Jewel / Burnham, Clara Louise, 1854-1927

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Title: Jewel
       A Chapter In Her Life

Author: Clara Louise Burnham

Release Date: March 31, 2006 [EBook #2778]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JEWEL ***




Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers





JEWEL

A CHAPTER IN HER LIFE

By Clara Louise Burnham




TO F. W. R. MY FIRST INSPIRATION THIS STORY IS OFFERED IN LOVING
ACKNOWLEDGMENT


     PREPARER'S NOTE

     This text was prepared from a 1903 edition, published by Grosset &
     Dunlap, New York.



CONTENTS

     I. THE NEW COACHMAN
    II. THE CHICAGO LETTER
   III. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
    IV. FATHER AND SON
     V. BON VOYAGE
    VI. JEWEL'S ARRIVAL
   VII. THE FIRST EVENING
  VIII. A HAPPY BREAKFAST
    IX. A SHOPPING EXPEDITION
     X. THE RAVINE
    XI. DR. BALLARD
   XII. THE TELEGRAM
  XIII. IN THE LIBRARY
   XIV. FAMILY AFFAIRS
    XV. A RAINY MORNING
   XVI. THE FIRST LESSON
  XVII. JEWEL'S CORRESPONDENCE
 XVIII. ESSEX MAID
   XIX. A MORNING DRIVE
    XX. BY THE BROOKSIDE
   XXI. AN EFFORT FOR TRUTH
  XXII. IN THE HARNESS ROOM
 XXIII. MRS. EVRINGHAM'S CALLER
  XXIV. THE RAVINE GARDEN
   XXV. MUTUAL SURPRISES
  XXVI. ON WEDNESDAY EVENING
 XXVII. A REALIZED HOPE
XXVIII. AT TWILIGHT




JEWEL



CHAPTER I

THE NEW COACHMAN

"Now you polish up those buckles real good, won't you, 'Zekiel? I will
say for Fanshaw, you could most see your face in the harness always."

The young fellow addressed rubbed away at the nickel plating good
humoredly, although he had heard enough exhortations in the last
twenty-four hours to chafe somewhat the spirit of youth. His mother, a
large, heavy woman, stood over him, her face full of care.

"It's a big change from driving a grocery wagon to driving a gentleman's
carriage, 'Zekiel. I do hope you sense it."

"You'd make a bronze image sense it, mother," answered the young man,
smiling broadly. "You might sit and sermonize just as well, mightn't
you? Sitting's as cheap as standing,"--he cast a glance around the clean
spaces of the barn in search of a chair,--"or if you'd rather go and
attend to your knitting, I've seen harness before, you know."

"I'm not sure as you've ever handled a gentleman's harness in your life,
'Zekiel Forbes."

"It's a fact they don't wear 'em much down Boston way."

His mother regarded his shock of light hair with repressed fondness.

"It was a big responsibility I took when I asked Mr. Evringham to let
you try the place," she said solemnly, "and I'm going to do my best to
help you fill it. It does seem almost a providence the way Fanshaw's
livery fits you; and if you'll hold yourself up, I may be partial, but
it seems to me you look better in it than he ever did; and I'm sure if
handsome is as handsome does, you'll fill it better every way, even if
he _was_ a fashionable English coachman. Mrs. Evringham was so pleased
with his style she tried to have him kept even after he'd taken too much
for the second time; but Mr. Evringham valued his horses too highly for
that, I can tell you."

"Thought the governor was a widower still," remarked Ezekiel as his
mother drew forward a battered chair and dusted it with the huge apron
that covered her neat dress. She seated herself close to her boy.

"Of course he is," she returned with some asperity. "Why should he get
married with such a home as he's got? Fifteen years I've kept house for
Mr. Evringham. I don't believe but what he'd say that in all that time
he's never found his beef overdone or a button off his shirts."

"Humph!" grunted Ezekiel. "He looks as if he wouldn't mind hanging you
to the nearest tree if he did. I heard tell once that there was a cold
hell as well as a hot one. Think says I, when the governor was looking
me over the other day, 'You've set sail for the cold place, old boy.'"

"Zeke Forbes, don't you ever let me hear you say such a thing again!"
exclaimed Mrs. Forbes. "Mr. Evringham is the finest gentleman within one
hundred miles of New York city. When a man has spent his life in Wall
Street it's bound to show some in his face, of course; but what comfort
has that man ever known?"

"Pretty scrumptious place he's got here in this park, I notice,"
returned the new coachman.

"Yes, he has a breath of fresh air before he goes to the city and after
he gets back every day. Isn't that Essex Maid of his a beauty?" Mrs.
Forbes cast her eyes towards the stalls where the shining flanks of two
horses were visible from her seat by the wide-open doors of the barn.
"His rides back there among the hills,"--Mrs. Forbes waved her hand
vaguely toward the tall trees waving in the spring sunshine,--"are his
one pleasure; and he never tires of them. You will find the horses
here something different to groom from those common grocery horses in
Boston."

"Oh, I don't know," drawled 'Zekiel, teasingly.

"Then you'd better know, young man," emphatically. "And, Zeke, what's
the names of those carriages?" pointing with sudden energy at two half
shrouded vehicles.

"How many guesses do I get?"

"Guessing ain't going to do. Do you know, or don't you?"

"Know? Why," leniently, "bless your heart, mother, don't you s'pose I
know a buggy and a carryall when I see 'em?"

"Oh, you poor benighted grocery boy!" Mrs. Forbes raised her hands.
"What a mercy I mentioned it! Imagine Mrs. Evringham hearing you ask if
she'd have the buggy or the carryall! 'Zekiel," solemnly, "listen to me.
That tall one's a spider, and the other's a broom. There! Do you hear
me? A _spider_ and a _broom_!"

Ezekiel's merry eyes met the anxious ones with a twinkle.

"Who'd have thought it!" he responded.

"Now then, Zeke," anxiously, "it's my responsibility. I recommended you.
I want you should say 'em off as glib as Fanshaw did. Now then, which is
which?"

"Mother, didn't you tell me that the late lamented was not a
prohibitionist?"

"Fanshaw drank like a fish, if that's what you mean."

"Well, just because he saw things in this barn you needn't expect me to!
Poor chap! Spiders and brooms! He must have been glad to go."

Mrs. Forbes' earnest expression did not change. "'Zekiel, don't you
tease, now! We haven't got time. I want you to make such a success of
this that you'll stay with me. You can't think how I felt when I woke
up this morning and thought the first thing, 'Zeke's here.' Why, I've
scarcely kept acquainted with you for fifteen years. Scarcely saw you
except for a few weeks in the summer time. Now I've got you again!"

"I ain't the only thing you've got again," grinned 'Zekiel, "if you're
going to see things, same as Fanshaw did."

Thus reminded, the housekeeper looked back at the phaeton and the
brougham. "Be a good boy, Zeke," coaxingly, "and don't forget now,
because Mrs. Evringham is a great stickler--and a great sticker, too,"
added Mrs. Forbes in a different tone.

"Who _is_ the old woman, if the governor isn't married?" asked Ezekiel
with not very lively interest. "She don't seem popular with you."

"I'll tell you who she is," returned his mother in a low, emphatic tone.
"she's just what I say--a sticker and an interloper."

"H'm! Shouldn't wonder if the green-eyed monster had got after mamma,"
soliloquized the youth aloud. "Somebody else sews on the buttons now,
perhaps."

"'Zekiel Forbes, we must have an understanding right off. You've got to
joke and tease, I s'pose, but it can't be about Mr. Evringham. This is
like a law of the Medes and Persians, and I want you should understand
it. The more you see of him the less you'll dare to joke about him."

"I told you he scared me stiff," acknowledged Zeke, running the harness
through his hands to discover another dingy spot.

"Well, he'd _better_. Now I wouldn't gossip to you of my employer's
affairs--I hope we're better than two common servants--but I want you to
be as loyal to him as I am, and to understand a few of the reasons why
he can't go giggling around like some folks."

"Great Scott!" interpolated the young coachman. "Mr. Evringham go
giggling around! So would Bunker Hill monument!"

"Listen to me, Zeke. Mr. Evringham has had two sons. His wife died when
the oldest, Lawrence, was fifteen. Well, both those boys disappointed
him. Lawrence when he was twenty-one married secretly a widow older than
himself, who had a little girl named Eloise. Mr. Evringham made the best
of it, and helped him along in business. Lawrence became a broker and
had made and lost a fortune when he died at the age of thirty-five."

"Broke himself, did he?" remarked the irrepressible 'Zekiel.

"Yes, he did. Here we were, living in peace and comfort,--my employer
at sixty a man of settled habits and naturally very set in his ways and
satisfied with his home and the way I had run it for him for fifteen
years,--when three blows fell on him at once. Firstly his son Lawrence
failed and was ruined; secondly he died; and thirdly his widow and her
daughter nineteen years old came here a couple of months ago and settled
on Mr. Evringham, and here they've stayed ever since! I don't think they
have an idea of going away." Mrs. Forbes's eyes snapped. "Such an upset
as it was! I couldn't show how I felt, of course, for it was so much
worse for him than it was for me. He had never cared for Mrs. Evringham,
and scarcely knew the girl who called him 'grandfather' without an atom
of right."

"Hard lines," observed 'Zekiel. "Does the girl call herself Evringham?"

"Does she?" with scorn. "Well I guess she does. Of course she was only
four when her mother married Lawrence, and I guess she was fond of
her stepfather and he of her, because he never had any children; but
sometimes I ask myself, is it going on forever? I only hope Eloise'll
get married soon."

'Zekiel dropped the harness to arrange imaginary curls on his temples
and pat the tie on his muscular neck. "If she's pretty I'm willing," he
responded.

His mother shook her head absently. "Then there was Mr. Evringham's
younger son, a regular roving ne'er-do-well. He didn't like Wall Street
and he went West to Chicago. He was a rolling stone, first in one
position and then in another; then he got married, and after a few years
he rolled away altogether. All Mr. Evringham knows about him and his
family is that he had one child. Harry wrote a few letters about his
wife Julia and the baby, at the time it was born, and Mr. Evringham sent
a present of money; then the letters ceased until one day the wife wrote
him frantically that her husband had disappeared and begged to know
where he was. Mr. Evringham knew nothing about him and wrote her so, and
that is the last he's heard. So you see if he looks cold and hard, he's
had enough to make him so."

"H'm!" ejaculated 'Zekiel. "He don't give the impression of lyin' awake
nights wondering how his deserted daughter-in-law and the kid make out."

"Why should he?" retorted Mrs. Forbes sharply. "His two boys acted as
selfish to him as boys could. He's a disappointed, humiliated man in
that proud heart of his. He's been hunted out and harrowed up in this
peaceful retreat, when all he asked was to be let alone with his horses
and his golf clubs, and I think one daughter-in-law's enough under
the circumstances. I have some respect for Mrs. Harry, whoever she is,
because she lets him alone. In all the long years we've spent here, when
he often had no one to talk to but me, he's let me have a glimpse of
these things, and I've told you so's you'd think right about him and
serve him all the better."

"He's got a look in his eyes like cold steel," remarked Ezekiel, "and
lines under 'em like they'd been drawn with steel; and his back's as
flat and straight as if a steel rod took the place of a spine. That
thick gray hair and mustache of his might be steel threads."

"He's a splendid sight on horseback," responded Mrs. Forbes devoutly.
"His sons were neither of 'em ever the man he is. I'd like to protect
him from being imposed upon if such a thing was possible."

"Sho!" drawled 'Zekiel. "Might's well talk about protecting a
battleship."

"Well, 'Zekiel Forbes," returned his mother, her eyes bright, "can't you
imagine a battleship hesitating to run down a little pleasure yacht with
all its flags flying? And can't you imagine that hesitation costing the
battleship considerable precious time and money? You've said a good deal
about my sacrificing my room in the house and coming out here to fix a
little home for us both, upstairs in the barn chambers, but perhaps you
can see now that it isn't all sacrifice, that perhaps I'm glad of an
excuse to get out of the house, where things are so different from what
they used to be, and to have a cosy home with my own boy. Now then,
'Zekiel," coaxingly, these words recalling her boy's responsibilities,
"look over there once more and tell me which of those is the spider."

Zekiel dropped the harness and laid his hand gently on his mother's
forehead. "There isn't anything there, dear mother," he said soothingly.

"Zeke!" she exclaimed, jerking away with a short reluctant laugh.

"'Mother, dear mother, come home with me now,'" he roared
sentimentally, so that Essex Maid lifted her beautiful head and looked
out in surprise. "Remember Fanshaw, and put more water in it after
this," he added, dropping his arm to his mother's neck and capturing her
with a hug.

"'Zekiel!" she protested. "'Zekiel!"



CHAPTER II

THE CHICAGO LETTER

The mother was still laughing and struggling in the irresistible
embrace when both became aware that a third person was regarding them in
open-mouthed astonishment.

"'Zekiel, let me _go_!" commanded the scandalized woman, and pushed
herself free from her tormentor, who forthwith returned rather
sheepishly to his buckles.

The young man with trim-pointed beard and mirthful eyes, who stood
in the driveway, had just dismounted from a shining buggy. Doubt and
astonishment were apparently holding him dumb.

The housekeeper, smoothing her disarranged locks and much flushed of
face, returned his gaze, rising from her chair.

"I couldn't believe it was you, Mrs. Forbes!" declared the newcomer.
"Fanshaw isn't--" He looked around vaguely.

"No, he isn't, Dr. Ballard," returned Mrs. Forbes shortly. "He forgot to
rub down Essex Maid one evening when she came in hot, and that finished
him with Mr. Evringham."

The young doctor's lips twitched beneath his mustache as he looked at
'Zekiel, polishing away for dear life.

"You seem to have some one else here--some friend," he remarked
tentatively.

"Friend!" echoed the housekeeper with exasperation, feeling to see just
how much Zeke had rumpled her immaculate collar. "We looked like friends
when you came up, didn't we!"

"Like intimate friends," murmured the doctor, still looking curiously at
the big fair-haired fellow, who was crimson to his temples.

