circumstances had never been good enough for her hopes to be realised.

Still she did not despair. Some day, maybe before she died these things

would be added to her, and she would be happy. Perhaps her chance was

coming now.

Arrived at Cleveland, this feeling of optimism was encouraged by the

sight of Jennie's cheerful face. Bass assured her that they would get along all right. He took them out to the house, and George was shown the way

to go back to the depot and have the freight looked after. Mrs. Gerhardt

had still fifty dollars left out of the money which Senator Brander had

sent to Jennie, and with this a way of getting a little extra furniture on the instalment plan was provided. Bass had already paid the first month's

rent, and Jennie had spent her evenings for the last few days in washing

the windows and floors of this new house and in getting it into a state of perfect cleanliness. Now, when the first night fell, they had two new

mattresses and comfortables spread upon a clean floor; a new lamp,

purchased from one of the near-by stores, a single box, borrowed by

Jennie from a grocery store, for cleaning purposes, upon which Mrs.

Gerhardt could sit, and some sausages and bread to stay them until

morning. They talked and planned for the future until nine o'clock came,

when all but Jennie and her mother retired. These two talked on, the

burden of responsibilities resting on the daughter. Mrs. Gerhardt had

come to feel in a way dependent upon her.

In the course of a week the entire cottage was in order, with a half-dozen pieces of new furniture, a new carpet, and some necessary kitchen

utensils. The most disturbing thing was the need of a new cooking-stove,

the cost of which added greatly to the bill. The younger children were

entered at the public school, but it was decided that George must find

some employment. Both Jennie and her mother felt the injustice of this

keenly, but knew no way of preventing the sacrifice.

"We will let him go to school next year if we can," said Jennie.

Auspiciously as the new life seemed to have begun, the closeness with

which their expenses were matching their income was an ever-present

menace. Bass, originally very generous in his propositions, soon

announced that he felt four dollars a week for his room and board to be a sufficient contribution from himself. Jennie gave everything she earned

and protested that she did not stand in need of anything, so long as the

baby was properly taken care of. George secured a place as an overgrown

cash-boy, and brought in two dollars and fifty cents a week, all of which, at first, he gladly contributed. Later on he was allowed the fifty cents for himself as being meet and just. Gerhardt, from his lonely post of labour, contributed five dollars by mail, always arguing that a little money ought to be saved in order that his honest debts back in Columbus might be

paid. Out of this total income of fifteen dollars a week all of these

individuals had to be fed and clothed, the rent paid, coal purchased, and the regular monthly instalment of three dollars paid on the outstanding

furniture bill of fifty dollars.

How it was done, those comfortable individuals, who frequently discuss

the social aspects of poverty, might well trouble to inform themselves.

Rent, coal, and light alone consumed the goodly sum of twenty dollars a

month; food, another unfortunately necessary item, used up twenty-five

more; clothes, instalments, dues, occasional items of medicine and the

like, were met out of the remaining eleven dollars—how, the ardent

imagination of the comfortable reader can guess. It was done, however,

and for a time the hopeful members considered that they were doing

fairly well.

During this period the little family presented a picture of honourable and patient toil, which was interesting to contemplate. Every day Mrs.

Gerhardt, who worked like a servant and who received absolutely no

compensation either in clothes, amusements, or anything else, arose in the morning while the others slept, and built the fire. Then she took up the

task of getting the breakfast. Often as she moved about noiselessly in her thin, worn slippers, cushioned with pieces of newspaper to make them fit, she looked in on Jennie, Bass, and George, wrapped in their heavy

slumbers, and with that divine sympathy which is born in heaven she

wished that they did not need to rise so early or to work so hard.

Sometimes she would pause before touching her beloved Jennie, gaze at

her white face, so calm in sleep, and lament that life had not dealt more kindly with her. Then she would lay her hand gently upon her shoulder

and whisper, "Jennie, Jennie," until the weary sleeper would wake.

When they arose breakfast was always ready. When they returned at night

supper was waiting. Each of the children received a due share of Mrs.

Gerhardt's attention. The little baby was closely looked after by her. She protested that she needed neither clothes nor shoes so long as one of the children would run errands for her.

Jennie, of all the children, fully understood her mother; she alone strove, with the fullness of a perfect affection, to ease her burden.

"Ma, you let me do this."

"Now, ma, I'll 'tend to that."

"You go sit down, ma."

These were the every-day expressions of the enduring affection that

existed between them. Always there was perfect understanding between

Jennie and her mother, and as the days passed this naturally widened and

deepened. Jennie could not bear to think of her as being always confined

to the house. Daily she thought as she worked of that humble home where

her mother was watching and waiting. How she longed to give her those

comforts which she had always craved!

The days spent in the employ of the Bracebridge household were of a

broadening character. This great house was a school to Jennie, not only in the matter of dress and manners, but as formulating a theory of existence.

Mrs. Bracebridge and her husband were the last word in the matter of

self-sufficiency, taste in the matter of appointments, care in the matter of dress, good form in the matter of reception, entertainment, and the

various usages of social life. Now and then, apropos of nothing save her

own mood, Mrs. Bracebridge would indicate her philosophy of life in an

epigram.

"Life is a battle, my dear. If you gain anything you will have to fight for it."

"In my judgment it is silly not to take advantage of any aid which will help you to be what you want to be." (This while applying a faint

suggestion of rouge.)

"Most people are born silly. They are exactly what they are capable of being. I despise lack of taste; it is the worst crime."

Most of these worldly-wise counsels were not given directly to Jennie.

She overheard them, but to her quiet and reflective mind they had their

import. Like seeds fallen upon good ground, they took root and grew. She

began to get a faint perception of hierarchies and powers. They were not

for her, perhaps, but they were in the world, and if fortune were kind one might better one's state. She worked on, wondering, however, just how

better fortune might come to her. Who would have her to wife knowing

her history? How could she ever explain the existence of her child?

Her child, her child, the one transcendent, gripping theme of joy and fear.

If she could only do something for it—sometime somehow!