They had reached the hall, and Jewel exhibited her feet encased in the roomy storm rubbers.
“Great Scott, child!” ejaculated Mr. Evringham, viewing the shiny overshoes. “What size are your feet?”
“I don't know,” returned the little girl, “but I only have to scuff some, and then they'll stay on. Mrs. Forbes said I'd grow to them.”
“So you will, I should think, if you're going to wear them in the house as well as out.” It was against Mr. Evringham's principles to smile before breakfast, at all events at any one except Essex Maid; but the large, shiny overshoes that looked like overgrown beetles, and Jewel's optimistic determination to make him happy, even offset his painful arm.
“The house doesn't leak anywhere,” he said. “I think it will be safe for you to take them off until after breakfast.”
Jewel lifted her shoulders and looked up at him with the glance he knew.
“Unless we're going out to the stable,” she said suggestively.
He hesitated a moment. “Very well,” he returned. “Let us go to the stable.”
“But first we must tie the ribbons,” she said with a joyous chuckle. She would have skipped but for the rubbers. As it was, she proceeded circumspectly to the library, drawing the broker by the hand. “I want you to see, grandpa, if you don't think I made my parting real straight this morning,” she said as she softly closed the door.
“Gently on my arm, Jewel,” he remonstrated, wincing as she returned, flinging her energetic little body against him. “I have the rheumatism like the devil—pardon me.”