The spring rain proved to be a protracted storm. Mr. Evringham made his hours long in the city. Eloise came up to Jewel's room each morning and read the lesson with her, always reading on to herself after it was finished. She made the child tell her of the circumstances of her recent illness and cure, and listened to Jewel's affectionate comments on Dr. Ballard's kindness with an inscrutable expression which did not satisfy the child.
“You love him, don't you?” asked the little girl.
Eloise gave a slight smile. “If everything that isn't love is hate, I suppose I ought to,” she returned.
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Jewel; “and he has been so kind to you I don't see how you can help it.”
The girl sighed. “Don't grow up, Jewel,” she said. “It makes lots of trouble.”
On the second one of her visits to the child's room she put her hand on the flaxen head. “I'd like to fix your hair,” she said. “Mrs. Forbes doesn't part it nicely.”
“I do it myself,” returned Jewel; “but I'd be glad to have you.”
So Eloise washed the thick flaxen locks and dried them. Then she parted and brushed the hair, and when it was finally tied, Jewel regarded the reflection of her smooth head with satisfaction.
“It looks just the way mother makes it,” she said. “I'm going to write to mother and father to-night, and I'm going to tell them how kind you are to me.”
That evening, in Mr. Evringham's library, Jewel wrote the letter.