the rail far above, never taking her eyes from the little figure in the
blue sailor suit.

The child noted her father's set lips and the concentrated expression of
his eyes.

"If grandpa doesn't come what shall I do?" she asked without anxiety.

"You'll go to England," was the prompt response.

"Without my trunk!" returned the child in protest.

Her father looked again at the watch he held in his hand. The order to
go ashore was sending all visitors down the gang plank. "By George, I
guess you're going, too," he muttered between his teeth, when suddenly
his father's tall form came striding through the crowd. Mr. Evringham
was carrying a long pasteboard box, and seemed breathless.

"Horse fell down. Devil of a time! Roses for your wife."

Harry grasped the box, touched his father's hand, kissed the child, and
strode up the plank amid the frowns of officials.

Jewel's eager eyes followed him, then, as he disappeared, lifted again
to her mother, who smiled and waved her hand to Mr. Evringham. The
latter raised his hat and took the occasion to wipe his heated brow.
He was irritated through and through. The morning had been a chapter of
accidents. Even the roses, which he had ordered the night before, had
proved to be the wrong sort.