Dorothy Dainty at the Mountains — Text and Context
Edition facts
The catalog record for Dorothy Dainty at the Mountains — Text and Context provides practical reading context through 35,412 words, 2 hr 34 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 15.9 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Friendship -- Juvenile fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.
How this score is calculated
- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
Nancy had no parents, and a few years before Dorothy's mamma had taken her under her care and protection, and she was being trained and educated as carefully as was Dorothy, the little daughter of the house.
They had come to the Hotel Cleverton to spend the summer, and the first few days of their stay, they had explored all the land that lay immediately around the hotel, and had found many beautiful spots, but one thing held their interest,--they loved the echo, and never tired of awakening it.
"Come!" cried Dorothy. "Run with me over to the white birches, and we'll shout, and listen!"
Mrs. Dainty had told them the story of Echo, the nymph, who for loving Pan and following him and calling to him had been changed into a huge rock on the mountainside, and forever compelled to mock each voice she heard.
The old legend of the nymph had caught their fancy, and often they paused in their play to shout, and listen to what seemed to them the voice of some fairy of the mountains.
Now they stood beside the birches, Dorothy with one arm around a white trunk, and Nancy near her. At their feet were countless bluebells, overhead the blue sky, while across and beyond the valley rose the mountain capped by white clouds that looked as soft as swan's-down.
"Here! Here!" cried Dorothy, and echo answered, "Here,--ere!"
"Listen!" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands, and laughing with delight. "It answers as if it was a truly voice that heard and replied.
"Nancy, I love you!" she cried, and again they plainly heard:--
They thought it great fun to shout and call, and hear their cries so cleverly repeated.
And now another child ran out from the great doorway, paused a moment as if looking for some one, then, seeing the two little figures near the clump of birches, stole softly near them.
On tiptoe, and with tread as soft and noiseless as a cat, she made her way over the short grass, until she was quite near them. Then, hiding behind a low bush, she watched them. How still she stood! For what was she waiting? Her bold eyes were full of mischief, as she whispered, "Oh, hurry _up_!"
Dorothy Dainty put her hands to her mouth, trumpet fashion, and called:
"Come and catch us!" and instantly the echo from the distant mountain and a shrill voice behind them, repeated:
"Oh, oh-o!" cried Dorothy, and Nancy ran to her, and threw her arms about her.
"You ought not to frighten Dorothy like that!" cried Nancy.
A saucy laugh answered her.
"Well, it isn't nice to be shrieked at, and you do it just like the echo, you know you do, and it's enough to frighten any one," said Nancy.
The little tease was not in the least abashed. She could imitate almost any sound that she had ever heard, and each success made her eager to repeat her efforts at mocking.
"I made old Mrs. Hermanton fly up out of her chair, and drop her ball of worsted and knitting-needles, when I shouted close to her ear."
"Why, Floretta!" cried Nancy.
Now you think that was horrid, but _I_ tell you it was funny. She'd just been telling about her darling little lap-dog that died _ten years ago_, and she got out her handkerchief to cry, and put it up to her eyes.
"'Oh, if I only could hear his lovely bark again!' she said, and right behind her chair, I said:
"'Ki-yi! Yip! Yip!' and she jumped up much as a foot from her seat."
Nancy laughed. How could she help it? The old lady had told every man, woman, and child who sat upon the piazza, how much she had suffered in the loss of the dog.
One testy old gentleman who was troubled with gout, spoke rather plainly. "Madam," he said, "I've heard that story every day of this week, and all I can say is, I wish you had gout in your feet as I have, and you'd have no time to waste crying for a puppy!"
He certainly was hopelessly rude, but one must admit every day is far too often to be forced to listen to an uninteresting tale.
Floretta stood looking down at the toe of her shoe. She moved it from side to side along the grass for a moment, then she spoke again.
"You know old Mr. Cunningham has gout, and is awful cross?"
Dorothy and Nancy nodded. They did indeed know that.
From its opening sentence, Dorothy Dainty at the Mountains establishes a landscape that responds to human presence. The great hotel on the crest of the hill is bathed in sunlight that pours from a rift in the clouds, as if sent for the sole purpose of showing the grand portico. The personification continues: the many windows seem to be looking across the valley, and the wide doorway smiles genially. This is not mere decoration; it sets a pattern where the natural and built environments mirror or echo the characters' emotions and actions.
Echoes as Structure and Motif
The frontispiece caption—"Here! Here!" cried Dorothy, and echo answered, "Here,—ere!"—announces a central device. Echoes recur not only as sound but as a structural principle: scenes often double or reflect one another. The hotel's windows "looking" across the valley anticipate the later moment when characters look back over the road they have traveled. The echo motif appears again in the chapter titled "The Echo Captured," suggesting that the narrative itself is built on catching and repeating moments. Brooks uses this to create a sense of continuity between the mountain setting and the girls' experiences, making the landscape an active participant in the story.
Movement Between Indoor and Outdoor Spaces
The excerpts show a deliberate rhythm of movement: from the hotel piazza to the law, then to the barge ride, and finally to the fairgrounds. Each transition is marked by a change in sensory detail—sunlight on the portico gives way to the open road, then to the tented fair. The barge ride itself becomes a mobile space where Uncle Harry's jokes and songs create a temporary community. Brooks pays careful attention to thresholds: the hotel doorway, the evergreen arch at the fair, the fortune teller's booth. These boundaries are not barriers but invitations, and the characters cross them with evident pleasure, reinforcing the book's emphasis on sociability and discovery.
Recurring Images of Reflection and Gaze
Brooks frequently uses mirrors, glances, and returned looks. In one illustration, a character takes tripping steps, smiling at her reflection. The text describes Uncle Harry's blue tie and fine eyes, noting that no one could glance at him without knowing his nature. This emphasis on seeing and being seen extends to the landscape: the hotel's windows "look" across the valley, and the girls often look back as they speed over the road. The fortune teller's booth at the fair adds a layer of self-reflection, as characters have their fortunes told—a form of seeing the future. These moments suggest that identity in this world is partly constructed through the gaze of others and the environment.
The Fair as a Microcosm of Contrast
The fair chapter explicitly contrasts city and country fairs, noting that the novelty of the mountain village fair gives greater interest. Farmers' daughters sell homemade candy and honey, while city fairs feature fashionable matrons. This juxtaposition is typical of Brooks's method: she sets up a binary—city/country, indoors/outdoors, echo/source—only to blur it. The fair becomes a space where these opposites coexist, much like the hotel that is both a grand building and a welcoming home. The evergreen arch, a natural structure, marks the entrance to a man-made tent, blending the two realms. This careful orchestration of contrasts gives the book a layered texture beneath its light surface.
Readers attentive to Brooks's use of echo and reflection will find a consistent pattern that rewards close attention. The movement between scenes is not arbitrary but follows a logic of contrast and repetition. While the excerpts offer only a partial view, they suggest a work that uses its mountain setting as more than backdrop—it is a mirror for the characters' own sociability and wonder. This note encourages looking for how each new location reconfigures the relationships established in the previous one.
There’s a quiet echo in Dorothy Dainty at the Mountains—the way the landscape repeats itself, soft and persistent, until you start hearing your own thoughts inside it. I kept remembering that feeling afterward. There’s something in The Story of a Cat — Reading Notes that lingers the same way, not loud, just present, like a shadow you’ve grown fond of without meaning to.
There are no reviews for this eBook.
Record your reading impressions
A brief reflection can help important ideas stay with you longer.