“Perhaps they do; but,” and the broker nodded knowingly, “there’s another reason.”

“Why, grandpa, why?” asked Jewel eagerly.

“Oh, Nature is such a neat housekeeper!”

“Why, turtles must be lovely and clean.”

“Yes, I know; and if Summer would just let the brook alone you might find a baby turtle for Anna Belle.”

“She’d love it.  Her eyes nearly popped out when mother was telling about it.”

“Well, there it is, you see.  Now I’d be ashamed to have you see that brook in August, Jewel.”  Mr. Evringham slapped the pommel of his saddle to emphasize the depth of his feelings.

“Why, what happens?”

“Dry—­as—­a—­bone!”

“It is?”

“Yes, indeed.  We shan’t have been long at the seashore when Summer will have drained off every drop of water in that brook.”

“What for?”

“House-cleaning, of course.  I suppose she scrubs out and sweeps out the bed of that brook before she’ll let a bit of water come in again.”

“Well, she is fussy,” laughed Jewel.  “Even Mrs. Forbes wouldn’t do that.”

“I ask you,” pursued Mr. Evringham, “what would the turtles do while the war was on?”

“Why, they couldn’t live there, of course.  Well, we won’t be here while the ravine is empty of the brook, will we, grandpa?  I shouldn’t like to see it.”

“No, we shall be where there’s ‘water, water everywhere.’  Even Summer won’t attempt to houseclean the bottom of the sea.”

Jewel thought a minute.  “I wish she wouldn’t do that,” she said wistfully; “because turtles would be fun, wouldn’t they, grandpa?”

Mr. Evringham regarded her quizzically.  “I see what you want me to do,” he replied.  “You want me to give up Wall Street and become the owner of a menagerie, so you can have every animal that was ever heard of.”

Jewel smiled and shook her head.  “I don’t believe I do yet.  We’ll have to wait till everybody loves to be good.”

“What has that to do with it?”

“Then the lions and tigers will be pleasant.”

“Will they, indeed?” Mr. Evringham laughed.  “All those good people won’t shut them up in cages then, I fancy.”

“No, I don’t believe they will,” replied Jewel.

“But about those turtles,” continued her grandfather.  “How would you like it next spring for me to get some for you for the brook?”

Jewel’s eyes sparkled.  “Wouldn’t that be the most fun?” she returned,—­“but then there’s summer again,” she added, sobering.

“What’s the reason that we couldn’t drive with them to the nearest river before the brook ran dry?”

“Perhaps we could,” replied Jewel hopefully “Doesn’t mother tell the nicest stories, grandpa?”

“She certainly does; and some of the most wonderful you don’t hear at all.  She tells them to me after you have gone to bed.”

“Then you ought to tell them to me,” answered Jewel, “just the way I tell mine to you.”