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Jewel's Story Book

by Clara Louise Burnham · English · Gutenberg #16448 · 509,461 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Jewel's Story Book

Author: Clara Louise Burnham


        
Release date: August 5, 2005 [eBook #16448]
                Most recently updated: December 12, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16448

Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the
        Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JEWEL'S STORY BOOK ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net









[Illustration: "YOU'VE MADE ME SOME STORIES, MOTHER!"]




JEWEL'S STORY BOOK

BY

CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

    NEW YORK
    GROSSET & DUNLAP
    PUBLISHERS
    Made in the United States of America

COPYRIGHT 1904 BY CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

_Published October, 1904_


    _TO THE CHILDREN
    WHO LOVE JEWEL_




CONTENTS


    I. OVER THE 'PHONE

   II. THE BROKER'S OFFICE

  III. THE HOME-COMING

   IV. ON THE VERANDA

    V. THE LIFTED VEIL

   VI. THE DIE IS CAST

  VII. MRS. EVRINGHAM'S GIFTS

 VIII. THE QUEST FLOWER

   IX. THE QUEST FLOWER (CONTINUED)

    X. THE APPLE WOMAN'S STORY

   XI. THE GOLDEN DOG

  XII. THE TALKING DOLL

 XIII. A HEROIC OFFER

  XIV. ROBINSON CRUSOE

   XV. ST. VALENTINE

  XVI. A MORNING RIDE

 XVII. THE BIRTHDAY

XVIII. TRUE DELIGHT




JEWEL'S STORY BOOK




CHAPTER I

OVER THE 'PHONE


Mrs. Forbes, Mr. Evringham's housekeeper, answered the telephone one
afternoon. She was just starting to climb to the second story and did not
wish to be hindered, so her "hello" had a somewhat impatient brevity.

"Mrs. Forbes?"

"Oh," with a total change of voice and face, "is that you, Mr. Evringham?"

"Please send Jewel to the 'phone."

"Yes, sir."

She laid down the receiver, and moving to the foot of the stairs called
loudly, "Jewel!"

"Drat the little lamb!" groaned the housekeeper, "If I was only sure she
was up there; I've got to go up anyway. _Jewel!_" louder.

"Ye--es!" came faintly from above, then a door opened. "Is somebody calling
me?"

Mrs. Forbes began to climb the stairs deliberately while she spoke with
energy. "Hurry down, Jewel. Mr. Evringham wants you on the 'phone."

"Goody, goody!" cried the child, her feet pattering on the thick carpet as
she flew down one flight and then passed the housekeeper on the next.
"Perhaps he is coming out early to ride."

"Nothing would surprise me less," remarked Mrs. Forbes dryly as she
mounted.

Jewel flitted to the telephone and picked up the receiver.

"Hello, grandpa, are you coming out?" she asked.

"No, I thought perhaps you would like to come in."

"In where? Into New York?"

"Yes."

"What are we going to do?" eagerly.

Mr. Evringham, sitting at the desk in his private office, his head resting
on his hand, moved and smiled. His mind pictured the expression on the face
addressing him quite as distinctly as if no miles divided them.

"Well, we'll have dinner, for one thing. Where shall it be? At the
Waldorf?"

Jewel had never heard the word.

"Do they have Nesselrode pudding?" she asked, with keen interest. Mrs.
Forbes had taken her in town one day and given her some at a restaurant.

"Perhaps so. You see I've heard from the Steamship Company, and they think
that the boat will get in this evening."

"Oh, grandpa! grandpa! _grandpa!_"

"Softly, softly. Don't break the 'phone. I hear you through the window."

"When shall I come? Oh, oh, oh!"

"Wait, Jewel. Don't be excited. Listen. Tell Zeke to bring you in to my
office on the three o'clock train."

"Yes, grandpa. Oh, please wait a minute. Do you think it would be too
extravagant for me to wear my silk dress?"

"No, let's be reckless and go the whole figure."

"All right," tremulously.

"Good-by."

"Oh, grandpa, wait. Can I bring Anna Belle?" but only silence remained.

Jewel hung up the receiver with a hand that was unsteady, and then ran
through the house and out of doors, leaving every door open behind her in a
manner which would have brought reproof from Mrs. Forbes, who had begun to
be Argus-eyed for flies.

Racing out to the barn, she appeared to 'Zekiel in the harness room like a
small whirlwind.

"Get on your best things, Zeke," she cried, hopping up and down; "my father
and mother are coming."

"Is this an india rubber girl?" inquired the coachman, pausing to look at
her with a smile. "What train?"

"Three o'clock. You're going with me to New York. Grandpa says so; to his
office, and the boat's coming to-night. Get ready quick, Zeke, please. I'm
going to wear my silk dress."

"Hold on, kid," for she was flying off. "I'm to go in town with you, am I?
Are you sure? I don't want to fix up till I make Solomon look like thirty
cents and then find out there's some misdeal."

"Grandpa wants you to bring me to his office, that's what he said,"
returned the child earnestly. "Let's start real _soon_!"

Like a sprite she was back at the house and running upstairs, calling for
Mrs. Forbes.

The housekeeper appeared at the door of the front room, empty now for two
days of Mrs. Evringham's trunks, and Jewel with flushed cheeks and
sparkling eyes told her great news.

Mrs. Forbes was instantly sympathetic. "Come right upstairs and let me help
you get ready. Dear me, to-night! I wonder if they'll want any supper when
they get here."

"I don't know. I don't know!" sang Jewel to a tune of her own improvising,
as she skipped ahead.

"I don't believe they will," mused Mrs. Forbes. "Those customs take so much
time. It seems a very queer thing to me, Jewel, Mr. Evringham letting you
come in at all. Why, you'll very likely not get home till midnight."

"Won't it be the most _fun_!" cried the child, dancing to her closet and
getting her checked silk dress.

"I guess your flannel sailor suit will be the best, Jewel."

"Grandpa said I might wear my silk. You see I'm going to dinner with him,
and that's just like going to a party, and I ought to be very particular,
don't you think so?"

"Well, don't sit down on anything dirty at the wharf. I expect you will,"
returned Mrs. Forbes with a resigned sigh, as she proceeded to unfasten
Jewel's tight, thick little braids.

"Just think what a short time we'll have to miss cousin Eloise," said the
child. "Day before yesterday she went away, and now to-morrow my mother'll
braid my hair." She gave an ecstatic sigh.

"If that's all you wanted your cousin Eloise for--to braid your hair--I
guess I could get to do it as well as she did."

"Oh, I loved cousin Eloise for everything and I always shall love her,"
responded the child quickly. "I only meant I didn't have to trouble you
long with my hair."

"I think I do it pretty well."

"Yes, indeed you do--just as _tight_. Do you remember how much it troubled
you when I first came? and now it's so much different!"

"Yes, there are a whole lot of things that are much different," replied
Mrs. Forbes. "How long do you suppose you'll be staying with us now,
Jewel?"

The child's face grew sober. "I don't know, because I don't know how long
father and mother can stay."

"You'll think about this room where you've lived so many weeks, when you
get back to Chicago."

"Yes, I shall think about it lots of times," said the little girl. "I knew
it would be a lovely visit at grandpa's, and it has been."

She glanced up in the mirror toward the housekeeper's face and saw that the
woman's lips were working suspiciously and her eyes brimming over.

"You won't be lonely, will you, Mrs. Forbes?" she asked; "because grandpa
says you want to live with Zeke in the barn this summer while he shuts up
the house and goes off on his vacation."

"Oh, yes; it's all right, Jewel, only it just came over me that in a week,
or perhaps sooner, you'll be gone."

"It's real kind of you to be glad to have me stay," said the child. "I try
not to think about going away, because it does make me feel sorry every
time. You know the soot blows all around in Chicago and we haven't any
yard, and when I think about all the sky and trees here, and the ravine,
beside grandpa and you and Zeke and Essex Maid--why I have to just say 'I
_won't_ be sorry,' and then think about father and mother and Star and all
the nice things! I think Star will like the park pretty well." Jewel looked
into space thoughtfully, and then shook her head. "I'm sure the morning we
go I shall have to say: 'Green pastures are before me' over and over."

"What do you mean, child?"

"Why, you know the psalm: 'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He
leadeth me beside the still waters'?"

"Yes."

"Well, in our hymnal there's the line of a hymn: 'Green pastures are before
me,' and mother and I used to say that line every morning when we woke up,
to remind us that Love was going to lead us all day."

"I'd like to see your mother," said Mrs. Forbes after a pause.

"You will, to-night," cried Jewel, suddenly joyous again. "Oh, Mrs. Forbes,
do you think I could take Anna Belle to New York?"

"What did Mr. Evringham say?"

"He went away before I had a chance to ask him." Jewel looked wistfully
toward the chair where the doll sat by the window, toeing in, her sweet
gaze fixed on the wall-paper. "She would enjoy it so!" added the little
girl.

"Oh, it's a tiresome trip for children, such late hours," returned Mrs.
Forbes persuasively. "Beside," with an inspiration, "you'd like your hands
free to help your mother carry her bags, wouldn't you?"

"That's so," responded Jewel. "Anna Belle would always give up anything for
her grandma!" and as the housekeeper finished tying the hair bows, the
little girl skipped over to the chair and knelt before the doll, explaining
the situation to her with a joyous incoherence mingled with hugs and kisses
from which the even-tempered Anna Belle emerged apparently dazed but
docile.

"Come here and get your shoes on, Jewel."

"My best ones," returned the child.

"Oh, yes, the best of everything," said Mrs. Forbes good-humoredly; and
indeed, when Jewel was arrayed, she viewed herself in the mirror with
satisfaction.

Zeke presented himself soon, fine in a new summer suit and hat, and Mrs.
Forbes watched the pair as they walked down the driveway.

"Now, I can't let the grass grow under my feet," she muttered. "I expected
to have till to-morrow night to get all the things done that Mr. Evringham
told me to, but I guess I can get through."

Jewel and Zeke had ample time for the train. Indeed, the little girl's
patience was somewhat tried before the big headlight came in view. She
could not do such injustice to her silk dress and daisy-wreathed leghorn
hat as to hop and skip, so she stood demurely with Zeke on the station
platform, and as they waited he regarded her happy expectant face.

"Remember the day you got here, kid?" he asked.

"Yes. Isn't it a long time since you came and met me with Dick, and he just
whirled us home!"

"Sure it is. And now you're glad to be leaving us."

"I am not, Zeke!"

"Well, you look in the glass and see for yourself."

Just then the train came along and Zeke swung the child up to the high
step. The fact that she found a seat by the window added a ray to her
shining eyes. Her companion took the place beside her.

"Yes," he went on, as the train started, "it's kind of hard on the rest of
us to have you so tickled over the prospect."

"I'm only happy over father and mother," returned Jewel.

"Pretty nice folks, are they?"

Jewel shook her head significantly. "You just wait and see," she replied
with zest.

"Which one do you look like?"

"Like father. Mother's much prettier than father."

"A beauty, is she?"

"N--o, I don't believe so. She isn't so pretty as cousin Eloise, but then
she's pretty."

"That's probably the reason your grandfather likes to see you
around--because you look like his side of the house."

"Well," Jewel sighed, "I hope grandpa likes my nose. I don't."

Zeke laughed. "He seems able to put up with it. I expect there's going to
be ructions around here the next week."

"What's ructions?"

"Well, some folks might call it error. I don't know. Mr. Evringham's going
to be pretty busy with his own nose. It's going to be put out of joint
to-night. The green-eyed monster's going to get on the rampage, or I miss
my guess."

Jewel looked up doubtfully. Zeke was a joker, of course, being a man, but
what was he driving at now?

"What green-eyed monster?" she asked.

"Oh, the one that lives in folks' hearts and lays low part of the time,"
replied Zeke.

"Do you mean jealousy; envy, hatred, or malice?" asked Jewel so glibly that
her companion stared.

"Great Scott! What do you know about that outfit?" he asked.

The child nodded wisely. "I know people believe in them sometimes; but you
needn't think grandpa does, because he doesn't."

"Mr. Evringham's all right," agreed Zeke, "but he isn't going to be the
only pebble any longer. Your father and mother will be the whole thing
now."

The child was thoughtful a moment, then she began earnestly: "Oh, I'm sure
grandpa knows how it is about loving. The more people you love, the more
you can love. I can love father and mother more because I've learned to
love grandpa, and he can love them more too, because he has learned to love
me."

"Humph! We'll see," remarked the other, smiling.

"Is error talking to you, Zeke? Are you laying laws on grandpa?"

"Well, if I am, I'll stop it mighty quick. You don't catch me taking any
such liberties. Whoa!" drawing on imaginary reins as the engine slackened
at a station.

Jewel laughed, and from that time until they reached New York they chatted
about her pony Star, and other less important horses, and of the child's
anticipation of showing her mother the joys of Bel-Air Park.




Chapter II

THE BROKER'S OFFICE


It was the first time Jewel had visited her grandfather's office and she
was impressed anew with his importance as she entered the stone building
and ascended in the elevator to mysterious heights.

Arrived in an electric-lighted anteroom, Zeke's request to see Mr.
Evringham was met by a sharp-eyed young man who denied it with a cold,
inquiring stare. Then the glance of this factotum fell to Jewel's uplifted,
rose-tinted face and her trustful gaze fixed on his own.

Zeke twirled his hat slowly between his hands.

"You just step into Mr. Evringham's office," he said quietly, "and tell him
the young lady he invited has arrived."

Jewel wondered how this person, who had the privilege of being near her
grandfather all day, could look so forbidding; but in her happy excitement
she could not refrain from smiling at him under the nodding hat brim.

"I'm going to dinner with him," she said softly, "and I _think_ we're going
to have Nesselrode pudding."

The young man's eyes stared and then began to twinkle. "Oh," he returned,
"in that case"--then he turned and left the visitors.

When he entered the sanctum of his employer he was smiling. Mr. Evringham
did not look up at once. When he did, it was with a brief, "Well?"

"A young lady insists upon seeing you, sir."

"Kindly stop grinning, Masterson, and tell her she must state her
business."

"She has done so, sir," but Masterson did not stop grinning. "She looks
like a summer girl, and I guess she is one."

Mr. Evringham frowned at this unprecedented levity. "What is her business,
briefly?" he asked curtly.

"To eat Nesselrode pudding, sir."

The broker started. "Ah!" he exclaimed, and though he still frowned, he
reflected his junior's smile. "Is there some one with her?"

"A young man."

"Send them in, please."

Masterson obeyed and managed to linger until his curiosity was both
appeased and heightened by seeing Jewel run across the Turkish rug and
completely submerge the stately gray head beneath the brim of her hat.

"Well, I'll--be--everlastingly"--thought Masterson, as he softly passed out
and closed the door behind him. "Even Achilles could get it in the heel,
but I'll swear I didn't believe the old man had a joint in his armor."

Zeke stood twisting his hat, and when his employer was allowed to come to
the surface, he spoke respectfully:--

"Mother said I was to bring word if you would like a late supper, sir."

"Tell Mrs. Forbes that it will be only something light, if anything. She
need not prepare."

Jewel danced to the door with her escort as he went. "Good-by, Zeke," she
said gayly. "Thank you for bringing me."

"Good-by, Jewel," he returned in subdued accents, and stumbling on the
threshold, passed out with a furtive wave of his hat.

The child returned and jumped into a chair by the desk, reserved for the
selected visitors who succeeded in invading this precinct. "I suppose you
aren't quite through," she said, fixing her host with a blissful gaze as he
worked among a scattered pile of papers.

"Very nearly," he returned. He saw that she was near to bubbling over with
ideas ready to pour out to him. He knew, too, that she would wait his time.
It entertained him to watch her furtively as she gave herself to inspecting
the furnishings of the room and the pictures on the wall, then looked down
at the patent leather tips of her best shoes as they swung to and fro. At
last she began to look at him more and more wistfully, and to view the
furnishings of the large desk. It had a broad shelf at the top.

Suddenly Jewel caught sight of a picture standing there in a square frame,
and an irrepressible "Oh!" escaped from her lips.

She pressed her hands together and Mr. Evringham saw a deeper rose in her
cheeks. He followed her eyes, and silently taking the picture from the desk
placed it in her lap. She clasped it eagerly. It was a fine photograph of
Essex Maid, her grandfather's mare.

In a minute he spoke:--

"Now I think I'm about through, Jewel," he said, leaning back in his
chair.

"Oh, grandpa, do these cost very much?"

"Why? Do you want to have Star sit for his picture?"

"Yes, it _would_ be nice to have a picture of Star, wouldn't it! I never
thought of that. I mean to ask mother if I can."

The broker winced.

"What I was thinking of was, could I have a picture of Essex Maid to take
with me to Chicago?"

Mr. Evringham nodded. "I will get you one." He kept on nodding slightly,
and Jewel noted the expression of his eyes. Her bright look began to cloud
as her grandfather continued to gaze at her.

"You'd like to have a picture of Star to keep, wouldn't you?" she asked
softly, her head falling a little to one side in loving recognition of his
sadness.

"Yes," he answered, rather gruffly, "and I've been thinking for some weeks
that there was a picture lacking on my desk here."

"Star's?" asked Jewel.

"No. Yours. Are there any pictures of you?"

"No, only when I was a baby. You ought to see me. I was as _fat_!"

"We'll have some photographs of you."

"Oh," Jewel spoke wistfully, "I wish I was pretty."

"Then you wouldn't be an Evringham."

"Why not? You are," returned the child, so spontaneously that slow color
mounted to the broker's face, and he smiled.

"I look like my mother's family, they say. At any rate,"--after a pause
and scrutiny of her,--"it's your face, it's my Jewel's face, that suits me
and that I want to keep. If I can find somebody who can do it and not
change you into some one else, I am going to have a little picture painted;
a miniature, that I can carry in my pocket when Essex Maid and I are left
alone."

The brusque pain in his tone filled Jewel's eyes, and her little hands
clasped tighter the frame she held in her lap.

"Then you will give me one of you, too, grandpa?"

"Oh, child," he returned, rather hoarsely, "it's too late to be painting my
leather countenance."

"No one could paint it just as I know it," said Jewel softly. "I know all
the ways you look, grandpa,--when you're joking or when you're sorry, or
happy, and they're all in here," she pressed one hand to her breast in a
simple fervor that, with her moist eyes, compelled Mr. Evringham to swallow
several times; "but I'd like one in my hand to show to people when I tell
them about you."

The broker looked away and fussed with an envelope.

"Grandpa," continued the child after a pause, "I've been thinking that
there's one secret we've got to keep from father and mother."

Mr. Evringham looked back at her. This was the most cheering word he had
heard for some time.

"It wouldn't be loving to let them know how sorry it makes us to say
good-by, would it? I get such lumps in my throat when I think about not
riding with you or having breakfast together. I do work over it and think
how happy it will be to have father and mother again, and how Love gives us
everything we ought to have and everything like that; but I
_have_--cried--twice, thinking about it! Even Anna Belle is mortified the
way I act. I know you feel sorry, too, and we've got to demonstrate over
it; but it'll come so soon, and I guess I didn't begin to work in time.
Anyway, I was wondering if we couldn't just have a secret and manage not to
say good-by to each other." The corners of the child's mouth were twitching
down now, and she took out a small handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

Mr. Evringham blew his nose violently, and crossing the office turned the
key in the door.

"I think that would be an excellent plan, Jewel," he returned, rather
thickly, but with an endeavor to speak heartily. "Of course your
confounded--I mean to say your--your parents will naturally expect you to
follow their plans and"--he paused.

"And it would be so unloving to let them think that I was sorry after they
let me have such a beautiful visit, and if we can _just_--manage not to say
good-by, everything will be so much easier."

The broker stood looking at her while the plaintive voice made music for
him. "I'm going to try to manage just that thing if it's in the books," he
said, after waiting a little, and Jewel, looking up at him with an April
smile, saw that his eyes were wet.

"You're so good, grandpa," she returned tremulously; "and I won't even kiss
Essex Maid's neck--not the last morning."

He sat down with fallen gaze, and Jewel caught her lip with her teeth as
she looked at him. Then suddenly the leghorn hat was on the floor, daisy
side down, while she climbed into his lap and her soft cheek buried itself
under Mr. Evringham's ear.

"How m-many m-miles off is Chicago?" stammered the child, trying to repress
her sobs, all happy considerations suddenly lost in the realization of her
grandfather's lonely lot.

"A good many more than it ought to be. Don't cry, Jewel." The broker's
heart swelled within him as he pressed her to his breast. Her sorrow filled
him with tender elation, and he winked hard.

"There isn't--isn't any sorrow--in mind, grandpa. Shouldn't you--you think
I'd--remember it? Divine Love always--always takes care--of us--and just
because--I don't see how He's going--going to this time--I'm crying! Oh,
it's so--so naughty!"

Mr. Evringham swallowed fast. He never had wondered so much as he did this
minute just how obstinate or how docile those inconvenient and superfluous
individuals--Jewel's parents--would prove.

He cleared his throat. "Come, come," he said, and he kissed the warm pink
rose of the child's cheek. "Don't spoil those bright eyes just when you're
going to have your picture taken. We're going to have the jolliest time you
ever heard of!"

Jewel's little handkerchief was wet and Mr. Evringham put his own into her
hand and they went into the lavatory where she used the wet corner of a
towel while he told her about the photographer who had taken Essex Maid's
picture and should take Star's.

Then the cherished leghorn hat was rescued from its ignominy and replaced
carefully on its owner's head.

"But I never thought you meant to have my picture taken this afternoon,"
said Jewel, her lips still somewhat tremulous.

"I didn't until a minute ago, but I think we can find somebody who won't
mind doing it late in the day."

"Yours too, then, grandpa.--Oh, _yes_," and at last a smile beamed like the
sun out of an April sky, "right on the same card with me!"

"Oh, no, no, Jewel; no, no!"

"Yes, _please_, grandpa," earnestly, "do let's have one nice nose in the
picture!" She lifted eyes veiled again with a threatening mist. "And you'll
put your arm around me--and then I'll look at it"--her lip twitched.

