“Poor little kid!” said Kate gruffly.
“D–arling!” sobbed Flora.
“But we all love you, Pixie! Everyone loves you! You can’t be lonely, dear, when you have so many friends,” said Margaret’s soft voice; and a hand stretched out and clutched hers in convulsive energy. It was Lottie’s hand, and Lottie’s face was trembling as if she were going to cry, and a pulse on her temple was beating up and down, Pixie looked at her curiously, and realised that, sorry as the others were, she was somehow sorriest of all, and most anxious to comfort. Lottie had been much subdued and silent since the beginning of the term, and had seemed, if anything, to avoid the society of the girl whom she had treated so badly, but with her fine intuition Pixie had understood quite well that the avoidance arose from no lack of affection. She held Lottie’s hand in a tight pressure while she continued her broken sentences.
“And I didn’t know he was going to die. They never told me. Miss Phipps says they didn’t want me to be unhappy, but I’d rather have known. He wasn’t like other people’s fathers. They are old, with grey hair; he was young—like a boy, and so handsome and gay. He always laughed, even if things went wrong, and I was the youngest, and he wouldn’t have me thwarted. No one ever appreciated me like the Major. The very last words he spoke were praising me and saying what a daughter I’d been!”
“When you said ‘Good-bye,’ you mean. That’s good to think of, isn’t it, Pixie? He knew he would never see you again, and that afterwards you would remember all he said, and treasure it in your heart, and the sweetest thing of all is to know that you were a joy and pleasure to him. It is a comfort to think that he is well again, isn’t it? Quite well and happy in heaven!”
“I want him on earth!” said Pixie, and the tears flowed down her cheeks. “We all want him. What is to become of us without our father? I feel as if I could never be happy again, but he said I must be. ‘Be as happy as you can,’ he said, ‘and make other people happy too. Never trouble a bit about your lessons, but go on loving and making sunshine, and you’ll do a great work in the world.’ Those were the very last words I heard him speak.”
It was a somewhat free translation, so far as lessons were concerned, and the girls realised as much, being accustomed to Pixie and her ways, but they allowed that part of the story to pass without comment, and referred only to what was obviously a literal repetition.
“Well, then, of course, you must obey his last words! It would not be like a good daughter if you didn’t. You must go on loving us, and making us happy, and we shall all be wretched if we see you fretting. You do make us happy, you know, Pixie! We have been ever so much livelier since you came. I think it ought to cheer anyone to know that she can make thirty-three people happy, don’t you, now?”
“Can I—can I really?” Pixie inquired wistfully. “I’m glad of that, and I will try, but I can’t help fretting a little first! I don’t think the Major would like it if I didn’t fret for him.” And at this moment Miss Phipps came into the room and put an end to the conference.
“I can’t let you sit up a moment longer, you weary little girl! Say ‘Good-night’ at once, and one of the girls shall go upstairs with you, and help you to undress. Which will you have?”