The soft frank voice, the earnest little face, moved Zeke to cast a glance at his mother's swollen eyes. They were bent upon Jewel. “Do you say your father was cured that way, child?” asked Mrs. Forbes. “Yes. Oh yes! and he's so happy!” “Zeke, let's all be thankful if there's _anything_,” said the woman tremulously, turning to him appealingly. “I'd just as soon have a visit from you every day, little kid,” said the young fellow. “You're a corker.” “But you must want more than me,” returned the child. “God and healing and purity and goodness! If you're in earnest, what are you going to do with that?” She touched the black bottle with the toe of her shoe. Zeke looked at the whiskey, then back into her eyes. They were full of love and faith for him. He stooped and picked up the bottle, then striding to a window, he flung it out toward the forest trees with all the force of his strong arm. “Damn the stuff!” he said. Mrs. Forbes felt herself tremble from head to foot. She bit her lip. Her son turned back. “Getting near train time,” he added, not looking at his companions. “Guess I'll go upstairs.” When he had disappeared his mother stooped slowly and kissed Jewel. “Forgive me,” she said tremulously. “What for?” asked the child. “Everything.” The housekeeper still stood in the harness room after Jewel had gone away. She bowed her head on her folded hands. “Our Father who art in heaven, forgive me,” she prayed. “Forgive me for being a fool. Forgive me for not recognizing Thine angel whom Thou hast sent. Amen.” CHAPTER XXIII MRS. EVRINGHAM'S CALLER Mrs. Evringham was busily chewing the cud of sweet fancies only, that afternoon. Following the equestrians in their leafy woodland path, she pictured them as talking of their future, and herself built many castles in the air. “Ah,” she thought sentimentally, leaning back in her reclining chair, “how charming is youth--with plenty of money!” She was roused from these luxurious meditations by the appearance of Sarah, bearing a card on a salver. “A man!” she exclaimed with annoyance. “I'm not dressed.” Lifting the card, she read it with a start. “Mr. Nathan Wycliffe Bonnell.” “Tell him I'll be down soon,” was all she said; but her thoughts ran swiftly as she hurriedly slipped into her gown. “How in the world comes the boy out here? Just as well that Eloise is away. It would only be painful to her, all the old associations.” But old associations cropped up more and more enticingly for Mrs. Evringham as she made her swift toilet, and by the time she reached the drawing-room her eagerness lent her cordiality a very genuine tone. “Nat, dear boy, how are you?” The young man who rose eagerly to meet her would have been noticeable in any crowd. She gazed up into his smooth-shaven, frank face, with its alert eyes and strong chin, and felt a yearning affection for all which he represented to her. “What are you doing out here?”