"Yes, oh, yes, I--I think so," hastily. "We'll see, and then, after
that--how much Nesselrode pudding do you think you can eat? I tell you,
Jewel, we're going to have the time of our lives!" Mr. Evringham struck his
hands together with such lively anticipation that the child's spirits rose.

"Yes," she responded, "and then after dinner, _what_?" She gazed at him.

The broker tapped his forehead as if knocking at the door of memory.

"Father and mother!" she cried out, laughing and beginning to hop
discreetly. "You forgot, grandpa, you forgot. Your own little boy coming
home and you forgot!"

"Well, that's a fact, Jewel; that I suppose I had better remember. He is my
own boy--and I don't know but I owe him something after all."




CHAPTER III

HOME-COMING


Again Jewel and her grandfather stood on the wharf where the great boats,
ploughing their way through the mighty seas, come finally, each into its
own place, as meekly as the horse seeks his stable.

The last time they stood here they were strangers watching the departure of
those whom now they waited, hand in hand, to greet.

"Jewel, you made me eat too much dinner," remarked Mr. Evringham. "I feel
as if my jacket was buttoned, in spite of the long drive we've taken since.
I went to my tailor this morning, and what do you think he told me?"

"What? That you needed some new clothes?"

"Oh, he always tells me that. He told me that I was growing fat! There,
young lady, what do you think of that?"

"I think you are, too, grandpa," returned the child, viewing him
critically.

"Well, you take it coolly. Supposing I should lose my waist, and all your
fault!"

Jewel drew in her chin and smiled at him.

"Supposing I go waddling about! Eh?"

She laughed. "But how would it be my fault?" she asked.

"Didn't you ever hear the saying 'laugh and grow fat'? How many times have
you made me laugh since we left the office?"

Jewel began to tug on his hand as she jumped up and down. "Oh, grandpa, do
you think our pictures will be good?"

"I think yours will."

"Not yours?" the hopping ceased.

"Oh, yes, excellent, probably. I haven't had one taken in so many years,
how can I tell? but here's one day that they can't get away from us, Jewel.
This eighth of June has been a good day, hasn't it--and mind, you're not to
tell about the pictures until we see how they come out."

"Yes, haven't we had _fun_? The be-_eau_tiful hotel, and the drive in the
park, and the ride in the boats and"--

"Speaking of boats, there it is now. They're coming," remarked Mr.
Evringham.

"Who?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Henry Thayer Evringham," returned the broker dryly. "Steady,
Jewel, steady now. It will be quite a while before you see them."

The late twilight had faded and the June night begun, the wharf was dimly
lighted and there was the usual crowd of customs officers, porters, and men
and women waiting to see friends. All moved and changed like figures in a
kaleidoscope before Jewel's unwinking gaze; but the long minutes dragged by
until at last her father and mother appeared among the passengers who came
in procession down the steep incline from the boat.

Mr. Evringham drew back a step as father, mother, and child clung to each
other, kissing and murmuring with soft exclamations. Harry extricated
himself first and shook hands with his father.

"Awfully good of you to get us the courtesy of the port," he said heartily.

"Don't mention it," returned the broker, and Julia released Jewel and
turned upon Mr. Evringham her grateful face.

"But so many things are good of you," she said feelingly, as she held out
her hand. "It will take us a long time to give thanks."

"Not at all, I assure you," responded the broker coldly, but his heart was
hot within him. "If they have the presumption to thank me for taking care
of Jewel!" he was thinking as he dropped his daughter-in-law's hand.

"What a human iceberg!" she thought. "How has Jewel been able to take it so
cheerfully? Ah, the blessed, loving heart of a child!"

Meanwhile Mr. Evringham turned to his son and continued: "The courtesy of
the port does shorten things up a bit, and I have a man from the customs
waiting."

Harry followed him to see about the luggage, and Mrs. Evringham and Jewel
sat down on a pile of boxes to wait. The mother's arm was around the little
girl, and Jewel had one of the gloved hands in both her own.

"Oh," she exclaimed, suddenly starting up, "Mrs. Forbes thought I'd better
wear my sailor suit instead of this, and she told me not to sit down on
anything dirty." She carefully turned up the skirt of her little frock and
seated herself again on a very brief petticoat.

Mrs. Evringham smiled. "Mrs. Forbes is careful of you, isn't she?" she
asked. Her heart was in a tumult of happiness and also of curiosity as to
her child's experiences in the last two months. Jewel's letters had
conveyed that she was content, and joy in her pony had been freely
expressed. The mother's mental picture of the stiff, cold individual to
whose doubtful mercies she had confided her child at such short notice had
been softened by the references to him in Jewel's letters; and it was with
a shock of disappointment that she found herself repulsed now by the same
unyielding personality, the same cold-eyed, unsmiling, fastidiously dressed
figure, whose image had lingered in her memory. A dozen eager questions
rose to her lips, but she repressed them.

"Jewel must have had a glimpse of the real man," she thought. "I must not
cloud her perception." It did not occur to her, however, that the child
could even now feel less than awe of the stern guardian with whom she had
succeeded in living at peace, and who had, from time to time, bestowed upon
her gifts. One of these Mrs. Evringham noticed now.

"Oh, that's your pretty watch!" she said.

"Yes," returned the child, "this is Little Faithful. Isn't he a darling?"

The mother smiled as she lifted the silver cherub. "You've named him?" she
returned. "Why, it is a beauty, Jewel. How kind of your grandfather!"

"Yes, indeed. It was so I wouldn't stay in the ravine too long."

"How is Anna Belle?"

"Dear Anna Belle!" exclaimed the little girl wistfully. "What a good time
she would have had if I could have brought her! But you see I needed both
my hands to help carry bags; and she understood about it and sent her love.
She'll be sitting up waiting for you."

Mrs. Evringham cast a look toward Harry and his father. "I'm not sure"--she
began, "I hardly think we shall go to Bel-Air to-night. How would you like
to stay in at the hotel with us, and then we could go out to the house
to-morrow and pack your trunk?"

Jewel looked very sober at this. "Why, it would be pretty hard to wait,
mother," she replied. "Hotels are splendid. Grandpa and I had dinner at
one. It's named the Waldorf and it has woods in it just like outdoors; but
I thought you'd be in a hurry to see Star and the Ravine of Happiness and
Zeke."

"Well, we'll wait," returned Mrs. Evringham vaguely. She was more than
doubtful of an invitation to Bel-Air Park even for one night; but Harry
must arrange it. "We'll see what father says," she added. "What a pretty
locket, my girlie!" As she spoke she lifted a gold heart that hung on a
slender gold chain around Jewel's neck.

"Yes. Cousin Eloise gave me that when she went away. She has had it ever
since she was as little as I am, and she said she left her heart with me.
I'm so sorry you won't see cousin Eloise."

"So she and her mother have gone away. Were they sorry to go? Did Mr.
Evringham--perhaps--think"--the speaker paused. She remembered Jewel's
letter about the situation.

"No, they weren't sorry. They've gone to the seashore; but cousin Eloise
and I love each other very much, and her room is so empty now that I've had
to keep remembering that you were coming and everything was happy. I guess
cousin Eloise is the prettiest girl in the whole world; and since she
stopped being sorry we've had the most _fun_."

"I wish I could see her!" returned Mrs. Evringham heartily. She longed to
thank Eloise for supplying the sunshine of love to her child while the
grandfather was providing for her material wants. She looked at Jewel now,
a picture of health and contentment, her bits of small finery in watch and
locket standing as symbols of the care and affection she had received.

"Divine Love has been so kind to us, dearie," she said softly, as she
pressed the child closer to her. "He has brought father and mother back
across the ocean and has given you such loving friends while we were gone."

In a future day Mrs. Evringham was to learn something of the inner history
of the progress of this little pilgrim during her first days at Bel-Air;
but the shadows had so entirely faded from Jewel's consciousness that she
could not have told it herself--not even such portions of it as she had
once realized.

"Yes, indeed, I love Bel-Air and all the people. Even aunt Madge kissed me
when she went away and said 'Good-by, you queer little thing!'"

"What did she mean?" asked Mrs. Evringham.

"I don't know. I didn't tell grandpa, because I thought he might not like
people calling me queer, but I asked Zeke."

"He's Mr. Evringham's coachman, isn't he?"

"Yes, and he's the nicest man, but he only told me that aunt Madge had
wheels. I asked him what kind of wheels, and he said he guessed they were
rubber-tired, because she was always rubbering and she made people tired.
You know Zeke is such a joker, so I haven't found out yet what aunt Madge
meant, and it isn't any matter because"--Jewel reached up and hugged her
mother, "you've come home."

Here the two men approached. "No more time for spooning," said Harry
cheerfully. "We're going now, little girls."

After all, there was nothing for Jewel to carry. Her father and grandfather
had the dress-suit case and bags.

Mrs. Evringham looked inquiringly at her husband, but he was gayly talking
with Jewel as the four walked out to the street.

Mr. Evringham led the way to a carriage that was standing there. "This is
ours," he said, opening the door.

Harry put the bags up beside the driver while his wife entered the vehicle,
still in doubt as to their destination. Jewel jumped in beside her.

"You'd better move over, dear," said her mother quietly. "Let Mr. Evringham
ride forward."

She was not surprised that Jewel was ignorant of carriage etiquette. It was
seldom that either of them had seen the inside of one.

The broker heard the suggestion. "_Place aux dames_," he said, briefly, and
moved the child back with one hand. Then he entered, Harry jumped in beside
him, slammed the door, and they rolled away.

"If Anna Belle was here the whole family would be together," said Jewel
joyously. "I don't care which one I sit by. I love everybody in this
carriage!"

"You do, eh, rascal?" returned her father, putting his hand over in her
silken lap and giving her a little shake. "Where is the great and good Anna
Belle?"

"Waiting for us. Just think of it, all this time! Grandpa, are we going
home with you?"

"What do you mean?" inquired the broker, and the tone of the curt question
chilled the spine of his daughter-in-law. "Were you thinking of spending
the night in the ferry-house, perhaps?"

"Why, no, only mother said"--

Mrs. Evringham pressed the child's arm. "That was nothing, Jewel; I simply
didn't know what the plan was," she put in hastily.

"Oh, of course," went on the little girl. "Mother didn't know aunt Madge
and cousin Eloise were gone, and she didn't believe there'd be room. She
doesn't know how big the house is, does she, grandpa?" An irresistible yawn
seized the child, and in the middle of it her father leaned forward and
chucked her under the chin.

Her jaws came together with a snap. "There! you spoiled that nice one!" she
exclaimed, jumping up and laughing as she flung herself upon her big
playmate, and a small scuffle ensued in which the wide leghorn hat brim
sawed against Mr. Evringham's shoulder and neck in a manner that caused
Mrs. Evringham's heart to leap toward her throat. How _could_ Harry be so
thoughtless! A street lamp showed the grim lines of the broker's averted
face as he gazed stonily out to the street.

"Come here, Jewel; sit still," said the mother, striving to pull the
little girl back into her seat.

Harry was laughing and holding his agile assailant off as best he might,
and at his wife's voice aided her efforts with a gentle push. Jewel sank
back on the cushion.

"Oh, what bores he thinks us. I know he does!" reflected Julia, capturing
her child in one arm and holding her close. To her surprise and even
dismay, Jewel spoke cheerfully after another yawn:--

"Grandpa, how far is it to the ferry? How long, I mean?"

"About fifteen minutes."

"Well, that's a good while. My eyes do feel as if they had sticks in them.
Don't you wish we could cross in a swan boat, grandpa?"

"Humph!" he responded. Mrs. Evringham gave the child a little squeeze
intended to be repressive. Jewel wriggled around a minute trying to get a
comfortable position.

"Tell father and mother about Central Park and the swan boats, grandpa,"
she continued.

"You tell them to-morrow, when you're not so sleepy," he replied.

Jewel took off her large hat, and nestling her head on her mother's
shoulder, put an arm around her. "Mother, mother!" she sighed happily, "are
you really home?"

"Really, really," replied Mrs. Evringham, with a responsive squeeze.

Mr. Evringham sat erect in silence, still gazing out the window with a
forbidding expression.

There were buttons on her mother's gown that rubbed Jewel's cheek. She
tried to avoid them for a minute and then sat up. "Father, will you change
places with me?" she asked sleepily. "I want to sit by grandpa."

Mrs. Evringham's eyes widened, and in spite of her earnest "Dearie!" the
transfer was made and Jewel crept under Mr. Evringham's arm, which closed
naturally around her. She leaned against him and shut her eyes.

"You mustn't go to sleep," he said.

"I guess I shall," returned the child softly.

"No, no. You mustn't. Think of the lights crossing the ferry. You'll lose a
lot if you're asleep. They're fine to see. We can't carry you and the
luggage, too. Brace up, now--Come, come! I shouldn't think you were any
older than Anna Belle."

Jewel laughed sleepily, and the broker held her hand in his while he pushed
her upright. Mr. and Mrs. Evringham looked on, the latter marveling at the
child's nonchalance.

Now, for the first time, the host became talkative.

"How many days have you to give us, Harry?" he asked.

"A couple, perhaps," replied the young man.

"Two days, father!" exclaimed Jewel, in dismay, wide awake in an instant.

"Oh, that's a stingy visit," remarked Mr. Evringham.

"Not half long enough," added Jewel. "There's so much for you to see."

"Oh, we can see a lot in two days," returned Harry. "Think of the little
girls in Chicago, Jewel. They won't forgive me if I don't bring you home
pretty soon." He leaned forward and took his child's free hand. "How do
you suppose father has got along without his little girl all these weeks,
eh, baby?"

"It _is_ a long time since you went away," she returned, "but I was right
in your room every night, and daytimes I played in your ravine. Bel-Air
Park is the beautifulest place in the whole world. Two days isn't any time
to stay there, father."

"H'm, I'm glad you've been so happy." Sincere feeling vibrated in the
speaker's voice. "We don't know how to thank your grandpa, do we?"

A street lamp showed Jewel, as she turned and smiled up into the impassive
face Mr. Evringham turned upon her.

"You can safely leave that to her," said the broker briefly, but he did not
remove his eyes from the upturned ones.

"It is beyond me," thought Mrs. Evringham; "but love is a miracle-worker."

The glowing lights of the ferry passed, Jewel did go to sleep in the train.
Her father, unaware that he was trespassing, took her in his arms, and,
tired out with all the excitement of the day and the lateness of the hour,
the child instantly became unconscious; but by the time they reached home,
the bustle of arrival and her interest in showing her parents about, aided
her in waking to the situation.

Mrs. Forbes stood ready to welcome the party. Ten years had passed since
Harry Evringham had stood in the home of his boyhood, and the housekeeper
thought she perceived that he was moved by a contrite memory; but he spoke
with bluff heartiness as he shook hands with her; and Mrs. Forbes looked
with eager curiosity into the sweet face of Mrs. Evringham, as the latter
greeted her and said something grateful concerning the housekeeper's
kindness to Jewel.

"It's very little you have to thank me for, ma'am," replied Mrs. Forbes,
charmed at once by the soft gaze of the dark eyes.

The little cavalcade moved upstairs to the handsome rooms so lately
vacated. They were brilliant with light and fragrant with roses.

"How beautiful!" exclaimed Mrs. Evringham, while Jewel hopped up and down,
as wide awake as any little girl in town, delighted with the gala
appearance of everything.

Mr. Evringham looked critically into the face of his daughter-in-law. Here
was the woman to whom he owed Jewel, and all that she was and all that she
had taught him. Her face was what he might have expected. It looked very
charming now as the pretty eyes met his. She was well-dressed, too, and Mr.
Evringham liked that.

"I hope you will be very much at home here, Julia," he said; and though he
did not smile, it was certain that, whether from a sense of duty or not, he
had taken pains to make their welcome a pleasant one.

Jewel had, evidently, no slightest fear of his cold reserve. With the
child's hand in hers, Julia took courage to reply warmly: "Thank you,
father, it is a joy to be here."

She had called him "father," this elegant stranger, and her heart beat a
little faster, but her husband's arm went around her.

"America's all right, eh, Julia?"

"Come in cousin Eloise's room," cried Jewel. "That's all lighted, too. Are
they going to have them both, grandpa?"

She danced ahead, through a spacious white-tiled bathroom and into the
adjoining apartment. There an unexpected sight met the child's eyes. In the
rosy depths of a large chintz chair sat Anna Belle, loyally keeping her
eyes open in spite of the hour.

Jewel rushed toward her. There were plenty of flowers scattered about in
this room, also, and the child suddenly caught sight of her own toilet
articles on the dresser.

"My things are down here in cousin Eloise's room, grandpa!" she cried, so
surprised that she delayed picking up her doll.

"Why, why!" said Mr. Evringham, throwing open the door of the large closet
and then opening a bureau drawer. Within both receptacles were Jewel's
belongings, neatly arranged. "This is odd!" he added.

"Grandpa, grandpa!" cried the child, rushing at him and clasping her arms
around his waist. "You're going to let me sleep down here by father and
mother!"

Mr. Evringham regarded her unsmilingly. Jewel's parents both looked on,
more than half expecting a snub to meet the energetic onslaught. "You won't
object, will you?" he asked.

Jewel pulled him down and whispered something in his ear. The curious
on-lookers saw the sweeping mustache curve in a smile as he straightened up
again. As a matter of fact they were both curious to know what she had said
to him.

"You're whispering in company, Jewel," remarked her father.

"Oh, please excuse me!" said the child. "I forgot to remember. Here's Anna
Belle, father."

"My, my, my!" ejaculated Harry Evringham, coming forward. "How that child
has grown!"




CHAPTER IV

ON THE VERANDA


What a luxurious, happy, sleepy time Jewel had that night in the pretty
rose-bower where her mother undressed her while her father and grandfather
went back downstairs.

It was very sweet to be helped and cuddled as if she were again a baby, and
as she lay in bed and watched her mother setting the flowers in the
bathroom and arranging everything, she tried to talk to her on some of the
subjects that were uppermost in her mind. Mrs. Evringham came at last and
lay down beside her. Jewel nestled into the loving arms and kissed her
cheek.

"I'm too happy to go to sleep," she declared, then sighed, and instantly
pretty room and pretty mother had disappeared.

Mrs. Evringham lay there on the luxurious bed, the sleeping child in her
arms, and her thoughts were rich with gratitude. Her life had never been
free from care: first as a young girl in her widowed mother's home, then as
wife of the easy-going and unprincipled youth, whose desertion of her and
her baby had filled her cup of bitterness, though she bravely struggled on.
Her mother had died; and soon afterward the light of Christian Science had
dawned upon her path. Strengthened by its support, she had grown into new
health and courage, and life was beginning to blossom for her when her
repentant husband returned.

For a time his wayward habits were a care to her; but he was sincerely
ashamed of himself, and the discovery of the development of character in
the pretty girl whom he had left six years before roused his manhood. To
her joy he began to take an interest in the faith which had wrought such
changes in her, and after that she had no doubts of the outcome. From the
moment when she obtained for him a business position, it became his
ambition to take his rightful place in the world and to guard her from
rough contact, and though as yet he still leaned upon her judgment, and she
knew herself to be the earthly mainspring of all their business affairs,
she knew, also, that his desire was right, and the knowledge sweetened her
days.

Here in this home which was, to her unaccustomed eyes, palatial in its
appointments, with her child again in her arms, she gave thanks for the joy
of the present hour. A day or two of pleasure in these surroundings, and
then she and Harry would relieve Mr. Evringham of the care they had imposed
upon him.

He had borne it nobly, there was no doubt about that. He had even
complicated existence by giving Jewel a pony. How a pony would fit into the
frugal, busy life of the Chicago apartment, Julia did not know; but her
child's dearest wish had been gratified, and there was nothing to do but
appreciate and enjoy the fact. After all, Harry's father must have more
paternal affection than her husband had ever given him credit for; for even
on the most superficial acquaintance one could see that any adaptation of
his life and tastes to those of a child would have to come with creaking
difficulty to the stock broker, and the fact of Jewel's ease with him told
an eloquent story of how far Mr. Evringham must have constrained himself
for Harry's sake.

Her thoughts flowed on and had passed to business and all that awaited them
in Chicago, when her husband rejoined her. She rose from the bed as he came
in, and hand in hand they stood and looked down at Jewel, asleep.

Harry stooped and kissed the flushed cheek.

"Don't wake her, dear," said Julia, smiling at the energy of the caress.

"Wake her? I don't believe a clap of thunder would have that effect. Why,
she and father have been painting the town; dining at the Waldorf, driving
in the park, riding in the swan boats, and then hanging around that dock.
Bless her little heart, I should think she'd sleep for twenty-four hours."

"How wonderfully kind of him!" returned Julia. "You need never tell me
again, Harry, that your father doesn't love you."

"Oh, loving hasn't been much in father's line, but we hope it will be,"
returned the young man as he slipped an arm around his wife. "Do you
remember the last time we stood watching Jewel asleep? I do. It was in that
beastly hotel the night before we sailed."

"Oh, Harry!" Julia buried her face a moment on his shoulder. "Shall you
ever forget our relief when her first letter came, showing that she was
happy? Do you remember the hornpipe you danced in our lodgings and how you
shocked the landlady? Your father may not _call_ it loving, but his care
and thoughtfulness have expressed that and he can't help my loving _him_
forever and forever for being kind to Jewel."

Harry gave his head a quick shake. "I'll be hanged if I can see how anybody
could be unkind to her," he remarked.

"Oh, well, you've never been an elderly man, set in your ways and used to
living alone. I'm sure it meant a great deal to him. Think of his doing all
that for her this afternoon."

"Oh, he had to pass the time somehow, and he couldn't very well refuse to
let her come in to meet us. Besides, she's on the eve of going away, and
father likes to do the handsome thing. He was doing it for other people,
though, when Lawrence and I were kids. He never took us in any swan boats."

"Poor little boys!" murmured Julia.

"Oh, not at all," returned Harry, laughing rather sardonically. "We took
ourselves in the swan boats and in a variety of other places not so
picturesque. Father's purse strings were always loose, and so long as we
kept out of his way he didn't care what we did. Nice old place, this,
Julia?"

