presents from the walk--pencil-boxes, and jujubes, and a little toy
rabbit that wagged its head. I don't know how it was, but they soothed
my feelings! I should have liked to buy you something, Sylvia, but I
don't get my wages till the end of the month, and then they are spent.
You'll excuse me, won't you, me dear, for you know I am sorry!"
"My darling girl, I don't want presents! Come to see me as often as you
can, and go on being fond of me--that's all I want," cried Sylvia
warmly, and Pixie brightened once more.
"There's no credit in that. It isn't as if you were nasty. I'll not be
able to call on ye as often as I'd like, for I'm off to the seaside.
Mrs Wallace has taken a house on the Thames, and her cousin is coming
home from the wars and a friend with him, and lots of ladies and
gentlemen all staying in the house to be entertained, so they want me to
go too. Of course!"
"Of course," repeated Sylvia gravely. There was something so charming
in Pixie's simple assumption that everyone desired her company, that she
would not for the world have tried to destroy it. "I hope you will
enjoy yourself very much, dear, and come back with some colour in your
cheeks, though I am afraid that particular part of the `seaside' is not
very bracing. Tell Mrs Hilliard with my love that I shall be charmed
to see her this afternoon!"
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
ESMERALDA'S VISIT.
Miss Munns was greatly excited to hear of the expected visit, and busied
herself taking the holland covers off the drawing-room chairs, and
displaying the best antimacassars in the most advantageous position.
Sylvia longed to introduce a little disorder into the painful severity
of the room, but it would have distressed her aunt if she had moved a
chair out of the straight, or confiscated one of the books which were
ranged at equal distances round the rosewood table, and, as it was one
of her resolves not to interfere with domestic arrangements, she
shrugged her shoulders resignedly, and hoped that Esmeralda might be as
unnoticing of her surroundings as were her brothers and sisters.
At four o'clock a carriage drove up to the door, and Esmeralda alighted,
clad from head to foot in black, as Sylvia noticed at the first quick
glance. She was waiting in the little drawing-room, and scarcely was
the door opened when the tall figure was at her side, and her hands were
crushed with affectionate fervour. She looked up, and was startled by
the beauty of the face above her, startled as even Esmeralda's brothers
and sisters were at times, when as now the grey eyes were misty with
tears, and the lips all sweet and tremulous.
"If I'd known--if I'd had the slightest idea he was ill, I would rather
have killed myself than have behaved as I did! Oh, don't pretend you
didn't notice! I was hateful to you when you were ill, too, poor
creature, and my sister's guest. I told Geoff all about it. I hate
telling him when I do wrong, so I did it just as a penance, and he was
so vexed with me. Do you know why I spoke as I did? Did you guess the
reason?"
Sylvia shrank into herself with an uneasy foreboding, for Esmeralda was
an impetuous creature, who might be expected to be as undisguised in her
penitence as in offence.
"Oh, please don't say anything more about it!" she cried hurriedly. "It
was very trying for you finding me there when you came over for a visit.
I have forgotten all about it, if there is anything to forget; and now
there's this lovely miniature. How can I thank you?"
"Oh, that is nothing--that's nothing!" cried Esmeralda, waving aside the
subject, and insisting upon a full confession of her fault. "I was
jealous of you--that is what it was--jealous because they all seemed so
fond of you, and I wanted their attention for myself. It was horribly
mean, because I have Geoff and the boy, and it is only natural that they
should want their own interests.
"I daresay Pixie has told you how father spoiled me all my life, and
Bridgie gave way to me until it seemed natural to think first of myself.
But I don't now. I think of Geoffrey and the boy, and I'm trying to be
better for their sake. Geoff says he got me only just in time. He is
rather stern with me sometimes, do you know. He doesn't say much--
perhaps I don't give him the chance--but his face sets, and his eyes are
so large and grave. I can't bear it when he looks at me like that,
because, as a rule, you know,"--she gave a soft, happy little laugh--"he
loves me so frightfully much, and we are so happy together. I ought to
want every girl to be as happy as I am, and I do--really I do.
"In a month or two, when we are home at Knock, will you come and stay
with me, Sylvia, and learn to be fond of me too? I'm rather lonely over
there now that all the others have left, and I have not many girl-
friends. The one I cared for most will be engaged soon, I think, and
the man lives abroad, so she may be leaving the neighbourhood. It is
not settled yet, but I think Mrs Burrell will give in."