"I don't know how long we shall continue friends if he ever grabs me
again like that just after I've put on a clean collar. He's got beyond
the place where I can correct him. I ought to have done it oftener when
I had the chance. This is my boy 'Zekiel, Dr. Ballard," with a proud
glance in the direction of the youth, who looked up and nodded, then
continued his labors. "Mr. Evringham has engaged him on trial. He's been
with horses a couple of years, and I guess he'll make out all right."

"Glad to know you, 'Zekiel," returned the doctor. "Your mother has been
a good friend of mine half my life, and I've often heard her speak of
you. Look out for my horse, will you? I shall be here half an hour or
so."

When the doctor had moved off toward the house Mrs. Forbes nodded at her
son knowingly.

"Might's well walk Hector into the barn and uncheck him, Zeke," she
said. "They'll keep him more'n a half an hour. That young man, 'Zekiel
Forbes,--that young man's my _hope_." Mrs. Forbes spoke impressively and
shook her forefinger to emphasize her words.

"What you hoping about him?" asked 'Zekiel, laying down the harness and
proceeding to lead the gray horse up the incline into the barn.

"Shouldn't wonder a mite if he was our deliverer," went on Mrs. Forbes.
"I saw it in Mrs. Evringham's eye that he suited her, the first night
that she met him here at dinner. I like him first-rate, and I don't mean
him any harm; but he's one of these young doctors with plenty of money
at his back, bound to have a fashionable practice and succeed. His face
is in his favor, and I guess he knows as much as any of 'em, and he
can afford the luxury of a wife brought up the way Eloise Evringham has
been. That's right, Zeke. Unfasten the check-rein, though the doctor
don't use a mean one, I must say. I only hope there's a purgatory for
the folks that use too short check-reins on their horses. I hope they'll
have to wear 'em themselves for a thousand years, and have to stand
waiting at folks' doors frothing at the mouth, and the back of their
necks half breaking when the weather's down to zero and up to a hundred.
That's what I hope!"

'Zekiel grinned. "You want 'em to try the cold place and the hot one
too, do you?"

"Yes I do, and to stay in the one that hurts the most. The man that uses
a decent check-rein on his horse," continued Mrs. Forbes, dropping into
a philosophizing tone, "is apt to be as decent to his wife. The doctor
would be a great catch for that girl, and I _think_," dropping her
voice, "her mother'd be liable to live with 'em."

"You're keeping that dark from the doctor, I s'pose?" remarked 'Zekiel.

"H'm. You needn't think I go chattering around that house the way I do
out here. I've got a great talent, if I do say it, for minding my own
business."

"Good enough," drawled 'Zekiel. "I heard tell once of a firm that made a
great fortune just doing that one thing."

"Don't you be sassy now. I've always waited on Mr. Evringham while he
ate his meals, and that's the time he'd often speak out to me about
things if he felt in the humor, so that in all these years 't isn't any
wonder if I've come to feel that his business is mine too."

"Just so," returned 'Zekiel, with a twinkle in his eye.

"It's been as plain as your nose that the interlopers don't like to have
me there. Not that they have anything special against me, but they'd
like to have someone younger and stylisher to hand them their plates.
I'll never forget one night when they'd been here about a week, and I
think Mr. Evringham had begun to suspect they were fixtures,--I'd felt
it from the first,--Mrs. Evringham said, 'Why father, does Mrs. Forbes
always wait on your table? I had supposed she was temporarily taking the
place of your butler or your waitress.'"

The housekeeper's effort to imitate the airy manner she remembered
caused her son to chuckle as he gathered up the shining harness.

"You should have seen the look Mr. Evringham gave her. Just as if he
didn't see her at all. 'Yes,' he answered, 'I hope Mrs. Forbes will wait
on my table as long as I have one.' And I will if I have my health,"
added the speaker, bridling with renewed pleasure at the memory of that
triumphant moment. "They think I'm a machine without any feelings or
opinions, and that I've been wound up to suit Mr. Evringham and run
his establishment, and that I'm no more to be considered than the big
Westminster clock on the stairs. Mrs. Evringham did try once to get into
my employer's rooms and look after his clothes." Mrs. Forbes shook her
head and tightened her lips at some recollection.

"She bucked up against the machine, did she?" inquired Zeke.

The housekeeper glanced around to see if any one might be approaching.

"I saw her go in there, and I followed her," she continued almost in a
whisper. "She sort of started, but spoke up in her cool way, 'I wish to
look over father's clothes and see if anything needs attention.'
'Thank you, Mrs. Evringham, but everything is in order,' I said, very
respectful. 'Well, leave it for me next time, Mrs. Forbes,' she says.
'I shall take care of him while I am here.' 'Thank you,' says I, 'but
he wouldn't want your visit interfered with by that kind of work.' She
looked at me sort of suspicious and haughty. 'I prefer to do it,' she
answers, trying to look holes in me with her big eyes. 'Then will you
ask him, please,' said I very polite, 'before I give you the keys,
because we've got into habits here. I've taken care of Mr. Evringham's
clothes for fifteen years.' She looked kind of set back. 'Is it so
long?' she asks. 'Well, I will see about it.' But I guess the right time
for seeing about it never came," added the housekeeper knowingly.

"You're still doing business at the old stand, eh?" rejoined Zeke.
"Well, I'm glad you like your job. It's my opinion that the governor's
harder--"

"Ahem, ahem!" Mrs. Forbes cleared her throat with desperate loudness
and tugged at her son's shirt sleeve with an energy which caused him to
wheel.

Coming up the sunny driveway was a tall man with short, scrupulously
brushed iron-gray hair, and sweeping mustache. The lines under his eyes
were heavy, his glance was cold. His presence was dignified, commanding,
repellent.

The housekeeper and coachman both stood at attention, the latter
mechanically pulling down his rolled-up sleeves.

"So you're moving out here, Mrs. Forbes," was the remark with which the
newcomer announced himself.

"Yes, Mr. Evringham. The man has been here to put in the electric bell
you ordered. I shall be as quick to call as if I was still in the house,
sir, and I thank you--'Zekiel and I both do--for consenting to my making
it home-like for him. Perhaps you'd come up and see the rooms, sir?"

"Not just now. Some other time. I hope 'Zekiel is going to prove himself
worth all this trouble."

The new coachman's countenance seemed frozen into a stolidity which did
not alter.

"I'm sure he'll try," replied his mother, "and Fanshaw's livery fits him
to such a turn that it would have been flying in the face of Providence
not to try him. Did you give orders to be met at this train, sir?" Mrs.
Forbes looked anxiously toward the set face of her heir.

"No--I came out unexpectedly. I have received news that is rather
perplexing."

The housekeeper had not studied her employer's moods for years without
understanding when she could be of use.

"I will come to the house right off," was her prompt response. "It's a
pity you didn't know the bell was in, sir."

"No, stay where you are. I see Dr. Ballard is here. We might be
interrupted. You can go, 'Zekiel."

The young fellow needed no second invitation, but turned and mounted the
stairway that led to the chambers above.

Mr. Evringham took from his pocket a bunch of papers, and selecting a
letter handed it to Mrs. Forbes, motioning her to the battered chair,
which was still in evidence. He seated himself on the stool Zeke had
vacated, while his housekeeper opened and read the following letter:--


CHICAGO, April 28, 19--.

DEAR FATHER,--The old story of the Prodigal Son has always plenty
of originality for the Prodigal. I have returned, and thank Heaven
sincerely I do not need to ask you for anything. My blessed girl Julia
has supported herself and little Jewel these years while I've been
feeding on husks. I don't see now how I was willing to be so revoltingly
cruel and cowardly as to leave her in the lurch, but she has made
friends and they have stood by her, and now I've been back since
September, doing all in my power to make up what I can to her and Jewel,
as we call little Julia. They were treasures to return to such as I
deserved to have lost forever; but Julia treats me as if I'd been white
to her right all along. I've lately secured a position that I hope to
keep. My wife has been dressmaking, and this is something in the dry
goods line that I got through her. The firm want us to go to Europe
to do some buying. They will pay the expenses of both; but that leaves
Jewel. I've heard that Lawrence's wife and daughter are living with you.
I wondered if you'd let us bring Jewel as far as New York and drop her
with you for the six weeks that we shall be gone. If we had a little
more ahead we'd take the child with us. She is eight years old and
wouldn't be any trouble, but cash is scarce, and although we could board
her here with some friend, I'd like to have her become acquainted with
her grandfather, and I thought as Madge and Eloise were with you, they
would look after her if Mrs. Forbes is no longer there. This has all
come about very suddenly, and we sail next Wednesday on the Scythia, so
I'll be much obliged if you will wire me. I shall be glad to shake your
hand again.

Your repentant son,

HARRY.


Mrs. Forbes looked up from the letter to find her employer's eyes upon
her. Her lips were set in a tight line.

"Well?" he asked.

"I'd like to ask first, sir, what you think of it?"

"It strikes me as very cool. Harry knows my habits."

The housekeeper loosened the reins of her indignation.

"The idea of your having a child here to clatter up and down the stairs
at the very time you want to take a nap!" she burst forth. "You've had
enough to bear already."

"A deal of company in the house as it is, eh?" he rejoined. It was the
first reference he had ever made to his permanent guests.

"It's what I was thinking, sir."

"You're not for it, then, Mrs. Forbes?"

"So far as taking care of the child goes, I should do my duty. I don't
think Mrs. Evringham or her daughter would wish to be bothered; but I
know very little about children, except that your house is no place for
them to be racing in. One young one brings others. You would be annoyed,
sir. Some folks can always ask favors." The housekeeper's cheeks were
flushed with the strength of her repugnance, and her bias relieved Mr.
Evringham's indecision.

"I agree with you," he returned, rising. "Tell 'Zekiel to saddle the
Maid. After dinner I will let him take a telegram to the office."

He returned to the house without further words, and Mrs. Forbes called
to her son in a voice that had a wrathful quaver.

"What you got your back up about?" inquired Zeke softly, after a careful
look to see that his august master had departed.

"Never you mind. Mr. Evringham wants you should saddle his horse and
bring her round. I want he should see you can do it lively."

"Ain't she a beaut'!" exclaimed Zeke as he led out the mare. "She'd
ought to be shown, she had."

"Shown! Better not expose your ignorance where Mr. Evringham can hear
you. That mare's taken two blue ribbons already."

"Showed they knew their business," returned Zeke imperturbably. "I
s'pose the old gent don't care any more for her than he does for his
life."

"I guess he loves her the best of anything in this world."

"Love! The governor love anything or anybody! That's good," remarked
the young fellow, while Essex Maid watched his movements about her with
gentle, curious eyes.

"I do believe she misses Fanshaw and notices the difference," remarked
Mrs. Forbes.

"Glad to, too. Ain't you, my beauty? She's going to be stuck on me
before we get through. She don't want any Britishers fooling around
her."

"You've certainly made her look fine, Zeke. I know Mr. Evringham will be
pleased. She just shines from her pretty little ears to her hoofs. Take
her around and then come back. I want to talk to you."

"If I don't come back," returned the boy, "you'll know the governor's
looked at me a little too hard and I've been struck so."

"Don't be any foolisher than you can help," returned Mrs. Forbes, "and
hurry."

On 'Zekiel's return to the barn he saw that his mother's face was
portentous. "Lawrence was at least handsome like his father," she began
without preamble, looking over Zeke's shoulder, "but Harry was as homely
as he was no account. I should think that man had enough of his sons'
belongings hanging on him already. What do you think, 'Zekiel Forbes?
Mr. Evringham's youngest son Harry has turned up again!"

"I should think it was the old Harry by your tone," rejoined Zeke
equably.

"He and his wife, poor as church mice, are getting their expenses paid
to Europe on business, and they have the nerve--yes, the cheek--to ask
Mr. Evringham to let them leave their young one, a girl eight years old,
with him while they're gone."

"I hope it's a real courageous youngster," remarked Zeke.

"A child! A wild Western dressmaker's young one in Mr. Evringham's
elegant house!"

"Is the old Harry a dressmaker?" asked Zeke mildly.

"No, his wife is. His Julia! They've named this girl for her, and I
suppose they called her Jule, and then twisted it around to Jewel.
Jewel!"

"When is she coming?" asked Zeke, seeing that he was expected to say
something.

"Coming? She isn't coming," cried his mother irefully. "Not while Mr.
Evringham has his wits. They haven't a particle of right to ask him.
Harry has worried him to distraction already. The child would be sure to
torment him."

"He'd devour her the second day, then," returned Zeke calmly. "It would
be soon over."



CHAPTER III

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

Dr. Ballard had gone, and his hostesses were awaiting the summons to
dinner. Mrs. Evringham regarded her daughter critically as the girl sat
at the piano, idly running her fingers over the keys.

The listlessness expressed in the fresh face and rounded figure brought
a look of disapproval into the mother's eyes.

"You must practice that nocturne," she said. "You played it badly just
now, and there is no excuse for it, Eloise."

"If you will let me give lessons I will," responded the girl promptly,
without turning her graceful, drooping head.

The unexpected reply was startling.

"What are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Evringham.

"Oh, I'm so tired of it all," replied the girl wearily.

A frown contracted her mother's forehead. "Tired of what? Turn around
here!" She rose and put her hands on the pretty shoulders and turned her
child until the clear gray eyes met hers. "Now then, tired of what?"

Eloise smiled slightly, and sighed. "Of playing nocturnes to Dr.
Ballard."

"And he is quite as tired of hearing you, I dare say," was the retort.
"It seems to me you always stumble when you play to the doctor, and he
adores Chopin."

Eloise continued to meet her mother's annoyed gaze, her hands fallen in
her lap, all the lines of her nut-brown hair, her exquisite face, and
pliable, graceful figure so many silent arguments, as they always were,
against any one's harboring annoyance toward her.

"You say he does, mother, and you have assured him of it so often that
the poor man doesn't dare to say otherwise; but really, if you'd let him
have the latest Weber and Field hit, I think he would be so grateful."

"Learn it then!" returned Mrs. Evringham.

Eloise laughed lazily. "Intrepid little mother!" Then she added, in a
different tone, "Don't you think there is any danger of our being too
obliging? I'm not the only girl in town whose mother wishes her to
oblige Dr. Ballard. May we not overreach ourselves?"

"Eloise!" Mrs. Evringham's half-affectionate, half-remonstrating grasp
fell from her child's shoulders. "That remark is in very bad taste."

