“In the orchard? It belongs most likely to one of the men. His dinner, I should say, but what an odd place to hide it! So dirty!” She gave a dainty little shake of distaste. “I should put it away, dear, really! It is covered with dust.”
“It’s a very lumpy dinner,” said Darsie, patting the surface of the bundle with curious fingers. “I thought perhaps it was a treasure done up in a different way from the others. It’s heavy, too, far heavier than bread and cheese. I can open it, can’t I? Just to make sure!”
“Oh, certainly, if you like—” assented Mrs
Percival dubiously, and Darsie waited for no further permission, but promptly knelt down on the grass and set to work to untie the knotted ends of the checked handkerchief. The surrounding guests gathered around in a laughing circle, being in the gay and gratified frame of mind when any distraction is met halfway, and ensured of a favourable reception. What was this pretty girl about? What joke was hidden away in this commonplace-looking bundle?
The knot was strongly tied, but Darsie’s fingers were strong also and in a minute’s time it was undone, and the corners of the handkerchief dropped on the grass to reveal an inner bag of thick grey linen tied again round the mouth.
“It is lumpy!” repeated Darsie again; then with a tug the string came loose, and lifting the bag in her hands, she rained its contents over the grass.
Was it a dream? Was it some fantasy of imagination—some wonderful effect of sunshine shining upon hundreds and hundreds of dewdrops, and turning them into scintillating balls of light, catching reflections from the flowers in yonder beds, and sending dancing rays of red, blue, and green across the grass? Red and blue and green the rainbow drops gleamed upon the ground, vivid and clear as the loveliest among the blossoms, but possessed of a radiance which no earth flower had inherited before.
Darsie sat back on her heels, her arms, falling slack by her sides, her wide eyes fixed on the ground in a surprise too complete for speech. Nobody spoke; the stupor in her own brain must surely have communicated itself to the guests crowding around, for while one might have counted fifty there was blank, utter silence upon the lawn. Then suddenly came a dramatic interruption; a cry, almost a scream, in a high, feminine voice, and a tall, fashionably dressed woman grasped wildly at a dangling chain of stones.