“Well, did you expect to keep him in the flat?” inquired Mr. Evringham, stooping tenderly, his own eyes shining suspiciously, as he put his arms around the little shaking form.

“N—­no; but we—­we haven’t any bar—­barn.”

The broker smiled above the voluminous, quivering bows.

“Well, hasn’t some good livery man in your neighborhood a stable?”

“Ye—­yes.”  Jewel made greater efforts to stop crying.  “But I—­I talked with mo—­mother once about cou—­could I ha—­have a horse sometime before I grew up, and she said she might buy the horse, but it would cost so much—­much money every week to board it, it would be error.”

Mr. Evringham patted the heaving shoulder.

“Ah, but you don’t know yet all about your horse.  In some respects I’ve never seen a pony like him.”

“I—­I never have,” returned the child.

“Oh, but you’ll be surprised at this.  This pony has a bank account.”

Jewel slowly grew quiet.

“Nobody has to pay for his board and clothes.  He is very independent.  He would have it that way.”

“Grandpa!” came in muffled tones from the broker’s vest.

“So don’t you think you’d better cheer up and look at him once more, and tell him you won’t cry on his shoulder very often?”

In a minute Jewel looked up, revealing her swollen eyes.  “I’m ashamed,” she said softly, “but he was—­so—­be—­autiful—­I forgot to remember.”

“Well, I guess you did forget to remember,” returned Mr. Evringham, shaking his head and leading the child to her pony’s side.

He lifted her into the saddle and arranged her skirt, brushing away the dust.

“Grandpa!” she exclaimed softly, with a long, quivering sigh, “I’m so happy!”

“Have you ever ridden, Jewel?”

“Oh, yes, a thousand times,” she answered quickly; “but not on a real horse,” she added as an afterthought.

“H’m.  That might make a difference.”  Mr. Evringham loosed the pony and put the white bridle in the child’s hands; then he led the pretty creature down the woodland road.

“I’m so happy,” repeated Jewel.  “What will mother and father say!”

“You’ll be a regular circus rider by the time they come home.”

As the broker spoke these words Zeke appeared around the bend in the road, riding Essex Maid.  His face was alight with interest in the sight that met him.

Jewel called to him radiantly.  “Oh, Zeke, what do you think?”

“I think it’s great,” he responded.  “Hello, little kid,” he said, as he came nearer and perceived the signs in the child’s face.  “Pony do any harm, Mr. Evringham?” he asked with respectful concern.

“No; Jewel cried a little, but it was only because I told her she could not sleep nights in Star’s manger.”

The child gave one look of astonishment at the speaker’s grave countenance, and then shouted with a laugh as spontaneous as though no tear had ever fallen from her shining eyes.