"I felt very glad she was content somewhere away from the drawing-room,"

returned Mrs. Evringham practically. "You know we expected Dr. Ballard up to the moment the roses arrived, and from all I gathered at the dinner table, it would have been awkward enough for him to walk in upon that child. Besides, I don't see why you use that tone with me. It has been your own choice to let her paddle her own canoe, and you've had an object lesson now that I hope you won't forget. You wouldn't believe me when I begged you to exert yourself for your grandfather, and now you see even that plain little thing could get on with him just because she dared take him by storm. She has about everything in her disfavor. The child of a common working woman, with no beauty, and a little crank of a Christian Scientist into the bargain, and yet now see! He took her out to the stable to see Ess.e.x Maid! I never knew you contradictory and disagreeable until lately, Eloise. You even act like a stick with Dr.

Ballard just to be perverse." Mrs. Evringham flounced over in bed, with her back to the white negligee.

Eloise had seen what she had been watching for. Her grandfather had driven away to the station, so she arose and came over to the foot of the bed.

"I know I'm irritable, mother," she said repentantly. "The idleness and uselessness of my life have grated on me until I know I'm not fit to live with. If I had had any of the training of a society girl, I could bear it better; but papa kept my head full of school,--for which I bless him,--and now that the dream of college is hopeless, and that the only profession you wish for me is marriage, I dread to wake up in the mornings."

The young voice was unsteady.

Mrs. Evringham heaved a long sigh. "Give me patience!" she murmured, then added mentally, "It can't be many days, and she won't refuse him."

"Go down to the piano and play yourself good-natured," she returned.

"Then come up and we'll go on with that charming story. It quite refreshed me to read of that coming-out ball. It was so like my own."

Eloise, her lips set in a sad curve, rose and left the room. Once in the hall, she paused for a minute. Then instead of descending the stairs, she ran noiselessly up the next flight. The rain was pelting steadily on the dome of golden gla.s.s through which light fell to the halls. She stole, as she had done yesterday, to the door of Jewel's room.

Again as yesterday she heard a voice, but this time it was singing. The tones were very sweet, surprisingly strong and firm to proceed from lips which always spoke so gently. The door was not quite closed, and Eloise pressed her ear to the crack. Thus she could easily hear the words of Jewel's song:--

"And o'er the earth's troubled, angry sea I see Christ walk; And come to me, and tenderly, Divinely, talk."

The hymn stopped for a minute, and the child appeared to be conversing with some one.

Eloise waited, openly, eagerly listening, hoping the singer would resume. Something in those unexpected words in the sweet child voice stirred her. Presently Jewel sang on:--

"From tired joy, and grief afar, And nearer Thee, Father, where Thine own children are I love to be!"

The lump that rose in the listener's throat forced a moisture into her eyes.

"I never could hear a child sing without crying," she said to herself in excuse, as she leaned her forehead on her hand against the jamb of the door and waited for the strange stir at her heart to quiet.

The house was still. The rain swept against the panes, and tears stole from under the girl's long lashes--tears for her empty, vapid life, for the hopelessness of the future, for the humiliations of the present, for the lack of a love that should be without self-interest.

"I like that verse, Anna Belle," said the voice within. "Let's sing that again," and the hymn welled forth:--

"From tired joy, and grief afar, And nearer Thee, Father, where Thine own children are I love to be!"

"Is there a haven?" thought the swelling, listening heart outside. "Is there a place far alike from tired joy and grief?"

"'Father, where Thine own children are,'" quoted Jewel. "We know where a lot of them are, don't we, Anna Belle, and we do love to be with them." A pause, and a light sigh, which did not reach the listener. "But we're at grandpa's now," finished the child's voice.

Eloise's breaths came long and deep drawn, and she stood motionless, her eyes hidden.

CHAPTER XVI

THE FIRST LESSON

Jewel looked up as she heard a knock. Sarah had made the bed and gone.

Who could this be?

At her "Come in," Eloise entered the room. The child's face brightened questioningly. She rose and gazed at the enchanted maiden, very lovely in the wrapper of white silk, open at the throat, and with little billows of lace cascading down to the toes of her white Turkish slippers.

"Good-morning, cousin Eloise," said the child, waiting for the message or order which she supposed to be forthcoming.

"Good-morning." The girl cast a comprehensive glance around the rather bare room. Her eyes bore no traces of the tears so recently shed, but her face was sad. "I heard you singing," she said.

"Yes. Did I disturb anybody?" asked the child quickly.

"No. It is nice to be like the birds that sing in the rain."

"Like the robin out there," returned Jewel, relieved. "Did you hear him?" She ran to the window and threw it open, listening a minute. "No, he has gone."

"You said you would show me your doll," went on Eloise when the window was closed again.

"Oh," returned Jewel pleased, "did you come to see Anna Belle? She's right here. We were just going to have the lesson." She took the doll from the depths of a big chair and held her up with motherly pride.

"Would you--won't you sit down a minute?"

To her great satisfaction, her beautiful visitor condescended to take the chair Anna Belle had vacated, and held out her white, ringless hands for the doll.

"How neatly her clothes are made," said the girl, examining Anna Belle's garments.

"Yes, my mother made her all new ones when she knew she was going to Europe, so that she would be neat and not mortify me. Would you like to see her clothes?" eagerly.

"Yes, I should."

Jewel brought them, her quick little fingers turning them back and forth, exhibiting the tiny b.u.t.tonholes and b.u.t.tons, and chattering explanations of their good points.

"It was a great deal for your mother to do all this, when she is such a busy woman," said Eloise.

"Yes, she did it evenings, and then surprised me just when we were coming away. Wasn't it lovely?"

"Very."

"I love prettiness," said the child. As she spoke she regarded the grave face beside her. "When I first noticed that my nose wasn't nice, and neither were my eyes, I almost cried."

Eloise looked up at her, at a loss for a reply.

"But then I remembered that of course G.o.d never made anything that wasn't perfectly beautiful, so I knew that it would come right some time, and I asked mother when she thought it would."

"What did she say?" returned Eloise, wondering at this original optimism.

"She said we could never tell how soon anything would come right to our sense, but so long as we knew that Creation was perfect and beautiful, we could be patient about everything--big things and little things; and then I remember how she talked to me about being careful never to pity myself." Jewel gave her head a little serious shake. "You know it's very bad error to pity yourself, no matter what kind of a nose you have."

Eloise had sunk back in the large chair and was attentively watching the child standing beside her, while she still held Anna Belle. She had never before held converse with a Christian Scientist, but her state of mind precluded the perception of a humorous side to anything.

"Wrong to pity yourself no matter what happens?" she asked.