“What grandpa?”

The question made Mr. Evringham aware that the indignant words had been muttered above his breath.

“I was thinking of your father,” he replied.  “Has he learned these things that your mother has taught you?”

“Oh yes,” with soft eagerness; “father is learning everything.”  Jewel saw her grandfather’s frown and she lowered her voice almost to a whisper.  “Don’t feel sorry about father, grandpa.  He says he’s the happiest man in the world.  Mother didn’t find out about God till after father had gone to California, or he wouldn’t have gone; and for a long time she didn’t know where he was, and I was only beginning to walk around, so I couldn’t help her; but when I got bigger I had father’s picture, and we used to talk to it every day, and at last mother knew that Divine Love would bring father back; and pretty soon he began to write to her, and he said he couldn’t come home because he felt so sorry, and he was going to the war.  So then mother and I prayed a great deal every day, and we knew father would be taken care of.  And then mother kept writing to him not to be sorry, because error was nothing and the child of God could always have his right place, and everything like that, and at last the war was over and he came home.”  Jewel paused.

Mr. Evringham wondered what she was seeing with that far-away look.

Presently she turned to him with the smile of irresistible sweetness—­Harry’s smile—­and a surprising fullness came in the broker’s throat.  “Father’s just splendid,” she finished.

Her grandfather was not wholly pleased with the verdict.  He had gained a taste for incense himself.

“He has been at home over six months, I believe,” he returned.

“Yes, all winter; and we have more fun!”

“Your father is not a Christian Scientist, I presume,” remarked Mr. Evringham.

“Oh yes, he’s learning to be.  Of course he goes to church—­”

“He does, eh?” put in the broker, surprised.

“Of course; and he studies the lesson with us every day.  He had been sorry so much and so long, you know, mother said he was all ready; and beside—­beside”—­Jewel hesitated and became silent.

“Beside what?”

She began very softly and half reluctantly.  “Father had a sickness two or three times when he first came home, and he was healed, and so he was very grateful and wanted to know about God.”

“H’m.  I’m glad he was.  I hope he will make your mother very happy after this.”

“He does.”  The child lost her seriousness and laughed reminiscently.  “Father and I have the best times.  Mothers says he’s younger than I am.”

“You miss him, eh?” Mr. Evringham half frowned into the fresh little face.

“Oh yes, I do,” with a sigh, “but it would be error to be sorry when I could come to see you, grandpa.”

Mr. Evringham cogitated a minute on the probable loneliness of the last three days, and began to wonder what this philosophy could be which gave practical help to a child of eight years.  He was still holding the letter to Dr. Ballard in his hand.