“Mother, can I have three dollars?” asked Eloise the next morning.

“Were you thinking of a new riding hat, dear? I do wish you had it to wear this afternoon. Yours is shabby, certainly, but you can't get it for that, child.”

“No; I was thinking of a copy of 'Science and Health.' I don't like to take Jewel's any longer, and I'm convinced.”

“What of—sin?” asked Mrs. Evringham in dismay.

“No, just the opposite—that there needn't be any. The book teaches the truth. I know it.”

“Well, whether it does or doesn't, you haven't any three dollars to spend for a book, Eloise,” was the firm reply. “The idea, when I can barely rake and scrape enough together to keep us presentable!”

“Where do you get our money?” asked the girl.

“Father gives me a check every fortnight. Of course you know that he has charge of our affairs.”

Eloise's serene expression did not change. She looked at the little black book in her hand. “This edition costs five dollars,” she said.

“Scandalous!” exclaimed Mrs. Evringham. “I can tell you this is no time for us to be collecting editions de luxe. Wait till you're married.”

“I'm going to run in town for a while this morning, mother.”

“You are? Well don't get belated. You know that you are to ride with Dr. Ballard at half past four. Dear me,” her brow drawn, “you ought to have that hat. Now I think that I could get on without that jet bolero.”

Eloise laughed softly and drew her mother to her. “Have your jet bolero, dear,” she answered. “My hat isn't bad.”

Eloise went to her room, and closing the door, took from one of her drawers a box. It contained her girlish treasures, the ornaments and jewels her father had given her from time to time. She took out a small diamond ring and pressed it to her lips.

“Dear papa! I love it because you gave it to me, but I can get with it a wonderful thing, a truth which, if we had known it, would have saved you all those torturing hours, would have saved your dear life. I know how gladly you would have me get it now, for you are learning it too; and it will be your gift, dear, dear papa, your gift just the same.”

Jewel had to study the lesson with only Anna Belle's assistance that morning, but she received the third letter from her mother and father. Their trip was proving a success from the standpoints of both business and pleasure, but their chief longing was to get back to their little girl.

It was very like visiting with them to read it over, and Jewel did so more than once. “I'll show it to cousin Eloise as soon as she comes home,” she reflected. Then she dressed Anna Belle to go out.

Running downstairs the child sought and found Mrs. Forbes in the kitchen. The housekeeper no longer questioned her going and coming, although she still considered herself in the light of the child's only disciplinarian, and was vigilant to watch for errors of omission and commission, and quick to correct them.

“Mrs. Forbes, may I have an old kitchen knife?”

“Certainly not. You'll cut yourself.”

“I want it to dig up plants.”

Mrs. Forbes stared down at her. “Why, you mustn't do any such thing.”

“I mean wild flowers for a garden that Anna Belle and I are going to make.”

“Oh. I'll see if I can't find you a trowel.”

There was one at hand, and as the housekeeper passed it to the child she warned her:—

“Be careful you don't make a mistake, now, and get hold of anybody's plants. What did your cousin Eloise go to New York for?”

“I don't know.”

“Well I hope it's for her trousseau.”

Jewel smiled. “My mother makes those.”

“I don't believe she'll ever make one for you, then,” returned Mrs. Forbes, but not ill-naturedly. She laughed, glancing at Sarah, who stood by.

“But I think she will for Anna Belle,” returned Jewel brightly, “when she gets older.”

The housekeeper and maid both laughed. “Run along,” said Mrs. Forbes, “and don't you be late for lunch.”

“She's an awful sweet child,” said Sarah half reproachfully. “Just the spirit of sunshine.”

“Oh well, they'd turn her head here if it wasn't for me,” answered the other complacently.

Jewel was not late to lunch, but eating it tete-a-tete with aunt Madge was not to her taste.

Mrs. Evringham utilized the opportunity to admonish her, and Mrs. Forbes for once sympathized with the widow's sentiments.

Aunt Madge took off her eyeglasses in a way she had when she wished to be particularly impressive.

“Jewel,” she said, “I don't think any one has told you that it is impolite to Dr. Ballard to say anything about Christian Science in his presence.”

“Why is it?” asked the child.

“Because he is a learned physician, and has, of course, a great respect for his profession.”

“I have a great respect for him,” returned the child, “and he knows I wouldn't hurt his feelings.”

“The idea!” exclaimed Mrs. Evringham, looking down from a height upon the flaxen head. “As if a little ignorant girl could hurt the feelings of a man like Dr. Ballard!”

Mrs. Forbes also stared at the child, and she winced.

“I do love them, and they do love me,” she thought. “I don't remember ever speaking about it before the doctor unless somebody asked me,” she said aloud.

