"Why, Aunt Jane, to be sure," declared Patsy.
The boy scowled, and shook his head.
"She wouldn't do anything to please me, even to save her life," he
growled. "She hates me, I know that well enough."
"Oh, no; I'm sure she doesn't," said Patsy. "Aunt Jane has a heap
of good in her; but you've got to dig for it, like you do for gold.
'Twould be just like her to make you this present and keep it a
secret."
"If she really did it," replied the boy, slowly, "and it seems as if
she is the only one. I know who could afford such a gift, it stands to
reason that either Uncle John or Mr. Watson asked her to, and she did
it to please them. I've lived here for years, and she has never spoken
a kindly word to me or done me a kindly act. It isn't likely she'd
begin now, is it?"
Unable to make a reassuring reply, Patsy remained silent, and the boy
went on with his work. He first outlined the picture in pencil, and
then filled it in with water color. They all expressed admiration for
the drawing; but the color effect was so horrible that even Patsy
found no words to praise it, and the boy in a fit of sudden anger tore
the thing to shreds and so destroyed it.
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