Jewel: A Chapter in Her Life. Clara Louise Burnham

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      The man took his wife's hand. “I've done it now, Julia,” he said dejectedly. “It's my confounded optimism again.”

      “Your optimism is all right,” she returned, smoothing his hand gently, though her heart was beating fast, and the vision of her father-in-law, with his elegant figure and cold eyes, was weighing upon her spirit.

      Harry looked long on the plain little sleeping face, so like his own in spite of its exquisite child-coloring, and bending, touched the tossed, straight, flaxen hair.

      “We couldn't take her, I suppose?” he asked.

      “No,” replied the yearning mother quietly. “We have prayed over it. We must know that all will be right.”

      “His bark is worse than his bite,” said Harry doubtfully. “It always was; and Mrs. Forbes is there.”

      “You say she is a kind sort of woman?”

      “Why, I suppose so,” uncertainly. “I never had much to do with her.”

      “And your sister? Isn't it very strange that she didn't come in to meet us? I was so certain I should put Jewel into her hands I feel a little bewildered.”

      “You're a trump!” ejaculated Harry hotly, “and you've married into a family where they're scarce. Madge might have met us at the train, at least.”

      “Perhaps she is very sad over her loss,” suggested Julia.

      “In the best of health. Father said so. Oh well, she never was anything but a big butterfly and Eloise a little one. I remember the last time I saw the child, a pretty fairy with her long pink silk stockings. She must have been just about the age of Jewel.”

      The mother stooped over the little bed and the dingy room looked pleasanter for her smile. “Jewel hasn't any pink silk stockings,” she murmured, and kissed the warm rose of the round cheek.

      The little girl stirred and opened her eyes, at first vaguely, then with a start.

      “Is it time for the boat?” she asked, trying to rise.

      Her father smoothed her hair. “No, time to go to sleep again. We're just going to bed. Good-night, Jewel.” He stooped to kiss her, and her arms met around his neck.

      “It was an April fool, wasn't it?” she murmured sleepily, and was unconscious again.

      The mother hid her face for a moment on her husband's shoulder. “Help me to feel that we're doing right,” she whispered, with a catch in her breath.

      “As if I could help you, Julia!” he returned humbly.

      “Oh, yes, you can, dear.” She withdrew from his embrace, and going to the dresser, took down her hair. The smiling face of a doll looked up at her from the neighboring chair, where it was sitting bolt upright. Her costume was fresh from the modiste, and her feet, though hopelessly pigeon-toed, were encased in bronze boots of a freshness which caught the dim gaslight with a golden sheen.

      Mrs. Evringham smiled through her moist eyes.

      “Well, Jewel was sleepy. She forgot to undress Anna Belle,” she said.

      Letting her hair fall about her like a veil, she caught up the doll and pressed it to her heart impulsively. “You are going to stay with her, Anna Belle! I envy you, I envy you!” she whispered. An irrepressible tear fell on the sumptuous trimming of the little hat. “Be good to her; comfort her, comfort her, little dolly.” Hastily wiping her eyes, she turned to her husband, still holding the doll. “We shall have to be very careful, Harry, in the morning. If we are harboring one wrong or fearful thought, we must not let Jewel know it.”

      “Oh, I wish it were over! I wish the next month were over!” he replied restively.

CHAPTER V

       Table of Contents

BON VOYAGE

       Table of Contents

      At the dock next morning the scene was one of the usual confusion. The sailing time was drawing near and Mr. Evringham had not appeared.

      Harry, with his little girl's hand in his, stood at the foot of the gang plank, peering at every newcomer and growing more anxious every moment. Jewel occupied herself in throwing kisses to her mother, who stood at the rail far above, never taking her eyes from the little figure in the blue sailor suit.

      The child noted her father's set lips and the concentrated expression of his eyes.

      “If grandpa doesn't come what shall I do?” she asked without anxiety.

      “You'll go to England,” was the prompt response.

      “Without my trunk!” returned the child in protest.

      Her father looked again at the watch he held in his hand. The order to go ashore was sending all visitors down the gang plank. “By George, I guess you're going, too,” he muttered between his teeth, when suddenly his father's tall form came striding through the crowd. Mr. Evringham was carrying a long pasteboard box, and seemed breathless.

      “Horse fell down. Devil of a time! Roses for your wife.”

      Harry grasped the box, touched his father's hand, kissed the child, and strode up the plank amid the frowns of officials.

      Jewel's eager eyes followed him, then, as he disappeared, lifted again to her mother, who smiled and waved her hand to Mr. Evringham. The latter raised his hat and took the occasion to wipe his heated brow. He was irritated through and through. The morning had been a chapter of accidents. Even the roses, which he had ordered the night before, had proved to be the wrong sort.

      The suspense of the last fifteen minutes had been a distressing wrong to put upon any man. He had now before him the prospect of caring for a strange child, of taking her out of town at an hour when he should have been coming into it. She would probably cry. Very well; if she did he determined on the instant to ride out to Bel-Air in the smoking car, although he detested its odors and uncleanness. The whole situation was enormous. What a fool he had been, and what an intelligent woman was Mrs. Forbes! She had seen from the first the inappropriateness, the impossibility, of the whole proposition. His attention was attracted to the fact that the small figure at his side was hopping up and down with excitement.

      “There's father, there's father!” she cried, as Harry joined his wife at the rail and they lifted the wealth of roses from the box and waved them.

      “We've wronged him, Harry!” exclaimed Julia, trying to see the little face below through her misty eyes. “How I love him for bringing me these sweet things! It gives me such a different feeling about him.”

      “Oh, father would as soon forget his breakfast as roses for a woman he was seeing off,” returned Harry without enthusiasm, while he waved his hat energetically.

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