received her with outstretched arms and framed the thin little face with
her hands. "Little Pixie," she said softly, "never say again that no
one loves you in this house. I have loved you from the first, and have
felt it a real trouble to be obliged to doubt you, and now I love you a
hundred times more for your loyalty and unselfish consideration for your
friend. You would have been wiser to be more candid about your own
doings, but I appreciate your scruples, and the school code of honour
has so many good points that I cannot bring myself to say that it should
have been broken. As for the conduct of a girl who would let another
suffer as you have done rather than bear the consequences of her own
misdoing, I have no words to express my horror and indignation,
especially when she is a senior and you one of the youngest in the
school. It shows a want of principle which makes me despair of her
future. A sudden slip or disobedience I could pardon, but not
deliberate deceit, and I am too fond of my girls, and too anxious about
their welfare, to allow such an influence to remain in their midst."
Like the shiver of wind among the trees, the word "Expelled!" came from
a dozen quivering lips, and Pixie O'Shaughnessy clasped her hands in
horrified appeal.
"Oh, ye wouldn't--ye wouldn't send her away! Ye wouldn't give her over
to her father, and him so stern and cruel with her! If she's been bad
now, she was good before. The girls were fond of her, and she was kind
to meself, lending me her lace collar and all the fixings for the party.
If it's for making me miserable you are after punishing her, I'll be
more miserable than ever, and the girls will be miserable too--ask them
if they won't! Lots of them think there isn't another to touch her in
the school, and they couldn't do that if she was all bad. Punish her
some other way, but oh, don't, don't send her away! What's the use of
me taking all the trouble if it's to be no good after all?"
A smile came to Miss Phipps's lips at the innocent directness of the
question, but she grew grave enough the next moment, and her voice
sounded both sad and troubled as she replied--
"You certainly give us a lesson in the way to forgive our enemies,
Pixie, and I should be sorry to do anything that would make you
`miserable'; but I must think of Lottie's good before our own
preferences. Mr Vane is too good and just a man to treat her unkindly,
and is only stern because he has realised the weakness of her character.
He is too anxious about her welfare to make it right for me to conceal
anything from him, especially so flagrant a breach of honour; but
perhaps--I don't know--if the feeling of the girls themselves is in her
favour, I may consent to give her another chance. I am glad to hear
that she has been kind--"
"Lottie is very good-natured, Miss Phipps. She is a favourite with the
girls. They would be sorry to lose her. I think it would be a
punishment to her to feel that she had fallen so much in their opinion,
and we would all like to give her another chance," said Margaret
timidly, and Miss Phipps nodded kindly in reply.
"Ah, well, we can decide nothing to-night. It will need careful
thinking over, and meanwhile we will banish the subject and make the
most of the time that is left. I am very sorry for the interruption,
although in one sense we are glad of it too, for it has brought Pixie
back amongst us. She must go upstairs and dress quickly, and then we
will have supper and put away unpleasant thoughts, and Mademoiselle must
really dry her eyes, for I cannot have any more crying to-night."
"If Peexie will forgeeve me!" cried Mademoiselle, stretching out her
arms and clasping Pixie in so tight an embrace that when her little snub
nose came again in sight, it bore the pattern of a steel button plainly
stamped upon it. "I won't forgeeve myself that I was so 'arsh and
cross. It was a poor thanks, _cherie_, for your kindness to me all
these weeks when I have been so warm and comfortable. I am ashamed to
remember what I have done."
"Small blame to you if you were mad when you believed I was telling a
lie to your face! But ye weren't half so nasty as ye think ye were,"
said Pixie, beaming upon her in sweetest condescension. "Sometimes ye
were quite agreeable. There was one day I was in with a cold, and ye
came and cheered up me spirits until I hardly knew meself for the same
creature."
Mademoiselle lifted her hands with an eloquent gesture, as a sudden
remembrance darted into her mind.
"Ah, yes! It is true. And now I have something else to tell you, you
girls! It is Pixie whom you have to thank for this party, not me. It
was she who begged me to supplicate Miss Phipps for you. She said, `She
will say Yes if it is you who ask, but not to me, therefore you must not
say my name at all; but if she will not give the party because I am to
be punished, tell her to send me to bed and let the rest be 'appy.' The
dear child has thought of you when you were all so cross with her!"
