“Why, no, only mother said”—­

Mrs. Evringham pressed the child’s arm.  “That was nothing, Jewel; I simply didn’t know what the plan was,” she put in hastily.

“Oh, of course,” went on the little girl.  “Mother didn’t know aunt Madge and cousin Eloise were gone, and she didn’t believe there’d be room.  She doesn’t know how big the house is, does she, grandpa?” An irresistible yawn seized the child, and in the middle of it her father leaned forward and chucked her under the chin.

Her jaws came together with a snap.  “There! you spoiled that nice one!” she exclaimed, jumping up and laughing as she flung herself upon her big playmate, and a small scuffle ensued in which the wide leghorn hat brim sawed against Mr. Evringham’s shoulder and neck in a manner that caused Mrs. Evringham’s heart to leap toward her throat.  How could Harry be so thoughtless!  A street lamp showed the grim lines of the broker’s averted face as he gazed stonily out to the street.

“Come here, Jewel; sit still,” said the mother, striving to pull the little girl back into her seat.

Harry was laughing and holding his agile assailant off as best he might, and at his wife’s voice aided her efforts with a gentle push.  Jewel sank back on the cushion.

“Oh, what bores he thinks us.  I know he does!” reflected Julia, capturing her child in one arm and holding her close.  To her surprise and even dismay, Jewel spoke cheerfully after another yawn:—­

“Grandpa, how far is it to the ferry?  How long, I mean?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

“Well, that’s a good while.  My eyes do feel as if they had sticks in them.  Don’t you wish we could cross in a swan boat, grandpa?”

“Humph!” he responded.  Mrs. Evringham gave the child a little squeeze intended to be repressive.  Jewel wriggled around a minute trying to get a comfortable position.

“Tell father and mother about Central Park and the swan boats, grandpa,” she continued.

“You tell them to-morrow, when you’re not so sleepy,” he replied.

Jewel took off her large hat, and nestling her head on her mother’s shoulder, put an arm around her.  “Mother, mother!” she sighed happily, “are you really home?”

“Really, really,” replied Mrs. Evringham, with a responsive squeeze.

Mr. Evringham sat erect in silence, still gazing out the window with a forbidding expression.

There were buttons on her mother’s gown that rubbed Jewel’s cheek.  She tried to avoid them for a minute and then sat up.  “Father, will you change places with me?” she asked sleepily.  “I want to sit by grandpa.”

Mrs. Evringham’s eyes widened, and in spite of her earnest “Dearie!” the transfer was made and Jewel crept under Mr. Evringham’s arm, which closed naturally around her.  She leaned against him and shut her eyes.

“You mustn’t go to sleep,” he said.

“I guess I shall,” returned the child softly.