gan's
house."

"I wonder who she is?" said Miss Lansing. "It isn't a New York name."

"Yes, it is," said Macy. "She's lived there for ever. She used to be
there, and her flowers, when I was four years old."

"I guess she isn't anybody, is she?" said Miss Bentley. "I never see
any carriages at the door. Hasn't she a carriage of her own, I wonder,
or how does she travel? Such a house ought to have a carriage."

"I'll tell you," said the St. Clair, coolly as usual. "She goes out in
a wagon with an awning to it. _She_ don't know anything about
carriages."

"But she must have money, you know," urged Miss Bentley. "She couldn't
keep up that house, and the flowers, and the greenhouse and all,
without money."

"She's got money," said the St. Clair. "Her mother made it selling
cabbages in the market. Very likely she sold flowers too."

There was a general exclamation and laughter at what was supposed to
be one of St. Clair's flights of mischief; but the young lady stood
her ground calmly, and insisted that it was a thing well known. "My
grandmother used to buy vegetables from old Mrs. Cardigan when we
lived in Broadway," she said. "It's quite true. That's why she knows
nothing about carriages."

"That sort of thing don't hinder other people from having carriages,"
said Miss Lansing. "There's Mr. Mason, next door to Miss Cardigan,--his
father was a tailor; and the Steppes, two doors off, do you know what
they were? They were millers, a little way out of town; nothing else; had
a mill and ground flour. They made a fortune I suppose, and now here they
are in the midst of other people."

"Plenty of carriages, too," said Miss Macy; "and everything else."

"After all," said Miss Bentley, after a pause, "I suppose everybody's
money had to be made somehow, in the first instance. I suppose all the
Millers in the world came from real millers once; and the Wheelrights
from wheelwrights."

"And what a world of smiths there must have been first and last," said
Miss Lansing. "The world is full of their descendants."

"_Everybody's_ money wasn't made, though," said the St. Clair, with an
inexpressible attitude of her short upper lip.

"I guess it was,--if you go back far enough," said Miss Macy, whom
nothing disturbed. But I saw that while Miss Lansing and Miss St.
Clair were at ease in the foregoing conversation, Miss Bentley was
not.

"You _can't_ go back far enough," said the St. Clair, haughtily.

"How then?" said the o