The girl shook her head slowly. "I never can understand why it is any
satisfaction to you to pretend. You find comfort in pretending that
Mr. Evringham likes to have us here, likes us to use his carriages, to
receive his friends, and all the rest of it. We've been here seven weeks
and three days, and that little game of pretending is satisfying you
still. You are like the ostrich with its head in the sand."

Mrs. Evringham drew her lithe figure up. "Well, Eloise, I hope there are
limits to this. To call your own mother an--an ostrich!"

"Don't speak so loud," returned the girl, rising and patting her
mother's hand. "Grandfather has returned from his ride. I just heard him
come in. It is too near dinner time for a scene. There is no need of our
pretending to each other, is there? You have always put me off and put
me off, but surely you mean to bring this to an end pretty soon?"

"You could bring it to an end at once if you would!" returned Mrs.
Evringham, her voice lowered. "Dr. Ballard has nothing to wait for. I
know all about his circumstances. There never was such a providence as
father's having a friend like him ready to our hand--so suitable, so
attractive, so rich!"

"Yes," responded the girl low and equably, "it is just five weeks and
two days that you have been throwing me at that man's head."

"I have done nothing of the kind, Eloise Evringham."

"Yes you have," returned the girl without excitement, "and grandfather
sneering at us all the time under his mustache. He knows that there are
other girls and other mothers interested in Dr. Ballard more desirable
than we are. Oh! how easy it is to be more desirable than we are!"

"There isn't one girl in five hundred so pretty as you," returned Mrs.
Evringham stoutly.

"I wish my prettiness could persuade you into my way of thinking."

"What do you mean?" The glance of the older woman was keen and
suspicious.

"We would take a cheap little apartment to-morrow," said the girl
wistfully.

Mrs. Evringham gave an ejaculation of impatience. "And do all our own
work and live like pigs!" she returned petulantly.

Eloise shrugged her shoulders. "I may flatter myself, but I fancy I
should keep it rather clean."

"You wouldn't mind your hands then." Mrs. Evringham regarded the hands
worthy to be imitated by a sculptor's art, and the girl raised them
and inspected the rose-tints of their tips. "I've read something about
rubber gloves," she returned vaguely.

"You'd better read something else then. How do you suppose you would get
on without a carriage?" asked her mother with exasperation. "You have
never had so much as a taste of privation in any form. Your suggestion
is the acme of foolishness."

"I think I could do something if you would let me," rejoined the girl
as calmly as before. "I think I could teach music pretty well, and keep
house charmingly. If I had any false pride when we came out here, the
past six weeks have purified me of it. Will you let me try, mother? I'm
asking it very seriously."

"Certainly not!" hotly. "There are armies of music teachers now, and you
would not have a chance."

"I think I could dress hair well," remarked Eloise, glancing at the
reflection in a mirror of her own graceful coiffure.

"I dare say!" responded Mrs. Evringham with sarcastic heat, "or I'm sure
you could get a position as a waitress. The servant problem is growing
worse every year."

"I'd like to be your waitress, mother." For the first time the girl lost
her perfect poise, and the color fluctuated in her cheek. She clasped
her hands. "It would be heaven compared with the feeling, the sickening,
appalling suspicion, that we are becoming akin to the adventuresses we
read of, the pretty, luxurious women who live by their wits."

"Silence!" commanded Mrs. Evringham, her eyes flashing and her effective
black-clothed figure drawn up.

Eloise sighed again. "I didn't expect to accomplish anything by this
talk," she said, relapsing into listlessness.

"What did you expect then? Merely to be disagreeable? I hope you may be
as successful in worthier undertakings. Now listen. Some of the plans
you have suggested at various times might be sensible if you were a
plain girl. Your beauty is as tangible an asset as money would be; but
beauty requires money. You must have it. Your poor father might have
left it to you, but he didn't; so you will marry it--not unsuitably,"
meeting an ominous look in her child's eyes, "not without love or under
any circumstances to make a martyr of you, but according to common
sense; and as a certain young man is evidently more and more certain of
himself every time he comes"--she paused.

"You think there is no need for him to grow more certain of me?" asked
Eloise.

"You might have saved us the disagreeables of this interview. And
one thing more," impressively, "you evidently are not taking into
consideration, perhaps you never knew, that it was your grandfather's
confidence in a certain course which induced your poor father to take
that last fatal flyer. Your grandfather feels--I'm sure he feels--that
much reparation is due us. The present conditions are easier for him
than a separate suitable home would be, therefore"--Mrs. Evringham waved
her hand. "It is strange," she added, "that so young a girl should not
repose more trust in her mother's judgment. And now that we are on the
subject, I wish you would make more effort with your grandfather. Don't
be so silent at table and leave all the talking to me. A man of his
age likes to have merry young people about. Chat, create a cheerful
atmosphere. He likes to look at you, of course, but you have been so
quiet and lackadaisical of late, it is enough to hurt his feelings as
host."

"He has never shown any symptoms of anxiety," remarked Eloise.

"Well, he is a very self-contained man."

"He is indeed, poor grandfather; I don't know how you will manage,
mother, when you have to play the game of 'pretend' all alone. He is
growing tired of it, I can see. His courtesy is wearing very thin. I'm
sorry to make it harder for you by taking away what must have been a
large prop and support, but I heard papa say to himself more than once
in those last sad days, 'If I had only taken my father's advice.'"

"Eloise," very earnestly, "you misunderstood, you certainly
misunderstood."

The girl shook her head wearily. "No, alas! I neither misunderstand nor
forget, when it would be most convenient to do so."

Mrs. Evringham's fair brow contracted as she regarded her daughter with
exasperation. "And you are only nineteen! One would think it was you
instead of me to whom the next birthday would bring that detested
forty."

The girl looked at her mother, whose youthful face and figure betrayed
the source of her own heritage of physical charm.

"I long ago gave up the hope of ever again being as young as you are,"
she returned sadly. "Oh!" with a rare and piteous burst of feeling,
"if dear papa could have stayed with us, and we could have had a right
somewhere!"

Mrs. Evringham threw her arms about the young creature, welcoming the
softened mood. "You know I took you right to my own people, Eloise," she
said gently. "We stayed as long as I thought was right; they couldn't
afford to keep us." A sound at the door caused her to turn. The erect
form of her father-in-law had just entered the room.

"Ah, good evening, father," she said in tones whose sadness was not
altogether feigned, even though she secretly rejoiced that Eloise should
for once show such opportune emotion. "Pardon this little girl. She was
just feeling overwhelmed with a pang of homesickness for her father."

"Indeed!" returned Mr. Evringham. "Will you walk out? Mrs. Forbes tells
me that dinner is served."

Eloise, hastily drawing her handkerchief across her eyes, passed the
unbending figure, her cheeks stinging. His hard voice was in her ears.

That she was not his son's child hurt her now as often before in the
past two months, but that he should have discovered her weeping at a
moment when he might have been expected to enter was a keen hurt to her
pride, and her heart swelled with a suspicion of his unspoken thoughts.
She had never been effusive, she had never posed. He had no right to
suspect her.

With her small head carried high and her cheeks glowing, she passed
him, following her mother, who floated on before with much satisfaction.
These opportune tears shed by her nonconforming child should make their
stay good for another two months at least.

"You must have had a beautiful ride, father," said Mrs. Evringham as
they seated themselves at table. She spoke in the tone, at once assured
and ingratiating, which she always adopted toward him. "I noticed you
took an earlier start than usual."

The speaker had never had the insight to discover that her father-in-law
was ungrateful for proofs that any of his long-fixed, solitary habits
were now observed by feminine eyes.

"I did take a rather longer ride than usual," he returned. "Mrs. Forbes,
I wish you would speak to the cook about the soup. It has been served
cool for the last two days."

Mrs. Forbes flushed as she stood near his chair in her trim black gown
and white apron.

"Yes, sir," she replied, the flush and quiet words giving little
indication of the tumult aroused within her by her employer's
criticism. To fail to please Mr. Evringham at his meals was the deepest
mortification life held for her.

"I'm sure it tastes very good," said Mrs. Evringham amiably, "although I
like a little more salt than your cook uses."

"You can reach it I hope," remarked the host, casting a glance at the
dainty solitaire salt and pepper beside his daughter's plate.

"But don't you like it cooked in?" she asked sweetly.

"Not when I want to get it out," he answered shortly.

"How can mother, how can mother!" thought Eloise helplessly.

"There is decided spring in the air to-day," said Mrs. Evringham. "I
remember of old how charmingly spring comes in the park."

"You have a good memory," returned Mr. Evringham dryly.

"Why do you say that?" asked the pretty widow, lifting large, innocent
eyes.

"It is some years since you accompanied Lawrence in his calls upon me, I
believe."

"Poor father!" thought Mrs. Evringham, "how unpleasantly blunt he has
grown, living here alone!"

"I scarcely realize it," she returned suavely. "My recollection of the
park is always so clear. It is surprising, isn't it, how relatives can
live as near together as we in New York and you out here and see one
another so seldom! Life in New York," sighing, "was such a rush for
us. Here amid the rustle of the trees it seems to be scarcely the same
world. Lawrence often said his only lucid intervals were during the
rides he took with Eloise in Central Park. Do you always ride alone,
father?"

"Always," was the prompt rejoinder, while Eloise cast a glance full of
appeal at her mother.

The latter continued archly, "If you could see Eloise on a horse you
would not blame me for trying to screw up my courage, as I have been
doing for days past, to ask you if she might take a canter on Essex Maid
in the morning, sometimes, while you are away. Fanshaw assured me that
she would be perfectly safe."

Mr. Evringham's cold eyes stared, and then the enormity of the
proposition appeared to move him humorously.

"Which maid did Fanshaw say would be safe?" he inquired, while Eloise
glowed with mortification.

"Well, if you think Eloise can't ride, try her some time!" exclaimed
the widow gayly. It had been a matter of surprise and afterward of
resentment that Mr. Evringham could remain deaf to her hints so long,
and she had determined to become frank. "Or else ask Dr. Ballard," she
went on; "he has very kindly provided Eloise with a horse several times,
but the child likes a solitary ride, sometimes, as well as you do."

The steely look returned to the host's eyes. "No one rides the Maid but
myself," he returned coldly.

"I beg you to believe, grandfather, that I don't wish to ride her," said
Eloise, her customary languor of manner gone and her voice hard. "Mother
is more ambitious for me than I am for myself. I should be very much
obliged if she would allow me to ask favors when I want them."

Mrs. Forbes's lips were set in a tight line as she filled Mrs.
Evringham's glass.

That lady's heart was beating a little fast from vexation, and also from
the knowledge that a time of reckoning with her child was coming.

"Oh, very well," she said airily. "No wonder you are careful of that
beautiful creature. I caught Eloise with her arms around the mare's neck
the other day, and I couldn't help wishing for a kodak. You feed her
with sugar, don't you Eloise?"

"I hope not, I'm sure!" exclaimed Mr. Evringham sternly.

"I'll not do it again, grandfather," said the girl, her very ears
burning.

Mrs. Evringham sighed and gave one Parthian shot. "The poor child does
love horses so," she murmured softly.

The host scowled and fidgeted in his chair with a brusque gesture to
Mrs. Forbes to remove the course.

"Harry has turned up again," he remarked, to change the subject.

"Really?" returned his daughter-in-law languidly. "For how long I
wonder?"

"He thinks it is permanent."

"He is still in Chicago?"

"Yes, for a day or two. He and his wife sail for Europe immediately."

"Indeed!" with a greater show of interest. Then, curiously, "Are you
sending them, father?"

"Scarcely! They are going on business."

"Oh," relapsing into indifference. "They have a child, I believe."

"Yes, a girl. I should think perhaps you might have remembered it."

"I hardly see why, if Harry didn't--a fact he plainly showed by
deserting the poor creature." The insolence of the speaker's tone was
scarcely veiled. Her extreme disapproval of her father-in-law sometimes
welled to the surface of her suave manner.

Mr. Evringham's thoughts had fled to Chicago. "Harry proposed leaving
the girl here while they are gone," he said.

Mrs. Evringham straightened in her chair and her attention concentrated.
"With you? What assurance! How like Harry!" she exclaimed.

The words were precisely those which her host had been saying to
himself; but proceeding from her lips they had a strange effect upon
him.

"You find it so?" he asked. The clearer the proposition became to Mrs.
Evringham's consciousness the more she resented it. To have the child
in the house not only would menace her ease and comfort, but meant
a possibility that the grandfather might take an interest in Harry's
daughter which would disturb Eloise's chances.

"Of course it does. I call it simply presumptuous," she declared with
emphasis.

"After all, Harry has some rights," rejoined Mr. Evringham slowly.

"His wife is a dressmaker," went on the other. "I had it directly from
a Chicago friend. Harry has scarcely been with the child since she was
born. And to saddle a little stranger like that on you! Now Eloise and
_her_ father were inseparable."

There was an ominous glitter in Mr. Evringham's eyes. "Eloise's father!"
he returned slowly. "I did not know that she remembered him."

The hurt of his tone and words sank deep into the heart of the girl, but
she looked up courageously.

"Your son was my father in every best sense," she said. "We were
inseparable. You must have known it."

"You appeared to be separable when your father made his visits to
Bel-Air Park," was the rejoinder. "Pardon me if I knew very little
of what took place in his household. A telegraph blank, please, Mrs.
Forbes, and tell Zeke to be ready to go to the office."

There was a vital tone in the usually dry voice. Mrs. Evringham looked
apprehensively at her daughter; but Eloise gave her no answering glance;
her eyes were downcast and her pretense of eating continued, while her
pulses beat.



CHAPTER IV

FATHER AND SON

When later they were alone, the girl looked at her mother, her eyes
luminous.

"You see," she began rather breathlessly, "even you must see, he is
beginning to drive us away."

"I do hope, Eloise, you are not going to indulge in any heroics over
this affair," returned Mrs. Evringham, who had braced herself to meet an
attack. "Does the unpleasant creature suppose we would stay with him if
we were not obliged to?"

"If we are obliged to, which I don't admit, need you demand further
favors than food and shelter? How could you speak of Essex Maid! How can
you know in your inmost heart, as you do, that we are eating the bread
of charity, and then ask for the apple of his eye!" exclaimed Eloise
desperately.

