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."

"d.i.c.k 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 pa.s.sages, 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 cochere.

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.

"G.o.d 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 gla.s.s, 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 a.s.sented 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 Ess.e.x 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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."