“Go straight into the house, Jewel,” cried the housekeeper with an anger born of her excitement.  “Don’t you go near that barn and get in the way.”

The child, scarcely hearing her, fled on.  As she entered the barn she heard her grandfather’s voice addressing Zeke, who was flinging a saddle on Dick.

“Dr. Busby’ll leave anything when he knows it’s the Maid.”  He didn’t need to say “hurry.”  Zeke was as anxious as his master to get the veterinary surgeon.

Essex Maid had fallen in her stall and was making her misery apparent, tossing her head and rolling her eyes.  Her master’s teeth were set.

“Grandpa, may I try to help?” came Jewel’s eager voice.

“Go away, child,” sternly.  “You’ll get hurt.”

“But may I treat her?”

“Do anything,” brusquely; “but don’t come near.”

Jewel ran to the back of the barn, dropped on the floor, and buried her face in her hands.

Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen.  Zeke rode up to the barn door, white and wild-eyed in the twilight.

“Dr. Busby was away!” he gasped.  “They tried to get him on the telephone, and at last did.  He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“The Maid’s better,” said Mr. Evringham, wiping his forehead.  “There hasn’t been a repetition of the attack.”  Mrs. Forbes stood by, fanning herself with her apron.  The mare was standing quietly.

“Great Scott, but I’m glad!” replied Zeke devoutly.  “I’ve seen ’em keel up with that.  You can go through me with a fine tooth comb, Mr. Evringham, and you won’t find a thing I’ve neglected for that mare.”  Excitement had placed the young fellow beyond his awe for the master.

“I believe you, boy,” returned the broker.  In his relief he would have believed anything.

“See the poor kid,” said Zeke, catching sight of the little figure sitting out of earshot, where the twilight touched her.

Mr. Evringham wheeled and strode back to the child.  Her face was still hidden.

“Don’t cry, Jewel,” he said kindly, his voice unsteady.  “She’s better.”

The child looked up radiantly.  “I knew it!”

The unexpected look and exclamation startled her grandfather.  “Zeke says the doctor can’t get here for a little while,” he went on, “but the mare is out of pain.”

“It’s all right,” rejoined the child joyously.  “The doctor ought not to come.  We shall do better without him.”

The first gleam of her meaning began to shine across the broker’s mind.  He stared down at the little figure, uncertain whether to laugh or cry, sufficiently shaken to do either.

“Why, you midget you,” he said, picking the child up in his arms; “have you been trying your tricks over here in the corner?”

“That isn’t the way to talk, grandpa, when God has helped us so,” returned Jewel earnestly.

Zeke, following his employer, had heard this colloquy, and stared open mouthed.