Jewel: A Chapter in Her Life. Clara Louise Burnham
repentant son,
HARRY.
Mrs. Forbes looked up from the letter to find her employer's eyes upon her. Her lips were set in a tight line.
“Well?” he asked.
“I'd like to ask first, sir, what you think of it?”
“It strikes me as very cool. Harry knows my habits.”
The housekeeper loosened the reins of her indignation.
“The idea of your having a child here to clatter up and down the stairs at the very time you want to take a nap!” she burst forth. “You've had enough to bear already.”
“A deal of company in the house as it is, eh?” he rejoined. It was the first reference he had ever made to his permanent guests.
“It's what I was thinking, sir.”
“You're not for it, then, Mrs. Forbes?”
“So far as taking care of the child goes, I should do my duty. I don't think Mrs. Evringham or her daughter would wish to be bothered; but I know very little about children, except that your house is no place for them to be racing in. One young one brings others. You would be annoyed, sir. Some folks can always ask favors.” The housekeeper's cheeks were flushed with the strength of her repugnance, and her bias relieved Mr. Evringham's indecision.
“I agree with you,” he returned, rising. “Tell 'Zekiel to saddle the Maid. After dinner I will let him take a telegram to the office.”
He returned to the house without further words, and Mrs. Forbes called to her son in a voice that had a wrathful quaver.
“What you got your back up about?” inquired Zeke softly, after a careful look to see that his august master had departed.
“Never you mind. Mr. Evringham wants you should saddle his horse and bring her round. I want he should see you can do it lively.”
“Ain't she a beaut'!” exclaimed Zeke as he led out the mare. “She'd ought to be shown, she had.”
“Shown! Better not expose your ignorance where Mr. Evringham can hear you. That mare's taken two blue ribbons already.”
“Showed they knew their business,” returned Zeke imperturbably. “I s'pose the old gent don't care any more for her than he does for his life.”
“I guess he loves her the best of anything in this world.”
“Love! The governor love anything or anybody! That's good,” remarked the young fellow, while Essex Maid watched his movements about her with gentle, curious eyes.
“I do believe she misses Fanshaw and notices the difference,” remarked Mrs. Forbes.
“Glad to, too. Ain't you, my beauty? She's going to be stuck on me before we get through. She don't want any Britishers fooling around her.”
“You've certainly made her look fine, Zeke. I know Mr. Evringham will be pleased. She just shines from her pretty little ears to her hoofs. Take her around and then come back. I want to talk to you.”
“If I don't come back,” returned the boy, “you'll know the governor's looked at me a little too hard and I've been struck so.”
“Don't be any foolisher than you can help,” returned Mrs. Forbes, “and hurry.”
On 'Zekiel's return to the barn he saw that his mother's face was portentous. “Lawrence was at least handsome like his father,” she began without preamble, looking over Zeke's shoulder, “but Harry was as homely as he was no account. I should think that man had enough of his sons' belongings hanging on him already. What do you think, 'Zekiel Forbes? Mr. Evringham's youngest son Harry has turned up again!”
“I should think it was the old Harry by your tone,” rejoined Zeke equably.
“He and his wife, poor as church mice, are getting their expenses paid to Europe on business, and they have the nerve—yes, the cheek—to ask Mr. Evringham to let them leave their young one, a girl eight years old, with him while they're gone.”
“I hope it's a real courageous youngster,” remarked Zeke.
“A child! A wild Western dressmaker's young one in Mr. Evringham's elegant house!”
“Is the old Harry a dressmaker?” asked Zeke mildly.
“No, his wife is. His Julia! They've named this girl for her, and I suppose they called her Jule, and then twisted it around to Jewel. Jewel!”
“When is she coming?” asked Zeke, seeing that he was expected to say something.
“Coming? She isn't coming,” cried his mother irefully. “Not while Mr. Evringham has his wits. They haven't a particle of right to ask him. Harry has worried him to distraction already. The child would be sure to torment him.”
“He'd devour her the second day, then,” returned Zeke calmly. “It would be soon over.”
CHAPTER III
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
Dr. Ballard had gone, and his hostesses were awaiting the summons to dinner. Mrs. Evringham regarded her daughter critically as the girl sat at the piano, idly running her fingers over the keys.
The listlessness expressed in the fresh face and rounded figure brought a look of disapproval into the mother's eyes.
“You must practice that nocturne,” she said. “You played it badly just now, and there is no excuse for it, Eloise.”
“If you will let me give lessons I will,” responded the girl promptly, without turning her graceful, drooping head.
The unexpected reply was startling.
“What are you talking about?” asked Mrs. Evringham.
“Oh, I'm so tired of it all,” replied the girl wearily.
A frown contracted her mother's forehead. “Tired of what? Turn around here!” She rose and put her hands on the pretty shoulders and turned her child until the clear gray eyes met hers. “Now then, tired of what?”
Eloise smiled slightly, and sighed. “Of playing nocturnes to Dr. Ballard.”
“And he is quite as tired of hearing you, I dare say,” was the retort. “It seems to me you always stumble when you play to the doctor, and he adores Chopin.”
Eloise continued to meet her mother's annoyed gaze, her hands fallen in her lap, all the lines of her nut-brown hair, her exquisite face, and pliable, graceful figure so many silent arguments, as they always were, against any one's harboring annoyance toward her.
“You say he does, mother, and you have assured him of it so often that the poor man doesn't dare to say otherwise; but really, if you'd let him have the latest Weber and Field hit, I think he would be so grateful.”
“Learn it then!” returned Mrs. Evringham.
Eloise laughed lazily. “Intrepid little mother!” Then she added, in a different tone, “Don't you think there is any danger of our being too obliging? I'm not the only girl in town whose mother wishes her to oblige Dr. Ballard. May we not overreach ourselves?”
“Eloise!” Mrs. Evringham's half-affectionate, half-remonstrating grasp fell from her child's shoulders. “That remark is in very bad taste.”
The