“I say,” cried Flora eagerly, “do tell that story to Miss Phipps! She might give us a week’s holiday and send us to see the sights of London! Do, Kate! Get it up in French and tell it to-night at tea. You don’t know how much good it might do!”
“It’s a very good story, but I fail to see where the moral comes in. It hardly applies to us, I think,” said Clara, in her superior manner, and Kate breathlessly vindicated her position.
“Yes, it does—of course it does. It shows that this anxious stage is a natural thing which all workers have to live through, and even if we can’t leave off lessons altogether, we can help ourselves by not giving way to nerves, but going steadily on, knowing that we shall feel all right again in a few days. Besides, there’s the Exeat coming,—that will make a nice break.”
“I never worry about lessons, do I?” cried Pixie, pluming herself complacently. The part of Kate’s lecture which had dealt with over-anxiety about work had appealed with special force to one listener at least, and Pixie was delighted to find that she was free from failing in one direction at least. “I never did. Miss Minnitt—that’s the one who used to teach us—she said I never paid any attention at all. There was one day she was questioning me about grammar. ‘Pixie O’Shaughnessy,’ she says, ‘you’ve been over this one page until it’s worn transparent. For pity’s sake,’ she says, ‘be done with it, and get on to something fresh. Let me see if you can remember to-day what I taught you yesterday afternoon. How many kinds of verbs are there?’ ‘There are two,’ I said, and with that she was all smiles and noddings. ‘So there are, now. You’re quite right. And what will be their names?’ ‘Verb and adverb,’ says I, quite haughty; and the howl that went out of her you might have heard from Cork to Galway! That was all the grammar she’d managed to teach me!”
“You don’t know very much more now, do you, chicken?” said Margaret, bending her head so that her cheek rested upon the rough, dark head. “Just bring your books to me any time you get puzzled, and I’ll try to make it clear. Talking of the term-holiday, girls, it is time we began to make our plans. How many of you are going out? Lottie, are you? Clara? Kate? Pixie? We had better find out first how many will be here.”
Clara had had hopes that the maiden lady with the appetite would rise to the occasion, but, alas! she had betaken herself to stay with a relative, Pixie was sure that Jack could not spare time to have her for a whole day, and besides, she was going to have tea with him the Saturday before. All the girls seemed fated to spend the holiday at school save only the two sisters, Mabel and Violet, who were to be entertained by a kind aunt, and to choose their own entertainment for the afternoon, and Lottie, who was fortunate as usual.
“I am doubly engaged for the evening!” she announced with a flourish. “I wrote home to my people about the holiday, and mother asked some friends to have me for part of the day. They live in a regular mansion—as big as two or three houses like this rolled into one, and they know all sorts of grand people! I am going to dinner, and it’s most exciting, for I don’t know whom I may meet!”
“The Prince and Princess of Wales are at Sandringham! What a pity!” sighed Kate, the sarcastic. “It’s so awfully trying to come down to Lords and Ladies, don’t you know! You will hardly trouble to put on your best dress, I should think. The pea-green satin with the pink flounces will be good enough for them!”
The Margaret-girls laughed hysterically at this exhibition of wit, but Lottie’s followers shot indignant glances across the room, and Pixie asked innocently—“Have you got a pea-green satin, Lottie? And pink flounces to it? You will be fine! I have a little pink fan out of a cracker last year, when there was company at the Chase. I’ll lend it to you if you like, and then you’ll be all complete!”
“Thank you, Pixie O’Shaughnessy; you are a kind little girl. I shan’t want it this time, but I’ll be sure to remind you when I do,” replied Lottie, with unusual warmth of manner, for the child’s sincerity had touched a soft spot in her vain heart, and she had an increasing desire to include her in the number of her admirers. Later on, when they were left alone together at the end of the schoolroom, she put her arm round the tiny waist, and said caressingly—