The house itself was of brick—­two storied, and surrounded on three sides with a double piazza, whose pillars were entwined with climbing roses, honey-suckle, and running vines, so closely interwoven as to give it the appearance of an immense summer-house.  In the spacious yard in front, tall shade trees and bright green grass were growing, while in the well-kept garden at the left, bloomed an endless variety of roses and flowering shrubs, which in their season filled the air with perfume, and made the spot brilliant with beauty.  Directly through the center of this garden ran the stream of which we have spoken, and as its mossy banks were never disturbed, they presented the appearance of a soft, velvety ridge, where each spring the starry dandelion and the blue-eyed violet grew.

Across the brook two small foot-bridges had been built, both of which were latticed and overgrown by luxuriant grape-vines, whose dark, green foliage was now intermingled with clusters of the rich purple fruit.  At the right, and somewhat in the rear of the building, was a group of linden trees, overshadowing the whitewashed houses of the negroes, who, imitating as far as possible the taste of their master, beautified their dwellings with hop-vines, creepers, hollyhocks and the like.  Altogether, it was as ’Lena said, “just the kind of place which one reads of in stories,” and which is often found at the “sunny south.”  The interior of the building corresponded with the exterior, for with one exception, the residence of a wealthy Englishman, Mrs. Livingstone prided herself upon having the best furnished house in the county; consequently neither pains nor money had been spared in the selection of the furniture, which was of the most costly kind.

Carrie, the eldest of the daughters, was now about thirteen years of age.  Proud, imperious, deceitful, and self-willed, she was hated by the servants, and disliked by her equals.  Some thought her pretty. She felt sure of it, and many an hour she spent before the mirror, admiring herself and anticipating the time when she would be a grown-up lady, and as a matter of course, a belle.  Her mother unfortunately belonged to that class who seem to think that the chief aim in life is to secure a “brilliant match,” and thinking she could not commence too soon, she had early instilled into her favorite daughter’s mind the necessity of appearing to the best possible advantage, when in the presence of wealth and distinction, pointing out her own marriage as a proof of the unhappiness resulting from unequal matches.  In this way Carrie had early learned that her father owed his present position to her mother’s condescension in marrying him—­that he was once a poor boy living among the northern hills—­that his parents were poor, ignorant and vulgar—­and that there was with them a little girl, their daughter’s child, who never had a father, and whom she must never on any occasion call her cousin.