She stared ostentatiously through the window, and Sylvia blushed, and
had some ado not to smile at this very transparent intimation of
hostility withdrawn.
"Thank you so much! I'd love to come," she said simply; and then the
two girls talked quietly together for a few minutes before Miss Munns
came in and dispensed tea and reminiscences of all the grand people whom
she had ever met, with a view of impressing her visitor, who, of course,
was not impressed at all, but secretly amused, as listeners invariably
are under such circumstances.
Esmeralda was just rising to leave when a loud rat-tat at the knocker
made Sylvia's heart leap in expectation; and the next moment Jack came
into the room in his most easy and assured manner.
"I thought I would come across for my sister, and inquire how Miss
Trevor was after her journey," he announced; and once more Sylvia smiled
to herself as she noted how Esmeralda immediately plunged into animated
conversation with Miss Munns, to keep her attention engrossed at the
opposite end of the room.
Jack O'Shaughnessy stood by the window, and looked down upon his little
love with tender, dissatisfied eyes.
"I say," he said softly, "I can't stand this sort of thing! Two
minutes' talk, with two other people in the room. How much longer do
you suppose I can stand this?"
"You have had only one day yet. It's too soon to complain. You may
have seven years!" retorted Sylvia saucily; but at the bottom of her
heart she was glad that he found it difficult to be patient.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
BY THE RIVER.
Pixie went off in great spirits to join the Wallaces at the riverside
cottage which they had rented for the remainder of the summer. The heat
in town was already growing oppressive, and it was delightful to think
of being in the country again and running free over the dear green
fields. Esmeralda had presented her with quite a trousseau of summer
dresses, with a selection of hair-ribbons to match, at least an inch
wider than any which she had previously possessed, and she piled up her
pompadour higher than ever, and pulled out the bows to their farthest
extent in her anxiety to do justice to the occasion, and the importance
of her own position as the instructor of youth.
A pony-cart was at the station to meet her, with Viva and Inda clinging
together on the front seat, ready to pour breathless confidences into
her ear the moment she appeared. They spoke with a curious mingling of
tongues, but had apparently no difficulty in understanding her when she
replied in rapid, colloquial French, so that it was evident that the
hours of play had not been wasted, but had the effect of successful
study.
"Mamzelle! Mamzelle Paddy, we have boats in our house!" cried Viva
eagerly. "Three boats with cushions, and a punt, and one with a funnel
in the miggle. And Cousin Jim takes us out with the 'nother gentleman,
and we splash with our hands, and the lady was cross because of her
sash, and she dried it in the sun. And there's tea in the garden, and a
big steamer that makes waves, and muzzer says if we are very good you
will play with us at being gipsies under the wheel-barrow."
"An' we got in a box, and the water went up, an' up, an' up, an' then it
went down, an' down, an' down, an' then we came home," contributed fat
little Inda in her deep, gurgling voice, and Pixie turned from one to
the other and cried, "Vraiment!" "Sans doute!" "Bravo!" and beamed in
delighted expectation.
The house-party were assembled on the lawn drinking tea when the pony-
carriage turned in at the gate, and Pixie looked round with sparkling
eyes, quite dazzled by the beauty of the scene. The narrow road,
running at the back of the houses, had been dull and uninteresting, but
before many yards of the drive had been traversed, there came a view
over the wide sunlit river, and beyond it green meadows stretching away
as far as the eye could reach.
The house was not a cottage after all, but quite a large, imposing-
looking house, and the lawn sloping to the river bank was smooth and
soft as velvet. Baskets of flowers hung from the verandah; picturesque
stumps of trees were hollowed out to receive pots of geraniums; a red
and white awning shaded the tea-table; and the wicker chairs were
plentifully supplied with scarlet cushions. It was Pixie's first peep
at the summer glories of the river, and she felt as if she had stepped
into fairyland itself.
The little girls seized her hands and dragged her in triumph across the
lawn, and Mrs Wallace looked round, and said smilingly to her friends--
"Here's my French governess--the latest addition to the household. What
do you think of my choice?"
