[CHAPTER FIRST.]
IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE.
AMITY BOGARDUS sat in the little summer-house, which stood on the top of the great pile of rocks in her grandfather's grounds. To speak with precision they were her grounds, for this little plain Amity, who was sitting in such a mournful posture coiled up on the rustic sofa, was the owner of this great place with its grand old stone house, its beautiful gardens and great trees, and lawns shaven as smooth as velvet, with gray, mossy rocks sticking up through the turf here and there. The greenhouses, and hot-houses, and grape-houses, the carriages and horses, and high-bred Alderney cows, and all the rest belonged to her. Yes, the prettiest and grandest place in all Brookvale belonged to this little plain girl, and thousands upon thousands of dollars beside.
"An heiress!" says somebody. "Oh, then we know all about her. She is a vain, proud girl, who looks down on every one, and thinks nothing of people who are not rich. And then she is going to lose all her property somehow, and get good all of a sudden. That is always the way with heiresses."
I confess that is very apt to be the way with heiresses in books; but it was not at all the way with Amity Bogardus. A more humble-minded child, one who thought less of herself and more of her neighbors, it would be hard to find. Indeed, the mean opinion she had of herself, her looks, her manners, her talents, often made her very unhappy, as was the case just now. She was apt to steal away by herself, and sit and think how very sad it was to be a poor, homely little girl, with a round Dutch face all of a color, grayish hazel eyes, and straight hair, which was only light—not golden, nor flaxen, nor auburn, nor even red—which would have been something.
"It is just the color of the light part of Aunt Julia's Pug," said Amity, pulling a lock of the offending hair round into the light, with a spiteful little twitch, as if the poor hair could help its color. "And, to make the matter better, I must have dark eyebrows coming together over my nose and green eyes."
And then Amity pushed the offending hair off her forehead and laid her head down on the window seat, and cried a little, as she reflected how delightful it would be to be as handsome and accomplished as her aunt Julia, till from dreaming awake she came to dreaming in earnest. She was waked from her nap by the sound of voices near by.
"Shall we take the trouble to climb up to the summer-house?" said Aunt Julia. "It is so hazy I am afraid the view would hardly pay us for the labor."
"Suppose we sit down here in the shade," said another voice, which Amity knew at once to be that of Mrs. Paget, a lady whom Amity had often admired at a distance, but with whom she had been too shy to make acquaintance.
"And what about Amity?" said Mrs. Paget. "Is she like her father?"