There was an outburst of cheering from all corners of the room, in the
midst of which Evelyn fell back in her chair and tugged with both hands
at her long dark locks.
"And I called her a hardened little sinner! I abused her like a
pickpocket, and called her an ungrateful serpent! Bring some sackcloth
and ashes, somebody, quickly! I shall go in mourning for the rest of my
life!"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION.
"That child Pixie is more wonderful than ever. What do you think she
asks me next?" said Mademoiselle to Miss Phipps early the next morning.
"The dear Breedgie has told her to invite a friend to return 'ome with
her for the holidays, and she gives me the letter to read, and asks that
it shall be me! I have laughed, but it is no use; she is still in
earnest. I have said, `I am not a schoolgirl, and too old for you, my
dear.' She stares in my face, and asks, `'Ow old are you then? Not
more than forty, are you?' Ah, dear! If someone else had said that, I
had been furious, for one does not like to be made ten years too old,
but one cannot be angry with that child. Then I said, `Your sister will
expect a girl like yourself, and will be disappointed to see me, and
that would be uncomfortable for both.' But she would not listen to that
either, but declared it would be still better for them, for they had
wished for someone who had seen the world. Nothing that I can say will
convince her, but you know it is impossible that I should go!"
"Well, really, Therese, I wish you would!" returned Miss Phipps,
laughing. "It has been a weight on my mind to think of your remaining
here alone during the holidays; and I cannot stay with you, for I am
bound to go to my old aunt. As for Pixie taking one of the girls home
with her, that is out of the question at this hour of the day. If Miss
O'Shaughnessy had sent an invitation even a fortnight ago, it might have
been arranged, but now there is no time to write, and get permission,
and make the necessary plans. It is only in a case like yours, when
there is no one else to consult, that such a very Irish invitation could
be accepted; so either you go with Pixie, or she returns alone. And
that reminds me of another thing. It would be a comfort to me if you
could look after the child on the journey, for I have had a letter from
the brother to say that he cannot decide definitely on what day he will
cross. How would it be if you accepted the invitation for one week,
took the child safely home, and just left it to circumstances to decide
what to do after that?"
"You think I might venture--really?" asked Mademoiselle eagerly. Her
eyes brightened, and a flush of colour came into her cheek. "If it
would not be too absurd, I should like it ver' much! We have heard so
much of those dear sisters that we seem to know them already, and I
should be glad of the change. If, for example, you would write and say
you would be more comfortable if I accompanied the child, and that I
would stay a few days--that would perhaps make it easier!"
"Certainly, with pleasure; and I shall be so glad if it ends in a nice
holiday for you, dear! The last part of the term has been so trying
that we all need cheering up; and, from all we hear, I should think the
household at Knock Castle must be a delightful study. Young Mr
O'Shaughnessy has promised to call this afternoon, so you had better
come down and talk to him yourself. I am sure you will find that he is
as cordial as Pixie herself."
This, indeed, proved to be the case, and greatly charmed was
Mademoiselle with the handsome youth, who beamed upon her with Pixie's
own smile, and who was so much warmer and more enthusiastic in his
manner than his English brothers. Jack, indeed, was an apt disciple of
the Blarney Stone, and could pay compliments with any man in Ireland.
He gazed at Mademoiselle with an expression in his eyes which seemed to
say that never, no, never, had he met so charming a woman; his voice
gurgled with emotion as he seconded his sister's invitation, and he bade
her welcome to Knock Castle with the graciousness of a prince of the
blood. So handsome he looked, too, that Pixie's heart swelled with
pride, as she beheld him seated on the sofa, in his frock coat and
freshly creased trousers, looking, as she mentally expressed it, as if
he never "gave a thought to money," which in good truth was the case,
though in another sense to that in which she meant it. The West End
tailor would have a weary time to wait before Mr Jack troubled himself
to pay for all his fine new clothes!
Jack declared that it would be of all things the most helpful if
Mademoiselle would escort Pixie home, for he himself would have to leave
his journey until the very last moment before Christmas, when travelling
would be both difficult and unpleasant. He offered to telegraph to his
sisters, prophesied that Mademoiselle would receive an immediate
response, so that before he left the house the matter was virtually
settled, and the extraordinary news spread through the school that
Mademoiselle was going home with Pixie O'Shaughnessy to pay a visit to
her relatives. Surprise was the first feeling, envy the next, and the
elder pupils were urgent in their demands for letters.