"Go away with your bread and apples," responded Mrs. Evringham
flippantly. "I have a real worry now that that wretched little cousin of
yours is coming."

"She is not my cousin please remember," responded the girl bitterly.
"Mr. Evringham reminded us of that to-night."

"Now don't you begin calling him Mr. Evringham!" protested her mother.
"You don't want to take any notice of the man's absurdities. You will
only make matters worse."

"No, I shall go on saying grandfather for the little while we stay.
Otherwise, he would know his words were rankling. It _will_ be a little
while? Oh mother!"

Mrs. Evringham pushed the pleading hand away. "I can't tell how long it
will be!" she returned impatiently. "We are simply helpless until your
father's affairs are settled. I thought I had told you that, Eloise.
He worshipped you, child, and no matter what that old curmudgeon says,
Lawrence would wish us to remain under his protection until we see our
way clear."

"Won't you have a business talk with him, so we can know what we have to
look forward to?" The girl's voice was unsteady.

"I will when the right time comes, Eloise. Can't you trust your mother?
Isn't it enough that we have lost our home, our carriages, all our
comforts and luxuries, through this man's bad judgment--"

"You will cling to that!" despairingly.

"And have had to come out to this Sleepy Hollow of a place, where life
means mere existence, and be so poor that the carfare into New York is
actually a consideration! I'm quite satisfied with our martyrdom as
it is, without pinching and grinding as we should have to do to live
elsewhere."

"Then you don't mean to attempt to escape?" returned Eloise in alarm.

"Hush, hush, Goosie. We will escape all in good time if we don't succeed
in taming the bear. As it is, I have to work single handed," dropping
into a tone of reproach. "You are no help at all. You might as well be
a simpering wax dummy out of a shop window. I would have been ashamed at
your age if I could not have subjugated any man alive. We might have had
him at our feet weeks ago if you had made an effort."

"No, no, mother," sadly. "I saw when we first came how effusiveness
impressed him, and I tried to behave so as to strike a balance--that
is, after I found that we were here on sufferance and not as welcome
guests."

"Pshaw! You can't tell what such a hermit is thinking," returned Mrs.
Evringham. "It is the best thing that could happen to him to have us
here. Dr. Ballard said so only to-day. What is troubling me now is this
child of Harry's. I was sure by father's tone when he first spoke of her
that he would not even consider such an imposition."

"I think he did feel so," returned Eloise, her manner quiet again. "That
was an example of the way you overreach yourself. The word presumption
on your lips applied to uncle Harry determined grandfather to let the
child come."

"You think he really has sent for her then!" exclaimed Mrs. Evringham.
"You think that is what the telegram meant! I'm sure of it, too." Then
after a minute's exasperated thought, "I believe you are right. He is
just contrary enough for that. If I had urged him to let the little
barbarian come, he couldn't have been induced to do so. That wasn't
clever of me!" The speaker made the admission in a tone which implied
that in general her cleverness was unquestioned. "Well, I hope she will
worry him out of his senses, and I don't think there is much doubt of
it. It may turn out all for the best, Eloise, after all, and lead him
to appreciate us." Mrs. Evringham cast a glance at the mirror and patted
her waved hair. "And yet I'm anxious, very anxious. He might take a
fancy to the girl," she added thoughtfully.

"I'm such a poor-spirited creature," remarked Eloise.

"What now?"

"I ought to be strong enough to leave you since you will not come; to
leave this roof and earn my own living, some way, any way; but I'm too
much of a coward."

"I should hope so," returned her mother briefly. "You'd soon become one
if you weren't at starting. Girls bred to luxury, as you have been, must
just contrive to live well somehow. They can't stand anything else."

"Nonsense, mother," quietly. "They can. They do."

"Yes, in books I know they do."

"No, truth is stranger than fiction. They do. I have been looking for
that sort of stamina in myself for weeks, but I haven't found it. It is
a cruel wrong to a girl not to teach her to support herself."

"My dear! You were going to college. You know you would have gone had it
not been for your poor father's misfortunes."

Eloise's eyes filled again at the remembrance of the young, gay man who
had been her boon companion since her babyhood, and at the memory of
those last sad days, when she knew he had agonized over her future even
more than over that of his volatile wife.

"My dear, as I've told you before, a girl as pretty as you are should
know that fortune cannot be unkind, nor the sea of life too rough. In
each of the near waves of it you can see a man's head swimming toward
you. You don't know the trouble I have had already in silencing those
who wished to speak before you were old enough. They could any of them
be summoned now with a word. Let me see. There is Mr. Derwent--Mr.
Follansbee--Mr. Weeks--"

"Hush, mother!" ejaculated the girl in disgust.

"Exactly. I knew you would say they were too old, or too bald, or too
short, or too fat. I've been a girl myself. Of course there is Nat
Bonnell, and a lot more little waves and ripples like him, but they
always _were_ out of the question, and now they are ten times more so.
That is the reason, Eloise," the mother's voice became impressive to
the verge of solemnity, "why I feel that Dr. Ballard is almost a
providence."

The girl's clear eyes were reflective. "Nat Bonnell is a wave who
wouldn't remember a girl who had slipped out of the swim."

"Very wise of him," returned Mrs. Evringham emphatically. "He
can't afford to. Nat is--is--a--decorative creature, just as you
are,--decorative. He must make it pay, poor boy."

Meanwhile Mrs. Forbes had sought her son in the barn. He and she had had
their supper in time for her to be ready to wait at dinner.

"Something doing, something doing," murmured Zeke as he heard the
impetuosity of her approaching step.

"That soup _was_ hot!" she exclaimed defiantly.

"Somebody scald you, ma? I can do him up, whoever he is," said Zeke,
catching up a whip and executing a threatening dance around the dimly
lighted barn.

His mother's snapping eyes looked beyond him. "He said it was cold; but
it was only because he was distracted. What do you suppose those people
are up to now? Trying to get Essex Maid for Mamzell to ride!"

Zeke stopped in his mad career and returned his mother's stare for a
silent moment. "And not a dungeon on the place probably!" he exclaimed
at last. "Just like some folks' shiftlessness."

"They _asked_ it. They asked Mr. Evringham if that girl couldn't ride
Essex Maid while he was in the city!"

'Zekiel lifted his eyebrows politely. "Where are their remains to be
interred?" he inquired with concern.

"Well, not in _this_ family vault, you may be sure. He gave it to them
to-night for a fact." Mrs. Forbes smiled triumphantly. "'I didn't know
Eloise remembered her father,'" she mimicked. "I'll bet that got under
their skin!"

"Dear parent, you're excited," remarked Zeke.

She brought her reminiscent gaze back to rest upon her son. "Get your
coat quick, 'Zekiel. Here's the telegram. Take the car that passes the
park gate, and stop at the station. That's the nearest place."

Ezekiel obediently struggled into the coat hanging conveniently near.
"What does the telegram say?--'Run away, little girl, the ogre isn't
hungry'?"

"Not much! She's coming. He's sending for the brat."

"Poor brat! How did it happen?"

"Just some more of my lady's doings," answered Mrs. Forbes angrily. "Of
course she had to put in her oar and exasperate Mr. Evringham until he
did it to spite her."

"Cutting off his own nose to spite his face, eh?" asked Zeke, taking the
slip of paper.

"Yes, and mine. It's going to come heavy on me. I could have shaken that
woman with her airs and graces. Catch her or Mamzell lifting _their_
hands!"

"Yet they want her, do they?"

"No, Stupid! That's why she's coming. Can't you understand?"

"Blessed if I can," returned the boy as he left the barn; "but I know
one thing, I pity the kid."



Mr. Evringham received a prompt answer to his message. His son
appointed, as a place of meeting, the downtown hotel where he and his
wife purposed spending the night before sailing.

Father and son had not met for years, and Mr. Evringham debated a few
minutes whether to take the gastronomic and social risk of dining with
Harry _en famille_ at the noisy hotel above mentioned, or to have dinner
in assured comfort at his club--finally deciding on the latter course.

It was, therefore, nearly nine o'clock before his card was presented to
Mr. and Mrs. Harry, to whom it brought considerable relief of mind, and
they hastened down to the dingy parlor with alacrity.

"You see we thought you might accept our invitation to dinner," said
Harry heartily, as he grasped his parent's passive hand; "but your
business hours are so short, I dare say you have been at home since the
middle of the afternoon." As he spoke the hard lines of his father's
impassive face smote him with a thousand associations, many of them
bringing remorse. He wondered how much his own conduct had had to do
with graving them so deeply.

His wife's observant eyes were scanning this guardian of her child
from the crown of his immaculate head to the toes of his correct patent
leathers. His expressionless eyes turned to her. "This is your wife?" he
asked, again offering the passive hand.

"Yes, father, this is Julia," responded Harry proudly. "I'm sorry the
time is so short. I do want you to know her."

The young man's face grew eloquent.

"That is a pleasure to come," responded Mr. Evringham mechanically. He
turned stiffly and cast a glance about. "You brought your daughter, I
presume?"

"Yes, indeed," answered Mrs. Evringham. "Harry was so glad to receive
your permission. We had made arrangements for her provisionally with
friends in Chicago, but we were desirous that she should have this
opportunity to see her father's home and know you."

Mr. Evringham thought with regret of those friends in Chicago. Many
times in the last two days he had deeply repented allowing himself to be
exasperated into thus committing himself.

"Do sit down, father," said Harry, as his wife seated herself in the
nearest chair.

Mr. Evringham hesitated before complying. "Well," he said perfunctorily,
"you have gone into something that promises well, eh Harry?"

"It looks that way. I'm chiefly occupied these days in being thankful."
The young man smiled with an extraordinary sweetness of expression,
which transfigured his face, and which his father remembered well as
always promising much and performing nothing. "I might spend a lot of
time crying over spilt milk, but Julia says I mustn't,"--he glanced
across at his wife, whose dark eyes smiled back,--"and what Julia says
goes. I intend to spend a year or two doing instead of talking."

"It will answer better," remarked his father.

"Yes, sir," Harry's voice grew still more earnest. "And by that time,
perhaps, I can express my regret to you, for things done and things left
undone, with more convincingness."

The older man made a slight gesture of rejection with one well-kept
hand. "Let bygones be bygones," he returned briefly.

"When I think," pursued Harry, his impulsive manner in strange contrast
to that of his listener, "that if I had been behaving myself all this
time, I might have seen dear old Lawrence again!"

Mr. Evringham kept silence.

"How are Madge and Eloise? I thought perhaps Madge might come in and
meet us at the train."

"They are in the best of health, thank you. Eh--a--I think if you'll
call your daughter now we will go. It's rather a long ride, you know.
No express trains at this hour. When you return we will have more of a
visit."

Harry and his wife exchanged a glance. "Why Jewel is asleep," answered
the young man after a pause. "She was so sleepy she couldn't hold her
eyes open."

"You mean you've let her go to bed?" asked Mr. Evringham, with a not
very successful attempt to veil his surprise and annoyance.

"Why--yes. We supposed she would see us off, you know."

"Your memory is rather short, it strikes me," returned his father. "You
sail at eight A.M., I believe. Did you think I could get in from Bel-Air
at that hour?"

"No. I thought you would naturally remain in the city over night. You
used to stay in rather frequently, didn't you?"

"I've not done so for five years; but you couldn't know that. Is it out
of the question to dress the child again? I hope she is too healthy to
be disturbed by a trifle like that."

Mrs. Evringham cast a startled look at her father-in-law. "It would
disappoint Jewel very much not to see us off," she returned.

Mr. Evringham shrugged his shoulders. "Let it go then. Let it go," he
said quickly.

Harry's plain face had grown concerned. "Is Mrs. Forbes with you still?"
he asked.

"Oh, yes. I couldn't keep house without Mrs. Forbes. Well," rising, "if
you young people will excuse me, I believe I will go to the club and
turn in."

"Couldn't you stand it here one night, do you think?" asked Harry,
rising. "The club is rather far uptown for such an early start."

"No. I'll be on hand. I'm used to rising early for a canter. I'll take
it with a cab horse this time. That will be all the difference." And
with this attempt at jocularity, Mr. Evringham shook hands once more and
departed, swallowing his ill-humor as best he could. Any instincts of
the family man which might once have reigned in him had long since been
inhibited. This episode was a cruel invasion upon his bachelor habits.

Left alone, Harry and his wife without a word ascended to their room
and with one accord approached the little bed in the corner where their
child lay asleep.

The man took his wife's hand. "I've done it now, Julia," he said
dejectedly. "It's my confounded optimism again."

"Your optimism is all right," she returned, smoothing his hand gently,
though her heart was beating fast, and the vision of her father-in-law,
with his elegant figure and cold eyes, was weighing upon her spirit.

Harry looked long on the plain little sleeping face, so like his own in
spite of its exquisite child-coloring, and bending, touched the tossed,
straight, flaxen hair.

"We couldn't take her, I suppose?" he asked.

"No," replied the yearning mother quietly. "We have prayed over it. We
must know that all will be right."

"His bark is worse than his bite," said Harry doubtfully. "It always
was; and Mrs. Forbes is there."

"You say she is a kind sort of woman?"

"Why, I suppose so," uncertainly. "I never had much to do with her."

"And your sister? Isn't it very strange that she didn't come in to meet
us? I was so certain I should put Jewel into her hands I feel a little
bewildered."

"You're a trump!" ejaculated Harry hotly, "and you've married into a
family where they're scarce. Madge might have met us at the train, at
least."

"Perhaps she is very sad over her loss," suggested Julia.

"In the best of health. Father said so. Oh well, she never was anything
but a big butterfly and Eloise a little one. I remember the last time
I saw the child, a pretty fairy with her long pink silk stockings. She
must have been just about the age of Jewel."

The mother stooped over the little bed and the dingy room looked
pleasanter for her smile. "Jewel hasn't any pink silk stockings," she
murmured, and kissed the warm rose of the round cheek.

The little girl stirred and opened her eyes, at first vaguely, then with
a start.

"Is it time for the boat?" she asked, trying to rise.

Her father smoothed her hair. "No, time to go to sleep again. We're just
going to bed. Good-night, Jewel." He stooped to kiss her, and her arms
met around his neck.

