A Rock in the Baltic

“Read the letter. Perhaps my mathematical mind can be of assistance to you.”

Dorothy had concealed the letter, and did not now produce it.

“It is with reference to your assistance, and your continued assistance, that I wish to speak to you. Let us follow the example of the cement and the steel, and form a compact. In one respect I am going to imitate the ‘Consternation.’ I leave Bar Harbor next week.”

Katherine sat up in her chair, and her eyes opened wide.

“What’s the matter with Bar Harbor?” she asked.

“You can answer that question better than I, Kate. The Kempt family are not visitors, but live here all the year round. What do you think is the matter with Bar Harbor?”

“I confess it’s a little dull in the winter time, and in all seasons it is situated a considerable distance from New York. Where do you intend to go, Dorothy?”

“That will depend largely on where my friend Kate advises me to go, because I shall take her with me if she will come.”

“Companion, lady’s-maid, parlor maid, maid-of-all-work, cook, governess, typewriter-girl—which have I to be? Shall I get one afternoon a week off, and may my young man come and see me, if I happen to secure one, and, extremely important, what are the wages?”

“You shall fix your own salary, Kate, and my lawyer men will arrange that the chosen sum is settled upon you so that if we fall out we can quarrel on equal terms.”

“Oh, I see, it’s an adopted daughter I am to be, then?”

“An adopted sister, rather.”

“Do you think I am going to take advantage of my friendship with an heiress, and so pension myself off?”

“It is I who am taking the advantage,” said Dorothy, “and I beg you to take compassion, rather than advantage, upon a lone creature who has no kith or kin in the world.”

“Do you really mean it, Dot?”

“Of course I do. Should I propose it if I didn’t?”

“Well, this is the first proposal I’ve ever had, and I believe it is customary to say on those occasions that it is so sudden, or so unexpected, and time is required for consideration.”

“How soon can you make up your mind, Kate?”

“Oh, my mind’s already made up. I’m going to jump at your offer, but I think it more ladylike to pretend a mild reluctance. What are you going to do, Dorothy?”

“I don’t know. I’ve settled on only one thing. I intend to build a little stone and tile church, very quaint and old-fashioned, if I get the right kind of architect to draw a plan for it, and this church is to be situated in Haverstock.”

“Where’s Haverstock?”

“It is a village near the Hudson River, on the plain that stretches toward the Catskills.”

“It was there you lived with your father, was it not?”

“Yes, and my church is to be called the Dr. Amhurst Memorial Church.”

“And do you propose to live at Haverstock?”

“I was thinking of that.”

“Wouldn’t it be just a little dull?”

“Yes, I suppose it is, but it seems to me a suitable place where two young women may meditate on what they are going to do with their lives.”

“Yes, that’s an important question for the two. I say, Dorothy, let’s take the other side of the river, and enter Vassar College. Then we should at least have some fun, and there would be some reasonably well-educated people to speak to.”

“Oh, you wish to use your lately acquired scientific knowledge in order to pass the examinations; but, you see, I have had no tutor to school me in the mysteries of lime-burning and the mixing of cement. Now, you have scorned my side of the river, and I have objected to your side of the river. That is the bad beginning which, let us hope, makes the good ending. Who is to arbitrate on our dispute?”

“Why, we’ll split the difference, of course.”

“How can we do that? Live in a house-boat on the river like Frank Stockton’s ‘Budder Grange’?”

“No, settle in the city of New York, which is practically an island in the Hudson.”

“Would you like to live in New York?”

“Wouldn’t I! Imagine any one, having the chance, living anywhere else!”

“In a hotel, I suppose—the Holldorf for choice.”

“Yes, we could live in a hotel until we found the ideal flat, high up in a nice apartment house, with a view like that from the top of Mount Washington, or from the top of the Washington Monument.”

“But you forget I made one proviso in the beginning, and that is that I am going to build a church, and the church is to be situated, not in the city of New York, but in the village of Haverstock.”

“New York is just the place from which to construct such an edifice. Haverstock will be somewhere near the West Shore Railway. Very well. We can take a trip up there once a week or oftener, if you like, and see how the work is progressing, then the people of Haverstock will respect us. As we drive from the station they’ll say:

“‘There’s the two young ladies from New York who are building the church.’ But if we settle down amongst them they’ll think we’re only ordinary villagers instead of the distinguished persons we are. Or, while our flat is being made ready we could live at one of the big hotels in the Catskills, and come down as often as we like on the inclined railway. Indeed, until the weather gets colder, the Catskills is the place.

‘And lo, the Catskills print the distant sky,
And o’er their airy tops the faint clouds driven,
So softly blending that the cheated eye
Forgets or which is earth, or which is heaven.’”

“That ought to carry the day for the Catskills, Kate. What sort of habitation shall we choose? A big hotel, or a select private boarding house?”

“Oh, a big hotel, of course—the biggest there is, whatever its name may be. One of those whose rates are so high that the proprietor daren’t advertise them, but says in his announcement, ‘for terms apply to the manager.’ It must have ample grounds, support an excellent band, and advertise a renowned cuisine. Your room, at least, should have a private balcony on which you can place a telescope and watch the building of your church down below. I, being a humble person in a subordinate position, should have a balcony also to make up for those deficiencies.”

“Very well, Kate, that’s settled. But although two lone women may set up housekeeping in a New York flat, they cannot very well go alone to a fashionable hotel.”

“Oh, yes, we can. Best of references given and required.”

“I was going to suggest,” pursued Dorothy, not noticing the interruption, “that we invite your father and mother to accompany us. They might enjoy a change from sea air to mountain air.”

Katherine frowned a little, and demurred.

“Are you going to be fearfully conventional, Dorothy?”