Jewel's Story Book

"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.

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."

"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.

"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?"

"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.

"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."

"'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."

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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!"

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."

"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."

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.

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!"

"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 yourself 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."

"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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

"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:—

"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."

"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.

"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."

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."

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."

"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'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."

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?

"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."

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?"

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."

"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.

"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."

"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."

"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"

"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!"

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.

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.

"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.

"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.