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Pixie O'Shaughnessy

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<h3>Chapter Twenty Eight.</h3> <h4>A Telegram.</h4> It was six weeks later that the girls in Holly House heard a sharp, wailing cry from within the portals of Miss Phipps’s private room, and looked at each other with eyes of sympathetic understanding. The knowledge that Pixie’s father was seriously ill had leaked out among the elder pupils, and this afternoon, as they returned from their walk, a telegraph boy had met them in the drive, and Mademoiselle had turned pale and muttered below her breath. Miss Phipps called her aside on entering, and at tea-time there were unmistakable tear-marks round her eyes, and she was even more affectionate than usual in her manner to Pixie,—poor, unconscious Pixie, who was in radiant spirits, and quite puffed up with pride because she had suddenly remembered a favourite exploit as practised at Knock Castle, and had issued invitations to the fifth-form to come to the classroom before tea and play the part of spectators, while she made a circuit of the room without touching the ground. “Without—touching—the—ground! Pixie O’Shaughnessy, are you demented?” demanded Flora incredulously. “You can’t fly, I suppose? Then how on earth could you get round a room without touching the floor?” “Come with me, me dear, and you shall see,” returned Pixie graciously, and forthwith led the way into the big, bare room. There was no class being held at the time, so that the performer and her friends were the only persons present; the chairs were neatly ranged beside the desks, the matches and vases of spills which usually graced the mantelpiece were placed together on a corner bracket, otherwise no article had been moved from its place. Pixie sprang lightly on to a chair near the door, kissed her hand after the manner of the lady riders at the circus, and started off on her mad career. From one chair to another, from chair number two to the shelf of the old bookcase which filled the middle space of the wall; from the bookcase, with a leap and a bound, on to the oak chest in which were stored drawing-books and copies; from the chest to another chair, and thence with a whoop and wildly waving hands to the end of an ordinary wooden form. Why that form did not collapse at once, and land the invader on the floor, no one of the spectators could understand! Flora gave a hollow groan and leant against the wall in palpitating nervousness; Kate shut her eyes, and Ethel pinched Margaret’s arm with unconscious severity; but, after all, nothing happened! With instantaneous quickness Pixie had fallen forward on her knees, and so restored the bench to its normal position; and now she was off again with another kiss, another flourish, another whisk of those absurd short petticoats. Providentially there was a table close at hand which she could mount without difficulty, and so bring herself to the completion of the first half of her task, but the harder part was still to come. It was easy enough to run along the blackboard, but what about that space between it and the shelves at the other side of the fireplace? “She can’t do it!” cried Ethel confidently; but Pixie had not made her boast without counting the cost. What if there was no article of furniture within reach, there was a shelf overhead to which one could cling and work slowly along hand over hand until the coal-box offered a friendly footing! Then, when one had been accustomed to climb trees all one’s life, what could be easier than to rest the elbows on the mantelpiece, and with the aid of one foot pressed lightly on that fat, substantial bell, (horrors! suppose it rang!) to wriggle upward until knees joined elbows, and a perpendicular position was once more possible! The gasps and groans from the doorway were even more encouraging than applause, and under their influence it was impossible to resist indulging in a few extravagances, such as standing poised on one leg, blowing more kisses, and bowing from side to side after the manner of that fascinating circus lady. Another bound sent her lightly on to the one substantial chair which the room possessed—Miss Phipps’s seat when she came to take a class. It rocked, of course, but to balance it was child’s play, compared with the really difficult feat with the form, and for the rest of the course the way was easy. Anyone could have run along the substantial dumb waiter, stepped down to the chair by its side, and so, with a leap, to the one from which the start had been made. Pixie stopped, panting, gasping, and smirking at her companions, expectant of adulation, but there was more reproach than praise in store. “You are mad!” cried Ethel shortly. “Stark, staring mad! No thanks to you that every bone in your body isn’t broken. I wonder what Miss Phipps would have said if she had come in while you were pirouetting on the