Pixie gave a little prance of jubilation.
“Lovely! Lovely! I adore picnics! We’ll gather, sticks to boil a kettle, to make tea, and boil eggs, like we used to do at home when any one had a birthday. And the sticks always fell in, and the water got smoked!”
Honor and the two men had joined the sisters by this time, and stood looking on with amusement.
“Miss O’Shaughnessy seems to appreciate smoked tea,” said Stanor, and Pixie sturdily defended her position.
“I don’t; it’s hateful! But you can have nice tea every day, of your life, and the game is worth the candle! You can always pour it away and drink milk, and you’ve had all the fun—gathering the wood, and stoking, and looking at the smoke, and the blaze, and hearing the crackle, and smelling the dear, woody smell—”
“And blacking your hands, and spoiling your temper, and waiting for—how many hours does it take for a watched kettle to boil?—and in the end throwing away the result! You’re easily pleased, Miss O’Shaughnessy!”
“I am, praise be!” assented Pixie, with a fervour which brought four pairs of eyes upon her with a mingling of interest and admiration.
So far as features were concerned, it was a plain little face on which they gazed; yet no one could have called it plain at that moment, for, it was irradiated by that rarest of all beauties, an expression of radiant contentment. In comparison with that face those of the beholders appeared tired and discouraged, old before their time, by reason of drooping lips, puckered brows, and wrinkled foreheads; and it was evident that they themselves were aware of the fact, and stood, as it were, as amateurs before a master. Robert Carr poked forward his chin, and stared at her between narrowed eyes. Handsome Stanor smiled approval, Honor slipped a little hand through her arm, and Esmeralda sighed and frowned, and said with a shrug—
“Oh, we’ve lived past that, Pixie! Nowadays we take thermos bottles, and luncheon baskets, and hot-water dishes, and dine just as—uninterestingly as we do at home! English people wouldn’t thank you for a scramble. You must wait until you go back to Knock to Jack and Sylvia, and even there the infection is creeping. Jack is developing quite a taste for luxury.”
“I like it myself. Dear Mrs Hilliard, please let us have luxuries to-day!” Stanor pleaded; and Joan turned back to the house to superintend arrangements, while the four young people sauntered slowly about the grounds. Honor’s hand still rested on Pixie’s arm, and her voice had a wistful tone as she said—