kes a perfect mistress
of the old place. The people adore her, and are in wholesome awe of
her, too--far more so than they ever were of me. The boys get cross
sometimes because she expects us to do exactly what she wishes, and that
immediately, if not sooner, but it doesn't worry me. I agree with all
she says, and then quietly go my own way, and the next time we meet she
has forgotten all about it. She is just the least in the world inclined
to be overbearing, but we all have our faults, and can't afford to judge
each other. She has been a dear sweet sister to me!"

Bridgie smoothed the tissue paper carefully over the portrait and put it
back in its envelope. Then she picked up a smaller photograph from the
table, and her face glowed with tenderness and pride. "Now!" she cried,
and her voice was as a herald's trumpet announcing the advent of the
principal character upon the stage. "Now, here she comes! Here's
Pixie! Here's our Baby!"

Sylvia sat up eagerly and held the photograph up to the light. She
looked at it, and blinked her eyes to be sure she had seen aright. She
cast a swift look at Bridgie's face to assure herself that she was not
the victim of a practical joke. She pressed her lips together to
repress an exclamation of dismay. She had expected to behold a vision
of loveliness--the superlative in the scale in which the two elder
sisters made positive and comparative, but what she saw was an elf-like
figure sitting huddled in the depths of an arm-chair, with tiny hands
clasped together, and large dilapidated boots occupying the place of
honour in the foreground. Lank tails of hair fell to the shoulders, and
while the nose was of the smallest possible dimensions, the mouth seemed
to stretch right across the face. It seemed impossible that this
comical little creature could belong to such a handsome and
distinguished-looking family, still more so that her belongings should
be proud of her rather than ashamed, yet there sat Bridgie all beams and
expectancy, her sweet lips a-tremble with tenderness.

"That's little Pixie! Esmeralda gave her two shillings for unpicking
some old dresses, and she went into the village and got photographed for
my birthday present. There was a travelling photographer down for a
week, and it's wonderfully like her for eighteenpence. The other
sixpence she spent on a frame--green plush, with shells at the corners.
Esmeralda had remarks to make when I put it on the draw