“Yes.”
They went on past the low cottages and among the dead leaves of the year.
“I wish we were rich,” murmured Jennie, half to herself.
“I don’t know just what to do,” confided her mother with a long-drawn sigh. “I don’t believe there’s a thing to eat in the house.”
“Let’s stop and see Mr. Bauman again,” exclaimed Jennie, her natural sympathies restored by the hopeless note in her mother’s voice.
“Do you think he would trust us any more?”
“Let’s tell him where we’re working. I will.”
“Well,” said her mother, wearily.
Into the small, dimly lighted grocery store, which was two blocks from their house, they ventured nervously. Mrs. Gerhardt was about to begin, but Jennie spoke first.
“Will you let us have some bread to-night, and a little bacon? We’re working now at the Columbus House, and we’ll be sure to pay you Saturday.”