Mr. Evringham was standing by the window, reading the newspaper as he waited, and Jewel ran to him and looked up with bright expectation.

“H’m!” he said, not lifting his eyes from the print, “good-morning, Jewel.  Essex Maid and Star would hardly speak to me when I was out there just now, they’re so vexed at having to stay indoors this morning.”

The child did not reply, but continued to look up, smiling.

“Well,” said the broker at last, dropping the paper.  “Well?  What is it?  I don’t see anything very exciting.  You haven’t on your silk dress.”

“Grandpa!  It’s my birthday.”

The broker slapped his leg with very apparent annoyance.  “Well, now, to think I should have to be told that!”

Jewel laughed and hopped a little as she looked toward the table.  “Do you see that bunch under the cloth at my place?  That’s my present.  Isn’t it the most fun not to know what it is?”

Mr. Evringham took her up in his arms and weighed her up and down thoughtfully.  “Yes,” he said, “I believe you are a little heavier than you were yesterday.”

The child laughed again.

“Now remember, Jewel, you’re to go slow on this birthday business.  Once in two or three years is all very well.”

“Grandpa! people have to have birthdays every year,” she replied as he set her down, “but after they’re about twenty or something like that, it’s wrong to remember how old they are.”

“Indeed?” the broker stroked his mustache.  “Ladies especially, I suppose.”

“Oh, no,” returned Jewel seriously.  “Everybody.  Mother’s just twenty years older than I am and that’s so easy to remember, it’s going to be hard to forget; but I’ve most forgotten how much older father is,” and Jewel looked up with an expression of determination that caused the broker to smile broadly.

“I can understand your mother’s being too self-respecting to pass thirty,” he returned, “but just why your father shouldn’t, I fail to understand.”

“Why, it’s error to be weak and wear spectacles and have things, isn’t it?” asked Jewel, with such swift earnestness that Mr. Evringham endeavored to compose his countenance.

“Have things?” he repeated.

Jewel’s head fell to one side.  “Why, even you, grandpa,” she said lovingly, “even you thought you had the rheumatism.”

“I was certainly under that impression.”

“But you never would have expected to have it when you were as young as father, would you?”

“Hardly.”

“Well, then you see why it’s wrong to make laws about growing old and to remember people’s ages.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.  Everybody thinking the wrong way and jumping on a fellow when he’s down, as it were.”

At this moment Jewel’s father and mother entered the room, and she instantly forgot every other consideration in her interest as to what charming surprise might be bunched up under the tablecloth.