"Perhaps, papa, it is Mr. Archer," said Marge at last, turning to her father. Mr. Archer was an artist friend.

"Oh, no, this isn't Archer's work; it's a novice's work, though very promising," her father replied.

"Cousin Tom's, then?"

"And too strong for Tom."

"Then it must be Jimmy Barrows."

"Well, it may be Jimmy. We shall know when he comes with Tom on Monday.

It's bold enough for Jimmy, but I didn't think he had so much fancy."

And finally it was settled that it could be no other than Jimmy Barrows.

Jimmy was a great friend of their cousin Tom; but while Tom was only an amateur artist, Jimmy was studying to be a professional one.

"It's such fun to have Jimmy do these, and send them without a word,"

said Elsie to her sister.

"Such a generous thing to do, too! I wonder if he would like some of _our_ eggs as specimens? We might give him one of each kind."

"Oh, Marge, don't think of offering him those calico-colored things,--anybody who can paint like this!"

"Very well; but, Elsie, which one are you going to give to Royal Purcel?"

"To Royal Purcel?"

"Yes; don't you remember you told Rhoda you were going to give him one for being so accommodating?"

"Oh, I'd forgotten. Well, here, I'll give him this,--it's the very thing;" and Elsie s.n.a.t.c.hed up a bright purple one.

"Oh, Elsie, don't!"

But Elsie fairly danced with glee as she cried, "I will, I will; it's the very thing,--royal purple to Royal Purple!"

The young visitors, when all this was explained to them, joined in the merriment; but Marge--kind, tender little Marge--hid away one of the blue and white lily eggs, to get the advantage of Elsie's mischief by bestowing _that_ upon Royal.

But Royal was quite out of Elsie's thoughts by Monday morning. It was a beautiful morning; and by nine o'clock, when Tom and Jimmy Barrows arrived, the lawn and sloping knoll at the east of it were bright and dry with sunshine. On the piazza the various baskets of eggs were standing; only "Jimmy Barrows's gift" had been set aside as "too good to use."

"My! haven't you got a lot, though?" cried Tom, as he surveyed them.

"But what are these in the box here?"

"Yes, what are they?" sparkled Elsie. "Ask Jimmy Barrows."

Jimmy, with a wondering expression on his face at this remark, came over and looked down at the treasured eggs. "Who did these?" he asked quickly.

"'Who did these?'" mimicked Elsie. "Oh, you needn't try that. We found you out at once, or _I_ did."

"You think I painted 'em--I sent 'em?" queried Jimmy.

"Of course I do. Now, Master Jimmy--"

"Miss Elsie, just as true as I'm standing here, I never saw them before."

Elsie shook her head at him, but Jimmy did not see her. He was lifting the eggs and examining them.

"No, honest, I didn't paint 'em, Miss Elsie. I wish I had; but I can't do things like that--yet. I can draw as well, am a better draughtsman, maybe, but I haven't got the ideas. The fellow who did these has got a lot of original ideas."

Mr. Lloyd came forward here with great interest. "Did any of you,"

turning to Elsie and Marge, "ask who brought the box?"

"Yes," answered Elsie. "I asked Ann, and she said 'a bit of a boy brought 'em;' she didn't know who he was."

"Ask Rhoda to come here. She knows the neighborhood."

Rhoda came, and Mr. Lloyd put the matter before her. Had she any idea who the "bit of a boy" was?

"I didn't see him, but it might be Bert Purcel," answered Rhoda. "Folks get him to do errands sometimes. He's just drove up with his brother to bring the chickens. I'll send him 'round, and you can ask him."

"Did you leave a box here Sat.u.r.day night?" Mr. Lloyd inquired pleasantly, when the boy stood before him.

The red lips began to frame a "No," then closed tightly together, while the slim little figure whirled about and made an attempt to leap over the piazza railing,--an attempt that would have been successful if one foot had not caught in a stout vine.

Royal, waiting in the wagon at the back porch, heard a sudden cry, and hurried to see what had happened. He found Bert scrambling to his feet, brisk and angry. The child made a dash towards his brother, and seized his hand.

"What's the matter?" asked Royal. No answer, but a renewed tug at his hand to draw him away.

"The little fellow tried to jump the piazza railing and fell," explained Mr. Lloyd, laughingly.

"Papa just asked him a question,--if he brought us a box Sat.u.r.day night; and as he didn't want to answer, he ran," spoke up Elsie.

"I didn't, I jumped!" cried the child.

Everybody laughed.

"Can't _you_ tell us?" asked Marge, looking at Royal. "_Did_ your brother bring it?"

"Yes," answered Royal, flushing up.

"And who sent it?" asked Elsie, impatiently. She waited a moment for an answer. As none came, she asked still more impatiently, "Do you _know_ the person who sent it?"

"Yes," in a hesitating voice.

"Did the person tell you not to tell?"

"No," in the same hesitating voice.

"Then why in the world _don't_ you tell? You've no right to keep it back like this. It is our affair, not yours, and so it is our right to know who it is. Don't you understand that we don't want people to send us things--presents--and not know anything about who it is?"

Royal looked startled, and the flush on his face deepened. Elsie thought she had conquered him, and chirped out an encouraging, "Come, now, who was it?" But to her surprise the boy flung up his head with an angry movement, and with a defiant glance at her said stubbornly,--