"You pretty nearly didn't come," she said, "and just think, if you
hadn't I was going to England. Father said so."

At the sweet inflections of the child's voice Mr. Evringham's brows
contracted with remembrance of his wrongs. "I should have come. Your
father might have known that!"

"I suppose he wouldn't have liked to leave me sitting on the dock alone,
but I should have known you'd come. The funny part is I shouldn't have
known _you_." Jewel laughed. "I should have kept looking for an old
man with white hair and a cane like Grandpa Morris. He's a grandpa in
Chicago that I know. He's just as kind as he can be, but he has the
_queerest_ back. He goes to our church, but says he came in at the
eleventh hour. I think he used to have rheumatism. And while I was
sitting there you could have walked right by me."

"Humph!"

"But then you'd have known _me_," went on Jewel, straightening Anna
Belle's hat, "so it would have been all right. You'd have known there
would be only one little girl waiting there, and you would have said,
'Oh, here you are, Jewel. I've come. I'm your grandpa.'" The child
unconsciously mimicked the short, brusque speech.

Mr. Evringham regarded her rather darkly. "Eh? I hope you're not
impudent?"

"What's that?" asked Jewel doubtfully.