Together they hesitated while the Senator surveyed the room. He felt sorry to think that such deserving people must suffer so; he intended, in a vague way, to ameliorate their condition if possible.
“Good-morning,” the Senator said to Jennie, when finally she came hesitatingly into the room. “How do you do to-day?”
Jennie came forward, extending her hand and blushing. She found herself so much disturbed by this visit that she could hardly find tongue to answer his questions.
“I thought,” he said, “I’d come out and find where you live. This is a quite comfortable house. How many rooms have you?”
“Five,” said Jennie. “You’ll have to excuse the looks this morning. We’ve been ironing, and it’s all upset.”
“I know,” said Brander, gently. “Don’t you think I understand, Jennie? You mustn’t feel nervous about me.”
She noticed the comforting, personal tone he always used with her when she was at his room, and it helped to subdue her flustered senses.
“You mustn’t think it anything if I come here occasionally. I intend to come. I want to meet your father.”
“Oh,” said Jennie, “he’s out to-day.”
While they were talking, however, the honest woodcutter was coming in at the gate with his buck and saw. Brander saw him, and at once recognized him by a slight resemblance to his daughter.