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Pixie O'Shaughnessy

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<h3>Chapter Five.</h3> <h4>The Alice Prize.</h4> To the surprise of all concerned, Pixie took a very fair place in the school. The sorely tried Miss Minnitt was by no means an accomplished woman, but what she did know she taught well, and she felt rewarded for her efforts when she heard that Miss Bruce, the English teacher, had remarked that Pixie had been well grounded, and knew more than many girls of her age. The mixture of knowledge and ignorance which the child displayed was indeed incomprehensible to those who did not understand the conditions under which she had lived. She was quite a botanist in a small way, could discourse like any farmer on crops and tillages, was most sporting in her descriptions of shooting and hunting, and had an exhaustive understanding of, and sympathy with, the animal world, which seemed quite uncanny to town-bred girls. Here, however, her knowledge stopped, and of the ways of the world, the hundred and one restrictions and obligations of society which come as second nature to most girls, she knew no more than a South Sea Islander dancing gaily upon the sands, and stringing shells in her dusky locks. “I wish I was born a savage!” was indeed her daily reflection, as she buttoned her tight little frock, and wriggled to and fro in a vain search for comfort. “Now listen to me!” said Miss Bruce, at the end of the examination which was conducted after breakfast the day following Pixie’s arrival. “I am undecided which of two classes you shall join, so I am going to give you the choice. The under-fourth would be comparatively easy, the upper-fourth would mean real hard work. I think you could manage it, if you worked hard and determined to do your very, very best; but I tell you frankly it will not be easy. If you would rather have a term in the lower class and work up gradually, I am willing to let it be so; but you must realise that it will be less good for yourself. You seem to have a good memory and to learn quickly; but we don’t like to force girls beyond their strength. You would be the youngest girl in the upper-fourth.” That decided the matter! Pixie’s heart had sunk at the mention of work; but the ecstatic prospect of being the baby of a class, of writing home to boast of her position, and of reminding her elders at frequent intervals of her own precocious cleverness, was too tempting to be resisted. She pleaded eagerly for the upper-fourth, and came through the first morning’s ordeal with gratifying success. But, alas! afternoon brought a change of scene, for the girls retired to the schoolroom for “prep,” and the new class-member stared in dismay at the work before her. “Is it for next week we are to learn it?” she asked, and when the answer came, “For to-morrow,” she shrieked aloud in dismay. “What! The lot of it? Grammar, and arithmetic, and geography? All those pages, an’ pages, and pages! I couldn’t finish to-day if I sat up all night! You’re joking with me! It isn’t really and truly for to-morrow morning?” “It is indeed, my dear, worse luck! Miss Bruce gives a terrible amount of prep, and you are bound to get through somehow. Sometimes it is worse than this, and you feel simply frantic. You are not allowed to go on after seven o’clock either, so there is no hope for you if you are not finished by that time.” “Don’t frighten her, Dora,” said Kate kindly. She looked through her spectacles at Pixie’s woe-begone face, and smiled encouragement. “It seems hopeless at first, but you will get accustomed to it in time. I used to be in despair, but you get into the way of learning quickly, and picking out the things that are most important. There’s no time for talking, though. Open your grammar and begin at once.” “Hate grammar!” grumbled Pixie crossly. “What’s the use of it? I can talk as well as I want to without bothering about grammar, and I don’t understand it either! Silly gibberish!” She wished with all her heart at that moment that she had been content with the seclusion of the lower-fourth; but she was not allowed to talk any more, for Clara called out an impatient “Hush!” and Florence stuck her fingers in her ears and looked so savage that it was impossible to disregard the warning. Pixie read over the tiresome grammar, and then lay back in her seat studying the furniture of the room, and deciding on the improvements which she would make if Miss Phipps asked her advice on the subject of redecoration. It was an engrossing subject, and would have kept her happily occupied for quite a long time, had not Kate jerked her elbow as a reminder, and pointed significantly to the history. She had mentally constituted herself as friend-in-need to the new classmate, and was determined to do her duty by her, however little thanks she might receive; so she nudged, and nudged again, until Pixie resentfully opened the history book in its turn. History was interesting—it was just like a story! When the prescribed portion had been read, she was anxious to learn what happened next, and read on and on until the watchful Kate suspected something wrong, and forcibly confiscated the book. “What are you reading the next chapter for? A minute ago you were groaning because you had too much to do. Finish the work that is given you before trying to do more!” “But there was an execution coming on. I love executions!” sighed Pixie miserably. “This is the best bit of the whole history, for there’s