She lifted her eyes to her grandfather. “It's the same as ours.”
“There isn't another Evringham in Bel-Air,” returned the broker. “The fairies dropped this for you, I guess, Jewel. It certainly won't fit me. Let's try it on.”
He slipped it over the head of the dazed child and hooked it around her waist.
“'It fitted her exactly,'” murmured Jewel. “They always say so in fairy stories.
“Look here,” said her grandfather. He put his hand into the stirrup and drew out a folded bit of paper. He handed it to the child, who began to wonder if she was dreaming.
DEAR JEWEL (she read),—I believe you expected Divine Love to send you a horse. I have come to belong to you, and my name is STAR.
It was astonishing what a large, round penmanship the pony possessed. There was no possibility of mistaking a word.
Jewel read the note over twice as she stood there, the long, scant skirt, making her look tall. Mr. Evringham stood watching her. His part in the comedy was played. He waited.
She looked up at him with eyes that seemed trying to comprehend a fact too large.
“Grandpa, have you given me this horse?” she asked solemnly, and he could see her hands beginning to tremble.