“I swan, it’s true as the Gospel—every word on’t! Now, what smart young man writ that pretty verse, honey?”
“Who writ it, indeed?” echoed Miss Ruttencutter, with open scorn and secret envy.
But Eva could only blush up to the edge of her curly hair and falter:
“I—I—don’t know!”
They could not believe her; they plied her with curious questions until, in self-defense, to get rid of their importunities, she confessed all she knew.
“I found the verses on my window sill one morning in September—and afterward others just as pretty. And sometimes flowers, and now and then boxes of candy—real chocolates!”
“Chocolates—oh!” breathed Lydia, with upturned eyes of ecstasy.
“And you have devoured all the heavenly things by yourself, greedy little pig!” groaned Patty, jumping down from the table in disgust.
“Oh, no; I’ll give you all some if you like,” cried Eva, running upstairs, followed by gran’ther’s entreaty:
“Bring some more of that spark’s pretty rhymes!”