Eloise had sunk back in the large chair and was attentively watching the child standing beside her, while she still held Anna Belle.  She had never before held converse with a Christian Scientist, but her state of mind precluded the perception of a humorous side to anything.

“Wrong to pity yourself no matter what happens?” she asked.

“Yes—­because—­because—­” Jewel looked off.  She knew that it was error, but it was hard to explain why to the lovely grown-up cousin who was so strangely sorry.  “Well, you see,” she added after the moment’s thought, “it isn’t having faith in God, it isn’t knowing that you’re His child, and that He takes care of you.”

“No, I suppose not; but I have never learned how to know that, Jewel.”

“I know you haven’t,” returned the little girl, and she slipped her hand toward her cousin’s.  The girl met it halfway and held it close.  “Since I’ve seen you,” Jewel went on slowly, “I know that prettiness isn’t enough to make a person happy—­nor all your lovely clothes—­nor having people fond of you and sending you presents—­nor making the sweetest music; but you can be happy, cousin Eloise, unless you’re doing wrong.”

“I am doing wrong, but I can’t help it.”  The girl took her supporting hand from the doll and pressed it to her eyes a second before dropping it.  “What were you doing when I came in?”

“I was just going to get the lesson.”

“Oh, do you go on with your studies?  Perhaps I can help you better than Anna Belle.”

“Would you cousin Eloise?” Jewel flushed with pleasure.  “Some of the words are so long.  I thought I’d ask grandpa to-night.”

“Why didn’t you wish to come to me?” questioned Eloise, well knowing why.

The little girl looked a trifle embarrassed.  “I didn’t want to trouble you.  Of course you aren’t my real relations,” she said modestly.

“Do you remember that, too!” exclaimed Eloise.

Jewel started at the hurt voice.  “Would you like to be?” she asked earnestly.  “I wish you were, because”—­she hesitated and smiled with her head a little on the side, “because I might look more like you.”

The gravity of Eloise’s lips remained unbroken.  “I want you to promise me something, Jewel.  I want you to promise not to tell your grandfather that I have been with you to-day.”

“Why?  He’d be glad I was happy.”

“I have a reason.  I will help you with your studies every day if you won’t tell him.”

“I might without meaning to,” rejoined the child, her alert little mind busy with the new problem suddenly presented to it.

“I will make a rainbow scarf for Anna Belle if you will never speak of me to your grandfather.”

“Why do you say my grandfather?  He’s yours, too.”

“Not at all.  Didn’t you just say I was not your real relation?”

“Oh but, cousin Eloise,” Jewel was sure of the hurt now, though the why or wherefore was a mystery, “of course he wishes you were.”