no more fun when you get to the Georges. They never have any murders, nor plots, nor blowings up.” “You will get blown up if you interrupt like this! How do you suppose I can learn with you chattering away all the time?” cried Clara, the irascible. She glared at Pixie, and Pixie glared at her, and went on glaring long after the other had settled to work with an intentness which seemed mysteriously connected with the movement of a stubbly lead pencil. Presently she touched Kate softly, and there on the margin of the clean new book was exhibited the drawing of a dismembered head, glaring horribly over rule-of-three problems, and labelled “Clara” in largest round hand. It was a very juvenile effort, but drawing was a family talent among the O’Shaughnessys, and the artist had been sharp to note the weak points of her subject, as well as to exaggerate them with cruel honesty. The high forehead was doubled in height, the long upper lip stretched to abnormal length, the blots which did duty for eyes were really marvellously, astonishingly like Clara’s in expression! Kate pressed her handkerchief against her mouth, but the sound of her splutters was distinctly audible, and her companions looked up in amazement. Kate laughing during prep was a sight which had never been witnessed before, and they stared at her in mingled surprise and envy. “What’s the joke?” asked Marjorie wistfully. “You might share it, I think, for I feel as if I should never smile again until the holidays. If there is anything amusing in these lessons to-night, I should like to have it pointed out, that’s all!” “It’s n–n–thing!” returned Kate, spluttering still. Pixie had flipped over a page with a deft movement, and sat with hands folded on her lap, a picture of lamblike innocence. For the rest of the time allowed for preparation she worked really well, inspired by the remembrance that she had made Kate laugh, and drawn a caricature which even Esmeralda herself must have approved. About half-past seven came supper, and after supper prayers, and after prayers bed, and an interesting conversation with the three room-mates. “Which is the nicest girl in the school?” Pixie asked, going at once to the most important point, and fondly hoping that she might listen to her own name by way of answer. She was doomed to disappointment, however, for though there was a difference of opinion, her name was not even mentioned. “Margaret!” said Kate. “Lottie!” cried Flora. “Clara!” cried Ethel; and they proceeded to argue the question between themselves. “Margaret is an angel. She is sweet to everyone. She never says an unkind word.” “Lottie is so bright and clever. She is first in almost every single class.” “Clara is so sensible. She doesn’t make a fuss, and gush over everything, as Lottie does; but if she says she will be your friend, she keeps her word, and always tries to do you a good turn.” “That’s the way with meself,” said Pixie modestly. “I’m the soft-heartedest creature! You three girls are me best friends because ye share me room, and I’ll stick to you, whatever trouble ye’re in. Ye need never be afraid to come to me, for the worse ye are, the better I’ll like ye!” “Ho, ho, ho!” laughed Kate shrilly. Flora chuckled to herself in fat, good-natured fashion, and Ethel tossed her mane and said— “I can quite believe it, but if you will excuse my saying so, I think the trouble is more likely to come to you than to us! If you go on behaving as you have done the last two days, you will be in need of friends yourself, my dear, so don’t say I haven’t warned you.” “Behaving as I have done! Get into trouble meself!” echoed Pixie blankly. “And what for, please? What have I done? I promised Bridgie before I left that I would behave meself, and not disgrace the family, and I’ve kept me word. I’ve not been naughty once the whole time through.” “Don’t say ‘naughty,’ child, as if you were a baby two years old! You may not have done anything wrong from your point of view, but you have broken half a dozen rules all the same. You planted yourself in front of the fire when the fifth-form girls were in the room, and never offered to give up your place even when Margaret herself came in. Not one of the old girls would think of doing such a thing. And you answered back when Miss Phipps spoke to you at tea—and told a story so loud that everyone could hear!” “And small blame to me if I did! It was the dullest meal I ever sat through, and I thought I would do you a kindness by waking you up!” returned Pixie defiantly. She did not at all approve of Clara’s attitude of fault-finding, and was up in arms at once in her own defence. “I have been brought up to make meself agreeable, and when Miss Phipps spoke to me, wasn’t I obliged to give a civil answer? And I was cold when I sat before the fire. Are fifth-form girls colder than anyone else, that they must have all the heat?” “You know perfectly well what I mean, or if you don’t, you are a stupid child, and you needn’t fly into a temper when I tell you your mistakes. You want to get on, I suppose, and take a good place in the school, so you ought to be grateful to anyone who tries to keep you out of trouble.” In the seclusion of her cubicle Pixie made a grimace, the reverse of appreciative, but she stifled her feelings in her desire for information, and asked the next question on her list. “How often in the year do you get prizes?” “Once. At the end of the summer term. There’s a chance for you now! Work hard for six months, and win the class prize!” Flora