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<h3>Chapter Twenty Nine.</h3> <h4>A Confidence.</h4> 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. “No, Mademoiselle,” he said,—“not unkind; it was not in her nature to be that. The mistake was all on my side. I was a conceited coxcomb to think that she could ever care for me; but I did think it, and went on dreaming my foolish castle in the air, until one day it fell to the ground, and left me sitting among the ruins.” “It was a heart affair, then! I thought it was,” cried Pixie shrewdly. “I heard a lot about heart affairs in Paris, and I had a sister once who was married. Her husband used to look just like you do when she was cross to him; but really and truly she wanted to be kind, and now they are married and living happily ever after. It will come all right for you too, some day!” “No, never! There’s no hope of that. She married someone else. That was the news which came to me one day and wrecked my castle!” “Oh, oh!—how could she! The misguided creature! And when she might have had you instead! I’d marry you myself if I were big enough!” cried Pixie in a fervour of indignation which was more soothing than any expressions of sympathy; and the Captain stretched out his hand and patted her tenderly on the shoulder. “Would you really? That’s very sweet of you. Thank you, dear, for the compliment. We will be real good friends in any case, won’t we? and you will keep my confidence, for no one in this place knows anything about it. And we won’t talk of it any more, I think; it’s rather a sore subject, don’t you know. We might begin unpacking those baskets. The children will want their tea.” <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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