"Write to us, Maddie, do! Promise you will! We are all dying to hear
what they are like. Tell us if Esmeralda is really as beautiful as
Pixie says, and what Bridgie is like, and the boys, and `the Major,' and
the Castle itself. And tell us all you do, and exactly what happens
when you arrive. Write one really long, detaily letter, and we will
send it the round of the class, so that we will all get the benefit.
You will, Maddie, won't you? We do want so badly to know about Pixie's
home!"
Mademoiselle laughed merrily. It was astonishing how bright and young
she looked in the prospect of the unexpected holiday. She was in such a
good temper that it seemed really impossible for her to say No.
"I will tell you what I can, but you know it is not _comme il faut_ to
criticise the house, in which you stay. I will write all the pleasant
things, but for the jokes--the _contretemps_, no! Pixie shall do that
if she will, I must keep them to myself. If they are all as nice as the
son whom I have seen, they must be charming. I have never met a more
pleasant youth."
The girls wagged their heads in meaning fashion.
"We saw him!" they said meaningly--"we saw him! Pixie said he was
coming about four, so we kept a lookout, and were obliged to go to the
window to read some small print, just as he happened to walk up the
steps. Ethel heard the bell, and stopped practising five minutes before
the time, and strolled casually downstairs to meet him. He stood aside
to let her pass, and she says he smiles with his eyes, just like Pixie!
Oh, of course, we don't expect you to tell tales, but just to ease our
curiosity. We do take such an extraordinary interest in that family!"
"There is another family in which I take an even greater interest just
now, and that's the Vanes!" remarked Kate meaningly. "Miss Phipps wrote
to Mr Vane, and I met poor Lottie just now with eyes all magenta with
crying over a letter she had just received from him. She saw I was
sorry for her, and I think she was thankful to have someone to talk to,
for she asked me to read it." She threw up her hands with a gesture of
dismay. "Well, I don't know what I should do if my father wrote me a
letter like that!"
"Ow-w-ow!" Ethel shivered dramatically. "How horrible! What did he
say? Was it terribly furious?"
"It wasn't furious at all, not even angry; but oh, so sad and solemn
that it made you turn cold to read it! `It had tears in it,' as
Fraulein said of Margaret's singing, and you could tell he was so
bitterly, bitterly disappointed! Lottie felt that more than if he had
been cross, for she does so love to be loved and fussed over; and if
ever there was a poor thing scared out of her wits at the thought of to-
morrow, it is herself at this moment. He comes to take her away, you
know, and instead of the holidays being a relief, as she expected, she
is longing for them to be over. She says now that she would rather not
come back here, but go to some fresh school where no one knows about
this trouble; but her father thinks it would be good for her to suffer
the humiliation of losing her position among us, and says if Miss Phipps
will have her, she must try to regain our esteem. Ah, well, I was as
disgusted with her as anyone could be, and felt inclined never to speak
to her again when I thought how she had treated the Pixie; but I am
dreadfully sorry for her now, when I compare her home-going with my own.
I do have such a time! The family is one beam of delight when I
arrive; the children quarrel who shall sit by me at table, and I have
all my favourite puddings. My room looks so sweet with flowers on the
dressing-table, and I sit up till ten o'clock, and mother comes to see
me in bed and gives me a lovely hug. Fifty-two more hours! I'm so
happy I couldn't be angry with my deadliest enemy!"
"I saw Mr Vane once, and he looks a regular grey man," said Ethel in
reply. "Clothes, and hair, and eyes, and skin--all the same washed-out
grey. I don't wonder Lottie is in awe of him, and I'm thankful I am not
mixed up in the business, so that he can't ask to interview me. I
believe he will want to see Pixie, though. It would seem only natural.
I wouldn't say so to her for the world, but don't you think Miss Phipps
will send for her when he comes?"
Some of the girls thought no, others thought yes, and events proved that
the latter were in the right; for the next afternoon Pixie was summoned
to the drawing-room in the middle of her packing, and entered to find
Miss Phipps in earnest conversation with a tall, grave-looking man,
while Lottie stood miserably by the window. She looked tall and womanly
in her travelling-cloak, and the pained glance which Mr Vane turned
from her to the new-comer showed that he felt all an Englishman's horror
at the idea of cruelty to the weak.
