"I don't know. Everything. Nothing in particular, only that it's so warm and sunny and pretty; and you are so kind. I wasn't thinking anything, only being happy."

"'Only being happy,' were you?" he repeated softly. "Does it seem so easy, little Mamzelle? Some of the richest men in the world would give all their money if you could teach them that little secret. 'Only being happy' is a very difficult thing to some of us as we grow older in this world."

Pixie looked at him with an anxious scrutiny.

"But you were happy once, weren't you," she asked, "before you were miserable? People have been kind to you too, and made you happy before you began to be worried?"

"I worried! I miserable! Mamzelle, what can you mean? I am out for a picnic, with three charming ladies for my guests. How can I be anything but proud and delighted?"

He spoke with affected hilarity; but Pixie was not so easily convinced, and shook her head incredulously as she replied—

"No—you are not happy, really—not through and through! Ye sigh in the middle of laughing, and think of something else when you pretend to listen. I've been in trouble meself. Once there was an awful time when the girls sent me to Coventry for weeks on end, and there was a horrid dull pain inside me, as if I'd swallowed up a lump of lead. Was someone unkind to you too?"

He laughed—a short, mirthless laugh—and pushed his hair from his brow. It was a strange thing that he should dream of confiding his story to this bit of a girl, yet never before had he known such an impulse to speak.

"No, Mademoiselle," he said,—"not unkind; it was not in her nature to be that. The mistake was all on my side. I was a conceited coxcomb to think that she could ever care for me; but I did think it, and went on dreaming my foolish castle in the air, until one day it fell to the ground, and left me sitting among the ruins."

"It was a heart affair, then! I thought it was," cried Pixie shrewdly. "I heard a lot about heart affairs in Paris, and I had a sister once who was married. Her husband used to look just like you do when she was cross to him; but really and truly she wanted to be kind, and now they are married and living happily ever after. It will come all right for you too, some day!"

"No, never! There's no hope of that. She married someone else. That was the news which came to me one day and wrecked my castle!"

"Oh, oh!—how could she! The misguided creature! And when she might have had you instead! I'd marry you myself if I were big enough!" cried Pixie in a fervour of indignation which was more soothing than any expressions of sympathy; and the Captain stretched out his hand and patted her tenderly on the shoulder.

"Would you really? That's very sweet of you. Thank you, dear, for the compliment. We will be real good friends in any case, won't we? and you will keep my confidence, for no one in this place knows anything about it. And we won't talk of it any more, I think; it's rather a sore subject, don't you know. We might begin unpacking those baskets. The children will want their tea."



CHAPTER THIRTY.

IN THE LOCK.

The tea-making was attended with the usual excitements, and the kettle- boiling with the inevitable misadventures. A scouting party was organised to discover a sheltered spot in which to lay the fire, but although until this minute the day had appeared absolutely calm and tranquil, all the winds of heaven seemed to unite in blowing upon that unfortunate fire from the moment that the match was applied!

When at long last a feeble flame was established, the sticks promptly collapsed and precipitated the kettle to the ground; when rebuilt more solidly, it died out for want of a draught; and when at last, and at last, and at very long last, the smoke was seen issuing from the kettle- spout, lo, the water was smoked, and unfit to drink! So decided the Captain, at least, but while he drank milk with the little girls, Pixie emptied the tea-pot with undiminished enjoyment.

"It gives it a flavour," she said. "I like to taste what I'm drinking."

It was not a trifle like smoked tea which would mar Mamzelle Paddy's enjoyment when on pleasure bent!

The Captain's preparations had been on so lavish a scale that there was quite a supply of good things left when the meal was finished, and by a kindly thought these were packed together to give to the children of the lock-keeper on the way up stream.

When every odd piece of paper had been religiously collected and packed in the hamper with the cups and saucers, the little girls were lifted into the boat, Pixie pulled the rudder-ropes over her shoulders, and the Captain pushed the boat from the shore and jumped lightly into his seat.

