“I suppose he wouldn’t have liked to leave me sitting on the dock alone, but I should have known you’d come.  The funny part is I shouldn’t have known you.”  Jewel laughed.  “I should have kept looking for an old man with white hair and a cane like Grandpa Morris.  He’s a grandpa in Chicago that I know.  He’s just as kind as he can be, but he has the queerest back.  He goes to our church, but says he came in at the eleventh hour.  I think he used to have rheumatism.  And while I was sitting there you could have walked right by me.”

“Humph!”

“But then you’d have known me,” went on Jewel, straightening Anna Belle’s hat, “so it would have been all right.  You’d have known there would be only one little girl waiting there, and you would have said, ‘Oh, here you are, Jewel.  I’ve come.  I’m your grandpa.’” The child unconsciously mimicked the short, brusque speech.

Mr. Evringham regarded her rather darkly.  “Eh?  I hope you’re not impudent?”

“What’s that?” asked Jewel doubtfully.

Her companion’s brow grew darker.

“Impudent I say.”

“And what is impudent?”

“Don’t you know?” suspiciously.

“No, sir,” replied the child, some anxiety clouding her bright look.  “Is it error?”

Mr. Evringham regarded her rather blankly.  “It’s something you mustn’t be,” he replied at last.

Jewel’s face cleared.  “Oh no, I won’t then,” she replied earnestly.  “You tell me when I’m—­it, because I want to make you happy.”

Mr. Evringham cleared his throat.  He felt somewhat embarrassed and was glad they had reached the ferry.

“We’re going on a boat, aren’t we?” she asked when they had passed through the gate.

“Yes, and we can make this boat if we hurry.”  Mr. Evringham suddenly felt a little hand slide into his.  Jewel was skipping along beside him to keep up with his long strides, and he glanced down at the bobbing flaxen head with its large ribbon bows, while the impulse to withdraw his hand was thwarted by the closer clinging of the small fingers.

“Father told me about the ferry,” said Jewel with satisfaction, “and you’ll show me the statue of Liberty won’t you, grandpa?  Isn’t it a splendid boat?  Oh, can we go out close to the water?”

Mr. Evringham sighed heavily.  He did not wish to go out close to the water.  He wished to sit down in comfort in the cabin and read the paper which he had just taken from a newsboy.  It seemed to him a very long time since he had done anything he wished to; but a little hand was pulling eagerly at his, and mechanically he followed out to where the brisk spring wind ruffled the river and assaulted his hat.  He jerked his hand from Jewel’s to hold it in place.

“Isn’t this beautiful!” cried the child joyfully, as the boat steamed on.  “Can you do this every day, grandpa?”

“What?  Oh yes, yes.”

Something in the tone caused the little girl to look up from her view of the wide water spaces to the grim face above.