"But I don't think a little girl can tell stories to grown-up people."
"Oh, yes, on her birthday she can," returned her father. "Go on, we're all listening; no one asleep except Topaz."
Jewel's grandfather had been watching her absorbed face all the time, between his half-closed lids. "I think they've left the hardest part of all to you, Jewel," he said,—"to tell about the dragon."
"Oh, no-o," returned the child scornfully, "that part's easy."
The broker raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?" he returned.
In honor of her birthday, Jewel was arrayed in her silk dress. The white ribbons, Anna Belle's gift, were billowing out behind her ears. She presented the appearance, as she sat on the wicker hassock, of a person who had had little experience with dragons.
"Well," she said, after a pause, smiling at her grandfather and lifting her shoulders, "shall I try, then?"
"By all means," returned the broker.
So Jewel folded her hands in her silken lap and began in her light, sweet voice:—