To her great satisfaction, her beautiful visitor condescended to take the chair Anna Belle had vacated, and held out her white, ringless hands for the doll. “How neatly her clothes are made,” said the girl, examining Anna Belle's garments. “Yes, my mother made her all new ones when she knew she was going to Europe, so that she would be neat and not mortify me. Would you like to see her clothes?” eagerly. “Yes, I should.” Jewel brought them, her quick little fingers turning them back and forth, exhibiting the tiny buttonholes and buttons, and chattering explanations of their good points. “It was a great deal for your mother to do all this, when she is such a busy woman,” said Eloise. “Yes, she did it evenings, and then surprised me just when we were coming away. Wasn't it lovely?” “Very.” “I love prettiness,” said the child. As she spoke she regarded the grave face beside her. “When I first noticed that my nose wasn't nice, and neither were my eyes, I almost cried.” Eloise looked up at her, at a loss for a reply. “But then I remembered that of course God never made anything that wasn't perfectly beautiful, so I knew that it would come right some time, and I asked mother when she thought it would.” “What did she say?” returned Eloise, wondering at this original optimism. “She said we could never tell how soon anything would come right to our sense, but so long as we knew that Creation was perfect and beautiful, we could be patient about everything--big things and little things; and then I remember how she talked to me about being careful never to pity myself.” Jewel gave her head a little serious shake. “You know it's very bad error to pity yourself, no matter what kind of a nose you have.” 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.”