Jewel grew serious.  “I think fish have the most fun,” she said.  “Do you know, grandpa, I’ve decided that if I couldn’t be your little grandchild, I’d rather be a lobster than anything.”

The broker threw up his head, laughing.  “Some children could combine the two,” he replied, “but you can’t.”

“What?” asked Jewel.

“Nothing.  Why not be a fish, Jewel?  They’re much more graceful.”

“But they can’t creep around among the coral and peek into oyster shells at the pearls.”

“Imagine a lobster peeking!” Mr. Evringham strained his eyes to their widest and stared at Jewel, who shouted.

“That’s just the way the sand-fleas look,” she exclaimed.

“Well,” remarked the broker, recovering his ordinary expression, “you may as well remain a little girl, so far as that goes.  You can creep around among the coral and peek at pearls at Tiffany’s.”

“What’s Tiffany’s?”

“Something you will take more interest in when you’re older.”  The broker shook his head.  “The difference is that the lobster wouldn’t care to wear the coral and pearls.  An awful thought comes over me once in a while, Jewel,” he added, after a pause.

The child looked up at him seriously.  “It can be met,” she answered quickly.

He smiled.  He understood her peculiar expressions in these days.  “Hardly, I think,” he answered.  “It is this:  that you are going to grow up.”

Jewel looked off at the blue water.  “Well,” she replied at last hopefully, “you’re grown up, you know, and perhaps you’ll like me then just as much as I do you.”

He squeezed the little hand he held.  “We’ll hope so,” he said.

“And besides, grandpa,” she went on, for she had heard him express the same dread before, “we’ll be together every day, so perhaps you won’t notice it.  Sometimes I’ve tried to see a flower open.  I’ve known it was going to do it, and I’ve been just bound I’d see it; and I’ve watched and watched, but I never could see when the leaves spread, no matter how much I tried, and yet it would get to be a rose, somehow.  Perhaps some day somebody’ll say to you, ‘Why, Jewel’s a grown up lady, isn’t she?’ and you’ll say, ’Is she, really?  Why, I hadn’t noticed it.’”

“That’s a comforting idea,” returned Mr. Evringham briefly, his eyes resting on the upturned face.

“So now, if the pond won’t run away, we’ll have the most fun,” went on Jewel, relieved.  “They said we could take this boat, grandpa, and have a row.”  She lifted her shoulders and smiled.

“H’m.  A row and a swim combined,” returned the broker.  “I’m surprised they’ve nothing better this year than that ramshackle boat.  You’ll have to bail if we go.”

“What’s bail?” eagerly.

“Dipping out the water with a tin cup.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun.  It’ll be an adventure, grandpa, won’t it?”

“I hope not,” earnestly, was the reply; but Jewel was already sitting on the grass pulling off her shoes and stockings.  She leaped nimbly into the wet boat, and Mr. Evringham stepped gingerly after her, seeking for dry spots for his canvas shoes.