"Oh, it's very fine. I had no idea how fine." Her tone was somewhat
awestruck.

"I used to know, absolutely, that father was through with me, and that
therefore I was through with Bel-Air; but I'm a new man," the speaker
smiled down at his wife and pressed her closer to him, "and I've been
telling father why, and how."

"Is that what you've been talking about?"

"Yes. He seemed interested to hear of my business and prospects and asked
me a lot of questions; so, as I only began to live less than a year ago, I
couldn't answer them without telling him who and what had set me on my
feet."

"Oh, Harry! You've really been talking about Science?"

"Yes, my dear, and about you; and I tell you, he wasn't bored. When I'd let
up a little he'd ask me another question; and at last he said, father did,
'Well, I believe she'll make a man of you yet, Harry!' Not too
complimentary, I admit, but I swallowed it and never flinched. I knew he
wasn't going to see enough of you in two days to half know you, so I just
thought I'd give him a few statistics, and they made an impression, I
assure you. After that if he wanted to set me down a little it was no more
than I deserved, and he was welcome."

For a long moment the two looked into one another's eyes, then Harry spoke
in a subdued tone:--

"You've done a lot for me, Julia; but the biggest thing of all, the thing
that is most wonderful and that means the most to me, and for which I'd
worship you through eternity if it was _all_ you'd done, is that you have
taught me of Christian Science and shown me how it has guarded that child's
love and respect for me, when I was forfeiting both every hour. I'll work
to my last day, my girl, to show you my gratitude for that."

"Darling boy!" she murmured.

Next morning at rising time Jewel was still wrapped in slumber. Her parents
looked at her before going downstairs.

"Do you know, I can't help feeling a bit relieved," laughed Julia softly,
"that she won't go down with us. The little thing is rather thoughtless
with her grandfather, and though he has evidently schooled himself to
endure her energetic ways, I can't help feeling a bit anxious all the time.
He has borne it so well this long that I want to get her away before she
breaks the camel's back. When do you think we can go, Harry?"

"To-morrow or next day. You might get things packed to-day. I really ought
to go, but I don't want to seem in a hurry."

"Oh, yes, do let us go to-morrow," returned Julia eagerly.

The Westminster clock on the stairs chimed as they passed down, and Mr.
Evringham was waiting for them in the dining-room. As he said good-morning
he looked beyond them, expectantly.

Mrs. Forbes greeted them respectfully and indicated their seats.

"Where is Jewel?" asked the host.

"In dreamland. You couldn't waken her with a volley of artillery," returned
Harry cheerfully.

"H'm," returned his father.

They all took their places at the table and Julia remarked on the charming
outlook from the windows.

"Yes," returned the host. "I'm sorry I can't stay at home this morning and
do the honors of the park. I shall leave that to Harry and Jewel. As we
were rather late last night I didn't take my canter this morning. If you
wish to have a turn on the mare, Harry, Zeke knows that the stables are in
your hands. No one but myself rides Essex Maid, but I'll make a shining
exception of you."

"I appreciate the honor," returned Harry lightly, but as a matter of fact
he did not at all grasp its extent.

"If you'd like to take your wife for a drive there's the Spider. The child
will want to show you her pony and will probably get you off on some
excursion. Tell her there is time enough and not to make you do two days'
work in one."

After breakfast the trio adjourned to the piazza and Julia looked out on
the thick, dewy grass and spreading trees.

"I believe the park improves, father," said Harry, smiling as he noted his
wife's delight in the charming landscape.

Deep armchairs and tables, rugs and a wicker divan furnished a portion of
the piazza. "How will little Jewel like the apartment after this?" Julia
could not help asking herself the question mentally. She no longer wondered
at the child's content here, even without the companionship of other
children. It must be an unimaginative little maid who, supported by Anna
Belle, could not weave a fairy-land in this fresh paradise.

"Won't you be seated?" said the broker, waving his hand toward the chairs.
The others obeyed as he took his place. "Let us know a little, now, what we
are doing. What did I understand you to say, Harry, is your limit for
time?"

"Well, I ought, really, to go west to-morrow, father."

Mr. Evringham nodded and turned his incisive glance upon his
daughter-in-law. "And you, Julia?"

She smiled brightly at him. He observed that her complexion bore the
sunlight well. "Oh, Jewel and I go with him, of course," she responded,
confident that her reply would convey satisfaction.

"H'm. Indeed! Now it seems to me that you would be the better for a
vacation."

"Why! Haven't I just had a trip to Europe?"

"Yes, I should think you had. From all that Harry tells me, I judge what
with hunting up fashions and fabrics and corset-makers and all the rest of
it, you have done the work, daily, of about two able-bodied men."

"That's right," averred Harry. "I was too much of a greenhorn to give her
much assistance."

"Still, you understand your own end of the business, I take it," said his
father, turning suddenly upon him.

"Yes, I do. I believe the firm will say I'm the square peg in the square
hole."

"Then why not take a vacation, Julia?" asked the broker again.

"Harry is doing splendidly," she returned gently, "but we can't live on the
salary he gets now. He needs my help for a while, yet. I'm going to be a
lady of leisure some day." The broker caught the glance of confidence she
sent his boy.

"I'm screwing up my courage now to strike them for more," said Harry. "It
frets me worse every day to see that girl delving away, and a great
strapping, hulking chap like me not able to prevent it."

His father looked gravely at the young wife. "Let him begin now," he said.
"He doesn't need your apron string any longer."

"What do you mean?" asked Julia, half timidly.

"Stay here with me a while and let Harry go west. I will take you and Jewel
to the seashore."

"Hurray!" cried Harry, his face radiant. "Julia, why, you won't know
yourself strolling on the sands with a parasol while your poor delicate
husband is toiling and moiling away in the dingy city. Good for you,
father! You lift that pretty nose of hers up from the grindstone where
she's held it so many years that she doesn't know anything different.
Hurray, Julia!" In his enthusiasm the speaker rose and leaned over the
chair of his astonished wife. "You wake up in the morning and read a novel
instead of your appointment book for a while," he went on. "The Chicago
women's summer clothes are all made by this time, anyway. Play lady for
once and come back to me the color of mahogany. Go ahead!"

"Why, Harry, how can I? What would you do?"

"I'm hanged if I don't show you what I'd do, and do it well, too," he
returned.

"But I ought to go home first," faltered the bewildered woman.

"Not a bit of it. I'll tackle the firm and the apartment, all right; and to
be plain, we can't afford the needless car fare."

"But, father," Julia appealed to him, "is it right to make Harry get on
still longer without Jewel?"

"Perfectly right. Entirely so," rejoined the broker decidedly.

"Of course he doesn't realize how we feel about Jewel," thought Julia.

Here a large brown horse and brougham came around the driveway into sight.
Zeke's eyes turned curiously toward the guests, but he sat stiffly
immovable.

The broker rose. "I must go now or I shall miss my train. Think it over.
There's only one way to think about it. It is quite evidently the thing to
do. The break has been made, and now is the time for Julia to take her
vacation before going into harness again. Moreover, perhaps Harry will get
his raise and she won't have to go into harness. Good-morning. I shall try
to come out early. I hope you will make yourselves comfortable."

Mrs. Evringham looked at Zeke. He was the glass of fashion and the mould of
form, but there was no indication in his smooth-shaven, wooden countenance
of the comrade to whom Jewel had referred in her fragmentary letters.

"Well, Harry!" she exclaimed breathlessly, as the carriage rolled away. Her
expression elicited a hearty laugh from her husband. "I _never_ was so
surprised. How unselfish he is! Harry, is it possible that we don't know
your father at _all_? Think of his proposing to keep, still longer, a
disturbing element like our lively little girl!"

"Oh, I've never believed he bothered himself very much about Jewel,"
returned Harry lightly. "You make a mountain out of that. All a child needs
is a ten acre lot to let off steam in, and she's had it here. He knows
you'll keep her out from under foot. Let's accept this pleasure. He
probably takes a lot of stock in you after all I told him last night. It's
a relief to his pride and everything else that I'm not going to disgrace
the name. He wants to do something for you. That's the whole thing in a
nutshell; and you let him do it, Julia." In an exuberance of spirits, aided
by the fresh, inspiring morning, the speaker took his wife in his arms, as
they stood there on the wide veranda, and hugged her heartily.

"Do you think I shall get over my awe of him?" She half laughed, but her
tone was sincere. "I'm so unused to people who never smile and seem to be
enduring me. Oh, if you were only going to stay, too, Harry, then it would
be a vacation indeed!"

"Here, here! Where are your principles? Who's afraid now?"

"But he's so stately and forbidding, and I shall feel such a responsibility
of keeping Jewel from troubling him."

Harry laughed again. "She seems entirely capable of paddling her own canoe.
She didn't seem troubled by doubts or compunctions in the carriage last
night; and up there in the bedroom when she flew at him! How was that for a
case of _lèse majesté_? Gad, at her age I'd sooner have tackled a lighted
fuse! What do you suppose it was she whispered to him?"

"I've no idea, and I must say I was curious enough to ask her while I was
putting her to bed; but do you know, she wouldn't say!" The mother laughed.
"She sidled about,--you know how she does when she is reluctant to speak,
and seemed so embarrassed that I have to laugh when I think of it."

"Perhaps it concerned some surprise she has persuaded father to give us."

"No, it couldn't be that, because she answered at last that she'd tell me
when she was a young lady."

They both laughed. "Well," said Harry, "she isn't afraid of him so you'd
notice it; and you can give her a few pointers so she needn't get in
father's way now that she has you again. He has evidently been mighty
considerate of the little orphan."

"How good he has been!" returned Julia fervently. "If we could only go home
with you, Harry," she added wistfully, "while there's so much good feeling,
and before anything happens to alter it!"

"Where are your principles?" asked Harry again. "You know better than to
think anything will happen to alter it."

"Yes, I do, I do; but I always have to meet my shyness of strangers, and it
makes my heart beat to think of your going off and leaving me here. Being
tête-à-tête with your father is appalling, I must confess."

"Oh, well, it wouldn't do to slight his offer, and it will do you a world
of good."

"You'll have to send me my summer gowns."

"I will."

"Dear me, am I really going to _do_ it?" asked Julia incredulously.

"Certainly you are. We'd be imbecile not to accept such an opportunity."

"Then," she answered resignedly, "if it is fact and not a wild fancy, we
have a lot of business to talk over, Harry. Let us make the most of our
time while Jewel is asleep."

She led the way back to the chairs, and they were soon immersed in
memoranda and discussion.




CHAPTER V

THE LIFTED VEIL


At last their plans were reduced to order and Harry placed the papers
carefully in his pocket.

"Come in and let's have a look at the house, Julia," he suggested. "It
won't do to go to the stables without Jewel."

They entered the drawing-room and Julia moved about admiring the pictures
and carvings, and paused long before the oil portrait of a beautiful woman,
conspicuously placed.

"That's my grandmother," remarked Harry. "Isn't she stunning? That's the
side of the family I didn't take after."

While they still examined the portrait and the exquisite painting of its
laces, Jewel ran into the room and seized them from behind.

"Well, well, all dressed!" exclaimed her father as the two stooped to kiss
her.

"Yes, but my hair isn't very nice," said the child, putting up her hand to
her braids, "because I didn't want to be late to breakfast."

Her father's hearty laugh rang out. "Lunch, do you mean?"

"We're through breakfast long ago, dearie," said her mother. "No wonder you
slept late. We wanted you to."

"Breakfast's all through!" exclaimed the child, and they were surprised at
her dismay.

"Yes, but Mrs. Forbes will get you something," said her father.

"But has grandpa gone?" asked the child. Before they could reply the
housekeeper passed the door and Jewel ran to her. "Has grandpa gone, Mrs.
Forbes?" she repeated anxiously.

"Yes, indeed, it's after ten. Come into the dining-room, Jewel; Sarah will
give you your breakfast."

"I'm not a bit hungry--yes, I am, a little--but what is grandpa's telephone
number, Mrs. Forbes."

"Oh, now, you won't call him up, dear," said the housekeeper coaxingly.
"Come and eat your breakfast like a good girl."

"Yes, in just one minute I will. What is the number, please, Mrs. Forbes?"

The housekeeper gave the number, and Harry and Julia drew nearer.

"Your grandpa is coming out early, Jewel," said her father. "You'll see him
in a few hours, and you can ask him whatever you wish to then."

"She never has called Mr. Evringham up, sir," said the housekeeper. "He
speaks to _her_ sometimes. You know, Jewel, your grandfather doesn't like
to be disturbed in his business and called to the 'phone unless it is
something very important."

"It is," returned the child, and she ran to the part of the hall where the
instrument was situated. Her mother and father followed, the former feeling
that she ought to interfere, but the latter amused and curious.

"My little girl," began Julia, in protest, but Harry put his hand on her
arm and detained her. Jewel was evidently filled with one idea and deaf to
all else. With her usual energy she took down the receiver and made her
request to the central office. Harry drew his wife to where they could
watch her absorbed, rosy face. Her listening expression was anxiously
intent. Mrs. Forbes also lingered at a little distance, enjoying the
parents' interest and sharing it.

"Is that you, grandpa?" asked the sweet voice.

"Oh, well, I want to see Mr. Evringham."

"What? No. I'm sorry, but nobody will do but grandpa. You tell him it's
Jewel, please."

"What? I thought I _did_ speak plain. It's _Jewel_; his little grandchild."

The little girl smiled at the next response. "Yes, I'm the very one that
ate the Nesselrode pudding," she said, and chuckled into the 'phone.

By this time even Julia had given up all thought of interfering, and was
watching, curiously, the round head with its untidy blond hair.

Jewel spoke again. "I'm sorry I can't tell you the business, but it's
_very_ important."

Evidently the earnestness of this declaration had an effect. After a minute
more of waiting, the child's face lighted.

"Oh, grandpa, is that you?"

"Yes, I am. I'm _so_ sorry I slept too long!"

"Yes, I know you missed me, and now I have to eat my breakfast without you.
Why didn't you come and bring me downstairs?"

"Oh, but I _would_ have. Did you feel very sorry when you got in the
brougham, grandpa?"

"I know it. Did the ride seem _very_ long, all alone?"

"Yes, indeed. I felt so sorry inside when I found you'd gone, I had to hear
you speak so as to get better so I could visit with mother and father."

"Yes, it _is_ a comfort. Are you _sure_ you don't feel sorry now?"

"Well, but are you smiling, grandpa?"

Whatever the answer was to this, it made Jewel's anxious brows relax and
she laughed into the 'phone.

"Grandpa, you're such a joker! One smile won't make you any fatter," she
protested.

Another listening silence, then:--

"You know the reason I feel the worst, don't you?"

"Why yes, you do. What we were talking about yesterday." The child sighed.
"Well, isn't it a comfort about eternity?"

"Yes, indeed, and I guess I'll kiss the 'phone now, grandpa. Can you hear
me?"

"Well, you do it, too, then. Yes--yes--I hear it; and you'll come home
early because you know--our secret?"

"What? A lot of men waiting for you? All right. You know I love you just
the same, even if I _did_ sleep, don't you?"

"Good-by, then, good-by."

She hung up the receiver and turned a beaming face upon her dumbfounded
parents.

"Now I'll have breakfast," she said cheerfully. "I'll only eat a little
because we must go out and see Star. You waited for me, didn't you?"
pausing in sudden apprehension.

"Yes, indeed," replied Harry, collecting himself. "We haven't been off the
piazza."

"Goody. I'm so glad. I'll hurry."

Mrs. Forbes followed the child as she bounded away, and the father and
mother sank upon an old settle of Flemish oak, gazing at one another. The
veil having been completely lifted from their eyes, each was viewing recent
circumstances in a new light.

At last Harry began to laugh in repressed fashion. "Sold, and the money
taken!" he ejaculated, softly smiting his knee.

His wife smiled, too, but there was a mist in her eyes.

"I smell a large mouse, Julia. How is it with you?"

"You mean my invitation?"

"I mean that we come under the head of those things that can't be cured and
must be endured."

She nodded. "And that's why he wants to take me to the seashore."

"Yes, but all the same he's got to do it to carry his point. You get the
fun just the same." The moisture that rose to Harry's eyes was forced there
by the effort to repress his mirth. "By jinks, the governor kissing the
'phone! I'll never get over that, never," and he exploded again.

His wife laid her hand on his arm. "Oh, Harry, can't you see how touching
it is?"

"I'll sue him for alienating my daughter's affections. See if I don't. Why,
we're not in it at all. Did you feel our insignificance when she found he'd
gone? We've been blockheads, Julia, blockheads."

"We're certainly figureheads," she returned, rather ruefully. "I don't
like to feel that your father has to pay such a price for the sake of
keeping Jewel a little longer."

"'T won't hurt him a bit. It's a good joke on him. If he doesn't go ahead
and take you now, I'll bring another suit against him for breach of
promise."

Julia was looking thoughtfully into space. "I believe," she said, at last,
"that we may find out that Jewel has been a missionary here."

"She's given father a brand new heart," returned Harry promptly. "That's
plain."

"Let us not say a word to the child about the plan for her and me to stay,"
said Julia. "Let us leave it all for Mr. Evringham."

"All right; only he won't think you're much pleased with the idea."

"I'm not," returned the other, smiling. "I'm a little dazed; but if he was
the man he appeared to be the day we left Jewel with him, and she has loved
him into being a happier and better man, it may be a matter of duty for us
not to deprive him of her at once. I'll try to resign myself to the rôle of
necessary baggage, and even try to conceal from him the fact that I know my
place."

"Oh, my girl, you'll have him captured in a week, and Jewel will have a
rival. You have the same knack she has for making the indifferent
different."

At this juncture the housekeeper came back into the hall.

"Well, Mrs. Forbes," said Harry, rising, "that was rather amusing important
business Jewel had with my father."

The housekeeper held up her hands and shook her head. "Such lovers, sir,"
she responded. "Such lovers! Whatever he's going to do without her is more
than I know."

"Why, it's a big change come over father, to be fond of children," returned
the young man, openly perplexed.

"_Children!_" repeated the housekeeper. "If you suppose, Mr. Harry, that
Jewel is any common child, you must have had a wonderful experience."

Her impressive, almost solemn manner, sobered the father's mood. "What she
is, is the result of what her mother has taught her," he returned.

"Not one of us wanted her when she came," said the housekeeper, looking
from one to the other of the young couple standing before her. "Not one
person in the house was half civil to her." Julia's hand tightened on her
husband's arm. "I didn't want anybody troubling Mr. Evringham. People
called him a hard, cold, selfish man; but I knew his trials, yes, Mr.
Harry, you know I knew them. He was my employer and it was my business to
make him comfortable, and I hated that dear little girl because I'd made up
my mind that she'd upset him. Well, Jewel didn't know anything about hate,
not enough to know it when she saw it. She just loved us all, through thick
and thin, and you'll have to wait till you can read what the recording
angel's set down, before you can have any full idea of what she's done for
us. She's made a humble woman out of me, and I was the stiff-neckedest
member of the congregation. There's my only child, Zeke; she's persuaded
him out of habits that were breaking up our lives. There was Eloise
Evringham, without hope or God in the world. She gave her both, that little
Jewel did. Then, most of all, she crept into Mr. Evringham's empty heart
and filled it full, and made his whole life, as you might say, blossom
again. That's what she's done, single handed, in two months, and she has no
more conceit of her work than a ray of God's sunshine has when it's opening
a flower bud."

Julia Evringham's gaze was fixed intently upon the speaker, and she was
unconscious that two tears rolled down her cheeks.

"You've made us very happy, telling us this," she said, rather
breathlessly, as the housekeeper paused.

"And I should like to add, Mrs. Evringham," said Mrs. Forbes impressively,
"that you'd better turn your attention to an orphan asylum and catch them
as young as you can and train them up. What this old world wants is a whole
crop of Jewels."

Julia's smile was very sweet. "We may all have the pure child thought," she
returned.

Mrs. Forbes passed on upstairs. Harry looked at his wife. He was winking
fast. "Well, this isn't any laughing matter, after all, Julia."

"No, it's a matter to make us very humble with joy and gratitude."

As she spoke Jewel bounded back into the hall and ran into her father's
open arms.

"A good breakfast, eh?" he asked tenderly.

"Yes, I didn't mean to be so long, but Sarah said grandpa wanted me to eat
a chop. Now, _now_, we're going to see Star!"

"I'd better fix your hair first," remarked her mother.

"Oh, let her hair go till lunch time," said Harry. "The horses won't care,
will they, Jewel?" He picked her up and set her on his shoulder and out
they went to the clean, spacious stables.

Zeke pulled down his shirt-sleeves as he saw them coming. "This is my
father and mother, Zeke," cried the child, happily, and the coachman ducked
his head with his most unprofessional grin.

"Jewel's got a great pony here," he said.

"Well, I should think so!" remarked Harry, as he and his wife followed
where the child led, to a box stall.

"Why, Jewel, he's right out of a story!" said her mother, viewing the wavy
locks and sweeping tail, as the pony turned eagerly to meet his mistress.

Jewel put her arms around his neck and buried her face for an instant in
his mane. "I haven't anything for you, Star, this time," she said, as the
pretty creature nosed about her. "Mother, do you see his star?"

"Indeed I do," replied Mrs. Evringham, examining the snowflake between the
full, bright eyes. "He's the prettiest pony I ever saw, Jewel. Did your
grandpa have him made to order?"

Zeke shrugged his gingham clad shoulders. "He would have, if he could,
ma'am," he put in.

Mrs. Evringham laughed. "Well, he certainly didn't need to. Oh, see that
beautiful head!" for Essex Maid looked out to discover what all the
disturbance was about.

Harry paused in his examination of the pony, to go over to the mare's
stall.

"Whew, what a stunner!" he remarked.

"Mr. Evringham said you were to ride her this morning, sir, if you liked.
You'll be the first, beside him." Zeke paused and with a comical gesture of
his head indicated the child and then the mare. "It's been nip and tuck
between them, sir; but I guess Jewel's got the Maid beat by now."