They were off again, rowing homewards and passing once more all the fascinating landmarks which they had noticed on the way down. The picnickers on the banks were fastening hampers and preparing to depart; on the green lawns by the waterside servants were flitting to and fro carrying trays into the house. Inda was beginning to yawn and long for bed. She leant against Pixie, the weight of the small head becoming ever heavier and heavier, but roused up again as the boat entered the "box," as she persisted in calling a lock. She wanted to hand out the parcel of good things without a moment's delay, but the Captain told her to wait until the water had lifted the boat nearer to the bank.

It seemed an extraordinary thing that, whereas, in passing through the lock before they had gone down, down, down, they should now rise higher with every moment that passed. The children had a hundred questions to ask, while the Captain stood up and kept the boat in position with a boat-hook. He explained the mystery as simply as possible, and also why he was at such pains to keep at a safe distance from the walls.

"You see those things sticking out from the side of the boat into which I put my oars? They are called 'rollocks,' and when you are coming up stream through a lock you have to be careful indeed not to let them catch under any of the beams. It would be almost impossible to get them loose again, you see, because every moment more water would pour in, and press them tighter and tighter!"

"And what would it do to us if it did press them?" Viva inquired curiously, whereat the Captain smiled and shook his head.

"Something very disagreeable, I'm afraid—give us all a good wetting in the water! You needn't be afraid of that, though, when you are with me, for I shall take good care of my little crew. You see how far I keep away with this oar."

"Yes, I see. But why does one end of the boat stick out into the middle, and the other into the side?"

"It's the current that sweeps it round, the force of the water that is coming in under the gates. That doesn't matter so long as we are not caught."

"But the end is caught, isn't it? That little bit of iron that sticks up at the pointed end!" cried Pixie suddenly. She was densely ignorant of all that concerns boats, and invariably alluded to the bow and the stern as the "blunt" and "pointed" ends, to the Captain's intense amusement.

This time, however, he did not smile. Pixie saw his face set suddenly as he turned his head to look in the direction of her outstretched finger, but his voice sounded reassuringly confident.

"Oh, I see! Yes. Let me pass you, dear, for a moment. Sit quite still!"

He stepped past her into the space occupied by the hampers, and stamped vigorously first with one foot, then with two, jumped with all his weight, then stepped quickly back to the centre of the boat and called to the man at the sluices—

"Hi, there! Stop! My boat is caught! Turn off that water! Quick, man, do you hear me!"

But the man's head was turned in the opposite direction, and he was so much engrossed with his work that it was some moments before he heard, and meantime it was terrifying to see how swiftly the water arose, how dangerously near to its edge grew the side of the boat! The children began to shriek and stand on their seats, and the Captain seized Inda in his arms and held her up, calling loudly for help.

The lock-keeper was hurriedly dropping the sluices, but at the sound of the continued cries his wife ran out of the house and across the bridgeway. In another moment she would be able to lift Inda ashore; but Viva, frantic with terror, was clamouring to be taken too, and Pixie impetuously lifted her towards the bank.

What happened next it is difficult to describe, so swiftly did it happen, so like a nightmare did it appear for ever after in the memories of those concerned. The woman came rushing forward, followed by her husband; they seized the children and dragged them on the bank.

The boat, relieved suddenly of a weight, gave an unexpected lurch, and the next moment Pixie and the Captain were in the water. The children screamed aloud in terror, but the Captain had hardly disappeared before he was up again, capless, and shaking the water from his head, but looking none the worse for his ducking. But it was a long, agonising minute before there came a swirling and bubbling at the end of the lock, and Pixie's white, unconscious little face floated on the surface. The Captain's arm was round her in an instant, the lock-keeper threw a rope to help him to the iron ladder fixed in the walls of the lock, and between them the two men carried the dripping figure along the bank and into the house.

There was a sofa in an inner room, and there they laid her, while the woman, assisted by her eldest daughter, took off the wringing garments and wrapped her round with warm blankets and coverings. The Captain ran out into the village, sent a messenger flying for a doctor, and rushed back again in terror lest the two little girls should have taken advantage of his absence to get into fresh mischief.

