reediest family for letters; do as I will, there's never a time when
somebody isn't grumbling! Never mind me, if you want to smoke; I
approve of men smoking, it keeps them quiet. Can I get you a book?"

Stephen shook his head. Pat's library did not appeal to his more
literary taste, and he announced himself content without further
employment.

"Oh, well then, _talk_! It won't disturb me," said Pixie easily; "I'll
just listen or not, according as it's interesting. I'm accustomed to it
with Bridgie. If you want to set her tongue going, just sit down and
begin to write..."

Stephen, however, had no intention of taking advantage of the
permission. He was abundantly content to sit in his comfortable chair,
enjoy his novel surroundings (how very cheerful and attractive a _clean_
kitchen could be!) smoke his cigarette, and watch Pixie scribbling at
fever pace over innumerable pages of notepaper. There were frequent
snatches of conversation, but invariably it was Pixie herself who led
the way.

"D'you illustrate your letters when you write them?" she asked at one
time. "I always do! Realistic, you know, and saves time. At this
present moment--" she drew back from the table, screwing up one eye, and
holding aloft her pen in truly professional fashion--"I'm drawing
_You_!"

"May I see?"

"You may. ... It's not _quite_ right about the chair legs, they get so
mixed up. Perspective never was my strong point," said Pixie, holding
out a sheet and pointing to the masterpiece in question with the end of
her pen. "There!"

Stephen looked and beheld a rough drawing of a preternaturally thin man,
with preternatural large eyes, holding a cigarette in a hand joined to
an arm which had evidently suffered severe dislocation. It was the type
of drawing affected by schoolboys and girls, yet it had a distinct
cleverness of its own. Despite the cart-wheel eyes and the skeleton
frame there _was_ a resemblance--there was more than a resemblance, it
was actually _like_, and Stephen acclaimed the fact by a shout of
laughter.

"I say! Could I have it? It's uncommonly good!"

Pixie shook her head.

"It's for Bridgie.--Ye notice the mouth? Did you know it twisted when
you thought? Aren't they _nice_, narrow boots? I'll do one for you
another day. ... Turn over the page! There's another of Pat, as he
will look at the supper to-night."

The second drawing was even rougher than the first, but again the
faculty for hitt