Harry laughed.

"Two blue ribbons, she's won, sir. She'll get another this autumn if he
shows her."

"I should think so. She's a raving beauty." As he spoke, Harry smoothed the
bright coat. "When are we going out, Jewel?"

"But we couldn't leave mother," returned the child, from her slippery perch
on the pony's back. She had been thinking about it. "Are you sure, Zeke,
that grandpa said father might ride Essex Maid?"

"He told me so, himself," said Harry, amused.

Jewel shook her head, much impressed. "Then he loves you about the most of
anybody," she remarked, with conviction.

"Don't think of me," said her mother. "You and father do just what you
like. I can be happy just looking about this beautiful place."

"Oh, I know what," exclaimed Jewel, with sudden brightness. "Let's all go
to the Ravine of Happiness before lunch time, and then wait for grandpa,
and he can take mother in the phaeton, and father and I can ride
horseback."

"Oh, I'm afraid your grandpa wouldn't like that," returned Mrs. Evringham
quickly.

Zeke was standing near her. "He would if she said so, ma'am," he put in, in
a low tone.

Julia smiled kindly upon him.

Harry tossed his head, amused. "It's a case, isn't it, Zeke?" he remarked.

"Yes, sir," returned the coachman. "He comes when he's called, and will eat
out of her hand, sir."

Harry laughed and went back to the pony's stall. "Come on, then, Jewel,
come to my old stamping ground, the ravine."

"And if her hair frightens the birds it's your fault," smiled Julia,
smoothing with both hands the little flaxen head.

"The birds have seen me look a great deal worse than this, a great _deal_
worse," said Jewel cheerfully.

"Perhaps they'll think her hair is a nest and sit down in it," suggested
her father, as they moved away, the happy child between them, holding a
hand of each.

The little girl drew in her chin as she looked up at him.

"Oh, father, you're such a joker!"




CHAPTER VI

THE DIE IS CAST


"Oh, grandpa, we've had the most, _fun_!" cried Jewel that afternoon as she
ran down the veranda steps to meet the broker, getting out of the brougham.

Harry and Julia were standing near the wicker chairs watching the welcome.
They saw Mr. Evringham stoop to receive the child's embrace, and noted the
attention he paid to her chatter as, after lifting his hat to them, he
slowly advanced.

"Father and I played in the ravine the longest while. Wasn't it a nice
time, father?"

"It certainly was a nice, wet time. I am one pair of shoes short, and shall
have to travel to Chicago in patent leathers."

As Julia rose she regarded her father-in-law with new eyes. All sense of
responsibility had vanished, and her present passive rôle seemed
delightful.

"I know more about this beautiful place than when you went away," she said.
"I feel as if I were at some picturesque resort. It doesn't seem at all as
if work-a-day people might live here all the time."

"I'm glad you like it," returned the broker, and his quick, curt manner of
speech no longer startled her. "Have you been driving?"

"No, we preferred to have Jewel plan our campaign, and she seemed to think
that the driving part had better wait for you."

The broker turned and looked down at the smooth head with billowy ribbon
bows behind the ears. Noting his expression, or lack of it, Julia wondered,
momentarily, if she might have dreamed the episode of kissing into the
telephone.

"What is your plan, Jewel?" he asked.

She balanced herself springily on her toes. "I thought two of us in the
phaeton and two on horseback," she replied, with relish.

"H'm. You in the phaeton and I on Star, perhaps."

"Oh, grandpa, and your feet dragging in the road!" The child's laugh was a
gush of merriment.

The broker looked back at his daughter-in-law and handed her the large
white package he was carrying. "With my compliments, madam."

Julia flushed prettily as she unwrapped the box. "Oh, Huyler's!" she
exclaimed. "How delicious. Thank you so much, father."

Jewel's eyes were big with admiration. "That's just the kind Dr. Ballard
used to give cousin Eloise," she said, sighing. "Sometime I'll be grown
up!"

Mr. Evringham lifted her into his arms with a quick movement. "That's a far
day, thank God," he murmured, his mustache against her hair; then lowering
her until he could look into her face: "How have you arranged us, Jewel?
Who drives and who rides?"

"Perhaps father would like to drive mother in the phaeton," said the child,
again on her feet.

Harry smiled. "Your last plan, I thought, was that I should ride the mare."

"Yes," returned Jewel, with some embarrassment. "You won't look so nice as
grandpa does on Essex Maid," she added, very gently, "but if it would be a
_pleasure_ to you, father"--

Her companions laughed so heartily that the child bored the toe of one shoe
into the piazza, and well they knew the sign.

"Here," said her father hastily, "which of these delicious candies do you
want, Jewel? Oh, how good they look! I tell you you'll have to be quick if
you want any. I have only till to-morrow to eat them."

"Really to-morrow, father!" returned the child, pausing aghast.
"To-morrow!"

"Yes, indeed."

"To Chicago, do you mean?"

"To Chicago." He nodded emphatically.

Jewel turned appealing eyes on her mother. "Can't we help it?" she asked in
a voice that broke.

"I think not, dearie. Business must come before pleasure, you know."

Her three companions looking at the child saw her swallow with an effort.
She dropped the chocolate she had taken back into the box.

A heroic smile came to her trembling lips as she lifted her eyes to the
impassive face of the tall, handsome man beside her. "It's to-morrow,
grandpa," she said softly, with a look that begged him to remember.

He stooped until his gaze was on a level with hers. She did not touch him.
All her forces were bent on self-control.

"I have been asking your mother," said Mr. Evringham, "to stay here a while
and take a vacation. Hasn't she told you?"

Jewel shook her head mutely.

"I think she will do it if you add your persuasion," continued the broker
quietly. "She ought to have rest,--and of course you would stay too, to
take care of her."

A flash like sunlight illumined the child's tears. Mr. Evringham expected
to feel her arms thrown around his neck. Instead, she turned suddenly, and
running to her father, jumped into his lap.

"Father, father," she said, "don't you want us to go with you?"

Harry cleared his throat. The little scene had moistened his eyes as well.
"Am I of any consequence?" he asked, with an effort at jocoseness.

Jewel clasped him close. "Oh, father," earnestly, "you know you are; and
the only reason I said you wouldn't look so nice on Essex Maid is that
grandpa has beautiful riding clothes, and when he rides off he looks like a
king in a procession. You couldn't look like a king in a procession in the
clothes you wear to the store, could you, father?"

"Impossible, dearie."

"But I want you to ride her if you'd like to, and I want mother and me to
go to Chicago with you if you're going to feel sorry."

"You really do, eh?"

Jewel hesitated, then turned her head and held out her hand to Mr.
Evringham, who took it. "If grandpa won't feel sorry," she answered. "Oh, I
don't know what I want. I wish I didn't love to be with so many people!"

Her little face, drawn with its problem, precipitated the broker's plans
and made him reckless. He said to his son now, that which, in his
carefully prepared programme, he had intended to say about three months
hence, provided a nearer acquaintance with his daughter Julia did not prove
disappointing.

"I suppose you are not devotedly attached to Chicago, Harry?"

The young man looked up, surprised. "Not exactly. So far she has treated me
like a cross between a yellow dog and a step-child; but I shall be devoted
enough if I ever succeed there."

"Don't succeed there," returned the broker curtly. "Succeed here."

Harry shook his head. "Oh, New York's beyond me. I have a foothold in
Chicago."

"Yes," returned the broker, who had the born and bred New Yorker's contempt
for the Windy City. "Yes, I know you've got your foot in it, but take it
out."

"Great Scott! You'd have me become a rolling stone again?"

"No. I'll guarantee you a place where, if you don't gather moss, you'll
even write your_self_ down as long-eared."

Harry's eyes brightened, and he straightened up, moving Jewel to one side,
the better to see his father. "Do you mean it?" he asked eagerly.

The broker nodded. "Take your time to settle matters in Chicago," he said.
"If you show up here in September it will be early enough."

The young man turned his eyes toward his wife and she met his smile with
another. Her heart was beating fast. This powerful man of whom, until this
morning, she had stood in awe, was going to put a stop to the old life and
lift their burdens. So much she perceived in a flash, and she knew it was
for the sake of the little child whose cheeks were glowing like roses as
she looked from one to another, taking in the happy promise involved in the
words of the two men.

"Father, will you come back here?" she asked, breathing quickly.

"I'd be mighty glad to, Jewel," he replied.

The child leaned toward the broker, to whose hand she still clung. Starry
lights were dancing in her eyes.

"Grandpa, are father and mother and I going to live with you--always?" she
asked rapturously.

"Always--if you will, Jewel."

He certainly had not intended to say it until autumn leaves were falling,
and he should have made certain that it was not putting his head into a
noose; but the child's face rewarded him now a thousand-fold, and made the
moment too sweet for regret.

"Didn't we _know_ that Divine Love would take care of us, grandpa?" she
asked, with soft triumph. "We _did_ know it--even when I was crying, we
knew it. Didn't we?"

The broker drank in her upturned glance and placed his other hand over the
one that was clinging to him.




CHAPTER VII

MRS. EVRINGHAM'S GIFTS


When Mrs. Evringham opened her eyes the following morning, it was with a
confused sense that some great change had taken place; and quickly came the
realization that it was a happy change. As the transforming facts flowed in
more clearly upon her consciousness, she covered her eyes quickly with her
hand.

"'Green pastures are before me!'" she thought, and her heart grew warm with
gratitude.

Her husband was asleep, and she arose and went softly to Jewel's chamber,
and carefully opened the door. To her amazement the bed was empty. Its
coverings were stripped down and the sweet morning breeze was flooding the
spacious room.

She returned to her own, wondering how late it might be. Her husband
stirred and opened his eyes, but before she could speak a ripple of distant
laughter sounded on the air.

She ran to the window and raised the shade. "Oh, come, Harry, quick!" she
exclaimed, and, half asleep, he obeyed. There, riding down the driveway,
they saw Mr. Evringham and Jewel starting off for their morning canter.

"How dear they look, how dear!" exclaimed Julia.

"Father is stunning, for a fact," remarked Harry, watching alertly. On
yesterday's excursion he had ridden Essex Maid, after all; and he smiled
with interest now, in the couple who were evidently talking to one another
with the utmost zest as they finally disappeared at a canter among the
trees.

"It is ideal, it's perfectly ideal, Harry." Julia drew a long breath. "I
was so surprised this morning, to waken and find it reality, after all."
She looked with thoughtful eyes at her husband. "I wonder what my new work
will be!" she added.

"Not talking about that already, I hope!" he answered, laughing. "I've an
idea you will find occupation enough for one while, in learning to be idle.
Sit still now and look about you on the work accomplished."

"What work?"

"That I'm here and that you're here: that the action of Truth has brought
these wonders about."

After breakfast the farewells were said. "You're happy, aren't you,
father?" asked Jewel doubtfully, as she clung about his neck.

"Never so happy, Jewel," he answered.

She turned to her grandfather. "When is father coming back again?" she
asked.

"As soon as he can," was the reply.

"You don't want me until September, I believe," said the young man bluntly.
He still retained the consciousness, half amused, half hurt, that his
father considered him superfluous.

"Why, September is almost next winter," said Jewel appealingly.

Mr. Evringham looked his son full in the eyes and liked the direct way they
met him.

"The latchstring will be out from now on, Harry I want you to feel that it
is your latchstring as much as mine."

His son did not speak, but the way the two men suddenly clasped hands gave
Jewel a very comforted sensation.

"And you don't feel a bit sorry to be going alone to Chicago?" she pursued,
again centring her attention and embrace upon her father.

"I tell you I was never so happy in my life," he responded, kissing her and
setting her on her feet. "Are you going to allow me to drive to the station
in your place this morning?"

"I'd let you do anything, father," returned Jewel affectionately. It
touched her little heart to see him go alone away from such a happy family
circle, but her mother's good cheer was reassuring.

They had scarcely had a minute alone together since Mrs. Evringham's
arrival, and when the last wave had been sent toward the head leaning out
of the brougham window, mother and child went up the broad staircase
together, pausing before the tall clock whose chime had grown so familiar
to Jewel since that chilling day when Mrs. Forbes warned her not to touch
it.

"Everything in this house is so fine, Jewel," said the mother. "It must
have seemed very strange to you at first."

"It did. Anna Belle and I felt more at home out of doors, because you see
God owned the woods, and He didn't care if we broke something, and Mrs.
Forbes used to be so afraid; but it's all much different now," added the
child.

They went on up to the room where stood the small trunk which was all Mrs.
Evringham had taken abroad for her personal belongings.

To many children the moment of their mother's unpacking after a return from
a trip is fraught with pleasant and eager anticipation of gifts. In this
case it was different; for Jewel had no previous journey of her mother's to
remember, and her gifts had always been so small, with the shining
exception of Anna Belle, that she made no calculations now concerning the
steamer trunk, as she watched her mother take out its contents.

Each step Mrs. Evringham took on the rich carpet, each glance she cast at
the park through the clear sheets of plate glass in the windows, each
smooth-running drawer, each undreamed-of convenience in the closet with its
electric light for dark days, impressed her afresh with a sense of
wondering pleasure. The lady of her name who had so recently dwelt among
these luxuries had accepted them fretfully, as no more than her due; the
long glass which now reflected Julia's radiant dark eyes lately gave back a
countenance impressed with lines of care and discontent.

"Jewel, I feel like a queen here," said the happy woman softly. "I like
beautiful things very much, but I never had them before in my life. Come,
darling, we must read the lesson." She closed the lid of the trunk.

"Yes, but wait till I get Anna Belle." The child ran into her own room and
brought the doll. Then she jumped into her mother's lap, for there was room
for all three in the big chair by the window.

Some memory made the little girl lift her shoulders. "This was aunt Madge's
chair," she said. "She used to sit here in the prettiest lace wrapper--I
was never in this room before except two or three times,"--Jewel's awed
tone changed,--"but now my own mother lives here! and cousin Eloise would
love to know it and to know that I have her room. I mean to write her about
it."

"You must take me upstairs pretty soon and let me see the chamber that was
yours. Oh, there is so much to see, Jewel; shall we ever get to the end?"
Mrs. Evringham's tone was joyous, as she hugged the child impulsively, and
rested her cheek on the flaxen head. "Darling," she went on softly, "think
what Divine Love has done for mother, to bring her here! I've worked very
hard, my little girl, and though Love helped me all the time, and I was
happy, I've had so much care, and almost never a day when I had leisure to
stop and think about something else than my work. I expected to go right
back to it now, with father, and I didn't worry, because God was leading
me--but, dearie, when I woke up this morning"--she paused, and as Jewel
lifted her head, mother and child gazed into one another's eyes--"I
said--you know what I said?"

For answer the little girl smiled gladly and began to sing the familiar
hymn. Her mother joined an alto to the clear voice, in the manner that had
been theirs for years, and fervently, now, they sang the words:--

    "Green pastures are before me,
    Which yet I have not seen.
    Bright skies will soon be o'er me,
    Where darkest clouds have been.
    My hope I cannot measure,
    My path in life is free,
    My Father has my treasure,
    And He will walk with me!"

Jewel looked joyous.

"The green pastures were in Bel-Air Park, weren't they?" she said, "and you
hadn't seen them, had you?"

"No," returned Mrs. Evringham gently, "and just now there is not a cloud in
our bright sky."

"Father's gone away," returned Jewel doubtfully.

"Only to get ready to come back. It is very wonderful, Jewel."

"Yes, it is. I'm sure it makes God glad to see us so happy."

"I'm sure it does; and the best of it is that father knows that it is love
alone that brought this happiness, just as it brings all the real happiness
that ever comes in the world. He sees that it is only what knowledge we
have of God that made it possible for him to come back to what ought to be
his, his father's welcome home! Father sees that it is a demonstration of
love, and that is more important than all; for anything that gives us a
stronger grasp on the truth, and more understanding of its working, is of
the greatest value to us."

"Didn't grandpa love father before?" asked Jewel, in surprise.

"Yes, but father disappointed him and error crept in between them, so it
was only when father began to understand the truth and ask God to help him,
that the discord could disappear. Isn't it beautiful that it has, Jewel?"

"I don't think discord is much, mother," declared the little girl.

"Of course it isn't," returned her mother. "It isn't anything."

"When I first came, grandpa had so many things to make him sorry, and
everybody else here was sorry--and now nobody is. Even aunt Madge was happy
over the pretty clothes she had to go away with."

"And she'll be happy over other things, some day," returned Mrs. Evringham,
who had already gathered a tolerably clear idea of her sister-in-law.
"Eloise has learned how to help her."

"Oh, ye--es! _She_ isn't afraid of discord any more."

"Now we'll study the lesson, darling. Think of having all the time we want
for it!"

After they had finished, Mrs. Evringham leaned back in the big chair and
patted Jewel's knee. Opening the bag at her side she took out a small box
and gave it to the child, who opened it eagerly. A bright little garnet
ring reposed on the white velvet.

"Oh, oh, _oh_!" cried Jewel, delighted. She put on the ring, which just
fitted, and then hugged her mother before she looked at it again.

"Dear little Anna Belle, when you're a big girl"--she began, turning to the
doll, but Mrs. Evringham interrupted.

"Wait a minute, Jewel, here is Anna Belle's."

She took out another box and, ah, what a charming necklace appeared,
brilliant with gems which outshone completely the three little garnets.
Jewel jumped for joy when she had clasped it about the round neck.

"Oh, mother, mother!" she exclaimed, patting her mother's cheek, "you kept
thinking about us every day, didn't you! Kiss your grandma, dearie," which
the proud and happy Anna Belle did with a fervor that threatened to damage
Mrs. Evringham's front teeth.

"I brought you something else, Jewel," said the mother, with her arms
around the child. "I did think of you every day, and on the ship going
over, it was pretty hard, because I had never been away from my little girl
and I didn't know just what she was doing, and I didn't even know the
people she was with; so, partly to keep my thoughts from error, I began
to--to make something for you."

"Oh, what was it?" asked Jewel eagerly.

"I didn't finish it going over, and I had no time to do so until we were on
the steamer coming home again. Then I was lighter hearted and happier,
because I knew my little darling had found green pastures, but--I finished
it. I don't know how much you will care for it."

Jewel questioned the dark eyes and smiling lips eagerly.

"What is it, mother; a bag for my skates?"

"No."

"A--a handkerchief?"

"No."

"Oh, tell me, mother, I can't wait."

Mrs. Evringham put the little girl down from her lap and going to the trunk
took from it the only article it still contained. It was a long, flat book
with pasteboard covers tied at the back with little ribbons. As she again
took her seat in the big chair, Jewel leaned against its arm.

"It's a scrap-book full of pictures," she said, with interest.

For answer her mother turned the cover toward her so she could read the
words lettered distinctly upon it.

JEWEL'S STORY BOOK

Then Mrs. Evringham ran her finger along the edges of the volume and let
the type-written pages flutter before its owner's delighted eyes.

"You've made me some stories, mother!" cried Jewel. One of the great
pleasures and treats of her life had been those rare half hours when her
busy mother had time to tell her a story.

Her eyes danced with delight. "Oh, you're the _kindest_ mother!" she went
on, "and you'll have time to read them to me now! Anna Belle, won't it be
the most _fun_? Oh, mother, we'll go to the ravine to read, won't we?"

Mrs. Evringham's cheeks flushed and she laughed at the child's joy. "I hope
they won't disappoint you," she said.

"But you wrote them out of love. How can they?" returned the little girl
quickly.

"That's so, Jewel; that's so, dear."




CHAPTER VIII

THE QUEST FLOWER


The garden in the ravine had been put into fine order to exhibit to Jewel's
father and mother. Fresh ferns had been planted around the still pond where
Anna Belle's china dolls went swimming, and fresh moss banks had been
constructed for their repose. The brook was beginning to lose the
impetuosity of spring and now gurgled more quietly between its verdant
banks. It delighted Jewel that the place held as much charm for her mother
as for herself, and that she listened with as hushed pleasure to the songs
of birds in the treetops too high to be disturbed by the presence of
dwellers on the ground. It was an ideal spot wherein to read aloud, and the
early hours of that sunshiny afternoon found the three seated there by the
brookside ready to begin the Story Book.

"Now I'll read the titles and you shall choose what one we will take
first," said Mrs. Evringham.

Jewel's attention was as unwinking as Anna Belle's, as she listened to the
names.

"Anna Belle ought to have first choice because she's the youngest. Then
I'll have next, and you next. Anna Belle chooses The Quest Flower; because
she loves flowers so and she can't imagine what that means."

"Very well," returned Mrs. Evringham, smiling and settling herself more
comfortably against a tree trunk. "The little girl in this story loved
them too;" and so saying, Jewel's mother began to read aloud:--


THE QUEST FLOWER

Hazel Wright learned to love her uncle Dick Badger very much during a visit
he made at her mother's home in Boston. She became well acquainted with
him. He was always kind to her in his quiet way, and always had time to
take her on his knee and listen to whatever she had to tell about her
school or her plays, and even took an interest in her doll, Ella. Mrs.
Wright used to laugh and tell her brother that he was a wonderful old
bachelor, and could give lessons to many a husband and father; upon which
uncle Dick responded that he had always been fond of assuming a virtue if
he had it not; and Hazel wondered if "assuming-a-virtue" were a little
girl. At any rate, she loved uncle Dick and wished he would live with them
always; so it will be seen that when it was suddenly decided that Hazel was
to go home with him to the town where he lived, she was delighted.

"Father and I are called away on business, Hazel," her mother said to her
one day, "and we have been wondering what to do with you. Uncle Dick says
he'll take you home with him if you would like to go."

"Oh, yes, I would," replied the little girl; for it was vacation and she
wanted an outing. "Uncle Dick has a big yard, and Ella and I can have fun
there."

"I'm sure you can. Uncle Dick's housekeeper, Hannah, is a kind soul, and
she knew me when I was as little as you are, and will take good care of
you."

The evening before Hazel and her uncle were to leave, Mrs. Wright spoke to
her brother in private.

