A Rainy Morning

: Jewel

The next morning it rained so heavily that Mr. Evringham was obliged to

forego his ride. Wet weather was an unmixed ill to him. It not only

made riding and golf miserable, but it reminded him that rheumatism was

getting a grip on one of his shoulders.



"It is disgusting, perfectly disgusting to grow old," he muttered as he

descended the broad staircase. On the lower landing Jewel rose up out

of the dusk, w ere she had been sitting near the beautiful clock. Her

bright little face shone up at him like a sunbeam.



"You didn't expect to see me, grandpa, did you?" she asked, and as it

did not even occur to him to stoop his head to her, she seized his hand

and kissed it as they went on down the stairs.



"I was so disappointed because it rained so hard. I was going to see you

ride."



"Yes. Beastly weather," assented Mr. Evringham.



"But the flowers and trees want a drink, don't they?"



"'M. I suppose so."



"And the brook will be prettier than ever."



"'M. See that you keep out of it."



"Yes, I will, grandpa; and I thought the first thing this morning, I'll

wear my rubbers all day. I was so afraid I might forget I put them right

on to make sure."



They had reached the hall, and Jewel exhibited her feet encased in the

roomy storm rubbers.



"Great Scott, child!" ejaculated Mr. Evringham, viewing the shiny

overshoes. "What size are your feet?"



"I don't know," returned the little girl, "but I only have to scuff

some, and then they'll stay on. Mrs. Forbes said I'd grow to them."



"So you will, I should think, if you're going to wear them in the house

as well as out." It was against Mr. Evringham's principles to smile

before breakfast, at all events at any one except Essex Maid; but the

large, shiny overshoes that looked like overgrown beetles, and Jewel's

optimistic determination to make him happy, even offset his painful arm.



"The house doesn't leak anywhere," he said. "I think it will be safe for

you to take them off until after breakfast."



Jewel lifted her shoulders and looked up at him with the glance he knew.



"Unless we're going out to the stable," she said suggestively.



He hesitated a moment. "Very well," he returned. "Let us go to the

stable."



"But first we must tie the ribbons," she said with a joyous chuckle.

She would have skipped but for the rubbers. As it was, she proceeded

circumspectly to the library, drawing the broker by the hand. "I want

you to see, grandpa, if you don't think I made my parting real straight

this morning," she said as she softly closed the door.



"Gently on my arm, Jewel," he remonstrated, wincing as she returned,

flinging her energetic little body against him. "I have the rheumatism

like the devil--pardon me."



She looked at him suddenly, wondering and wistful. "Oh, have you?" she

returned sympathetically. "But it is only like the devil, grandpa," she

added hopefully, "and you know there isn't any devil."



"I can't discuss theology before breakfast," he returned briefly.



"Dear grandpa, you shan't have a single pain!" She held her head back

and looked at him lovingly.



"Very likely not, when I've begun playing the harp. Now where are those

con--those ribbons?"



Jewel's eyes and lips grew suddenly serious and doubtful, and he

observed the change.



"Yes, your hair ribbons, you know," he added hastily and with an attempt

at geniality.



"Not if you don't like to, grandpa."



"I love to," he protested. "I've been looking forward to it all the

morning. I thought 'never mind if I can't go riding, I can tie Jewel's

hair ribbons.'"



The child laughed a little, even though her companion did not. "Oh

grandpa, you're such a joker," she said; "just like father."



But he saw that she doubted his mood, and the toe of one of the

overshoes was boring into the carpet as she stood where she had

withdrawn from him.



"Let us see if you parted your hair better," he said in a different and

gentler tone, and instantly the flaxen head was bent before him, and

Jewel felt in her pocket for the ribbons. He had not the heart to say

what he thought; namely, that her parting looked as though a saw had

been substituted for a comb.



"Very well, very well," he said kindly.



When the ribbons were at last tied, the two proceeded to the

dining-room. Here an open fire of logs furnished the cheerful light that

was lacking outside. The morning paper hung over the back of a chair,

warming before the blaze.



Mrs. Forbes entered from the butler's pantry and looked surprised.

