“Oh, that would not have made any difference,” replied Brander lightly. “Just leave them on the chair.” Jennie, without considering the fact that she had been offered no payment for the service rendered, was about to retire, had not the Senator detained her. “How is your mother?” he asked pleasantly. “She’s very well,” said Jennie simply. “And your little sister? Is she any better?” “The doctor thinks so,” she replied. “Sit down,” he continued graciously. “I want to talk to you.” Moving to a near-by chair, the young girl seated herself. “Hem!” he went on, clearing his throat lightly, “What seems to be the matter with her?” “She has the measles,” returned Jennie. “We thought once that she was going to die.” Brander studied her face as she said this, and he thought he saw something exceedingly pathetic there. The girl’s poor clothes and her wondering admiration for his exalted station in life affected him. It made him feel almost ashamed of the comfort and luxury that surrounded him. How high up he was in the world, indeed! “I am glad she is better now,” he said kindly. “How old is your father?” “Fifty-seven.” “And is he any better?” “Oh yes, sir; he’s around now, although he can’t go out just yet.” “I believe your mother said he was a glass-blower by trade?” “Yes, sir.” Brander well knew the depressed local conditions in this branch of manufacture. It had been part of the political issue in the last campaign. They must be in a bad way truly. “Do all of the children go to school?” he inquired. “Why yes, sir,” returned Jennie, stammering. She was too shamefaced to own that one of the children had been obliged to leave school for the lack of shoes. The utterance of the falsehood troubled her. He reflected awhile; then realizing that he had no good excuse for further detaining her, he arose and came over to her. From his pocket he took a thin layer of bills, and removing one, handed it to her. “You take that,” he said, “and tell your mother that I said she should use it for whatever she wants.” Jennie accepted the money with mingled feelings; it did not occur to her to look and see how much it was. The great man was so near her, the wonderful chamber in which he dwelt so impressive, that she scarcely realized what she was doing. “Thank you,” she said. “Is there any day you want your washing called for?” she added. “Oh yes,” he answered; “Monday—Monday evenings.” She went away, and in a half reverie he closed the door behind her. The interest that he felt in these people was unusual. Poverty and beauty certainly made up an affecting combination. He sat down in his chair and gave himself over to the pleasant speculations which her coming had aroused. Why should he not help them? “I’ll find out where they live,” he finally resolved.