“Daddy!” cried Jane, springing up, “is it about _Paul_?”
Mrs. Lambert looked at her with a little frown and a shake of the head, but Jane did not see these warning signs.
“Why, yes,” said Mr. Lambert, smoothing his beard. “The boy, it seems won a third prize in that competition. I found the letter in the mail that was left at my office—”
“Daddy!” shrieked Jane. “Oh, let me see! It isn’t—it can’t be true—”
“Don’t yell like that, Jane!” admonished Carl.
“I will—I _must_ yell! Oh, mother, darling, isn’t it—”
“Sh, Janey! Of course it is wonderful news—”
“But Paul doesn’t know anything about it. Oh, Daddy, where is he? Why he—” “_I_ don’t see how it could be—since his picture was burnt up,” observed Carl. This fact had so far not occurred to anyone.
“That’s true!” exclaimed Mr. Lambert. “Do you imagine that there is a mistake after all?” And his face fell slightly. He was inordinately proud of the honor that had redounded to the family from his discredited nephew’s achievement.
“No, _no_! There’s no mistake!” cried Jane. “It wasn’t the burnt picture—it was the other one—the one he did on top of the flour barrel. Don’t you remember, Mummy?”
“Why, because I sent it off. After Paul had gone—and he doesn’t know _anything_!”
“Well, well—the boy must learn of this, somehow,” said Mr. Lambert. “It was absurd of him to fly off in a temper as he did—but that’s the way of young people. Gertrude, my dear, I think it would be quite proper to have a notice of this inserted in the _Frederickstown Star_. In fact, I dropped by on my way home this evening, and told Jim Braintree about it, and he’s putting it in on the front page to-morrow. ‘Well,’ he said to me, ‘I certainly must congratulate you, Peter Lambert.’ The prize by the way was seventy-five dollars. Not bad for a youngster—by Jove! Frederickstown will have reason to boast of this family for a good many years to come, _I’m_ thinking!” And the worthy old man swelled almost visibly with pride, as if in some way he was entirely responsible for the new honor that had been bestowed upon his house.
In fact, not even Jane herself was more delighted than her father who less than a year before had angrily consigned the prize-winning picture to dust and oblivion behind his desk.