“Washing?” he repeated after her, in a voice which had a peculiarly resonant quality. “Washing? Come right in. Let me see.” He stepped aside with much grace, waved them in and closed the door. “Let me see,” he repeated, opening and closing drawer after drawer of the massive black-walnut bureau. Jennie studied the room with interest. Such an array of nicknacks and pretty things on mantel and dressing-case she had never seen before. The Senator’s easy-chair, with a green-shaded lamp beside it, the rich heavy carpet and the fine rugs upon the floor—what comfort, what luxury! “Sit down; take those two chairs there,” said the Senator, graciously, disappearing into a closet. Still overawed, mother and daughter thought it more polite to decline, but now the Senator had completed his researches and he reiterated his invitation. Very uncomfortably they yielded and took chairs. “Is this your daughter?” he continued, with a smile at Jennie. “Yes, sir,” said the mother; “she’s my oldest girl.” “Is your husband alive?” “What is his name?” “Where does he live?” To all of these questions Mrs. Gerhardt very humbly answered. “How many children have you?” he went on. “Six,” said Mrs. Gerhardt. “Well,” he returned, “that’s quite a family. You’ve certainly done your duty to the nation.” “Yes, sir,” returned Mrs. Gerhardt, who was touched by his genial and interesting manner. “And you say this is your oldest daughter?” “Yes, sir.” “What does your husband do?” “He’s a glass-blower. But he’s sick now.” During the colloquy Jennie’s large blue eyes were wide with interest. Whenever he looked at her she turned upon him such a frank, unsophisticated gaze, and smiled in such a vague, sweet way, that he could not keep his eyes off of her for more than a minute of the time. “Well,” he continued, sympathetically, “that is too bad! I have some washing here not very much but you are welcome to it. Next week there may be more.” He went about now, stuffing articles of apparel into a blue cotton bag with a pretty design on the side. “Do you want these any certain day?” questioned Mrs. Gerhardt. “No,” he said, reflectively; “any day next week will do.” She thanked him with a simple phrase, and started to go. “Let me see,” he said, stepping ahead of them and opening the door, “you may bring them back Monday.” “Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Gerhardt. “Thank you.” They went out and the Senator returned to his reading, but it was with a peculiarly disturbed mind. “Too bad,” he said, closing his volume. “There’s something very pathetic about those people.” Jennie’s spirit of wonder and appreciation was abroad in the room. Mrs. Gerhardt and Jennie made their way anew through the shadowy streets. They felt immeasurably encouraged by this fortunate venture. “Didn’t he have a fine room?” whispered Jennie. “Yes,” answered the mother; “he’s a great man.” “He’s a senator, isn’t he?” continued the daughter. “Yes.” “It must be nice to be famous,” said the girl, softly.