contemplated going without one.

"She would have endured the raw night air," he thought, "and said
nothing of it."

He looked at her and shook his head reflectively. Then they
started, and he quickly forgot everything but the great fact that she
was at his side. She talked with freedom and with a gentle girlish
enthusiasm that he found irresistibly charming.

"Why, Jennie," he said, when she had called upon him to notice how
soft the trees looked, where, outlined dimly against the new rising
moon, they were touched with its yellow light, "you're a great one. I
believe you would write poetry if you were schooled a little."

"Do you suppose I could?" she asked innocently.

"Do I suppose, little girl?" he said, taking her hand. "Do I
suppose? Why, I know. You're the dearest little day-dreamer in the
world. Of course you could write poetry. You live it. You are poetry,
my dear. Don't you worry about writing any."

This eulogy touched her as nothing else possibly could have done.
He was always saying such nice things. No one ever seemed to like or
to appreciate her half as much as he did. And how good he was!
Everybody said that. Her own father.

They rode still farther, until suddenly remembering, he said: "I
wonder what time it is. Perhaps we had better be turning back. Have
you your watch?"

Jennie started, for this watch had been the one thing of which she
had hoped he would not speak. Ever since he had returned it had been
on her mind.

In his absence the family finances had become so strained that she
had been compelled to pawn it. Martha had got to that place in the
matter of apparel where she could no longer go to school unless
something new were provided for her. And so, after much discussion, it
was decided that the watch must go.

Bass took it, and after much argument with the local pawn broker,
he had been able to bring home ten dollars. Mrs. Gerhardt expended the
money upon her children, and heaved a sigh of relief. Martha looked
very much better. Naturally, Jennie was glad.

Now, however, when the Senator spoke of it, her hour of retribution
seemed at hand. She actually trembled, and he noticed her
discomfiture.

"Why, Jennie," he said gently, "what made you start like that?"

"Nothing," she answered.

"Haven't you your watch?"

She paused, for it seemed impossible to tell a deliberate
falsehood. There was a strained silence; then she said, with a voice
that had too much of a sob in it for