chuckled with amusement at the idea, but Pixie considered the subject seriously for a good two minutes, and found it altogether agreeable. She saw a vision of herself walking forward to receive her honours while the elder girls sat in a row, subdued and envious, and tasted in advance the ecstasy of the moment. “What sort of prizes do they give you—books?” “Books, of course. Improving books. Poets, with nice soft backs, and Dutch Republics in calf, and things like that. The sort of book you are awfully proud of, but hardly ever read. You put it carefully in a bookcase, and admire the binding. You can always tell a prize a yard off, it looks so smart and gilt, and unopened. I’ve seen rows of them in some houses, all ranged together with their little silk markers hanging out at the bottom, as smooth and uncrumpled as if they had never been moved; and the owners take them down and show you the inscription on the first page, to prove how good and clever they were when they were at school!” “Ah!” Pixie drew a rapturous sigh, seeing herself be-capped and shawled, in the act of exhibiting her own spoils to a bevy of admiring grandchildren. The great point seemed to be to have the inscription as striking as possible, so she inquired anxiously if the class prize was the highest that could be obtained. “She’s ambitious, girls, isn’t she? The class prize isn’t enough for her, you notice!” cried Ethel, splashing her face with cold water, and interposing her remarks with audible shudderings. “Yes, there’s one thing higher—the ‘Alice Prize,’ we call it, because it is given by the father of a certain Alice who used to be at school here, and who died at the end of her last term. She was Lottie’s sister; but Lottie is not in the least like her, for she was very shy and nervous, and the girls teased her a great deal, and she took it to heart and made herself miserable. After her death it was found that she had kept a diary, and written down all her troubles; and her parents read it, and tried to think what they could do to prevent any other girl suffering as she had done. At last they thought of offering this prize—it is given every year—five pounds’ worth of books, which you can choose for yourself. You can get a lot of books for five pounds, and it is given to the girl who is kindest and most considerate to others. She has to be nice to new girls, and answer their questions, and be patient with them, as I am being with you, my dear, at the present moment, and dry their little eyes when they weep, and cheer them up when they are low in their minds. And she has to be careful not to hurt other people’s feelings, and to use her influence to stop a joke when it is going too far. Oh, and a dozen other things which you can imagine for yourself! The girls know best who deserves the prize, and they vote at the end of the year, and whoever gets most votes gets the prize.” “Who got it last year?” “Margaret, of course. So she would every time, but the same person is not allowed to have it two years running. A good thing, too, for we should all feel that it was no use competing with her, and so give up trying.” “And who do you think will get it this year?” “Oh dear me! How many more questions? Myself, of course, for answering you so kindly. If you don’t vote for me, young woman, there’ll be a coldness between us, and so I tell you. Flora thinks she will get it, but it won’t be fair if she does, for she is so fat that she couldn’t be anything else than good-natured if she tried. Now I have really a violent temper, but I keep it in check. I can’t answer any more questions, though. Time’s up. I give you all two minutes more, and then I must put out the light.” “Let me do it! I’ll put it out! You get into your bed and keep warm, and I’ll wait upon you!” cried Pixie eagerly; and, to her dismay, there came a simultaneous burst of laughter from all three listeners. “She’s Alicing,” they cried—“she’s Alicing! Nothing like beginning in time, and making the most of your opportunities. So you want that prize too, do you, as well as the class one? It’s a bad lookout for the rest of the girls. There won’t be anything left for us to try for.” Pixie stood transfixed within her cubicle, staring before her with bewildered eyes. As it had been her delight to wait upon her beloved sisters, it had come naturally to wish to help these girls who, for the time, had taken their place in her life. She had made her offer in all good faith, and her heart swelled with bitterness at the injustice of the accusation. A rush of honest Irish pride forbade an answer; but the tears came to her eyes as she lay down in bed, and the loneliness of exile fell upon her. Bally William, oh, dear Bally William, how are you looking to-night? Is everything going on as usual, though Pixie O’Shaughnessy is far away in a cold, cruel land where no one knows her, and her best motives are misjudged and derided? Beautiful old castle, standing among your luxuriant green, are the lamps lit in your rooms, and twinkling like so many stars into the night? And there, where the red curtains are drawn so snugly, are the boys and girls gathered round the fire, the flames lighting up Bridgie’s sweet face and Esmeralda’s stormy beauty? Oh, boys and girls, are you thinking of Pixie—your own little Pixie? “How that child does snort!” muttered Ethel impatiently. “It seems to be our luck to have all the snorers in this room.” <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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