now. It will be quite a while before you see them."

The late twilight had faded and the June night begun, the wharf was dimly lighted and there was the usual crowd of customs officers, porters, and men and women waiting to see friends. All moved and changed like figures in a kaleidoscope before Jewel's unwinking gaze; but the long minutes dragged by until at last her father and mother appeared among the passengers who came in procession down the steep incline from the boat.

Mr. Evringham drew back a step as father, mother, and child clung to each other, kissing and murmuring with soft exclamations. Harry extricated himself first and shook hands with his father.

"Awfully good of you to get us the courtesy of the port," he said heartily.

"Don't mention it," returned the broker, and Julia released Jewel and turned upon Mr. Evringham her grateful face.

"But so many things are good of you," she said feelingly, as she held out her hand. "It will take us a long time to give thanks."

"Not at all, I assure you," responded the broker coldly, but his heart was hot within him. "If they have the presumption to thank me for taking care of Jewel!" he was thinking as he dropped his daughter-in-law's hand.

"What a human iceberg!" she thought. "How has Jewel been able to take it so cheerfully? Ah, the blessed, loving heart of a child!"

Meanwhile Mr. Evringham turned to his son and continued: "The courtesy of the port does shorten things up a bit, and I have a man from the customs waiting."

Harry followed him to see about the luggage, and Mrs. Evringham and Jewel sat down on a pile of boxes to wait. The mother's arm was around the little girl, and Jewel had one of the gloved hands in both her own.

"Oh," she exclaimed, suddenly starting up, "Mrs. Forbes thought I'd better wear my sailor suit instead of this, and she told me not to sit down on anything dirty." She carefully turned up the skirt of her little frock and seated herself again on a very brief petticoat.

Mrs. Evringham smiled. "Mrs. Forbes is careful of you, isn't she?" she asked. Her heart was in a tumult of happiness and also of curiosity as to her child's experiences in the last two months. Jewel's letters had conveyed that she was content, and joy in her pony had been freely expressed. The mother's mental picture of the stiff, cold individual to whose doubtful mercies she had confided her child at such short notice had been softened by the references to him in Jewel's letters; and it was with a shock of disappointment that she found herself repulsed now by the same unyielding personality, the same cold-eyed, unsmiling, fastidiously dressed figure, whose image had lingered in her memory. A dozen eager questions rose to her lips, but she repressed them.

"Jewel must have had a glimpse of the real man," she thought. "I must not cloud her perception." It did not occur to her, however, that the child could even now feel less than awe of the stern guardian with whom she had succeeded in living at peace, and who had, from time to time, bestowed upon her gifts. One of these Mrs. Evringham noticed now.

"Oh, that's your pretty watch!" she said.

"Yes," returned the child, "this is Little Faithful. Isn't he a darling?"

The mother smiled as she lifted the silver cherub. "You've named him?" she returned. "Why, it is a beauty, Jewel. How kind of your grandfather!"

"Yes, indeed. It was so I wouldn't stay in the ravine too long."

"How is Anna Belle?"

"Dear Anna Belle!" exclaimed the little girl wistfully. "What a good time she would have had if I could have brought her! But you see I needed both my hands to help carry bags; and she understood about it and sent her love. She'll be sitting up waiting for you."

Mrs. Evringham cast a look toward Harry and his father. "I'm not sure"—she began, "I hardly think we shall go to Bel-Air to-night. How would you like to stay in at the hotel with us, and then we could go out to the house to-morrow and pack your trunk?"

Jewel looked very sober at this. "Why, it would be pretty hard to wait, mother," she replied. "Hotels are splendid. Grandpa and I had dinner at one. It's named the Waldorf and it has woods in it just like outdoors; but I thought you'd be in a hurry to see Star and the Ravine of Happiness and Zeke."

"Well, we'll wait," returned Mrs. Evringham vaguely. She was more than doubtful of an invitation to Bel-Air Park even for one night; but Harry must arrange it. "We'll see what father says," she added. "What a pretty locket, my girlie!" As she spoke she lifted a gold heart that hung on a slender gold chain around Jewel's neck.

"Yes. Cousin Eloise gave me that when she went away. She has had it ever since she was as little as I am, and she said she left her heart with me. I'm so sorry you won't see cousin Eloise."

"So she and her mother have gone away. Were they sorry to go? Did Mr. Evringham—perhaps—think"—the speaker paused. She remembered Jewel's letter about the situation.

"No, they weren't sorry. They've gone to the seashore; but cousin Eloise and I love each other very much, and her room is so empty now that I've had to keep remembering that you were coming and everything was happy. I guess cousin Eloise is the prettiest girl in the whole world; and since she stopped being sorry we've had the most fun."

"I wish I could see her!" returned Mrs. Evringham heartily. She longed to thank Eloise for supplying the sunshine of love to her child while the grandfather was providing for her material wants. She looked at Jewel now, a picture of health and contentment, her bits of small finery in watch and locket standing as symbols of the care and affection she had received.

"Divine Love has been so kind to us, dearie," she said softly, as she pressed the child closer to her. "He has brought father and mother back across the ocean and has given you such loving friends while we were gone."

In a future day Mrs. Evringham was to learn something of the inner history of the progress of this little pilgrim during her first days at Bel-Air; but the shadows had so entirely faded from Jewel's consciousness that she could not have told it herself—not even such portions of it as she had once realized.

"Yes, indeed, I love Bel-Air and all the people. Even aunt Madge kissed me when she went away and said 'Good-by, you queer little thing!'"

"What did she mean?" asked Mrs. Evringham.

"I don't know. I didn't tell grandpa, because I thought he might not like people calling me queer, but I asked Zeke."

"He's Mr. Evringham's coachman, isn't he?"

"Yes, and he's the nicest man, but he only told me that aunt Madge had wheels. I asked him what kind of wheels, and he said he guessed they were rubber-tired, because she was always rubbering and she made people tired. You know Zeke is such a joker, so I haven't found out yet what aunt Madge meant, and it isn't any matter because"—Jewel reached up and hugged her mother, "you've come home."

Here the two men approached. "No more time for spooning," said Harry cheerfully. "We're going now, little girls."

After all, there was nothing for Jewel to carry. Her father and grandfather had the dress-suit case and bags.

Mrs. Evringham looked inquiringly at her husband, but he was gayly talking with Jewel as the four walked out to the street.

Mr. Evringham led the way to a carriage that was standing there. "This is ours," he said, opening the door.

Harry put the bags up beside the driver while his wife entered the vehicle, still in doubt as to their destination. Jewel jumped in beside her.

"You'd better move over, dear," said her mother quietly. "Let Mr. Evringham ride forward."

She was not surprised that Jewel was ignorant of carriage etiquette. It was seldom that either of them had seen the inside of one.

The broker heard the suggestion. "Place aux dames," he said, briefly, and