In The Harness Room

: Jewel

"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."