“’Deed I didn’t, then. No such luck!” sighed Bridgie regretfully, making the most of her own privation for the encouragement of the young traveller. “That will be a treat for you, Pixie, and there are sandwiches and cakes in the dining-room for you to eat before you go. Come straight in, for I brought down your coat before going out. You must write often, dear, and tell us every single thing. What Miss Phipps is like, and the other teachers, and the girls in your class, and who sleeps in your bedroom, and every single thing that happens to you.”
“And remember to write every second letter to your brothers, for if you don’t, they won’t write to you. Girls get all the letters, and it isn’t fair. Tell us if you play any games, and what sort of food they give you, and what you think of the English,” said Miles, helping himself to sandwiches, and turning over the cakes to select the most tempting for his own refreshment, despite the young housekeeper’s frowns of disapproval. “Stick up for your country, and stand no cheek. You understand, of course, that you are to be the Champion of Ireland in the school.”
“I do!” said little Pixie, and her back straightened, and her head reared itself in proud determination.
“And if any English upstarts dare to try bullying you, just let them know that your name is O’Shaughnessy, and that your ancestors were Kings of Ireland when theirs were begging bread on the streets! Talk to them straight, and let them know who they are dealing with!”
“I will so!” said Pixie. She chuckled gleefully at the anticipation; but, alas! her joy was short-lived, for at that moment the shabby dogcart passed the window, and the Major’s voice was heard calling impatiently from the hall.
“Ten minutes late already. We shall need all our time. Tumble in, now, tumble in! You have had the whole morning for saying good-bye. Surely you have finished by now!”
The children thought they had hardly begun; but perhaps it was just as well to be spared the last trying moments. Bridgie and Esmeralda wrapped their arms round the little sister and almost carried her to the door; Pat and Miles followed with their hands in their pockets, putting on a great affectation of jollity in their anxiety to disguise a natural regret; the two women-servants wailed loudly from the staircase. Pixie scrambled to her seat and looked down at them, her poor little chin quivering with emotion.
“Bridgie, write! Esmeralda, write!” she cried brokenly. “Oh, write often! Write every day. Pat, Pat, be kind to my ferret. Don’t starve it. Don’t let it die. Take care of it for me till I come back.”
“I’ll be a mother to it,” said Pat solemnly.
And so Pixie O’Shaughnessy went off to school.