"Is this--this surely can't be _Pixie_?" he asked anxiously. "I did not
expect to see anyone so--small. She is surely very young!"
He was really speaking to Miss Phipps, but as he held Pixie's hand in
his, she felt it her duty to answer for herself.
"No--I'm really quite old, but I'm stunted. I'm twelve!" she said,
smiling up at him, with the confiding look which was her best
introduction to a stranger. She was about to enlighten him still
further as to the respective heights of the different members of her
family, but a curious quiver passed over the grey face, and scared her
into silence.
"Twelve, are you, and Lottie is sixteen! I sent for you, Pixie, to tell
you how bitterly grieved Mrs Vane and I are to think of all you have
suffered through our daughter's cowardice. I wish it were in our power
to do something for you in return, but I hope at least that Lottie has
expressed her regret before leaving, and begged your forgiveness!"
"No, she didn't beg anything. She just cried, and hugged me, and I
cried, and hugged her back. I knew she was sorry from the beginning;
and it was worse for her, because she knew all the time that she was
wrong, and I was quite comfortable inside. And she was very kind to me
before that. I liked her very much. She gave me an elegant little
brooch that she didn't want any longer."
Mr Vane turned aside, and looked into Miss Phipps's face, and Miss
Phipps looked back at him with a glance half smiling, half tearful, and
withal wholly proud, as though justified in something about which she
had previously been inclined to boast.
"Pixie finds no difficulty in forgiving, Mr Vane, and I think the best
thanks you could give her would be an opportunity of befriending Lottie
still further, and helping her to regain her position in the school. I
think it is an encouraging omen for the future that it is the girls
themselves who have persuaded me to take her back."
"They are very good! You are all very good," he said sadly. "I need
hardly say how much I appreciate your kindness. Good-bye, then, little
Pixie O'Shaughnessy, and I hope we may meet again under happier
circumstances. May you have happy holidays!"
"I'm going home," said Pixie eloquently. Her radiant face made such a
striking contrast to that other bleached, frightened-looking visage that
the father's heart softened as he looked from one to the other. He took
Lottie's hand and drew it tenderly through his arm.
"And so is Lottie, and if her parents seem stern with her, it is only
because they are anxious for her good. She perhaps hardly realises the
bitter pain it gives them to see her unhappy."
"Father!" cried Lottie eagerly, and now for the first time she clung to
him instead of shrinking out of sight, and seemed to find comfort in the
touch of his hand. The fifth-form girls, peeping cautiously out of the
window a few minutes later, were amazed to see her descend the steps
holding tightly to his arm, but they were too much engrossed with their
own exciting preparations to have time to ponder over the phenomenon.
Only Miss Phipps and Pixie knew that the "grey man" had a tender heart
despite his sternness, and that Lottie had fallen into wise and loving
care.
The next morning all was excitement and bustle, cabs and omnibuses
driving up to the door of Holly House to convey parties of pupils to the
station, gushing farewells and promises to write taking place on the
staircase, mysterious bundles, "not to be opened until Christmas
morning," slipped into trunks at the last moment, and such racings up
and down stairs in search of things forgotten as can be better imagined
than described when thirty girls half-mad with excitement are on the
point of starting for home.
Mademoiselle and Pixie were among the first to leave, and, despite the
very early hour of their departure, came in for such a magnificent "send
off" that they felt quite like royal personages as they drove away from
the door. Meals would be supplied on train and boat, but they were
laden with other comforts for the long journey in the shape of sweets,
scent, books to read, and, alas! specifics against sea-sickness.
Mademoiselle looked pensive whenever she thought of the hours on board
the boat, but for the rest she was as gay as one of the girls
themselves, and much interested in the country through which they flew.
