"A—a handkerchief?"
"No."
"Oh, tell me, mother, I can't wait."
Mrs. Evringham put the little girl down from her lap and going to the trunk took from it the only article it still contained. It was a long, flat book with pasteboard covers tied at the back with little ribbons. As she again took her seat in the big chair, Jewel leaned against its arm.
"It's a scrap-book full of pictures," she said, with interest.
For answer her mother turned the cover toward her so she could read the words lettered distinctly upon it.
JEWEL'S STORY BOOK
Then Mrs. Evringham ran her finger along the edges of the volume and let the type-written pages flutter before its owner's delighted eyes.
"You've made me some stories, mother!" cried Jewel. One of the great pleasures and treats of her life had been those rare half hours when her busy mother had time to tell her a story.
Her eyes danced with delight. "Oh, you're the kindest mother!" she went on, "and you'll have time to read them to me now! Anna Belle, won't it be the most fun? Oh, mother, we'll go to the ravine to read, won't we?"