"I didn't expect you down for half an hour yet, sir. Shall I hurry

breakfast?"



"No; I'm going to take Jewel to the stable." Mr. Evringham stopped and

took a few lumps of sugar from the bowl.



"Julia, where are your rubbers?" asked the housekeeper.



"On," said the child, lifting her foot.



"I only hope they'll stay there," remarked her grandfather. "I think,

Mrs. Forbes, you must buy shoes as I've heard that Chinamen do,--the

largest they can get for the money."



He disappeared with his happy little companion, and the housekeeper

looked after them disapprovingly.



"They're both going out bareheaded," she mused. "I'd like to bet--I

would bet anything that she asked him to take her. He never even stopped

to look at the paper. He's just putty in her hands, that's what he is,

putty; and she's been here three days."



Mr. Evringham's apprehensions proved to have foundation. Halfway to

the barn Jewel stepped in a bit of sticky mud and left one rubber. Her

companion did not stop to let her get it, but picking her up under his

well arm, strode on to the barn, where they appeared to the astonished

Zeke.



Jewel was laughing in high glee. She was used to being caught up in a

strong arm and run with.



Mr. Evringham shook the drops from his head. "Get Jewel's rubber please,

Zeke," he said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder.



"I was Cinderella," cried the child gayly. "That's my glass slipper out

there in the mud."



Zeke would have liked to joke with her, but that was an impossibility in

the august presence. He cast a curious glance at the little girl as

he left the barn. He had received his mother's version of yesterday's

experience. "Well, it looks to me as if there was something

those Christian Science folks know that the rest of us don't," he

soliloquized. "I saw her with my own eyes, and felt her with my own

hands. Mother says children get up from anything twice as quick as grown

folks, but I don't know."



"Don't you love a stable, grandpa?" exclaimed Jewel. "Oh, I'm too happy

to scuff," and she kicked off the other rubber. Even while she spoke

Essex Maid looked around and whinnied at sight of her master.



"She knows you, she knows you," cried the little girl joyously, hopping

up and down.



"Of course," said Mr. Evringham, holding out his hand to the delighted

child and leading her into the stall. The mare rubbed her nose against

him. "We couldn't get out this morning, eh, girl?" said the broker,

caressing her neck, while Jewel smoothed the bright coat as high as she

could reach. Her grandfather lifted her in his arms. "Here, my maid,

here's a new friend for you. In my pocket, Jewel."



The child took out the lumps of sugar one by one, and Essex Maid ate

them from the little hand, touching it gently with her velvet lips. Zeke

came in and whistled softly as he glanced at the group in the stall.



"Whew," he mused. "He's letting her feed the Maid. I guess she can put

her shoes in his trunk all right."



Mr. Evringham set Jewel on the mare's back and she smoothed the bright

mane and patted the beautiful creature.



"I'd like to gallop off now over the whole country," she said, her face

glowing.



"I shouldn't be surprised either if you could do it bareback," returned

Mr. Evringham; "but you must never come into either of the stalls

without me. You understand, do you?"



"Yes, grandpa. I'm glad you told me though, because I guess I should

have." The child gave a quick, unconscious sigh.



"Well we'd better go in now."



"How kind you are to me," said the child gratefully, as she slid off the

horse's back with her arms around her grandfather's neck.



He had forgotten his rheumatic shoulder for the time.



"You can bring those rubbers in later," he said to Zeke, and so carried

Jewel out of the barn, through the rain, and into the house.



Mrs. Forbes watched the entrance. "Breakfast is served, sir," she said

with dignity. She thought her employer should have worn a hat.



Jewel was not offered eggs this morning. Instead she had, after her

fruit and oatmeal, a slice of ham and a baked potato.



Her roses were fresh this morning and opening in the warmth of the fire,

but Mr. Evringham's eyes were caught by a mass of American Beauties

which stood in an alcove close to the window.



"Where did those come from?" he demanded.



"They belong to Miss Eloise," replied Mrs. Forbes. "She asked me to take

care of them for her."



"Humph! Ballard again, I suppose," remarked the broker.