"Governess! That girl! She looks a child herself. Edith, what
nonsense are you talking?"
"Sense, my dear, I assure you. The wisest thing I ever did, as you will
see before many hours are past. We shall have some peace now that she
has arrived. Bon jour, Mamzelle. How I am happy to see thee again!
Thou are not fatigued--no? Seat thyself in this chair, and I will make
known to thee my friends."
She spoke in French, and evidently wished her governess to appear as
French on this occasion at least; and Pixie rose to the occasion,
sweeping elaborate bows from side to side, unconsciously elevating her
shoulders, and waving expressive hands. She discoursed volubly about
her long and adventurous journey of three-quarters of an hour's
duration, and Mrs Wallace's guests looked on with smiling faces,
putting an occasional laborious question as she appeared to be reaching
the end of her story.
There were several ladies, all young and pretty and beautifully dressed,
and three strange men, including Cousin Jim and his soldier friend from
India. Cousin Jim had bright, twinkling eyes, and looked full of life
and spirit; but his friend's brown face was lined and haggard, and his
smile was half-hearted, as if his thoughts were not in the present.
Pixie noticed, however, that it was to his side that little Inda crept
for support, and that his disengaged hand softly stroked the child's
head from time to time, as if he found comfort in her presence. Such
good friends did they appear that after the meal was finished she
refused to be separated from him, and implored his company in the gipsy
tent in the paddock. Mrs Wallace protested, but the young fellow
declared that he enjoyed being victimised, and walked off with the
schoolroom party with the utmost good humour.
"But I can't speak French, Viva," he explained--"not well enough to be
able to converse with Mademoiselle, at least! You must explain to her
that I am only a stupid Englishman, and ask her to excuse me. You can
translate that for me, I suppose?"
"She's not French either; she's only pitending. She's only English the
same as me," protested Viva sturdily; and Pixie nodded at him with
complacent smiles.
"But I've lived abroad; so I speak it to them for their good. You've
been away too, haven't you? I hope you enjoyed yourself?"
He smiled, but it was rather a sad little smile, despite its amusement.
"I went for work, you know, not pleasure. We accomplished what there
was to do, which was satisfactory; but I can't honestly say I enjoyed
it."
"I hate work!" agreed Pixie sympathetically. "We all do; it's in the
family. `Never do to-day what you can put off till to-morrow,' my
brother used to tell me, for you never know what may happen, and you may
get out of it altogether if you wait. But if we are obliged to do it,
we pretend we like it, for it's so dull to be unhappy. And if it was
horrid abroad, it makes it all the nicer to come back, doesn't it?"
"Sometimes," he said shortly.
They had reached the gipsy encampment by this time, and were
peremptorily commanded to sit down on a bench pending certain important
preparations under the wheel-barrow; so he took possession of one
corner, and Pixie took the other and stared at him with unabashed
scrutiny. He was unhappy, she decided, and that was enough to enlist
her whole-hearted sympathy; but besides being unhappy, he was very good
to look upon, with his bronzed skin, well-cut features, and soldierly
bearing. She admired him immensely; and the admiration was mutual,
though of a different nature.
She was a quaint-looking little soul, the young fellow decided--plain-
looking, he had thought on first sight, but there was something oddly
attractive about the wide eyes and large curving lips; you wanted to
look at them once and yet again, and each time you looked the attraction
increased. What was it? Not beauty, not intellect, not wit--nothing,
it appeared, but a crystalline sincerity and sweetness of heart, which
exercised an irresistible claim on the affections. His face softened,
and he bent towards her with a kindly questioning.
"How do you come to be governessing these children? You are so young
still--sixteen--seventeen, is it? You ought to be in the schoolroom
yourself!"
"There was nothing else I could do, and I wanted to earn some money,
because we're poor. I'm small, but I've known a lot of trouble,"
replied Pixie, with a complacent air which was distinctly trying to her
companion's composure. He stroked his moustache to hide the twitching
lips, and said solemnly--
"I'm sorry--very sorry to hear that! I hope, however, it is all in the
past. You look remarkably cheerful now."
"That's because I'm helping; and we are such a nice family at home. If
you are with the people you like best, that makes you happy, doesn't it,
without thinking of anything else?"
