"But it was Royal's present, whatever relation he got to paint the eggs for him, for it was only Royal who knew about our eggs; and this is the way we've paid him!" cried Marge, with a glance of indignant reproach at Elsie.
"I don't think he got anybody to do it for him; I—I think he did it himself," spoke up Jimmy.
"Royal Purcel! that—that farm-boy?" shrieked Elsie.
"Yes," answered Jimmy. "I thought so all the time, when you—when he was standing under—under your questioning fire." And Jimmy laughed.
"But how did he learn?" cried Elsie, in astonishment.
"I don't think the boy has had much instruction," said Jimmy. "I think he has great natural talent, and has had very little opportunity to study." Jimmy was now peering at the palm and tent egg, and, "See, here's the name again, in this thready grass," he said, "and he has probably marked all the eggs in this cunning way."
Jimmy was right. On the bird's wing, amid the lily leaves, and on the apple bough, they also found "R. Purcel" hidden deftly from casual observation.
Elsie was silent as, one after another, these discoveries were made. Finally she could contain herself no longer, and burst out,—
"To think of his painting all these beautiful things and giving them to us,—to me, when I've been such a horrid little cat to him! Oh, papa, I must do something,—I just must!"
"Well, I should think it would become you to say you are sorry and to thank him," said Mr. Lloyd, smiling.