This was a pretty ending to their expedition! What would Mrs Wallace say to him when he got home, and what should he say to himself if through any fault or carelessness a serious injury had happened to sweet little Mamzelle!

"Why on earth do they want to put these irons at the end of a boat? Wretched, dangerous things!" cried the distracted man to himself. "To think that I have been through a thousand locks in safety, and that this should have happened just when I had made myself responsible for a party of children! Never again! Never again, if I get safely out of this! I wonder how long that doctor fellow will take to come along?"

Viva and Inda were sitting in the front kitchen, glancing askance at several rosy, curly-headed children who were shyly huddled together by the door. The fascination of new surroundings and possible new playmates had diverted their minds from their misfortunes, and the Captain heaved a sigh of relief as he passed into the inner room.

The lock-keeper's wife had filled two bottles with hot water, and put one to Pixie's feet, and another between her cold hands; a towel was wrapped round the wet locks with somewhat ghastly effect, and the young man shivered as he looked down at the still, white face.

"She is not—she can't be—" he faltered, not having the courage to pronounce the dread word; and to his inexpressible relief the woman smiled at the thought.

"Not she! Stunned a bit, that's all. Perhaps hit her head in falling. I've often had them like this before, and they are pretty well all right in a few hours. We have a lot of people up here in summertime who know nothing about managing a boat—no offence to you, sir—I daresay you are well accustomed to them, but accidents will happen!"

"I thought I was!" sighed the Captain dismally. He knelt down by the couch, and touched the cold cheek with his fingers. "Feels a little warmer, doesn't she? For goodness' sake, take that thing off her head, I can't bear to see it."

The woman lifted the head from the pillow to unloosen the tight folds, and at the movement Pixie sighed, and opened wide, bewildered eyes. For the first moment they held nothing but blankest surprise at finding herself in so extraordinary a position, but, even as the Captain held his breath in suspense, a spark of remembrance came into the clear depths, and the face lit up with a flickering merriment.

"Were we drowned?" she whispered hoarsely. "The two of us?—Viva jumped, and the boat slipped, and my feet went down. Who saved me? Was it you?"

"I suppose it was, but it was not a very heroic rescue—only a few yards to the bank. You are sure you feel all right? Quite warm and comfortable? Your head doesn't ache?"

Pixie shook her dishevelled head from side to side, frowning the while in speculative fashion.

"I think it does—a little bit, but I'm not quite sure. It feels muzzy!" she declared, with a gesture and accent which lent some enlightenment to the enigmatical expression. Then she stretched out a hand, and touched him anxiously on the shoulder. "You're drenched! You'll catch all sorts of diseases in those wet clothes. Can't you have some blankets too? I'm so lovely and warm."

"My husband is putting out some clothes for you upstairs, sir. You had better go and change. The young lady is all right now, and I will tell you when the doctor comes."

"Doctor! Is a doctor coming? To see me?" Pixie asked, rapturously incredulous.

To find herself the heroine of an adventure, a genuine thrilling adventure, to lie stretched upon a sofa, wrapped in blankets, with two attendants anxiously inquiring her symptoms; to know that a doctor was hurrying to her side—this was indeed a glorious ending to the day's enjoyment! She lay back on the cushions wreathed in smiles, and the doctor, coming in hurriedly, was somewhat taken aback to behold so radiant a patient.

"I fainted!" cried Pixie proudly. "I never fainted before in all my life. I don't remember a single thing after I slipped, until I woke up on this sofa."

"Indeed!—and a very sensible arrangement. Just as well to know nothing about these disagreeable experiences."

The doctor smiled, and fingered her head with a careful touch. "Does that hurt you? No? Does that? Do you feel any tenderness there? A little bit, eh? You don't like me to press it? You probably grazed yourself slightly as you fell, and that caused the 'faint.' Nothing serious, though. You need not be frightened."

