“I thought of just one sentence,” returned the girl. “’Perfect love casteth out fear.’”

“Why in the world should she love him?” protested Mrs. Evringham.

“She would love us all if we would let her,” returned Eloise, the phrases of “Vogel als Prophete” beginning to ripple softly from beneath her fingers.  “I saw it from the first.  I felt it that first evening, when we behaved toward her like a couple of boors.  Any one can see she has never been snubbed, never neglected.  She got out of the lap of love to come to this icebox.  No wonder the change of temperature made her ill!”

“Why, Eloise, what has come over you?  You never used to be disagreeable.  It’s a good thing the child is amiable.  It’s the only thing left for a plain girl to be.”

“No one will ever remember that she is plain,” remarked Eloise.

Her mother raised her eyebrows doubtingly.  “Perhaps your perceptions are so keen that you can explain how Jewel managed to telegraph to Chicago to-day,” she said.  “It reminded me of Dooley’s comments on Christian Science.  Do you remember what he said about ‘rejucin’ a swellin’ over a long distance tillyphone’?”

“I can’t imagine how she managed it,” admitted Eloise.

Neither could Mr. Evringham.  He had taken Jewel into his study now with the intention of finding out, deeming a secluded apartment more desirable for catechism which might lay him liable to personal attack.

As they entered the library he turned on the light, and Jewel glanced about with her usual alert and ready admiration.

“Is this your own, own particular room, grandpa?” she asked.

“Yes, where I keep all my books and papers.”

The child’s eye suddenly lighted on the yellow chicken, and she looked up at Mr. Evringham with a pleased smile.  He had forgotten the chicken, and took the seat before his desk, glancing vaguely about to see which chair would be least heavy and ponderous for his guest.  She settled the matter without any hesitation by jumping upon his knee.  Jewel had a subject on her mind which pressed heavily, and before her companion had had time to do more than wink once or twice in his surprise, she proceeded to it.

“Do you know, grandpa, I think it’s hard for Mrs. Forbes to love people very much,” she said in a lowered voice, as if perhaps the walls might have ears.  “I wanted to ask her yesterday morning if she didn’t love me whom she had seen, how could she love God whom she hadn’t seen.  Grandpa, would you be willing to tie my bows?”

“To tie”—­repeated Mr. Evringham, and paused.

The child was gazing into his eyes earnestly.  She put her hand into her pocket and took out two long pieces of blue ribbon.

“You see, you’re my only real relation,” she explained, “and so I don’t like to ask anybody else.”

The startled look in her grandfather’s face moved her to proceed encouragingly.