any certain day?” questioned Mrs. Gerhardt. 

 “No,” he said, reflectively; “any day next week will do.” 

 She thanked him with a simple phrase, and started to go. 

 “Let me see,” he said, stepping ahead of them and opening the door, “you may bring them back Monday.” 

 “Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Gerhardt. “Thank you.” 

 They went out and the Senator returned to his reading, but it was with a peculiarly disturbed mind. 

 “Too bad,” he said, closing his volume. “There’s something very pathetic about those people.” Jennie’s spirit of wonder and appreciation was abroad in the room. 

 Mrs. Gerhardt and Jennie made their way anew through the shadowy streets. They felt immeasurably encouraged by this fortunate venture. 

 “Didn’t he have a fine room?” whispered Jennie. 

 “Yes,” answered the mother; “he’s a great man.” 

 “He’s a senator, isn’t he?” continued the daughter. 

 “Yes.” 

 “It must be nice to be famous,” said the girl, softly. 

 

CHAPTER II

 The spirit of Jennie—who shall express it? This daughter of poverty, who was now to fetch and carry the laundry of this distinguished citizen of Columbus, was a creature of a mellowness of temperament which words can but vaguely suggest. There are natures born to the inheritance of flesh that come without understanding, and that go again without seeming to have wondered why. Life, so long as they endure it, is a true wonderland, a thing of infinite beauty, which could they but wander into it wonderingly, would be heaven enough. Opening their eyes, they see a conformable and perfect world. Trees, flowers, the world of sound and the world of color. These are the valued inheritance of their 

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