No Talent, and Phil's Pansies

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."