Summer came, and Margaret headed a happy letter "Bar Harbor." Two months later all Weston knew that Margaret Paget was going abroad for a year with those rich people, and had written her mother from the Lusitania. Letters from London, from Germany, from Holland, from Russia, followed. "We are going to put the girls at school in Switzerland, and (ahem!) winter on the Riviera, and then Rome for Holy Week!" she wrote. She was presently home again, chattering French and German to amuse her father, teaching Becky a little Italian song to match her little Italian costume. "It's wonderful to me how you get along with all these rich people, Mark," said her mother, admiringly, during Margaret's home visit. Mrs. Paget was watering the dejected-looking side garden with a straggling length of hose; Margaret and Julie shelling peas on the side steps. Margaret laughed, coloring a little. "Why, we're just as good as they are, Mother!" Mrs. Paget drenched a dried little dump of carnations. "We're as good," she admitted; "but we're not as rich, or as travelled,--we haven't the same ideas; we belong to a different class." "Oh, no, we don't, Mother," Margaret said quickly. "Who are the Carr Boldts, except for their money? Why, Mrs. Carteret,--for all her family!--isn't half the aristocrat Grandma was! And you--you could be a Daughter of The Officers of the Revolution, Mother!" "Why, Mark, I never heard that!" her mother protested, cleaning the sprinkler with a hairpin. "Mother!" Julie said eagerly. "Great-grandfather Quincy!" "Oh, Grandpa," said Mrs. Paget. "Yes, Grandpa was a paymaster. He was on Governor Hancock's staff. They used to call him 'Major.' But Mark--" she turned off the water, holding her skirts away from the combination of mud and dust underfoot, "that's a very silly way to talk, dear! Money does make a difference; it does no good to go back into the past and say that this one was a judge and that one a major; we must live our lives where we are!" Margaret had not lost a wholesome respect for her mother's opinion in the two years she had been away, but she had lived in a very different world, and was full of new ideas. "Mother, do you mean to tell me that if you and Dad hadn't had a perfect pack of children, and moved so much, and if Dad--say--had been in that oil deal that he said he wished he had the money for, and we still lived in the brick house, that you wouldn't be in every way the equal of Mrs. Carr-Boldt?" "If you mean as far as money goes, Mark,--no. We might have been well to-do as country people go, I suppose--" "Exactly!" said Margaret; "and you would have been as well off as dozens of the people who are going about in society this minute! It's the merest chance that we aren't rich. Just for instance: father's father had twelve children, didn't he?--and left them--how much was it?--about three thousand dollars apiece--" "And a Godsend it was, too," said her mother, reflectively.