"It was an April fool, wasn't it?" she murmured sleepily, and was
unconscious again.

The mother hid her face for a moment on her husband's shoulder. "Help
me to feel that we're doing right," she whispered, with a catch in her
breath.

"As if I could help _you_, Julia!" he returned humbly.

"Oh, yes, you can, dear." She withdrew from his embrace, and going to
the dresser, took down her hair. The smiling face of a doll looked up at
her from the neighboring chair, where it was sitting bolt upright. Her
costume was fresh from the modiste, and her feet, though hopelessly
pigeon-toed, were encased in bronze boots of a freshness which caught
the dim gaslight with a golden sheen.

Mrs. Evringham smiled through her moist eyes.

"Well, Jewel _was_ sleepy. She forgot to undress Anna Belle," she said.

Letting her hair fall about her like a veil, she caught up the doll and
pressed it to her heart impulsively. "You are going to stay with her,
Anna Belle! I envy you, I envy you!" she whispered. An irrepressible
tear fell on the sumptuous trimming of the little hat. "Be good to her;
comfort her, comfort her, little dolly." Hastily wiping her eyes, she
turned to her husband, still holding the doll. "We shall have to be very
careful, Harry, in the morning. If we are harboring one wrong or fearful
thought, we must not let Jewel know it."

"Oh, I wish it were over! I wish the next month were over!" he replied
restively.



CHAPTER V

BON VOYAGE

At the dock next morning the scene was one of the usual confusion. The
sailing time was drawing near and Mr. Evringham had not appeared.

Harry, with his little girl's hand in his, stood at the foot of the gang
plank, peering at every newcomer and growing more anxious every moment.
Jewel occupied herself in throwing kisses to her mother, who stood at
the rail far above, never taking her eyes from the little figure in the
blue sailor suit.

The child noted her father's set lips and the concentrated expression of
his eyes.

"If grandpa doesn't come what shall I do?" she asked without anxiety.

"You'll go to England," was the prompt response.

"Without my trunk!" returned the child in protest.

Her father looked again at the watch he held in his hand. The order to
go ashore was sending all visitors down the gang plank. "By George, I
guess you're going, too," he muttered between his teeth, when suddenly
his father's tall form came striding through the crowd. Mr. Evringham
was carrying a long pasteboard box, and seemed breathless.

"Horse fell down. Devil of a time! Roses for your wife."

Harry grasped the box, touched his father's hand, kissed the child, and
strode up the plank amid the frowns of officials.

Jewel's eager eyes followed him, then, as he disappeared, lifted again
to her mother, who smiled and waved her hand to Mr. Evringham. The
latter raised his hat and took the occasion to wipe his heated brow.
He was irritated through and through. The morning had been a chapter of
accidents. Even the roses, which he had ordered the night before, had
proved to be the wrong sort.

The suspense of the last fifteen minutes had been a distressing wrong
to put upon any man. He had now before him the prospect of caring for a
strange child, of taking her out of town at an hour when he should have
been coming into it. She would probably cry. Very well; if she did he
determined on the instant to ride out to Bel-Air in the smoking car,
although he detested its odors and uncleanness. The whole situation was
enormous. What a fool he had been, and what an intelligent woman was
Mrs. Forbes! She had seen from the first the inappropriateness, the
impossibility, of the whole proposition. His attention was attracted to
the fact that the small figure at his side was hopping up and down with
excitement.

"There's father, there's father!" she cried, as Harry joined his wife
at the rail and they lifted the wealth of roses from the box and waved
them.

"We've wronged him, Harry!" exclaimed Julia, trying to see the little
face below through her misty eyes. "How I love him for bringing me these
sweet things! It gives me such a different feeling about him."

"Oh, father would as soon forget his breakfast as roses for a woman he
was seeing off," returned Harry without enthusiasm, while he waved his
hat energetically.

The steamer pulled out. The faces in the crowd mingled and changed
places.

"I've lost them, I've lost them!" cried Julia. "Oh, where are they,
Harry."

"Over there near the corner. I can see father. It's all right, dear,"
choking a little. "Jewel was skipping and laughing a minute ago. It will
only be a few weeks, but confound it," violently, "next time we'll take
her!"

Julia buried her face in the roses, on which twinkled a sudden dew, and
tried to gather promise from their sweet breath.

Jewel strained her eyes to follow the now indistinguishable forms on the
lofty deck, and her grandfather looked down at the small figure in the
sailor suit, the short thick pigtails of flaxen hair tied with large
bows of ribbon, and the doll clasped in one arm. At last the child
turned her head and looked up, and their eyes met for the first time.

"Jove, she does look like Harry!" muttered Mr. Evringham, and even as he
spoke the plain little face was illumined with the smile he knew, that
surpassingly sweet smile which promised so much and performed nothing.

The child studied him with open, innocent curiosity.

"I can't believe it's you," she said at last, in a voice light and
winning, a voice as sweet as the smile.

"I don't wonder. I don't quite know myself this morning," he replied
brusquely.

"We have a picture of you, but it's a long-ago one, and I thought
by this time you would be old, and--and bent over, you know, the way
grandpas are."

Even in that place of drays and at eight o'clock A.M. these words fell
not disagreeably upon irritated ears.

"I think myself Nature did not intend me to be a grandpa," he replied.

"Oh, yes, you're just the right kind," returned the child hastily and
confidently. "Strong and--and handsome."

Mr. Evringham looked at her in amazement. "The little rascal!" he
thought. "Has she been coached?"

"I suppose we may get away from here now," he said aloud. "There's
nothing more to wait for."

"Didn't the roses make mother happy?" asked the little girl, trotting
along beside his long strides. "I think it was wonderful for you to
bring them so early in the morning."

Mr. Evringham summoned a cab.

"Oh, are we gong in a carriage?" cried Jewel, highly pleased. "But I
mustn't forget, grandpa, there's something father told me I must give
you the first thing. Will you take Anna Belle a minute, please?" and Mr.
Evringham found himself holding the doll fiercely by one leg while small
hands worked at the catch of a very new little leather side-bag.

At last Jewel produced a brass square.

"Oh, your trunk check." Mr. Evringham exchanged the doll for it with
alacrity. "Get in." He held open the cab door.

Jewel obeyed, but not without some misgivings when her guardian so
coolly pocketed the check.

"Yes, it's for my trunk," she replied when her grandfather was beside
her and they began rattling over the stones. "I have a checked silk
dress," she added softly, after a pause. It were well to let him know
the value of her baggage.

"Have you indeed? How old are you, Julia? Your name is Julia, I
believe?"

"Yes, sir, my _name's_ Julia, but so is mother's, and they call me
Jewel. I'm nearly nine, grandpa."

"H'm. Time flies," was the brief response.

Jewel looked out of the cab window in the noisy silence that followed.
At last her voice was raised to sound through the clatter. "I suppose my
trunk is somewhere else," she said suggestively.

"Yes, your trunk will reach home all right, plaid silk and all."

Jewel smiled, and lifting the doll she let her look out the window upon
the uninviting prospect. "Anna Belle's clothes are in the trunk, too,"
she added, turning and speaking confidentially.

"Whose?" asked Mr. Evringham, startled. "There's no one else coming, I
suppose?"

"Why, this is Anna Belle," returned the child, laughing and lifting the
bisque beauty so that the full radiance of her smile beamed upon her
companion. "That's your great-grandfather, dearie, that I've told you
about," she said patronizingly. "We've been so _excited_ the last few
days since we knew we were coming," looking again at Mr. Evringham.
"I've told Anna Belle all about beautiful Bel-Air Park, and the big
house, and the big trees, and the ravine, and the brook. Isn't it nice,"
joyfully, "that it doesn't rain to-day, and we shall see it in the
sunshine?"

"Rain would have made it more disagreeable certainly," returned Mr.
Evringham, congratulating himself that he was escaping that further rain
of tears which he had dreaded. "It is a good day for your father and
mother to set out on their trip," he added.

"Yes, and they're only to be gone six little weeks," returned Jewel,
smoothing her doll's boa; "and I'm to have this lovely visit, and I'm to
write them very often, and they'll write to me, and we shall all be so
happy!" Jewel trotted Anna Belle on her short-skirted knee and hummed a
tune, which was lost in the rattle of wheels.

"You can read and write, eh?"

"Oh ye--es!" replied the child with amused scorn. "How would I get
my lessons if I couldn't read? Of course--big words," she added
conscientiously.

"Precisely," agreed Mr. Evringham dryly. "Big words, I dare say."

A sudden thought occurring to his companion, she looked up again.

"You pretty nearly didn't come," she said, "and just think, if you
hadn't I was going to England. Father said so."

At the sweet inflections of the child's voice Mr. Evringham's brows
contracted with remembrance of his wrongs. "I should have come. Your
father might have known that!"

"I suppose he wouldn't have liked to leave me sitting on the dock alone,
but I should have known you'd come. The funny part is I shouldn't have
known _you_." Jewel laughed. "I should have kept looking for an old
man with white hair and a cane like Grandpa Morris. He's a grandpa in
Chicago that I know. He's just as kind as he can be, but he has the
_queerest_ back. He goes to our church, but says he came in at the
eleventh hour. I think he used to have rheumatism. And while I was
sitting there you could have walked right by me."

"Humph!"

"But then you'd have known _me_," went on Jewel, straightening Anna
Belle's hat, "so it would have been all right. You'd have known there
would be only one little girl waiting there, and you would have said,
'Oh, here you are, Jewel. I've come. I'm your grandpa.'" The child
unconsciously mimicked the short, brusque speech.

Mr. Evringham regarded her rather darkly. "Eh? I hope you're not
impudent?"

"What's that?" asked Jewel doubtfully.

Her companion's brow grew darker.

"Impudent I say."

"And what is impudent?"

"Don't you know?" suspiciously.

"No, sir," replied the child, some anxiety clouding her bright look. "Is
it error?"

Mr. Evringham regarded her rather blankly. "It's something you mustn't
be," he replied at last.

Jewel's face cleared. "Oh no, I won't then," she replied earnestly. "You
tell me when I'm--it, because I want to make you happy."

Mr. Evringham cleared his throat. He felt somewhat embarrassed and was
glad they had reached the ferry.

"We're going on a boat, aren't we?" she asked when they had passed
through the gate.

"Yes, and we can make this boat if we hurry." Mr. Evringham suddenly
felt a little hand slide into his. Jewel was skipping along beside him
to keep up with his long strides, and he glanced down at the bobbing
flaxen head with its large ribbon bows, while the impulse to withdraw
his hand was thwarted by the closer clinging of the small fingers.

"Father told me about the ferry," said Jewel with satisfaction, "and
you'll show me the statue of Liberty won't you, grandpa? Isn't it a
splendid boat? Oh, can we go out close to the water?"

Mr. Evringham sighed heavily. He did not wish to go out close to the
water. He wished to sit down in comfort in the cabin and read the paper
which he had just taken from a newsboy. It seemed to him a very long
time since he had done anything he wished to; but a little hand was
pulling eagerly at his, and mechanically he followed out to where the
brisk spring wind ruffled the river and assaulted his hat. He jerked his
hand from Jewel's to hold it in place.

"Isn't this beautiful!" cried the child joyfully, as the boat steamed
on. "Can you do this every day, grandpa?"

"What? Oh yes, yes."

Something in the tone caused the little girl to look up from her view of
the wide water spaces to the grim face above.

"Is there something that makes you sorry, grandpa?" she asked softly.

His eyes were fixed on a ferry boat, black with its human freight, about
to pass them on its way to the city.

"I was wishing I were on that boat. That's all."

The little girl lifted her shoulders. "I don't believe there's room,"
she said, looking smilingly for a response from her companion. "I don't
believe even Anna Belle could squeeze on. Do you think so?"

Mr. Evringham, holding his hat with one hand, was endeavoring to fetter
the lively corners of his newspaper in such shape that he could at least
get a glimpse of headlines.

"Oh, I see a statue. Is that it, grandpa? Is that it?"

"What?" vaguely. "Oh yes. The statue of Liberty. Yes, that's it. As
if there was any liberty for anybody!" muttered Mr. Evringham into his
mustache.

"It isn't so very big," objected Jewel.

"We're not so very near it."

"Just think," gayly, "father and mother are sailing away just the way we
are."

"H'm," returned Mr. Evringham, trying to read the report of the stock
market, and becoming more impatient each instant with the sportive
breeze.

"Julia," he said at last, "I am going into the cabin to read the paper.
Will you go in, or do you wish to stay here?"

"May I stay here?"

"Yes," doubtfully, "I suppose so, if you won't climb on the rail, or--or
anything."

Jewel laughed in gleeful appreciation of the joke. Her grandfather met
her blue eyes unsmilingly and vanished.

"I wish grandpa didn't look so sorry," she thought regretfully. "He is
a very important man, grandpa is, and perhaps he has a lot of error to
meet and doesn't know how to meet it."

Watching the dancing waves and constantly calling Anna Belle's attention
to some point of interest on the water front or a passing craft,
she nevertheless pursued a train of thought concerning her important
relative, with the result that when the gong sounded for landing, and
Mr. Evringham's impassive countenance reappeared, she met him with
concern.

"Doesn't it make you sorry to read the morning paper, grandpa?"

"Sometimes. Depends on the record of the Exchange." There was somewhat
less of the irritation of a newsless man in the morning in the speaker's
tone.

"Mother calls the paper the Daily Saddener," pursued Jewel, again
slipping her hand into her grandfather's as a matter of course as they
moved slowly off the boat. "I've been thinking that perhaps you're in a
hurry to get to business, grandpa."

The child did not quote his words about the ingoing ferry boat lest he
should feel regret at having spoken them.

"Well, there's no use in my being in a hurry this morning," he returned.

"I was going to ask, couldn't you show me how to go to Bel-Air, so you
wouldn't have to take so much time?"

A gleam of hope came into Mr. Evringham's cold eyes and he looked down
on his companion doubtfully.

"We have to go out on the train," he said.

"Yes," returned the child, "but you could put me on it, and every time
it stops I would ask somebody if that was Bel-Air."

The prospect this offered was very pleasing to the broker.

"You wouldn't be afraid, eh?"

"Be what?" asked Jewel, looking up at him with a certain reproachful
surprise.

