“Don’t you love a stable, grandpa?” exclaimed Jewel.  “Oh, I’m too happy to scuff,” and she kicked off the other rubber.  Even while she spoke Essex Maid looked around and whinnied at sight of her master.

“She knows you, she knows you,” cried the little girl joyously, hopping up and down.

“Of course,” said Mr. Evringham, holding out his hand to the delighted child and leading her into the stall.  The mare rubbed her nose against him.  “We couldn’t get out this morning, eh, girl?” said the broker, caressing her neck, while Jewel smoothed the bright coat as high as she could reach.  Her grandfather lifted her in his arms.  “Here, my maid, here’s a new friend for you.  In my pocket, Jewel.”

The child took out the lumps of sugar one by one, and Essex Maid ate them from the little hand, touching it gently with her velvet lips.  Zeke came in and whistled softly as he glanced at the group in the stall.

“Whew,” he mused.  “He’s letting her feed the Maid.  I guess she can put her shoes in his trunk all right.”

Mr. Evringham set Jewel on the mare’s back and she smoothed the bright mane and patted the beautiful creature.

“I’d like to gallop off now over the whole country,” she said, her face glowing.

“I shouldn’t be surprised either if you could do it bareback,” returned Mr. Evringham; “but you must never come into either of the stalls without me.  You understand, do you?”

“Yes, grandpa.  I’m glad you told me though, because I guess I should have.”  The child gave a quick, unconscious sigh.

“Well we’d better go in now.”

“How kind you are to me,” said the child gratefully, as she slid off the horse’s back with her arms around her grandfather’s neck.

He had forgotten his rheumatic shoulder for the time.

“You can bring those rubbers in later,” he said to Zeke, and so carried Jewel out of the barn, through the rain, and into the house.

Mrs. Forbes watched the entrance.  “Breakfast is served, sir,” she said with dignity.  She thought her employer should have worn a hat.

Jewel was not offered eggs this morning.  Instead she had, after her fruit and oatmeal, a slice of ham and a baked potato.

Her roses were fresh this morning and opening in the warmth of the fire, but Mr. Evringham’s eyes were caught by a mass of American Beauties which stood in an alcove close to the window.

“Where did those come from?” he demanded.

“They belong to Miss Eloise,” replied Mrs. Forbes.  “She asked me to take care of them for her.”

“Humph!  Ballard again, I suppose,” remarked the broker.

“I hope so,” responded Mrs. Forbes devoutly.

Mr. Evringham had spoken to himself, and he glanced up from his paper, surprised by the prompt fervor of the reply.  The housekeeper looked non-committal, but her meaning dawned upon him, and he smiled slightly as he returned to the news of the day.