Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.First Impressions.Pixie’s first week at school was a period of delirious excitement. Above all things in the world she loved to be of importance, and occupy a foremost place with those around her, and she was proudly conscious that her name was on every lip, her doings the subject of universal attention. New girls were wont to be subdued and bashful in their demeanour, and poor unfortunates who arrived after the beginning of the term to find other pupils settled down into regular work, were apt to feel doubly alone. By this time those arrangements are determined which are of such amazing importance to the schoolgirl’s heart—Clara has sworn deathless friendship with Ethel; Mary, Winifred, and Elsie have formed a “triple alliance,” each solemnly vowing to tell the other her inmost secrets, and consult her in all matters of difficulty. Rosalind and Bertha have agreed to form a pair in the daily crocodile, and Grace has sent Florence to Coventry because she has dared to sharpen pencils for Lottie, the school pet, when she knew perfectly well that it was Grace’s special privilege, and she is a nasty, interfering thing, anyhow, and ought to be snubbed! What chance has a poor late-comer against such syndicates as these? There is nothing for her but to take a back place, and wait patiently for a chance at the beginning of another term.Pixie O’Shaughnessy, however, has never taken a back place in her life, and has no intention of beginning now. On her very first evening the two head girls entered the school parlour to find a small, ugly girl seated in the middle of the hearth rug on the most comfortable chair which the room afforded, and were invited in the most genial manner to, “Shtep forward and take a seat!”“It’s rhemarkably cold for the time of year!” remarked the small person, making no sign of giving up her seat, but waving blandly towards the cane chairs by the wall. “I’m the new girl, I come from Ireland. Me father brought me. I’m the youngest of six, and I’ve come to school to correct me brogue, and be polished up. As soon as I’ve finished I shall go back to me home!”The head girl came over to the fireplace, and stared downwards with wide grey eyes. She looked almost grown-up, for her hair was twisted round and round like a lady’s, and her dress reached to her ankles.“That’s very interesting!” she said slowly. “I am glad you have made yourself comfortable, for from what you say I expect we shall have you with us for quite a long time. Can’t you tell us some more family details while you are about it?”“I can so!” said Pixie with emphasis, and sitting erect in her seat she folded her hands in her lap, and began to talk. The room was filling by this time, for the quarter of an hour before tea was a cosy holiday-time, when the girls could talk without restraint, and compare notes on the work of the day. One by one they approached the fireside, until Pixie’s chair was surrounded by a compact wall of laughing young faces, and thirty pairs of eyes stared at her from head to foot, back again from foot to head. Her black skirt was so short that it was like a flounce, and nothing more; from chest to back there was no more width than could be covered by the scraggy little arm, the feet dangled half-way to the floor, and the hands waved about, emphasising every sentence with impassioned gestures.At the end of ten minutes what the pupils of Holly House did not know about the O’Shaughnessy family may be safely described as not worth knowing! They had been treated to graphic descriptions of all its members, with illustrative anecdotes setting them forth in their best and worst lights; they had heard of the ancient splendours of the Castle, and the past glories of the family, and—for Pixie was gifted with a most engaging honesty—they had also heard of the present straitness of means, the ingenious contrivances by which the family needs were supplied, and even of one tragic episode when the butcher refused to supply any more meat, just when one of the county magnates was expected to dinner! It had been a ghastly occasion, but Bridgie went and “spoke soft to him,” and he was a decent man, and he said it wasn’t for “all the mutton in the world,” he said, that he would see her shamed before the quality, so all ended as happily as could be desired!“I wouldn’t tell stories like that if I were you, Pixie,” said the head girl gravely, at the end of this recital. She had not laughed as the others had done, but looked at the little chatterbox with a grave, steady glance. Margaret had gained for herself the title of “School-Mother”, by thinking of something better than the amusement of the moment, and being brave enough to speak a word of warning when she saw a girl setting out on a path which was likely to bring her into trouble. “I wouldn’t tell stories like that!” she repeated, and when the swift “Why not?” came back, she was ready with her reply. “Because I am sure your people would not like it. It is all right for you to tell us about your brothers and sisters, and it was very interesting. I wish Bridgie and Esmeralda had come to school with you; but we don’t tell stories of our home doings of which we are,”—she was about to say “ashamed,” but the child’s innocent eyes restrained her—“about which we are sorry! We keep those to ourselves.”“But—but we got the mutton! He gave us the mutton!” cried Pixie, agape with wonder. It seemed to her an interesting and highly creditable history, seeing that Bridgie had had the better of the butcher, and maintained the family credit in the eyes of the neighbourhood. She could not understand Margaret’s gravity, and the half-amused, half-pitiful glances of the older pupils.The girl standing nearest to her put an arm round her neck, and said, “Poor little girlie!” in such a soft, tender voice that her tears overflowed at the moment, and she returned the embrace with startling fervour. Pixie’s emotions were all on the surface, and she could cry at one moment and laugh at the next, with more ease than an ordinary person could smile or sigh. When the gong sounded for tea, she went downstairs with her arms twined fondly round the waists of two new friends, and there was quite a quarrel among the girls as to who should sit beside her.Miss Phipps was at one end of the table, and Mademoiselle, the resident French teacher, at the other, and between them stretched a long white space flanked by plates of bread-and-butter, and in the centre some currant scones, and dishes of jam. These latter dainties were intended to supply a second course when appetite had been appeased by plainer fare, but the moment that grace was said the new-comer helped herself to the largest scone she could find, half covered her plate with jam, and fell to work with unrestrained relish, while thirty pairs of eyes watched with fascinated horror. She thought that everyone seemed uncommonly quiet and solemn, and was casting about in her mind for a pleasant means of opening the conversation, when a sound broke on her ears which recalled one of Pat’s prophecies with unpleasant distinctness. Mademoiselle was talking in her native tongue, and it was not in the least like the French which she had been accustomed to hear in the schoolroom at Bally William. The agonising presentiment that her ignorance was about to be discovered before her schoolmates reduced Pixie at one blow to a condition of abject despair. She hung her head over her plate, and strove to avoid attention by keeping as quiet as possible.“They speak too quick. It’s rude to gabble!” she told herself resentfully. “And I know some French meself. ‘J’ai, tu as, il a, nous sommes, vous êtes, ils sont.’ Listen at that, now!” She felt a momentary thrill of triumph in her achievement, but it quickly faded away, as further efforts showed how scanty was the knowledge upon which she could draw. “Je suis faim” was the only phrase which occurred at the moment, and appropriately enough too! She stretched out her hand to take a second scone, but was immediately called to order by Miss Phipps’s soft voice.“Bread-and-butter this time, Pixie! You are not supposed to take scones until you have had at least three pieces of bread. You must do as the other girls do, you know, dear!”“Oi like a relish to my tay!” sighed Pixie sadly, and five separate girls who happened to have their cups to their mouths at the moment, choked immediately, and had to be patted on the backs by their companions. All the girls were laughing; even the victims smiled amidst their struggles, and Mademoiselle’s brown eyes were sparkling with amusement. There was not one of them half so beautiful as Esmeralda, nor so sweet as Bridgie, but they were good to look at all the same, reflected the new pupil critically. Right opposite sat her three room-mates—Flora, plump and beaming; Kate, sallow and spectacled; Ethel, the curious, with a mane of reddish brown hair, which she kept tossing from side to side with a self-conscious, consequential air. Margaret sat by Miss Phipps’s side, and helped her by putting sugar and milk into the cups. Glance where she would, she met bright, kindly smiles, and her friend on either side looked after her wants in the kindest of manners. Pixie did not know their names, so she addressed them indiscriminately as “darlin’,” and was prepared to vow eternal friendship without waiting to be introduced.“Do you always speak French at meals?” she asked under cover of the general conversation a few minutes later, and the reply was even worse than her fears.“We are supposed to speak it always, except in the quarter of an hour before tea, and on Sundays, and holidays. But of course, if you do not know a word you can ask Mademoiselle, or look it up in a dictionary, and the new girls get into it gradually. Miss Phipps is a darling; she can’t bear to see a girl unhappy, and of course it is difficult to get into school ways when you have been taught at home. I have been here for two years, and am as happy as possible, though I cried myself sick the first week. If you do what you are told and work hard, you will have a very good time at Holly House.”Pixie looked dubious.“But aren’t you ever naughty?” she asked anxiously. “Not really bad, you know, but just mischeevious! Don’t you ever play tricks, or have pillow fights, or secret suppers up in your room, or dress up as bogeys to frighten the others?”“Certainly not!” Eleanor Hopton was a proper and dignified young lady, and the straightness of her back was quite alarming as she frowned dissent at the new-comer. “Frighten people, indeed! Do you not call that naughty? It’s a wicked and dangerous thing to do, and you would be punished severely if you attempted it. I have read of people who died of fright. How would you feel if you played bogey, as you call it, to startle one of the girls, and she had a weak heart and died before your eyes? You would feel pretty miserable then, I should say.”“I would so! I’d get the fright myself that time. But suppers, now,—suppers don’t hurt anyone!” urged Pixie, pushing aside one objectionable proposition and bringing forward the next with unconscious generalship. “Don’t you ever smuggle things upstairs—sausages and cakes, and sardines and cream—and wake up early in the morning—early—early, before it is light—and eat them together, and pretend you are ladies and gentlemen, or shipwrecked mariners on desert islands, or wild Indians, or anything like that, and talk like they talk, and dance about the room?”“Cer-tain-ly not! The very idea!” cried Eleanor once more. “I never heard of anything so silly. Why on earth should one sit up shivering to eat things in the middle of the night, when one can have them comfortably downstairs at the right hour? I should not think of doing anything so foolish.”Pixie sighed heavily. This was England indeed! For the first time since entering the house she realised that she was a stranger in a strange land. Eleanor’s calm commonsense was so entirely foreign to her nature that she felt a distinct chilling of the new affection. The companion on her right looked more sympathetic, and she addressed her next remark in that direction.“We were for ever playing tricks on one another at home. Bridgie and Esmeralda sleep in the same bed, and one day Pat—that’s the second boy—the next but one to me—he went to Bridgie and he says, ‘I’ve played a fine joke on Esmeralda! Ask no questions, but just wait up until she gets into bed to-night, and you’ll have the best laugh you’ve had this side Christmas.’ Then off he goes to Esmeralda, and ‘Keep a secret!’ says he. ‘Let Bridget be the first to get into bed to-night. Make an excuse and sit up yourself to see the fun, for she’ll have a fine surprise when she lies down.’ The girls guessed that they had been taking the laths off the bed, as they had done once or twice before, to let a visitor fall through on to the floor, and it was a very cold night, and they were tired, for they had been working hard mending the staircase carpet; and says Bridgie to Esmeralda, ‘Just hurry up, can’t you! I never did see such a girl for dawdling. Get into bed,’ she says, ‘and don’t sit up all night.’ ‘Oh,’ says Esmeralda, smiling, ‘I’ve a fancy to brush out me hair. Take no notice of me, but just lie down and turn your face to the wall, and I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.’ ‘I never can sleep with a light in the room,’ says Bridgie, quite testy... I was in my own bed in the dressing-room, so I heard what they said, and was stuffing the bedclothes into my mouth not to laugh out and spoil the fun. ‘If you are going to make a night of it, I’ll sit down and read, and you can let me know when you are ready.’ ‘You will catch cold sitting in that draught!’ Esmeralda says, her own teeth chattering, for it was mortal cold, and there was a hole in the window above her head, where Pat had thrown up a stone when he wanted to wake her one morning, and couldn’t spare time to walk upstairs. ‘And you know, Bridget, you are always delicate on the chest.’ ‘It’ll be on your head, then,’ says Bridgie, ‘if Iammade ill, keeping me up when I’m longing for my bed! Come, dear,’ wheedling her to see if she could get round that way, ‘leave it alone now, and I’ll brush it for you in the morning. It is beautiful hair, and Mrs Gallagher the laundress was saying to me this morning there wasn’t its match in the country.’ And Esmeralda said afterwards that she was too cold for compliments, so she up and said it was her own hair, and she’d brush it when she liked, and how she liked, without interference from anyone; and at that they grew mad, and began quarrelling with each other, and throwing up everything that ever they did since they were short-coated, and meself lying trembling on me bed, to think what would happen next. Joan—that’s Esmeralda—she would have sat up all night, she’s that obstinate, but Bridgie grew tired, and says she, ‘I’m not going to catch me death shivering here for all the jokes on earth, so here goes, and I don’t care what happens!’ and with that she throws herself down on the bed; and—would ye believe it?—nothing happened at all. The bed was as right as it had been all its life, and the boys had had their joke without any trouble.”Pixie finished in the midst of a dead silence, for one by one the speakers round the table had paused to listen to the soft Irish voice, and the story once begun had riveted attention. Some of the girls laughed outright, some held down their heads to conceal their smiles, some nudged their companions and looked demurely at Miss Phipps to take their cue from her face. She was undoubtedly smiling, but she looked worried all the same, and gave the signal for rising in a hurried manner, as if anxious to allow no time for comment. The girls rose and filed slowly past, Pixie skipping complacently in front, with her arm round another new friend, whom she was prepared to adore even more fondly than the last. Only Margaret remained behind to assist in putting the room in order, and when the door shut Miss Phipps looked at her under raised appealing brows.“I am afraid we have rather a difficult subject there, Margaret! Poor little thing! Her father says she has been allowed to run wild, and it will be difficult for her to get into school ways. She doesn’t mean to be forward, but of course we can’t allow her to go on like this. She must be taught wholesome respect and reticence, but I don’t want to be too hard upon her at first. She’s a lovable little creature, and I’ve no doubt will be a favourite with the girls. They like to be amused, and I fear they may encourage her for the sake of their own amusement. You must help me, dear, by setting a good example and checking her gently when she gets excited.”“I’ll try!” said Margaret, but she looked by no means hopeful of success. “I did try before tea. She was telling the most extraordinary tales about home, and I said it was not right to repeat such things, but she seemed quite puzzled. She doesn’t seem to have the same ideas that we have, or the same feelings about things.”Miss Phipps sighed, and shook her head.“She is a difficult subject,” she repeated anxiously; then her face lighted up suddenly and she began to laugh. “But you can’t help liking her!” she cried. “Funny little mite! I am growing quite fond of her already.”

