The need of making this confession was a painful thing to Jennie. It caused her to hesitate, to start a letter in which she tried to explain, and then to tear it up. Finally, fate intervened in the sudden home-coming of her father, who had been seriously injured by an accident at the glass-works in Youngstown where he worked. It was on a Wednesday afternoon, in the latter part of August, when a letter came from Gerhardt. But instead of the customary fatherly communication, written in German and inclosing the regular weekly remittance of five dollars, there was only a brief note, written by another hand, and explaining that the day before Gerhardt had received a severe burn on both hands, due to the accidental overturning of a dipper of molten glass. The letter added that he would be home the next morning. “What do you think of that?” exclaimed William, his mouth wide open. “Poor papa!” said Veronica, tears welling up in her eyes. Mrs. Gerhardt sat down, clasped her hands in her lap, and stared at the floor. “Now, what to do?” she nervously exclaimed. The possibility that Gerhardt was disabled for life opened long vistas of difficulties which she had not the courage to contemplate. Bass came home at half-past six and Jennie at eight. The former heard the news with an astonished face. “Gee! that’s tough, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. “Did the letter say how bad he was hurt?” “No,” replied Mrs. Gerhardt. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Bass easily. “It won’t do any good. We’ll get along somehow. I wouldn’t worry like that if I were you.” The truth was, he wouldn’t, because his nature was wholly different. Life did not rest heavily upon his shoulders. His brain was not large enough to grasp the significance and weigh the results of things. “I know,” said Mrs. Gerhardt, endeavoring to recover herself. “I can’t help it, though. To think that just when we were getting along fairly well this new calamity should be added. It seems sometimes as if we were under a curse. We have so much bad luck.” When Jennie came her mother turned to her instinctively; here was her one stay. “What’s the matter, ma?” asked Jennie as she opened the door and observed her mother’s face. “What have you been crying about?” Mrs. Gerhardt looked at her, and then turned half away. “Pa’s had his hands burned,” put in Bass solemnly. “He’ll be home to-morrow.” Jennie turned and stared at him. “His hands burned!” she exclaimed. “Yes,” said Bass. “How did it happen?” “A pot of glass was turned over.” Jennie looked at her mother, and her eyes dimmed with tears. Instinctively she ran to her and put her arms around her.