her feel uncomfortable in his presence. One thing which helped toward

this was his calling her by her first name. This began with her third visit, and thereafter he used it with almost unconscious frequency.

It could scarcely be said that he did this in a fatherly spirit, for he had little of that attitude toward any one. He felt exceedingly young as he

talked to this girl, and he often wondered whether it were not possible for her to perceive and appreciate him on his youthful side.

As for Jennie, she was immensely taken with the comfort and luxury

surrounding this man, and subconsciously with the man himself, the most

attractive she had ever known. Everything he had was fine, everything he

did was gentle, distinguished, and considerate. From some far source,

perhaps some old German ancestors, she had inherited an understanding

and appreciation of all this. Life ought to be lived as he lived it; the

privilege of being generous particularly appealed to her.

Part of her attitude was due to that of her mother, in whose mind

sympathy was always a more potent factor than reason. For instance,

when she brought to her the ten dollars Mrs. Gerhardt was transported

with joy.

"Oh," said Jennie, "I didn't know until I got outside that it was so much.

He said I should give it to you."

Mrs. Gerhardt took it, and holding it loosely in her folded hands, saw

distinctly before her the tall Senator with his fine manners.

"What a fine man he is!" she said. "He has a good heart."

Frequently throughout the evening and the next day Mrs. Gerhardt

commented upon this wonderful treasure-trove, repeating again and again

how good he must be or how large must be his heart. When it came to

washing his clothes she almost rubbed them to pieces, feeling that

whatever she did she could scarcely do enough. Gerhardt was not to

know. He had such stern views about accepting money without earning it

that even in their distress, she would have experienced some difficulty in getting him to take it. Consequently she said nothing, but used it to buy bread and meat, and going as it did such a little way, the sudden windfall was never noticed.

Jennie from now on, reflected this attitude toward the Senator, and,

feeling so grateful toward him, she began to talk more freely. They came

to be on such good terms that he gave her a little leather picture-case from his dresser which he had observed her admiring. Every time she came he

found excuse to detain her, and soon discovered that, for all her soft

girlishness, there lay deep- seated in her a conscious deprecation of

poverty and a shame of having to own any need. He honestly admired her

for this, and, seeing that her clothes were poor and her shoes worn, he

began to wonder how he could help her without offending.

Not infrequently he thought to follow her some evening, and see for

himself what the condition of the family might be. He was a United States Senator, however. The neighbourhood they lived in must be very poor. He

stopped to consider, and for the time the counsels of prudence prevailed.

Consequently the contemplated visit was put off.

Early in December, Senator Brander returned to Washington for three

weeks, and both Mrs. Gerhardt and Jennie were surprised to learn one day

that he had gone. Never had he given them less than two dollars a week

for his washing, and several times it had been five. He had not realised, perhaps, what a breach his absence would make in their finances. But

there was nothing to do about it; they managed to pinch along. Gerhardt,

now better, searched for work at the various mills, and finding nothing,

procured a saw-buck and saw, and going from door to door, sought for the

privilege of sawing wood. There was not a great deal of this to do, but he managed by the most earnest labour to earn two, and sometimes three,

dollars a week. This added to what his wife earned and what Sebastian

gave was enough to keep bread in their mouths, but scarcely more.

It was at the opening of the joyous Christmas-time that the bitterness of their poverty affected them most. The Germans love to make a great

display at Christmas. It is the one season of the year when the fullness of their large family affection manifests itself. Warm in the appreciation of the joys of childhood, they love to see the little ones enjoy their toys and games. Father Gerhardt at his saw-buck during the weeks before

Christmas thought of this very often. What would little Veronica not

deserve after her long illness! How he would have liked to give each of

the children a stout pair of shoes, the boys a warm cap, the girls a pretty hood. Toys and games and candy they always had had before. He hated to

think of the snow-covered Christmas morning and no table richly piled

with what their young hearts would most desire.

As for Mrs. Gerhardt, one could better imagine than describe her feelings.

She felt so keenly about it that she could hardly bring herself to speak of the dreaded hour to her husband. She had managed to lay aside three

dollars in the hope of getting enough to buy a ton of coal, and so put an end to poor George's daily pilgrimage to the coalyard, but now as the

Christmas week drew near she decided to use it for gifts. Father Gerhardt was also secreting two dollars without the knowledge of his wife,

thinking that on Christmas Eve he could produce it at a critical moment,

and so relieve her maternal anxiety.

When the actual time arrived, however, there was very little to be said for the comfort that they got out of the occasion. The whole city was rife with Christmas atmosphere. Grocery stores and meat markets were strung with

holly. The toy shops and candy stores were radiant with fine displays of

everything that a self- respecting Santa Claus should have about him.

Both parents and children observed it all—the former with serious

thoughts of need and anxiety, the latter with wild fancy and only partially suppressed longings.

Frequently had Gerhardt said in their presence:

"Kriss Kringle is very poor this year. He hasn't so very much to give."

But no child, however poverty-stricken, could be made to believe this.

Every time after so saying he looked into their eyes, but in spite of the warning, expectation flamed in them undiminished.

Christmas coming on Tuesday, the Monday before there was no school.

Before going to the hotel Mrs. Gerhardt had cautioned George that he

must bring enough coal from the yards to last over Christmas day. The

latter went at once with his two younger sisters, but there being a dearth of good picking, it took them a long time to fill their baskets, and by night they had gathered only a scanty supply.

"Did you go for the coal?" asked Mrs. Gerhardt the first thing when she returned from the hotel that evening.

"Yes," said George.

"Did you get enough for to-morrow?"

"Yes," he replied, "I guess so."

"Well, now, I'll go and look," she replied. Taking the lamp, they went out into the woodshed where the coal was deposited.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed when she saw it; "why, that isn't near enough.

You must go right off and get some more.

"Oh," said George, pouting his lips, "I don't want to go. Let Bass go."

Bass, who had returned promptly at a quarter-past six, was already busy

in the back bedroom washing and dressing preparatory to going

downtown.

"No," said Mrs. Gerhardt. "Bass has worked hard all day. You must go."