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Updated: June 16, 2025
Pixie had always cherished a passion for clowns, and when in Paris had appreciated nothing more than an evening at the "Nouveau Cirque," where Auguste the Frenchman played a secondary part to his English brother, and the performance concluded with a play in which the British tourist played a large part, conspicuous in plaid suits, sailor hats, and thick-soled shoes.
If you do it at 'ome, it is not my affair, but if your father should see you some day, he must be shocked like me!" "I'm the youngest of six, and me father won't have me thwarted!" sighed Pixie, lapsing into her brogue, as she usually did when agitated. "Nobody's ever angry with me at Bally William; I get into mischief the day long, and it's all quite happy and comfortable.
Pixie glanced at them all, one after the other, and from them to the figure standing in the centre of the room, like a prisoner at the bar, her face white as her dress, her eyes full of terror and despair. She gave a sharp cry of distress, and rushed forward with outstretched arms. "Lottie, Lottie, I didn't tell! I never told Lottie, Lottie, I kept my word!"
"Yes No!" said Sylvia absently, for she was thinking less of what she was saying than of certain phrases which her companion had just uttered. "We used to say at home." Who was this, then, who had known Pixie O'Shaughnessy in bygone days could it by any chance be the dreaded rival towards whom she was prepared to cherish so ardent a dislike?
There was no preventing one interview, however, for the Major was as much set on seeing his piccaninny as she was determined to see him; so on the evening of the second day Bridgie led her cautiously into the room, and the sick man moved his eyes the only part of him that seemed able to move and looked wistfully into the eager face. "Well, my Pixie, I've been getting into trouble, you see!"
You're only a great schoolboy after all. Come along." She began to pour out the tea. It made a pleasant little noise falling into the cup. The sun was wonderfully bright in the pretty room, almost Italian in its golden warmth. Lady Holme's black Pomeranian, Pixie, stood on its hind legs to greet him.
Here in a dark and lonely corner, with a pixie ring before it, she came to a narrow door, very brown and solid, looking like a trunk of wood at a little distance. This she opened, without a key, by stooping down and pressing it, where the threshold met the jamb; and then she ran in very nimbly, but I was forced to be bent in two, and even so without comfort.
But suppers, now, suppers don't hurt anyone!" urged Pixie, pushing aside one objectionable proposition and bringing forward the next with unconscious generalship.
It made her feel grown-up and important to join in the conferences of the older girls, and though in words they might say, "Run away, Pixie!" it generally happened that someone moved to the side of her chair to make an extra place, or that an arm stretched out to encircle the tiny waist.
Can't you tell us some more family details while you are about it?" "I can so!" said Pixie with emphasis, and sitting erect in her seat she folded her hands in her lap, and began to talk. The room was filling by this time, for the quarter of an hour before tea was a cosy holiday- time, when the girls could talk without restraint, and compare notes on the work of the day.
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