ould take a little walk, strolling toward the
business center, or out along the banks of the Cuyahoga, or the lake.
As a rule his hands were below his back, his brow bent in meditation.
He would even talk to himself a little--an occasional "By chops!"
or "So it is" being indicative of his dreary mood. At dusk he would
return, taking his stand at the lonely gate which was his post of
duty. His meals he secured at a nearby workingmen's boarding-house,
such as he felt he must have.

The nature of the old German's reflections at this time were of a
peculiarly subtle and somber character. What was this
thing--life? What did it all come to after the struggle, and the
worry, and the grieving? Where does it all go to? People die; you hear
nothing more from them. His wife, now, she had gone. Where had her
spirit taken its flight?

Yet he continued to hold some strongly dogmatic convictions. He
believed there was a hell, and that people who sinned would go there.
How about Mrs. Gerhardt? How about Jennie? He believed that both had
sinned woefully. He believed that the just would be rewarded in
heaven. But who were the just? Mrs. Gerhardt had not had a bad heart.
Jennie was the soul of generosity. Take his son Sebastian. Sebastian
was a good boy, but he was cold, and certainly indifferent to his
father. Take Martha--she was ambitious, but obviously selfish.
Somehow the children, outside of Jennie, seemed self-centered. Bass
walked off when he got married, and did nothing more for anybody.
Martha insisted that she needed all she made to live on. George had
contributed for a little while, but had finally refused to help out.
Veronica and William had been content to live on Jennie's money so
long as he would allow it, and yet they knew it was not right. His
very existence, was it not a commentary on the selfishness of his
children? And he was getting so old. He shook his head. Mystery of
mysteries. Life was truly strange, and dark, and uncertain. Still he
did not want to go and live with any of his children. Actually they
were not worthy of him--none but Jennie, and she was not good. So
he grieved.

This woeful condition of affairs was not made known to Jennie for
some time. She had been sending her letters to Martha, but, on her
leaving, Jennie had been writing directly to Gerhardt. After
Veronica's departure Gerhardt wrote to Jennie saying that there was no
need of sending any more money. Veronica and William were going to
liv