rk. Had Jewel
thought of it, she might have contrasted the expression of Mrs. Forbes's
face as she waited at table this evening with the look it wore on the
day she first arrived; might have noted the cheerful flow of talk which
enlivened the board, in distinction from the stiff silence or bitter
repartee which once chilled her. As she responded to the smiles hovering
now about Eloise's lovely lips, she might have remembered the once
sombre sadness of those eyes. Even Mrs. Evringham had buried
the Macbethian dagger, and wore the meek and patient air of one
misunderstood; but nothing would have amazed the child so much as to be
told that she had had anything to do with this metamorphosis.

Anna Belle,--deserted often now, perforce, on account of the pony,
whose life was a strenuous one, owing to the variety of Jewel's
attentions,--Anna Belle was petted with extra fondness when her turn
came; and she sat at table now in a pleasing trance, her smile an
impartial benediction upon all.

It had been a glorious June day, the park was at its best. After dinner
the family strolled out toward the piazza.

Mrs. Forbes had attended her own Baptist church that morning, and the
familiar Sunday-school tune that the children sang floated through her
mind as she looked after the group.

"When He cometh, when He cometh,
To make up His jewels,
All His pure ones, all His bright ones,
His loved and His own.

"Little children, little children,
Who love their Redeemer,
Are the jewels, precious jewels,
His loved and His own."

"What is Mr. Evringham going to do without that child?" she thought.

The broker was invaded with the same problem as Jewel lingered with
him on the piazza, while the others walked on toward a seat beneath a
spreading maple.

He ensconced himself in his favorite chair. The thrushes were singing
vespers. The pure air was faintly and deliciously scented.

"Grandpa, is it too late to bring Star out for a nibble?" asked the
little girl wistfully.

"No, I guess not," returned the broker as he opened his cigar case.
"Star may have a short life, but he's certainly experiencing a merry
one. There's no moss gathering on that pony."

Jewel had not waited for more than the permission. She was fleeing
toward the barn.

Mr. Evringham lighted his cigar, and then his eye fell upon the doll,
too hastily set down, and fallen at a distressing angle. Her eyes were
closed as if her