wy
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.

CHAPTER II

The spirit of Jennie--who shall express it? This daughter of
poverty, who was now to fetch and carry the laundry of this
distinguished citizen of Columbus, was a creature of a mellowness of
temperament which words can but vaguely suggest. There are natures
born to the inheritance of flesh that come without understanding, and
that go again without seeming to have wondered why. Life, so long as
they endure it, is a true wonderland, a thing of infinite beauty,
which could they but wander into it wonderingly, would be heaven
enough. Opening their eyes, they see a conformable and perfect world.
Trees, flowers, the world of sound and the world of color. These are
the valued inheritance of their state. If no one said to them "Mine,"
they would wander radiantly forth, singing the song which all the
earth may some day hope to hear. It is the song of goodness.

Caged in the world of the material, however, such a nature is
almost invariably an anomaly. That other world of flesh into which has
been woven pride and greed looks askance at the idealist, the dreamer.
If one says it is sweet to look at the clouds, the answer is a warning
against idleness. If one seeks to give ear to the winds, it shall be
well with his soul, but they will seize upon his possessions. If all
the world of the so-called inanimate delay one, calling with
tenderness in sounds that seem to be too perfect to be less than
understanding, it shall be ill with the body. The hands of the actual
are forever reaching toward such as these--forever seizing
greedily upon them. It is of such that the bond servants are made.

In the world of the actual, Jennie was such a spirit. From her
earliest youth goodness and mercy had molded her every impulse. Did
Sebastian fall and injure himself, it was she who struggled with
straining anxiety, carried him safely to his mother. Did George
complain that he was hungry, she gave him all of her bread. Many were
the hours in which she had rocked her younger brothers and sisters to
sleep, singing whole-heartedly betimes and dreaming far dreams. Since
her earliest walking period she had been as the right hand of her
mothe