mantelpiece! It would have been your turn to be surprised then, my young friend.” “I n–n–never did see such a sight in all my born days,” stuttered Flora blankly. “You’ve made me feel quite ill. My heart is pumping like an engine. I thought every moment you would be killed. I call it mean and unkind to ask us to look on while you play such tricks, for you know very well we should be blamed if anything went wrong! I’ll never come again, so you needn’t trouble to ask me!” “Pixie dear, it really is most dangerous! You might have sprained your ankle a dozen times over. Promise me, promise me faithfully, that you will never do it again!” pleaded Margaret gently; but Pixie shook her head in obstinate fashion. “Me dear, don’t ask me! I’ll tell you no stories. I’ve done it a dozen times at home, and so have Bridgie and Esmeralda. It was a fine handicap we had one night, boys against girls, and Bridgie the winner, being so light on her feet. You wouldn’t wish to forbid what my own family approves.” She drew herself up with an air of dignity as she pronounced the last words, and skipped out of the room, as the quickest way of closing the argument; but when tea-time arrived she was still abeam with complacency, and pleasantly conscious of being the object of an unusual amount of attention. The girls all looked at her and smiled so kindly when they met her eye; jam and scones were pressed upon her from half a dozen different quarters; Mademoiselle called her “chérie,” and even Miss Phipps said “dear.” “Are you having a good tea, dear?” “Won’t you have another cup of tea, dear?” It was all very pleasant and gratifying, and she felt convinced that the fame of her exploit had spread over the school, and that even the teachers had been unable to resist it. She was strutting out of the dining-room at the conclusion of the meal, when Miss Phipps laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “Come into my room, Pixie,” and a moment later she stood within the boudoir, staring around with wide, astonished eyes. Mademoiselle had followed, and was twisting her hands together, trying vainly not to cry. Miss Phipps looked at her and made a little signal, but Mademoiselle only shook her head, and held out her hands with a helpless gesture, and then Miss Phipps began to speak herself, in such a gentle voice—a voice quite different from her usual brisk, decided accents. “Pixie dear, I have something to tell you. God has been very kind to the dear father whom you love so much. He saw that he could never be well again—never able to move about, nor walk, nor ride, as he had done before, and instead of leaving him to lie helpless upon his bed for long weary years, as so many poor sufferers have had to do, He took him home at once, and made him well and strong again. You must not think of your father as dead, Pixie. He is alive and happy in heaven!” But it was too early for the dead man’s child to realise that beautiful truth, and Pixie burst into a passion of grief, and the girls without heard the long pitiful wails and nestled close to each other and sobbed in sympathy. Miss Phipps talked on and on, saying comforting words in that new sweet voice, and Mademoiselle put her arms fondly round the little figure and said— “You will be brave, chérie. You are always brave! All the O’Shaughnessys are brave—your Bridgie told me so, and said it was the pride of the family! You will not be the first to act like a coward. No!” But the shock was too sudden to be borne with resignation. “We haven’t got any family now! How can you have a family without a father? He wouldn’t have died if I had been at home. He was always cheerful when I was with him, and he said himself I was better than a doctor. Oh, Major, Major! Oh, Bridgie, Bridgie! Me heart’s broken! Me heart’s broken!” Pixie wept and wailed, and presently Miss Phipps stopped trying to console, and let her weep her fill, knowing well that the noisy grief is never the most lasting, and that when the first passion was exhausted she would be more ready for comfort. She had purposely delayed telling the sad news until tea was over, and presently it would be time for bed, when the sleep of childhood would drop its soothing curtain over grief. Pixie lay on the sofa, and cried until her face was swollen and she was too exhausted to cry any longer, and Miss Phipps was just about to propose a move to bed when, to her amazement, the child suddenly put her feet to the ground, sat up, and said faintly— “I want to see the girls!” Well, after all, it was a natural request, for the bent of a lifetime does not change in moments of grief, and Pixie was a sociable little creature who must needs have someone in whom to confide on every occasion. Miss Phipps realised as much, and also that companions of her own age would be better comforters than the teachers, between whom and the pupils there was naturally a great gulf fixed; so she assented at