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<h3>Chapter Twenty Eight.</h3> <h4>By the River.</h4> 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. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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