wonderingly.

"We'll open it and see," cried Elsie. And suiting her action to her
word, she cut the string and lifted the cover; and there she saw six
eggs undyed, but each painted delicately with a different design. On one
was a cross with a tiny vine running from the base; on another a bunch
of lilies of the valley; and another showed a little bough of apple
blossoms. On the remaining three the subjects were strangely unusual,--a
palm and tent, with a patch of sky; a bird with outstretched wings,
soaring upward with open beak, as if singing in its flight; a cherub
head with a soft halo about it.

"Oh! oh! oh!" exclaimed the girls, in a chorus; and, "Who _could_ have
painted them?" wondered Marge; and, "Who _could_ have sent them?" cried
Elsie.

In vain they hunted for card or sign of the donor. They could find
nothing to give them the slightest clew.

"Perhaps, papa, it is Mr. Archer," said Marge at last, turning to her
father. Mr. Archer was an artist friend.

"Oh, no, this isn't Archer's work; it's a novice's work, though very
promising," her father replied.

"Cousin Tom's, then?"

"And too strong for Tom."

"Then it must be Jimmy Barrows."

"Well, it may be Jimmy. We shall know when he comes with Tom on Monday.
It's bold enough for Jimmy, but I didn't think he had so much fancy."

And finally it was settled that it could be no other than Jimmy Barrows.
Jimmy was a great friend of their cousin Tom; but while Tom was only an
amateur artist, Jimmy was studying to be a professional one.

"It's such fun to have Jimmy do these, and send them without a word,"
said Elsie to her sister.

"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