Pixie’s first week at school was a period of delirious excitement. Above all things in the world she loved to be of importance, and occupy a foremost place with those around her, and she was proudly conscious that her name was on every lip, her doings the subject of universal attention. New girls were wont to be subdued and bashful in their demeanour, and poor unfortunates who arrived after the beginning of the term to find other pupils settled down into regular work, were apt to feel doubly alone. By this time those arrangements are determined which are of such amazing importance to the schoolgirl’s heart—Clara has sworn deathless friendship with Ethel; Mary, Winifred, and Elsie have formed a “triple alliance,” each solemnly vowing to tell the other her inmost secrets, and consult her in all matters of difficulty. Rosalind and Bertha have agreed to form a pair in the daily crocodile, and Grace has sent Florence to Coventry because she has dared to sharpen pencils for Lottie, the school pet, when she knew perfectly well that it was Grace’s special privilege, and she is a nasty, interfering thing, anyhow, and ought to be snubbed! What chance has a poor late-comer against such syndicates as these? There is nothing for her but to take a back place, and wait patiently for a chance at the beginning of another term.

Pixie O’Shaughnessy, however, has never taken a back place in her life, and has no intention of beginning now. On her very first evening the two head girls entered the school parlour to find a small, ugly girl seated in the middle of the hearth rug on the most comfortable chair which the room afforded, and were invited in the most genial manner to, “Shtep forward and take a seat!”

“It’s rhemarkably cold for the time of year!” remarked the small person, making no sign of giving up her seat, but waving blandly towards the cane chairs by the wall. “I’m the new girl, I come from Ireland. Me father brought me. I’m the youngest of six, and I’ve come to school to correct me brogue, and be polished up. As soon as I’ve finished I shall go back to me home!”

The head girl came over to the fireplace, and stared downwards with wide grey eyes. She looked almost grown-up, for her hair was twisted round and round like a lady’s, and her dress reached to her ankles.

“That’s very interesting!” she said slowly. “I am glad you have made yourself comfortable, for from what you say I expect we shall have you with us for quite a long time. Can’t you tell us some more family details while you are about it?”

“I can so!” said Pixie with emphasis, and sitting erect in her seat she folded her hands in her lap, and began to talk. The room was filling by this time, for the quarter of an hour before tea was a cosy holiday-time, when the girls could talk without restraint, and compare notes on the work of the day. One by one they approached the fireside, until Pixie’s chair was surrounded by a compact wall of laughing young faces, and thirty pairs of eyes stared at her from head to foot, back again from foot to head. Her black skirt was so short that it was like a flounce, and nothing more; from chest to back there was no more width than could be covered by the scraggy little arm, the feet dangled half-way to the floor, and the hands waved about, emphasising every sentence with impassioned gestures.

At the end of ten minutes what the pupils of Holly House did not know about the O’Shaughnessy family may be safely described as not worth knowing! They had been treated to graphic descriptions of all its members, with illustrative anecdotes setting them forth in their best and worst lights; they had heard of the ancient splendours of the Castle, and the past glories of the family, and—for Pixie was gifted with a most engaging honesty—they had also heard of the present straitness of means, the ingenious contrivances by which the family needs were supplied, and even of one tragic episode when the butcher refused to supply any more meat, just when one of the county magnates was expected to dinner! It had been a ghastly occasion, but Bridgie went and “spoke soft to him,” and he was a decent man, and he said it wasn’t for “all the mutton in the world,” he said, that he would see her shamed before the quality, so all ended as happily as could be desired!

“I wouldn’t tell stories like that if I were you, Pixie,” said the head girl gravely, at the end of this recital. She had not laughed as the others had done, but looked at the little chatterbox with a grave, steady glance. Margaret had gained for herself the title of “School-Mother”, by thinking of something better than the amusement of the moment, and being brave enough to speak a word of warning when she saw a girl setting out on a path which was likely to bring her into trouble. “I wouldn’t tell stories like that!” she repeated, and when the swift “Why not?” came back, she was ready with her reply. “Because I am sure your people would not like it. It is all right for you to tell us about your brothers and sisters, and it was very interesting. I wish Bridgie and Esmeralda had come to school with you; but we don’t tell stories of our home doings of which we are,”—she was about to say “ashamed,” but the child’s innocent eyes restrained her—“about which we are sorry! We keep those to ourselves.”

“But—but we got the mutton! He gave us the mutton!” cried Pixie, agape with wonder. It seemed to her an interesting and highly creditable history, seeing that Bridgie had had the better of the butcher, and maintained the family credit in the eyes of the neighbourhood. She could not understand Margaret’s gravity, and the half-amused, half-pitiful glances of the older pupils.

The girl standing nearest to her put an arm round her neck, and said, “Poor little girlie!” in such a soft, tender voice that her tears overflowed at the moment, and she returned the embrace with startling fervour. Pixie’s emotions were all on the surface, and she could cry at one moment and laugh at the next, with more ease than an ordinary person could smile or sigh. When the gong sounded for tea, she went downstairs with her arms twined fondly round the waists of two new friends, and there was quite a quarrel among the girls as to who should sit beside her.

Miss Phipps was at one end of the table, and Mademoiselle, the resident French teacher, at the other, and between them stretched a long white space flanked by plates of bread-and-butter, and in the centre some currant scones, and dishes of jam. These latter dainties were intended to supply a second course when appetite had been appeased by plainer fare, but the moment that grace was said the new-comer helped herself to the largest scone she could find, half covered her plate with jam, and fell to work with unrestrained relish, while thirty pairs of eyes watched with fascinated horror. She thought that everyone seemed uncommonly quiet and solemn, and was casting about in her mind for a pleasant means of opening the conversation, when a sound broke on her ears which recalled one of Pat’s prophecies with unpleasant distinctness. Mademoiselle was talking in her native tongue, and it was not in the least like the French which she had been accustomed to hear in the schoolroom at Bally William. The agonising presentiment that her ignorance was about to be discovered before her schoolmates reduced Pixie at one blow to a condition of abject despair. She hung her head over her plate, and strove to avoid attention by keeping as quiet as possible.

“They speak too quick. It’s rude to gabble!” she told herself resentfully. “And I know some French meself. ‘J’ai, tu as, il a, nous sommes, vous êtes, ils sont.’ Listen at that, now!” She felt a momentary thrill of triumph in her achievement, but it quickly faded away, as further efforts showed how scanty was the knowledge upon which she could draw. “Je suis faim” was the only phrase which occurred at the moment, and appropriately enough too! She stretched out her hand to take a second scone, but was immediately called to order by Miss Phipps’s soft voice.

“Bread-and-butter this time, Pixie! You are not supposed to take scones until you have had at least three pieces of bread. You must do as the other girls do, you know, dear!”

“Oi like a relish to my tay!” sighed Pixie sadly, and five separate girls who happened to have their cups to their mouths at the moment, choked immediately, and had to be patted on the backs by their companions. All the girls were laughing; even the victims smiled amidst their struggles, and Mademoiselle’s brown eyes were sparkling with amusement. There was not one of them half so beautiful as Esmeralda, nor so sweet as Bridgie, but they were good to look at all the same, reflected the new pupil critically. Right opposite sat her three room-mates—Flora, plump and beaming; Kate, sallow and spectacled; Ethel, the curious, with a mane of reddish brown hair, which she kept tossing from side to side with a self-conscious, consequential air. Margaret sat by Miss Phipps’s side, and helped her by putting sugar and milk into the cups. Glance where she would, she met bright, kindly smiles, and her friend on either side looked after her wants in the kindest of manners. Pixie did not know their names, so she addressed them indiscriminately as “darlin’,” and was prepared to vow eternal friendship without waiting to be introduced.

“Do you always speak French at meals?” she asked under cover of the general conversation a few minutes later, and the reply was even worse than her fears.

