as if
no tragedy were about to be enacted, and Pixie O'Shaughnessy would
presently run out of doors to sit swinging on a gate, clad in
Esmeralda's dyed skirt, Pat's shooting jacket, and the first cap that
came to hand, instead of starting on the journey to school in a new
dress, a hat with bows and two whole quills at the side, and her hair
tied back with a ribbon that had not once been washed! It was almost
too stylish to be believed!

Pixie entered the breakfast-room with much the same stride as that with
which the big drum-major heads the Lord Mayor's procession, and spread
out her dress ostentatiously as she seated herself by the table. The
armholes stuck into her arms, the collar was an inch too high, and the
chest painfully contracted, but she was intensely proud of herself all
the same, and privately thought the London girls would have little
spirit left in them when confronted with so much elegance. Bridgie was
wiping her eyes behind the urn, Esmeralda was pressing the mustard upon
her, the Major was stroking his moustache and smiling as he murmured to
himself--

"Uglier than ever in that black frock! Eh--what! Bless the child, it
is the mischief to let her go! The house will be lost without her!"

Pat and Miles were conversing together in tones of laboured mystery, a
device certain to arrest Pixie's vivid attention.

"On Sundays--yes! Occasionally on Wednesdays also. It _does_ seem
rather mean, but I suppose puddings are not good for growing girls. Two
a week is ample if you think of it!"

"Good wholesome puddings too!" said Pat, nodding assent. "Suet and
rice, and perhaps tapioca for a change! Very sensible, I call it.
Porridge for breakfast, I think they said, but no butter, of course?"

"Certainly not! Too bad for the complexion, but cod-liver oil regularly
after every meal. Especially large doses to those suffering from change
of climate!"

The Major was chuckling with amusement; Bridgie was shaking her head,
and murmuring, "Boys, don't! It's cruel!" Pixie was turning from one
to the other with eager eyes, and mouth agape with excitement. She knew
perfectly well that the conversation was planned for her benefit, and
more than guessed its imaginary nature, but it was impossible to resist
a thrill--a fear--a doubt! The bread-and-butter was arrested in her
hand in the keenness of listening.

"Did I understand you to say _no_ talking allowed?" queried Pat
earnestly. "I had an impress