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<h3>Chapter Twelve.</h3> <h4>A Family Council.</h4> That night after dinner Jack broke the news of his disappointment to the assembled family, who bore the shock with surprising resignation. Pat whistled, and said, “Just our luck! Ah, well, if it’s no better, let’s be thankful it’s no worse!” Miles suggested cheerfully, “Why don’t you chuck it and keep a shop? Then we should get all our food for nothing.” And Bridgie’s sigh turned into a smile as she cried, “What a blessing we took this house when we did! Now we should not have been able to afford it, and we should never have known you, Sylvia dear! It’s funny, isn’t it, to think that this little crib is too big for us?” “Oh, awfully funny!” said Jack drily. He had opened the topmost drawer in the writing-table and taken out half a dozen red-backed books and a bundle of bills. “The fact remains that we shall have to spend at least a hundred a year less than we calculated if we want to keep out of the Bankruptcy Court. I don’t know how it is, but I seem to have given the money for half these bills, and yet here they are again! I was perfectly horrified to see them. This coal bill, for instance,—I remember distinctly giving you two sovereigns one morning just as I was starting for town—” Sylvia sat up hastily and fumbled for the stick by which she supported herself about the house. It seemed to her impossible that such intimate family affairs could be discussed before a stranger, but at the first movement Jack inquired eagerly where she was going, and both he and Bridgie laughed to scorn the idea of privacy. The presence of a stranger seemed indeed to whet their interest in the forthcoming discussion, which was conducted throughout with a cheerfulness and composure which contrasted strangely with Miss Munns’s weekly lamentations over her tradesmen’s accounts. “’Deed, I remember quite well!” said Bridgie, referring to the money which had been given to her in settlement of the coal bill. “It was the morning the cat got lost in the oven, and all of us searching the house over because of the piteous mews of it. It crept in, Sylvia, when the door was open, after the bacon came out, and Sarah pushed it to as she passed, so the poor creature had a fine Turkish bath of it before we found her. Did I not pay the bill, after all? I suppose I was short of money for something else. It’s wonderful the way it slips away when you are keeping house!” Jack sighed and took up another paper from the table. “There’s another here. I know I gave you ten shillings to settle this ironmonger fellow. Eight and threepence! It’s ridiculous running on bills for little sums like this.” “I paid it! I paid it!” cried Bridgie triumphantly. “I distinctly remember, because there is such a funny little man in the shop who says, ‘What is your next pleasure, madam?’ when you buy a box of tacks. I remember distinctly going in and paying something.” “Very well, then, you must have the receipt. Where have you put the receipt?” Bridgie looked vaguely round the room, turned out the contents of her writing-pad, peeped into a drawer under the table, searched the bottom of the stocking-basket, the pocket of her dress, then stroked her chin meditatively, and said— “Perhaps I was paying for something else! I remember now that I did buy a saucepan.” Jack sighed again, and paced up and down the floor, but he showed no signs of anger or even surprise, and his voice was quite apologetic as he said— “I’m afraid you will have to be more methodical, dear, if we stay on in this house. We shall never know how we stand if bills keep coming in when we think they are settled. We had better hold a cabinet council and decide how much we can afford to spend in housekeeping and other departments, and cut our coat according to our cloth. It will be difficult after the way things went on at Knock, but it’s our only chance. I tried to put down my private expenses this afternoon, and was horrified to find how heavy they were.” Bridgie cast an admiring glance upon him, and turned to Sylvia with an air of pride. “Isn’t he splendid, now, at his age, talking like an old man for wisdom and prudence! You may well say things are different from what they were at home, for there, if the worst came to the worst, you could always fall back on the pigs and the vegetables that grew for nothing at your door. The idea of paying fourpence for a cauliflower takes me heart out of me every time I go marketing, and the bacon is no sooner bought, than it is eaten. Well, I’m willing enough to learn method, but who’s to teach me? Saving your presence, Jack, you’re just a beginner yourself!” Sylvia chuckled mischievously, and her eyes danced with amusement. “There is a mistress in the art at your very door! Aunt Margaret would be enchanted to instruct you, and her housekeeping is a marvel of accuracy. She could tell you exactly how much