“We are supposed to speak it always, except in the quarter of an hour before tea, and on Sundays, and holidays. But of course, if you do not know a word you can ask Mademoiselle, or look it up in a dictionary, and the new girls get into it gradually. Miss Phipps is a darling; she can’t bear to see a girl unhappy, and of course it is difficult to get into school ways when you have been taught at home. I have been here for two years, and am as happy as possible, though I cried myself sick the first week. If you do what you are told and work hard, you will have a very good time at Holly House.”

Pixie looked dubious.

“But aren’t you ever naughty?” she asked anxiously. “Not really bad, you know, but just mischeevious! Don’t you ever play tricks, or have pillow fights, or secret suppers up in your room, or dress up as bogeys to frighten the others?”

“Certainly not!” Eleanor Hopton was a proper and dignified young lady, and the straightness of her back was quite alarming as she frowned dissent at the new-comer. “Frighten people, indeed! Do you not call that naughty? It’s a wicked and dangerous thing to do, and you would be punished severely if you attempted it. I have read of people who died of fright. How would you feel if you played bogey, as you call it, to startle one of the girls, and she had a weak heart and died before your eyes? You would feel pretty miserable then, I should say.”

“I would so! I’d get the fright myself that time. But suppers, now,—suppers don’t hurt anyone!” urged Pixie, pushing aside one objectionable proposition and bringing forward the next with unconscious generalship. “Don’t you ever smuggle things upstairs—sausages and cakes, and sardines and cream—and wake up early in the morning—early—early, before it is light—and eat them together, and pretend you are ladies and gentlemen, or shipwrecked mariners on desert islands, or wild Indians, or anything like that, and talk like they talk, and dance about the room?”

“Cer-tain-ly not! The very idea!” cried Eleanor once more. “I never heard of anything so silly. Why on earth should one sit up shivering to eat things in the middle of the night, when one can have them comfortably downstairs at the right hour? I should not think of doing anything so foolish.”

Pixie sighed heavily. This was England indeed! For the first time since entering the house she realised that she was a stranger in a strange land. Eleanor’s calm commonsense was so entirely foreign to her nature that she felt a distinct chilling of the new affection. The companion on her right looked more sympathetic, and she addressed her next remark in that direction.

“We were for ever playing tricks on one another at home. Bridgie and Esmeralda sleep in the same bed, and one day Pat—that’s the second boy—the next but one to me—he went to Bridgie and he says, ‘I’ve played a fine joke on Esmeralda! Ask no questions, but just wait up until she gets into bed to-night, and you’ll have the best laugh you’ve had this side Christmas.’ Then off he goes to Esmeralda, and ‘Keep a secret!’ says he. ‘Let Bridget be the first to get into bed to-night. Make an excuse and sit up yourself to see the fun, for she’ll have a fine surprise when she lies down.’ The girls guessed that they had been taking the laths off the bed, as they had done once or twice before, to let a visitor fall through on to the floor, and it was a very cold night, and they were tired, for they had been working hard mending the staircase carpet; and says Bridgie to Esmeralda, ‘Just hurry up, can’t you! I never did see such a girl for dawdling. Get into bed,’ she says, ‘and don’t sit up all night.’ ‘Oh,’ says Esmeralda, smiling, ‘I’ve a fancy to brush out me hair. Take no notice of me, but just lie down and turn your face to the wall, and I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.’ ‘I never can sleep with a light in the room,’ says Bridgie, quite testy... I was in my own bed in the dressing-room, so I heard what they said, and was stuffing the bedclothes into my mouth not to laugh out and spoil the fun. ‘If you are going to make a night of it, I’ll sit down and read, and you can let me know when you are ready.’ ‘You will catch cold sitting in that draught!’ Esmeralda says, her own teeth chattering, for it was mortal cold, and there was a hole in the window above her head, where Pat had thrown up a stone when he wanted to wake her one morning, and couldn’t spare time to walk upstairs. ‘And you know, Bridget, you are always delicate on the chest.’ ‘It’ll be on your head, then,’ says Bridgie, ‘if Iammade ill, keeping me up when I’m longing for my bed! Come, dear,’ wheedling her to see if she could get round that way, ‘leave it alone now, and I’ll brush it for you in the morning. It is beautiful hair, and Mrs Gallagher the laundress was saying to me this morning there wasn’t its match in the country.’ And Esmeralda said afterwards that she was too cold for compliments, so she up and said it was her own hair, and she’d brush it when she liked, and how she liked, without interference from anyone; and at that they grew mad, and began quarrelling with each other, and throwing up everything that ever they did since they were short-coated, and meself lying trembling on me bed, to think what would happen next. Joan—that’s Esmeralda—she would have sat up all night, she’s that obstinate, but Bridgie grew tired, and says she, ‘I’m not going to catch me death shivering here for all the jokes on earth, so here goes, and I don’t care what happens!’ and with that she throws herself down on the bed; and—would ye believe it?—nothing happened at all. The bed was as right as it had been all its life, and the boys had had their joke without any trouble.”

Pixie finished in the midst of a dead silence, for one by one the speakers round the table had paused to listen to the soft Irish voice, and the story once begun had riveted attention. Some of the girls laughed outright, some held down their heads to conceal their smiles, some nudged their companions and looked demurely at Miss Phipps to take their cue from her face. She was undoubtedly smiling, but she looked worried all the same, and gave the signal for rising in a hurried manner, as if anxious to allow no time for comment. The girls rose and filed slowly past, Pixie skipping complacently in front, with her arm round another new friend, whom she was prepared to adore even more fondly than the last. Only Margaret remained behind to assist in putting the room in order, and when the door shut Miss Phipps looked at her under raised appealing brows.

“I am afraid we have rather a difficult subject there, Margaret! Poor little thing! Her father says she has been allowed to run wild, and it will be difficult for her to get into school ways. She doesn’t mean to be forward, but of course we can’t allow her to go on like this. She must be taught wholesome respect and reticence, but I don’t want to be too hard upon her at first. She’s a lovable little creature, and I’ve no doubt will be a favourite with the girls. They like to be amused, and I fear they may encourage her for the sake of their own amusement. You must help me, dear, by setting a good example and checking her gently when she gets excited.”

“I’ll try!” said Margaret, but she looked by no means hopeful of success. “I did try before tea. She was telling the most extraordinary tales about home, and I said it was not right to repeat such things, but she seemed quite puzzled. She doesn’t seem to have the same ideas that we have, or the same feelings about things.”

Miss Phipps sighed, and shook her head.

“She is a difficult subject,” she repeated anxiously; then her face lighted up suddenly and she began to laugh. “But you can’t help liking her!” she cried. “Funny little mite! I am growing quite fond of her already.”