"It seems too bad not to be able to write aunt Hazel that her namesake is
coming," she said. "Is she as bitter as ever?"

"Oh, yes. No change."

"Just think of it!" exclaimed Mrs. Wright. "She lives within a stone's
throw of you, and yet can remain unforgiving so many years. Let me see--it
is eight; for Hazel is ten years old, and I know she was two when the
trouble about the property camp up; but you did right, Dick, and some time
aunt Hazel must know it."

"Oh, I think she has lucid intervals when she knows it now," returned Mr.
Badger; "but her pride won't let her admit it. If it amuses her, it doesn't
hurt me for her to pass me on the street without a word or a look. When a
thing like that has run along for years, it isn't easy to make any change."

"Oh, but it is so unchristian, so wrong," returned his sister. "If you only
had a loving enough feeling, Dick, it seems as if you might take her by
storm."

Mr. Badger smiled at some memory. "I tried once. She did the storming." He
shrugged his shoulders. "I'm a man of peace. I decided to let her alone."

Mrs. Wright shook her head. "Well, I haven't told Hazel anything about it.
She knows she is named for my aunt; but she doesn't know where aunt Hazel
lives, and I wish you would warn Hannah not to tell the child anything
about her or the affair. You know we lay a great deal of stress on not
voicing discord of my kind."

"Yes, I know," Mr. Badger smiled and nodded. 'Your methods seem to have
turned out a mighty nice little girl, and it's been a wonder to me ever
since I came, to see you going about, such a different creature from what
you used to be."

"Yes, I'm well and happy," returned Mrs. Wright, "and I long to have this
trouble between you and aunt Hazel at an end. I suppose Hazel isn't likely
to come in contact with her at all."

"No, indeed; no more than if aunt Hazel lived in Kamschatka. She does, if
it's cold enough there."

"Dear woman. She ignored the last two letters I wrote her, I suppose
because I sided with you."

"Oh, certainly, that would be an unpardonable offense. Hannah tells me she
has a crippled child visiting her now, the daughter of some friends. Hannah
persists in keeping an eye on aunt Hazel's affairs, and telling me about
them. Hannah will be pleased to have little Hazel to make a pet of for a
few weeks."

He was right. The housekeeper was charmed. She did everything to make Hazel
feel at home in her uncle's house, and discovering that the little girl had
a passion for flowers, let her make a garden bed of her own. Hazel went
with her uncle to buy plants for this, and she had great fun taking
geraniums and pansies out of their pots and planting them in the soft brown
earth of the round garden plot; and every day blue-eyed Ella, her doll, sat
by and watched Hazel pick out every little green weed that had put its head
up in the night.

"You're only grass, dearie," she would say to one as she uprooted it, "and
grass is all right most everywhere; but this is a garden, so run away."

Not very far down the street was a real garden, though, that gave Hazel
such joy to look at that she carried Ella there every day when it didn't
rain, and would have gone every day when it did, only Hannah wouldn't let
her.

The owner of the garden, Miss Fletcher, at the window where she sat sewing,
began to notice the little stranger at last; for the child stood outside
the fence with her doll, and gazed and gazed so long each time, that the
lady began to regard her with suspicion.

"That young one is after my flowers, I'm afraid, Flossie," she said one day
to the pale little girl in the wheeled chair that stood near another window
looking on the street.

"I've noticed her ever so many times," returned Flossie listlessly. "I
never saw her until this week, and she's always alone."

"Well, I won't have her climbing on my fence!" exclaimed Miss Fletcher,
half laying down her work and watching Hazel's movements sharply through
her spectacles. "There, she's grabbing hold of a picket now!" she exclaimed
suddenly. "I'll see to her in quick order."

She jumped up and hurried out of the room, and Flossie's tired eyes watched
her spare figure as she marched down the garden path. She didn't care if
Miss Fletcher did send the strange child away. What difference could it
make to a girl who had the whole world to walk around in, and who could
take her doll and go and play in some other pleasant place?

As Hazel saw Miss Fletcher coming, she gazed at the unsmiling face looking
out from hair drawn back in a tight knot; and Miss Fletcher, on her part,
saw such winning eagerness in the smile that met her, that she modified the
sharp reproof ready to spring forth.

"Get down off the fence, little girl," she said. "You oughtn't ever to hang
by the pickets; you'll break one if you do."

"Oh, yes," returned Hazel, getting down quickly. "I didn't think of that. I
wanted so much to see if that lily-bud had opened, that looked as if it was
going to, yesterday; and it has."

"Which one?" asked Miss Fletcher, looking around.

"Right there behind that second rosebush," replied Hazel, holding Ella
tight with one arm while she pointed eagerly.

"Oh, yes." Miss Fletcher went over to the plant.

"I think it is the loveliest of all," went on the little girl. "It makes me
think of the quest flower."

"What's that?" Miss Fletcher looked at the strange child curiously. "I
never heard of it."

"It's the perfect flower," returned Hazel.

"Where did you ever see it?"

"I never did, but I read about it."

"Where is it to be bought?" Miss Fletcher was really interested now,
because flowers were her hobby.

"In the story it says at the Public Garden; but I've been to the Public
Garden in Boston, and I never saw any I thought were as beautiful as
yours."

Hazel was not trying to win Miss Fletcher's heart, but she had found the
road to it.

The care-lined face regarded her more closely than ever. "I don't remember
you. I thought I knew all the children around here."

"No 'm. I'm a visitor. I live in Boston; and we have a flat and of course
there isn't any yard, and I think your garden is perfectly beautiful. I
come to see it every day, and it's fun to stand out here and count the
smells."

Miss Fletcher's face broke into a smile. It did really seem as if it
cracked, because her lips had been set in such a tight line. "It ain't very
often children like flowers unless they can pick them," she replied. "I
can't sleep nights sometimes, wishing my garden wasn't so near the fence."

The little girl smiled and pointed to a climbing rose that had strayed from
its trellis, and one pink flower that was poking its pretty little face
between the pickets. "See that one," she said. "I think it wanted to look
up and down the street, don't you?"

"And you didn't gather it," returned Miss Fletcher, looking at Hazel
approvingly. "Well, now, for anybody fond of flowers as you are, I think
that was real heroic."

"She belongs to nice folks," she decided mentally.

"Oh, it was a tame flower," returned the child, "and that would have been
error. If it had been a wild one I would have picked it."

"Error, eh?" returned Miss Fletcher, and again her thin lips parted in a
smile. "Well, I wish everybody felt that way."

"Uncle Dick lets me have a garden," said Hazel. "He let me buy geraniums
and pansies and lemon verbena--I love that, don't you?"

"Yes. I've got a big plant of it back here. Wouldn't you like to come in
and see it?"

"Oh, thank you," returned Hazel, her gray eyes sparkling; and Miss
Fletcher felt quite a glow of pleasure in seeing the happiness she was
conferring by the invitation. Most of her friends took her garden as a
matter of course; and smiled patronizingly at her devotion to it.

In a minute the little girl had run to the gate in the white fence, and,
entering, joined the mistress of the house, who stood beside the
flourishing plants blooming in all their summer loveliness.

For the next fifteen minutes neither of the two knew that time was flying.
They talked and compared and smelled of this blossom and that, their unity
of interest making their acquaintance grow at lightning speed. Miss
Fletcher was more pleased than she had been for many a day, and as for
Hazel, when her hostess went down on her knees beside a verbena bed and
began taking steel hairpins from her tightly knotted hair, to pin down the
luxuriant plants that they might go on rooting and spread farther, the
little girl felt that the climax of interest was reached.

"I'm going to ask uncle Dick," she said admiringly, "if I can't have some
verbenas and a paper of hairpins."

"Dear me," returned Miss Fletcher, "I wish poor Flossie took as much
interest in the garden as you do."

"'Flossie' sounds like a kitten, returned Hazel.

"She's a little human kitten: a poor little afflicted girl who is making me
a visit. You can see her sitting up there in the house, by the window."

Hazel looked up and caught a glimpse of a pale face. Her eyes expressed
her wonder. "Who afflicted her?" she asked softly.

"Her Heavenly Father, for some wise purpose," was the response.

"Oh, it couldn't have been that!" returned the child, shocked. "You know
God is Love."

"Yes, I know," replied Miss Fletcher, turning to her visitor in surprise at
so decided an answer from such a source; "but it isn't for us to question
what His love is. It's very different from our poor mortal ideas. There's
something the matter with poor Flossie's back, and she can't walk. The
doctors say it's nervous and perhaps she'll outgrow it; but I think she
gets worse all the time."

Hazel watched the speaker with eyes full of trouble and perplexity. "Dear
me," she replied, "if you think God made her get that way, who do you think
's going to cure her?"

"Nobody, it seems. Her people have spent more than they can afford, trying
and trying. They've made themselves poor, but nobody's helped her so far."

Hazel's eyes swept over the roses and lilies and then back to Miss
Fletcher's face. The lady was regarding her curiously. She saw that
thoughts were hurrying through the mind of the little girl standing there
with her doll in her arms.

"You look as if you wanted to say something," she said at last.

"I don't want to be impolite," returned Hazel, hesitating.

"Well," returned Miss Fletcher dryly, "if you knew the amount of
impoliteness that has been given to me in my time, you wouldn't hesitate
about adding a little more. Speak out and tell me what you are thinking."

"I was thinking how wonderful and how nice it is that flowers will grow for
everybody," said Hazel, half reluctantly.

"How's that?" demanded her new friend, in fresh surprise. "Have you decided
I don't deserve them?"

"Oh, you deserve them, of course," replied the child quickly; "but when you
have such thoughts about God, it's a wonder His flowers can grow so
beautifully in your yard."

Miss Fletcher felt a warmth come into her cheeks.

"Well," she returned rather sharply, "I should like to know what sort of
teaching you've had. You're a big enough girl to know that it's a
Christian's business to be resigned to the will of God. You don't happen to
have seen many, sick folks, I guess--what is your name?"

"Hazel."

"Why, that's queer, so is mine; and it isn't a common one."

"Isn't that nice!" returned the child. "We're both named Hazel and we both
love flowers so much."

"Yes; that's quite a coincidence. Now, why shouldn't flowers grow for me, I
should like to know?"

"Why, you think God afflicted that little girl's back, and didn't let her
walk. Why, Miss Fletcher," the child's voice grew more earnest, "He
wouldn't do it any more than I'd kneel down and break the stem of that
lovely quest flower and let it hang there and wither."

Miss Fletcher pushed up her spectacles and gazed down into the clear gray
eyes.

"Does Flossie think He would?" added Hazel with soft amazement.

"I suppose she does."

"Then does she say her prayers just the same?"

"Of course she does."

"What a kind girl she must be!" exclaimed Hazel earnestly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because _I_ wouldn't pray to anybody that I believed kept me afflicted."

Miss Fletcher started back. "Why, child!" she exclaimed, "I should think
you'd expect a thunderbolt. Where do your folks go to church, for pity's
sake?"

"To the Christian Science church."

"Oh--h, that's what's the matter with you! Some of Flossie's relatives have
heard about that, and they've been teasing her mother to try it. I'm sure
I'd try anything that wasn't blasphemous."

"What is blasphemous?"

"Why--why--anything that isn't respectful to God is blasphemous."

"Oh!" returned Hazel. Then she added softly, "I should think you were that,
now."

"What!" and Miss Fletcher seemed to tower above her visitor in her
amazement.

"Oh--please excuse me. I didn't mean to be impolite; but if you'll just
_try_, you'll find out what a mistake you and Flossie have been making, and
that God _wants_ to heal her."

The two looked at one another for a silent half-minute, the little girl's
heart beating faster under the grim gaze.

"You might come and see her some day," suggested Miss Fletcher, at last.
"She has a dull time of it, poor child. I've asked the children to come in,
and they've all been very kind, but it's vacation, and a good many that I
know have gone away."

"I will," replied Hazel. "Doesn't she like to come out here where the
flowers are?"

"Yes; it's been a little too cloudy and threatening to-day, but if it's
clear to-morrow I'll wheel her out under the elm-tree, and she'd like a
visit from you. Are you staying far from here?"

"No, uncle Dick's is right on this street."

"What's his last name?"

"Mr. Badger," replied Hazel, and she didn't notice the sudden stiffening
that went through Miss Fletcher.

"What is your last name?" asked the lady, in a changed voice.

"Wright."

This time any one who had eyes for something beside the flowers might have
seen Miss Fletcher start. Color flew into her thin cheeks, and the eyes
that stared at Hazel's straw tam-o'-shanter grew dim. This was dear Mabel
Badger's child; her little namesake, her own flesh and blood.

Her jaw felt rigid as she asked the next question. "Have you ever spoken to
your uncle Dick about my garden?"

"Yes, indeed. That's why he let me make one; and every night he asks,
'Well, how's Miss Fletcher's garden to-day,' and I tell him all about it"

"And didn't he ever say anything to you about me?"

"Why, no;" the child looked up wonderingly. "He doesn't know you, does he?"

"We used to know one another," returned Miss Fletcher stiffly.

Richard had certainly behaved very decently in this particular instance. At
least he had told no lies.

"Hazel is such an unusual name," she went on, after a minute. "Who were you
named for?"

"My mother's favorite aunt," returned the child.

"Where does she live?"

"I don't know," replied Hazel vaguely. "My mother was talking to me about
her the evening before uncle Dick and I left Boston. She told me how much
she loved aunt Hazel; but that error had crept in, and they couldn't see
each other just now, but that God would bring it all right some day. I have
a lovely silver spoon she gave me when I was a baby."

Miss Fletcher stooped to her border and cut a bunch of mignonette with the
scissors that hung from her belt. "Here's something for you to smell of as
you walk home," she said, and Hazel saw her new friend's hand tremble as
she held out the flowers. "Do you ever kiss strangers?" added the hostess
as she rose to her feet.

Hazel held up her face and took hold of Miss Fletcher's arm as she kissed
her. "I think you've been so kind to me," she said warmly. "I've had the
best time!"

"Well, pick the climbing rose as you pass," returned Miss Fletcher. "It
seems to want to see the world. Let it go along with you; and don't forget
to come to-morrow. I hope it will be pleasant."

She stood still, the warm breeze ruffling the thin locks about her
forehead, and watched the little girl trip along the walk. The child looked
back and smiled as she stopped to pick the pink rose, and when she threw a
kiss to Miss Fletcher, that lady found herself responding.

She went into the house with a flush remaining in her cheeks.

"How long you stayed, aunt Hazel," said the little invalid fretfully as she
entered.

"I expect I did," returned Miss Fletcher, and there was a new life in her
tone that Flossie noticed.

"Who is that girl?"

"Her name is Hazel Wright, and she is living at the Badgers'. She's as
crazy about flowers as I am, so we had a lot to say. She gave me a lecture
on religion, too;" an excited little laugh escaped between the speaker's
lips. "She's a very unusual child; and she certainly has a look of the
Fletchers."

"What? I thought you said her name was Wright."

"It is! My tongue slipped. She's coming to see you to-morrow, Flossie. We
must fix up your doll. I'll wash and iron her pink dress this very
afternoon; for Hazel has a beauty doll, herself. I think you'll like that
little girl."

That evening when uncle Dick and Hazel were at their supper, Mr. Badger
questioned her as usual about her day.

"I've had the most _fun_," she replied. "I've been to see Miss Fletcher,
and she took me into her garden, and we smelled of all the flowers, and
had the loveliest time!"

Hannah was standing behind the little girl's chair, and her eyes spoke
volumes as she nodded significantly at her employer.

"Yes, sir, she told Miss Fletcher where she was visiting, and she gave her
a bunch of mignonette and a rose to bring home."

"Yes," agreed Hazel, "they're in a vase in the parlor now, and she asked me
to come to-morrow to see an afflicted girl that's living with her. You
know, uncle Dick," Hazel lifted her eyes to him earnestly, "you know how it
says everywhere in the Bible that anybody that's afflicted goes to God and
He heals them; and what do you think! Miss Fletcher and that little Flossie
girl both believe God afflicted her and fixed her back so she can't walk!"

Mr. Badger smiled as he met the wondering eyes. "That isn't Christian
Science, is it?" he returned.

"I'd rather never have a garden even like Miss Fletcher's than to think
that," declared Hazel, as she went on with her supper. "I feel so sorry for
them!"

"So you're going over to-morrow," said Mr. Badger. "What are you going to
do; treat the little invalid?"

"Why, no indeed, not unless she asks me to."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be error; it's the worst kind of impoliteness to treat
anybody that doesn't ask you to; but I've got to know every minute that her
belief is a lie, and that God doesn't know anything about it."

"I thought God knew everything," said Mr. Badger, regarding the child
curiously.

"He does, of course, everything that's going to last forever and ever:
everything that's beautiful and good and strong. Whatever God thinks about
has _got_ to last." The child lifted her shoulders. "I'm glad He doesn't
think about mistakes,--sickness, and everything like that, aren't you?"

"I don't want sickness to last forever, I'm sure" returned Mr. Badger.

The following day was clear and bright, and early in the afternoon Hazel,
dressed in a clean gingham frock, took her doll and walked up the street to
Miss Fletcher's.

The wheeled chair was already out under the elm-tree, and Flossie was
watching for her guest. Miss Fletcher was sitting near her, sewing, and
waiting with concealed impatience for the appearance of the bright face
under the straw tam-o'-shanter.

As soon as Hazel reached the corner of the fence and saw them there, she
began to run, her eyes fixed eagerly on the white figure in the wheeled
chair. The blue eyes that looked so tired regarded her curiously as she ran
up the garden path and across the grass to the large, shady tree.

Hazel had never been close to a sick person, and something in Flossie's
appearance and the whiteness of her thin hands that clasped the doll in the
gay pink dress brought a lump into the well child's throat and made her
heart beat.

"Dear Father, I want to help her!" she said under her breath, and Miss
Fletcher noticed that she had no eyes for her, and saw the wondering pity
in her face as she came straight up to the invalid's chair.

"Flossie Wallace, this is Hazel Wright," she said, and Flossie smiled a
little under the love that leaped from Hazel's eyes into hers.

"I'm glad you brought your doll," said Flossie.

"Ella goes everywhere I do," returned Hazel. "What's your doll's name?"

"Bernice; I think Bernice is a beautiful name," said Flossie.

"So do I," returned Hazel. Then the two children were silent a minute,
looking at one another, uncertain how to go on.

Hazel was the first to speak. "Isn't it lovely to live with this garden?"
she asked.

"Yes, aunt Hazel has nice flowers."

"I have an aunt Hazel, too," said the little visitor.

"Miss Fletcher isn't my real aunt, but I call her that," remarked Flossie.

"And _you_ might do it, too," suggested Miss Fletcher, looking at Hazel, to
whom her heart warmed more and more in spite of the astonishing charges of
the day before.

"Do you think I could call you aunt Hazel?" asked the child, rather shyly.

"For the sake of being cousin to my garden, you might. Don't you think so?"

"How is the quest flower to-day?" asked Hazel.

"Which? Oh, you mean the garden lily. There's another bud."

"Oh, may I look at it?" cried Hazel, "and wouldn't you like to come too?"
turning to Flossie. "Can't I roll your chair?"

"Yes, indeed," said Miss Fletcher, pleased. "It rolls very easily. Give
Flossie your doll, too, and we'll all go and see the lily bud."

Hazel obeyed, and carefully pushing the light chair, they moved slowly
toward the spot where the white chalices of the garden lilies poured forth
their incense.

"Miss Fletcher," cried Hazel excitedly, dropping on her knees beside the
bed, "that is going to be the most beautiful of all. When it is perfectly
open the plant will be ready to take to the king." The little girl lifted
her shoulders and looked up at her hostess, smiling.

"What king is going to get my lily?"

"The one who will send you on your quest."

"What am I to go in quest of?" inquired Miss Fletcher, much entertained.

"I don't know;" Hazel shook her head. "Every one's errand is different."

"What is a quest?" asked Flossie.

"You tell her, Hazel."

"Why, mother says it's a search for some treasure."

"You must tell us this story about the quest flower some day," said Miss
Fletcher.

"I have the story of it here," returned Hazel eagerly. "I've read it over
and over again because I love it, and so mother put it in my trunk with my
Christian Science books. I can bring it over and read it to you, if you
want me to. You'd like it, I know, Miss Fletcher."

"Aunt Hazel told me you were a Christian Scientist," said Flossie. "I never
saw one before, but people have talked to mother about it."

"I could bring _those_ books over, too," replied Hazel wistfully, "and we
could read the lesson every day, and perhaps it would make you feel
better."

"I don't know what it's about," said Flossie.

"It's about making sick people well and sinful people good."

"I'm sinful, too, part of the time," answered Flossie. "Sometimes I don't
like to live, and I wish I didn't have to, and everybody says that's
sinful."

Sudden tears started to Miss Fletcher's eyes, and as the little girls were
looking at one another absorbedly, Hazel standing close to the wheeled
chair, she stole away, unobserved, to the house.

"She ought to be cured," she said to herself excitedly. "She ought to be
cured. There's that one more chance, anyway. I've got to where I'm ready to
let the babes and sucklings have a try!"




CHAPTER IX

THE QUEST FLOWER (_Continued_)


The next morning was rainy, and Jewel and her grandfather visited the
stable instead of taking their canter.

"And what will you do this dismal day?" asked the broker of his
daughter-in-law as they stood alone for a minute after breakfast, Jewel
having run upstairs to get Anna Belle for the drive to the station.

"This happy day," she answered, lifting to him the radiant face that he was
always mentally contrasting with Madge. "The rain will give me a chance to
look at the many treasures you have here, books and pictures."

"H'm. You are musical, I know, for Jewel has the voice of a lark. Do you
play the piano?"

Julia looked wistfully at the Steinway grand. "Ah, if I only could!" she
returned.

Mr. Evringham cleared his throat. "Madam," he said, lowering his voice,
"that child has a most amazing talent."

"Jewel's voice, do you mean?"

