.
It entertained him to watch her furtively as she gave herself to inspecting
the furnishings of the room and the pictures on the wall, then looked down
at the patent leather tips of her best shoes as they swung to and fro. At
last she began to look at him more and more wistfully, and to view the
furnishings of the large desk. It had a broad shelf at the top.

Suddenly Jewel caught sight of a picture standing there in a square frame,
and an irrepressible "Oh!" escaped from her lips.

She pressed her hands together and Mr. Evringham saw a deeper rose in her
cheeks. He followed her eyes, and silently taking the picture from the desk
placed it in her lap. She clasped it eagerly. It was a fine photograph of
Essex Maid, her grandfather's mare.

In a minute he spoke:--

"Now I think I'm about through, Jewel," he said, leaning back in his
chair.

"Oh, grandpa, do these cost very much?"

"Why? Do you want to have Star sit for his picture?"

"Yes, it _would_ be nice to have a picture of Star, wouldn't it! I never
thought of that. I mean to ask mother if I can."

The broker winced.

"What I was thinking of was, could I have a picture of Essex Maid to take
with me to Chicago?"

Mr. Evringham nodded. "I will get you one." He kept on nodding slightly,
and Jewel noted the expression of his eyes. Her bright look began to cloud
as her grandfather continued to gaze at her.

"You'd like to have a picture of Star to keep, wouldn't you?" she asked
softly, her head falling a little to one side in loving recognition of his
sadness.

"Yes," he answered, rather gruffly, "and I've been thinking for some weeks
that there was a picture lacking on my desk here."

"Star's?" asked Jewel.

"No. Yours. Are there any pictures of you?"

"No, only when I was a baby. You ought to see me. I was as _fat_!"

"We'll have some photographs of you."

"Oh," Jewel spoke wistfully, "I wish I was pretty."

"Then you wouldn't be an Evringham."

"Why not? You are," returned the child, so spontaneously that slow color
mounted to the broker's face, and he smiled.

"I look like my mother's family, they say. At any rate,"--after a pause
and scrutiny of her,--"it's your face, it's my Jewel's face, that suits me
and that I want to keep. If I can find somebody who can do it and not
change you into some one else, I am going to have a little picture painted;
a miniature, that I can carry in my pocket when Essex Maid and I are left
alone."

The brusq