"I like it!" said Pixie stoutly, and the burst of laughter with which the two hearers greeted this statement, sounded pleasantly in the Captain's ears as he dressed himself in the lock-keeper's Sunday garments in the room overhead.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

LOVERS' MEETINGS.

The doctor saw no reason why Pixie should not be driven home, and offered to order a closed carriage in the village, and pending its arrival, the adventurers enjoyed another cup of tea, not smoked this time, and made merry over the change in their appearance, wrought by the borrowed clothing.

Pixie's red merino dress was the pride of little Miss Lock-keeper's heart, but about two sizes too big for its present occupant. The bodice hung in folds about her tiny figure, the sleeves came down to her finger-tips; the Captain's shiny black suit made him appear quite clumsy and awkward, but that was all part of the fun, in the estimation of three members of the party, at least.

Mrs Wallace was undecided whether to laugh or to cry as she welcomed her truants and listened to the story of their adventures. Nothing would satisfy her but to despatch Pixie to bed forthwith, to that young lady's intense mortification, and to order the Captain upstairs to have a hot bath and a dose of quinine. When he came downstairs, she was putting a letter in the post-box in the hall, and, motioning towards it, explained its purport.

"I've been writing to Mamzelle's sister in London. These lock accidents get into the papers sometimes, and are generally exaggerated into something really so thrilling and terrible. It's best to tell the true story ourselves."

"And I have brought this trouble upon you! I could kick myself for my stupidity. You will never trust me again, but please make me the scapegoat to the sister, and let her wreak her wrath on me. It's not fair that you should be blamed."

"Oh, I am not afraid of any wrath, I assure you. She's a charming girl, and as sweet as Mamzelle herself. I have asked her to come down to- morrow and see for herself that there is no harm done. I thought that was the best way out of the difficulty; and please don't blame yourself too much. It was an accident, and we must just be very, very thankful that you were all preserved from harm."

The next morning the Captain took himself off for a long walk, ostensibly to call on some friends, in reality to avoid meeting the visitor from town; for though a man may boldly acknowledge his responsibility and offer to bear the blame, he has an instinctive shrinking from the society of females in distress, and will walk a very long distance in order to avoid anything like a scene.

It seemed the height of bad fortune that this particular visitor should arrive in the afternoon, instead of the morning, and that he should stumble into the library almost immediately after she had arrived. She was seated on an ottoman with her back towards him, but Mrs Wallace's quick exclamation took away any chance of retreating unseen.

"Why, here he is!" she cried. "This is the culprit, or the hero, whichever you choose to call him. Come and tell your own story, Dick. This is Mademoiselle's sister, Miss O'Shaughnessy."

But he had recognised her already. She had turned her head as Mrs Wallace spoke, and beneath the curving brim of the hat he had seen the face which had been enshrined in his heart for three long years, the sweet face which had brought to him at once the greatest joy and the bitterest sorrow of his life! He stood still in the middle of the room, staring at her as if suddenly turned to stone, and Bridgie rose to her feet, the pretty colour fading out of her cheeks, her lips a-tremble with emotion.

Mrs Wallace looked from one to the other, and with a woman's intuition divined something very nearly approaching the truth. Dick was quite changed from his old happy self—everyone had noticed it, and speculated as to the cause. In his last furlough he had stayed some time in Ireland. Could it be—could it possibly be—

"You have met before?" she said quickly. "That is very nice. You know each other, and can talk over yesterday's adventure without my help. Will you excuse me if I leave you for a few moments, while I give some orders to the maids?"

No one answered, but she lost no time in hurrying from the room, and as the door closed behind her, the Captain came slowly across the room, staring at Bridgie's white face.

"Miss O'Shaughnessy! She called you 'Miss O'Shaughnessy'!"

She shrank before him, scared by his strange, excited manner.

"Yes, it is my name. I am Bridgie O'Shaughnessy. Don't you remember me?"

"Remember you!" he repeated with an emphasis which was more eloquent than a hundred protestations. He seized her hands in a painful pressure. "You are not married, then? It was not true! You did not marry him as they told me?"

