the lawn put in order, and
everything done to give the place a trim and satisfactory appearance.
There was a large, comfortable library and sitting-room, a big
dining-room, a handsome reception-hall, a parlor, a large kitchen,
serving-room, and in fact all the ground-floor essentials of a
comfortable home. On the second floor were bedrooms, baths, and the
maid's room. It was all very comfortable and harmonious, and Jennie
took an immense pride and pleasure in getting things in order.

Immediately after moving in, Jennie, with Lester's permission,
wrote to her father asking him to come to her. She did not say that
she was married, but left it to be inferred. She descanted on the
beauty of the neighborhood, the size of the yard, and the manifold
conveniences of the establishment. "It is so very nice," she added,
"you would like it, papa. Vesta is here and goes to school every day.
Won't you come and stay with us? It's so much better than living in a
factory. And I would like to have you so."

Gerhardt read this letter with a solemn countenance, Was it really
true? Would they be taking a larger house if they were not permanently
united? After all these years and all this lying? Could he have been
mistaken? Well, it was high time--but should he go? He had lived
alone this long time now--should he go to Chicago and live with
Jennie? Her appeal did touch him, but somehow he decided against it.
That would be too generous an acknowledgment of the fact that there
had been fault on his side as well as on hers.

Jennie was disappointed at Gerhardt's refusal. She talked it over
with Lester, and decided that she would go on to Cleveland and see
him. Accordingly, she made the trip, hunted up the factory, a great
rumbling furniture concern in one of the poorest sections of the city,
and inquired at the office for her father. The clerk directed her to a
distant warehouse, and Gerhardt was informed that a lady wished to see
him. He crawled out of his humble cot and came down, curious as to who
it could be. When Jennie saw him in his dusty, baggy clothes, his hair
gray, his eye brows shaggy, coming out of the dark door, a keen sense
of the pathetic moved her again. "Poor papa!" she thought. He came
toward her, his inquisitorial eye softened a little by his
consciousness of the affection that had inspired her visit. "What are
you come for?" he asked cautiously.

"I want you to come home with me, papa," she pleaded yearningly. "I
don