she spent last year on soft soap, and the reason why it was more in ninety-six than in ninety-seven. She could walk about the house in the dark and put her hand on the blue-bag and the list of last week’s washing. She makes lists of everything she possesses, from household linen to the Christmas cards which she sends out and receives. Her dresses last for best for four years before they are turned for afternoon wear, and two years later they are re-dipped for mornings. They have histories, like her relations, and make valuable Christmas presents to the charwoman on their eighth birthday. She thinks I am recklessly extravagant because my dresses are worn-out in a year!” “I’ll ask her to teach me at once! I’ll begin making lists this very afternoon! I’ll practise shutting my eyes and searching for the blue-bag,” cried Bridgie ardently. “Jack dear, I’ll be a model housekeeper, and save so much money that we shall be quite rich.” She was all smiles and complaisance, and sat down for the cabinet council with an unruffled brow, but, as we all know, it is more difficult to face one or two definite difficulties than an army of shadowy deprivations, and when the division of the family income made it necessary to subtract considerably from her housekeeping allowance, and to saddle her in addition with several outside expenses, Mistress Bridget sighed and showed signs of rebellion. “Such a lot of trouble for such a trifling saving! ’Twill destroy me altogether to be fussing over every halfpenny. What would it matter if we were a trifle in debt at the end of the year? Geoffrey would pay a hundred pounds without knowing it, and be proud to do it into the bargain!” “But I won’t accept it. He has done quite enough as it is. He has paid for Pat’s training, and will give him the agency as soon as he is ready to take it, and he paid for Pixie’s lessons in Paris. I could not refuse what was good for them, but I’ll keep my own house, or give it up altogether!” said Jack proudly, and Sylvia nodded her head in emphatic approval from her place of vantage on the sofa. Pat and Miles also applauded the declaration of independence, and accepted their own share in the contemplated economies with unperturbed serenity, while Pixie sat solemnly in a corner, turning her eyes on the face of each speaker in turns, her shoulders heaving with suppressed emotion. Of all the members of the family it was evident that she took the present difficulty most seriously, and Sylvia was strengthened in the conviction that she had heard and taken to heart the reference to herself which had been made in the afternoon. She made no reference to the subject, but three times over the next day Sylvia entered a room in time to hear a hurried rustle and scramble, and behold Pixie gazing into the fire with an air of elaborate unconsciousness—the newspaper rolled into a ball beneath her chair. It was always open at the advertisement sheet, moreover, so that the onlooker had not much difficulty in guessing the character of the letters which were inscribed with such deep-breathed earnestness in the afternoon. They were posted in the pillar-box at the corner of the road, and Pixie marched back to the house and sat herself down with an air of mysterious importance. Her head was held proudly erect, her lips pressed tightly together as if nothing, no nothing, would induce her to put her secret into words, and Sylvia smiled to herself, and from the experiences of a week’s acquaintance, gave her exactly five minutes in which to divulge the whole story. “If you were threatened with a danger—a hidjus danger—what should you think would be the best way to avoid it?” asked Pixie earnestly, at the expiration of two minutes and a half. Sarah had that moment brought in the lamp and brushed up the fire, and the little room looked wonderfully cheerful and cosy. It was just the time and opportunity for a confidential chat, and Sylvia sat herself down in the arm-chair with a pleasant sense of expectancy. She was allowed to sit up for an hour or two in the day, and that in itself was a cheering circumstance. “If I were threatened with a danger, how should I try to avoid it? I really don’t know, Pixie. What do you advise yourself?” she asked smilingly, and Pixie smote her fists together, and stamped on the floor with dramatic emphasis. “Ye ought to march straight out and meet it! That’s what Thérèse has been teaching me all these years, for, says she, ‘Bridgie, the dear, is so soft-hearted that she’ll never believe but that everything will come right if ye sit still and look pleasant.’ The last thing but one that she said to me before parting was that I must look after the family and keep them out of trouble; so I’ve been reading over the papers to see how I can make some money, and it’s wonderful the choice you can have! I thought at first about taking a situation, but it’s better that I should stay at home to look after Bridgie, and teach her how to use up the scraps as they do in France. Me dear, the most elegant soup made out of nothing at all but the scraps ye would throw to the hens! There’s one advertisement which says a lady like meself can earn a handsome income in her own home, without interfering with present duties. It sounds so light and pleasant that it quite struck my fancy; and only two shillings for samples and directions!” “Oh, Pixie, did you really send it? I’m so sorry you did that without telling me first. I’m afraid it’s a hoax, dear! It sounds too good to be true!” “But it says so plainly in those very words. I’ll show it to you if you like. It’s printed!” cried Pixie in a tone of shocked reproof which silenced the protests on Sylvia’s lips. If her suspicions were correct, time would teach the lesson that even printed advertisements were not always accurately truthful, but she had not the heart to dilate on the perfidiousness of mankind in the presence of such innocent trustfulness. She murmured apologetic phrases, and Pixie beamed once more and continued her story. “There’s another gentleman wants you to go round and sell books. I’ve written to him, but I’d rather do things at home. Did you ever hear of anyone making a fortune by addressing envelopes? They want someone to do that too, but I write so slowly meself, and it’s only a shilling a thousand. A literery lady is wanted to correct proofs. That would be nice, because they might be stories. How do you spell ‘literery’, Sylvia?” “L-i-t-e-r-a-r-y!” “Not ‘e-r-y?’ You are quite sure?” “Absolutely sure!” “I put ‘literery’!” said Pixie, with a sigh. Perhaps it will prejudice him against me! Spelling was never my strong point, but that was worse than ignorance—with the paper lying beside me for reference! The best of all is a shop that wants you to colour photographs. I love painting pictures, and the scrap-books I’ve done for hospitals would fill a museum. Of course, these would have to be done carefully, but I’ve seen Thérèse sketching at Versailles, and artists painting in the Louvre, and I’m quick at imitating. They wanted three shillings to sell you the paints and brushes, and it will be cheap if it brings in pounds a week. “Twas a good thing Esmeralda gave me a sovereign before she left, and I could get the stamps without anyone being the wiser. I thought, you see, it would be so nice to keep it a secret until I could go to Bridgie with my earnings in my hand. You will promise truly and faithfully not to tell?” “If you will promise not to send any more money without asking my advice. I think you ought to do that, Pixie!” “I shan’t need to, me dear. I’ll earn enough as it is. Will I get the replies to-morrow, do you think? The letters ought to be delivered to-night!” Sylvia felt doubtful whether answers would ever be received, but as events proved, she was wrong, and Pixie was right, for her inquiries were answered by return of post, and on the first opportunity handed over for inspection. The philanthropist who provided remunerative work for gentlewomen at their own homes without interfering with present duties, forwarded samples as promised, the which Pixie spread out on the table with an air of depression. They consisted of a two-inch length of a simple stamping-off pattern, a fragment of black net, and a few dozen common jet beads, wrapped in a paper. “You iron off the pattern on the net, and then you sew round it with the beads, and then ye cut off the scallops, and then it’s jetted lace!” she explained anxiously. “And when it’s jetted lace, ye go out and sell it to the shops.” She sighed deeply, and turned over the patterns with her fingers. “How much a yard is jetted lace, Sylvia?” “I don’t know exactly, but I should think a narrow width like this could not be over a couple of shillings at the most.” “And it would take me months to do, and be puckered at that! It’s such wobbly stuff to sew. Even if I did a lot, I’m afraid the shops would never buy it.” “I’m afraid not, Pixie. I wouldn’t waste your time trying, dear!” Pixie sighed again and carefully replaced the fragments in their envelopes. “It was very kind of them to send them so soon, and if I was clever with my fingers, it would be a fine idea, but I know quite well it would be puckered. Will I send back the patterns, do you think? They might be useful for someone else.” “I think whoever sent them can very well afford to send another selection to the next inquirer. I should not dream of wasting a stamp on them,” replied Sylvia drily, and as she spoke she pulled Pixie nearer to her, and kissed her with a fervour which was somewhat startling to the recipient. “Are ye sorry for me?” she queried. “Ye needn’t be, because I shall have so much to do with the photographs that I am not disappointed a bit. They have sent me one to paint, and if I do it to their satisfaction they can keep me in constant work. They don’t say anything