"I? You thought I was married! Oh, what put such an idea into your head?"

"I heard it eighteen months ago—shortly after your last letter arrived, telling me about your father, and hinting at other changes which might follow. My friend wrote that Miss O'Shaughnessy was engaged to a fellow with a lot of money—Hilliard—that they were going to be married almost at once. Was it all an invention? Was there no truth in it at all?"

"It was quite true—quite, but it was Esmeralda, not me! She married him over a year ago."

"Esmeralda! your sister—but he said the eldest daughter, and you are the eldest. I knew I was not mistaken about that, for I remember every word you had told me."

Bridgie smiled faintly; the colour was coming back into her cheeks, and the grey eyes met his with shy, incredulous happiness.

"But most people give her the credit for it, all the same. There's so much more of her, you see. You never wrote to—to ask if it were true?"

"I was too proud and hurt, badly hurt, Bridgie—mortally badly! And you never wrote to ask why I was silent. Were you proud too, or contemptuous—which was it? Did you think I was nothing but a flirt, and a heartless one at that?"

"I never thought unkindly of you, but I suppose I was proud, for I couldn't write when all the money was gone, and I was so poor. I thought you had forgotten, or met someone else! I hoped you were very happy, only I—wasn't!" faltered Bridgie, with a little break in her voice as she spoke that last word, which brought the tears to the Captain's eyes. He bent his head over the clasped hands, and kissed them a dozen times over.

"Bridgie, Bridgie!" he cried brokenly. "Is it true? Have I found you again after all these years? Can you forgive me for this wretched blunder which has brought such unhappiness upon us both? I am thankful to know you were unhappy too, for I had nothing to go on, Bridgie, no claim whatever upon you, only you must have guessed how I felt. I could not believe that you had really given yourself to me in that short time."

"I couldn't myself!" said Bridgie naively. "I tried to pretend that it was all a mistake, and that I was quite happy without you." She looked up at him shyly, and shook her head in the most beguiling denial. "'Twas not a mite of use. I remember all the same! And are you sure— quite sure—that you thought of me all the time? Was there never anyone else all these long, long years?"

The Captain smiled and stroked his moustache in amused, contemplative fashion.

"There was never anyone, except one girl! I met one girl who quite stole my heart, and I think I stole hers into the bargain."

"Oh! oh! How dreadful! Why did you tell me? But you didn't—you never thought of marrying her, did you, Dick?"

"I'm not so sure. She did!" He laughed, and seized her hands once more. "No, it is too bad! I won't tease you. It was Mamzelle Paddy, darling, to whom I confided my story, and who comforted me in her own sweet fashion. And she is your sister, and it is she who has brought us together! Bridgie, if I didn't love you with all my heart, I believe I should still have to marry you, for nothing else than to be Mamzelle's brother."

But Bridgie did not affect to be jealous. She threw back her head, and smiled happily as she answered, "I'm thankful to hear you say it, for whoever marries me must love Pixie too. I can never leave her behind me!"



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

CONCLUSION.

The news of Captain Victor's engagement and long attachment to the charming Miss O'Shaughnessy caused the greatest interest and excitement among the guests at the cottage, while his old friends rejoiced to see the happy brightness on his face.

"Welcome home, Dick!" Mr Wallace cried, shaking him warmly by the hand. "Thankful to see you back again, instead of that other fellow who has been moping about in your clothes!" and Pixie commented on the announcement with her usual outspoken honesty.

"I told ye it would come all right! I suppose it was you Bridgie was fretting about, when I thought it was the bills! She's got dips in her cheeks, only you can't see them now, because she's blushing. I'm glad you are coming into the family, but I don't see how you can ever be married! She can't be spared!"

