“Morning.”
“Well I wish to know,” said Mr. Evringham in a suddenly serious and impressive tone, “I wish to know if you reached home in time for lunch.”
Jewel felt somewhat startled under the daze of his piercing eyes, but her conscience was clear. “Yes, I was here in plenty of time. I wanted to surely not be late, so I was here too soon.”
“That's what I was afraid of,” returned Mr. Evringham gravely. “I don't wish you to be unpunctual, but I object equally to your returning unnecessarily early when you wish to stay.”
“But I couldn't help it, grandpa,” Jewel began earnestly, when he interrupted her.
“So I've brought you this,” he added, and took from his pocket an oblong package, sealed at each end.
The child laid her doll in the broker's lap,—he had become hardened to this indignity,—and her fingers broke the seals and slipped the paper from a morocco case.
“Push the spring in the end,” said Mr. Evringham.
She obeyed. The lid flew up and disclosed a small silver chatelaine watch. The pin was a cherub's head, its wings enameled in white, as were the back and edges of the little timepiece whose hands were busily pointing to blue figures.
Jewel gasped. “For me?”