see what a big dining-room they had there?” 

 “Yes.” 

 They went on past the low cottages and among the dead leaves of the year. 

 “I wish we were rich,” murmured Jennie, half to herself. 

 “I don’t know just what to do,” confided her mother with a long-drawn sigh. “I don’t believe there’s a thing to eat in the house.” 

 “Let’s stop and see Mr. Bauman again,” exclaimed Jennie, her natural sympathies restored by the hopeless note in her mother’s voice. 

 “Do you think he would trust us any more?” 

 “Let’s tell him where we’re working. I will.” 

 “Well,” said her mother, wearily. 

 Into the small, dimly lighted grocery store, which was two blocks from their house, they ventured nervously. Mrs. Gerhardt was about to begin, but Jennie spoke first. 

 “Will you let us have some bread to-night, and a little bacon? We’re working now at the Columbus House, and we’ll be sure to pay you Saturday.” 

 “Yes,” added Mrs. Gerhardt, “I have something to do.” 

 Bauman, who had long supplied them before illness and trouble began, knew that they told the truth. 

 “How long have you been working there?” he asked. 

 “Just this afternoon.” 

 “You know, Mrs. Gerhardt,” he said, “how it is with me. I don’t want to refuse you. Mr. Gerhardt is good for it, but I am poor, too. Times are hard,” he explained further, “I have my family to keep.” 

 “Yes, I know,” said Mrs. Gerhardt, weakly. 

 Her old shoddy shawl hid her rough hands, red from the day’s work, but they were working nervously. Jennie stood by in strained silence. 

 “Well,” concluded Mr. Bauman, “I guess it’s all right this time. Do what you can for me Saturday.” 

 He wrapped up the 

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