to hear
me. I said: `If you want to grow up a good, wise man like father, you
must learn to be gentle and polite. Did you ever hear father speak
rudely to me?'--`Oh, no,' says he, quite simply, `_but I've often heard
you speak rudely to him_!' Now, what was a poor misguided mother to say
to that? Especially when it was True! You are never cross, so your
youngsters can never corner you like that; but I am--often! Which
proves that I need Pixie more than you do, and she'd better hurry
along."

Pixie came lightly into the dining-room, just as Bridgie was reading the
last words of the letter. She was almost invariably late for breakfast,
a fact which was annoying to Captain Victor's soldierly sense of
punctuality. He looked markedly at the clock, and Pixie said genially,
"I apologise, me dear. The young need sleep!" Then she fell to work at
her porridge with healthy enjoyment. She wore a blue serge skirt and a
bright, red silk shirt, neatly belted by a strip of patent-leather. The
once straggly locks were parted in the middle, and swathed round a
little head which held itself jauntily aloft; her eyes danced, her lips
curved. It was a bare eight o'clock in the morning, a period when most
people are languid and half-awake. But there was no languor about
Pixie; she looked intensely, brilliantly alive. A stream of vitality
seemed to emanate from her little form and fill the whole room. The dog
stirred on the rug and rose to his feet; the canary hopped to a higher
perch and began to sing; Dick Victor felt an access of appetite, and
helped himself to a second egg and more bacon.

"This is Wednesday," announced Pixie genially, "and it's fine. I love
fine Wednesdays! It's a habit from the old school-time, when they were
half-holidays, and meant so, much. ... I wonder what nice thing will
happen to-day."

Husband and wife exchanged a glance. They knew and loved this habit of
expecting happiness, and looking forward to the joys rather than the
sorrows of the future, which had all her life, been characteristic of
Pixie O'Shaughnessy. They realised that it was to this quality of mind,
rather than to external happenings, that she owed her cheerful serenity,
but this morning it was impossible not to wonder how she would view the
proposed change of abode.

"I've had a letter from Esmeralda," announced Bridgie baldly from behind
the urn, and, quick as thought, Pixie's sharp eyes searched her face.

"But that's no