More about Pixie Part 9

Esmeralda leaped to her feet with a cry of dismay. "Hurry! hurry!" she cried. "Oh, what are you waiting for? Carry it for me. Be quick! be quick!" and off she rushed with a swirl of flounces, a rustle of silk, a wild waving of arms, while her husband chuckled with amus.e.m.e.nt, and confided in Sylvia--

"That's the usual programme! First keeps me waiting for hours, and then upbraids me for being slow. Keep Bridgie occupied if she comes in too soon, please, Miss Trevor. This little surprise needs a good deal of preparation."

What could it be? Sylvia grew quite excited as once more peals of laughter echoed from the dining-room. Esmeralda was evidently sparing no pains to display her presents to the best advantage, and, lucky girl, no want of money had hampered her choice of what would be appropriate and welcome.

"I'm glad I gave Bridgie my minute offering this morning, so that it won't be shamed by contrast. I shall be out of this distribution, so it doesn't matter, but I do hope they will ask me to go in," said Sylvia to herself. "I hated Esmeralda last night, but I rather love her this morning. She is like the little girl in the rhyme--when she is nice she is very, very nice; but when she is bad she is--horrid!"

After all, the mysterious preparations were completed before the return of the church party, for the service had been unusually lengthy, and Esmeralda was champing with impatience before the latch-key clicked in the lock. There was great kissing and hugging beneath the mistletoe, and Bridgie was sent flying upstairs to take off her wraps, in preparation for the great exhibition.

"I have laid out our presents in the dining-room, and they take up all the table, so there will be no dinner until they are distributed. I've lighted the lamp, dear, to make it look more festive. Hope you don't mind? It was just the least thought in the world gloomy in that back room this morning."

"Anything you like, dear! anything you like!" cried Bridgie the docile; then she looked at Sylvia, and beamed with satisfaction as Geoffrey offered his arm to support the invalid's halting footsteps.

They led the way together, and she seated herself in state in an arm- chair, while the brothers and sisters crowded in at the doorway, exclaiming volubly at the sight which met their eyes.

The table had been pushed lengthways against the window, the crimson curtains making an effective background to its heaped-up treasures. The lamp stood at the farther end of the room, casting a subdued rosy light on the eager faces. It was not exactly a "cheery" illumination, but it was certainly becoming, and lent an air of mystery to the everyday surroundings.

"A new lamp-shade! How lovely! Pink silk and roses. Wouldn't it make a sweet garden hat?" exclaimed Bridgie rapturously. "Is that my present, Joan? How did you know I wanted a shade?"

"That's a present for the house; yours is over there in that round box; Geoffrey will hand it to you. There's a present for everybody, and one for you all together. You'll see that last!"

At that every eye turned curiously at the curtained picture-frame which stood artfully supported by boxes at the place of honour at the farther end of the table. Evidently this was the grand climax of the entertainment, but meantime there were half a dozen excitements in store, all calling for rapturous acknowledgments.

Bridgie's round box was found to contain a m.u.f.f of real Russian sable, on receiving which, to use her own expressive phrase, she "nearly swooned with delight." She sat purring over it, and rubbing it fondly against her cheeks, while dandy Jack was presented with a dressing-case, fitted with silver and ivory, Pat with a handsome camera, and Miles with a bicycle deftly wheeled from behind the curtains.

Even the servants had been remembered, for there was a bulky parcel addressed to each name, and Sylvia grew red with mingled pleasure and embarra.s.sment as a casket of French bon-bons was deposited on her knee.

It was a delightful scene, and not the least delightful part of it was the enjoyment of the young couple themselves, and their whole-hearted partic.i.p.ation in the pleasure of the recipients.

It is the custom of most donors to depreciate their gifts, but that was not Esmeralda's way. Not a bit of it! She was a capital show-woman, and if by chance any detail of perfection pa.s.sed unnoticed, she pointed it out forthwith, and dilated at length upon its virtues. Jack turned over the silver-topped bottles, and peeped at his reflection in the mirror; Miles tingled his bicycle-bell, and balanced himself on the saddle; Sylvia handed round bon-bons and surrept.i.tiously fumbled to discover how many rows the box contained; and Pat demanded immediate orders for family groups. It took some little time to restore order, but Geoffrey stood patiently waiting until he could make himself heard, his hand stretched out to uncover the curtained frame.

"Now for the general present! With best wishes to the family circle, from Joan and myself. Are you ready? Very well, then, here you are!

One, two, three!"

With the last word he whisked off the cloth, and a gasp sounded through the room, followed by a silence more eloquent than words.

Sylvia stared with widened eyes at the picture of a girl's head, strangely like and yet unlike that precious photograph which Bridgie had exhibited with so much pride. It was Pixie--that was quite evident--but an older, bigger, wonderfully smartened edition of the elf-like child.

The dark locks were rolled back in pompadour fashion over a high cushion, the plait turned up in a queue, fastened at the nape of the neck by an enormous outstanding bow; the cheeks were fuller in outline, and the disproportion between nose and mouth less marked. She was by no means pretty, yet there was a charm about the quaint little face which made the onlooker smile involuntarily and feel a sudden outgoing of affection.

"P-pixie!" gasped Bridgie in a breathless whisper. She rested her cheek against the m.u.f.f, and stared before her with rapt grey eyes. "Pixie's portrait! Oh, Esmeralda--what a lovely thought! You had it taken for us? You sent to Paris for it?"

"Yes--yes!" cried Esmeralda gleefully. "I knew it would please you more than anything else to have her with us. Do you like it? Do you think it is good? Is it quite like her?"

