He took them out to the house, and George was shown the way to go back to the depot and have the freight looked after.
Mrs. Gerhardt had still fifty dollars left out of the money which Senator Brander had sent to Jennie, and with this a way of getting a little extra furniture on the instalment plan was provided.
Bass had already paid the first month's rent, and Jennie had spent her evenings for the last few days in washing the windows and floors of this new house and in getting it into a state of perfect cleanliness.
Now, when the first night fell, they had two new mattresses and comfortables spread upon a clean floor; a new lamp, purchased from one of the nearby stores, a single box, borrowed by Jennie from a grocery store, for cleaning purposes, upon which Mrs. Gerhardt could sit, and some sausages and bread to stay them until morning.
They talked and planned for the future until nine o'clock came, when all but Jennie and her mother retired.
These two talked on, the burden of responsibilities resting on the daughter.
Mrs. Gerhardt had come to feel in a way dependent upon her.
In the course of a week the entire cottage was in order, with a half-dozen pieces of new furniture, a new carpet, and some necessary kitchen utensils.
The most disturbing thing was the need of a new cooking-stove, the cost of which added greatly to the bill.
The younger children were entered at the public school, but it was decided that George must find some employment.
Both Jennie and her mother felt the injustice of this keenly, but knew no way of preventing the sacrifice.
"We will let him go to school next year if we can," said Jennie.
Auspiciously as the new life seemed to have begun, the closeness with which their expenses were matching their income was an ever-present menace.
Bass, originally very generous in his propositions, soon announced that he felt four dollars a week for his room and board to be a sufficient contribution from himself.
Jennie gave everything she earned, and protested that she did not stand in need of anything, so long as the baby was properly taken care of.
George secured a place as an overgrown cash-boy, and brought in two dollars and fifty cents a week, all of which, at first, he gladly contributed.
Later on he was allowed the fifty cents for himself as being meet and just.
Gerhardt, from his lonely post of labor, contributed five dollars by mail, always arguing that a little money ought to be saved in order that his honest debts back in Columbus might be paid.
Out of this total income of fifteen dollars a week all of these individuals had to be fed and clothed, the rent paid, coal purchased, and the regular monthly instalment of three dollars paid on the outstanding furniture bill of fifty dollars.
How it was done, those comfortable individuals, who frequently discuss the social aspects of poverty, might well trouble to inform themselves.
Rent, coal, and light alone consumed the goodly sum of twenty dollars a month; food, another unfortunately necessary item, used up twenty-five more; clothes, instalments, dues, occasional items of medicine and the like, were met out of the remaining eleven dollars—how, the ardent imagination of the comfortable reader can guess.
It was done, however, and for a time the hopeful members considered that they were doing fairly well.
During this period the little family presented a picture of honorable and patient toil, which was interesting to contemplate.
Every day Mrs. Gerhardt, who worked like a servant and who received absolutely no compensation either in clothes, amusements, or anything else, arose in the morning while the others slept, and built the fire. Then she took up the task of getting the breakfast.
Often as she moved about noiselessly in her thin, worn slippers, cushioned with pieces of newspaper to make them fit, she looked in on Jennie, Bass, and George, wrapped in their heavy slumbers, and with that divine sympathy which is born in heaven she wished that they did not need to rise so early or to work so hard.
Sometimes she would pause before touching her beloved Jennie, gaze at her white face, so calm in sleep, and lament that life had not dealt more kindly with her.
Then she would lay her hand gently upon her shoulder and whisper, "Jennie, Jennie," until the weary sleeper would wake.
When they arose breakfast was always ready.
When they returned at night supper was waiting.
Each of the children received a due share of Mrs. Gerhardt's attention.
The little baby was closely looked after by her.
She protested that she needed neither clothes nor shoes so long as one of the children would run errands for her.
Jennie, of all the children, fully understood her mother; she alone strove, with the fullness of a perfect affection, to ease her burden.
"Ma, you let me do this."
"Now, ma, I'll 'tend to that."
"You go sit down, ma."
These were the every-day expressions of the enduring affection that existed between them.
Always there was perfect understanding between Jennie and her mother, and as the days passed this naturally widened and deepened.
Jennie could not bear to think of her as being always confined to the house.
Daily she thought as she worked of that humble home where her mother was watching and waiting.
How she longed to give her those comforts which she had always craved!
CHAPTER XIV
The days spent in the employ of the Bracebridge household were of a broadening character.
This great house was a school to Jennie, not only in the matter of dress and manners, but as formulating a theory of existence.
Mrs. Bracebridge and her husband were the last word in the matter of self-sufficiency, taste in the matter of appointments, care in the matter of dress, good form in the matter of reception, entertainment, and the various usages of social life.
Now and then, apropos of nothing save her own mood, Mrs. Bracebridge would indicate her philosophy of life in an epigram.
"Life is a battle, my dear.
If you gain anything you will have to fight for it."
"In my judgment it is silly not to take advantage of any aid which will help you to be what you want to be." (This while applying a faint suggestion of rouge.)
"Most people are born silly.