The broker listened for a minute.

“I’ll take Jewel and her mother to the seashore somewhere; for I must leave the house, if only to let Madge down easily, and too, I wish to study Julia outside her atmosphere.  Poor Madge, she’s a light weight, but I think there are better times coming for her.  At View Point she’ll find friends.”

Time passed, and at last Mr. Evringham called, “That will do, Jewel.”

“Do you want Star to go in?” she returned.

The broker nodded, and the child sprang up and began patting and smoothing the little horse with energetic affection.

“It’s your bedtime, Star,” she said, “but morning’s coming.”  She kissed his sleek shoulder.  “We’ll have such a good time in the morning.  I don’t bounce a bit now, do I, Zeke?” she asked, turning to him.

“Well, I guess not,” returned Zeke scornfully.  “You ain’t the kind that gets bounced after a fellow knows you,” he added, smiling.  He took the pony’s halter.  “Good-night, Jewel.”

“Good-night, Zeke.”  She ran across the lawn and up the piazza steps.  “How kind of you, grandpa, to amuse Anna Belle!” she exclaimed gratefully, observing the doll on his knee.  At the same time she most abruptly whisked that patient person into a neighboring chair and usurped her place.  Cuddling down in her grandfather’s arms, she nestled her head against his shoulder and sighed happily.

The light began to fade, the last smoke from the broker’s cigar curled out into the summer air.  He tossed it away and pressed the child more closely to him.

“Sing once again the song you sang for Zeke.” he said.

And she began softly in her true, clear voice:—­

     “From tired joy and grief afar,
     And nearer Thee,
     Father, where Thine own children are
     I love to be!”

“Amen,” breathed Mr. Evringham.