"You wouldn't, eh?"

"Why, grandpa!"

"Well, I believe it would do well enough, since you don't mind. Zeke is
going to meet this train. I'll tell the conductor to see that you get
off at Bel-Air, and when you do, ask for Mr. Evringham's coachman.
You'll see Zeke, a light-haired man driving a brown horse in a brougham.
He'll take you home to his mother, Mrs. Forbes. She is my housekeeper.
Now, do you think you'll understand?"

"It sounds very easy," returned Jewel.

Mr. Evringham's long legs and her short skipping ones lost no time in
boarding the train, which they found made up. The relieved man saw the
conductor, paid the child's fare, and settled her on the plush seat.

She sat there, contentedly swinging her feet.

"Now I can just catch a boat if I leave you immediately," said Mr.
Evringham consulting his watch. "You've only a little more than five
minutes to wait before the train starts."

"Then hurry, grandpa, I'm all right."

"Very well. Your fare is paid, and the conductor understands. You might
ask somebody, though. Bel-Air, you know. Good-by."

Hastily he strode down the aisle and left the train. Having to pass the
window beside which Jewel sat, he glanced up with a half uneasy memory
of how far short of the floor her feet had swung.

She was watching for him. On her lips was the sweet gay smile and--yes,
there was no mistake--Anna Belle's countenance was beaming through the
glass, and she was wafting kisses to Mr. Evringham from a stiff and
chubby hand. The stockbroker grew warm, cleared his throat, lifted his
hat, and hurried his pace.



CHAPTER VI

JEWEL'S ARRIVAL

When her grandfather had disappeared, Jewel placed Anna Belle on
the seat beside her, where she toed in, in a state of the utmost
complacence.

"I have my work to do, Anna Belle," she said, "and this will be a good
time, so don't disturb me till the train starts." She put her hand over
her eyes, and sat motionless as the people met and jostled in the aisle.

Minutes passed, and then some one brushed the child's arm in taking
the seat beside her. "Oh, please don't sit on Anna Belle!" she cried
suddenly, and looked up into a pair of clear eyes that were regarding
her with curiosity.

They belonged to a man with a brown mustache and dark, short, pointed
beard, who carried a small square black case and had altogether a very
clean, fresh, agreeable appearance.

"Do I look like a person who would sit on Anna Belle?" he asked gravely.

The doll was enthroned upon his knee as he set down his case, and the
train started.

"If she annoys you I'll take her," said Jewel, with a little air of
motherliness not lost upon her companion.

"Thank you," he replied, "but I'm used to children. She looks like a
fine, healthy little girl," keeping his eyes fixed on the doll's rosy
cheeks.

"Yes indeed. She's very healthy."

"Not had measles, or chicken pox, or mumps, or any of those things yet?"
pursued the pleasant voice.

"Oh dear!" gasped Jewel. "Please let me take Anna Belle." She caught her
doll into her arms and met her companion's surprised gaze.

"I haven't any of them," he returned, amused. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," answered the child promptly. "There is nothing to be
afraid of."

"I was only going to say," said the young man, "that if she was ailing I
could prescribe for her. I have my case right here."

Jewel's startled look fell to the black case. "What's that! Medicine?"
she asked softly.

"It certainly is. So you see you have a doctor handy if anything ails
the baby."

The child gazed at him with grave scrutiny. "Do you believe in materia
medica?" she asked.

The young doctor threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Well, yes,"
he answered at last. "I am supposed to."

To his surprise his neighbor returned to the attitude in which he had
found her, with one hand over her eyes.

He ceased laughing and looked at her in some discomfiture. Her mouth was
set seriously. There was no quiver of the rosy lips.

To his relief, in a minute she dropped her hand and began to hum and
arrange her doll's hat.

The conductor approached, and as the doctor presented his ticket, he
said, "This little girl's fare is paid, I believe." The conductor nodded
and passed on.

"I'm to get off at Bel-Air," said Jewel. "I hope he doesn't forget."

"If he does, I shan't," said the doctor, "for I'm going to get off there
myself."

The child's eyes brightened. "Isn't that nice!" she returned. Then she
lifted Anna Belle and whispered something into her ear.

"No secrets," said the doctor.

"I was just reminding Anna belle how we are always taken care of,"
returned Jewel.

The young man regarded her with increasing interest and curiosity.

"Don't you wonder how I knew that your fare was paid?" he asked.

"How did you?"

"I met Mr. Evringham hurrying through the station. He said his
granddaughter was on this train and asked me to look out for a little
girl with a doll."

"Oh," returned the child, pleased, "then you know grandpa."

"I've known him ever since I was no bigger than you are. But even then,"
added the doctor mentally, "I hadn't supposed him capable of sending
this baby out from the city alone."

Jewel watched the kind eyes attentively. "So you see," he went on, "all
I had to do was to look for Anna Belle."

"And you nearly sat on her," declared the child.

"I deny it," returned the doctor gravely. "I deny it. You weren't
looking. For one second I was afraid you were crying."

"Crying! What would I be crying for, coming to have a lovely visit at
grandpa's!"

"I suppose you are in a hurry to see your aunt and cousin?" remarked the
doctor.

"Yes, but I don't know them. You see," explanatorily, "they aren't my
real relations."

"Indeed?"

"No, aunt Madge is my uncle's wife and cousin Eloise is her little girl,
but not uncle Lawrence's."

The doctor thought a minute.

"Really? She is a very charming little girl, is your cousin Eloise.
Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

"My name is Jewel."

"And I am Dr. Ballard, so now we are properly introduced." He smiled
upon her with merry eyes, and she responded politely:--

"I'm very glad you found us."

Arrived at Bel-Air, the doctor picked up his case and Jewel followed him
from the train. He looked about expectantly for Mrs. Evringham or her
daughter. They were not there.

The little girl's quick eyes discerned a light-haired driver and a brown
horse coming around a curve of the pretty landscape gardening which
beautified the station. At the same moment Dr. Ballard recognized the
equipage with relief.

"They've sent for you. That is all right," he said, and 'Zekiel, with
one side glance at the little stranger, drew up by the platform.

"Good-morning, Zeke. Here is your passenger." He lifted Jewel to her
place beside the driver, whose smooth, stolid face did not change
expression.

"Do I wait for Mr. Evringham?" he asked, without turning his head in its
stiff collar.

"No, Mr. Evringham remained in town."

"Is there a trunk?" pursued Zeke immovably.

"How about your trunk, little one?" asked the doctor.

Jewel produced a paper check. "A man gave grandpa this for it at the
boat place."

"I'll see to having it sent up then." The doctor looked along the
platform. "It didn't come this trip." He took the child's hand in his.
"I shall see you again before long. Good-by."

Jewel looked after his retreating figure with some regret. Her present
companion seemed carved out of wood. His plum-colored livery fitted
without a wrinkle. His smooth, solemn face appeared incapable of speech.

The swift horse trotted through the village street at a great pace, and
the visitor enjoyed the novel experience so intensely that she could not
forbear stealing a look up at the driver's face.

He caught it. "Ain't afraid, are you?" he asked.

She looked doubtful. "Is it error for the horse to go so fast?" she
returned.

"Error?"'Zekiel regarded the child curiously. "Well, I guess it's
considered one o' the biggest virtues a horse can have."

"Then why did you ask me if I was afraid? You're the third person who's
asked me that this morning," returned Jewel, with wondering inflections
in her soft voice. "Are New York people afraid of things?"

"Well, not so's you'd notice it as a rule," returned Zeke. "I'm glad if
she ain't one o' the scared kind," he pursued, as if to himself.

"Oh, this is splendid," declared Jewel, relieved by her companion's
smile; "I don't know as Anna Belle ever had such a good ride. See the
trees, dearie! How the leaves are coming out! They aren't nearly so
far out in Chicago; but oh," as the horse turned, "there's a big storm
coming! What a black cloud! We're just in time."

"I don't see any cloud," said Zeke, staring about.

"Why, right there in front of us," excitedly, pointing at the long
opaque mass against the sky.

"That? Why, that's hills." Zeke laughed. "The mountain they call it
here. Pretty sickly mountain we'd think it was up Berkshire way."

"Oh, it's a mountain, Anna Belle," joyfully, "we're really seeing a
mountain!"

"No you ain't," remarked Zeke emphatically. "Not by a large majority.
Guess Chicago's some flat, ain't it?"

"We don't have hills, no. So now we're going to see grandpa's park, and
the ravine, and the brook, and--and everything!"

Zeke stole a furtive look at the owner of the joyous voice. The
voluminous ribbon bows behind her ears were mostly in evidence, as she
bent her face over her doll in congratulation.

"Left Mr. Evringham in town, did you?" he asked.

"Yes, he was busy, and in a hurry to get to his office. Grandpa's such
an important man."

"Is he?" asked Zeke.

"Why ye--es! Didn't you know it?"

"I surmised something of the kind. So Dr. Ballard looked after you."

"Yes,--and I do hope my trunk will come."

Jewel looked wistfully at the driver. In spite of his stiff and elegant
appearance he had been surprisingly affable. "I have a checked silk
dress," she added modestly.

"You don't say so!" ejaculated Zeke, wholly won by the smile bent upon
him. "Well, now, if that trunk don't show up by noon, I'll have to do
something about it."



"Oh, thank you!" exclaimed the child.

They now sped through the gates of the park and by the porter's lodge,
and began the ascent of a winding road. Handsome residences were set
among the fine trees, and at sight of each one Jewel looked expectant
and eager.

"I expect mother'll be kind of looking out for us," continued Zeke.
"Poor kid!" he added mentally.

"Grandpa said something about your mother."

"His housekeeper, Mrs. Forbes."

"Oh yes, of course I know about Mrs. Forbes," returned Jewel hastily and
politely. "He told me your name too," she added suggestively.

"Yes, I'm Zeke. And you just remember," emphatically, "that I come when
I'm called. Will you?"

"Yes," replied the child, laughing a little. "Do you know my name?"

"It's Julia, isn't it?"

"Yes, but if you called me by it perhaps I shouldn't come, for I'm used
to the name of Jewel."

"Pretty name, all right," returned Zeke sententiously. "Now you can see
your grandpa's house. The one with the long porch."

Jewel jumped up and down a little in the seat and held Anna Belle to get
a good view. The brown horse trotted with a will, and in a minute more
they had passed up the driveway and paused beneath the _porte-cochere_.

Mrs. Forbes threw open the door and stood unsmiling.

"Where is Mr. Evringham?" she asked, addressing her son.

"Stayed in town."

The housekeeper stepped forward and helped down the little girl, who had
risen and was looking brightly expectant.

"How do you do, Julia," she said. "Did you come out alone on the cars?"

"No. Dr. Ballard came with me."

"Oh, that was the way of it. Zeke, hitch up the brougham. The ladies are
going out to lunch."

"Why didn't they let me know?" grumbled Zeke. "Could have hitched up the
brougham just as well in the first place."

"Don't ask _me_," returned his mother acidly. "Where is your bag, Julia?
I hope you haven't left it in the train?"

"No, I didn't have any. I used mother's. She knew I'd have my trunk
to-night."

"Then come in and I'll show you where your room is."

The child looked eagerly and admiringly from side to side as she
followed Mrs. Forbes up two flights of broad shallow stairs and into an
apartment which to her eyes seemed luxurious.

"Was this ever my father's room?" she asked.

"Why yes, I believe it was," returned Mrs. Forbes, to whom that
circumstance had not before occurred.

"How kind of grandpa to let me have it!" said Jewel, highly pleased.

"He wasn't in it much, your father wasn't. Away at school or some other
place mostly. Where's your trunk?"

"It's coming. Zeke said he'd attend to it." Jewel looked up happily. "I
have a"--she was intending to communicate to Mrs. Forbes the exciting
detail of her wardrobe when the housekeeper interrupted her.

"My son's name is Ezekiel," she said impressively.

"Oh," returned Jewel abashed. "He told me Zeke." She still stood in the
middle of the large white room, Anna Belle in her arms, and with the
surprised look in her serious face drew upon herself an unflattering
mental comment.

"The image of Harry," thought Mrs. Forbes.

"Can I see aunt Madge and cousin Eloise?" asked the child, beginning to
feel some awe of the large woman regarding her.

"They're getting ready to go out to lunch. They can't be disturbed now.
You can sit here, or walk around until lunch time. You'll know when
that is ready, because the gong will sound in the hall. Now when you go
downstairs be careful not to touch the tall clock on the landing. That
is a very valuable chiming clock, and you mustn't open its doors, for
fear you would break something. Then if you go into the parlor you must
never play on the piano unless you ask somebody, for fear Mr. Evringham
might be trying to take a nap just at that time; then you mustn't go
into the barn without permission, for it's dangerous where the horses
are, and you might get kicked. If you're tired from your journey you can
lie down now till lunch time; but whenever you do lie down, be sure to
turn off this white spread, for fear you might soil it. Now I'm very
busy, and I shan't see you again till lunch."

Mrs. Forbes departed and Jewel stood for half a minute motionless,
feeling rather dazed by a novel sensation of resentment.

"As if we were babies!" she whispered to her doll. "She's the most
afraid woman I ever saw, and she looks so _sorry_! She isn't our
relation, so no matter, dearie, what she says. This is father's room,
and we can think how he used to run around here when he was a little
boy."

Tiptoeing to the door, Jewel closed it and began to inspect her new
apartment.

The sweet smelling soap on the marble stand, the silver mountings of the
faucets, the large fine towels, the empty closet and drawers, all looked
inviting. Throughout her examination the little girl kept pausing to
listen.

Surely aunt Madge and cousin Eloise would look in before they went out
to their engagement. Mother had so often said how nice it was that they
were there. Surely they didn't know that she had arrived. That was it,
of course; and Mrs. Forbes was so sorry and anxious she would probably
forget to tell them.

Some altercation was just then going on in the apartments of those
ladies.

"We ought to speak to her before we go," said Mrs. Evringham
persuasively. "Father would probably resent it if we didn't."

"I have told you already," returned Eloise, "that I do not intend doing
one thing henceforward that grandfather could interpret as being done to
please him."

"But that is carrying it ridiculously far, not to greet your cousin, who
has come from a journey and is your guest."

