ing about the rich Miss Carpenter, wasn't it?"

"_My_ Miss Carpenter is rich," said Charlotte, and she related the
romance, almost forgotten of late, which she had built upon Aunt
Cora's remarks about the little portrait and upon Mrs. Wellington's
stories.

"She is the granddaughter of Peter Carpenter," Miss Virginia said. "I
have often heard my father speak of him. They were college mates. He
was very rich and rather peculiar. He had a half-sister much younger
than himself who once visited here on her way South. She and my oldest
sister, Georgiana, were friends and used to correspond, but that was
years and years ago. Mr. Carpenter--for some reason he was always
called Peter--had only one child, a son, who was killed in a railroad
disaster, probably twenty years ago. Your Miss Carpenter, Charlotte,
must be his daughter."

"Carpenter is a common name; there may be a number of rich Miss
Carpenters," said Alex, "but it would be a little odd if they should
turn out to be connected in any way."

"I don't think they cared to talk about themselves," continued Miss
Virginia, referring to the shopkeepers. "I am sure Caroline was wrong
when she called them pushing."

CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH

THE ADVENTURES OF A BIRTHDAY CAKE

In a great, handsome, dreary room sat Giant Despair. The December day
was damp and cheerless, and the coal fire in the ugly old-fashioned
grate beneath the elaborate marble mantel burned in a grudging,
spiritless way. Above the uncurtained windows, with their shutters
thrown wide upon a view of moist, bare garden, the heavy gilt cornices
seemed to frown. Giant Despair was frowning as he searched in a
massive black walnut secretary for a missing paper.

Things had gone wrong to-day. His housekeeper who knew his ways was
absent on her annual vacation, and for the carelessness and stupidity
of the servants he could find no adequate words. In truth he had
exhausted his vocabulary early in the day, and now was reduced to
inarticulate growls.

Against one of the maids in particular his anger burned. He had
mislaid a paper brought to him the evening before by his business
agent; and now that it could not be found, the luckless maid was
accused of making way with it.

She was a Swiss girl with a meek manner and eyes that belied it. Giant
Despair could not see the eyes, and the manner annoyed him.

"If you please,--did you this day order a birthday cake?"

"What? Order what?" cried Giant Despair,