More about Pixie Part 16

"What _is_ she talking about?" Bridgie and Jack exchanged bewildered glances, and stared in incredulous silence at the little figure on the sofa. She had pulled off her hat, and with it the bow of ribbon, and the loosened hair hung down her back; her hands were crossed on her lap, there were dark shadows under her eyes. She looked so small and frail and childlike that Bridgie felt a lump rising in her throat at the thought of help coming from this strange and most unexpected quarter.

She rose, and, going over to the sofa, took Pixie's hand between her own.

"Is it the truth that you are telling us?"

"It is, then! The solemn truth! Every word of it."

"What made you think there was any need for you to disturb yourself?

What put it in your head to answer an advertis.e.m.e.nt at all?"

"Because I didn't want to be a burden to ye, my dear, after all the money you've spent on me education!"

"A little midget like you to speak of being a burden! No one would guess you were there if you weren't so upsetting! It's no use fifty Mrs Wallaces coming to see me. Some other French lady will have to amuse her children. This one is wanted at home!"

Pixie smiled composedly, and squeezed the clinging hands.

"I knew you'd say 'No' at the start. So did she. She was first cross, and then she laughed, and said it would be a long, long time before I was ready to teach. But she didn't really want teaching, only someone to be funny in French, and when she heard me telling tales, and the little girls both laughing, she began to think she would love to have me. You remember the stories you used to tell me, Jack, about the Sp.o.o.pjacks and the Bobityshooties? I made up a new bit, and they simply loved it. It's two hours every morning, and only ten minutes' walk, and Therese says it's no use beginning to be proud till you've paid your bills. You would like me to help you, wouldn't you, Jack?"

"Shades of Mrs Hilliard!" muttered Jack, and shrugged his shoulders recklessly. "She will have a few volumes to write to me if I say 'Yes!'

You are bound to help me, Piccaninny, whatever you are about, but I can't bind myself to allow you to go out governessing before you are out of short frocks. It is Sat.u.r.day to-morrow, so I shall be home in the afternoon, and see this Mrs Wallace for myself. It's a bad scheme on the face of it, but it's just possible it may be more feasible than it sounds."

That was all the length which he would go for the moment, and Pixie was content to drop the subject, secure in her conviction that time and Mrs Wallace would win the victory. She was petted and fussed over to her heart's content for the rest of the evening, and the story of her various efforts to retrieve the family fortunes was heard with breathless attention. She wondered why the listening faces wore such tender, pitiful expressions, why lazy Pat flushed, and Bridgie went over to her desk and spent a whole half-hour sorting out her bills. It never occurred to her that her earnest effort to take her own share of responsibility was a more eloquent stimulus than twenty lectures!

Next afternoon at three o'clock the two sisters and Sylvia Trevor stationed themselves in positions of vantage behind the curtains, and looked out eagerly for the advent of Mrs Wallace. Bridgie could not divest herself of a suspicion that the promise might have been given as the easiest way out of a difficulty, but before the half-hour struck a well-appointed carriage turned the corner of the road, the coachman glanced at the number on the door, and drew up his horses, when a fluffy head peered out of the window, and Pixie cried excitedly--

"That's the thin one! That's Viva! I expect she howled, and they could not keep her away. That's Mrs Wallace! Isn't it an elegant hat?"

Bridgie peeped and grew quite pink with excitement, for, truth to tell, mother and daughter made a charming picture as they came up the little path. Mrs Wallace looked almost like a girl herself in her becoming hat and veil, while the golden-haired child wore a white coat and cap edged with fluffy swan's-down. Sylvia retreated to the dining-room.

Pixie ran to meet the visitors at the door, and the voice that exclaimed, "Bon jour, Mamzelle Paddy!" was in itself an augury of friendship. The next moment they were in the drawing-room, and Mrs Wallace was smilingly explaining the t.i.tle.

"I am sure you must have been very much surprised to hear of yesterday's interview, Miss O'Shaughnessy! 'mamzelle Paddy,' as my husband has named your small sister, has made quite a conquest of my little girls, and Viva refused to be left behind when she heard where I was going. I hope you were not very anxious about her absence yesterday?"

