It was Sunday, and Mr. Bonnell was dining at Bel-Air Park. 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.

“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 sensibilities had been shocked overmuch.

“Anna Belle, Anna Belle, has it come to this!” he murmured, picking up the neglected one, who, with her usual elasticity and exuberance of spirit, at once opened her eyes and beamed optimistically on her rescuer. He set her, facing him, on his knee. “Such is youth!” he sighed. “When she throws you down, I feel that I'm not going to be so recuperative as you, Anna Belle. I have a plan, however, a plan of self-defense; but if it weren't for your discretion, I shouldn't tell it to you, for I'm an old bird, young lady, and can't be caught with chaff. There are many worthy persons who may rise to lofty heights in eternity, who nevertheless, meanwhile are not desirable to sit opposite a man at his breakfast table. A visit, Anna Belle, a short visit from my daughter Julia is all I shall ask for at first, and I shall test her, test her, my dear. I'll look at her through a magnifying glass. Of course, if they'd give me Jewel, it would be all I'd ask for; but they won't. That is self-evident.”

Here the child came around the corner of the house, leading her pet by a halter, but with her hand in his mane as she pressed close to his side, caressing and talking to him. In fact it was the harassing problem of the pony's life to manage to avoid stepping on her. Zeke lounged in the background on account equally of his orders and his inclination.

Star began cropping the grass, and Mr. Evringham continued his disquisition to the bright-eyed young person on his knee:—

“My son Harry is turning out a pretty good sort, I fancy. I'm not particularly shy of giving him a trial, provided he'll do the same by me; but I suppose he will have to go West at first, anyway. Julia is a different thing. I can't whistle her on and off with the same frankness; and I must be careful, Anna Belle. Do you understand? Careful! And I'm going to be, by Jove, in spite of the way it makes me cringe to think of this big house, empty as a drum. It wasn't empty before, that's the mischief of it. What has happened to me? I thought things were well enough in those days. Nobody whom I knew was particularly happy. Why should I be?”

The thrushes stopped, for Jewel's childish voice floated out on the evening air.

Mr. Evringham knew what had happened. He knew that Zeke had asked her to sing. They two were sitting on the ground, while the pony cropped away at the sweet grass.

The broker listened for a minute.

“I'll take Jewel and her mother to the seashore somewhere; for I must leave the house, if only to let Madge down easily, and too, I wish to study Julia outside her atmosphere. Poor Madge, she's a light weight, but I think there are better times coming for her. At View Point she'll find friends.”

Time passed, and at last Mr. Evringham called, “That will do, Jewel.”

“Do you want Star to go in?” she returned.

The broker nodded, and the child sprang up and began patting and smoothing the little horse with energetic affection.

“It's your bedtime, Star,” she said, “but morning's coming.” She kissed his sleek shoulder. “We'll have such a good time in the morning. I don't bounce a bit now, do I, Zeke?” she asked, turning to him.

“Well, I guess not,” returned Zeke scornfully. “You ain't the kind that gets bounced after a fellow knows you,” he added, smiling. He took the pony's halter. “Good-night, Jewel.”

“Good-night, Zeke.” She ran across the lawn and up the piazza steps. “How kind of you, grandpa, to amuse Anna Belle!” she exclaimed gratefully, observing the doll on his knee. At the same time she most abruptly whisked that patient person into a neighboring chair and usurped her place. Cuddling down in her grandfather's arms, she nestled her head against his shoulder and sighed happily.

The light began to fade, the last smoke from the broker's cigar curled out into the summer air. He tossed it away and pressed the child more closely to him.

“Sing once again the song you sang for Zeke.” he said.

And she began softly in her true, clear voice:—

“Amen,” breathed Mr. Evringham.