One of these was accessible to us, being in a sort of disused oratory—or so I judge from what furniture remained to it—and was a great resort of Amabel's and mine. From it see could see the land, which fell off very rapidly, and, beyond, the blue sea dotted with sails. Amabel used to point southward, and say that we had come across the sea, and that our home was "over there." Of course, she was mistaken, for the land on the other side was Africa, as I now know, where the poor blackamoors come from; but we used to like to look at it and fancy sometimes that we saw a little bit of England. [Illustration] CHAPTER III. EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. THERE could hardly be two people more differently constituted than Amabel Leighton and myself, which is perhaps one reason why we have continued such fast friends all through life. I was always well and strong, able to bear fatigue, and caring nothing for any danger that I could see. At the same time, I was dreadfully afraid of all the creatures and powers of darkness, and still more afraid of being found fault with or laughed at, not only by people whom I loved and respected, but by those for whom I didn't care a rush. Amabel, on the contrary, was delicate in body, shrinking from exertion or exposure. She was very timid. She was afraid, even, of our own petted cows, till she learned to milk that she might help Sister Lazarus; and she was terrified at our big watch dog, which adored her, and would wag his tail at the most distant glimpse of her. "Why do you pat Arslan when you are so afraid of him?" asked Mother Prudentia one day, when she saw Amabel caressing the dog's great square head, while he licked her hand in an ecstasy. "Because, dear Mother, he wagged his tail at me, and I don't like to hurt his feelings," answered the dear child, half sobbing. "You know you said we should never hurt people's feeling if we could help it." Desireè, who was near, laughed her little sneering laugh. "A dog is not people—he is only a brute beast!" said she. "Arslan is a great deal more like people than some girls I know!" said I, hotly resentful both for Arslan and Amabel. "Tut, tut, little pepper pot!" said the mother, smiling at my vehemence. "A dog is not people, but he has affections, and I am glad my little Aimeè regards them. If we thought always as tenderly as thou of the feelings of our friends, it would be all easy world to live in." This little incident is a good specimen of Amabel. Timid as she was, if she once made up her mind that a certain course was right, she would pursue it through thick and thin. But while no amount of laughing or teasing would make her do what was wrong, she was sometimes led by her affection for me to join in projects which brought us both into trouble and disgrace. I remember one instance in particular, which came near being very serious in its consequences.