Pixie OShaughnessy | Page 4

against fate, and
resigned herself to the inevitable with characteristic philosophy.
Her outbursts of rebellion, though violent for the time being, were of
remarkably short duration, for she was of too sunny a nature to remain
long depressed, and moreover it was more congenial to her pride to
pose as an object of envy than pity. On the present occasion she no
sooner realised that go to school she must, than she began to plume
herself on her importance, and prepare to queen it over her sisters.
"You had better make the most of me, my dears," she announced in the
morning-room five minutes later, "for it's not long you'll be having me
with you. I'm off to a grand London school to correct me brogue and
learn accomplishments. It will cost a mint of money, and father can't
afford to send you too; but I'll tell you all about it when I come back,
and correct your accent and show you me fine new clothes!"
"Thank you, darling!" said Bridgie meekly, while Esmeralda stifled a
laugh and turned her lovely eyes on the ugly duckling with a glance of

fondest admiration. Both sisters had overheard the shrieks of ten
minutes before and could still see tell-tale tear-marks, but nothing in
the world would have induced them to say as much or check their
darling in her newly found complacency.
After all it was not until some months had elapsed that the dilatory
Major discovered a school to his liking, and even then he allowed his
own engagements to interfere with the date of her arrival, for he
insisted upon accompanying Pixie himself, and could not see that it
made the least difference whether she arrived at the beginning of the
term or a few weeks later on. Miss Minnitt protested faintly, but soon
relapsed into silence, and consoled herself by turning seamstress and
helping Bridgie and Joan with the school outfit. It was a case of making
new lamps out of old, for little money was forthcoming to buy fresh
material, and, with the best will in the world, the workers were still
unskilled in their efforts.
Bridgie's tender heart was pierced with sorrow as she looked at the
dismal little outfit spread out on the bed preparatory to packing--so
poor it seemed, so shabby, oh, so black, black, black and sorrowful!
Poor little Pixie going forth alone into the unknown world--little, wild,
ignorant Irish girl, bound for a strange land among strange people!
Would those fine English girls laugh among themselves and jeer at her
untamed ways? Would they imitate her brogue in their thin mincing
voices, and if so, how, oh, how would Pixie conduct herself in return?
Bridgie was barely twenty years old, but since her mother's death she
had grown into a woman in thoughtfulness and love for others, and
now it weighed on her mind that it was her duty to speak seriously to
Pixie before she left home, and prepare her in some sort for the trials
which might lie before her. If she did not, no one would, and it was
cruel to let the child leave without a word of counsel. She lay awake
wondering what to say and how to say it.
"It's no use telling Pixie not to get into mischief, for she can't help it,
the darling! It's the nature of her, but she has such a loving little heart
that she will never go far wrong."
The next day she watched her opportunity, and took advantage of a

quiet moment to speak her words of counsel.
"You won't be disappointed if school isn't all you expect, will you,
dear?" she began nervously. "I have heard girls say that they felt
dreadfully lonely and homesick at first, and when the pupils are all
strange to you, and chums with one another, you may think they are not
as friendly as you could wish. And the teachers may seem stern. Miss
Minnitt has spoiled us by being too mild and easy, and you will feel the
difference. Then you have run wild all your life, and it will seem
strange to be allowed out for walks only; but, Pixie, I want you to
remember that you are our pet and baby, and that our happiness
depends on you. If you get a good report and bring home prizes, the
pride we shall feel, the airs we shall be giving ourselves, going into
Galway and telling everyone we meet on the street; but if you are
disobedient and we hear complaints, it's covered with disgrace we shall
be in the eyes of the county. Now, there will be good girls in that
school, and bad girls, and lazy girls, and industrious ones, and girls
who would tell the truth if they were