"Oh well, you may be sure they're at it, then, every moonlight night.

They haven't a particle of respect, you know, for anything. If I were in Anna Belle's place, I should put up a sign, 'Private Grounds.'"

"Oh, she's so unselfish she wouldn't. If they only won't break the flowers she won't care," returned the child, entering into the fancy with zest.

Mr. Evringham took the doll from her arms, and carrying it up the steps deposited it in the piazza chair.

"Isn't she going?" asked Jewel soberly.

"No, not this time. She doesn't care, she's been there so much. Just see how cheerful and comfortable she looks!"

There was, indeed, a smile of almost cloying sweetness on Anna Belle's countenance, and she seemed to be seeing pleasing visions.

"I never saw such a good child!" said Jewel with an admiring sigh; then she put her hand in her grandfather's and they strolled out into the park and up the shady road. Just before reaching the bend around which lay the gorge, Mr. Evringham surprised his companion by breaking in upon her lively chatter with a tune which he whistled loudly.

It was such an unusual ebullition that Jewel looked up at him. "Why, grandpa, I never heard you whistle before," she said.

"You didn't? That's because you never before saw me out on a lark. I tell you, I'm a gay one when I get started," and forthwith there burst again from his lips a gay refrain, that sounded shrilly up the leafy path. They rounded the bend in the road, and the broker looked down into the eyes that were bent upon him in admiration.

"You whistle almost as well as Mr. Bonnell," said the child.

"Give me time and I dare say I shall beat him out," was the swaggering response. "Ah, here's your ravine, is it?"

"Yes, that's"--began Jewel, and went no further.

A couple of rods from where she suddenly came to a standstill was an object which for a moment rooted her to the spot. A small horse, black as jet, with a white star in his forehead and a flowing, wavy mane and tail, stood by the roadside. His coat, gleaming like satin, set off the pure white leather of his trappings. On his back was fastened a side saddle, and he was tethered to the rail of the light fence.

Mr. Evringham appeared not to see him. He was looking down the rocks and gra.s.s of the steep incline.

"Is there any sort of a path?" he asked, "or do you descend it as you would a cellar door? I think you might have told me, so I could change these light trousers."

"Grandpa!" exclaimed Jewel in a hushed tone, pointing before her. "See that horse--just like the coal black steed the princess rides in a fairy story."

"Why, that's so. He is a beauty. Where do you suppose the princess is?"

"She's probably gone down the ravine," returned the child, her feet drawn forward as if by a magnet. "Let's not go down yet."

The broker allowed himself to be led close to the pony, who turned his full bright eyes upon the pair curiously.

"Do you think I might touch him, grandpa?" asked the child, still in the hushed voice.

"If he's a fairy horse he might vanish," returned Mr. Evringham. "Let's see how he stands it." So saying he gave the shining flank some st.u.r.dy love pats. "Oh, he's all right. He's good substantial flesh and blood."

"But the lady," said Jewel, looking about, the pupils of her eyes dilated with excitement.

"Oh, I don't think a very big lady has been riding in that saddle. You can do as you'd be done by, I fancy."

Upon this Jewel stroked the pony over and over lovingly, and he nosed about her in a friendly way.

"Grandpa, see him, see him! And oh grandpa, see his beautiful star, white as a snowflake!"

"Well, upon my word, if this isn't lucky," remarked Mr. Evringham. "Here is some sugar in my pocket, now." He pa.s.sed some lumps to the child.

"Would it be right?" she asked, glancing down the ravine. "Had I better wait till the girl comes up?"

"She won't mind, I'll wager," returned Mr. Evringham; so the child, thus encouraged, fed the coal black steed, who, for all his poetical appearance, had evidently a strongly developed sweet tooth.

"h.e.l.lo, what's this!" exclaimed the broker, stepping to the fence and taking up something black and folded. When he shook it out, it proved to be a child's riding skirt.

"She's left it there," said Jewel eagerly. "We ought not to touch it.

It's very hard on clothes going down the ravine, and she's left it there. Don't you think, grandpa, you _ought_ to put it back?" for to her great surprise her punctilious and particular relative was shaking the fine skirt about recklessly and examining it.

"Here's a name," he said, bringing his prize to Jewel and showing her an oblong bit of white cloth, much as tailors use inside dresses. "What do you make of it?"

The child, disturbed by such daring, and dreading to see the owner of these splendid possessions scramble up the bank, looked reluctantly.

The name was a long one, but so familiar that she recognized it at once.

"Evringham."

She lifted her eyes to her grandfather. "It's the same as ours."

"There isn't another Evringham in Bel-Air," returned the broker. "The fairies dropped this for you, I guess, Jewel. It certainly won't fit me.

Let's try it on."

He slipped it over the head of the dazed child and hooked it around her waist.

"'It fitted her exactly,'" murmured Jewel. "They always say so in fairy stories.

"Look here," said her grandfather. He put his hand into the stirrup and drew out a folded bit of paper. He handed it to the child, who began to wonder if she was dreaming.

DEAR JEWEL (she read),--I believe you expected Divine Love to send you a horse. I have come to belong to you, and my name is STAR.

It was astonishing what a large, round penmanship the pony possessed.

There was no possibility of mistaking a word.

Jewel read the note over twice as she stood there, the long, scant skirt, making her look tall. Mr. Evringham stood watching her. His part in the comedy was played. He waited.

She looked up at him with eyes that seemed trying to comprehend a fact too large.

"Grandpa, have you given me this horse?" she asked solemnly, and he could see her hands beginning to tremble.

"Oh, am _I_ to get some credit for this?" returned the broker, smiling and twisting his mustache. "I didn't expect that."

He knew her lack of motion would not last long, and was bracing himself for the attack when, to his surprise, she pulled up the impeding skirt and made a rush, not for him, but for the pony. Hiding her face on the creature's satin shoulder, she flung her arm around his throat, and seizing his rippling mane, sobbed as if her heart would break.

Mr. Evringham had not spent weeks in selecting and testing a horse for his granddaughter without choosing one whose nervous system would be proof against sudden a.s.saults of affection; but this onslaught was so energetic that the pony tossed his head and backed to the end of his tether.

His new mistress stumbled after him, her face still hidden. She was trying heroically to stifle the sobs that were shaking her from head to foot.