"Yes," he said shortly, and rose from his seat to walk across to where
the children were scrambling on the grass. They leapt on him, and hung
on his arms; and he played with them for five or ten minutes, then
produced a packet of chocolate from a pocket, and giving it to Pixie to
distribute, made his escape to the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
A CONFIDENCE.
During the next few days the "Capting," as Viva called him, was
constantly deserting his companions to join himself to the schoolroom
party in their walks and games.
As Pixie had suspected, his heart was sore, and the innocent affection
which the children lavished upon him made their society more congenial
than that of his own companions, who were enjoying their stay in the
country in merry, uproarious fashion.
Viva and Inda were interesting and original children, while "Mamzelle
Paddy" was a house-party in herself--a delicious combination of
shrewdness and innocence. He had little chance of private conversation
with her, for the children were exacting in their demands; but their
intimacy rapidly increased, as was only natural under the circumstances.
It was impossible to remain on formal terms with one who was united with
yourself to withstand an assault of wild savages, as portrayed by two
little girls with branches of bracken waving above their heads, and
geranium petals stuck in ferocious patterns about their cheeks;
impossible not to feel an affection for the tallest member of the
battalion which marched regularly every morning to the corner of the
paddock to be drilled by their commander, scarlet sashes crossed
sideways over holland dresses, and Panama hats fastened by immaculate
black chin-straps.
In the afternoon, when the grown-up members of the household drove off
in state to attend garden parties at neighbouring mansions, the Captain
found it infinitely more enjoyable to punt slowly down the stream,
dreaming his own dreams, or listening with a smile while the older child
amused her juniors by quaint and adventurous stories.
She was always happy, this little Mamzelle Paddy. Another girl of her
age might have felt lonely and diffident in this large, bustling
household, but she was sunshine personified--content to work, content to
play, content to go on an expedition, content to be left behind, having
no desires of her own, it would appear, excepting only this one--to
love, and be loved by those around.
"Some day, Mamzelle," the Captain said, "I will take you and the
children a little jaunt on our own account. We will take a boat and go
up the river to a dear little spot which I know very well, and there we
will have tea and pretend to be Robinson Crusoes on a desert island. It
is an island, you know; and we will take a basket of provisions with us,
and boil our own kettle, and spread the tablecloth under the trees.
Robinson didn't have tablecloths, I believe; but we will improve on the
story, and go shopping in the village to see what we can buy."
"Wants to go now!" Inda insisted; while Viva executed a war-dance of
triumph, and Pixie murmured deeply--
"I love picnics! We had a beauty once when I was young. 'Twas some
friends near by, and they asked me and Miles; and ye could smell the
cooking coming up the drive--all sorts of things cooked for days before,
and packed in hampers. We went there by train--to the place we were
going to, I mean--but by bad luck the hampers went somewhere else,
through leaving them on the platform without seeing them put in. Ye get
very hungry when you are enjoying yourself, and there was nothing to be
bought in the village but bread and spring-onions and herrings in
barrels. 'Twas a lucky accident, all the same, for we had the picnic,
and a party next day to eat up the food."
"Well, we'll look after the hamper this time. We should not find even
the onions on our island," said the Captain, laughing. "We will ask
Mrs Wallace's permission when she comes home, and begin preparations
to-morrow morning if it is fine."
Mrs Wallace protested that the children were being spoiled by so much
kindness, but was delighted to give her consent, and the next morning
was happily employed in packing the tea-basket, and purchasing
strawberries, cakes, and chocolates from the shops in the village.
Several of the visitors pleaded to be allowed to join the party, and
tried to wheedle invitations from the children during the luncheon-hour,
to their own humiliation and defeat.
"You would like to have me with you, wouldn't you, darling? You would
like to sit next to me in the boat?" pleaded one pretty young lady of
the chubby baby; but Inda wriggled away, and replied sturdily--
"Don't want you in the boat! Don't want nobody only the Capting and
Mamzelle. You go anuzzer picnic by yourself!"
"You must forgive us, Miss Rose, but this is strictly a limited
expedition. We children want to be as mischievous as we like without
the controlling influence of grown-up people. No best frocks, please,
Mrs Wallace! Just holland pinafores that we can soil as much as we
like!" pleaded the Captain, feeling more than rewarded for his firmness
as he met the adoring glances of three pairs of innocent eyes.
