he took up his cane one
morning and strolled out in the direction of the cottage. Arriving
there, he made up his mind to go in, and knocking at the door, he was
greeted by Mrs. Gerhardt and her daughter with astonished and
diffident smiles. He explained vaguely that he had been away, and
mentioned his laundry as if that were the object of his visit. Then,
when chance gave him a few moments with Jennie alone, he plunged in
boldly.

"How would you like to take a drive with me to-morrow evening?" he
asked.

"I'd like it," said Jennie, to whom the proposition was a glorious
novelty.

He smiled and patted her cheek, foolishly happy to see her again.
Every day seemed to add to her beauty. Graced with her clean white
apron, her shapely head crowned by the glory of her simply plaited
hair, she was a pleasing sight for any man to look upon.

He waited until Mrs. Gerhardt returned, and then, having
accomplished the purpose of his visit, he arose.

"I'm going to take your daughter out riding to-morrow evening," he
explained. "I want to talk to her about her future."

"Won't that be nice?" said the mother. She saw nothing incongruous
in the proposal. They parted with smiles and much handshaking.

"That man has the best heart," commented Mrs. Gerhardt. "Doesn't he
always speak so nicely of you? He may help you to an education. You
ought to be proud."

"I am," said Jennie frankly.

"I don't know whether we had better tell your father or not,"
concluded Mrs. Gerhardt. "He doesn't like for you to be out
evenings."

Finally they decided not to tell him. He might not understand.

Jennie was ready when he called. He could see by the weak-flamed,
unpretentious parlor-lamp that she was dressed for him, and that the
occasion had called out the best she had. A pale lavender gingham,
starched and ironed, until it was a model of laundering, set off her
pretty figure to perfection. There were little lace-edged cuffs and a
rather high collar attached to it. She had no gloves, nor any jewelry,
nor yet a jacket good enough to wear, but her hair was done up in such
a dainty way that it set off her well-shaped head better than any hat,
and the few ringlets that could escape crowned her as with a halo.
When Brander suggested that she should wear a jacket she hesitated a
moment; then she went in and borrowed her mother's cape, a plain gray
woolen one. Brander realized now that she had no jacket, and suffered
keenly to think that she had