With a wild whoop, Leicester disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
"Oh, grannymother," cried Dorothy, "isn't it splendid that we can make just as much noise as we want to! Now you sit right here on the veranda, and enjoy the view; and don't you budge until you're called to supper." And with another war-whoop scarcely less noisy than her brother's, Dorothy went dancing through the big rooms, followed by her two sisters.
When she reached the kitchen, she found a fine fire blazing in the range.
Leicester sat on the settle, with his hands in his pockets, and wearing a complacent air of achievement.
"Anything the matter with that fire?" he inquired.
"How did you ever do it in such a minute?" cried his twin, gazing admiringly at her brother.
"Magic," said Leicester.
"Magic in the shape of Tessie," said Dorothy, laughing, as the good-natured Irish girl appeared from the pantry.
"Right you are," said Leicester; "that's Tessie's own fire. And she didn't have to split up the furniture, for she says there's lots of wood and coal in the cellar."
"Well, did you ever!" cried Dorothy; "I wouldn't be a bit surprised to learn that there was a gold mine in the parlor, or a pearl fishery up in the tower."