There was quite a little assembly by the boat-house to speed the
expedition on its way, and it is safe to say that no boat on the river
that afternoon carried a happier, more excited party. The Captain
rowed; Pixie sat in the stern and pulled the rudder-lines according to
instructions, with occasional lapses of memory when she mistook her
right hand for her left, and was surprised to find the boat going in an
opposite direction from what had been intended; the little girls sat on
either side, as yet too mindful of their promises of good behaviour even
to splash the water. They snored with excitement at the mystery of the
first lock, and wrapped their hands in their pinafores to keep them
safely out of the way, since the Captain said that it was impossible to
be too careful in such places.
Along the banks were dotted beautiful houses set back in luxuriant
gardens; round the bend of the river stood a house-boat known by the
fascinating name of The Yellow Butterfly. The paint was white, but
everything else was a rich, glowing yellow--yellow plants and flowers in
baskets; yellow curtains to the windows; yellow cushions on the chairs;
actually--if you can believe it--a yellow parakeet in a golden cage on
the top deck.
"I should like to live and _die_ in that house-boat!" cried Viva
rapturously.
Presently came the sound of music from afar and a thud, thud, thud,
which foretold the advent of a steamer. Now there would be waves--real,
true, up-and-down waves, and you could pitend you were going to be
drowned, and the boat go upside down. What fun! What fun! The gurgles
of excitement, the clutchings of Mamzelle's skirts, the shrieks of
exultation as the happy moment drew near, were as charming to the
beholder as to the children themselves.
In the sunny reaches of the river the boats carried Japanese umbrellas
which made charming touches of colour against the green. Under the
great trees more boats were moored in the shade, while their occupants
brought out the tea-baskets from beneath the seats.
Viva and Inda regarded all such proceedings as deliberate offences
against their exclusive rights, and angrily pointed out the fact that
"other people" were having picnics too; but the Captain soothed them by
a promise that the island should be their private property, and that he
would fight to the death to keep off foreign invasions. Already this
land of promise was looming in the distance, and presently they were
rowing slowly round and round looking for a convenient place of landing,
tying the rope to the trunk of a willow whose branches dipped in the
stream, and stepping cautiously ashore.
The children were wild with excitement, but the Captain claimed for
himself a quarter of an hour's rest and smoke before proceeding to the
difficult business of boiling the kettle; and the two little girls
scampered off to explore the island, promising faithfully to keep clear
of the banks.
"Mamzelle shall stay and talk to me! It's my turn to be amused," he
said; but for once Pixie did not seem in a talkative mood, but leant
silently against the stump of a tree, staring around her with dreamy
eyes.
The young fellow watched her curiously as he pulled his pipe out of his
pocket and prepared for the longed-for smoke. "What are you thinking
of, Mamzelle?" he asked; and Pixie looked round with a little start of
remembrance.
"I don't know. Everything. Nothing in particular, only that it's so
warm and sunny and pretty; and you are so kind. I wasn't thinking
anything, only being happy."
"`_Only_ being happy,' were you?" he repeated softly. "Does it seem so
easy, little Mamzelle? Some of the richest men in the world would give
all their money if you could teach them that little secret. `Only being
happy' is a very difficult thing to some of us as we grow older in this
world."
Pixie looked at him with an anxious scrutiny.
"But you were happy once, weren't you," she asked, "before you were
miserable? People have been kind to you too, and made you happy before
you began to be worried?"
"I worried! I miserable! Mamzelle, what can you mean? I am out for a
picnic, with three charming ladies for my guests. How can I be anything
but proud and delighted?"
He spoke with affected hilarity; but Pixie was not so easily convinced,
and shook her head incredulously as she replied--
"No--you are not happy, really--not through and through! Ye sigh in the
middle of laughing, and think of something else when you pretend to
listen. I've been in trouble meself. Once there was an awful time when
the girls sent me to Coventry for weeks on end, and there was a horrid
dull pain inside me, as if I'd swallowed up a lump of lead. Was someone
unkind to you too?"
He laughed--a short, mirthless laugh--and pushed his hair from his brow.
It was a strange thing that he should dream of confiding his story to
this bit of a girl, yet never before had he known such an impulse to
speak.