"She'll sing, I'm sure of it," he replied, "but I mean for music in
general. Eloise is an accomplished pianist. She has one piece that Jewel
especially enjoyed, the old Spring Song of Mendelssohn. Probably you know
it."

Julia shook her head. "I doubt it. I've heard very little good piano
playing."

"Well, madam, that child has picked out the melody of that piece by
herself," the broker lowered his voice to still deeper impressiveness. "As
soon as we return in the autumn, we will have her begin lessons."

Julia's eyes met his gratefully.

"A very remarkable talent. I am positive of it," he went on. "Jewel," for
here the child entered the room, "play the Spring Song for your mother,
will you?"

"Now? Zeke is out there, grandpa."

"Dick can stretch his legs a bit faster this morning. Play it."

So Jewel set Anna Belle on a brocaded chair and going to the piano, played
the melody of the Spring Song. She could perform only a few measures, but
there were no false notes in the little chromatic passages, and her
grandfather's eyes sought Julia's in grave triumph.

"A very marvelous gift," he managed to say to her again under his breath,
as Jewel at last ran ahead of him out to the porte cochère.

Julia's eyes grew dreamy as she watched the brougham drive off. How
different was to be the future of her little girl from anything she had
planned in her rosiest moments of hopefulness.

The more she saw of Mr. Evringham's absorbed attachment to the child, the
more grateful she was for the manner in which he had guarded Jewel's
simplicity, the self-restraint with which he had abstained from loading her
with knickknacks or fine clothes. The child was not merely a pet with him.
She was an individual, a character whose development he respected.

"God keep her good!" prayed the mother.

It was a charming place to continue the story, there in the large chintz
chair by Mrs. Evringham's window. The raindrops pattered against the clear
glass, the lawn grew greener, and the great trees beyond the gateway held
their leaves up to the bath.

"Anna Belle's pond will overflow, I think," said Jewel, looking out the
window musingly.

"And how good for the ferns," remarked her mother.

"Yes, I'd like to be there, now," said the child.

"Oh, I think it's much cosier here. I love to hear the rain, too, don't
you?"

"Yes, I do, and we'll have the story now, won't we, mother?"

At this moment there was a knock at the door and Zeke appeared with an
armful of birch wood.

"Mr. Evringham said it might be a little damp up here and I was to lay a
fire."

"Oh, yes, yes!" exclaimed Jewel. "Mother, wouldn't you like to have a fire
while we read?"

Mrs. Evringham assented and Zeke laid the sticks on the andirons and let
Jewel touch the lighted match to the little twigs.

"I have the loveliest book, Zeke," she said, when the flames leaped up. "My
mother made it for me, and you shall read it if you want to."

"Yes, if Zeke wants to," put in Mrs. Evringham, smiling, "but you'd better
find out first if he does. This book was written for little girls with
short braids."

"Oh, Zeke and I like a great many of the same things," responded Jewel
earnestly.

"That's so, little kid," replied the young coachman, "and as long as you're
going to stay here, I'll read anything you say."

"You see," explained Jewel, when he had gone out and closed the door
softly, "Zeke said it made his nose tingle every time he thought of anybody
else braiding Star's tail, so he's just as glad as anything that we're not
going away."

The birch logs snapped merrily, and Anna Belle sat in Jewel's lap watching
the leaping flame, while Mrs. Evringham leaned back in her easy chair. The
reading had been interrupted yesterday by the arrival of the hour when Mrs.
Evringham had engaged to take a drive with her father-in-law. Jewel
accompanied them, riding Star, and it was great entertainment to her mother
to watch the child's good management of the pretty pony who showed by many
shakes of the head and other antics that it had not been explained to his
satisfaction why Essex Maid was left out of this good time.

Jewel turned to her mother. "We're all ready now, aren't we? Do go on with
the story. I told grandpa about it, driving to the station this morning,
and what do you suppose he asked me?" The child drew in her chin. "He asked
me if I thought Flossie was going to get well!"

Mrs. Evringham smiled. "Well, we'll see," she replied, opening the
story-book. "Where were we?"

"Miss Fletcher had just gone into the house and Flossie had just said she
was sinful. She wasn't to blame a bit!"

"Oh, yes, here it is," said Mrs. Evringham, and she began to read:--

       *       *       *       *       *

As Hazel met Flossie's look, her heart swelled and she wished her mother
were here to take care of this little girl who had fallen into such a sad
mistake.

"I wish I knew how to tell you better, Flossie, about God being Love," she
said; "but He is, and He didn't send you your trouble."

"Perhaps He didn't send it," returned Flossie, "but He thinks it's good for
me to have it or else He'd let the doctors cure me. I've had the kindest
doctors you ever heard of, and they know everything about people's backs."

"But God will cure you, Himself," said Hazel earnestly.

A strange smile flitted over the sick child's lips. "Oh, no, He won't. I
asked Him every night for a year, and over and over all day; but I never
ask Him now."

"Oh, Flossie, I know what's the truth, but I don't know how to tell about
it very well; but everything about you that seems not to be the image and
likeness of God is a lie; and He doesn't see lies, and so He doesn't know
these mistakes you're thinking; but He _does_ know the strong, well girl
you really are, and He'll help _you_ to know it, too, when you begin to
think right."

The sincerity and earnestness in her visitor's tone brought a gleam of
interest into Flossie's eyes.

"Just think of being well and running around here with me, and think that
God wants you to!"

"Oh, do you believe He does?" returned Flossie doubtfully. "Mother says it
will do my soul good for me to be sick, if I can't get well."

Hazel shook her head violently. "You know when Jesus was on earth? Well, he
never told anybody it was better for them to be sick. He healed everybody,
_everybody_ that asked him, and he came to do the will of his Father; so
God's will doesn't change, and it's just the same now."

There was a faint color in Flossie's cheeks. "If I was sure God wanted me
to get well, why then I'd know I would some time."

"Of course He does; but you didn't know how to ask Him right."

"Do _you_?" asked Flossie.

Hazel nodded. "Yes; not so well as mother, but I do know a little, and if
you want me to, I'll ask Him for you."

"Well, of course I do," returned Flossie, regarding her visitor with grave,
wondering eyes.

In a minute Miss Fletcher, watching the children through a window, beheld
something that puzzled her. She saw Hazel roll Flossie's chair back under
the elm-tree, and saw her sit down on the grass beside it and cover her
eyes with both hands.

"What game are they playing?" she asked herself; and she smiled, well
pleased by the friendship that had begun. "I wish health was catching," she
sighed. "Little Hazel's a picture. I wonder how long it'll be before she
finds out who I am. I wonder what Richard's idea is in not telling her."

She moved about the house a few minutes, and then returned, curiously, to
the window. To her surprise matters were exactly as she saw them last.
Flossie was, holding both dolls in the wheeled chair, and Hazel was sitting
under the tree, her hands over her eyes.

A wave of amazement and amusement swept over Miss Fletcher, and she struck
her hands together noiselessly. "I _do_ believe in my heart," she
exclaimed, "that Hazel Wright is giving Flossie one of those absent
treatments they tell about! Well, if I ever in all my born days!"

There was no more work for Miss Fletcher after this, but a restless moving
about the room until she saw Hazel bound up from the ground. Then she
hurried out of the house and walked over to the tree. Hazel skipped to meet
her, her face all alight. "Oh, Miss Fletcher, Flossie wants to be healed by
Christian Science. If my mother was only here she could turn to all the
places in the Bible where it tells about God being Love and healing
sickness."

Miss Fletcher noted the new expression in the invalid's usually listless
face, and the new light in her eyes.

"I'll take my Bible," she answered, "and a concordance. I'll bring them
right now. You children go on playing and I'll find all the references I
can, and Flossie and I will read them after you've gone."

Miss Fletcher brought her books out under the tree, and with pencil and
paper made her notes while the children played with their dolls.

"Let's have them both your children, Flossie," said Hazel.

"Oh, yes," replied Flossie, "and they'll both be sick, and you be the
doctor and come and feel their pulses. Aunt Hazel has my doll's little
medicine bottles in the house. She'll tell you where they are."

Hazel paused. "Let's not play that," she returned, "because--it isn't fun
to be sick and--you're going to be all done with sickness."

"All right," returned Flossie; but it had been her principal play with her
doll, Bernice, who had recovered from such a catalogue of ills that it
reflected great credit on her medical man.

"I'll be the maid," said Hazel, "and you give me the directions and I'll
take the children to drive and to dancing-school and everywhere you tell
me."

"And when they're naughty," returned Flossie, "you bring them to me to
spank, because I can't let my servants punish my children."

Hazel paused again. "Let's play you're a Christian Scientist," she said,
"and you have a Christian Science maid, then there won't be any spanking;
because if error creeps in, you'll know how to handle it in mind."

"Oh!" returned Flossie blankly.

But Hazel was fertile in ideas, and the play proceeded with spirit, owing
to the lightning speed with which the maid changed to a coachman, and
thence to a market-man or a gardener, according to the demands of the
situation.

Miss Fletcher, her spectacles well down on her nose, industriously searched
out her references and made record of them, her eyes roving often to the
white face that was fuller of interest than she had ever seen it.

When four o'clock came, she went back to the house and returned with
Flossie's lap table, which she leaned against the tree trunk. This
afternoon lunch for the invalid was always accomplished with much coaxing
on Miss Fletcher's part, and great reluctance on Flossie's. The little girl
took no notice now of what was coming. She was too much engrossed in
Hazel's efforts to induce Miss Fletcher's maltese cat to allow Bernice to
take a ride on his back.

But when the hostess returned from the house the second time, Hazel gave
an exclamation. Miss Fletcher was carrying a tray, and upon it was laid out
a large doll's tea-set. It was of white china with gold bands, and when
Flossie saw Hazel's admiration, she exclaimed too.

"This was my tea-set when I was a little girl," said Miss Fletcher, "and I
was always very choice of it. Twenty years ago I had a niece your age,
Hazel, who used to think it was the best fun in the world to come to aunt
Hazel's and have lunch off her doll's tea-set. I used to tell her I was
going to give it to _her_ little girl if she ever had one."

Both children exclaimed admiringly over the quaint shape of the bowl and
pitchers, as Miss Fletcher deposited the tray on her sewing-table.

"When I was a child we didn't smash up handsome toys the way children do
nowadays. They weren't so easy to get."

"And didn't your niece ever have a little girl?" asked Flossie, beginning
to think that in such a case perhaps these dear dishes might come to be her
own.

"Yes, she did," replied Miss Fletcher kindly, and as she looked at the
guest's interested little face her eyes were thoughtful. "I shall give them
to her some day."

"Has she ever seen them?" asked Hazel.

"Once. I thought you children must be hungry after your games, and you'd
like a little lunch."

This idea was so pleasing to Hazel that Flossie caught her enthusiasm.

"You'll be the mistress and pour, Flossie, and I'll be the waitress," she
said. "Won't it be the most _fun_! I suppose, ma'am, you'll like to have
the children come to the table?" she added, with sudden respectfulness of
tone.

"Yes," returned Flossie, with elegant languor. "I think it teaches them
good manners."

And then the waitress forgot herself so far as to hop up and down; for Miss
Fletcher, who had returned to the house, now reappeared bearing a tray of
eatables and drinkables.

What a good time the children had, with the sewing-table for a sideboard,
and the lap-table fixed firmly across Flossie's chair.

"Are you sure you aren't getting too tired, dear?" asked Miss Fletcher of
her invalid, doubtfully. "Wouldn't you rather the waitress poured?"

But Flossie declared she was feeling well, and Hazel looked up eagerly into
Miss Fletcher's eyes and said, "You know she can't get too tired unless
we're doing wrong."

"Oh, indeed!" returned the hostess dryly. "Then there's nothing to fear,
for she's doing the rightest kind of right."

When the table was set forth, two small plates heaped high with
bread-and-butter sandwiches, a coffee-pot and milk-pitcher of beaten egg
and milk, a tea-pot of grape juice, one dish of nuts and another of jelly,
the waitress's eyes spoke so eloquently that Flossie mercifully dismissed
her on the spot, and invited a lady of her acquaintance to the feast, who
immediately drew up a chair with eager alacrity.

Miss Fletcher seated herself again and looked on with the utmost
satisfaction, while the children laughed and ate, and when the sandwich
plates and coffee-pot and tea-pot and milk-pitcher were all emptied, she
replenished them from the well-furnished sideboard.

"My, I wish I was aunt Hazel's real little niece!" exclaimed Flossie,
enchanted with pouring from the delightful china.

"So do I wish I was," said Hazel, looking around at her hostess with a
smile that was returned.

When Hazel sat down to supper at home that evening, she had plenty to tell
of the delightful afternoon, which made Mr. Badger and Hannah open their
eyes to the widest, although she did not suspect how she was astonishing
them.

"I tell you," she added, in describing the luncheon, "we were careful not
to break that little girl's dishes. Oh, I wish you could see them. They're
the most be-_au_tiful you ever saw. They're so big--big enough for a
child's real ones that she could use herself."

"I judge you did use them," said uncle Dick.

"Well, I guess we did! Miss Fletcher--she wants me to call her aunt Hazel,
uncle Dick!" The child looked up to observe the effect of this.

He nodded. "Do it, then. Perhaps she'll forget and give you the dishes."

Hazel laughed. "Well, anyway, she said Flossie'd eaten as much as she
usually did in two whole days. Isn't it beautiful that she's going to get
well?"

"I wouldn't talk to her too much about it," returned Mr. Badger. "It would
be cruel to disappoint her."

This sort of response was new to Hazel. She gazed at her uncle a minute.
"That's error," she said at last. "God doesn't disappoint people. They'll
get some grown-up Scientist, but until they do, I'll declare the truth for
Flossie every day. She'll get well. You'll see.

"I hope so," returned Mr. Badger quietly.

Old Hannah gave her employer a wink over the child's head. "You might ask
them to come here by your garden and have lunch some day, Hazel. I'll fix
things up real nice for you, even if we haven't got any baby dishes."

"I'd love to," returned Hazel, "and I expect they'd love to come. To-morrow
I'm going to take the lesson over and read it with them, and I'm going to
read them the 'Quest Flower,' too. It's a story that aunt Hazel will just
love. I think she has one in her yard."

"Well, Mr. Richard," said Hannah, after their little visitor had gone to
bed, "I see the end of one family feud."

Mr. Badger smiled. "When Miss Fletcher consents to take lunch in my yard, I
shall see it, too," he replied.

The next day was pleasant, also, and when Hazel appeared outside her aunt's
fence, Flossie was sitting under the tree and waved a hand to her. The
white face looked pleased and almost eager, and Miss Fletcher called:--

"Come along, Hazel. I guess Flossie got just tired enough yesterday. She
slept last night the best she has since she came."

"Yes," added the little invalid, smiling as her new friend drew near, "the
night seemed about five minutes long."

"That's the way it does to me," returned Hazel. She had her doll and some
books in her arms, and Miss Fletcher took the latter from her.

"H'm, h'm," she murmured, as she looked over the titles. "You have
something about Christian Science here."

"Yes, I thought I'd read to-day's lesson to Flossie before I treated her,
and you'd let us take your Bible."

"I certainly will. I can tell you, Hazel, Flossie and I were surprised at
the number of good verses and promises I read to her last evening. Anybody
ought to sleep well after them."

Hazel looked glad, and Miss Fletcher let her run into the house to bring
the Bible, for it was on the hall table in plain sight.

While she was gone the hostess smoothed Flossie's hair. "I can tell you, my
dear child, that reading all those verses to you last night made me feel
that we don't any of us live up to our lights very well. 'Tisn't always a
question of sick bodies, Flossie."

Hazel came bounding back to the elm-tree, and sitting down near the wheeled
chair, opened the Bible and two of the books she had brought, and proceeded
to read the lesson. Had she been a few years older, she would not have
attempted this without a word of explanation to two people to whom many of
the terms of her religion were strange, but no doubts assailed her. The
little white girl in the wheeled chair was going to get out of it and run
around and be happy--that was all Hazel knew, and she proceeded in the only
way she knew of to bring it about.

Miss Fletcher's thin lips parted as she listened to the sentences that the
child read. She understood scarcely more than Flossie of what they were
hearing, excepting the Bible verses, and these did not seem to bear on the
case. It was Hazel's perfectly unhesitating certainty of manner and voice
which most impressed her, and when the child had finished she continued to
stare at her unconsciously.

"Now," said Hazel, returning her look, "I guess I'd better treat her before
we begin to play."

Her hostess started. "Oh!" she ejaculated, "then I suppose you'd rather be
alone."

"Yes, it's easier," returned the little girl.

Miss Fletcher, feeling rather embarrassed, gathered up her sewing and moved
off to the house.

"If I ever in all my born days!" she thought again. "What would Flossie's
mother say! Well, that dear little girl's prayers can't do any harm, and if
she isn't a smart young one I never saw one. She's Fletcher clear through.
I'd like to know what Richard Badger thinks of her. If she'd give _him_ a
few absent treatments it might do him some good."

Miss Fletcher's lips took their old grim line as she added this reflection,
but she was not altogether comfortable. Her nephew's action in withholding
from Hazel the fact that it was her aunt whom she was visiting daily could
scarcely have other than a kindly motive; and that long list of Bible
references which she had read to Flossie last evening had stirred her
strangely. There was one, "He that loveth not, knoweth not God, for God is
love," which had followed her to bed and occupied her thoughts for some
time.

Now she went actively to work preparing the luncheon which she intended
serving to the children later.

"And I'd better fix enough for two laboring men," she thought, smiling.

Later, when she went back under the tree, her little guest skipped up to
her. "Oh, aunt Hazel," she said, and the address softened the hostess's
eyes, "won't you and Flossie come to-morrow afternoon if it's pleasant, and
have lunch beside my garden?"

Miss Fletcher's face changed. This was a contingency that had not occurred
to her.

"Oh, do say yes," persisted the child. "I want you to see my flowers, and
Flossie says she'd love to. I'll come up and wheel her down there."

"Flossie can go some day, yes," replied aunt Hazel reluctantly; "but I
don't visit much. I'm set in my ways."

"Hannah, uncle Dick's housekeeper, suggested it herself," pursued Hazel,
thinking that perhaps her own invitation was not sufficient, "and I know
uncle Dick would be glad. You said," with sudden remembrance, "that you
used to know him."

Miss Fletcher's lips were their grimmest. "I've spanked him many a time,"
she replied deliberately.

"Spanked him!" repeated the child, staring in still amazement.

The grim lips crept into a grimmer smile. "Not very hard; not hard
_enough_, I've thought a good many times since."

Hazel recovered her breath. "You knew him when he was little?"

"I certainly did. No, child, don't ask me to go out of my tracks. You come
here all you will, and if you'll be very careful you can wheel Flossie up
to your garden some day. Come, now, are you going to read us that story? I
see you brought it."

"Yes, I brought it," replied Hazel, in a rather subdued voice. She saw that
there was some trouble between this kind, new friend and her dear uncle
Dick, and the discovery astonished her. How could grown-up people not
forgive one another?

Miss Fletcher seated herself again with her sewing, and Hazel took the
little white book and sat down close by the wheeled chair where Flossie was
holding both the dolls.

"Do you like stories?" she asked.

"Yes, when they're not interesting," returned Flossie; "but when mother
brings a book and says it's very interesting, I know I shan't like it."

Hazel laughed. "Well, hear this," she said, and began to read:--

       *       *       *       *       *

Once there was a very rich man whose garden was his chief pride and joy. In
all the country around, people knew about this wonderful garden, and many
came from miles away to look at the rare trees and shrubs, and the
beautiful vistas through which one could gain glimpses of blue water where
idle swans floated and added their snowy beauty to the scene. But loveliest
of all were the rare flowers, blossoming profusely and rejoicing every
beholder.

It was the ambition of the man's life to have the most beautiful garden in
the world; and so many strangers as well as friends told him that it was
so that he came to believe it and to be certain that no beauty could be
added to his enchanting grounds.

One evening, as he was strolling about the avenues, he strayed near the
wall and suddenly became aware of a fragrance so sweet and strange that he
started and looked about him to find its source. Becoming more and more
interested each moment, as he could find only such blossoms as were
familiar to him, he at last perceived that the wonderful perfume floated in
from the public way which ran just without the wall.

Instantly calling a servant he dispatched him to discover what might be the
explanation of this delightful mystery.

The servant sped and found a youth bearing a jar containing a plant crowned
with a wondrous pure white flower which sent forth this sweetness.

The servant endeavored to bring the bearer to his master, but the youth
steadily refused; saying that, the plant being now in perfection, he was
carrying it to the King, for in his possession it would never fade.

The servant returning with this news, the owner of the garden hastened,
himself, and overtook the young man. When his eyes beheld the wondrous
plant, he demanded it at any price.

"I cannot part with it to you," returned the youth, "but do you not know
that at the Public Garden a bulb of this flower is free to all?"

"I never heard of it," replied the man, with excitement, "but to grow it
must be difficult. Promise me to return and tend it for me until I possess
a plant as beautiful as yours."

"That would be useless," returned the youth, "for every man must tend his
own; and as for me, the King will send me on a quest when He has received
this flower, and I shall not return this way."

His face was radiant as he proceeded on his road, and the rich man, filled
with an exceeding longing, hastened to the Public Garden and made known his
desire. He was given a bulb, and was told that the King provided it, but
that when the plant was in flower it must be carried to Him.

The man agreed, and returning to his house, rejoicing, caused the bulb to
be planted in a beautiful spot set apart for its reception.

But, strangely, as time went on, his gardeners could not make this plant
grow. The man sent out for experts, men with the greatest wisdom concerning
the ways of flowers, but still the bulb rested passive. The man offered
rewards, but in vain. His garden was still famous and praised for its
beauty far and near; but it pleased him no longer. His heart ached with
longing for the one perfect flower.

One night he lay awake, mourning and restless, until he could bear it no
more. He rose, the only waking figure in the sleeping castle, and went out
upon a balcony. A flood of moonlight was turning his garden to silver, and
suddenly a nightingale's sobbing song pulsed upon the air and filled his
heart to bursting.

