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! It _was_ the 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 "Cherie," 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."