"It's like--yes, but not quite lifelike. Does she really do her hair like that? I can't imagine Pixie looking so neat. She looks grave, too--graver than she ever looked, except when she was up to mischief. I hope she is not fretting, poor child! Oh, it makes me long for her more than ever! I could look at it all day long!"

Jack stroked his chin, and smiled contentedly.

"That's what I call something like a present! It's a rattling good portrait of the Piccaninny, judiciously flattered as portraits ought to be. We can't see it, though, in this light. Let me put the lamp a little nearer, or take off the shade."

Esmeralda, however, was standing next the lamp, and refused to move aside.

"We arranged it to give the best light, so it's no use trying to improve it. The best view is from over there by the door," she said in her masterful fashion which would brook no contradiction. "One can never see a picture to the best advantage by lamp-light, but you must make allowances for that. Do you think it is well done? It is by a very good master!"

"Rather starry about the eyes!" said Pat critically.

"Laid on the red rather too thickly about the cheeks!" objected Miles.

Bridgie put down her m.u.f.f, and went stooping across the room to get a nearer view.

"Is it oil or water-colour? I seem to know the frame. Oh, it _is_ like her, Esmeralda--oh, so like! Pixie, Pixie, my little Pixie!"

"_Bridgie_!" cried an answering voice. The picture swayed, rocked forward, and fell on its face on the table; a little figure stood squeezed in between the table and the window. It was no picture, but a reality. Pixie herself stood among them in warm, living flesh and blood!

CHAPTER TEN.

PIXIE'S REMINISCENCES.

It is wonderful what money can do--in conjunction with generous impulse and ingenious brain. Esmeralda hung on to Bridgie's arm relating in breathless accents how, being herself unable to go abroad until after the New Year, the happy inspiration had occurred to Geoffrey of despatching the French maid to her native city to bring back the dear living Christmas present which now stood before them; how the travellers had arrived on the previous evening, afire with delight at their own share in the conspiracy; how she herself had conceived the idea of presenting Pixie in the form of a portrait, and had brought the frame from home, and tacked across it a piece of black gauze to heighten the picture-like effect.

"And I put the lamp as far-away from it as possible, and covered it over so that she might not have to keep still too long. Oh, if you could only have seen yourselves staring at her, and taking it all in grim earnest! I never, never enjoyed anything so much in my days!"

"Is it oil colours I am, or water? I'm flattered, ain't I, as a portrait ought to be? Ye couldn't imagine I could be so neat!" cried Pixie tauntingly, as she pirouetted to and fro on the top of the table, to which she had lightly sprung at the first moment of discovery. She looked like a big French doll, as she swung from side to side, her hands outheld, her shoulders raised, her tiny feet twinkling to and fro. Her pink frock was marvellously smart, the flounces stood out in jaunty fashion around the ankles, the sash encircled a tiny waist, and the brothers and sisters stood looking on, joy, incredulity, amaze written upon their faces.

Bridgie's arms kept stretching out and falling back to her side with automatic regularity, and still the little figure pranced, and gesticulated, and blew kisses to right and left, at one moment a merry Irish vagabond, at the next a French marionette--all smirks and bows and shrugging shoulders.

"We got the better of you that time, I'm thinking! Oh, la-la! how it was droll to hear you all making your pleasantries upon me while I kept still--so still! I have never been so still but when I am up to mischief. If ye could have seen under the table, I was shaking like a jelly, but Esmeralda said, 'I'll pack ye back as quick as ye came if you spoil it on me, after all me trouble!'"

"Figure it to yourselves; I was sitting so _triste_ by myself in the _salon_, thinking of you all at home, and the fun ye'd have without me, and the slices of plum-pudding fried up the next day the way I like them best, and never a bite to come my way, when behold I the door opened, and there enters to me Marie, all smiles and complaisance. Everything is altered, she bears a letter from Madame Hilliard--I must pack my box, and say my farewells, and be ready to start by the train next day.

Fortunately all is ready. Therese has already prepared for my return.

There was nothing to do but lay the things in the box and drive away."

"And what did Therese say to it all? How did she and Pere like parting from you in such a hurry?"

"They wept!" said Pixie tragically. Her shoulders approached her ears in eloquent gesture. "But how they wept! I also wept to see them weep, and Marie wept to leave her dear Paris." She paused, and the solemn expression gave place to a broad smile of enjoyment.

"There wasn't a dry rag between the four of us, and Pere took snuff to console himself, and that started him crying harder than ever. I was so flurried I couldn't tell which was the topmost, joy or sorrow, until we had ham and eggs for breakfast this morning, and I felt I was at home.

It's an awful thing to live in a country where there's never a bite of solid food to cheer your spirits in the morning! Many's the time me heart would bleed, thinking of Miles if he'd been there. Are ye glad to see me, boys, now you know that I'm real?"

There was no doubt about that. When at last the little sister condescended to step down from her perch, she was pa.s.sed from one to another in a series of bear-like hugs, from which she emerged flushed and complacent, to step briskly towards Sylvia and kiss her effusively upon the cheek.

"How d'ye do, me dear, and how's your illness? I've heard so much about it that I expected to see you worse. You look too pretty to be an invalid!"

"Hear, hear!" muttered Jack softly.

Sylvia blushed and gripped the little hand which lay so confidingly in her own.

"Thank you very much. I am getting better, but I don't feel at all pretty. I'm lame, and have to limp about wherever I go, and my hair is tumbling out. I have the greatest difficulty to make it look respectable. I shall be bald soon!"