Wrapping his mantle about him, he descended a winding stair and walked to
where, in the centre of the garden, reposed his buried hope. No one was by
to witness the breaking down of his pride. He knelt, and swift tears fell
upon the earth and moistened it.

What wonder was this? He brushed away the blinding drops, the better to
see, for a little green shoot appeared from the brown earth, and, with a
leap of the heart, he perceived that his flower had begun to grow.

Every succeeding night, while all in the castle were sleeping, he descended
to the garden and tended the plant.

Steadily it grew, and finally the bud appeared, and one fair day it burst
into blossom and filled the whole garden with its perfume.

The thought of parting with this treasure tugged at the man's very
heartstrings. "The King has many, how many, who can tell! Must I give up
mine to Him? Not yet. Not quite yet!"

So he put off carrying away the perfect flower from one day to the next,
till at last it fell and was no more worthy.

Ah, then what sadness possessed the man's soul! He vowed that he would
never rest until he had brought another plant to perfection and given it to
the King; for he realized, at last, that only by giving it, could its
loveliness become perennial. Yet he mourned his perfect flower, for it
seemed to him no other would ever possess such beauty.

So he set forth again to the Public Garden, but there a great shock awaited
him. He found that no second bulb could be vouchsafed to any one. Very
sadly he retraced his steps and carefully covered the precious bulb, hoping
that when the season of storm and frost was past, there might come to it
renewed life.

As soon as the spring began to spread green loveliness again across the
landscape, the man turned, with a full heart, to the care and nurture of
his hope. The winter of waiting had taught him many a lesson.

He tended the plant now with his own hands, in the light of day and in the
sight of all men. Long he cherished it, and steadily it grew, and the man's
thought grew with it. Finally the bud appeared, increasing and beautifying
daily, until, one morning, a divine fragrance spread beyond the farthest
limits of that garden, for the flower had bloomed, spotless, fit for a holy
gift; and the man looked upon it humbly and not as his own; but rejoiced in
the day of its perfection that he might leave all else behind him, and,
carrying it to the King, lay it at His feet and receive His bidding; and so
go forth upon his joyous quest.

       *       *       *       *       *

Hazel closed the book. Flossie was watching her attentively. Miss Fletcher
had laid down her sewing and was wiping her spectacles.

"Did you like it?" asked Hazel.

"Yes," replied Flossie. "I wish I knew what that flower was."

"Mother says the blossom is consecration," replied Hazel. "I forget what
she said the bulb was. What do you think it was, aunt Hazel?"

"Humility, perhaps," replied Miss Fletcher.

"Yes, that's just what she said! I remember now. Oh, let's go and look at
yours and see how the bud is to-day." Hazel sprang up from the grass and
carefully pushed Flossie's chair to the flower-bed.

"Oh, aunt Hazel, it's nearly out," she cried, and Miss Fletcher, who had
remained behind still polishing her spectacles with hands that were not
very steady, felt a little frightened leap of the heart. She wished the
Quest Flower would be slower.

The afternoon was as happy a one to the children as that of the day before.
They greatly enjoyed the dainty lunch from the little tea-set. They had
cocoa to-day instead of the beaten egg and milk; then, just before Hazel
went home, Miss Fletcher let her water the garden with a fascinating
sprinkler that whirled and was always just about to deluge either the one
who managed it or her companions.

In the child's little hands it was a dangerous weapon, but Miss Fletcher
very kindly and patiently helped her to use it, for she saw the pleasure
she was bestowing.

That night Hazel had a still more joyous tale to tell of her happy day; and
uncle Dick went out doors with her after supper and watched her water her
own garden bed and listened to her chatter with much satisfaction.

"So Miss Fletcher doesn't care to come and lunch in my yard," he remarked.

"No," returned Hazel, pausing and regarding him. "She says she used to know
you well enough to spank you, too."

Mr. Badger laughed. "She certainly did."

"Then error must have crept in," said the little girl, "that she doesn't
know you now."

"I used to think it had, when she got after me."

The child observed his laughing face wistfully, "She didn't know how to
handle it in mind, did she?"

"Not much. A slipper was good enough for her."

"Well, I don't see what's the matter," said Hazel.

"'Tisn't necessary, little one. You go on having a good time. Everything
will come out all right some day."

As Mr. Badger spoke he little knew what activity was taking place in his
aunt's thought. Her heart had been touched by the surprising arrival and
sympathy of her namesake, and her conscience had been awakened by the array
of golden words from the Bible which she had not studied much during late
bitter years. The story of the Quest Flower, falling upon her softened
heart, seemed to hold for her a special meaning.

In the late twilight that evening she stood alone in her garden, and the
opening chalice of the perfect lily shone up at her through the dusk. "Only
a couple of days, at most," she murmured, "not more than a couple of
days--and humility was the root!"

When it rained the following morning, Flossie looked out the window rather
disconsolately; but after dinner her face brightened, for she saw Hazel
coming up the street under an umbrella. Tightly held in one arm were Ella
and a bundle of books and doll's clothes. Miss Fletcher welcomed the guest
gladly, and, after disposing of her umbrella, left the children together
and took her sewing upstairs where she sat at work by a window, frowning
and smiling by turns at her own thoughts.

Occasionally she looked down furtively at her garden, where in plain view
the quest flower drank in the warm rain and opened--opened!

By this time Flossie and Hazel were great friends, and the expression of
the former's face had changed even in three days, until one would forget
to call her an afflicted child.

They had the lesson and the treatment this afternoon, and then their plays,
and when lunch time came the appetites of the pair did not seem to have
been injured by their confinement to the house.

When the time came for Hazel to go it had ceased raining, and Miss Fletcher
went with her to the gate.

"Oh, oh, aunt Hazel--see the quest flower!" exclaimed the child.

True, a lily, larger, fairer than all the rest, reared itself in stately
purity in the centre of the bed.

Miss Fletcher turned and looked at it with startled eyes and pressed her
hand to her heart. "Why can't the thing give a body time to make up her
mind!" she murmured.

"Oh, to-morrow, _to-morrow_, aunt Hazel, the sun will come out, and I know
just how that lily will look. It will be fit to take to the King!"

Miss Fletcher passed her arm around the child's shoulders. "I want you to
stay to supper with us to-morrow night, dear. Ask your uncle if you may."

"Thank you, I'd love to," returned the child, and was skipping off.

"Wait a minute." Miss Fletcher stooped and with her scissors cut a moss
rose so full of sweetness that as she handed it to her guest, Hazel hugged
her.

The following day was fresh and bright. Flossie's best pink gown and hair
ribbons made her look like a rose, herself, to Hazel, as the little girl,
very fine in a white frock and ribbons, came skipping up the street. Miss
Fletcher stood watching them as her niece ran toward the wheeled chair.
The lustre in Flossie's eyes made her heart glad; but the visitor stopped
short in the midst of the garden and clasped her hands.

"Oh, aunt Hazel!" she cried, "the quest flower!"

Miss Fletcher nodded and slowly drew near. The stately lily looked like a
queen among her subjects.

"Yes, it is to-day," she said softly, "to-day."

She could not settle to her sewing, but, leaving the children together for
their work and play, walked up and down the garden paths. Later she went
into the house and upstairs and put on her best black silk dress. An
unusual color came into her cheeks while she dressed. "The bulb was
humility," she murmured over and over, under her breath.

The afternoon was drawing to a close when Miss Fletcher at last moved out
of doors and to the elm-tree. "I didn't bring you any lunch to-day," she
said to the children, "because I want you to be hungry for a good supper."

"Can we have the dishes just the same?" asked Flossie.

"The owner is going to have them to-night," replied Miss Fletcher, and both
the little girls regarded her flushed face with eager curiosity.

"Why, have you asked her?" they cried together.

"Yes."

"Does she know she's going to have the tea-set?"

"No."

"Oh, what fun!" exclaimed Flossie. "I didn't know she was in town."

"Yes, she is in town." Miss Fletcher turned to Hazel and put her hand on
the child's shoulder. "We must do everything we can to celebrate taking
the flower to the King."

Only then the children noticed that aunt Hazel had her bonnet on.

"Oh," cried the child, bewildered, "are you going to _do_ it?"

Miss Fletcher met her radiant eyes thoughtfully. "If I should take the
flower of consecration to the King, Hazel, I know what would be the first
errand He would give me to do. I am going to do it now. Go on playing. I
shan't be gone long."

She moved away down the garden path and out of the gate.

"What do you suppose it is?" asked Flossie.

"I don't know," returned Hazel simply. "Something right;" and then they
took up their dolls again.

Miss Fletcher did not return very soon. In fact, nearly an hour had slipped
away before she came up the street, and then a man was with her. As they
entered the gate Hazel looked up.

"Uncle Dick, uncle Dick!" she cried gladly, jumping up and running to meet
him. He and Miss Fletcher both looked very happy, as they all moved over to
Flossie's chair. Mr. Badger's kind eyes looked down into hers and he
carried her into the house in his strong arms. Hazel followed, rolling the
chair and having many happy thoughts; but she did not understand even a
little of the situation until they all went into the dining-room and
Flossie was carefully seated in the place the hostess indicated.

The white and gold tea-set was not in front of Flossie this time, but
grouped about another place. Hazel's quick eyes noted that there were four
seats, but before she had time to speak of the expected child--happy owner
of the tea-set--uncle Dick spoke:--

"Where do I go, aunt Hazel?"

The child's eyes widened at such familiarity. "Why, uncle Dick!" she
ejaculated.

He and the hostess both regarded her, smiling.

"She is my aunt," he said; and then he lifted Hazel into the chair before
the pretty china. "I believe these are your dishes," he added.

The child leaned back in her chair and looked from one to another. Slowly,
slowly, she understood. That was the aunt Hazel who gave her the silver
spoon. It had been aunt Hazel all the time! She suddenly jumped down from
her chair, and, running to Miss Fletcher, hugged her without a word.

Aunt Hazel embraced her very tenderly. "Yes, my lamb," she whispered,
"error crept in, but it has crept out again, I hope forever;" and through
the wide-open windows came the perfume of the quest flower: pure, strong,
beautiful,--radiantly white in the evening glow.

       *       *       *       *       *

Before Hazel went back to Boston, Flossie's mother came to Miss Fletcher's,
and the change for the better in her little daughter filled her with wonder
and joy. With new hope she followed the line of treatment suggested by a
little girl, and by the time another summer came around, two happy children
played again in aunt Hazel's garden, both as free as the sweet air and
sunshine, for Divine Love had made Flossie "every whit whole."




CHAPTER X

THE APPLE WOMAN'S STORY


Jewel told her grandfather all about it that day while they were having
their late afternoon ride.

"And so the little girl got well," he commented.

"Yes, and could run and play and have the most _fun_!" returned Jewel
joyously.

"And aunt Hazel made it up with her nephew."

"Yes. Why don't people know that all they have to do is to put on more love
to one another? Just supposing, grandpa, that you hadn't loved me so much
when I first came."

"H'm. It _is_ fortunate that I was such an affectionate old fellow!"

"Mother says we all have to tend the flower and carry it to the King before
we're really happy. Do you know it made us both think of the same thing
when at last the man did it."

"What was that?"

"Our hymn:--

    'My hope I cannot measure,
    My path in life is free,
    My Father has my treasure
    And He will walk with me!'

Don't you begin to love mother very much, grandpa?"

"She is charming."

"Of course she isn't your real relation, the way I am."

"Oh, come now. She's my daughter."

Jewel smiled at him doubtfully. "But so is aunt Madge," she returned.

"Why, Jewel, I'm surprised that any one who looks so tall as you do in a
riding skirt shouldn't know more than that! Mrs. Harry Evringham is _your_
mother."

"I never thought of that," returned the child seriously. "Why, so she is."

"That brings her very close, very close, you see," said Mr. Evringham, and
his reasoning was clear as daylight to Jewel.

At dinner that evening she was still further reassured. The child did not
know that the maids in the house, having been scornfully informed by aunt
Madge of Mrs. Harry's business, were prepared to serve her grudgingly, and
regard her visit as being merely on sufferance despite Mrs. Forbes's more
optimistic view. But the spirit that looked out of Mrs. Evringham's dark
eyes and dwelt in the curves of her lips came and saw and conquered. Jewel
had won the hearts of the household, and already its unanimous voice, after
the glimpses it had had of her mother during two days, was that it was no
wonder.

Even the signs of labor that appeared in Julia's pricked fingers made the
serenity of her happy face more charming to her father-in-law. She had
Jewel's own directness and simplicity, her appreciation and enjoyment of
all beauty, the child's own atmosphere of unexacting love and gratitude.
Every half hour that Mr. Evringham spent with her lessened his regret at
having burned his bridges behind him.

"Now, you mustn't be lonely here, Julia," he said, that evening at dinner.
"I have come to be known as something of a hermit by choice; but while
Madge and Eloise lived with me, I fancy they had a good many callers, and
they went out, to the mild degree that society smiles upon in the case of a
recent widow and orphan. They were able to manage their own affairs; but
you are a stranger in a strange land. If you desire society, give me a hint
and I will get it for you."

"Oh, no, father!" replied Julia, smiling. "There is nothing I desire less."

"Mother'll get acquainted with the people at church," said Jewel, "and I
know she'll love Mr. and Mrs. Reeves. They're grandpa's friends, mother."

"Yes," remarked Mr. Evringham, busy with his dinner, "some of the best
people in Bel-Air have gone over to this very strange religion of yours,
Julia. I shan't be quite so conspicuous in harboring two followers of the
faith as I should have been a few years ago."

"No, it is becoming quite respectable," returned Julia, with twinkling
eyes.

"Three, grandpa, you have three here," put in Jewel. "You didn't count
Zeke."

Mrs. Evringham looked up kindly at Mrs. Forbes, who stood by, as usual, in
her neat gown and apron.

"Zeke is really in for it, eh, Mrs. Forbes?" Mr. Evringham asked the
question without glancing up.

"Yes, sir, and I have no objection. I'm too grateful for the changes for
the better in the boy. If Jewel had persuaded him to be a fire worshiper I
shouldn't have lifted my voice. I'd have said to myself, 'What's a little
more fire here, so long as there'll be so much less hereafter.'"

Mrs. Evringham laughed and the broker shook his head. "Mrs. Forbes, Mrs.
Forbes, I'm afraid your orthodoxy is getting rickety," he said.

"How about your own, father?" asked Julia.

"Oh, I'm a passenger. You see, I know that Jewel will ask at the heavenly
gate if I can come in, and if they refuse, they won't get her, either. That
makes me feel perfectly safe."

Jewel watched the speaker seriously. Mr. Evringham met her thoughtful eyes.

"Oh, they'll want you, Jewel. Don't you be afraid."

"I'm not afraid. How could I be? But I was just wondering whether you
didn't know that you'll have to do your own work, grandpa."

He looked up quickly and met Julia's shining eyes.

"Dear me," he responded, with an uncomfortable laugh. "Don't I get out of
it?"

The next morning when Jewel had driven back from the station, and she and
her mother had studied the day's lesson, they returned to the ravine,
taking the Story Book with them.

Before settling themselves to read, they counted the new wild flowers that
had unfolded, and Jewel sprinkled them and the ferns, from the brook.

"Did you ever see anybody look so pretty as Anna Belle does, in that
necklace?" exclaimed Jewel, fondly regarding her child, enthroned against
the snowy trunk of a little birch-tree. "It isn't going to be your turn to
choose the story this morning, dearie. Here, I'll give you a daisy to play
with."

"Wait, Jewel, I think Anna Belle would rather see it growing until we go,
don't you?"

"Would you, dearie? Yes, she says she would; but when we go, we'll take
the sweet little thing and let it have the fun of seeing grandpa's house
and what we're all doing."

"It seems such a pity, to me, to pick them and let them wither," said Mrs.
Evringham.

"Why, I think they only seem to wither, mother," replied Jewel hopefully.
"A daisy is an idea of God, isn't it?"

"Yes, dear."

"When one seems to wither and go out of sight, we only have to look around
a little, and pretty soon we see the daisy idea again, standing just as
white and bright as ever, because God's flowers don't fade."

"That's so, Jewel," returned the mother quietly.

The child drew a long breath. "I've thought a lot about it, here in the
ravine. At first I thought perhaps picking a violet might be just as much
error as killing a bluebird; and then I remembered that we pick the flower
for love, and it doesn't hurt it nor its little ones; but nobody ever
killed a bird for love."

Mrs. Evringham nodded.

"Now it's my turn to choose," began Jewel, in a different tone, settling
herself near the seat her mother had taken.

Mrs. Evringham opened the book and again read over the titles of the
stories.

"Let's hear 'The Apple Woman's Story,'" said Jewel, when she paused.

Her mother looked up. "Do you remember good old Chloe, who used to come
every Saturday to scrub for me? Well, something she told me of an
experience she once had, when she was a little girl, put the idea of this
tale into my head; and I'll read you


THE APPLE WOMAN'S STORY

Franz and Emilie and Peter Wenzel were little German children, born in
America. Their father was a teacher, and his children were alone with him
except for the good old German woman, Anna, who was cook and nurse too in
the household. She tried to teach Franz and Emilie to be good children, and
took great care of Peter, the sturdy three-year-old boy, a fat, solemn
baby, whose hugs were the greatest comfort his father had in the world.

Franz and Emilie had learned German along with their English by hearing it
spoken in the house, and it was a convenience at times, for instance, when
they wished to say something before the colored apple woman which they did
not care to have her understand; but the apple woman did not think they
were polite when they used an unknown tongue before her.

"Go off fum here," she would say to them when they began to talk in German.
"None o' that lingo round my stand. Go off and learn manners." And when
Franz and Emilie found she was in earnest they would ask her to forgive
them in the politest English they were acquainted with; for they were very
much attached to the clean, kind apple woman, whose stand was near their
father's house. They admired her bright bandana headdress and thought her
the most interesting person in the world. As for the apple woman, she had
had so many unpleasant experiences with teasing children that she did not
take Franz and Emilie into her favor all at once, but for some time
accepted their pennies and gave them their apples when they came to buy,
watching them suspiciously with her sharp eyes to make sure that they were
not intending to play her any trick.

But even before they had become regular customers she decided under her
breath that they were "nice chillen;" and when she came to know them better
her kind heart overflowed to them.

One morning as they smiled and nodded to her on the way to school, she
called out and beckoned.

"Apples for the little baskets?"

"Not to-day," answered Emilie.

She beckoned to them again with determination, and the children approached.

"We forgot to brush our teeth last night," explained Franz, "so we haven't
any penny."

"I forgot it," said Emilie, "and Franz didn't remind me, so we neither of
us got it. That's the way Anna makes us remember."

"Never you mind, honey, here's apples for love," replied the colored woman,
holding up two rosy beauties.

The children looked at one another and shook their heads.

"Thank you," said Emilie, "but we can't. Papa said the last time you gave
them to us that if we ate your apples without paying for them we mustn't
come to visit you any more."

"Now think o' that!" exclaimed the apple woman when the children had gone
on. She was much touched and pleased to know that Franz and Emilie would
rather come and sit and talk to her and listen to her stories than to eat
her apples.

She was right; they were nice children; but they had their naughty times,
and good old Anna was often greatly troubled by them. She felt her
responsibility of the whole family very deeply, and tried to talk no more
German. These children must grow up to be good Americans, and she must not
hold them back. It was very hard for the poor woman to remember always to
speak English, and funny broken English it was; so that little Peter,
hearing it all the time, had a baby talk of his own that was very comical
and different from other children. He talked about the "luckle horse" he
played with, and the "boomps" he got when he fell down, and he was very
brave and serious, as became a fat baby boy who had to take care of himself
a great deal.

Anna was so busy cooking and mending for a family of five she was very glad
of the hours when Mr. Wenzel worked at home at his desk and baby Peter
could stay in the same room with him and play with his toys.

Mr. Wenzel was a kind father and longed as far as possible to fill the
place of mother also to his children, who loved him dearly. To little Peter
he was all-powerful. A kiss from papa soothed the hardest "boomp" that his
many tumbles gave him; but even Peter realized that when papa was at his
desk he was very busy indeed, and though any of the children might sit in
the room with him, they must not speak unless it was absolutely necessary.

Emilie was now eight years old, and she might have helped her father and
Anna more than she did; but she never thought of this. She loved to read,
especially fairy stories, and she often curled up on the sofa in her
father's room and read while Peter either played about the room with his
toys, or went to papa's desk and stood with his round eyes fixed on Mr.
Wenzel's face until the busy man would look up from his papers and ask:
"What does my Peter want?"

Especially did Emilie fly to this refuge in papa's room after a quarrel
with Franz, and I'm sorry to say she had a great many. The apple woman
found out that the little brother and sister were not always amiable. Anna
had confided in her; and then one day the children approached her stand
contradicting each other, their voices growing louder and louder as they
came, until at last Franz made a face at Emilie, giving her a push, and
she, quick as a kitten, jumped forward and slapped him.

What Franz would have done after this I don't know, if the apple woman
hadn't said, "Chillen, chillen!" so loud that he stopped to look at her.

"Ah, listen at that fairy Slap-back a-laughin'!" cried the apple woman.

"The fairy Flapjack?" asked Franz, as he and his sister forgot their wrath
and ran toward the stand.

"_Flapjack!_" repeated the apple woman with scorn, as the children nestled
down, one each side of her. "Yo' nice chillen pertendin' not to know yo'
friends!"

"What friends? What?" asked Emilie eagerly.

"The fairy Slap-back. P'raps I didn't see her jest now, a-grinnin' over yo'
shoulder."

"Is she anybody to be afraid of?" asked Emilie, big-eyed.

"To be sho' she is if you-all go makin' friends with her," returned the
apple woman, with a knowing sidewise nod of her head. Then drawing back
from the children with an air of greatest surprise, "You two don't mean to
come here tellin' me you ain't never heerd o' the error-fairies?" she
asked.

"Never," they both replied together.

"Shoo!" exclaimed the apple woman. "If you ain't the poor igno'antest w'ite
chillen that ever lived. Why, if you ain't never heerd on 'em, yo're likely
to be snapped up by 'em any day in the week as you was jest now."