"My guest!" returned the girl derisively. "We are hers more likely. I
will not go to her. The sooner grandfather sends us away the better."

Mrs. Evringham looked worried.

"This is mania, Eloise!" she returned coaxingly. "Very well, I shall go
and speak to the child. She shan't be able to tell her grandfather of
any rudeness."

In a few minutes Jewel, sitting by her window, Anna Belle in her lap,
heard the _frou-frou_ of skirts in the hall, and with a knock at the
door, a lady entered. She was arrayed in a thin black gown and wore a
large black hat, that was very becoming.

Jewel's admiration went out to her on the instant and she started up.

The lady swept toward her, and bending, a delicate perfume wafted about
Jewel as she felt a light touch of lips on her cheek.

"So this is Julia Evringham," said the newcomer.

"And you are aunt Madge," returned the child gladly, clinging to the
gloved hand, which endured for a moment, and then firmly disengaged
itself.

"Your father and mother got off all right I hope?" went on the airy
voice. "I'm always afraid of winds at this season myself, but they may
not have them. Your cousin Eloise and I are hurrying away to a luncheon,
but we shall see you at dinner. You're very comfortable here? That's
right. Good-bye."

She swept away, and the light again faded from Jewel's face as she went
slowly back to her seat.

"Aunt Madge is afraid, too," she said to the doll. "We know there won't
be winds, don't we, dearie? God will take care of father and mother."

An uncomfortable lump rose towards the child's throat.

Mrs. Evringham followed Eloise into the brougham, smiling.

"It couldn't be better," she announced with much satisfaction as they
drove away.

"What?"

"She is plain--oh, plain as possible. Small eyes, large mouth,
insignificant nose. She will never get on with father. He never
could endure ugliness in a girl or woman. I have heard him say it was
unpardonable. If it hadn't been that we were what we are, Eloise, I
should never have dreamed of doing as I have done. Now if only some good
fairy would open your eyes to see which side your bread is buttered on!
You could do marvels with such a foil for contrast."



CHAPTER VII

THE FIRST EVENING

In the excitement of the early morning start, Jewel had eaten little
breakfast, but the soft resonance of the Japanese gong, when it sounded
in the hall below, found her unready for food.

However, she judged the mellow sound to be her summons and obediently
left her seat by the window. As she went down she looked askance at
the tall dark clock which, even as she passed, chimed the half hour
melodiously. Certainly her important grandfather lived in a wonderful
house. She paused to hear the last notes of the bells, but catching
sight of the figure of Mrs. Forbes waiting below, she started and moved
on.

"That's right. Come along," said the housekeeper. "Mr. Evringham likes
everybody to be punctual in his house."

"Oh, has grandpa come home?" inquired Jewel eagerly.

"No, he won't be home for hours yet. Come this way."

The little girl followed to the dining-room, which she thought quite as
wonderful as the clock; but her admiration of all she saw was no longer
unmixed. Mrs. Forbes seemed to cast a shadow.

One place was laid at the table, one handsome chair was drawn up to it.
Jewel longed to call Anna Belle's attention to the glittering array on
the sideboard and behind the crystal doors of cabinets, but something
withheld her.

She looked questioningly at the housekeeper. "I think I'll draw up
another chair for Anna Belle," she said.

Mrs. Forbes had already decided, from small signs of assurance, that
this Western child was bold. "Give her an inch, and she'll take an ell,"
she had said to herself. "I know her sort."

"Do you mean the doll?" she returned. "Put it down anywhere. You must
never bring it to the table. Mr. Evringham wouldn't like it."

In silence Jewel seated the doll in the nearest chair against the wall,
and as she slid up into her own, a neat maid appeared with a puffy and
appetizing omelet.

Mrs. Forbes filled the child's glass with water, and the maid set down
the omelet and departed.

Jewel's heart sank while Mrs. Forbes presented the souffle.

"I'm sorry," she began hesitatingly, "I never--I can't"--then she
swallowed hard in her desperate plight. "Isn't it pretty?" she said
rather breathlessly.

"It's very good," returned the housekeeper briefly, misconstruing the
child's hesitation. "Shall I help you?"

"I--could I have a drink of milk? I don't--I don't eat eggs."

"Don't eat eggs?" repeated the housekeeper severely. "I'm sorry you
have been allowed to be notional. Children should eat what is set before
them. Taste of it."

"I--I couldn't, please." Jewel's face was averted.

Mrs. Forbes touched an electric bell. The maid reappeared. "Remove the
omelet, Sarah, and bring Miss Julia a glass of milk."

That was the order, but oh, the tone of it! Jewel's heart beat a little
faster as she took some bread and butter and drank the milk, Mrs. Forbes
standing by, a portentous, solemn, black-robed figure, awful in its
silence.

When the child set down the glass empty, she started to push back her
chair.

"Wait," said Mrs. Forbes laconically. She again touched an electric
bell. The maid reappeared, removed the bread and milk and served a
dainty dessert of preserved peaches, cream, and cake.

"I've really had enough," said Jewel politely.

"Don't you eat peaches and cream, or cake either?" asked Mrs. Forbes
accusingly.

"Yes'm," returned the child, and ate them without further ado.

"Your trunk has come," said Mrs. Forbes when at last Jewel slipped down
from the table. "I will come up and help you unpack it."

"If only she wouldn't!" thought the child as she lifted Anna Belle, but
the housekeeper preceded her up the stairs, breathing rather heavily.

Sure enough, when they reached the white room, there stood the new trunk
that had been packed with so much anticipation. The bright black letters
on the side, J. E., had power even now to send a little glow of pride
through its possessor. She stole a glance at Mrs. Forbes, but, strange
as it may appear, the housekeeper gave no evidence of admiration.

"I don't need to trouble you, Mrs. Forbes. I can unpack it," said the
child.

"I'm up here now, and anyway, I'd better show you where to keep your
things. Where's your key?"

Jewel laid down the doll and opened her leather side-bag, producing the
key tied with a little ribbon.

Mrs. Forbes unlocked the trunk, lifted out the tray, and began in a
business-like manner to dispose of the small belongings that had last
been handled so tenderly.

"Mrs. Harry certainly knows how to pack," ran her thoughts, "and she'd
naturally know how to sew. These things are as neat as wax, and the
child's well fixed." In the tray, among other things, were a number of
doll's clothes, some writing materials, a box of different colored hair
ribbons, and a few books.

"Glad to see a Bible," thought Mrs. Forbes. "Shows Mrs. Harry is
respectable." She glanced at the three other books. One was a copy of
"Heidi," one was "Alice in Wonderland," and the third a small black book
with the design of a cross and crown in gilt on the cover. Mrs. Forbes
looked from this up at the child.

"What's this? Some kind of a daily book, Julia?"

"I--yes, I read it every day."

"Well, I hope you'll be faithful now your mother's gone. She's taken the
trouble to put it in."

Jewel's eyes had caught a glimpse of green color. Eagerly she reached
down into the trunk and drew out carefully a dress in tiny checks of
green and white.

"That's my silk dress," she said, regarding it fondly.

"It is very neatly made," returned Mrs. Forbes repressively. "It doesn't
matter at all what little girls have on if they are clean and neat. It
only matters that they shall be obedient and good."

Jewel regarded her with the patience which children exercise toward
the inevitable. "I'd like to fix Anna Belle's drawer myself," she said
modestly.

"Very well, you may. Now here are your shoes and slippers, but I don't
find any rubbers."

"No, I never wear rubbers."

"What? Doesn't it rain in Chicago?"

"Oh yes indeed, it rains."

"Then you must get your feet wet. I think you better have had rubbers
than a silk dress! What was your mother thinking of?"

Jewel sighed vaguely. She wondered how soon Mrs. Forbes would go away.

This happy event occurred before long, and the little girl amused
herself for a while with rearranging somewhat the closet and drawers.
Then putting on her hat and taking her doll with her, she stole quietly
down the thickly carpeted stairs, and opening the heavy hall door, went
out upon the piazza. It was sheltered from the wind, and wicker chairs
were scattered about. Jewel looked off curiously amid the trees to where
she knew, by her father's description, she should find, after a few
minutes' ramble, the ravine and brook. Pretty soon she would wander out
there. Just now the sun was warm here, and the roomy chairs held out
inviting arms. The child climbed into one of them. Father would come
back here some happy day and find her. The thought brought a smile,
and with the smile on her lips, her head fell back against a yielding
cushion, and in a minute she had fallen asleep. Anna Belle toppled
over backward. Her plumed hat was pushed rakishly askew, but little she
cared. Her eyelids had fallen, too.

Mrs. Evringham and Eloise, returning late from their luncheon, came upon
the little sleeping figure as they walked around the long piazza.

"There she is!" exclaimed Mrs. Evringham softly, putting up her
lorgnette. "Behold your rival!"

Eloise regarded the sleeper without curiosity.

"At least she has not come uninvited," was her only comment.

"But she has come unwelcome, my dear," returned Mrs. Evringham with
relish. "Just wait until our gracious host realizes what he has let
himself in for. Oh, there's a good time coming, you may be sure. Hush,
don't waken her! It would be a blessed dispensation if she were always
to sleep while her grandfather is absent," and Mrs. Evringham led the
way into the house, her laces fluttering.

On the first landing the ladies met Mrs. Forbes, troubled of
countenance.

"I am looking for the child Julia," she said. "I can't think where she
can have disappeared."

"You've not far to seek," returned Mrs. Evringham airily. "She is asleep
on the piazza."

"Thank you." Mrs. Forbes hastened downstairs and out of doors. Glancing
about she quickly perceived the short legs stretched in a reclining
chair, and advanced toward the relaxed little figure.

"Julia, wake up!" she said, touching her.

The child stirred and opened her eyes. Her movement made the doll slip
to the floor, and this caused her to come to herself suddenly.

"Why, I fell asleep, didn't I?" she said drowsily, reaching for the
doll.

"Yes, and in Mr. Evringham's own chair!" responded Mrs. Forbes.

"They're all his, aren't they?" asked the child.

"Yes, but this is his special favorite, where he always lies to rest.
Remember!" returned Mrs. Forbes. "Come right upstairs now and change
your dress for dinner. He will be coming home in a few minutes."

"Oh, good!" exclaimed Jewel with satisfaction, and passed into the
house. Mrs. Forbes was following ponderously. "Oh, you don't need to
come with me," protested the child earnestly. "I can do it all myself."

"Are you sure?" doubtfully.

"Oh, ye--es!" replied the little girl, running lightly up the stairs.

"I ought to put her on the second floor," mused Mrs. Forbes, "if I've
got to be running up and down; but I suppose she has done for herself a
great deal. I suppose the mother hadn't time to be bothered. I'd like to
make Mamzell change rooms with her."

Jewel hummed a tune as she took off her sailor suit, performed her
ablutions, and then went to her closet to choose a frock for dinner. She
decided on a blue dress with white dots chiefly because she would
not have to change her hair ribbons. She had never herself tied those
voluminous bows.

At last she was ready and danced toward the door, but some novel
timidity made her hesitate and go back sedately to the chair by the
window. Mrs. Forbes's impressive figure seemed to loom up with an order
to her to wait the summons of the gong.

She sat there for what seemed a very long time, and at last a knock
sounded at the door. Perhaps grandpa had come up. Jewel flew to open to
him--and saw the white capped maid who had appeared at luncheon.

"They are all at table, and Mr. Evringham wishes you to come down," she
said.

"But I was waiting for the gong."

"We only have that at noon."

Jewel's feet flew down the stairs. Her grandfather had sent for her. She
was eager to reach him, yet when she entered the dining-room, her little
face all alight, it was not so easy to run to him as she had fancied.

He sat stiffly at the foot of the table. Opposite him was aunt Madge,
and at her left sat the prettiest young lady the child had ever seen.

Mrs. Forbes stood near Mr. Evringham, looking very serious.

Jewel took in all this at a glance, and contenting herself with greeting
her grandfather's lifted eyes with a smile, she ran to Mrs. Evringham
and turned her back.

"There's just one button in the middle, aunt Madge, that I can't reach,"
she explained softly.

Every eye at the table was regarding the child curiously, but she took
no note of any one but her grandfather, and her dress buttoned, she
ran to her chair and slid up on its smooth morocco. Eloise observed the
little girl's loving expression.

"I am sorry you are late, Julia," said Mr. Evringham.

"Yes, so am I, grandpa," was the prompt response. "I wanted to be down
here as soon as you came home, but I thought I ought to wait for the
gong, and then it didn't ring."

Her eyes roved to where, directly opposite, the beautiful young lady was
regarding her soberly.

Mrs. Evringham spoke. "That is your cousin Eloise, Julia."

Eloise inclined her graceful head, but made no further recognition of
the child's admiring look.

"They haven't met before?" said Mr. Evringham, looking from one to the
other.

"No," returned Mrs. Evringham with her most gracious manner. "It just
happened that Eloise and I were engaged at luncheon to-day, and when we
returned the little girl was taking a nap."

By this time Mrs. Forbes had brought Jewel's soup and she was eating.
She looked up brightly at Mr. Evringham.

"Yes, grandpa, I went to sleep in your big chair on the piazza. I didn't
know it was your special chair until Mrs. Forbes waked me up."

Her grandfather regarded her from under his heavy brows. He was
resenting the fact that Eloise had made no effort to welcome the child.
"Indeed?" he returned. "What did she wake you up for?"

"Because it was time to get ready for dinner," returned Jewel. "It
reminded me of the story of Golden Hair, when she had gone to sleep on
the bear's bed, the way Mrs. Forbes said, 'This is your grandfather's
chair!'"

She looked around the table, expectant of sympathy. Only Mrs. Evringham
seemed to wish to laugh, and she was making heroic efforts not to do so.
Lovely Eloise kept her serious eyes downcast.

"Ha!" ejaculated Mr. Evringham, after a lightning glance of suspicion
at his daughter-in-law. "I think I remember something about that. But
Golden Hair tried three beds, I believe."

"Yes, she did, but you see there wasn't any little bear's chair on the
piazza."

"Very true. Very true."

"Golden Hair was a great beauty, I believe," suggested Mrs. Evringham,
looking at the child oddly. "She had yellow hair like yours."