The Captain laughed at that statement, and vowed that she would have to be spared, and that at an early date; but a shadow fell across Bridgie's face, and as they sat alone in the garden she said anxiously—

"I am afraid I have been selfish, Dick! I can think of nothing but you, but, after all, Pixie was quite right—I can't possibly be spared for a long time to come. She won't be old enough to take charge of a house for three years at the soonest, and Jack has been so good and unselfish that I couldn't possibly leave him in the lurch. You have waited so long that you won't mind waiting a few years longer, will you?"

"It doesn't seem to me a particularly logical conclusion, sweetheart!" the Captain said, smiling. "Personally I feel that I ought to be rewarded at once, but I won't make any promises one way or another until I have met your brother and heard his views. Don't worry yourself, you shan't do anything that you feel to be wrong, but I don't despair of finding a solution of the difficulty. When it is an alternative between that and waiting for you for three years, Bridgie, I shall be very, very resourceful!"

"I don't know what you can do. It's no use suggesting a housekeeper— the boys would not hear of it, and she'd be destroyed in a week with the life they would lead her!" So argued Bridgie, but she was willing to be convinced, and too happy in the present to feel much concern for the future.

The weight of depression which had lain on her heart despite her brave cheeriness of manner was lifted once and for ever now that she was convinced of Dick's faithful love, and it seemed impossible that she could ever be more content than at this moment. Until now almost all the joys of her life had come from an unselfish pleasure in the good fortune of others, but this wonderful new happiness was her very own, hers and Dick's, and she could hardly believe that it was true, and not a wonderful dream.

Mrs Wallace's letter had conveyed an invitation to stay for the night, so the lovers had two days to sit and talk together in the lovely summer garden before returning to give an account of themselves in Rutland Road.

Jack was not prepared to see a stranger accompanying his sister, but he welcomed him with Irish heartiness, and guessed how the land lay at the first glance at Bridgie's face. So did Pat; so did Miles; but they concealed their suspicions with admirable tact, and talked persistently through the evening meal with intent to relieve the embarrassment which was so evidently experienced by the hostess.

Poor Bridgie was painfully conscious of the enormity of her conduct as she looked from one to the other of her three big brothers. Jack's manner was nervous and excited. Poor fellow! he was evidently dreading the explanations which were in store. Pat was looking pale; he grew so fast that he needed constant care. Miles kept handing her the mustard with sympathetic effusion; he had a heart of gold and could be led with a word, but it must be the right word, and woe to the housekeeper of the future if she tried to rule by force! She smiled at him with wistful apology, and Miles patted her hand affectionately under the tablecloth.

It was a pity when a sensible girl like Bridgie made an idiot of herself by falling in love, but they all seemed to do it sooner or later, and there was no use making a fuss, Master Miles told himself resignedly. She seemed to have met this Captain Victor years ago, and to have corresponded with him in India, but she had never mentioned his name at home. How strange to know that Bridgie had had an interest beyond her own brothers and sisters! Miles felt mildly aggrieved, but consoled himself by the reflection that the Captain seemed a decent sort of fellow with plenty to say for himself. He had been on active service twice already, and though he refused details of manslaughter, gave such a graphic account of tiger-shooting expeditions as made Miles's lips water, and aroused rebellious repinings at his own hard lot in living in a miserable suburb where the only sport to be obtained was the tracking of a few superfluous cats!

When dinner was over, the two boys discreetly lingered behind while their elders retired to the drawing-room, and Bridgie grew rosy red with embarrassment as the door closed behind them.

"We wanted to tell you, Jack—" she began nervously. "I would have told you before, only there was nothing to tell. There isn't now! At least, I mean, it won't be for a long, long time, dear. Not until you don't want me any more."

