The child looked up radiantly. “I knew it!”
The unexpected look and exclamation startled her grandfather. “Zeke says the doctor can't get here for a little while,” he went on, “but the mare is out of pain.”
“It's all right,” rejoined the child joyously. “The doctor ought not to come. We shall do better without him.”
The first gleam of her meaning began to shine across the broker's mind. He stared down at the little figure, uncertain whether to laugh or cry, sufficiently shaken to do either.
“Why, you midget you,” he said, picking the child up in his arms; “have you been trying your tricks over here in the corner?”
“That isn't the way to talk, grandpa, when God has helped us so,” returned Jewel earnestly.
Zeke, following his employer, had heard this colloquy, and stared open mouthed.
When Dr. Busby arrived he was a much injured man. “The mare's perfectly fit,” he grumbled. “You've made me leave an important case.”
“Very sorry,” returned Mr. Evringham, trying to look so. “The fact is the Maid has given us a scare in the last hour that I shouldn't like repeated. Look her over carefully, Busby, carefully.”
“I have.” The veterinary gave a cross look around the group, his glance resting a moment on the upturned face of a little flaxen-haired girl who stood with her hand in Mr. Evringham's.