Lilian, the practical, after one look at the great building, said excitedly, "Grandmother, where are the keys, quick?"
The hotel itself was a white frame building, about two hundred feet long and three stories high. Huge pillars supported verandas that ran all around the house on each story. Broad steps led up to the main entrance, and at one corner was a large tower which rose for several stories above the main part of the house.
Although the whole place had a deserted aspect,—the shutters were all closed, and the lawns uncared for,—yet it did not seem out of repair, or uninhabitable. Indeed, the apparent care with which it had been closed up and made secure was reassuring in itself, and the children eagerly followed Lilian who had gained possession of the front door key.
With little difficulty they succeeded in unfastening the great front doors and threw them wide open to admit the May sunshine.
They found themselves at first in a large hall which ran straight through the house. It was furnished in red, with a velvet carpet and satin brocade sofas, which seemed to the Dorrances quite the most beautiful furnishings they had ever looked upon.
Arched off from this hall was a good-sized room, which Leicester declared to be the office, and as soon as the windows of that could be thrown open, the desks and safe and other office furniture proved he was right. Opening a wicket door, he flew in behind the great desk, and throwing open a large book which was there, he turned it around towards Dorothy with a flourish, and asked her to register.
"Oh," she cried, wild with excitement, "it's just like the Sleeping Beauty's palace. Everything is just as they went off and left it. Who registered last, Leicester?"
"The last is Mr. Henry Sinclair, who arrived here in July, summer before last."
"And nobody's been here since!" exclaimed Lilian; "just think of it! It seems as if we ought to register."
"You may if you like," said Leicester; "it's our register, you know."