“No, no, please,” begged the child. “I know how to ride. I do.”
“Well, let her go then,” smiled the broker, and Essex Maid trotted slowly, noting with haughty bright eyes the little black companion, who might have stepped out of a picture book, but whose easy canter was tossing Jewel at every step.
“I haven't—any—whip!” The words were bounced out of the child's lips, and Mr. Evringham's laugh resounded along the avenue.
“I believe she'd use it,” he said to Zeke, who was running along beside the black pony.
“I guess she would, sir,” grinned the young fellow responsively.
It was not many days before Jewel had learned to stay in the saddle. She had an efficient teacher who worked with her con amore, and the sight of the erect, gray-haired man on his famous mare, always accompanied by the rosy little girl on a black pony, came to be a familiar sight in Bel-Air, and one which people always turned to follow with their eyes.
Eloise had her talk with Mr. Evringham one evening when Jewel was excluded from the library, and she emerged from the interview with a more contented heart than she had known for a year.
She endeavored to convey the situation to her mother in detail, but when that lady had learned that there were no happy surprises, she declined to listen.
“Tastes differ, Eloise,” she said. “I am one who believes that where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise.” Mrs. Evringham had regained a quite light-hearted appearance in the interest of expending a portion of her windfall on her own and Eloise's summer wardrobe.
“Well, you shan't be bothered then,” returned her daughter. “You have me to take care of our money matters.”