“Your cousin Eloise may ask you,” returned Mrs. Evringham. “Nobody else would. She does it in a spirit of mischief, perhaps, but I shall speak to her. She has a passing curiosity about your ideas because it is odd and rather amusing to find a child who has such unnatural and precocious fancies, and she tries to draw you out; but it will not last with her. Neither will it with you, probably. You seem to be a sensible little girl in many ways.” Mrs. Evringham made the addition magnanimously. She really was too much at peace with all the world just now to like to be severe.

Outwardly Jewel was silent. Inwardly she was declaring many things which would have surprised her companions.

“Does your cousin Eloise pretend to you that she is becoming seriously interested in your faith?” pursued Mrs. Evringham.

“She will tell you all about it,” returned Jewel.

Aunt Madge shrugged her shoulders and laughed a little. Her thoughts reverted to her daughter's trip to the city. She had wondered several times if it had any pleasant connection with her sudden good understanding with Mr. Evringham.

To Jewel's relief her thoughts remained preoccupied during the remainder of the meal; and as soon as the child could leave, she flew to the closet under the stairs, where Anna Belle often went into retreat during the luncheon hour, and from thence back to the garden she was making by the brookside.

When she returned to the house her eyes lighted as she saw two horses before the piazza, and Dr. Ballard standing beside one of them.

“How are you, Jewel?” he asked, as she danced up to him smiling. Stooping, he lifted her into the side saddle, from whence she beamed upon him.

“Oh, what fun you're going to have!” she cried.

“I'd like to be sure of that,” he answered, his gloved hand on the pommel.

“What do you mean?” incredulously. “You don't like that automobile better, do you? They're so—so stubby. I must have a horse, a horse!” She smoothed and patted her steed lovingly.

“You ought to have—Jewel of the world,” he said kindly. “My bad angel!” he added, looking up quizzically into her eyes, and smiling at the widening wonder that grew in them.

“Your—what?” she asked, and then Eloise came out in her habit.

“I'm going instead of you,” cried the child gayly, “to pay you for staying away all day.”

“Did you miss me?” asked the girl as she shook hands with her escort.

“I tried not to. Anna Belle and I have something to show you in the ravine.” As she spoke, Jewel slid down into the doctor's arms, and stood on the steps watching while he put Eloise up and mounted himself.

The child's eyes dwelt upon the pair admiringly as they waved their hands to her and rode away. Little she knew how their hearts were beating. Mrs. Evringham, watching from an upper window, suspected it. She felt that this afternoon would end all suspense.

The child gave a wistful sigh as the horses disappeared, and jumping off the piazza, she wandered around the house toward the stable. There had been no rules laid down to her since the night of Essex Maid's attack, and Zeke was always a congenial companion.

As she neared the barn a young fellow left it, laughing. She knew who he was,—one of the young men Zeke had known in Boston. He had several times of late come to call on his old chum, for he was out of work.

As he left the barn he saw the child and slouched off to one side, avoiding her; but she scarcely noticed him, congratulating herself that Zeke would be alone and ready, as usual, to crack jokes and stories.

The coachman was not in sight as she entered, but she knew she would find him in the harness room. Its door stood ajar, and as the child approached she heard a strange sound, as of some one weeping suppressedly. Sturdily resisting the sudden fear that swept to her heart, she pushed open the door.

There stood Mrs. Forbes, leaning against a wooden support, her forehead resting against her clasped hands in a hopeless posture, as she sobbed heavily. The air was filled with an odor which had for Jewel sickening associations. The only terror, the only tragedy, of her short life was wrapped about with this pungent smell. She seemed again to hear her mother's sobs, to feel once more that sensation of all things coming to ruin which descended upon her at the unprecedented sight and sound of her strong mother's emotion.

All at once she perceived Zeke sitting on a low chair, his arms hanging across his knees and his head fallen.

The child turned very pale. Her doll slid unnoticed to the floor, as she pressed her little hands to her eyes.

“Father, Mother, God,” she murmured in gasps. “Thou art all power. We are thy children. Error has no power over us. Help us to waken from this lie.”

Running up to the housekeeper, she clasped her arms about her convulsed form. “Dear Mrs. Forbes,” she said, her soft voice trembling at first but growing firm, “I know this claim, but it can be healed. It seems very terrible, but it's nothing. We know it, we must know it.”

The woman lifted her head and looked down with swollen eyes upon the child. She saw her go unhesitatingly across to Zeke and kneel beside him.

“Don't be discouraged, Zeke,” she said lovingly. “I know how it seems, but my father had it and he was healed. You will be healed.”

The coachman lifted his rumpled head and stared at her with bloodshot eyes.

“Great fuss 'bout nothing,” he said sullenly. “Mother always fussing.”

Something in his look made the child shudder. Resisting the sudden repugnance to one who had always shown her kindness, she impulsively took his big hand in both her little ones. “Zeke, what is error saying to you?” she demanded. “You can't look at me without love. I love you because God does. He is lifting us out of this error belief.”

