“That's what I thought. Some customers wants the big ones on top; but I tell 'em it's all foolishness; just vanity.” Gates laughed a dry, hacking little laugh at his drollery, and kept his eyes on Annie. She smiled at last, with permissive recognition, and Gates came forward. “Used to know your father pretty well; but I can't keep up with the young folks any more.” He was really not many years older than Annie; he rubbed his right hand on the inside of his long shirt, and gave it her to shake. “Well, you haven't been about much for the last nine or ten years, that's a fact.” “Eleven,” said Annie, trying to be gay with the hand-shaking, and wondering if this were meeting the lower classes on common ground, and what Mr. Peck would think of it. “That so?” queried Gates. “Well, I declare! No wonder you've grown!” He hacked out another laugh, and stood on the curb-stone looking at Annie a moment. Then he asked, “Anything else, Mrs. Munger?” “No; that's all. Tell me, Mr. Gates, how _do_ Mr. Peck and Mr. Gerrish get on?” asked Mrs. Munger in a lower tone. “Well,” said Gates, “he's workin' round--the deacon's workin' round gradually, I guess. I guess if Mr. Peck was to put in a little more brimstone, the deacon'd be all right. He's a great hand for brimstone, you know, the deacon is.” Mrs. Munger laughed again, and then she said, with a proselyting sigh, “It's a pity you couldn't all find your way into the Church.” “Well, may be it _would_ be a good thing,” said Gates, as Mrs. Munger gathered up her reins and chirped to her pony. “He isn't a member of Mr. Peck's church,” she explained to Annie; “but he's one of the society, and his wife's very devout Orthodox. He's a great character, we think, and he'll treat you very well, if you keep on the right side of him. They say he cheats awfully in the weight, though.” VIII. Mrs. Munger drove across the street, and drew up before a large, handsomely ugly brick dry-goods store, whose showy windows had caught Annie's eye the day she arrived in Hatboro'. “I see Mrs. Gerrish has got here first,” Mrs. Munger said, indicating the perambulator at the door, and she dismounted and fastened her pony with a weight, which she took from the front of the phaeton. On either door jamb of the store was a curved plate of polished metal, with the name GERRISH cut into it in black letters; the sills of the wide windows were of metal, and bore the same legend. At the threshold a very prim, ceremonious little man, spare and straight, met Mrs. Munger with a ceremonious bow, and a solemn “How do you do, ma'am? how do you do? I hope I see you well,” and he put a small dry hand into the ample clasp of Mrs. Munger's gauntlet. “Very well indeed, Mr. Gerrish. Isn't it a lovely morning? You know Miss Kilburn, Mr. Gerrish.” He took Annie's hand into his right and covered it with his left, lifting his eyes to look her in the face with an old-merchant-like cordiality.