"Indeed I was not, for I took it for granted she was with some friends near by. Please sit down, and get warm. 'Twas a ridiculous idea of the child's to suppose for one moment that she could fulfil your requirements; but she's the baby of the family, and has never been thwarted, and such a kind little creature that she must try to help if there is any difficulty. It is good of you to take the trouble to come and explain, but indeed we have decided already that it is quite, quite impossible!"

Mrs Wallace gave a start of consternation, and the smile faded from her lips. She looked first at Bridgie, then across the room to where Viva stood on tiptoe dragging at Pixie's sleeve, and reiterating, "Mamzelle!

Mamzelle Paddy, will you come again to my nursery? Will you tell me more stories about those peoples in the lamp-posts?"

"Oh, don't say it is impossible!" she said softly. "I want her to help me too, and I am so troubled about my children. Could she--could they both go into another room for a few minutes, while we talk it over together?"

"Certainly they could!" Bridgie raised her voice a tone higher. "Pixie dear, go to Sylvia in the dining-room and take the little girl with you.

Show her some of your treasures!"

"I like cake!" remarked Viva pointedly. She skipped to the door, and stared round the hall with curious eyes. "You do live in a poky little house, don't you? My mamma's house is much bigger than your house.

Where does the dining-room live? Is there a cupboard in it that you keep cake in? Is Sylvia your 'nother sister? Who is the man?"

The man was none other than handsome Jack himself, who was enjoying the rare luxury of a _tete-a-tete_ with Sylvia Trevor, and was not too well pleased by this speedy interruption. He frowned when he heard the opening of the door, but when he turned round and saw the vision of pink and white and gold, he smiled in spite of himself, as most people did smile at the sight of Viva Wallace, and held out his hand invitingly.

"Hallo, whom have we here?"

"Quite well, thank you. How are you?" replied Viva fluently. She paid no attention to Sylvia at the other side of the fireplace, but leant confidingly against Jack's chair, staring at him with rapt attention.

His eyes looked as if they liked you very, very much; his moustache had sharp little ends which stood out stiff and straight, there was a lump in his throat which moved up and down as he spoke--altogether he was a most fascinating person, and quite deserving of attention. "Are you the papa?" she asked enviously. "My papa has got a brown face with lines in it. He is very old. My muzzer is old too. She is talking to the lady in the 'nother room, and she said I was to be amused. You are to amuse me!"

"No, no, quite a mistake. You must amuse me!" said Jack solemnly. "I have been out all day, and am tired and sleepy, so you must do something to cheer me up. What can you suggest, now, that would be really lively and entertaining?"

Viva reflected deeply.

"I'm learning the 'Pied Piper of Hamelin'!"

"You don't say so!"

"Yes, I am. I'll say it to you now, from the beginning right to the very miggle!"

"Thanks awfully. I should be delighted--another time. Not to-day, I think, if you don't mind. I have rather a sore throat."

Viva opened her eyes and stared at the Adam's apple which showed above the white necktie. She was trying to puzzle out the connection between Mr O'Shaughnessy's throat and the Pied Piper, but the difficulty was too great. She heaved a sigh, and hazarded another suggestion.

"You tell _me_ a story!"

"That would never do. I should be entertaining you, and it ought to be the other way about."

"I'll tell you a story!"

"That's better. Go ahead, then. What is it to be about? Fairies?"

"No, it's not going to be about fairies,--fairies is silly. Giants are more sensibler than fairies, because there was a giant once. There was Golosher!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Golosher!"

"Don't know the gentleman."

"Oh, you naughty! And David killed him in the Bible. I'll tell you a story about giants."

"I don't think I am interested in giants."

"Princesses, then, beautiful princesses, and cruel people trying to be unkind to them, and princes running away and marrying them, and living happily ever afterwards."

"That's the style for my money! Fire away, and let us have plenty of adventure. I'll lean back in this chair and listen to you."

Viva moistened her lips, swallowed rapidly once or twice, and began her story in a shrill, high-pitched voice.

"Once upon a long, long time ago, there was a princess, and she was the most beautiful princess that was ever born. Everyone said so, and her face was as white as snow, and her hair as yellow as--"

"Excuse me--brown!"

"No, it wasn't brown. Bright, curly, golden, down to her--"

"Then she couldn't have been the most beautiful princess in the world, because I've seen the lady and her hair is brown."