"I hope so," responded Mrs. Forbes devoutly.



Mr. Evringham had spoken to himself, and he glanced up from his paper,

surprised by the prompt fervor of the reply. The housekeeper looked

non-committal, but her meaning dawned upon him, and he smiled slightly

as he returned to the news of the day.



"Dr. Ballard must love Cousin Eloise very much," said Jewel, mashing her

potato. "He sent her a splendid box of candy, too."



She addressed her remark to Mrs. Forbes, and in a low tone, in order not

to disturb her grandfather's reading.



"Any girl can get candy and flowers and love, if she's only pretty

enough," returned Mrs. Forbes; "but she mustn't forget to be pretty."



The speaker's tone appealed to Jewel as signifying a grievance. She

looked up.



"Why, somebody married you, Mrs. Forbes," she said kindly.



Mr. Evringham's paper hid a face which suddenly contorted, but the

housekeeper's quick-glancing eyes could not see a telltale motion.



She gave a hard little laugh. "You think there's hope for you then, do

you?" she returned.



"I guess I'm not going to be married," replied Jewel. "Father says I'm

going to be his bachelor maid when I grow up."



"Shouldn't wonder if you were," said Mrs. Forbes dryly.



The owner of the American Beauties and the beribboned bonbon box was

taking her coffee as usual in bed. This luxurious habit had never been

hers until she came to Bel-Air; but it was her mother's custom, and

rather than undergo a tete-a-tete breakfast with her host, she had

adopted it.



Now she had made her toilet deliberately. There was nothing to hurry

for. Her mother's voice came in detached sentences and questions from

the next room.



"Dear me, this rain is too trying, Eloise! Didn't you have some

engagement with Dr. Ballard to-day?"



"He thought he could get off for some golf this afternoon."



"What a disappointment for the dear fellow," feelingly. "He has so

little time to himself!"



Eloise gave a most unsympathetic laugh. "More than he wishes he had, I

fancy," she returned.



She came finally in her white negligee into her mother's room. Mrs.

Evringham was still in bed. Her eyeglasses were on and she regarded her

daughter critically as she came in sight. She had begun to look upon her

as mistress of the fine old Ballard place on Mountain Avenue, and

the setting was very much to her mind. The girl sauntered over to the

window, and taking a low seat, leaned her head against the woodwork,

embowered in the lace curtains.



"How it does come down!" said Mrs. Evringham fretfully. "And I lack

just a little of that lace braid, or I could finish your yoke. I suppose

Forbes would think it was a dreadful thing if I asked her to let Zeke

get it for me."



"Don't ask anything," returned Eloise.



"When you are in your own home!" sighed Mrs. Evringham.



"Don't, mother. It's indecent!"



"If you would only reassure me, my child, so I wouldn't have to undergo

such moments of anxiety as I do."



"Oh, you have no mercy!" exclaimed the girl; and when she used that tone

her mother usually became tearful. She did now.



"You act as if you weren't a perfect treasure, Eloise--as if I didn't

consider you a treasure for a prince of the realm!"



A knock at the door heralded Sarah's arrival for the tray, and Mrs.

Evringham hastily wiped her eyes.



"Yes, you can take the things," she said as the maid approached. "I

can't tip you as I should, Sarah. I'm going to get you something pretty

the next time I go to New York."



Sarah had heard this before.



"And if you know of any one going to the village this morning, I want a

piece of lace braid. Have you heard how Miss Julia is?"



"She was down at breakfast, ma'am, and Mr. Evringham had her out to the

stable to see Essex Maid."



"He did? In the rain? How very imprudent!"



After Sarah had departed with her burden, Mrs. Evringham took off her

eyeglasses.



"There, Eloise, you heard that? It's just as I thought. He is taking a

fancy to her."



The girl smiled without turning her head. "Oh no, that wasn't your

prophecy, mother. You said she was too plain to have a chance with our

fastidious host."



"Well, didn't she look forlorn last night at the dinner table?" demanded

Mrs. Evringham, a challenge in her voice.