about paying, but I expect that will be settled next week. Here’s the paints, and here’s the lady!” Sylvia looked, and beheld half a dozen cheap paints such as are found in a child’s sixpenny box, a thick and a thin brush, equally common, and a photograph of a buxom lady with a mop of tousled hair, swinging in a hammock-chair under some trees, while a flight of marble steps led up to a palatial mansion in the background. She read the letter, and found that Pixie had accurately described its contents. It appeared that the firm was in pressing need of outside help, and had practically unlimited work to bestow upon ladies “with artistic tendencies.” Judging from the note-paper, the handwriting, and the style of the photograph itself, the critics could not be very severe, and for a moment Sylvia found herself wondering if by chance Pixie had indeed found some work within her scope. She herself knew little about painting, but after a long discussion of the different features of the photograph, she succeeded in dissuading the youthful artist from a somewhat violent scheme of colour, and in extracting a promise that the completed picture should be brought across the road for her inspection before it was despatched, for by this time Miss Munns was once more settled at home, and the last evening of the happy visit had arrived. Sylvia tried not to allow herself to think how quiet and dull the days would seem with only Aunt Margaret as a companion; how hard it would be to sit contentedly playing cribbage in the evenings, while across the road, within a stone’s-throw from the window, was this dear, bright, homey room, full of young creatures like herself. She told herself that she had had a happy holiday, and ought to go home refreshed and cheered. She made noble resolutions to be more patient and considerate, and pretended that she was really quite relieved to be leaving Jack O’Shaughnessy, for it was far more difficult to withstand the humbugging eyes now that she knew what a dear kind fellow he was at heart, and he on his part seemed quite embarrassingly sorry to say good-bye! “You have not been half so nice to me lately as you were the first few days,” he said plaintively in the privacy afforded by the strains of a comb orchestra vigorously conducted at the end of the room. “I must have offended you without meaning it; clumsy fellow that I am!” “Oh dear no, not at all. It is only that I am getting better, and my natural bad temper is asserting itself. Most people are mild when they are ill,” she replied lightly, but Jack was not so easily silenced. “That’s not the reason. Saving your presence, you are better tempered, not worse, but there’s a difference all the same. I suppose you don’t like me so well now that you know me better?” “On the contrary, I like you infinitely more.” Sylvia hesitated a moment, then added with sudden resolution, “I thought you were a very agreeable flirt; you amused me, and I enjoyed being flattered; but now I think you are a real good friend, and I treat you in a different way. One gets tired of compliments, but friendship grows better and better all the time.” Jack coloured, and was silent. Sylvia wondered if he were offended by the plainness of her words, but when he turned to her again, there was the frank, manly expression in his eyes which she liked most to see. “May I come and call upon you sometimes in the evening? I shall have no chance of seeing you in the daytime.” “I should like it very much, but it is not my house, remember, and Aunt Margaret is not fond of young men.” “But I am terribly partial to old ladies, and I never met the one yet that wasn’t wrapped up in me before we parted. I’ve got a way with old ladies!” said Jack complacently. “There was an old dear in Ireland who managed everyone for miles around, but she was as soft as putty in my hands. The poor girl, her daughter, was not allowed to join in any of the fun that was on hand, and when there was anything special coming on, she’d write pitiful letters and ask me to lunch. I always went—she had very good eyes of her own!—and she’d meet me in the drive, and put me up to what she wanted. By the time the old lady had told me all about her hens, and her servants, and her latest quarrel with her neighbours, and I’d flattered her by saying her rheumatism was the pick of any in the county, she’d be ready to eat out of my hand. And I’d fix up to call for Mollie, and see her safely home after the show was over.” “Mollie? A pretty name! Is it common in Ireland?” “It is so. We knew a stack of them at Knock, but Mollie Burrell was the best of the bundle.” Sylvia smiled, but her lips felt stiff, and the effort was not a success. A little weight of depression settled over her spirits. She felt anything but sympathetic for the deprivations of Miss Mollie Burrell. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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