"Oh, tell us. Do tell us!" begged Franz and Emilie.

"Co'se I will, 'case 't ain't right for them mis'able creeturs to be
hangin' around you all, and you not up to their capers. Fust place they're
called the error-fairies 'case they're all servants to a creetur named
Error. She's a cheat and a humbug, allers pertendin' somethin' or other,
and she makes it her business to fight a great and good fairy named Love.
Now Love--oh, chillen, my pore tongue can't tell you of the beauty and
goodness o' the fairy Love! She's the messenger of a great King, and spends
her whole time a-blessin' folks. Her hair shines with the gold o' the sun;
her eyes send out soft beams; her gown is w'ite, and when she moves 'tis as
if forget-me-nots and violets was runnin' in little streams among its
folds. Ah, chillen," the apple woman shook her head, "she's the blessin' o'
the world. Her soft arms are stretched out to gather in and comfort every
sorrowin' heart.

"Well, 'case she was so lovely an' the great King trusted her, Error
thought she'd try her hand; but she hadn't any king, Error hadn't. There
wa'n't nobody to stand for her or to send her on errands. She was a
low-lifed, flabby creetur," the apple woman made a scornful grimace; "jest
a misty-moisty nobody; nothin' to her. Her gown was a cloud and she wa'n't
no more 'n a shadder, herself, until she could git somebody to listen to
her. When she did git somebody to listen to her, she'd begin to stiffen up
and git some backbone and git awful sassy; so she crep' around whisperin'
to folks that Love was no good, and 'lowin' that she--that mis'able
creetur--was the queen o' life.

"Some folks knowed better and told her so, right pine blank, an' then
straight off she'd feel herself changin' back into a shadder, an' sail away
as fast as she could to try it on somebody else. She was ugly to look at as
a bad dream, but yet there was lots o' folks would pay 'tention to her, and
after they'd listened once or twice, she kep' gittin' stronger and pearter,
an' as she got stronger, they got weaker, and every day it was harder fer
'em to drive her off, even after they'd got sick of her.

"Then, even if she didn't have a king, she had slaves; oh, dozens and
dozens of error-fairies, to do her will. Creepin' shadders they was, too,
till somebody listened to 'em and give 'em a backbone. There's--let me
see"--the apple woman looked off to jog her memory--"there's Laziness,
Selfishness, Backbitin', Cruelty--oh, I ain't got time to tell 'em all; an'
not one mite o' harm in one of 'em, only for some silly mortal that listens
and gives the creetur a backbone. They jest lop over an' melt away, the
whole batch of 'em, when Love comes near. She knows what no-account
humbugs they are, you see; and they jest lop over an' melt away whenever
even a little chile knows enough to say 'Go off fum here, an' quit
pesterin''!"

Franz and Emilie stared at the apple woman and listened hard. Their cheeks
matched the apples.

"What happened a minute ago to you-all? An error-creetur named Slap-back
whispered to you. 'Quarrel!' says she. What'd you do? Did you say 'Go off,
you triflin' vilyun'?

"Not a bit of it. You quarreled; an' Slap-back kep' gittin' bigger and
stronger and stiffer in the backbone while you was goin' it, an' at last up
comes this little hand of Emilie's. Whack! That was the time Slap-back
couldn't hold in, an' she jest laughed an' laughed over yo' shoulder. Ah,
the little red eyes she had, and the wiry hair! And that other one, the
fairy, Love, she was pickin' up her w'ite gown with both hands an' flyin'
off as if she had wings. Of course you didn't notice her. You was too taken
up with yo' friend."

"But Slap-back isn't our friend," declared Emilie earnestly.

The apple woman shook her head. "Bless yo' heart, honey, it's mean to deny
it now; but, disown her or not, she'll stick to you and pester you; and
you'll find it out if ever you try to drive her off. You'll have as hard a
time as little Dinah did."

"What happened to Dinah?" asked Franz, picking up the apple woman's clean
towel and beginning to polish apples.

"Drop that, now, chile! Yo' friend might cast her eye on it. I don't want
to sell pizened apples."

Franz, crestfallen, obeyed, and glanced at Emilie. They had never before
found their assistance refused, and they both looked very sober.

"Little Dinah was a chile lived 'way off down South 'mongst the cotton
fields; and that good fairy watched over Dinah,--Love, so sweet to look at
she'd make yo' heart sing.

"Dinah had a little brother, too, jest big enough to walk; an' a daddy that
worked from mornin' till night to git hoe-cake 'nuff fer 'em all; and his
ole mammy, she helped him, and made the fire, and swept the room, and dug
in the garden, and milked the cow. She was a good woman, that ole mammy,
an' 't was a great pity there wa'n't nobody to help 'er, an' she gittin'
older every day."

"Why, there was Dinah," suggested Emilie.

The apple woman stared at her with both hands raised. "Dinah! Lawsy massy,
honey, the only thing that chile would do was look at pictur' books an'
play with the other chillen. She wouldn't even so much as pick up baby Mose
when he tumbled down an' barked his shin. Oh, but she was a triflin' lazy
little nigger as ever you see."

"And that's why the red-eyed fairy got hold of her," said Franz, who was
longing to hear something exciting.

"'Twas, partly," said the apple woman. "You see there's somethin' very
strange about them fairies, Love and the error-fairies. The error-fairies,
they run after the folks that love themselves, and Love can only come near
them that loves other people. Sounds queer, honey, but it's the truth; so,
when Dinah got to be a likely, big gal, and never thought whether the ole
mammy was gittin' tired out, or tried to amuse little Mose, or gave a
thought o' pity to her pore daddy who was alone in the world, the fairy
Love got to feelin' as bad as any fairy could.

"'Do, Dinah,'" she said, with her sweet mouth close to Dinah's ear, 'do
stop bein' so triflin', and stir yo'self to be some help in the house.'

"'No,' says Dinah, 'I like better to lay in the buttercups and look at
pictur's,' says she.

"'Then,' says Love, 'show Mose the pictur's, too, and make him happy.'

"'No,' says Dinah, 'he's too little, an' he bothers me an' tears my book.'

"'Then,' says Love, 'yo'd rather yo' tired daddy took care o' the chile
after his hard day's work.'

"'Now yo're talkin',' says Dinah. 'I shorely would. My daddy's strong.'

"The tears came into Love's eyes, she felt so down-hearted. 'Yo' daddy
needs comfort, Dinah,' she says, 'an' yo're big enough to give it to him,'
says she; 'an' look at the black smooches on my w'ite gown. They're all
because o' you, Dinah, that I've been friends with so faithful. I've got to
leave you now, far enough so's my gown'll come w'ite; but if you call me
I'll hear, honey, an' I'll come. Good-by,'

"'Good riddance!' says Dinah. 'I'm right down tired o' bein' lectured,'
says she. 'Now I can roll over in the buttercups an' sing, an' be happy an'
do jest as I please.'

"So Dinah threw herself down in the long grass and, bing! she fell right
atop of a wasp, and he was so scared at such capers he stung her in the
cheek. Whew! You could hear her 'way 'cross the cotton field!

"Her ole gran'mam comforted her, the good soul. 'Never you mind, honey,'
she says, 'I'll swaje it fer you.'

"But every day Dinah got mo' triflin'. She pintedly wouldn't wash the
dishes, nor mind little Mose; an' every time the hot fire o' temper ran
over her, she could hear a voice in her ear--'Give it to 'em good. That's
the way to do it, Dinah!' An' it kep' gittin' easier to be selfish an' to
let her temper run away, an' the cabin got to be a mighty pore place jest
on account o' Dinah, who'd ought to ha' been its sunshine.

"As for the fairy, Love, Dinah never heerd her voice, an' she never called
to her, though there was never a minute when she didn't hate the sound o'
that other voice that had come to be in her ears more 'n half the time.

"One mornin' everything went wrong with Dinah. Her gran'mam was plum
mis'able over her shif'less ways, an' she set her to sew a seam befo' she
could step outside the do'. The needle was dull, the thread fell in knots.
Dinah's brow was mo' knotted up than the thread. Her head felt hot.

"'Say you won't do it,' hissed the voice.

"'I'll git thrashed if I do. Gran'mam said so.'

"'What do you care!' hissed the voice; and jest as the fairy Slap-back was
talkin' like this, up comes little Mose to Dinah, an' laughs an' pulls her
work away.

"Then somethin' awful happened. Dinah couldn't 'a' done it two weeks back;
but it's the way with them that listens to that mis'able, low-lifed
Slap-back. Jest as quick as a wink, that big gal, goin' on nine, slapped
baby Mose. He was that took back for a minute that he didn't cry; but the
hateful voice laughed an' hissed an' laughed again.

"Good, Dinah, good! Now you'll ketch it!'

"Then over went little Mose's lip, an' he wailed out, an' Dinah clasped her
naughty hands an' saw a face close to her--a bad one, with red eyes
shinin'. She jumped away from it, for it made her cold to think she'd been
havin' sech a playfeller all along.

"'Oh, Love, y' ain't done fergit me, is yer? Come back, Love, _Love_!' she
called; then she dropped on her knees side o' Mose an' called him her honey
an' her lamb, an' she cried with him, an' pulled him into her lap, an' when
the ole gran'mam come in from where she'd been feedin' the hens, they was
both asleep."

Franz took a long breath, for the way the apple woman told a story always
made him listen hard. "I guess that was the last of old Slap-back with
Dinah," he remarked.

The apple woman shook her head. "That's the worst of that fairy," she said.
"Love'll clar out when you tell 'er to, 'case she's quality, an' she's got
manners; but Slap-back ain't never had no raisin'. She hangs around, an'
hangs around, an' is allers puttin' in her say jest as she was a few
minutes ago with you and Emilie in the road there. There's nothin' in this
world tickles her like a chile actin' naughty, 'ceptin' it's two chillen
scrappin'. Now pore little Dinah found she had to have all her wits about
her to keep Love near, an' make that ornery Slap-back stay away. Love was
as willin', as willin' to stay as violets is to open in the springtime;
but when Dinah an' Slap-back was both agin her, what could she do? An'
Dinah, she'd got so used to Slap-back, an' that bodacious creetur had sech
a way o' gittin' around the chile, sometimes, 'fore Dinah knew it, she'd be
listenin' to 'er ag'in; but Dinah'd had one good scare an' she didn't mean
to give in. Jest now, too, her daddy fell sick. That good man, that lonely
man, he'd had a mighty hard time of it, an' no chile to care or love 'im."

"Wait," interrupted Emilie sternly. "If you are going to let Dinah's father
die, I'm going home."

The apple woman showed the whites of her eyes in the astonished stare she
gave her.

"Because"--Emilie swallowed and then finished suddenly--"because it
wouldn't be nice."

The apple woman looked straight out over her stand. "Well, he didn't, an'
Dinah made him mighty glad he got well, too; for she stopped buryin' her
head in pictur' books, an' she did errands for gran'mam without whinin',
an' she minded Mose so her daddy had mo' peace when he come home tuckered
out; an' when she'd got so she could smile at the boy in the next cabin,
'stead o' runnin' out her tongue at him, the fairy, Love, could stay by
without smoochin' her gown, an' Slap-back had to melt away an' sail off to
try her capers on some other chile."

"But you needn't pretend you saw her with us," said Franz uneasily.

The apple woman nodded her red bandana wisely. "Folks that lives outdoors
the way I do, honey, sees mo' than you-all," she answered.

Emilie ran home ahead of her brother, and softly entered her father's
room. He was at his desk, as was usual at this hour. His head leaned on his
hand, and he was so deep in his work that he did not notice her quiet
entrance. She curled up on the sofa in her usual attitude, but instead of
reading she watched little Peter on the floor building his block house. His
chubby hands worked carefully until the crooked house grew tall, then in
turning to find a last block he bumped his head on the corner of a chair.

Emilie watched him rub the hurt place in silence. Then he got up on his fat
legs and went to the desk, where he stood patiently, his round face very
red and solemn, while he waited to gain his father's attention.

At last the busy man became conscious of the child's presence, and,
turning, looked down into the serious eyes.

"I'm here wid a boomp," said Peter. Then after receiving the consolation of
a hug and kiss he returned contentedly to his block house.

Emilie saw her father look after the child with a smile sad and tender. Her
heart beat faster as she lay in her corner. Her father was lonely and hard
worked, with no one to take pity on him. A veil seemed to drop from her
eyes, even while they grew wet.

"I don't believe I'm too old to change, even if I am going on nine,"
thought Emilie. At that minute the block house fell in ruins, and Peter,
self-controlled though he was, looked toward the desk and began to whimper.

"Peter--Baby," cried Emilie softly, leaning forward and holding out the
picture of a horse in her book.

Her father had turned with an involuntary sigh, and seeing Peter trot
toward the sofa and Emilie receive him with open arms, went back to his
papers with a relief that his little daughter saw. Her breath came fast and
she hugged the baby. Something caught in her throat.

"Oh, papa, you don't know how many, _many_ times I'm going to do it," she
said in the silence of her own full heart.

And Emilie kept that unspoken promise.




CHAPTER XI

THE GOLDEN DOG


"I think, after all, the ravine is the nicest place for stories," said
Jewel the next day.

The sun had dried the soaked grass, and not only did the leaves look
freshly polished from their bath, but the swollen brook seemed to be
turning joyous little somersaults over its stones when Mrs. Evringham,
Jewel, and Anna Belle scrambled down to its bank.

"I don't know that we ought to read a story every day," remarked Mrs.
Evringham. "They won't last long at this rate."

"When we finish we'll begin and read them all over again," returned Jewel
promptly.

"Oh, that's your plan, is it?" said Mrs. Evringham, laughing.

Jewel laughed too, for sheer happiness, though she saw nothing amusing
about such an obviously good plan. "Aren't we getting well acquainted,
mother?" she asked, nestling close to her mother's side and forgetting Anna
Belle, who at once lurched over, head downward, on the grass. "Do you
remember what a little time you used to have to hold me in your lap and hug
me?"

"Yes, dearie. Divine Love is giving me so many blessings these days I only
pray to bear them well," replied Mrs. Evringham.

"Why, I think it's just as _easy_ to bear blessings, mother," began Jewel,
and then she noticed her child's plight. "Darling Anna Belle, what are you
doing!" she exclaimed, picking up the doll and brushing her dress. "I
shouldn't think you had any more backbone than an error-fairy! Now don't
look sorry, dearie, because to-day it's your turn to choose the story."

Anna Belle, her eyes beaming from among her tumbled curls, at once turned
happy and expectant, and when her hat had been straightened and her boa
removed so that her necklace could gleam resplendently about her fair,
round throat, she was seated against a tree-trunk and listened with all her
ears to the titles Mrs. Evringham offered.

After careful consideration, she made her choice, and Mrs. Evringham and
Jewel settling themselves comfortably, the former began to read aloud the
tale of--


THE GOLDEN DOG

If it had not been for the birds and brooks, the rabbits and squirrels,
Gabriel would have been a very lonely boy.

His older brothers, William and Henry, did not care for him, because he was
so much younger than they, and, moreover, they said he was stupid. His
father might take some interest in him when he grew bigger and stronger and
could earn money; but money was the only thing Gabriel's father cared for,
and when the older brothers earned any they tried to keep it a secret from
the father lest he should take it away from them. Gabriel had a stepmother,
but she was a sorry woman, too full of care to be companionable. So he
sought his comrades among the wild things in the woods, to get away from
the quarrels at home.

He was a muscular, rosy-cheeked lad, and in the sports at school he could
out-run and out-jump the other boys and was always good-natured with them;
but even the children at the little country school did not like him very
well, because the very things they enjoyed the most did not amuse him.

He tried to explain to them that the birds were his friends, and therefore
he could not rob their nests; but they laughed at him almost as much as
when he tried to dissuade them from mocking old Mother Lemon, as they
passed her cottage door on their way to and from school.

She was an old cross-patch, of course, they told him, or else she would not
live alone on the edge of a forest, with nobody but a cat and owls for
company.

"Perhaps she would be glad to have some one better for company," Gabriel
replied.

"Go live with her, yourself, then, Gabriel," said one of the boys
tauntingly. "That's right! Go leave your miser father, counting his gold
all night while you are asleep, and too stingy to give you enough to eat,
and go and be Mother Lemon's good little boy!" and then all the children
laughed and hooted at Gabriel, who walked up to the speaker and knocked him
over on the grass with such apparent ease and such a calm face, that all
the laughers grew silent from mere surprise.

"You mustn't talk about my father to me," said Gabriel, explaining. Then he
started for home, and the laughing began again, softly.

"It was true," he thought, as he trudged along. Things were getting worse
at home, and sometimes he was hungry, for there was not too much on the
table, and his big brothers fought for their share.

As he neared Mother Lemon's cottage, with its thatched roof and tiny
windows, he saw the old woman, in her short gown, tugging at the
well-sweep. It seemed very hard for her to draw up the heavy bucket.

Instantly Gabriel ran forward.

"Get out of here, now," cried the old woman, in a cracked voice, for she
saw it was one of the school-children, and she was weary of their worrying
tricks.

"Shan't I pull up the bucket for you?" asked Gabriel.

"Ah, I know you. You want to splash me!" returned Mother Lemon, eying him
warily; but the boy put his strong arm to the task, and the dripping bucket
rose from the depths, while the little old woman withdrew to a safer
distance.

"Show me where to put it and I will carry it into the house for you," said
Gabriel.

"Now bless your rosy cheeks, you're an honest lad," said Mother Lemon
gratefully; but she took the precaution to walk behind him all the way,
lest he should still be intending to play her some trick. When, however, he
had entered the low door and filled the kettle and the pans, according to
her directions, she smiled on him, and as she thanked him, she asked him
his name.

"Gabriel," said the lad.

"Ah," she exclaimed, "you are the miser's boy."

Gabriel could not knock Mother Lemon down, so he only hung his head while
his cheeks grew redder.

"It isn't your fault, child, and by the time you are grown you will be
rich. When that time comes, I pray you be kinder to me than your father is,
for he oppresses the poor and makes me pay my last shilling for the rent of
this hovel."

"I would give the cottage to you if it were mine," returned Gabriel,
looking straight into her eyes with his honest gray ones; "but at present I
am poorer than you."

"In that case," said Mother Lemon, "I wish I had something worthy to reward
you for your kindness to me. As I have not, here is a penny that you must
keep to remember me by." And in spite of Gabriel's protestations she took
from her side-pocket a coin.

"I cannot take it from you," protested the boy.

"No one ever grew richer by refusing to give," returned Mother Lemon, and
she tucked the penny inside Gabriel's blouse and turned him out the door
with her blessing; so that, being a peaceable boy of few words, he objected
no longer, but moved along the road toward home, for it was nearly dinner
time.

He found his stepmother setting the table, and his father busily
calculating with figures on a bit of paper.

"Get the water, Gabriel, and be quick now," was his welcome from the
sorry-faced woman.

When he had done all she directed him, there was still a little time, for
William and Henry had not come in from the field. Gabriel sat down near his
father and, noting a rusty, dusty little book lying on the table, he picked
it up.

"What is this, father?" he asked, for there were few books in that house.

The man looked up from his figuring and sneered. "It is called by some the
Book of Life," he said. "As a matter of fact it would not bring two
shillings."

So saying he returned to his pleasant calculations and Gabriel idly opened
the book. His gaze widened, for the verse on which his eyes fell stood out
from the others in tiny letters of flame.

"_The love of money is the root of all evil_," he read.

"Father, father," he exclaimed, "what wonder is this? Look!" The miser
turned, impatient of a second interruption. "See the letters of fire!"

"I see nothing. You grow stupider every day, Gabriel."

"But the letters burn, father," and then the boy read aloud the sentence
which for him stood out so vividly on the page.

They had a surprising effect upon his listener. The miser grew pale and
then red with anger. He rose and, standing over the boy, frowned furiously.
"I'll teach you to reprove your father," he cried. "Get out of my house. No
dinner for you to-day."

The stepmother had heard what Gabriel read, and well she knew the truth of
those words.

As the astonished boy gathered himself up and moved out the door, she went
after him, calling in pretended sharpness; but when he came near, she
whispered, "Come to the back of the shed in five minutes," and when Gabriel
obeyed, later, he found there a thick piece of bread and a lump of cheese.

These he took, hungrily, and ate them in the forest before returning to
school. He had never felt so kindly toward school as this afternoon. Were
it not for what he learned there, he could not have read the words in the
Book of Life; and although they had brought him into trouble, he would not
have foregone the wonder of seeing the living, burning characters which his
father could not perceive. He longed to open those dusty covers once again.

On his way home that afternoon he met two boys teasing a small brown dog.
Its coat was stuck full of burrs and it tried in vain to escape from its
tormentors. The boys stopped to let Gabriel go by, for they had a wholesome
respect for his strong right arm and they knew his love for animals. The
trembling little dog looked at him in added fear.

Gabriel stood still. "Will you give me that dog?" he asked.

The boys backed away with their prize. "Nothing for nothing," said the
taller, who had the animal under his arm. "What'll you give us?"

Gabriel thought. Never lived a boy with fewer possessions. Ah! He suddenly
remembered a whistle he had made yesterday. Diving his hand into his pocket
he brought it out and whistled a lively strain upon it.

"This," he said, approaching. "I'll give you this."

"That for one of us," replied the tall boy. "What for the other?"

From the moment the dog heard Gabriel's voice, its eyes had appealed to
him. Now it struggled to get free, and the big boy struck it. Its cry
sharpened Gabriel's wits.

"The other shall have a penny," he said, and drew Mother Lemon's coin out
of his blouse.

The big boy dropped the dog, and he and his companion struggled for the
coin, each willing the other should have the whistle. Gabriel lost no time
in catching up the dog and making off with it.

He did not stop running until he had reached a spot by the brookside,
hidden amid sheltering trees. Here he sat down and looked over the forlorn
specimen in his lap. The dog was a rough, dingy object from its long ears
to its tail.

First of all, Gabriel set to work to get out 

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