And Gerhardt did take this view of the situation. In answer to his wife’s letter he wrote that it was not advisable for him to leave his place, but if Bass saw a way for them, it might be a good thing to go. He was the more ready to acquiesce in the plan for the simple reason that he was half distracted with the worry of supporting the family and of paying the debts already outstanding. Every week he laid by five dollars out of his salary, which he sent in the form of a postal order to Mrs. Gerhardt. Three dollars he paid for board, and fifty cents he kept for spending money, church dues, a little tobacco and occasionally a glass of beer. Every week he put a dollar and a half in a little iron bank against a rainy day. His room was a bare corner in the topmost loft of the mill. To this he would ascend after sitting alone on the doorstep of the mill in this lonely, foresaken neighborhood, until nine o’clock of an evening; and here, amid the odor of machinery wafted up from the floor below, by the light of a single tallow candle, he would conclude his solitary day, reading his German paper, folding his hands and thinking, kneeling by an open window in the shadow of the night to say his prayers, and silently stretching himself to rest. Long were the days, dreary the prospect. Still he lifted his hands in utmost faith to God, praying that his sins might be forgiven and that he might be vouchsafed a few more years of comfort and of happy family life. So the momentous question was finally decided. There was the greatest longing and impatience among the children, and Mrs. Gerhardt shared their emotions in a suppressed way. Jennie was to go first, as Bass had suggested; later on they would all follow. When the hour came for Jennie’s departure there was great excitement in the household. “How long you going to be ’fore you send for us?” was Martha’s inquiry, several times repeated. “Tell Bass to hurry up,” said the eager George. “I want to go to Cleveland, I want to go to Cleveland,” Veronica was caught singing to herself. “Listen to her,” exclaimed George, sarcastically. “Aw, you hush up,” was her displeased rejoinder. When the final hour came, however, it required all of Jennie’s strength to go through with the farewells. Though everything was being done in order to bring them together again under better conditions, she could not help feeling depressed. Her little one, now six months old, was being left behind. The great world was to her one undiscovered bourne. It frightened her. “You mustn’t worry, Ma,” she found courage enough to say. “I’ll be all right. I’ll write you just as soon as I get there. It won’t be so very long.” But when it came to bending over her baby for the last time her courage went out like a blown lamp. Stooping over the cradle in which the little one was resting, she looked into its face with passionate, motherly yearning. “Is it going to be a good little girl?” she cooed.