“Oh! oh! oh! it’s fallen on the painted eggs!” cried Marge, “and,” running forward, “it has spoiled the lovely cherub head; see, the shell is all cracked to pieces!”

“You horrid, wicked boys!” cried Elsie, in the next breath.

But Royal heard nothing of these comments.  The moment he saw that Bert’s recklessness had injured no one, he had turned away with him, and was now driving out of the yard, scolding the youngster roundly for his action, and not a little subdued himself at what might have been the result of it.

“Papa, I think they ought to be punished, and the big boy made to tell,” exclaimed Elsie, when she found the two were out of her reach.

“What did you say was the name of the boys?” asked Jimmy Barrows, who had taken up the cross and vine egg, and was peering at it very closely.

“Purcel.”

“Well, just look at this;” and with the tip-end of a tiny knife-blade Jimmy pointed out something in the delicate vined tendrils that had hitherto escaped notice.  It was the name “R.  Purcel,” cunningly inwound in the tendrils.  Every one crowded up to inspect this discovery.

“It must be some relation of the boy’s, and that is why he felt he had a right to keep it secret,” said Mr. Lloyd.

“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.

“But, papa, I want to take the pony-carriage and go after him, and ask him to come back to the egg-rolling; and if Jimmy Barrows will go with me—­”