Chapter Five.The Alice Prize.To the surprise of all concerned, Pixie took a very fair place in the school. The sorely tried Miss Minnitt was by no means an accomplished woman, but what she did know she taught well, and she felt rewarded for her efforts when she heard that Miss Bruce, the English teacher, had remarked that Pixie had been well grounded, and knew more than many girls of her age. The mixture of knowledge and ignorance which the child displayed was indeed incomprehensible to those who did not understand the conditions under which she had lived. She was quite a botanist in a small way, could discourse like any farmer on crops and tillages, was most sporting in her descriptions of shooting and hunting, and had an exhaustive understanding of, and sympathy with, the animal world, which seemed quite uncanny to town-bred girls. Here, however, her knowledge stopped, and of the ways of the world, the hundred and one restrictions and obligations of society which come as second nature to most girls, she knew no more than a South Sea Islander dancing gaily upon the sands, and stringing shells in her dusky locks. “I wish I was born a savage!” was indeed her daily reflection, as she buttoned her tight little frock, and wriggled to and fro in a vain search for comfort.“Now listen to me!” said Miss Bruce, at the end of the examination which was conducted after breakfast the day following Pixie’s arrival. “I am undecided which of two classes you shall join, so I am going to give you the choice. The under-fourth would be comparatively easy, the upper-fourth would mean real hard work. I think you could manage it, if you worked hard and determined to do your very, very best; but I tell you frankly it will not be easy. If you would rather have a term in the lower class and work up gradually, I am willing to let it be so; but you must realise that it will be less good for yourself. You seem to have a good memory and to learn quickly; but we don’t like to force girls beyond their strength. You would be the youngest girl in the upper-fourth.”That decided the matter! Pixie’s heart had sunk at the mention of work; but the ecstatic prospect of being the baby of a class, of writing home to boast of her position, and of reminding her elders at frequent intervals of her own precocious cleverness, was too tempting to be resisted. She pleaded eagerly for the upper-fourth, and came through the first morning’s ordeal with gratifying success. But, alas! afternoon brought a change of scene, for the girls retired to the schoolroom for “prep,” and the new class-member stared in dismay at the work before her.“Is it for next week we are to learn it?” she asked, and when the answer came, “For to-morrow,” she shrieked aloud in dismay. “What! The lot of it? Grammar, and arithmetic, and geography? All those pages, an’ pages, and pages! I couldn’t finish to-day if I sat up all night! You’re joking with me! It isn’t really and truly for to-morrow morning?”“It is indeed, my dear, worse luck! Miss Bruce gives a terrible amount of prep, and you are bound to get through somehow. Sometimes it is worse than this, and you feel simply frantic. You are not allowed to go on after seven o’clock either, so there is no hope for you if you are not finished by that time.”“Don’t frighten her, Dora,” said Kate kindly. She looked through her spectacles at Pixie’s woe-begone face, and smiled encouragement. “It seems hopeless at first, but you will get accustomed to it in time. I used to be in despair, but you get into the way of learning quickly, and picking out the things that are most important. There’s no time for talking, though. Open your grammar and begin at once.”“Hate grammar!” grumbled Pixie crossly. “What’s the use of it? I can talk as well as I want to without bothering about grammar, and I don’t understand it either! Silly gibberish!”She wished with all her heart at that moment that she had been content with the seclusion of the lower-fourth; but she was not allowed to talk any more, for Clara called out an impatient “Hush!” and Florence stuck her fingers in her ears and looked so savage that it was impossible to disregard the warning. Pixie read over the tiresome grammar, and then lay back in her seat studying the furniture of the room, and deciding on the improvements which she would make if Miss Phipps asked her advice on the subject of redecoration. It was an engrossing subject, and would have kept her happily occupied for quite a long time, had not Kate jerked her elbow as a reminder, and pointed significantly to the history. She had mentally constituted herself as friend-in-need to the new classmate, and was determined to do her duty by her, however little thanks she might receive; so she nudged, and nudged again, until Pixie resentfully opened the history book in its turn.History was interesting—it was just like a story! When the prescribed portion had been read, she was anxious to learn what happened next, and read on and on until the watchful Kate suspected something wrong, and forcibly confiscated the book.“What are you reading the next chapter for? A minute ago you were groaning because you had too much to do. Finish the work that is given you before trying to do more!”“But there was an execution coming on. I love executions!” sighed Pixie miserably. “This is the best bit of the whole history, for there’s no more fun when you get to the Georges. They never have any murders, nor plots, nor blowings up.”“You will get blown up if you interrupt like this! How do you suppose I can learn with you chattering away all the time?” cried Clara, the irascible. She glared at Pixie, and Pixie glared at her, and went on glaring long after the other had settled to work with an intentness which seemed mysteriously connected with the movement of a stubbly lead pencil. Presently she touched Kate softly, and there on the margin of the clean new book was exhibited the drawing of a dismembered head, glaring horribly over rule-of-three problems, and labelled “Clara” in largest round hand. It was a very juvenile effort, but drawing was a family talent among the O’Shaughnessys, and the artist had been sharp to note the weak points of her subject, as well as to exaggerate them with cruel honesty. The high forehead was doubled in height, the long upper lip stretched to abnormal length, the blots which did duty for eyes were really marvellously, astonishingly like Clara’s in expression! Kate pressed her handkerchief against her mouth, but the sound of her splutters was distinctly audible, and her companions looked up in amazement. Kate laughing during prep was a sight which had never been witnessed before, and they stared at her in mingled surprise and envy.“What’s the joke?” asked Marjorie wistfully. “You might share it, I think, for I feel as if I should never smile again until the holidays. If there is anything amusing in these lessons to-night, I should like to have it pointed out, that’s all!”“It’s n–n–thing!” returned Kate, spluttering still. Pixie had flipped over a page with a deft movement, and sat with hands folded on her lap, a picture of lamblike innocence.For the rest of the time allowed for preparation she worked really well, inspired by the remembrance that she had made Kate laugh, and drawn a caricature which even Esmeralda herself must have approved.About half-past seven came supper, and after supper prayers, and after prayers bed, and an interesting conversation with the three room-mates.“Which is the nicest girl in the school?” Pixie asked, going at once to the most important point, and fondly hoping that she might listen to her own name by way of answer. She was doomed to disappointment, however, for though there was a difference of opinion, her name was not even mentioned.“Margaret!” said Kate.“Lottie!” cried Flora.“Clara!” cried Ethel; and they proceeded to argue the question between themselves.“Margaret is an angel. She is sweet to everyone. She never says an unkind word.”“Lottie is so bright and clever. She is first in almost every single class.”“Clara is so sensible. She doesn’t make a fuss, and gush over everything, as Lottie does; but if she says she will be your friend, she keeps her word, and always tries to do you a good turn.”“That’s the way with meself,” said Pixie modestly. “I’m the soft-heartedest creature! You three girls are me best friends because ye share me room, and I’ll stick to you, whatever trouble ye’re in. Ye need never be afraid to come to me, for the worse ye are, the better I’ll like ye!”“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed Kate shrilly. Flora chuckled to herself in fat, good-natured fashion, and Ethel tossed her mane and said—“I can quite believe it, but if you will excuse my saying so, I think the trouble is more likely to come to you than to us! If you go on behaving as you have done the last two days, you will be in need of friends yourself, my dear, so don’t say I haven’t warned you.”“Behaving as I have done! Get into trouble meself!” echoed Pixie blankly. “And what for, please? What have I done? I promised Bridgie before I left that I would behave meself, and not disgrace the family, and I’ve kept me word. I’ve not been naughty once the whole time through.”“Don’t say ‘naughty,’ child, as if you were a baby two years old! You may not have done anything wrong from your point of view, but you have broken half a dozen rules all the same. You planted yourself in front of the fire when the fifth-form girls were in the room, and never offered to give up your place even when Margaret herself came in. Not one of the old girls would think of doing such a thing. And you answered back when Miss Phipps spoke to you at tea—and told a story so loud that everyone could hear!”“And small blame to me if I did! Itwasthe dullest meal I ever sat through, and I thought I would do you a kindness by waking you up!” returned Pixie defiantly. She did not at all approve of Clara’s attitude of fault-finding, and was up in arms at once in her own defence. “I have been brought up to make meself agreeable, and when Miss Phipps spoke to me, wasn’t I obliged to give a civil answer? And I was cold when I sat before the fire. Are fifth-form girls colder than anyone else, that they must have all the heat?”“You know perfectly well what I mean, or if you don’t, you are a stupid child, and you needn’t fly into a temper when I tell you your mistakes. You want to get on, I suppose, and take a good place in the school, so you ought to be grateful to anyone who tries to keep you out of trouble.”In the seclusion of her cubicle Pixie made a grimace, the reverse of appreciative, but she stifled her feelings in her desire for information, and asked the next question on her list.“How often in the year do you get prizes?”“Once. At the end of the summer term. There’s a chance for you now! Work hard for six months, and win the class prize!”Flora chuckled with amusement at the idea, but Pixie considered the subject seriously for a good two minutes, and found it altogether agreeable. She saw a vision of herself walking forward to receive her honours while the elder girls sat in a row, subdued and envious, and tasted in advance the ecstasy of the moment.“What sort of prizes do they give you—books?”“Books, of course. Improving books. Poets, with nice soft backs, and Dutch Republics in calf, and things like that. The sort of book you are awfully proud of, but hardly ever read. You put it carefully in a bookcase, and admire the binding. You can always tell a prize a yard off, it looks so smart and gilt, and unopened. I’ve seen rows of them in some houses, all ranged together with their little silk markers hanging out at the bottom, as smooth and uncrumpled as if they had never been moved; and the owners take them down and show you the inscription on the first page, to prove how good and clever they were when they were at school!”“Ah!” Pixie drew a rapturous sigh, seeing herself be-capped and shawled, in the act of exhibiting her own spoils to a bevy of admiring grandchildren. The great point seemed to be to have the inscription as striking as possible, so she inquired anxiously if the class prize was the highest that could be obtained.“She’s ambitious, girls, isn’t she? The class prize isn’t enough for her, you notice!” cried Ethel, splashing her face with cold water, and interposing her remarks with audible shudderings. “Yes, there’s one thing higher—the ‘Alice Prize,’ we call it, because it is given by the father of a certain Alice who used to be at school here, and who died at the end of her last term. She was Lottie’s sister; but Lottie is not in the least like her, for she was very shy and nervous, and the girls teased her a great deal, and she took it to heart and made herself miserable. After her death it was found that she had kept a diary, and written down all her troubles; and her parents read it, and tried to think what they could do to prevent any other girl suffering as she had done. At last they thought of offering this prize—it is given every year—five pounds’ worth of books, which you can choose for yourself. You can get a lot of books for five pounds, and it is given to the girl who is kindest and most considerate to others. She has to be nice to new girls, and answer their questions, and be patient with them, as I am being with you, my dear, at the present moment, and dry their little eyes when they weep, and cheer them up when they are low in their minds. And she has to be careful not to hurt other people’s feelings, and to use her influence to stop a joke when it is going too far. Oh, and a dozen other things which you can imagine for yourself! The girls know best who deserves the prize, and they vote at the end of the year, and whoever gets most votes gets the prize.”“Who got it last year?”“Margaret, of course. So she would every time, but the same person is not allowed to have it two years running. A good thing, too, for we should all feel that it was no use competing with her, and so give up trying.”“And who do you think will get it this year?”“Oh dear me! How many more questions? Myself, of course, for answering you so kindly. If you don’t vote for me, young woman, there’ll be a coldness between us, and so I tell you. Flora thinks she will get it, but it won’t be fair if she does, for she is so fat that she couldn’t be anything else than good-natured if she tried. Now I have really a violent temper, but I keep it in check. I can’t answer any more questions, though. Time’s up. I give you all two minutes more, and then I must put out the light.”“Let me do it! I’ll put it out! You get into your bed and keep warm, and I’ll wait upon you!” cried Pixie eagerly; and, to her dismay, there came a simultaneous burst of laughter from all three listeners.“She’s Alicing,” they cried—“she’s Alicing! Nothing like beginning in time, and making the most of your opportunities. So you want that prize too, do you, as well as the class one? It’s a bad lookout for the rest of the girls. There won’t be anything left for us to try for.”Pixie stood transfixed within her cubicle, staring before her with bewildered eyes. As it had been her delight to wait upon her beloved sisters, it had come naturally to wish to help these girls who, for the time, had taken their place in her life. She had made her offer in all good faith, and her heart swelled with bitterness at the injustice of the accusation. A rush of honest Irish pride forbade an answer; but the tears came to her eyes as she lay down in bed, and the loneliness of exile fell upon her. Bally William, oh, dear Bally William, how are you looking to-night? Is everything going on as usual, though Pixie O’Shaughnessy is far away in a cold, cruel land where no one knows her, and her best motives are misjudged and derided? Beautiful old castle, standing among your luxuriant green, are the lamps lit in your rooms, and twinkling like so many stars into the night? And there, where the red curtains are drawn so snugly, are the boys and girls gathered round the fire, the flames lighting up Bridgie’s sweet face and Esmeralda’s stormy beauty? Oh, boys and girls, are you thinking of Pixie—your own little Pixie?“How that child does snort!” muttered Ethel impatiently. “It seems to be our luck to have all the snorers in this room.”

To the surprise of all concerned, Pixie took a very fair place in the school. The sorely tried Miss Minnitt was by no means an accomplished woman, but what she did know she taught well, and she felt rewarded for her efforts when she heard that Miss Bruce, the English teacher, had remarked that Pixie had been well grounded, and knew more than many girls of her age. The mixture of knowledge and ignorance which the child displayed was indeed incomprehensible to those who did not understand the conditions under which she had lived. She was quite a botanist in a small way, could discourse like any farmer on crops and tillages, was most sporting in her descriptions of shooting and hunting, and had an exhaustive understanding of, and sympathy with, the animal world, which seemed quite uncanny to town-bred girls. Here, however, her knowledge stopped, and of the ways of the world, the hundred and one restrictions and obligations of society which come as second nature to most girls, she knew no more than a South Sea Islander dancing gaily upon the sands, and stringing shells in her dusky locks. “I wish I was born a savage!” was indeed her daily reflection, as she buttoned her tight little frock, and wriggled to and fro in a vain search for comfort.

“Now listen to me!” said Miss Bruce, at the end of the examination which was conducted after breakfast the day following Pixie’s arrival. “I am undecided which of two classes you shall join, so I am going to give you the choice. The under-fourth would be comparatively easy, the upper-fourth would mean real hard work. I think you could manage it, if you worked hard and determined to do your very, very best; but I tell you frankly it will not be easy. If you would rather have a term in the lower class and work up gradually, I am willing to let it be so; but you must realise that it will be less good for yourself. You seem to have a good memory and to learn quickly; but we don’t like to force girls beyond their strength. You would be the youngest girl in the upper-fourth.”

That decided the matter! Pixie’s heart had sunk at the mention of work; but the ecstatic prospect of being the baby of a class, of writing home to boast of her position, and of reminding her elders at frequent intervals of her own precocious cleverness, was too tempting to be resisted. She pleaded eagerly for the upper-fourth, and came through the first morning’s ordeal with gratifying success. But, alas! afternoon brought a change of scene, for the girls retired to the schoolroom for “prep,” and the new class-member stared in dismay at the work before her.

