“I knew you could do just _anything_, grandpa!” she said. “You see,” looking off at a mental vision of the housekeeper, “we could come in here every morning for a minute before breakfast, and she'd never know, would she?” The child lifted her shoulders and laughed softly with pleasure at the plot. Mr. Evringham saw his opportunity to take the floor. “Now Jewel, I would like to have you explain what you meant by saying that you telegraphed to Chicago to-day, when you didn't leave your bed.” She looked up at him attentively. “Ezekiel took it for me,” she replied. Mr. Evringham unconsciously heaved a sigh of relief at this commonplace information. His knowledge of the claims of Christian Science was extremely vague, and he had feared being obliged to listen to a declaration of the use of some means of communication which would make Marconi's discoveries appear like clumsy makeshifts. “But I think, grandpa, perhaps you'd better not tell Mrs. Forbes.” “How did you manage to see Zeke?” “I asked his mother if he might come to see me before he took you to the train.” Mr. Evringham pulled his mustache in amusement. “Did he pay for the telegram?” “Why no, grandpa. I told you I had plenty of money.” “And you think that Mrs. Somebody in Chicago cured you?” “Of course not. God did.” “But she asked Him, eh?” Jewel's innocent eyes looked directly into the quizzical ones. “It's pretty hard for a little girl to teach you about it if you don't know,” she said doubtfully. “I _don't_ know,” he replied, his mood altered by her tone, “but I should like to know what you think about it. Your cure was a rather surprising one to us all.” “I can tell you some of the things I know.” “Do so then.” “Well”--a pause--“there wasn't anything to cure, you see.” “Ah! You weren't ill then!” “No--o,” scornfully, “of course not. I knew it all the time, but it seemed so real to me, and so hot, I knew I'd have to have some one else handle the claim for me.” “It certainly did seem rather real.” Mr. Evringham smiled. Jewel saw that he did not in the least comprehend. “You know there isn't any devil, don't you, grandpa?” she asked patiently. “Well, sometimes I have my doubts.” The little girl tried to discover by his eyes if he were in earnest. “If you believe there is, then you could believe that I was really sick; but if you believe there isn't, and that God created everybody and everything, then it is so easy to understand that I wasn't. Think of God creating anything bad!” Mr. Evringham nodded vaguely. “When mother comes home she'll tell you about it, if you want her to.” She sighed a little and abruptly changed the subject. “Grandpa, are you going to be working at your desk?” “Yes, for a while.” “Could I sit over at that table and write a letter while you're busy? I wouldn't speak.” She slipped down from his knee. “I don't know about your having ink. You're a rather small girl to be writing letters.”