Jewel: A Chapter in Her Life. Clara Louise Burnham

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

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

      The child studied him with open, innocent curiosity.

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

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

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

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

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

      “Oh, yes, you're just the right kind,” returned the child hastily and confidently. “Strong and—and handsome.”

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

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

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

      Mr. Evringham summoned a cab.

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

      At last Jewel produced a brass square.

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

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

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

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

      “Yes, sir, my name's Julia, but so is mother's, and they call me Jewel. I'm nearly nine, grandpa.”

      “H'm. Time flies,” was the brief response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “You can read and write, eh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Humph!”

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

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

      “What's that?” asked Jewel doubtfully.

      Her companion's brow grew darker.

      “Impudent I say.”

      “And what is impudent?”

      “Don't you know?” suspiciously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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