“Is it for next week we are to learn it?” she asked, and when the answer came, “For to-morrow,” she shrieked aloud in dismay. “What! The lot of it? Grammar, and arithmetic, and geography? All those pages, an’ pages, and pages! I couldn’t finish to-day if I sat up all night! You’re joking with me! It isn’t really and truly for to-morrow morning?”

“It is indeed, my dear, worse luck! Miss Bruce gives a terrible amount of prep, and you are bound to get through somehow. Sometimes it is worse than this, and you feel simply frantic. You are not allowed to go on after seven o’clock either, so there is no hope for you if you are not finished by that time.”

“Don’t frighten her, Dora,” said Kate kindly. She looked through her spectacles at Pixie’s woe-begone face, and smiled encouragement. “It seems hopeless at first, but you will get accustomed to it in time. I used to be in despair, but you get into the way of learning quickly, and picking out the things that are most important. There’s no time for talking, though. Open your grammar and begin at once.”

“Hate grammar!” grumbled Pixie crossly. “What’s the use of it? I can talk as well as I want to without bothering about grammar, and I don’t understand it either! Silly gibberish!”

She wished with all her heart at that moment that she had been content with the seclusion of the lower-fourth; but she was not allowed to talk any more, for Clara called out an impatient “Hush!” and Florence stuck her fingers in her ears and looked so savage that it was impossible to disregard the warning. Pixie read over the tiresome grammar, and then lay back in her seat studying the furniture of the room, and deciding on the improvements which she would make if Miss Phipps asked her advice on the subject of redecoration. It was an engrossing subject, and would have kept her happily occupied for quite a long time, had not Kate jerked her elbow as a reminder, and pointed significantly to the history. She had mentally constituted herself as friend-in-need to the new classmate, and was determined to do her duty by her, however little thanks she might receive; so she nudged, and nudged again, until Pixie resentfully opened the history book in its turn.

History was interesting—it was just like a story! When the prescribed portion had been read, she was anxious to learn what happened next, and read on and on until the watchful Kate suspected something wrong, and forcibly confiscated the book.

“What are you reading the next chapter for? A minute ago you were groaning because you had too much to do. Finish the work that is given you before trying to do more!”

“But there was an execution coming on. I love executions!” sighed Pixie miserably. “This is the best bit of the whole history, for there’s no more fun when you get to the Georges. They never have any murders, nor plots, nor blowings up.”

“You will get blown up if you interrupt like this! How do you suppose I can learn with you chattering away all the time?” cried Clara, the irascible. She glared at Pixie, and Pixie glared at her, and went on glaring long after the other had settled to work with an intentness which seemed mysteriously connected with the movement of a stubbly lead pencil. Presently she touched Kate softly, and there on the margin of the clean new book was exhibited the drawing of a dismembered head, glaring horribly over rule-of-three problems, and labelled “Clara” in largest round hand. It was a very juvenile effort, but drawing was a family talent among the O’Shaughnessys, and the artist had been sharp to note the weak points of her subject, as well as to exaggerate them with cruel honesty. The high forehead was doubled in height, the long upper lip stretched to abnormal length, the blots which did duty for eyes were really marvellously, astonishingly like Clara’s in expression! Kate pressed her handkerchief against her mouth, but the sound of her splutters was distinctly audible, and her companions looked up in amazement. Kate laughing during prep was a sight which had never been witnessed before, and they stared at her in mingled surprise and envy.

“What’s the joke?” asked Marjorie wistfully. “You might share it, I think, for I feel as if I should never smile again until the holidays. If there is anything amusing in these lessons to-night, I should like to have it pointed out, that’s all!”

“It’s n–n–thing!” returned Kate, spluttering still. Pixie had flipped over a page with a deft movement, and sat with hands folded on her lap, a picture of lamblike innocence.

For the rest of the time allowed for preparation she worked really well, inspired by the remembrance that she had made Kate laugh, and drawn a caricature which even Esmeralda herself must have approved.

About half-past seven came supper, and after supper prayers, and after prayers bed, and an interesting conversation with the three room-mates.

“Which is the nicest girl in the school?” Pixie asked, going at once to the most important point, and fondly hoping that she might listen to her own name by way of answer. She was doomed to disappointment, however, for though there was a difference of opinion, her name was not even mentioned.

“Margaret!” said Kate.

“Lottie!” cried Flora.

“Clara!” cried Ethel; and they proceeded to argue the question between themselves.

“Margaret is an angel. She is sweet to everyone. She never says an unkind word.”

“Lottie is so bright and clever. She is first in almost every single class.”

“Clara is so sensible. She doesn’t make a fuss, and gush over everything, as Lottie does; but if she says she will be your friend, she keeps her word, and always tries to do you a good turn.”

“That’s the way with meself,” said Pixie modestly. “I’m the soft-heartedest creature! You three girls are me best friends because ye share me room, and I’ll stick to you, whatever trouble ye’re in. Ye need never be afraid to come to me, for the worse ye are, the better I’ll like ye!”

“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed Kate shrilly. Flora chuckled to herself in fat, good-natured fashion, and Ethel tossed her mane and said—

“I can quite believe it, but if you will excuse my saying so, I think the trouble is more likely to come to you than to us! If you go on behaving as you have done the last two days, you will be in need of friends yourself, my dear, so don’t say I haven’t warned you.”

“Behaving as I have done! Get into trouble meself!” echoed Pixie blankly. “And what for, please? What have I done? I promised Bridgie before I left that I would behave meself, and not disgrace the family, and I’ve kept me word. I’ve not been naughty once the whole time through.”

“Don’t say ‘naughty,’ child, as if you were a baby two years old! You may not have done anything wrong from your point of view, but you have broken half a dozen rules all the same. You planted yourself in front of the fire when the fifth-form girls were in the room, and never offered to give up your place even when Margaret herself came in. Not one of the old girls would think of doing such a thing. And you answered back when Miss Phipps spoke to you at tea—and told a story so loud that everyone could hear!”

“And small blame to me if I did! Itwasthe dullest meal I ever sat through, and I thought I would do you a kindness by waking you up!” returned Pixie defiantly. She did not at all approve of Clara’s attitude of fault-finding, and was up in arms at once in her own defence. “I have been brought up to make meself agreeable, and when Miss Phipps spoke to me, wasn’t I obliged to give a civil answer? And I was cold when I sat before the fire. Are fifth-form girls colder than anyone else, that they must have all the heat?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean, or if you don’t, you are a stupid child, and you needn’t fly into a temper when I tell you your mistakes. You want to get on, I suppose, and take a good place in the school, so you ought to be grateful to anyone who tries to keep you out of trouble.”

In the seclusion of her cubicle Pixie made a grimace, the reverse of appreciative, but she stifled her feelings in her desire for information, and asked the next question on her list.

“How often in the year do you get prizes?”

“Once. At the end of the summer term. There’s a chance for you now! Work hard for six months, and win the class prize!”

Flora chuckled with amusement at the idea, but Pixie considered the subject seriously for a good two minutes, and found it altogether agreeable. She saw a vision of herself walking forward to receive her honours while the elder girls sat in a row, subdued and envious, and tasted in advance the ecstasy of the moment.

“What sort of prizes do they give you—books?”

“Books, of course. Improving books. Poets, with nice soft backs, and Dutch Republics in calf, and things like that. The sort of book you are awfully proud of, but hardly ever read. You put it carefully in a bookcase, and admire the binding. You can always tell a prize a yard off, it looks so smart and gilt, and unopened. I’ve seen rows of them in some houses, all ranged together with their little silk markers hanging out at the bottom, as smooth and uncrumpled as if they had never been moved; and the owners take them down and show you the inscription on the first page, to prove how good and clever they were when they were at school!”

“Ah!” Pixie drew a rapturous sigh, seeing herself be-capped and shawled, in the act of exhibiting her own spoils to a bevy of admiring grandchildren. The great point seemed to be to have the inscription as striking as possible, so she inquired anxiously if the class prize was the highest that could be obtained.

“She’s ambitious, girls, isn’t she? The class prize isn’t enough for her, you notice!” cried Ethel, splashing her face with cold water, and interposing her remarks with audible shudderings. “Yes, there’s one thing higher—the ‘Alice Prize,’ we call it, because it is given by the father of a certain Alice who used to be at school here, and who died at the end of her last term. She was Lottie’s sister; but Lottie is not in the least like her, for she was very shy and nervous, and the girls teased her a great deal, and she took it to heart and made herself miserable. After her death it was found that she had kept a diary, and written down all her troubles; and her parents read it, and tried to think what they could do to prevent any other girl suffering as she had done. At last they thought of offering this prize—it is given every year—five pounds’ worth of books, which you can choose for yourself. You can get a lot of books for five pounds, and it is given to the girl who is kindest and most considerate to others. She has to be nice to new girls, and answer their questions, and be patient with them, as I am being with you, my dear, at the present moment, and dry their little eyes when they weep, and cheer them up when they are low in their minds. And she has to be careful not to hurt other people’s feelings, and to use her influence to stop a joke when it is going too far. Oh, and a dozen other things which you can imagine for yourself! The girls know best who deserves the prize, and they vote at the end of the year, and whoever gets most votes gets the prize.”

“Who got it last year?”

“Margaret, of course. So she would every time, but the same person is not allowed to have it two years running. A good thing, too, for we should all feel that it was no use competing with her, and so give up trying.”

“And who do you think will get it this year?”

“Oh dear me! How many more questions? Myself, of course, for answering you so kindly. If you don’t vote for me, young woman, there’ll be a coldness between us, and so I tell you. Flora thinks she will get it, but it won’t be fair if she does, for she is so fat that she couldn’t be anything else than good-natured if she tried. Now I have really a violent temper, but I keep it in check. I can’t answer any more questions, though. Time’s up. I give you all two minutes more, and then I must put out the light.”

“Let me do it! I’ll put it out! You get into your bed and keep warm, and I’ll wait upon you!” cried Pixie eagerly; and, to her dismay, there came a simultaneous burst of laughter from all three listeners.

“She’s Alicing,” they cried—“she’s Alicing! Nothing like beginning in time, and making the most of your opportunities. So you want that prize too, do you, as well as the class one? It’s a bad lookout for the rest of the girls. There won’t be anything left for us to try for.”

Pixie stood transfixed within her cubicle, staring before her with bewildered eyes. As it had been her delight to wait upon her beloved sisters, it had come naturally to wish to help these girls who, for the time, had taken their place in her life. She had made her offer in all good faith, and her heart swelled with bitterness at the injustice of the accusation. A rush of honest Irish pride forbade an answer; but the tears came to her eyes as she lay down in bed, and the loneliness of exile fell upon her. Bally William, oh, dear Bally William, how are you looking to-night? Is everything going on as usual, though Pixie O’Shaughnessy is far away in a cold, cruel land where no one knows her, and her best motives are misjudged and derided? Beautiful old castle, standing among your luxuriant green, are the lamps lit in your rooms, and twinkling like so many stars into the night? And there, where the red curtains are drawn so snugly, are the boys and girls gathered round the fire, the flames lighting up Bridgie’s sweet face and Esmeralda’s stormy beauty? Oh, boys and girls, are you thinking of Pixie—your own little Pixie?

