a sight more charming.

The wharf extended far out into the river, and near the end of it, Beth
came suddenly upon a boy with a loaf of bread in his hand. She stopped
undecided, and looked at the boy. He was, perhaps, three or four years
older than Beth. His hair was as light as hers was dark. His eyes
were blue, and his naturally fair skin was tanned. He looked up at
Beth for an instant, and frowned.

"What are you doing here, little un? I don't like girls to bother me.
Go away."

If there was one thing above another that made Beth's temper rise, it
was to be called "little one," and to be twitted upon being a girl.
She felt like making up a face at this boy, but, instead, she assumed
as much dignity as she could command.

"I won't go away. This is my place. What are you doing here?"

The boy laughed incredulously. "Your place, indeed. The Marlowes own
this place, and they are away. Good-bye."

This was too much for her. She stamped her foot in rage. "I won't go.
My papa bought this place to-day."

He looked a little interested. "Indeed? What's your name?"

"Elizabeth Davenport;" she said 'Elizabeth' to be dignified, "and
really my father owns the place."