“Yes,” replied the child, her breath catching as she went back to her chair. “I seemed so sick when he went away this morning was the reason; so now I'm well again--they belong to everybody, don't they, grandpa?” Mr. Evringham paused to consider a reply. He desired to be careful in public not to draw upon himself that small catapult. “They belong to you still, Jewel. I never take back my presents,” he returned at last. “And I think Mrs. Forbes was mistaken about the false pretends,” said the child, swallowing and looking apologetically at the housekeeper, “because who would pretend such error as sickness, and of course you'd know I didn't pretend.” “Certainly not,” said Mr. Evringham. “Mrs. Forbes didn't mean that. The whole thing seems like a dream now,” he added. “What else could it seem like?” returned Jewel, smiling faintly toward her grandfather with an air of having caught him napping. “Like reality,” he returned dryly. She gazed at him, her smile fading. He looked up apprehensively and cringed a little, not at all sure that the next instant would not find the rose-leaf cheek next his, and a close whisper driving cold chills down his back; but the child only paused a moment. “Reality is so much different from sin, disease, and death,” she said at last, in a matter-of-fact manner. It was too much for Mrs. Evringham's risibles. She laughed in spite of her daughter's reproachful glance. “How wonderful if true!” she exclaimed. “It is true,” returned Jewel soberly. “Even Anna Belle knows that; but I'm sure that you haven't learned anything about Christian Science, aunt Madge,” she added politely. “What makes you so sure?” returned Mrs. Evringham banteringly. Jewel flushed with embarrassment and glanced at her grandfather involuntarily, but he was busy eating and evidently would not help her. “I'd rather not say,” replied the child at last, and her rejoinder incited her aunt to further merriment. “Aunt Madge doesn't laugh in a nice way,” thought Jewel. “It's even pleasanter when she looks sorry.” “What is real then, Jewel?” asked Eloise gravely. The child flashed upon her a sweet look. “Everything good and glad,” she answered. Something rose in the girl's throat, and she pressed her lips together for an instant. “You are happy to believe that,” she returned. “Oh, I don't believe it,” replied Jewel. “It's one of the things I _know_. Mother says we only believe things when we aren't sure about them. Mother knows such a lot of beautiful truth.” The child looked at her cousin wistfully as she spoke. Eloise could scarcely retain her proud and nonchalant bearing beneath the blue eyes. They seemed to see through to her wretchedness. She did not look at Jewel again during dinner. At the close Mr. Evringham pushed his chair back. “I should like you to come with me into my study, Jewel, for a few minutes.”