One great town after another appeared, and was left behind as they
roared through the stations, seeing nothing but a blur of white faces
and undecipherable letters upon a board. Hour after hour and never a
stop, morning changing into afternoon, and still no slackening of that
wonderful onward rush. Two o'clock, and then, just as Pixie was
beginning to nod after her lunch, a sudden cry of admiration came from
Mademoiselle by her side, and there, close at hand, so near that but a
step would have taken them upon the beach, lay the beautiful, mysterious
sea, its waters shining in the winter sunshine, the breakers making a
ridge of white along the yellow shore. The bathing vans were drawn up
on the shingle, and there were no active little figures running to and
fro digging castles on the sands, no nigger minstrels and gingerbread
stalls and swarms of donkey-boys. All was still and bare and lifeless,
and as the short day closed in there was an eeriness about the scene
which made the travellers glad to draw the curtains over the windows,
and which gave an added cheeriness to the prospect of tea. When
Holyhead was reached, Mademoiselle lifted her bag and walked on board
the steamer with the air of a martyr marching to the stake, and, to
Pixie's dismay, laid herself down at once with an utter disregard of the
tables spread out in the saloon. She waited in what patience she could
command until they were well on their way and the preparations for the
evening meal grew more advanced, and then it was impossible to remain
silent any longer.
"Would ye not be taking something to warm ye, Mademoiselle?" she
inquired anxiously. "There's a lovely smell of cooking--two smells.
One of them is cabbage, and the other smells like gravy spilt in the
oven. Doesn't it make you hungry, that nice greasy smell?"
But Mademoiselle only groaned and bade her eat a biscuit and be silent;
so for mere occupation's sake the wisest thing seemed to be to go to
sleep, which she proceeded to do with extraordinary quickness. Such an
amount of groanings and clanking of chains mingled with her dreams that
they naturally took the shape of confinement within prison walls, where
she suffered many and wonderful adventures, and from which she was on
the point of escaping under the most romantic circumstances when she was
seized in the grasp of the jailer, as she at first supposed, but it
turned out to be Mademoiselle herself--such a haggard, dishevelled
Mademoiselle!--who bade her get up and put on her hat, for the sea was
crossed at last, and they were anchored at the quay at Dublin. Pixie
felt as if roused in the middle of the night, and altogether it was a
most dejected-looking couple who went shivering across the gangway in
the pouring rain and made their way to the train for the third and last
stage of the journey. Neither spoke, but just lay prone against the
cushions of the railway carriage, so much asleep as to be uncomfortably
aware that they were awake, so much awake as to long hopelessly for
sleep. Mademoiselle determined drearily to send for her aged father,
and spend the rest of her life in enforced exile on this grey, rain-
swept island, since never, never again could she summon up courage to
cross that dreadful sea, and the night seemed half over when Bally
William was reached at last.
The station clock was pointing to eleven, and a broken-down fly was
waiting to convey the travellers to their destination. In the dim light
the surroundings looked both poor and squalid, but porter and flyman
vied with one another in a welcome so warm that it went far to dissipate
the cheerlessness of the scene.
Pixie discoursed with them in animated fashion the while the trunks were
being hoisted to their places.
"Has anyone been here from the Castle to-day, Dennis? They are all
quite well, I suppose?"
"They are so, Miss Pixie, and Miss Joan down upon us this morning,
hinting of what would happen if Jock was forgetting the fly. You mind
the night the lady was arriving, and having to find her way in the dark
while he was snoring in his bed? It's a fine flow of language Miss Joan
has of her own. It's as good as a sermon to listen to her when she's
roused, and Jock was getting the benefit of it this day!"
"There's a fine tale he's spinning!" exclaimed the defaulting Jock,
grinning in unabashed complacency. "Don't you be after believing a word
of it, Miss Pixie dear. It would be a cold bed that would keep Jock
Magee from driving ye home this night. And the size of ye too. You've
grown out of knowledge! It's a fine strapping lass you will be one of
these days." And Jock gazed with simulated amazement at the elf-like
figure as it stepped forward into the lamplight. "My Molly was biddin'
me give you her duty, and say her eyes are longing for the sight of you
again."
"I'll come to-morrow, as soon as I can get away. Give Molly my love,
Jock, and say I was often thinking of her. He is a decent fellow, Jock
Magee!" she explained to her companion, as the ramshackle vehicle
trundled away in the darkness. "A decent fellow, but he has been
terrible unlucky with his wives. They fall ill on him as soon as
they're married, and cost him pounds in doctors and funerals. This one
has asthma, and he expects she will die too before very long. He says
it doesn't give a man a chance; but he's the wonderful knack for keeping
up his spirits!"