iveness. "As
soon as we return in the autumn, we will have her begin lessons."

Julia's eyes met his gratefully.

"A very remarkable talent. I am positive of it," he went on. "Jewel," for
here the child entered the room, "play the Spring Song for your mother,
will you?"

"Now? Zeke is out there, grandpa."

"Dick can stretch his legs a bit faster this morning. Play it."

So Jewel set Anna Belle on a brocaded chair and going to the piano, played
the melody of the Spring Song. She could perform only a few measures, but
there were no false notes in the little chromatic passages, and her
grandfather's eyes sought Julia's in grave triumph.

"A very marvelous gift," he managed to say to her again under his breath,
as Jewel at last ran ahead of him out to the porte cochere.

Julia's eyes grew dreamy as she watched the brougham drive off. How
different was to be the future of her little girl from anything she had
planned in her rosiest moments of hopefulness.

The more she saw of Mr. Evringham's absorbed attachment to the child, the
more grateful she was for the manner in which he had guarded Jewel's
simplicity, the self-restraint with which he had abstained from loading her
with knickknacks or fine clothes. The child was not merely a pet with him.
She was an individual, a character whose development he respected.

"God keep her good!" prayed the mother.

It was a charming place to continue the story, there in the large chintz
chair by Mrs. Evringham's window. The raindrops pattered against the clear
glass, the lawn grew greener, and the great trees beyond the gateway held
their leaves up to the bath.

"Anna Belle's pond will overflow, I think," said Jewel, looking out the
window musingly.

"And how good for the ferns," remarked her mother.

"Yes, I'd like to be there, now," said the child.

"Oh, I think it's much cosier here. I love to hear the rain, too, don't
you?"

"Yes, I do, and we'll have the story now, won't we, mother?"

At this moment there was a knock at the door and Zeke appeared with an
armful of birch wood.

"Mr. Evringham said it might be a little damp up here and I was to lay a
fire."

"Oh, yes, yes!" exclaimed Jewel. "Mother, wouldn't you like to have a fire
while we read?"

Mrs. Evringham assented and Zeke laid the sticks on the andirons and let
Jewel touch the lighted match to the little twigs.

"I have the loveliest book, Zeke," she said, when the flames leaped up. "My
mother made it