and feeble—a little girl, and it needed her care. She took it to her breast, when it had been bathed and swaddled, with a tremendous sense of

satisfaction and joy. This was her child, her little girl. She wanted to live to be able to work for it, and rejoiced, even in her weakness, that she was so strong. Doctor Ellwanger predicted a quick recovery. He thought two

weeks would be the outside limit of her need to stay in bed. As a matter

of fact, in ten days she was up and about, as vigorous and healthy as ever.

She had been born with strength and with that nurturing quality which

makes the ideal mother.

The great crisis had passed, and now life went on much as before. The

children, outside of Bass, were too young to understand fully, and had

been deceived by the story that Jennie was married to Senator Brander,

who had died. They did not know that a child was coming until it was

there. The neighbours were feared by Mrs. Gerhardt, for they were ever

watchful and really knew all. Jennie would never have braved this local

atmosphere except for the advice of Bass, who, having secured a place in

Cleveland some time before, had written that he thought when she was

well enough it would be advisable for the whole family to seek a new

start in Cleveland. Things were flourishing there. Once away they would

never hear of their present neighbours and Jennie could find something to do. So she stayed at home.

Bass was no sooner in Cleveland than the marvel of that growing city

was sufficient to completely restore his equanimity of soul and to stir up new illusions as to the possibility of rehabilitation for himself and his family. "If only they could come here," he thought. "If only they could all get work and do right." Here was no evidence of any of their recent

troubles, no acquaintance who could suggest by their mere presence the

troubles of the past. All was business, all activity. The very turning of the corner seemed to rid one of old times and crimes. It was as if a new world existed in every block.

He soon found a place in a cigar store, and, after working a few weeks, he began to write home the cheering ideas he had in mind. Jennie ought to

come as soon as she was able, and then, if she found something to do, the others might follow. There was plenty of work for girls of her age. She

could live in the same house with him temporarily; or maybe they could

take one of the fifteen- dollar-a-month cottages that were for rent. There were big general furnishing houses, where one could buy everything

needful for a small house on very easy monthly terms. His mother could

come and keep house for them. They would be in a clean, new

atmosphere, unknown and untalked about. They could start life all over

again; they could be decent, honourable, prosperous.

Filled with this hope and the glamour which new scenes and new

environment invariably throw over the unsophisticated mind, he wrote a

final letter, in which he suggested that Jennie should come at once. This was when the baby was six months old. There were theatres here, he said,

and beautiful streets. Vessels from the lakes came into the heart of the

city. It was a wonderful city, and growing very fast. It was thus that the new life appealed to him.

The effect which all this had upon Mrs. Gerhardt, Jennie, and the rest of the family was phenomenal. Mrs. Gerhardt, long weighed upon by the

misery which Jennie's error had entailed, was for taking measures for

carrying out this plan at once. So buoyant was her natural temperament

that she was completely carried away by the glory of Cleveland, and

already saw fulfilled therein not only her own desires for a nice home, but the prosperous advancement of her children. "Of course they could get work," she said. Bass was right. She had always wanted Gerhardt to go to some large city, but he would not. Now it was necessary, and they would

go and become better off than they ever had been.

And Gerhardt did take this view of the situation. In answer to his wife's letter he wrote that it was not advisable for him to leave his place, but if Bass saw a way for them, it might be a good thing to go. He was the more

ready to acquiesce in the plan for the simple reason that he was half

distracted with the worry of supporting the family and of paying the debts already outstanding. Every week he laid by five dollars out of his salary, which he sent in the form of a postal order to Mrs. Gerhardt. Three

dollars he paid for board, and fifty cents he kept for spending money,

church dues, a little tobacco and occasionally a glass of beer. Every week he put a dollar and a half in a little iron bank against a rainy day. His room was a bare corner in the topmost loft of the mill. To this he would

ascend after sitting alone on the doorstep of the mill in this lonely,

forsaken neighbourhood, until nine o'clock of an evening; and here, amid

the odour of machinery wafted up from the floor below, by the light of a

single tallow candle, he would conclude his solitary day, reading his

German paper, folding his hands and thinking, kneeling by an open

window in the shadow of the night, to say his prayers, and silently

stretching himself to rest. Long were the days, dreary the prospect. Still he lifted his hands in utmost faith to God, praying that his sins might be forgiven and that he might be vouchsafed a few more years of comfort

and of happy family life.

So the momentous question was finally decided. There was the greatest

longing and impatience among the children, and Mrs. Gerhardt shared

their emotions in a suppressed way. Jennie was to go first, as Bass had

suggested; later on they would all follow.

When the hour came for Jennie's departure there was great excitement in

the household.

"How long you going to be 'fore you send for us?" was Martha's inquiry, several times repeated.

"Tell Bass to hurry up," said the eager George.

"I want to go to Cleveland, I want to go to Cleveland," Veronica was caught singing to herself.

"Listen to her," exclaimed George, sarcastically.

"Aw, you hush up," was her displeased rejoinder.

When the final hour came, however, it required all of Jennie's strength to go through with the farewells. Though everything was being done in

order to bring them together again under better conditions, she could not help feeling depressed. Her little one, now six months old, was being left behind. The great world was to her one undiscovered bourne. It

frightened her.

"You mustn't worry, Ma," she found courage enough to say. "I'll be all right. I'll write you just as soon as I get there. It won't be so very long."

But when it came to bending over her baby for the last time her courage

went out like a blown lamp. Stooping over the cradle in which the little

one was resting, she looked into its face with passionate, motherly

yearning.

"Is it going to be a good little girl?" she cooed.

Then she caught it up into her arms, and hugging it closely to her neck

and bosom, she buried her face against its little body. Mrs. Gerhardt saw that she was trembling.

"Come now," she said, coaxingly, "you mustn't carry on so. She will be all right with me. I'll take care of her. If you're going to act this way, you'd better not try to go at all."

Jennie lifted her head, her blue eyes wet with tears, and handed the little one to her mother.

"I can't help it," she said, half crying, half smiling.