“Yes, that’s”—­began Jewel, and went no further.

A couple of rods from where she suddenly came to a standstill was an object which for a moment rooted her to the spot.  A small horse, black as jet, with a white star in his forehead and a flowing, wavy mane and tail, stood by the roadside.  His coat, gleaming like satin, set off the pure white leather of his trappings.  On his back was fastened a side saddle, and he was tethered to the rail of the light fence.

Mr. Evringham appeared not to see him.  He was looking down the rocks and grass of the steep incline.

“Is there any sort of a path?” he asked, “or do you descend it as you would a cellar door?  I think you might have told me, so I could change these light trousers.”

“Grandpa!” exclaimed Jewel in a hushed tone, pointing before her.  “See that horse—­just like the coal black steed the princess rides in a fairy story.”

“Why, that’s so.  He is a beauty.  Where do you suppose the princess is?”

“She’s probably gone down the ravine,” returned the child, her feet drawn forward as if by a magnet.  “Let’s not go down yet.”

The broker allowed himself to be led close to the pony, who turned his full bright eyes upon the pair curiously.

“Do you think I might touch him, grandpa?” asked the child, still in the hushed voice.

“If he’s a fairy horse he might vanish,” returned Mr. Evringham.  “Let’s see how he stands it.”  So saying he gave the shining flank some sturdy love pats.  “Oh, he’s all right.  He’s good substantial flesh and blood.”

“But the lady,” said Jewel, looking about, the pupils of her eyes dilated with excitement.

“Oh, I don’t think a very big lady has been riding in that saddle.  You can do as you’d be done by, I fancy.”

Upon this Jewel stroked the pony over and over lovingly, and he nosed about her in a friendly way.

“Grandpa, see him, see him!  And oh grandpa, see his beautiful star, white as a snowflake!”

“Well, upon my word, if this isn’t lucky,” remarked Mr. Evringham.  “Here is some sugar in my pocket, now.”  He passed some lumps to the child.

“Would it be right?” she asked, glancing down the ravine.  “Had I better wait till the girl comes up?”

“She won’t mind, I’ll wager,” returned Mr. Evringham; so the child, thus encouraged, fed the coal black steed, who, for all his poetical appearance, had evidently a strongly developed sweet tooth.

“Hello, what’s this!” exclaimed the broker, stepping to the fence and taking up something black and folded.  When he shook it out, it proved to be a child’s riding skirt.

“She’s left it there,” said Jewel eagerly.  “We ought not to touch it.  It’s very hard on clothes going down the ravine, and she’s left it there.  Don’t you think, grandpa, you ought to put it back?” for to her great surprise her punctilious and particular relative was shaking the fine skirt about recklessly and examining it.