The young fellow returned the clasp of the soft hands and winked his eyes like one who is waking. “Mother makes great fuss,” he grumbled. “Scott was here. We had two or three little friendly drinks. Ma had to come in and blubber.”

“What friendly drinks? What do you mean?” demanded Jewel, looking all about her. Her eyes fell upon a large black bottle. She dropped the coachman's hand and picked it up. She smelled of it, her eyes dilated, and she began to tremble again; and throwing the whiskey from her, she buried her face for a moment against Zeke's shirt sleeve.

“Is it in a bottle!” she exclaimed at last, in a hushed voice, drawing back and regarding the coachman with such a white and horrified countenance that it frightened the clouds from his brain. “Is that terrible claim in a bottle, and do people drink it out?” she asked slowly, and in an awestruck tone.

“It's no harm,” began Zeke.

“No harm when your mother is crying, when your face is full of error, and your eyes were hating? No harm when my mother cried, and all our gladness was gone? Would you go and drink a claim like that out of a bottle—of your own accord?”

Zeke wriggled under the blue eyes and the unnatural rigidity of the child's face.

“No, Jewel, he wouldn't,” groaned Mrs. Forbes suddenly. “Zeke's a good boy, but he's inherited that. His father died of it. It's a disease, child. I thought my boy would escape, but he hasn't! It's the end!” cried the wretched woman. “What will Mr. Evringham say! To think how I blamed Fanshaw! Zeke'll lose his place and go downhill, and I shall die of shame and despair.” Her sobs again shook her from head to foot.

Jewel continued to look at Zeke. A new, eager expression stole over her face. “Is it the end?” she asked. “Don't you believe in God?”

“I suppose so,” answered the coachman sullenly. “I know I'm a man, too. I can control myself.”

“No. Nobody can. Even Jesus said, 'Of myself I can do nothing.' Only God can help you. If you can drink that nasty smelling stuff, and get all red and rumply and sorry, then you need God the worst of anybody in Bel-Air. You look better now. It's just like a dream, the way you lifted up your face to me when I came in, and it was a dream. I'll help you, Zeke. I'll show you how to find help.” The child suddenly leaned toward the young fellow, and then retreated. “I can't stand your breath!” she exclaimed, “and I like to get close to the people I love.”

This seemed to touch Zeke. He blushed hotly. “It's a darned shame, kid,” he returned sheepishly.

“Mrs. Forbes, come here, please,” said Jewel. The housekeeper had ceased crying, and was watching the pair. She saw that her boy's senses were clearer. She approached obediently, and when the child took her hand her own closed tightly upon the little fingers.

“Zeke, you're a big strong man and everybody likes you,” said Jewel earnestly. “Isn't it better to stay that way than to drink out of a bottle, no matter how much you like it?”

“I don't like it so awfully,” returned Zeke protestingly. “I like to be sociable with the boys, that's all.”

“What a way to be sociable!” gasped the child. “Well, wouldn't you rather be nice, so people will like to get close to you?”

“Depends on the folks,” returned the boy with a touch of his usual manner. “You're all right, little kid.” He put out his hand, but quickly withdrew it.

Jewel seized it. “Now give your other one to your mother. There now, we're all together. If your mother thinks you have a disease, Zeke, then she must know you haven't. If you want me to, I'll come out here every day at a quiet time and give you a treatment, and we'll talk all about Christian Science, and we'll know that there's nothing that can make us sick or unhappy—or unkind! Think of your unkindness to your mother—and to me if you go on, for I love you, Zeke. Now may I help you?”

The soft frank voice, the earnest little face, moved Zeke to cast a glance at his mother's swollen eyes. They were bent upon Jewel.

“Do you say your father was cured that way, child?” asked Mrs. Forbes.

“Yes. Oh yes! and he's so happy!”

“Zeke, let's all be thankful if there's anything,” said the woman tremulously, turning to him appealingly.

“I'd just as soon have a visit from you every day, little kid,” said the young fellow. “You're a corker.”

“But you must want more than me,” returned the child. “God and healing and purity and goodness! If you're in earnest, what are you going to do with that?” She touched the black bottle with the toe of her shoe.

Zeke looked at the whiskey, then back into her eyes. They were full of love and faith for him.

He stooped and picked up the bottle, then striding to a window, he flung it out toward the forest trees with all the force of his strong arm.

“Damn the stuff!” he said.

Mrs. Forbes felt herself tremble from head to foot. She bit her lip.

Her son turned back. “Getting near train time,” he added, not looking at his companions. “Guess I'll go upstairs.”

When he had disappeared his mother stooped slowly and kissed Jewel. “Forgive me,” she said tremulously.

“What for?” asked the child.

“Everything.”

The housekeeper still stood in the harness room after Jewel had gone away. She bowed her head on her folded hands. “Our Father who art in heaven, forgive me,” she prayed. “Forgive me for being a fool. Forgive me for not recognizing Thine angel whom Thou hast sent. Amen.”