room! You are fourteen, I'm fourteen, Ethel is fifteen; we ought to
have one of the older ones with us. We will make her fag for her
living. She shall get the hot water, and fold up our nightgowns, and
pick up the pins. All the same, I shall be kind to her, for the credit
of the country, for Irish people are always imagining themselves ill-
used by England. If I had thought of it I would have drawn a picture
for her cubicle, as a delicate little mark of attention. An Irishman
with his--what do you call it?--shi-lee-lah!"
The speaker stopped suddenly as she pronounced this difficult word, for
a curious muffled sound reached her ears. "What's that?" she asked
quickly; but her companions had heard nothing, so she retired into the
cubicle next Pixie's own to brush her hair, slightly raising her voice,
so as to be heard more easily by her companions.
"She lives in a castle! I heard Miss Phipps telling Miss Bruce when she
was sending the labels. `Knock-kneed Castle,' or something like that.
Every second house in Ireland is called a castle, my father says. It's
no more than a villa in England, and all the people are as poor as Job,
and have hens in their parlours and pigs on the lawn. They don't know
what it is to keep order. What are you grunting for, Ethel? It's quite
true, I tell you!"
"Dear me, I'm not grunting, I'm only washing my hands," cried Ethel,
aggrieved. "What's the matter with your ears this afternoon? I don't
care where she lives, so long as she behaves herself, and knows how to
respect her elders. I wonder what she is like!"
"Irish girls are mostly pretty."
"Who told you that?"
"Never mind, I know it. It's always raining over there, and that is
supposed to be good for the hair, or the complexion, or something. And
they are so bright and vivacious. If an author wants to make a
specially lively heroine in a book, the father is Irish, and the mother
is French. Perhaps she'll be the beauty of the school, and then won't
someone we could mention tear her hair with rage?"
"Well, I don't know about being pretty," said Pixie's neighbour
reflectively. "We have had lots of Irish servants, and they were plain
enough. But the name sounds interesting--`Miss Shog-nessie--the
Castle--Ireland.' It certainly sounds interesting. I'd give something
to know what she is like."
"If ye'll step inside the curtain, ye may judge for yerself," said a
deep rich voice suddenly from behind the curtain which was farthest from
the door.
There was silence in the bedroom--a silence which might be felt!
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 etes, 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 I _am_ made 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!"