"Better let me try, Bridgie!" cried the Captain, laughing. He put his hand on her shoulder in a proudly possessive fashion, and looked Jack full in the face. "She is dreadfully afraid of what you will say, and ashamed of herself for daring to think of anything but her home duties. It doesn't seem to strike her that she has a duty to me too, when I have been thinking of her for the last three years. I must explain to you, O'Shaughnessy, that a friend wrote to tell me that your eldest sister was about to be married to a man called Hilliard, and by an unfortunate coincidence Bridgie herself had vaguely referred to coming changes in her last letter, so I believed the report, and we have mutually been eating our hearts, and believing the other to be faithless. There was no engagement, you must understand, but I made up my mind about her the first day we met, and she now acknowledges that she ran away because she was afraid I might interfere with her home claims. You see, I have already spared her to you for three good years, so I think it is my turn now! My friends will tell you that I have been miserably dull and surly, and for their sakes alone I feel I ought to make a stand."

"And Bridgie has been always sweet and cheerful. We have each expected her to be sorry for us in turns, and never once suspected that she needed us to be sorry for her too. Thank you, Bridgie!" said Jack, looking across at her with a loving look which was the sweetest reward which she could possibly have received for the struggles which had been so gallantly concealed.

"It was my greatest comfort to have you all to work and care for when I thought he had—forgotten!" she cried hastily. "And I have loved helping you, Jack! Please speak honestly, dear, let us all speak out honestly. Of course I want to be with Dick, but I want most of all to do what is right—we all do—and the children must come first. You can't be left alone, Jack, and there is no one else to take my place."

"Unless—" began Jack slowly. Bridgie looked at him in surprise, and saw the red flush come creeping up from beneath his collar, touch his cheeks, and mount up and up to the roots of his curling hair. "Unless I married myself!" he said breathlessly, and at that Bridgie darted forward and caught him by both hands.

"What? What? What? Jack, what do you mean? Is it Sylvia? Of course it is Sylvia! And does she—Jack, what does it mean? Are you engaged too? Have you been keeping it from me because you thought—"

"We wouldn't let you think you were in our way; we loved you too much, old girl, so we were quietly waiting until—"

"I came along!" concluded Dick Victor tersely.

The three young people stood staring at each other for a moment, and the tears brimmed over in Bridgie's eyes, but presently she began to laugh, and the young men joined in with a sense of the happiest relief. Each one had been thinking of the other, and putting personal hopes in the background, and lo, in the simplest, most delightful of fashions, the knot was cut, and each was left free to be happy after his heart's desire.

"Oh, it's perfectly, perfectly perfect!" Bridgie cried rapturously. "The boys adore Sylvia, and will be her devoted slaves; she is twice the housekeeper that I am, and she has been so lonely, poor darling, without her parents. Oh, Jack, how nice of you to care for her, and give her a home!"

"That's what she says!" replied Jack naively. "Shall we send for her to join the council? She ought to have her say. I'll run across—"

"No, no! Send Mary. I want to see her first—I want to see exactly how she looks when she knows she is found out," Bridgie insisted; so Mary was promptly despatched on her errand, and back came Sylvia, wondering and excited, and not a little mystified by the presence of the tall stranger.

"Master Jack has good taste!" said the Captain to himself as he looked at the dainty figure and erect little head with its crop of curls. "Rather an embarrassing position for the poor girl! Hope they break it to her gently!"

But it was not the O'Shaughnessy custom to break news gently, or in a circuitous fashion, and the moment Sylvia entered the doorway, Bridgie flew at her with outstretched arms, crying incoherently, and with sublime disregard of grammar—

"Oh, Sylvia, Sylvia, I'm engaged! That's him! It's been a mistake all the time, and we are going to be married at once. We are all going to be married! Dick and me, and you and Jack, and you are coming here to look after the house! I thought I couldn't be married because of Jack, and he thought he couldn't be married because of me, and now it's all right, and we can all be happy. I congratulate you, Sylvia! Congratulate me! I made Jack let me tell you, for I knew you would be so surprised. Don't you feel too bewildered to take it in?"

"I do!" replied Sylvia, with much truth. Red as a rose was she, at this sudden and public announcement of her engagement, not knowing where to look, or what to say, yet with a consciousness of immense happiness to come, and unfeigned delight at the happy ending to Bridgie's love-story.

