said Dolly, gazing into her glass, as they sat at their golden dining-room table.

“Nor I. But it makes me so fearfully hungry.”

“At one we must go home to lunch, I s’pose. Wish we could lunch here.”

“We will next Saturday, but of course, we’ve got to get a lot of things together to do that.”

“It’s nearly one, now. We must finish up this lemonade and scoot. Will you come back right after your lunch is over?”

“Yes, of course. Quick as I can hop here. But I’m so hungry I ’spect I’ll eat a whole lot.”

“Me too.”