Pixie OShaughnessy | Page 7

Mrs George de Horne Vaizey
cages of such live-stock as
white mice, guinea-pigs, and ferrets. Pixie had many farewells to bid in
this quarter, and elaborate instructions to give as to the care to be
lavished on her favourites during her absence. The ferret was boarded
out to Pat, who had no idea of doing anything for nothing, but was
willing to keep the creature supplied with the unsavoury morsels, in
which its soul delighted, for the fee of a halfpenny a week, to be paid
"some time," an happy O'Shaughnessy fashion. The white mice looked
on coldly with their little pink eyes, while their mistress's own grew red

with the misery of parting from them, and the rabbit seized the
opportunity to gnaw Bridgie's skirt with its sharp teeth; but for Pixie the
keenest pang of parting was over when she saw no more the floor with
its scattered cabbage-leaves, and the door closed behind her, shutting
out the dear mousy, rabbity smell associated with so many happy
hours.
Outside on the gravel path old Dennis was sitting on a wheelbarrow
enjoying a pipe in the sunshine. He made no attempt to rise as "the
family" approached, but took the pipe out of his mouth and shook his
head lugubriously.
"This is the black day for us, for all the sun's shining in the skies. Good
luck to ye, Miss Pixie, and don't forget to spake a good word for Ould
Ireland when the opportunity is yours. The ould place won't seem like
itself with you and Mr Jack both going off within the same month; but
there's one comfort--one frettin' will do for the pair of you!" And with
this philosophic reflection he stuck the pipe back in the corner of his
mouth and resigned himself to the inevitable.
"Pixie darling," said Bridgie nervously, "I think we must go back to the
house. It's time--very nearly time that you were getting ready. Father is
going to drive you over in the cart, and he won't like to be kept
waiting."
"Aren't you coming too?" queried Pixie eagerly. There was a look on
Bridgie's face this morning which reminded her of the dear dead
mother, and she had a sudden feeling of dread and longing. "I want you,
Bridgie! Come too! Come too!"
"I can't, my dearie. Your box must go, you know, and there's not room
for both. But you won't cry, Pixie. It's only babies who cry, not girls
like you--big girls, almost in their teens, going away to see the world
like any grand lady. You may see the queen some day! Think of that,
now! If you ever do, bow to her twice--once for yourself, and once for
me--and tell her Bridget O'Shaughnessy is hers to the death. I wouldn't
cry, Pixie, if I were going to see the queen!"

"Is it cry?" asked Pixie airily, with the tears pouring down her face and
splashing on to her collar, which had been manufactured out of the
strings of an old bonnet, with only three joins at the back to betray the
fact that it had not been cut out of "the piece."
"It's not likely I'll cry, when I'm going on a real train and steamer, and
meals on the way right up to to-morrow night! You never had lunch on
a train, Bridgie, and you are eight years older than me!"
"'Deed I didn't, then. No such luck!" sighed Bridgie regretfully, making
the most of her own privation for the encouragement of the young
traveller. "That will be a treat for you, Pixie, and there are sandwiches
and cakes in the dining-room for you to eat before you go. Come
straight in, for I brought down your coat before going out. You must
write often, dear, and tell us every single thing. What Miss Phipps is
like, and the other teachers, and the girls in your class, and who sleeps
in your bedroom, and every single thing that happens to you."
"And remember to write every second letter to your brothers, for if you
don't, they won't write to you. Girls get all the letters, and it isn't fair.
Tell us if you play any games, and what sort of food they give you, and
what you think of the English," said Miles, helping himself to
sandwiches, and turning over the cakes to select the most tempting for
his own refreshment, despite the young housekeeper's frowns of
disapproval. "Stick up for your country, and stand no cheek. You
understand, of course, that you are to be the Champion of Ireland in the
school."
"I do!" said little Pixie, and her back straightened, and her head reared
itself in proud determination.
"And if any English upstarts dare to try bullying you, just let them
know that your name is O'Shaughnessy, and that
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