Jennie was to go first, as Bass had suggested; later on they would all follow.
When the hour came for Jennie's departure there was great excitement in the household.
"How long you going to be 'fore you send for us?" was Martha's inquiry, several times repeated.
"Tell Bass to hurry up," said the eager George.
"I want to go to Cleveland, I want to go to Cleveland," Veronica was caught singing to herself.
"Listen to her," exclaimed George, sarcastically.
"Aw, you hush up," was her displeased rejoinder.
When the final hour came, however, it required all of Jennie's strength to go through with the farewells.
Though everything was being done in order to bring them together again under better conditions, she could not help feeling depressed.
Her little one, now six months old, was being left behind.
The great world was to her one undiscovered bourne. It frightened her.
"You mustn't worry, Ma," she found courage enough to say.
"I'll be all right.
I'll write you just as soon as I get there.
It won't be so very long."
But when it came to bending over her baby for the last time her courage went out like a blown lamp.
Stooping over the cradle in which the little one was resting, she looked into its face with passionate, motherly yearning.
"Is it going to be a good little girl?" she cooed.
Then she caught it up into her arms, and hugging it closely to her neck and bosom, she buried her face against its little body.
Mrs. Gerhardt saw that she was trembling.
"Come now," she said, coaxingly, "you mustn't carry on so. She will be all right with me.
I'll take care of her.
If you're going to act this way, you'd better not try to go at all."
Jennie lifted her head, her blue eyes wet with tears, and handed the little one to her mother.
"I can't help it," she said, half crying, half smiling.
Quickly she kissed her mother and the children; then she hurried out.
As she went down the street with George she looked back and bravely waved her hand.
Mrs. Gerhardt responded, noticing how much more like a woman she looked.
It had been necessary to invest some of her money in new clothes to wear on the train.
She had selected a neat, ready-made suit of brown, which fitted her nicely. She wore the skirt of this with a white shirt-waist, and a sailor hat with a white veil wound around it in such fashion that it could be easily drawn over her face. As she went farther and farther away Mrs. Gerhardt followed her lovingly with her glance; and when she disappeared from view she said tenderly, through her own tears:
"I'm glad she looked so nice, anyhow."
CHAPTER XIII
Bass met Jennie at the depot in Cleveland and talked hopefully of the prospects.
"The first thing is to get work," he began, while the jingling sounds and the changing odors which the city thrust upon her were confusing and almost benumbing her senses.
"Get something to do.
It doesn't matter what, so long as you get something.
If you don't get more than three or four dollars a week, it will pay the rent.
Then, with what George can earn, when he comes, and what Pop sends, we can get along all right.
It'll be better than being down in that hole," he concluded.
"Yes," said Jennie, vaguely, her mind so hypnotized by the new display of life about her that she could not bring it forcibly to bear upon the topic under discussion.
"I know what you mean.
I'll get something."
She was much older now, in understanding if not in years.
The ordeal through which she had so recently passed had aroused in her a clearer conception of the responsibilities of life.
Her mother was always in her mind, her mother and the children.
In particular Martha and Veronica must have a better opportunity to do for themselves than she had had.
They should be dressed better; they ought to be kept longer in school; they must have more companionship, more opportunity to broaden their lives.
Cleveland, like every other growing city at this time, was crowded with those who were seeking employment.
New enterprises were constantly springing up, but those who were seeking to fulfil the duties they provided were invariably in excess of the demand.
A stranger coming to the city might walk into a small position of almost any kind on the very day he arrived; and he might as readily wander in search of employment for weeks and even months.