"Why not have 'The Golden Dog' again?" suggested Mr. Evringham, from the comfortable big wicker chair in which he sat watching Jewel and Topaz. "That would be appropriate."
"Oh, yes," cried the little girl, looking at her mother.
"Oh, no," returned Julia, smiling. "There ought to be a special fresh story for a birthday. We might make one now."
"A new one, mother?" asked Jewel, much pleased. "Could you?"
"No indeed, not alone; but if everybody helped"—
"Oh, yes," cried Jewel, with more enthusiasm than before. "Grandpa begin because he's the oldest, then father, then mother, then—well, me, if I can think of anything."
"It's very wrong of you, Jewel," said the broker, "to remember that I'm the oldest, under these circumstances. What did you tell me this morning?"
The child's head fell to the side and she leaned toward him. "I don't know how old you are," she replied gently; "and it doesn't make any difference."
"Then let's begin with the youngest," he suggested.
"No," said his daughter, "I think Jewel's plan is the best. You begin, father." She did not in the least expect that he would consent, but Jewel, her hands resting on Topaz's collar, was looking at the broker lovingly.