“How that child does snort!” muttered Ethel impatiently. “It seems to be our luck to have all the snorers in this room.”

Chapter Six.A Novel Amusement.During the weeks which followed, “Pixie’s Prep” became a by-word among her companions, for no amount of goading seemed sufficient to keep her attention from roaming from her books during the hours when it was most necessary that she should give them her undivided attention. However sturdily she might begin, in ten minutes’ time her eyes were wandering about the room, she was scribbling on the margin of her book, or twisting her handkerchief into a new variety of rag doll. The well-meaning Kate, finding frowns and nudges losing their effect, resorted to more drastic measures, such as the prick of a pin, or a tug of the elf-like locks; but the victim’s howls and protestations not only disturbed her companions, but took so long to pacify that the experiment had to be abandoned.How Pixie managed to sustain even her very low place in the class was a wonder to her companions; but in truth she had an unusually quick brain, so that when she chose to apply herself she learnt as much as slower girls would do in twice the time, while her Irish wit enabled her to place her scraps of knowledge in the most advantageous light, and rescued her from awkward questionings. Nowhere was this faculty more marked than in French, of which she knew least, yet in which subject she made the most rapid progress. It was clear to a pair of uncommonly sharp eyes that Miss Phipps’s leniency would some day come to an end, and that she would then find herself in the position of being obliged either to speak French or not to speak at all. To a born chatterbox the latter alternative seemed the acme of misery, so it behoved her to prepare for speech before the dread verdict was given, which she did in a manner astonishing to her companions. Of French grammar she had the poorest opinion, but she was sharp as a magpie to pick up the phrases of others and store them for her own use. The morning after Mademoiselle had suffered from a headache, Pixie’s handkerchief was soaked with offerings of eau-de-Cologne from the various girls to whom she had repeated ejaculations of distress; she discoursed exhaustively upon the weather to every one who could be induced to listen, and recited exercise phrases to the school cat until her tongue grew quite nimble over the words.Mademoiselle was an object of intense interest and curiosity to her new pupil. She was the first foreigner whom Pixie had known, and there was something in her dark, eager face which arrested the child’s attention. Mademoiselle was quick and nervous, subject to fits of unreasonable irritation; but at other times there was a sad, far-away look in her eyes, and then her voice would take a softer cadence, so that when she said “Chérie,” one pupil at least forgot all the scoldings which had gone before. Pixie felt irresistibly drawn to Mademoiselle in her hours of depression. She could not have explained the attraction, but in her heart she felt that they were both exiles, and that Mademoiselle pined for her own sunny land even as she pined for the dear green isle which seemed so far away. She longed for Mademoiselle to notice her, to show her some special mark of favour, but longed in vain, until at last a day dawned which brought her into notice in a manner which was scarcely to her liking.It was a wet Saturday afternoon, and wet Saturday afternoons are abominations to every boarding-school girl, and the cause of endless grumblings and repinings. Ethel and Kate had gone out to tea with an old maiden lady who lived in the neighbourhood, and had still further deepened their friend’s depression before departing by drawing a most roseate picture of the joys before them.“She is awfully kind,” they had explained of their hostess; “she gives you the most galumptious teas, and the best part of it is, she has an e-normous appetite herself, so you can eat as much as you like, without fear of looking greedy!”No wonder the poor stay-at-homes looked glum after this; no wonder they sighed with envy as they thought of the thick bread-and-butter in store for themselves. The elder girls provided themselves with books, and sat in rows before the fire, while artistic spirits set themselves copies, and filled up page after page of their sketching-books. Flora stitched on a table-centre destined to be a birthday present for her mother, and the younger girls clustered round Pixie, and besought her to think of some new means of amusement.“Think of something, Pixie-doo! It’s so dull, and we are sick of the stupid old games. What did you do at home when it rained and you couldn’t go out?”“I’ve never seen it rain hard enough to keep me indoors if I wanted to be out,” returned Pixie, with a toss of the head; “but I’ve had fine fun indoors sometimes when I didn’t feel disposed for exertion. Ratting in the barn is good sport, or grooming the pony, or feeding the animals, and pretending it is the Zoo; but you can’t do those things here. It’s hard to think of anything amusing when you are shut up in one room.”“We can go out on the landing, if we like; I vote we do, and be by ourselves. The fifth forms are sure to tell us not to, the moment we have thought of something nice. Come along now, before they notice us!”No sooner said than done. The little band of conspirators slipped from the room, and stood without on the square landing, five short-frocked girls all gazing eagerly, confidently, into the face of their leader.“Pixie, what shall we do?”Pixie racked her brains in despair, for not a single idea would come to her aid, and yet to acknowledge such a want of invention would have been to forfeit her position, and therefore not to be thought of for a second. Her eyes roamed from side to side, and lit upon a table on which some working materials happened to be lying. A basket, a folded length of cloth, and a roll of wide green binding such as was used to edge old-fashioned window-curtains. Pixie looked at it thoughtfully, fingered it to ascertain its weight, shook it out to discover its length, and cried eagerly—“Just the thing! Might have been made for it. Would you like to see me lasso the next person who comes upstairs?”“Lasso!” The girls were not quite sure of the meaning of the word, but Pixie explained it, suiting the action to the word.A lasso was a rope with a noose at one end—so! and it was used to catch wild horses, or anything else you happened to chase. You stood with the rope gathered up in your hand—so! and then took aim and sent it flying out suddenly—so! Pat could do it beautifully, and he had taught her too, but she could not always manage very well. If you caught a girl from above, she would be startled out of her wits, and squeal like anything. It would be splendid fun. The next one, then, who came upstairs!The girls were divided between horror and delight. Dared she? Really! Would it hurt? What would Miss Phipps say? Did she really think she ought? But their agitation acted as fuel to Pixie’s determination, and she would only laugh and lean over the banisters, experimenting with the long green rope, and altering the length until it met with her approval.Five minutes passed, and nobody appeared; ten minutes, and the conspirators were beginning to grow impatient, when from below came the unmistakable sound of an ascending footstep. The orders of the chief had been that when this happened her attendants were to withdraw to a safe distance, so that no movement nor sound of muffled laughter should warn the victim of her peril; so the girls retreated obediently, leaving Pixie to crouch on the floor until the eventful moment when a head appeared on the landing six steps below. It came—the top of a smooth, brown head, and on the moment out flew the rope, whirled into space with a skilful jerk which sent the noose flying wide, and with an accuracy of aim which brought it right round the neck of the new-comer. She squealed indeed, but horror of horrors! she squealed in French, with such staccato “Oh’s” and “Ah’s” of astonishment as could only have come from one person in the house. It was Mademoiselle herself! and lifting her glance she beheld six horrified faces peering at her over the banisters, six pairs of startled eyes, six mouths agape with dismay. She looked, and then, as it seemed with one stride, was in their midst, with her hands gripping Pixie by the shoulders.Now it happened that Mademoiselle was in her most irritable mood this afternoon, for all day long she had been struggling against what, for convenience’ sake, she called a headache, but which might more honestly have been described as a heartache instead. A teacher cannot explain to thirty pupils that she has received a letter from home which has seemed to drop a veil before the sky, but such letters come all the same, and make it difficult to bear the hundred and one little annoyances and trials of temper which fall to her lot. Mademoiselle’s letter had told of the illness of a beloved father, and as she dared not sit down and have a good cry to relieve her feelings, she was an a pent-up state of nerves which made her the worst possible subject for a practical joke. The rope in Pixie’s hand marked her out as the principal offender, and she was called to order in a breathless stream of French which left her dumb and bewildered.“I—I can’t understand!” she stammered, and Mademoiselle struggled to express herself in sufficiently expressive English. “You bad girl! You rude, bad girl! What ’ave you done? What you mean playing your treecks on me? I will not ’ave it. I will complain to Miss Phipps. How dare you throw your strings about to catch me as I come upstairs! Impertinent! Disobedient!”“P–please, Mademoiselle, it was a lasso! I didn’t know it was you. I said I would do it to the first person who came, and I didn’t see your face. It was only a joke.”“A joke! You catch me by the throat, you ’ang me by the neck, and you call it a joke! You wicked, impertinent girl, you shall be punished for this!”Pixie heaved a sigh so sepulchral that it might almost have been called a groan instead.“It’s just my luck!” she said dismally. “When I tried to show off before Pat and the girls, I couldn’t do it one time in a hundred, and just now, when I’d have no credit, but only get into trouble, I caught you the very first try!”Did she mean to be impertinent? Mademoiselle looked down with sharp suspicion, but even in her excited condition she could not mistake that downcast look, and troubled, disconsolate frown. Her voice grew a trifle less sharp, but she was very angry still.“You ought to be ashamed playing such treecks! It is always the same thing—there is no peace since you ’ave come. These girls were quite good and mild, but you make them as wild as yourself. I will teach you to be’ave better. You will come with me to the schoolroom and write out a verrrb!”“I will, Mademoiselle,” said Pixie meekly, so meekly that her companions fondly hoped that such exemplary submission would win forgiveness; but no, Mademoiselle flounced downstairs, and Pixie followed at her heels, to seat herself in solitary state at one end of the deserted schoolroom, while Mademoiselle took possession of the desk and began to correct a pile of exercise books.To write out a verb is not, as a rule, a very lengthy matter, but Mademoiselle’s punishment verbs had invariably a phrase attached which gave to them an added appropriateness, but very much lengthened the task. “I am sorry that I was rude to Mademoiselle” was the verb which poor Pixie was to-day condemned to conjugate, and the big straggling sentences amplified the statement until it seemed impossible to express it in any other way. “I am sorry that I was rude to Mademoiselle—I was sorry that I was rude to Mademoiselle—I shall or will be sorry that I was rude to Mademoiselle.”At intervals of every two or three minutes Mademoiselle glanced from her work to the little figure at the other end of the room, but each time Pixie’s head was bent over her task, and the wandering eyes were glued to their task. Such industry seemed so unnatural that the onlooker became first puzzled and then uneasy, and at last resorted to coughing and moving about in her chair in order to satisfy curiosity. In vain! Pixie’s head went down lower than ever, and the pen scratched away without a moment’s cessation, for she was enduring that unreasoning panic of fear which sensitive children suffer when they are in disgrace with their elders. She had been brought up in an atmosphere of tender indulgence, had been the adored baby of the household, who had never heard the sound of an angry voice, so that now, to sit alone in a room with a person whom she had displeased, reduced her to a condition of trembling fear. Her eyelids felt weighed down, a lump rose in her throat, and she trembled as with cold, and then presently the dreaded voice spoke again, and Mademoiselle said—“Pixie, come here. Bring your verrrb!”The wretched scribe had not yet finished her conjugation, being about imperatively to command herself to be sorry that she had been rude to Mademoiselle, but she was too nervous to explain, and stood twisting her hands together and staring at the carpet, while Mademoiselle turned over the pages. She bit her lips once or twice as she read, and her eyes twinkled, but Pixie did not see that, and the voice which spoke sounded alarmingly stern.“It is ver’ badly written. You make your letters too big; and such blots! I cannot ’ave such blots. What ’ave you been doing to make such blots as these?”“They are not blots, please, Mademoiselle; they are only—”“Only what then?”“Spots!”“Spots!” echoed Mademoiselle blankly. “Spots—blots! Blots—spots! I do not understand. What is then the difference between blots and spots?”“Blots is made with ink,”—when Pixie was agitated, as at the present moment, grammar was by no means her strong point—“and spots is made with—with—”“Eh bien! And with what, then?”“T–tears!” came the answer in the softest echo of a voice, and Mademoiselle looked down at the woe-begone face with startled eyes.“Tears! Your tears! But why should you cry? It is not so dreadful to write a verrrb. I might have given you worse punishment than that. Perhaps it was because you had missed the afternoon with your friends. I cannot think a girl of your age should cry over a simple verrrb.”“I thought it was a very elaborate verb!” said Pixie faintly. “But it wasn’t that that made me cry; it was hurting your feelings, Mademoiselle!”Mademoiselle leant back in her seat and looked intently at the shrinking figure.“Look up,chérie!” she said softly, and Pixie’s fear fell from her like a mantle. She saw a hand outstretched, and clasped it eagerly.“I never meant to hang you, Mademoiselle! It was only a joke. The girls asked me to amuse them, and we think it fine sport to lasso one another at home. How was I to know it would be you, when I gave my word I would catch the first one that came upstairs? I didn’t mean to be impertinent.”“But,ma petite, you should not play such treecks at all!” Mademoiselle shook her head, but she was smiling as she spoke, for she was beginning to realise that no disrespect had been meant to herself, and that she had been unduly stern in her denunciations. “It is not the thing for a young lady at school; it is only for wild—how do you call them—‘cowboys,’ out on the prairie. If you do it at ’ome, it is not my affair, but if your father should see you some day, he must be shocked like me!”“I’m the youngest of six, and me father won’t have me thwarted!” sighed Pixie, lapsing into her brogue, as she usually did when agitated. “Nobody’s ever angry with me at Bally William; I get into mischief the day long, and it’s all quite happy and comfortable. If I’m quiet and well-behaved, Bridgie is after giving me a mixture, for, says she, ‘The choild’s ill; there’s not been a sound out of her this day!’ I wish I was back in me own country, Mademoiselle, and then I shouldn’t trouble you any more!”“I vish I was back in my countree, too,” sighed the other softly, and two big tears started in the brown eyes, and trickled slowly down the cheeks. “My father is ill, and needs me, and I cannot be with him. I feel as if I could have wings and fly, I long so much to go; but I must stay here and work. My ’eart is very sad, and sometimes I get cross—too cross, perhaps, because I cannot bear any more. Then you girls talk among yourselves and say, ‘How she is bad-tempered, that Mademoiselle! How she is cross and strict!’ That is what you say very often,n’est-ce pas?”“We do!” replied Pixie frankly. It was one of the Irishisms which amused her companions that she never by any chance gave a simple “Yes” or “No” in reply to a question. It was always “I am!” “I will!” “I do!” as the case might be.“We do!” she replied now, and then hastened to soften the admission by a coaxing, “But I wouldn’t be troubling meself about that, if I were you, for they don’t mind it a bit. I drew a picture of you the other day with a bubble coming out of your mouth, and ‘Bow-wow-wow’ written on it like a dog, because you are always barking; but there isn’t a bite in ye, and all the girls say you aren’t half as bad as the Mademoiselle who was here before!”Well! There are some conditions of mind when we are thankful for the smallest grain of comfort, and Mademoiselle smiled and flicked the tears from her eyes.“They are too kind! I am much obliged; but another time, when I ‘bark’ as you call it, you will perhaps remember that your teachers are like yourselves, and ’ave the same feelings. When you come first to school you have to be comforted because you are ’ome-sick, but we are ’ome-sick too; and when you get bad news you cry, and are excused your work, but we must go on the same as before; and if it is difficult to learn your lessons, it is also difficult to teach! Well, now you may go! You will remember not to be rude to Mademoiselle again, eh?”She held out her hand, smiling more brightly this time, and Pixie seized it eagerly.“I will! And I hope your father will get well soon. You will see him at Christmas, and that isn’t very long now; only forty-eight days to-morrow. I mark them off on my calendar.”“No, that is so sad, I shall not see him until summer! He is going to my brother in Italy, where it is warm and sunny, and it is too far for me to go there with him. It costs too much money, and the little house in Paris will be shut up till he returns, so I must stay in England all through the dark, long winter, when the sun never shines, and I shiver, shiver, shiver all day and all night! I shall forget what it is like to be warm before the spring arrives!”Pixie rubbed the cold hands with a sympathetic touch, but she made no remark, and presently went from the schoolroom to rejoin her companions and make the most of the hours which still remained, while Mademoiselle went wearily on with the task of correction. She forgot all about her own complaints of cold, but when she retired to bed that night a delightful surprise was in store, for the sheets were warm instead of cold, and her chilled feet came in contact with something soft and hot, which proved upon examination to be an indiarubber water-bottle encased in a flannel bag. Mademoiselle drew a long gasp of rapture, and nestled down again with a feeling of comfort to which she had long been a stranger. A day or two earlier, Miss Phipps had spoken of the necessity of putting more coverings on the beds, as the frost had set in unusually early, and Mademoiselle sleepily attributed this new comfort as another instance of the Principal’s consideration for her assistants. She felt certain that it must be so, as night after night the welcome warmth was in waiting, and more than once determined to express her appreciation; but life was busy, and there was such an accumulation of work as the period of examination approached, that there seemed no time to speak of anything but school affairs.