once, saying only— “I will come for you in ten minutes. You must not stay downstairs longer than that,” and Pixie feebly tottered across the hall to the room where the elder girls were sitting. She chose to join them rather than the pupils of her own age, for, as she had previously explained, she had been accustomed to “grown-ups” at home, and felt more interest in their society. The girls raised their heads with starts of surprise as she entered, and came slowly forward to seat herself in a chair. They stared at her with melancholy eyes, but there was a dead silence, for no one knew what to say or how to say it, so they sat in a row facing her, and Pixie blinked and trembled, and screwed her fingers together in a tight little knot. “I’m an orphan!” she said faintly, and five separate sobs of sympathy sounded as replies. “Poor little kid!” said Kate gruffly. “D–arling!” sobbed Flora. “But we all love you, Pixie! Everyone loves you! You can’t be lonely, dear, when you have so many friends,” said Margaret’s soft voice; and a hand stretched out and clutched hers in convulsive energy. It was Lottie’s hand, and Lottie’s face was trembling as if she were going to cry, and a pulse on her temple was beating up and down, Pixie looked at her curiously, and realised that, sorry as the others were, she was somehow sorriest of all, and most anxious to comfort. Lottie had been much subdued and silent since the beginning of the term, and had seemed, if anything, to avoid the society of the girl whom she had treated so badly, but with her fine intuition Pixie had understood quite well that the avoidance arose from no lack of affection. She held Lottie’s hand in a tight pressure while she continued her broken sentences. “And I didn’t know he was going to die. They never told me. Miss Phipps says they didn’t want me to be unhappy, but I’d rather have known. He wasn’t like other people’s fathers. They are old, with grey hair; he was young—like a boy, and so handsome and gay. He always laughed, even if things went wrong, and I was the youngest, and he wouldn’t have me thwarted. No one ever appreciated me like the Major. The very last words he spoke were praising me and saying what a daughter I’d been!” “When you said ‘Good-bye,’ you mean. That’s good to think of, isn’t it, Pixie? He knew he would never see you again, and that afterwards you would remember all he said, and treasure it in your heart, and the sweetest thing of all is to know that you were a joy and pleasure to him. It is a comfort to think that he is well again, isn’t it? Quite well and happy in heaven!” “I want him on earth!” said Pixie, and the tears flowed down her cheeks. “We all want him. What is to become of us without our father? I feel as if I could never be happy again, but he said I must be. ‘Be as happy as you can,’ he said, ‘and make other people happy too. Never trouble a bit about your lessons, but go on loving and making sunshine, and you’ll do a great work in the world.’ Those were the very last words I heard him speak.” It was a somewhat free translation, so far as lessons were concerned, and the girls realised as much, being accustomed to Pixie and her ways, but they allowed that part of the story to pass without comment, and referred only to what was obviously a literal repetition. “Well, then, of course, you must obey his last words! It would not be like a good daughter if you didn’t. You must go on loving us, and making us happy, and we shall all be wretched if we see you fretting. You do make us happy, you know, Pixie! We have been ever so much livelier since you came. I think it ought to cheer anyone to know that she can make thirty-three people happy, don’t you, now?” “Can I—can I really?” Pixie inquired wistfully. “I’m glad of that, and I will try, but I can’t help fretting a little first! I don’t think the Major would like it if I didn’t fret for him.” And at this moment Miss Phipps came into the room and put an end to the conference. “I can’t let you sit up a moment longer, you weary little girl! Say ‘Good-night’ at once, and one of the girls shall go upstairs with you, and help you to undress. Which will you have?” Pixie looked from one to the other of her companions with uncertain gaze. Where everyone was so kind it was hard to choose. Ethel had not tossed her head once since she entered the room; Kate kept taking off her spectacles, and polishing them on her handkerchief; Flora looked so kind and comfortable; the “Bridgie’s expression” was stronger than ever in Margaret’s eyes; but there was a something in Lottie’s face—a humble, wistful longing which was to be found nowhere else. “Lottie, please!” she cried quickly; and the other girls realised at once that the cure had begun, for Pixie was already forgetting herself, and considering how she could make other people happy! <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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