Jennie fell to her task in silence, but the glamor of the great world was having its effect upon her senses. She could not help giving ear to the sounds, the brightness, the buzz of conversation and laughter surrounding her. In one section of the parlor floor was the dining-room, and from the clink of dishes one could tell that supper was being prepared. In another was the parlor proper, and there some one came to play on the piano. That feeling of rest and relaxation which comes before the evening meal pervaded the place. It touched the heart of the innocent working-girl with hope, for hers were the years, and poverty could not as yet fill her young mind with cares. She rubbed diligently always, and sometimes forgot the troubled mother at her side, whose kindly eyes were becoming invested with crows’ feet, and whose lips half repeated the hundred cares of the day. She could only think that all of this was very fascinating, and wish that a portion of it might come to her. At half-past five the housekeeper, remembering them, came and told them that they might go. The fully finished stairway was relinquished by both with a sigh of relief, and, after putting their implements away, they hastened homeward, the mother, at least, pleased to think that at last she had something to do. As they passed several fine houses Jennie was again touched by that half-defined emotion which the unwonted novelty of the hotel life had engendered in her consciousness. “Isn’t it fine to be rich?” she said. “Yes,” answered her mother, who was thinking of the suffering Veronica. “Did you 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.