"Indeed she did, the poor baby. She looked exactly as if she had two

female relatives in the house, neither of whom would lift a finger to

help her, even though she was just off a sick bed. The same relatives

don't know this minute how or where she spent the evening."



"I felt very glad she was content somewhere away from the drawing-room,"

returned Mrs. Evringham practically. "You know we expected Dr. Ballard

up to the moment the roses arrived, and from all I gathered at the

dinner table, it would have been awkward enough for him to walk in upon

that child. Besides, I don't see why you use that tone with me. It has

been your own choice to let her paddle her own canoe, and you've had an

object lesson now that I hope you won't forget. You wouldn't believe me

when I begged you to exert yourself for your grandfather, and now you

see even that plain little thing could get on with him just because she

dared take him by storm. She has about everything in her disfavor. The

child of a common working woman, with no beauty, and a little crank of

a Christian Scientist into the bargain, and yet now see! He took her

out to the stable to see Essex Maid! I never knew you contradictory and

disagreeable until lately, Eloise. You even act like a stick with Dr.

Ballard just to be perverse." Mrs. Evringham flounced over in bed, with

her back to the white negligee.



Eloise had seen what she had been watching for. Her grandfather had

driven away to the station, so she arose and came over to the foot of

the bed.



"I know I'm irritable, mother," she said repentantly. "The idleness and

uselessness of my life have grated on me until I know I'm not fit to

live with. If I had had any of the training of a society girl, I could

bear it better; but papa kept my head full of school,--for which I bless

him,--and now that the dream of college is hopeless, and that the

only profession you wish for me is marriage, I dread to wake up in the

mornings."



The young voice was unsteady.



Mrs. Evringham heaved a long sigh. "Give me patience!" she murmured,

then added mentally, "It can't be many days, and she won't refuse him."



"Go down to the piano and play yourself good-natured," she returned.

"Then come up and we'll go on with that charming story. It quite

refreshed me to read of that coming-out ball. It was so like my own."



Eloise, her lips set in a sad curve, rose and left the room. Once in the

hall, she paused for a minute. Then instead of descending the stairs,

she ran noiselessly up the next flight. The rain was pelting steadily

on the dome of golden glass through which light fell to the halls. She

stole, as she had done yesterday, to the door of Jewel's room.



Again as yesterday she heard a voice, but this time it was singing. The

tones were very sweet, surprisingly strong and firm to proceed from lips

which always spoke so gently. The door was not quite closed, and Eloise

pressed her ear to the crack. Thus she could easily hear the words of

Jewel's song:--



"And o'er the earth's troubled, angry sea

I see Christ walk;

And come to me, and tenderly,

Divinely, talk."



The hymn stopped for a minute, and the child appeared to be conversing

with some one.



Eloise waited, openly, eagerly listening, hoping the singer would

resume. Something in those unexpected words in the sweet child voice

stirred her. Presently Jewel sang on:--



"From tired joy, and grief afar,

And nearer Thee,

Father, where Thine own children are

I love to be!"



The lump that rose in the listener's throat forced a moisture into her

eyes.



"I never could hear a child sing without crying," she said to herself in

excuse, as she leaned her forehead on her hand against the jamb of the

door and waited for the strange stir at her heart to quiet.



The house was still. The rain swept against the panes, and tears stole

from under the girl's long lashes--tears for her empty, vapid life, for

the hopelessness of the future, for the humiliations of the present, for

the lack of a love that should be without self-interest.



"I like that verse, Anna Belle," said the voice within. "Let's sing that

again," and the hymn welled forth:--



"From tired joy, and grief afar,

And nearer Thee,

Father, where Thine own children are

I love to be!"



"Is there a haven?" thought the swelling, listening heart outside. "Is

there a place far alike from tired joy and grief?"



"'Father, where Thine own children are,'" quoted Jewel. "We know where

a lot of them are, don't we, Anna Belle, and we do love to be with

them." A pause, and a light sigh, which did not reach the listener. "But

we're at grandpa's now," finished the child's voice.



Eloise's breaths came long and deep drawn, and she stood motionless, her

eyes hidden.