of the little figure
sitting out of earshot, where the twilight touched her.

Mr. Evringham wheeled and strode back to the child. Her face was still
hidden.

"Don't cry, Jewel," he said kindly, his voice unsteady. "She's better."

The child looked up radiantly. "I knew it!"

The unexpected look and exclamation startled her grandfather. "Zeke says
the doctor can't get here for a little while," he went on, "but the mare
is out of pain."

"It's all right," rejoined the child joyously. "The doctor ought not to
come. We shall do better without him."

The first gleam of her meaning began to shine across the broker's mind.
He stared down at the little figure, uncertain whether to laugh or cry,
sufficiently shaken to do either.

"Why, you midget you," he said, picking the child up in his arms; "have
you been trying your tricks over here in the corner?"

"That isn't the way to talk, grandpa, when God has helped us so,"
returned Jewel earnestly.

Zeke, following his employer, had heard this colloquy, and stared open
mouthed.

When Dr. Busby arrived he was a much injured man. "The mare's perfectly
fit," he grumbled. "You've made me leave an important case."

"Very sorry," returned Mr. Evringham, trying to look so. "The fact is
the Maid has given us a scare in the last hour that I shouldn't like
repeated. Look her over carefully, Busby, carefully."

"I have." The veterinary gave a cross look around the group, his glance
resting a moment on the upturned face of a little flaxen-haired girl who
stood with her hand in Mr. Evringham's.

"He's falling into his dotage, I guess," said the doctor privately to
Zeke, as he prepared to ride away.

"Don't fool yourself," returned the young fellow. "The mare pretty near
scared me into a fit. My knees ain't real steady yet."

He stood watching the disappearing figure of the veterinary. "That kid
believes praying did it," he mused. "I ain't going to believe that, of
course, but the whole thing was the queerest ever."

Mr. Evringham, after one more visit to the stall of Essex Maid, started
back to the house, Jewel skipping beside him.

Mrs. Forbes remained in the barn, one hand still pressed to her ample
bosom, a teakettle in the other.

"What'd you calc'late to do, ma?" inquired her son, approaching her.

"Wring out hot flannels. It's sense to treat colic the same, whether
it's in a horse or a baby."

Zeke laughed. "Essex Maid didn't think so, did she?"

"Wouldn't let us