Jewel put up a quick hand to the short tight braid which ended behind
her ear. "Oh no, long, lovely, floating hair. Don't you remember?"

"It's a good while since I read it," returned Mrs. Evringham, laughing
low and glancing at Eloise. Her father-in-law sent her a look of
displeasure and turned back to Jewel.

"Dr. Ballard found you on the train, I suppose?"

"Yes, grandpa. We had a nice time. He is a very kind man." The child
glanced across at her cousin again. She wished cousin Eloise would lift
her eyes and not look so sorry. "I wonder," she added aloud, "why Dr.
Ballard called cousin Eloise a little girl."

No one spoke, so Mrs. Evringham broke the momentary silence. "Did he?"
she asked.

"Yes, he said that my cousin Eloise was a very charming little girl."

Jewel wondered why Eloise flushed and looked still sorrier, and why aunt
Madge raised her napkin and turned her laugh into a cough. Perhaps it
teased young ladies to be called little girls. Jewel regretted having
mentioned it.

"I guess he was just April-fooling me," she suggested comfortingly, and
the insistence of her soft gaze was such that Eloise looked up and met a
smile so irresistible, that in spite of herself, her expression relaxed.

The softened look was a relief to the child. "I've heard about you, of
course, cousin Eloise," she said, "and I couldn't forget, because your
name is so nice and--and slippery. Eloise Evringham. Eloise Evringham.
It sounds just like--like--oh, like sliding down the banisters. Don't
you think so?"

Eloise smiled a little. "I hadn't thought of it," she returned, then
relapsed into quiet.

Mrs. Forbes's countenance was stony. "Children should be seen and not
heard," was her doctrine, and this dressmaker's child had an assurance
beyond belief. She seemed to feel no awe whatever in her grandfather's
presence.

The housekeeper caught Jewel's eye and gave her such a quenching look
that thenceforward the little girl succumbed to the silence which the
others seemed to prefer.

After dinner she would have a good visit with grandpa and talk about
when father was a little boy. Her hopes were dashed, for just as they
were rising from the table, a man was announced, with whom Mr. Evringham
closeted himself in the library.

In the drawing-room aunt Madge and cousin Eloise both set themselves at
letter-writing, and entirely ignored Jewel. The child looked listlessly
at a book with pictures, which she found on the table, until half-past
eight, when Mrs. Forbes came to say it was time for her to go to bed.

She rose and stood a moment, turning hesitatingly from her aunt to her
cousin.

"Oh, is it bedtime?" asked aunt Madge, looking up from her letter.
"Good-night, Julia. I hope you'll sleep well." Then she returned to her
writing.

Eloise bit her lip as she regarded the little girl with a moment's
hesitation, but no, she had decided on her plan of action. Mrs. Forbes
was observing her. Eloise knew the housekeeper's attitude toward them
was defensive, if not offensive. "Good-night," she said briefly, and
looked down again.

"Good-night," returned Jewel quietly, and went out.

In the hall she hesitated. "I want to say good-night to grandpa," she
said.

"Well, you can't," returned Mrs. Forbes decidedly. "He is talking
business and mustn't be disturbed."

She followed the child up the staircase.

"I could go to bed alone, if I only knew where the matches are."

"You said you could dress alone, but you had to ask Mrs. Evringham to
button your frock. Remember after this that I am the one to ask. She and
Miss Eloise don't want to be bothered."

"Is it a bother to do a kindness?" asked Jewel in a subdued tone.

"To some folks it is," was the response. They had reached the door of
the child's room; "but some folks can see their duty and do it," she
added virtuously.

Jewel realized regretfully that her present companion belonged to the
latter class.

"Now here, right inside the door," proceeded Mrs. Forbes, "is the
switch. There's electricity all over this house, and you don't need
any matches. See?" Mrs. Forbes turned the switch and the white room was
flooded with light.

A few hours ago this magic would have evoked much enthusiasm. Even now
Jewel was pleased to turn the light on and off several times, as Mrs.
Forbes told her to do.

"Now I'll see if you can undress yourself," said the housekeeper.
Jewel's deft fingers flew over the buttons in her eagerness to prove her
independence. When at last she stood in her little white nightgown, so
neat and fine in its small decorations, Mrs. Forbes said, "Do you want
me to hear you say your prayers?"

"No, I thank you." With her hasty response Jewel promptly jumped into
the bed, from which the white spread had been removed.

"I hope you always say them," said Mrs. Forbes, regarding her
undecidedly.

"Yes'm, I always do."

The child cuddled down under the covers with her face to the wall, lest
Mrs. Forbes should see a further duty and do it.

"You ought to say them on your knees," continued the housekeeper.

"I'd just as lief," replied Jewel, "but I don't believe God cares."

"Well," returned Mrs. Forbes solemnly, "it is a matter for your own
conscience, Julia, if your mother didn't train you to it. Good-night."

"Good-night," came faintly from beneath the bedclothes.

Mrs. Forbes turned off the light and went out, closing the door behind
her.

"If she'd always speak when she's spoken to, and be quiet and modest as
she is with me, she'd be a very well-behaved child," she soliloquized.
"I could train her. I shouldn't wonder at all if her mother should see a
great difference in her when she comes back."

The housekeeper went heavily downstairs. Jewel, pushing off the
bedclothes, listened attentively to the retiring steps, and when they
could no longer be heard, she jumped out of bed nimbly, and feeling for
the electric switch, turned on the light. Her breath was coming rather
unevenly, and she ran over the soft carpet to where her doll lay.
Catching her up, she pressed her to her breast, then sitting down in the
big chair, she began to undress her, crossing one little bare foot over
the other knee to make a lap.

"Darling Anna Belle, did you think I'd forgotten you?" she asked
breathlessly. "Did you think you weren't going to have any one to
kiss you good-night? It's hard not to have any one you love kiss you
good-night." Jewel dashed her hand across her eyes quickly, then went
swiftly on with her work. "You might have known that I was only waiting
until that--that giantess went away. She wouldn't let me bring you down
to dinner, dearie, but you didn't miss anything. Poor grandpa, I don't
wonder any longer that he doesn't look happy. He has the sorriest people
all around him that you ever saw. He lives in a big, beautiful castle,
but it's Castle Discord. I named it that at dinner. Nobody loves
one another. Of course grandpa loves me, because I'm his own little
grandchild, but he's too sorry to show it. The beautiful enchanted
maiden, and the Error fairy, and the giantess, are all making discord
around him. A little flat is better than a big castle, isn't it? We know
a flat--let's call it Harmony Flat, Anna Belle. Perhaps if we're very,
_very_, good, we'll get back there some time." Jewel suddenly pressed
the doll's nightdress against her wet eyes. "Don't, don't, dearie! I
know it does seem a year since--since the boat this morning. If all the
days were as long as this, we'd be very, very old when father and mother
come home." The soft voice broke in a sob. "I don't know what I should
do if you weren't a Christian Scientist, Anna Belle. We'll help each
other all we can. Now come--come into bed and say your prayers."

"Say your--your prayer first, dearie," she whispered, sobbing:--

     "'Father, Mother, God,
     Loving me,--
     Guard me when I sleep;
     Guide my little feet
     Up to Thee.'

"Now you'll feel--better, dearie. In a minute you won't be so--homesick
for--for--father and mother. Hush, while I say mine."

Jewel repeated the Lord's Prayer. When she had finished, her breath
still caught convulsively, so she continued:--

"Dear Father, Mother, God, loving me, help me to know that I am close
to Thee. Help me to remember that things that are unhappy aren't real
things. Help me to know that everything is good and harmonious, and that
the people in this castle are Thy children, even if they do seem to have
eyes like fishes. Help me to love one another, even the giantess, and
please show grandpa how to meet error. Please let Dr. Ballard come to
see me soon, because he has kind eyes, and I'm sure he doesn't know it's
wrong to believe in materia medica. Please take more care of father and
mother than anything, and say 'Peace be still' if the wind blows the
sea. I know, dear Father in Heaven, that Thou dost not forget anything,
but I say it to make me feel better. I am Thy little Jewel, and Anna
Belle loves Thee, too. Take us into the everlasting arms of Love while
we go to sleep. Amen."

Jewel brushed away the tears as she ceased, and with her usual quickness
of motion, jumped out of bed to get a handkerchief. Turning on the
electric light, she went to the chair over which hung the dotted dress.
She remembered having slipped a clean handkerchief into its pocket
before going to dinner.

In reaching for it her fingers encountered a scrap of paper in the
depths of the pocket. She drew it forth. It was folded. She opened it
and found it written over in a clear round hand.

"Is my little darling loving every one around her? People do not always
seem lovely at first, but remember that every one is lovable because he
is a thought of God. Those who seem unlovely are always unhappy, too,
in their hearts. We must help them, and the best way to help is to love.
Mother is thinking about her little Jewel, and no seas can divide us."

A slow smile gladdened the child's tear-stained face. She read the
message again, then turned out the light for the last time and cuddled
down in bed, her warm cheek pressing the scrap of paper in her hand, her
breath still catching.

"Mother has spoken to us, Anna Belle," she whispered, clasping the
doll close. "Wasn't it just like God to let her!" Then she fell asleep
smiling.



CHAPTER VIII

A HAPPY BREAKFAST

Mrs. Forbes was on the porch next morning when Mr. Evringham returned
from his canter.

"Fine morning, Mrs. Forbes," he said, as he gave Essex Maid into Zeke's
hands.

"Very fine. A regular weather breeder. It'll most probably rain
to-morrow, and what I wanted to speak to you about, Mr. Evringham, is,
that the child hasn't any rubbers."

"Indeed? What else does she need?"

"Well, nothing that I can see. Her things are all good, and she's got
enough of them. The trouble is she says she has never worn rubbers and
doesn't want to, and if she gets sick I shall have to take care of her;
so I hope, sir, you'll say that she must have them."

"Not wear them? Of course she must wear them," returned Mr. Evringham
brusquely. "Get them to-day, if convenient, Mrs. Forbes."

The housekeeper looked relieved.

"I hope she's not making you any trouble, eh?" added Mr. Evringham.

"Not any more than she can help, I suppose," was the grudging reply.
"She's a smart child, and being an only one, she's some notional. She
won't eat this and that, and doesn't want to wear rubbers, but she's
handy and neat, and is used to doing for herself; her mother hasn't had
time to fuss with her, of course, and that's lucky for me. She seems
very well behaved, considering."

Jewel had made heroic efforts while Mrs. Forbes assisted at her morning
toilet, and this was her reward.

"Well, we mustn't have you imposed upon," returned Mr. Evringham,
feeling guilty of the situation. "The child must obey you implicitly,
implicitly."

So saying he passed into the house, and after making a change in his
toilet, entered the dining-room. There he was seated, deep in his
newspaper and waiting for his coffee, when the door opened, light feet
ran to him, and an arm was thrown around his neck. He looked up to meet
a happy smile, and before he could realize who had captured him, Jewel
pressed a fervent kiss upon his cheek.

"Oh, grandpa, how nice and cold your cheek feels! Have you been out
doors already?"

Mr. Evringham could feel the said cheek grow hot in surprise at this
onslaught. He held himself stiffly and uncomfortably in the encircling
arm.

"Yes, I've been out on horseback," he returned shortly. "I go every
morning."

Jewel's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I'm so glad. Then I can watch you. I love to
see anybody ride. When I see a beautiful horse something inside me gets
warm. Father says I like just the same things he does. I must let you
read your paper, grandpa, but may I say one thing more?"

"Yes."

"I didn't come last evening to kiss you good-night because you had
somebody with you in the library, and, the giant--and Mrs. Forbes
wouldn't let me; but I wanted to. You know I wanted to, don't you? I
felt all sorry inside because I couldn't. You know you're the only real
relation I have in the castle"--Here Mrs. Forbes's entrance with the
coffee interrupted the confidence, and Jewel, with a last surreptitious
squeeze of Mr. Evringham's neck, intended to finish her sentence
eloquently, left him and went to her chair.

"You're to sit here this morning," said Mrs. Forbes, indicating the
place opposite her employer. "Mrs. Evringham and her daughter don't come
down to breakfast."

Jewel looked up eagerly. "Not ever?" she asked.

"Never."

The child shot a radiant glance across at her grandfather which he
caught, the thread of his business calculations having been hopelessly
broken. "Oh, grandpa, we're always going to have breakfast alone
together!" she said joyously. Noting Mrs. Forbes's set countenance, she
added apologetically, "They're so pretty, cousin Eloise and aunt Madge,
I love to look at them, but they aren't my real relations, and," her
face gladdening again, "to think of having breakfast alone with you,
grandpa, makes me feel as if--as if I had a birthday!"

Mr. Evringham cleared his throat. The situation might have been a little
easier if Mrs. Forbes had not been present, but as it was, he had never
felt so embarrassed in his life.

"Now eat your oatmeal, Julia," said the housekeeper repressively. "Mr.
Evringham always reads his paper at breakfast."

"Yes," replied the child with docility. She poured the cream from a
small silver pitcher with a neatness that won Mrs. Forbes's approval;
and Mr. Evringham read over headlines in the paper, while he sipped his
coffee, without understanding in the least the meaning of the words.
Mrs. Forbes was right. Discipline must be maintained. This was the time
during which he wished to read his paper, and it was most astonishing to
be so vigorously taken possession of by an utter stranger. Now was the
time to repress her if she were to be repressed. Mrs. Forbes was right.
After a while he glanced across at the child. She looked very small
and clean, and she was ready with a quick smile for him; but she put a
little forefinger against her lips jocosely. He cleared his throat again
and averted his eyes, rumpling the paper as he turned a leaf.

Mrs. Forbes left the room with the oatmeal dishes.

Jewel leaned forward quickly. "Grandpa," she said earnestly, "if you
would declare every day, over and over, that no error could come near
your house, I think she would go away of her own accord."

Mr. Evringham stared, open paper in hand. "What? Who?"

"Mrs. Forbes."

"Go away? Mrs. Forbes? What are you thinking of! I couldn't get on
without Mrs. Forbes."

"Oh!" Jewel leaned back with the long-drawn exclamation. "I thought she
was what made you look sorry."

"No indeed. I have enough things to make me sorry, but she isn't one of
them."

"Do you like her?" wonderingly.

"I--why--I respect her profoundl