“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 snatched 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.”