During the weeks which followed, “Pixie’s Prep” became a by-word among her companions, for no amount of goading seemed sufficient to keep her attention from roaming from her books during the hours when it was most necessary that she should give them her undivided attention. However sturdily she might begin, in ten minutes’ time her eyes were wandering about the room, she was scribbling on the margin of her book, or twisting her handkerchief into a new variety of rag doll. The well-meaning Kate, finding frowns and nudges losing their effect, resorted to more drastic measures, such as the prick of a pin, or a tug of the elf-like locks; but the victim’s howls and protestations not only disturbed her companions, but took so long to pacify that the experiment had to be abandoned.

How Pixie managed to sustain even her very low place in the class was a wonder to her companions; but in truth she had an unusually quick brain, so that when she chose to apply herself she learnt as much as slower girls would do in twice the time, while her Irish wit enabled her to place her scraps of knowledge in the most advantageous light, and rescued her from awkward questionings. Nowhere was this faculty more marked than in French, of which she knew least, yet in which subject she made the most rapid progress. It was clear to a pair of uncommonly sharp eyes that Miss Phipps’s leniency would some day come to an end, and that she would then find herself in the position of being obliged either to speak French or not to speak at all. To a born chatterbox the latter alternative seemed the acme of misery, so it behoved her to prepare for speech before the dread verdict was given, which she did in a manner astonishing to her companions. Of French grammar she had the poorest opinion, but she was sharp as a magpie to pick up the phrases of others and store them for her own use. The morning after Mademoiselle had suffered from a headache, Pixie’s handkerchief was soaked with offerings of eau-de-Cologne from the various girls to whom she had repeated ejaculations of distress; she discoursed exhaustively upon the weather to every one who could be induced to listen, and recited exercise phrases to the school cat until her tongue grew quite nimble over the words.

Mademoiselle was an object of intense interest and curiosity to her new pupil. She was the first foreigner whom Pixie had known, and there was something in her dark, eager face which arrested the child’s attention. Mademoiselle was quick and nervous, subject to fits of unreasonable irritation; but at other times there was a sad, far-away look in her eyes, and then her voice would take a softer cadence, so that when she said “Chérie,” one pupil at least forgot all the scoldings which had gone before. Pixie felt irresistibly drawn to Mademoiselle in her hours of depression. She could not have explained the attraction, but in her heart she felt that they were both exiles, and that Mademoiselle pined for her own sunny land even as she pined for the dear green isle which seemed so far away. She longed for Mademoiselle to notice her, to show her some special mark of favour, but longed in vain, until at last a day dawned which brought her into notice in a manner which was scarcely to her liking.

It was a wet Saturday afternoon, and wet Saturday afternoons are abominations to every boarding-school girl, and the cause of endless grumblings and repinings. Ethel and Kate had gone out to tea with an old maiden lady who lived in the neighbourhood, and had still further deepened their friend’s depression before departing by drawing a most roseate picture of the joys before them.

“She is awfully kind,” they had explained of their hostess; “she gives you the most galumptious teas, and the best part of it is, she has an e-normous appetite herself, so you can eat as much as you like, without fear of looking greedy!”

No wonder the poor stay-at-homes looked glum after this; no wonder they sighed with envy as they thought of the thick bread-and-butter in store for themselves. The elder girls provided themselves with books, and sat in rows before the fire, while artistic spirits set themselves copies, and filled up page after page of their sketching-books. Flora stitched on a table-centre destined to be a birthday present for her mother, and the younger girls clustered round Pixie, and besought her to think of some new means of amusement.

“Think of something, Pixie-doo! It’s so dull, and we are sick of the stupid old games. What did you do at home when it rained and you couldn’t go out?”

“I’ve never seen it rain hard enough to keep me indoors if I wanted to be out,” returned Pixie, with a toss of the head; “but I’ve had fine fun indoors sometimes when I didn’t feel disposed for exertion. Ratting in the barn is good sport, or grooming the pony, or feeding the animals, and pretending it is the Zoo; but you can’t do those things here. It’s hard to think of anything amusing when you are shut up in one room.”

“We can go out on the landing, if we like; I vote we do, and be by ourselves. The fifth forms are sure to tell us not to, the moment we have thought of something nice. Come along now, before they notice us!”

No sooner said than done. The little band of conspirators slipped from the room, and stood without on the square landing, five short-frocked girls all gazing eagerly, confidently, into the face of their leader.

“Pixie, what shall we do?”

Pixie racked her brains in despair, for not a single idea would come to her aid, and yet to acknowledge such a want of invention would have been to forfeit her position, and therefore not to be thought of for a second. Her eyes roamed from side to side, and lit upon a table on which some working materials happened to be lying. A basket, a folded length of cloth, and a roll of wide green binding such as was used to edge old-fashioned window-curtains. Pixie looked at it thoughtfully, fingered it to ascertain its weight, shook it out to discover its length, and cried eagerly—

“Just the thing! Might have been made for it. Would you like to see me lasso the next person who comes upstairs?”

“Lasso!” The girls were not quite sure of the meaning of the word, but Pixie explained it, suiting the action to the word.

A lasso was a rope with a noose at one end—so! and it was used to catch wild horses, or anything else you happened to chase. You stood with the rope gathered up in your hand—so! and then took aim and sent it flying out suddenly—so! Pat could do it beautifully, and he had taught her too, but she could not always manage very well. If you caught a girl from above, she would be startled out of her wits, and squeal like anything. It would be splendid fun. The next one, then, who came upstairs!

