"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 muff, 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 Pix