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 favorite 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.” CHAPTER XXVIII 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 center 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.