Jewel: A Chapter in Her Life. Clara Louise Burnham

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      “Not just now. Some other time. I hope 'Zekiel is going to prove himself worth all this trouble.”

      The new coachman's countenance seemed frozen into a stolidity which did not alter.

      “I'm sure he'll try,” replied his mother, “and Fanshaw's livery fits him to such a turn that it would have been flying in the face of Providence not to try him. Did you give orders to be met at this train, sir?” Mrs. Forbes looked anxiously toward the set face of her heir.

      “No—I came out unexpectedly. I have received news that is rather perplexing.”

      The housekeeper had not studied her employer's moods for years without understanding when she could be of use.

      “I will come to the house right off,” was her prompt response. “It's a pity you didn't know the bell was in, sir.”

      “No, stay where you are. I see Dr. Ballard is here. We might be interrupted. You can go, 'Zekiel.”

      The young fellow needed no second invitation, but turned and mounted the stairway that led to the chambers above.

      Mr. Evringham took from his pocket a bunch of papers, and selecting a letter handed it to Mrs. Forbes, motioning her to the battered chair, which was still in evidence. He seated himself on the stool Zeke had vacated, while his housekeeper opened and read the following letter:—

      CHICAGO, April 28, 19—.

      DEAR FATHER—The old story of the Prodigal Son has always plenty of originality for the Prodigal. I have returned, and thank Heaven sincerely I do not need to ask you for anything. My blessed girl Julia has supported herself and little Jewel these years while I've been feeding on husks. I don't see now how I was willing to be so revoltingly cruel and cowardly as to leave her in the lurch, but she has made friends and they have stood by her, and now I've been back since September, doing all in my power to make up what I can to her and Jewel, as we call little Julia. They were treasures to return to such as I deserved to have lost forever; but Julia treats me as if I'd been white to her right all along. I've lately secured a position that I hope to keep. My wife has been dressmaking, and this is something in the dry goods line that I got through her. The firm want us to go to Europe to do some buying. They will pay the expenses of both; but that leaves Jewel. I've heard that Lawrence's wife and daughter are living with you. I wondered if you'd let us bring Jewel as far as New York and drop her with you for the six weeks that we shall be gone. If we had a little more ahead we'd take the child with us. She is eight years old and wouldn't be any trouble, but cash is scarce, and although we could board her here with some friend, I'd like to have her become acquainted with her grandfather, and I thought as Madge and Eloise were with you, they would look after her if Mrs. Forbes is no longer there. This has all come about very suddenly, and we sail next Wednesday on the Scythia, so I'll be much obliged if you will wire me. I shall be glad to shake your hand again.

      Your repentant son,

      HARRY.

      Mrs. Forbes looked up from the letter to find her employer's eyes upon her. Her lips were set in a tight line.

      “Well?” he asked.

      “I'd like to ask first, sir, what you think of it?”

      “It strikes me as very cool. Harry knows my habits.”

      The housekeeper loosened the reins of her indignation.

      “The idea of your having a child here to clatter up and down the stairs at the very time you want to take a nap!” she burst forth. “You've had enough to bear already.”

      “A deal of company in the house as it is, eh?” he rejoined. It was the first reference he had ever made to his permanent guests.

      “It's what I was thinking, sir.”

      “You're not for it, then, Mrs. Forbes?”

      “So far as taking care of the child goes, I should do my duty. I don't think Mrs. Evringham or her daughter would wish to be bothered; but I know very little about children, except that your house is no place for them to be racing in. One young one brings others. You would be annoyed, sir. Some folks can always ask favors.” The housekeeper's cheeks were flushed with the strength of her repugnance, and her bias relieved Mr. Evringham's indecision.

      “I agree with you,” he returned, rising. “Tell 'Zekiel to saddle the Maid. After dinner I will let him take a telegram to the office.”

      He returned to the house without further words, and Mrs. Forbes called to her son in a voice that had a wrathful quaver.

      “What you got your back up about?” inquired Zeke softly, after a careful look to see that his august master had departed.

      “Never you mind. Mr. Evringham wants you should saddle his horse and bring her round. I want he should see you can do it lively.”

      “Ain't she a beaut'!” exclaimed Zeke as he led out the mare. “She'd ought to be shown, she had.”

      “Shown! Better not expose your ignorance where Mr. Evringham can hear you. That mare's taken two blue ribbons already.”

      “Showed they knew their business,” returned Zeke imperturbably. “I s'pose the old gent don't care any more for her than he does for his life.”

      “I guess he loves her the best of anything in this world.”

      “Love! The governor love anything or anybody! That's good,” remarked the young fellow, while Essex Maid watched his movements about her with gentle, curious eyes.

      “I do believe she misses Fanshaw and notices the difference,” remarked Mrs. Forbes.

      “Glad to, too. Ain't you, my beauty? She's going to be stuck on me before we get through. She don't want any Britishers fooling around her.”

      “You've certainly made her look fine, Zeke. I know Mr. Evringham will be pleased. She just shines from her pretty little ears to her hoofs. Take her around and then come back. I want to talk to you.”

      “If I don't come back,” returned the boy, “you'll know the governor's looked at me a little too hard and I've been struck so.”

      “Don't be any foolisher than you can help,” returned Mrs. Forbes, “and hurry.”

      On 'Zekiel's return to the barn he saw that his mother's face was portentous. “Lawrence was at least handsome like his father,” she began without preamble, looking over Zeke's shoulder, “but Harry was as homely as he was no account. I should think that man had enough of his sons' belongings hanging on him already. What do you think, 'Zekiel Forbes? Mr. Evringham's youngest son Harry has turned up again!”

      “I should think it was the old Harry by your tone,” rejoined Zeke equably.

      “He and his wife, poor as church mice, are getting their expenses paid to Europe on business, and they have the nerve—yes, the cheek—to ask Mr. Evringham to let them leave their young one, a girl eight years old, with him while they're gone.”

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