Dick Victor came forward and introduced himself, and presently they all seated themselves, and tried to discuss the future in staid, responsible fashion. The Captain expected to be quartered in England for the immediate future, but could not of course be certain of his ultimate movements. He proposed that he and Bridgie should look out for a furnished house, so as to have a home of their own and yet be ready for such changes as might arise.

Jack anxiously questioned Sylvia as to the responsibility which would be hers, and she professed herself only too ready to sister the two dear boys.

"And Pixie—I should love to have Pixie!" she cried, whereat Bridgie frowned, and fidgeted restlessly on the sofa.

"We will make definite arrangements later on," she said. "Everything cannot be decided at once. The boys will be quite enough trouble for you, me dear! They are as good as gold, but they will grow, and their clothes wear out so fast, and since we came to town they've taken a distaste to patches, and they want money in their own pockets, the same as the other boys they meet. 'If I give you some shillings just to jingle, and show they are there, will that satisfy you?' I asked Pat only last week, and he laughed in my face! It's hard to say 'No' when they smile at you, Sylvia, but you'll have to do it."

"I—don't—know!" said Sylvia slowly. The others looked at her questioningly, and she turned to Jack with a sparkling face. "I was waiting for a chance of telling you. Mr Nisbet telegraphed to Ceylon about father's death, and I've had a letter from his lawyers. It came last night, and I'm rich, Jack! Isn't it lovely?—really quite rich! The lawsuit was settled in his favour, and he was coming home to settle, and now everything comes to me. I can help with the boys, and some day, when you are ready, we can go back to Knock, and live in the old home again! I've been so happy since I heard, thinking that at last I could do something for you too. You are pleased about it, aren't you, Jack? Do say you are pleased!"

Jack's beaming smile was the best answer to that question.

"'Deed, I'm delighted!" he declared. "I'll spend money with any man alive, and the more there is, the better I'm pleased. We will stay where we are and see the boys settled, and let Geoffrey enjoy his lease, and then we'll go home, and I shall probably have some savings of my own to add to yours by that time, and not feel I am living on my wife. I'm thankful you have the money, and I'm thankful that I knew nothing of it before we were engaged."

"And so am I!" said Sylvia softly.

A week later there was a second conference, at which every member of the family put in an appearance, and the question of the hour was, "Who shall have Pixie? Where shall Pixie have her home?"

"I am the head of the family. It is the right thing that she should be with me. Sylvia and I would both like to have her, so it is unnecessary to discuss the point any further," said Mr Jack, with an air.

"I don't wish to say anything in the least unkind to Sylvia—you know that, don't you, dear?" cried Esmeralda the magnificent, sitting amidst billows of chiffon and lace, and smiling sweetly across the room. "But the fact remains that I am Pixie's real sister, and she is not; and I think a sister's claim comes before a brother's. Bridgie will have no settled home, and I am at Knock. Anyone might see at a glance that her home ought to be with me, under the circumstances."

"I want Pixie!" said Bridgie softly. "I want Pixie!"

And Pixie sat on the edge of the sofa, and looked from one to the other with bright, bird-like glances. Everyone wanted her, everyone had an argument to prove a prior claim; they were all arguing and struggling for the supreme happiness of welcoming her into their households. It was the happiest moment of her life.

"It's like Solomon and the babies!" she cried exultantly. "Ye'll have to cut me in threes, and divide the pieces. Esmeralda shall have my head, for the times when she loses her own; Sylvia shall have my feet, because she limps herself; and,"—she looked across the room deep into Bridgie's eyes—"Bridgie shall have my heart! It would be with her, anyway, wherever she went."

The tears brimmed over in Bridgie's eyes; Esmeralda frowned quickly, then glanced at Geoffrey, as he stood by her side, and softened into a smile.

Jack stifled a sigh, and said gravely—

"Pixie has settled the question for herself. After that confession there can be no more to say. Take her, Bridgie, but be generous and spare her to us for part of the year. We all need you, Pixie—wise little head, willing little feet, loving little heart—every single bit of you. Come and help us as often as you can."

THE END.