The girls were divided between horror and delight. Dared she? Really! Would it hurt? What would Miss Phipps say? Did she really think she ought? But their agitation acted as fuel to Pixie’s determination, and she would only laugh and lean over the banisters, experimenting with the long green rope, and altering the length until it met with her approval.

Five minutes passed, and nobody appeared; ten minutes, and the conspirators were beginning to grow impatient, when from below came the unmistakable sound of an ascending footstep. The orders of the chief had been that when this happened her attendants were to withdraw to a safe distance, so that no movement nor sound of muffled laughter should warn the victim of her peril; so the girls retreated obediently, leaving Pixie to crouch on the floor until the eventful moment when a head appeared on the landing six steps below. It came—the top of a smooth, brown head, and on the moment out flew the rope, whirled into space with a skilful jerk which sent the noose flying wide, and with an accuracy of aim which brought it right round the neck of the new-comer. She squealed indeed, but horror of horrors! she squealed in French, with such staccato “Oh’s” and “Ah’s” of astonishment as could only have come from one person in the house. It was Mademoiselle herself! and lifting her glance she beheld six horrified faces peering at her over the banisters, six pairs of startled eyes, six mouths agape with dismay. She looked, and then, as it seemed with one stride, was in their midst, with her hands gripping Pixie by the shoulders.

Now it happened that Mademoiselle was in her most irritable mood this afternoon, for all day long she had been struggling against what, for convenience’ sake, she called a headache, but which might more honestly have been described as a heartache instead. A teacher cannot explain to thirty pupils that she has received a letter from home which has seemed to drop a veil before the sky, but such letters come all the same, and make it difficult to bear the hundred and one little annoyances and trials of temper which fall to her lot. Mademoiselle’s letter had told of the illness of a beloved father, and as she dared not sit down and have a good cry to relieve her feelings, she was an a pent-up state of nerves which made her the worst possible subject for a practical joke. The rope in Pixie’s hand marked her out as the principal offender, and she was called to order in a breathless stream of French which left her dumb and bewildered.

“I—I can’t understand!” she stammered, and Mademoiselle struggled to express herself in sufficiently expressive English. “You bad girl! You rude, bad girl! What ’ave you done? What you mean playing your treecks on me? I will not ’ave it. I will complain to Miss Phipps. How dare you throw your strings about to catch me as I come upstairs! Impertinent! Disobedient!”

“P–please, Mademoiselle, it was a lasso! I didn’t know it was you. I said I would do it to the first person who came, and I didn’t see your face. It was only a joke.”

“A joke! You catch me by the throat, you ’ang me by the neck, and you call it a joke! You wicked, impertinent girl, you shall be punished for this!”

Pixie heaved a sigh so sepulchral that it might almost have been called a groan instead.

“It’s just my luck!” she said dismally. “When I tried to show off before Pat and the girls, I couldn’t do it one time in a hundred, and just now, when I’d have no credit, but only get into trouble, I caught you the very first try!”

Did she mean to be impertinent? Mademoiselle looked down with sharp suspicion, but even in her excited condition she could not mistake that downcast look, and troubled, disconsolate frown. Her voice grew a trifle less sharp, but she was very angry still.

“You ought to be ashamed playing such treecks! It is always the same thing—there is no peace since you ’ave come. These girls were quite good and mild, but you make them as wild as yourself. I will teach you to be’ave better. You will come with me to the schoolroom and write out a verrrb!”

“I will, Mademoiselle,” said Pixie meekly, so meekly that her companions fondly hoped that such exemplary submission would win forgiveness; but no, Mademoiselle flounced downstairs, and Pixie followed at her heels, to seat herself in solitary state at one end of the deserted schoolroom, while Mademoiselle took possession of the desk and began to correct a pile of exercise books.

To write out a verb is not, as a rule, a very lengthy matter, but Mademoiselle’s punishment verbs had invariably a phrase attached which gave to them an added appropriateness, but very much lengthened the task. “I am sorry that I was rude to Mademoiselle” was the verb which poor Pixie was to-day condemned to conjugate, and the big straggling sentences amplified the statement until it seemed impossible to express it in any other way. “I am sorry that I was rude to Mademoiselle—I was sorry that I was rude to Mademoiselle—I shall or will be sorry that I was rude to Mademoiselle.”

At intervals of every two or three minutes Mademoiselle glanced from her work to the little figure at the other end of the room, but each time Pixie’s head was bent over her task, and the wandering eyes were glued to their task. Such industry seemed so unnatural that the onlooker became first puzzled and then uneasy, and at last resorted to coughing and moving about in her chair in order to satisfy curiosity. In vain! Pixie’s head went down lower than ever, and the pen scratched away without a moment’s cessation, for she was enduring that unreasoning panic of fear which sensitive children suffer when they are in disgrace with their elders. She had been brought up in an atmosphere of tender indulgence, had been the adored baby of the household, who had never heard the sound of an angry voice, so that now, to sit alone in a room with a person whom she had displeased, reduced her to a condition of trembling fear. Her eyelids felt weighed down, a lump rose in her throat, and she trembled as with cold, and then presently the dreaded voice spoke again, and Mademoiselle said—

“Pixie, come here. Bring your verrrb!”

The wretched scribe had not yet finished her conjugation, being about imperatively to command herself to be sorry that she had been rude to Mademoiselle, but she was too nervous to explain, and stood twisting her hands together and staring at the carpet, while Mademoiselle turned over the pages. She bit her lips once or twice as she read, and her eyes twinkled, but Pixie did not see that, and the voice which spoke sounded alarmingly stern.

“It is ver’ badly written. You make your letters too big; and such blots! I cannot ’ave such blots. What ’ave you been doing to make such blots as these?”

“They are not blots, please, Mademoiselle; they are only—”

“Only what then?”

“Spots!”

“Spots!” echoed Mademoiselle blankly. “Spots—blots! Blots—spots! I do not understand. What is then the difference between blots and spots?”

“Blots is made with ink,”—when Pixie was agitated, as at the present moment, grammar was by no means her strong point—“and spots is made with—with—”

“Eh bien! And with what, then?”

“T–tears!” came the answer in the softest echo of a voice, and Mademoiselle looked down at the woe-begone face with startled eyes.

“Tears! Your tears! But why should you cry? It is not so dreadful to write a verrrb. I might have given you worse punishment than that. Perhaps it was because you had missed the afternoon with your friends. I cannot think a girl of your age should cry over a simple verrrb.”

“I thought it was a very elaborate verb!” said Pixie faintly. “But it wasn’t that that made me cry; it was hurting your feelings, Mademoiselle!”

Mademoiselle leant back in her seat and looked intently at the shrinking figure.

“Look up,chérie!” she said softly, and Pixie’s fear fell from her like a mantle. She saw a hand outstretched, and clasped it eagerly.

“I never meant to hang you, Mademoiselle! It was only a joke. The girls asked me to amuse them, and we think it fine sport to lasso one another at home. How was I to know it would be you, when I gave my word I would catch the first one that came upstairs? I didn’t mean to be impertinent.”

“But,ma petite, you should not play such treecks at all!” Mademoiselle shook her head, but she was smiling as she spoke, for she was beginning to realise that no disrespect had been meant to herself, and that she had been unduly stern in her denunciations. “It is not the thing for a young lady at school; it is only for wild—how do you call them—‘cowboys,’ out on the prairie. If you do it at ’ome, it is not my affair, but if your father should see you some day, he must be shocked like me!”

“I’m the youngest of six, and me father won’t have me thwarted!” sighed Pixie, lapsing into her brogue, as she usually did when agitated. “Nobody’s ever angry with me at Bally William; I get into mischief the day long, and it’s all quite happy and comfortable. If I’m quiet and well-behaved, Bridgie is after giving me a mixture, for, says she, ‘The choild’s ill; there’s not been a sound out of her this day!’ I wish I was back in me own country, Mademoiselle, and then I shouldn’t trouble you any more!”

“I vish I was back in my countree, too,” sighed the other softly, and two big tears started in the brown eyes, and trickled slowly down the cheeks. “My father is ill, and needs me, and I cannot be with him. I feel as if I could have wings and fly, I long so much to go; but I must stay here and work. My ’eart is very sad, and sometimes I get cross—too cross, perhaps, because I cannot bear any more. Then you girls talk among yourselves and say, ‘How she is bad-tempered, that Mademoiselle! How she is cross and strict!’ That is what you say very often,n’est-ce pas?”

“We do!” replied Pixie frankly. It was one of the Irishisms which amused her companions that she never by any chance gave a simple “Yes” or “No” in reply to a question. It was always “I am!” “I will!” “I do!” as the case might be.

“We do!” she replied now, and then hastened to soften the admission by a coaxing, “But I wouldn’t be troubling meself about that, if I were you, for they don’t mind it a bit. I drew a picture of you the other day with a bubble coming out of your mouth, and ‘Bow-wow-wow’ written on it like a dog, because you are always barking; but there isn’t a bite in ye, and all the girls say you aren’t half as bad as the Mademoiselle who was here before!”

Well! There are some conditions of mind when we are thankful for the smallest grain of comfort, and Mademoiselle smiled and flicked the tears from her eyes.

“They are too kind! I am much obliged; but another time, when I ‘bark’ as you call it, you will perhaps remember that your teachers are like yourselves, and ’ave the same feelings. When you come first to school you have to be comforted because you are ’ome-sick, but we are ’ome-sick too; and when you get bad news you cry, and are excused your work, but we must go on the same as before; and if it is difficult to learn your lessons, it is also difficult to teach! Well, now you may go! You will remember not to be rude to Mademoiselle again, eh?”

She held out her hand, smiling more brightly this time, and Pixie seized it eagerly.

“I will! And I hope your father will get well soon. You will see him at Christmas, and that isn’t very long now; only forty-eight days to-morrow. I mark them off on my calendar.”

“No, that is so sad, I shall not see him until summer! He is going to my brother in Italy, where it is warm and sunny, and it is too far for me to go there with him. It costs too much money, and the little house in Paris will be shut up till he returns, so I must stay in England all through the dark, long winter, when the sun never shines, and I shiver, shiver, shiver all day and all night! I shall forget what it is like to be warm before the spring arrives!”

Pixie rubbed the cold hands with a sympathetic touch, but she made no remark, and presently went from the schoolroom to rejoin her companions and make the most of the hours which still remained, while Mademoiselle went wearily on with the task of correction. She forgot all about her own complaints of cold, but when she retired to bed that night a delightful surprise was in store, for the sheets were warm instead of cold, and her chilled feet came in contact with something soft and hot, which proved upon examination to be an indiarubber water-bottle encased in a flannel bag. Mademoiselle drew a long gasp of rapture, and nestled down again with a feeling of comfort to which she had long been a stranger. A day or two earlier, Miss Phipps had spoken of the necessity of putting more coverings on the beds, as the frost had set in unusually early, and Mademoiselle sleepily attributed this new comfort as another instance of the Principal’s consideration for her assistants. She felt certain that it must be so, as night after night the welcome warmth was in waiting, and more than once determined to express her appreciation; but life was busy, and there was such an accumulation of work as the period of examination approached, that there seemed no time to speak of anything but school affairs.

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