stock there. Chicago was more central than Cincinnati. Buyers from the

West and country merchants could be more easily reached and dealt with

there. It would be a big advertisement for the house, a magnificent

evidence of its standing and prosperity. Kane senior and Lester

immediately approved of this. Both saw its advantages. Robert suggested

that Lester should undertake the construction of the new buildings. It

would probably be advisable for him to reside in Chicago a part of the

time.

The idea appealed to Lester, even though it took him away from

Cincinnati, largely if not entirely. It was dignified and not

unrepresentative of his standing in the company. He could live in Chicago and he could have Jennie with him. The scheme he had for taking an

apartment could now be arranged without difficulty. He voted yes. Robert

smiled. "I'm sure we'll get good results from this all around," he said.

As construction work was soon to begin, Lester decided to move to

Chicago immediately. He sent word for Jennie to meet him, and together

they selected an apartment on the North Side, a very comfortable suite of rooms on a side street near the lake, and he had it fitted up to suit his taste. He figured that living in Chicago he could pose as a bachelor. He

would never need to invite his friends to his rooms. There were his

offices, where he could always be found, his clubs and the hotels. To his way of thinking the arrangement was practically ideal.

Of course Jennie's departure from Cleveland brought the affairs of the

Gerhardt family to a climax. Probably the home would be broken up, but

Gerhardt himself took the matter philosophically. He was an old man, and

it did not matter much where he lived. Bass, Martha, and George were

already taking care of themselves. Veronica and William were still in

school, but some provision could be made for boarding them with a

neighbour. The one real concern of Jennie and Gerhardt was Vesta. It was

Gerhardt's natural thought that Jennie must take the child with her. What else should a mother do?

"Have you told him yet?" he asked her, when the day of her contemplated departure had been set.

"No; but I'm going to soon," she assured him.

"Always soon," he said.

He shook his head. His throat swelled.

"It's too bad," he went on. "It's a great sin. God will punish you, I'm afraid. The child needs some one. I'm getting old— otherwise I would

keep her. There is no one here all day now to look after her right, as she should be." Again he shook his head.

"I know," said Jennie weakly. "I'm going to fix it now. I'm going to have her live with me soon. I won't neglect her—you know that."

"But the child's name," he insisted. "She should have a name. Soon in another year she goes to school. People will want to know who she is. It

can't go on forever like this."

Jennie understood well enough that it couldn't. She was crazy about her

baby. The heaviest cross she had to bear was the constant separations and the silence she was obliged to maintain about Vesta's very existence. It

did seem unfair to the child, and yet Jennie did not see clearly how she

could have acted otherwise. Vesta had good clothes, everything she

needed. She was at least comfortable. Jennie hoped to give her a good

education. If only she had told the truth to Lester in the first place. Now it was almost too late, and yet she felt that she had acted for the best.

Finally she decided to find some good woman or family in Chicago who

would take charge of Vesta for a consideration. In a Swedish colony to the west of La Salle Avenue she came across an old lady who seemed to

embody all the virtues she required—cleanliness, simplicity, honesty. She was a widow, doing work by the day, but she was glad to make an

arrangement by which she should give her whole time to Vesta. The latter

was to go to kindergarten when a suitable one should be found. She was

to have toys and kindly attention, and Mrs. Olsen was to inform Jennie of any change in the child's health. Jennie proposed to call every day, and

she thought that sometimes, when Lester was out of town, Vesta might be

brought to the apartment. She had had her with her at Cleveland, and he

had never found out anything.

The arrangements completed, Jennie returned at the first opportunity to

Cleveland to take Vesta away. Gerhardt, who had been brooding over his

approaching loss, appeared most solicitous about her future. "She should grow up to be a fine girl," he said. "You should give her a good education

—she is so smart." He spoke of the advisability of sending her to a

Lutheran school and church, but Jennie was not so sure of that. Time and

association with Lester had led her to think that perhaps the public school was better than any private institution. She had no particular objection to the church, but she no longer depended upon its teachings as a guide in

the affairs of life. Why should she?

The next day it was necessary for Jennie to return to Chicago. Vesta,

excited and eager, was made ready for the journey. Gerhardt had been

wandering about, restless as a lost spirit, while the process of dressing was going on; now that the hour had actually struck he was doing his best to control his feelings. He could see that the five-year-old child had no conception of what it meant to him. She was happy and self-interested,

chattering about the ride and the train.

"Be a good little girl," he said, lifting her up and kissing her. "See that you study your catechism and say your prayers. And you won't forget the

grandpa—what?—" He tried to go on, but his voice failed him.

Jennie, whose heart ached for her father, choked back her emotion.

"There," she said, "if I'd thought you were going to act like that—" She stopped.

"Go," said Gerhardt, manfully, "go. It is best this way." And he stood solemnly by as they went out of the door. Then he turned back to his

favourite haunt, the kitchen, and stood there staring at the floor. One by one they were leaving him—Mrs. Gerhardt, Bass, Martha, Jennie, Vesta.

He clasped his hands together, after his old-time fashion, and shook his

head again and again. "So it is! So it is!" he repeated. "They all leave me.

All my life goes to pieces."

During the three years in which Jennie and Lester had been associated

there had grown up between them a strong feeling of mutual sympathy

and understanding. Lester truly loved her in his own way. It was a strong, self-satisfying, determined kind of way, based solidly on a big natural

foundation, but rising to a plane of genuine spiritual affinity. The yielding sweetness of her character both attracted and held him. She was true, and good, and womanly to the very centre of her being; he had learned to trust her, to depend upon her, and the feeling had but deepened with the

passing of the years.

On her part Jennie had sincerely, deeply, truly learned to love this man. At first when he had swept her off her feet, overawed her soul, and used her necessity as a chain wherewith to bind her to him, she was a little

doubtful, a little afraid of him, although she had always liked him. Now, however, by living with him, by knowing him better, by watching his

moods, she had come to love him. He was so big, so vocal, so handsome.

His point of view and opinions of anything and everything were so