“Jewel must have had a glimpse of the real man,” she thought.  “I must not cloud her perception.”  It did not occur to her, however, that the child could even now feel less than awe of the stern guardian with whom she had succeeded in living at peace, and who had, from time to time, bestowed upon her gifts.  One of these Mrs. Evringham noticed now.

“Oh, that’s your pretty watch!” she said.

“Yes,” returned the child, “this is Little Faithful.  Isn’t he a darling?”

The mother smiled as she lifted the silver cherub.  “You’ve named him?” she returned.  “Why, it is a beauty, Jewel.  How kind of your grandfather!”

“Yes, indeed.  It was so I wouldn’t stay in the ravine too long.”

“How is Anna Belle?”

“Dear Anna Belle!” exclaimed the little girl wistfully.  “What a good time she would have had if I could have brought her!  But you see I needed both my hands to help carry bags; and she understood about it and sent her love.  She’ll be sitting up waiting for you.”

Mrs. Evringham cast a look toward Harry and his father.  “I’m not sure”—­she began, “I hardly think we shall go to Bel-Air to-night.  How would you like to stay in at the hotel with us, and then we could go out to the house to-morrow and pack your trunk?”

Jewel looked very sober at this.  “Why, it would be pretty hard to wait, mother,” she replied.  “Hotels are splendid.  Grandpa and I had dinner at one.  It’s named the Waldorf and it has woods in it just like outdoors; but I thought you’d be in a hurry to see Star and the Ravine of Happiness and Zeke.”

“Well, we’ll wait,” returned Mrs. Evringham vaguely.  She was more than doubtful of an invitation to Bel-Air Park even for one night; but Harry must arrange it.  “We’ll see what father says,” she added.  “What a pretty locket, my girlie!” As she spoke she lifted a gold heart that hung on a slender gold chain around Jewel’s neck.

“Yes.  Cousin Eloise gave me that when she went away.  She has had it ever since she was as little as I am, and she said she left her heart with me.  I’m so sorry you won’t see cousin Eloise.”

“So she and her mother have gone away.  Were they sorry to go?  Did Mr. Evringham—­perhaps—­think”—­the speaker paused.  She remembered Jewel’s letter about the situation.

“No, they weren’t sorry.  They’ve gone to the seashore; but cousin Eloise and I love each other very much, and her room is so empty now that I’ve had to keep remembering that you were coming and everything was happy.  I guess cousin Eloise is the prettiest girl in the whole world; and since she stopped being sorry we’ve had the most fun.”

“I wish I could see her!” returned Mrs. Evringham heartily.  She longed to thank Eloise for supplying the sunshine of love to her child while the grandfather was providing for her material wants.  She looked at Jewel now, a picture of health and contentment, her bits of small finery in watch and locket standing as symbols of the care and affection she had received.