More about Pixie | Page 7

they look! It's my one object in life at present to make her call upon them."
The next day the situation developed still further, for a form was seen seated at a window, who must, of course, be Edwin; yet he looked strangely younger and fairer in colouring. Nurse and patient debated the point hotly, until presently the door opened and out came one, two, three masculine creatures, all as like as peas in a pod, except for the difference in years which divided Edwin from the handsome striplings on either side. They stood together in the tiny garden, obviously waiting for the mistress of the house, and when she did not appear, the youngest of the three picked up pieces of gravel and threw them up at a bedroom window, while the others whistled and beat upon the gate with their sticks.
Angelina strolled to the window in response to these demonstrations, and stood smiling at them while she fastened on her hat, but she did not appear to hurry herself in the least, nor did the brothers show any signs of annoyance at their long waiting. When at long last she made her appearance, there was great manoeuvring to get a place by her side, and away they trotted, four abreast, pushing everyone else off the pavement, but apparently blissfully unconscious of anything unusual in the proceeding.
Sylvia and Whitey watched until the last flutter of the black dress disappeared from sight, then fell to work to settle the identity of the new actors in the drama.
"They are brothers--there is no doubt about that; but they can't live there, Whitey! That wouldn't be at all newly-married. Do you suppose they are here for the day? Perhaps they are in rooms in town, and Angelina lets them come down over Sundays sometimes as a treat. They seem very fond of her, and quite at home. I think that is the most likely explanation, don't you?"
"I really think it is. Or they might live in the country and have come up to pay a visit and see the sights," said Whitey thoughtfully.
She was thankful to find a subject of interest in these long days of convalescence to keep her patient's mind from dwelling on depressing topics. Truth to tell, Sylvia was not getting well so quickly as had been expected, and besides more serious drawbacks there were minor troubles, trying enough to the girlish mind. She had to learn to walk again, like a baby, her back ached so badly that if she tried to stoop she screamed aloud with pain, and, worse than all, the plaits of hair grew small and beautifully less, until there was hardly anything left to plait. Sylvia had been proud of her hair, so she grew alarmed, and finally sent off in haste for her special barber to give advice and consolation in the difficulty. Consolation was not forthcoming, however, and the advice offered was by no means acceptable.
"You can't do nothing--there's nothing will be a bit of good," the man said dolefully. "Whatever you do, it's bound to come. The wisest thing would be to be shaved at once, and give it a start."
Sylvia fairly screamed with horror and consternation.
"Shaved!" she cried. "I? I go about with a bald head--a horrible, bare, shiny scalp! I'd rather die! I'd rather--I'd rather--I'd rather anything in the world! It's no use talking to me, Whitey; I will--not-- be shaved!"
"Very well, dear," assented Whitey easily. "Then you shan't. We will just have a few inches cut off, and get a lotion to rub in to help the growth. I daresay the old hair will keep on until the new appears, and then you need never have the horrible experience of seeing a bald head."
"I never should see it in any case. I'd buy a wig and wear it night and day. Nothing would induce me to look in the glass when it was off. I should never respect myself again. And oh, Whitey, even at the best the new hair will be ages growing, and it will be impossible to do anything with it!"
"Not at all. You can wear it short and curly. It would look very pretty, and suit you so well."
Whitey was aggressively cheerful, but Sylvia refused to be comforted.
"It would be hateful. I don't know anything more dejected-looking than to see the back of a shorn head under a pretty hat. I won't allow my hair to fall out, and that's the end of it!"
"Well, p'r'aps it won't, after all, miss! We must 'ope for the best," said the barber cheerfully.
He and Whitey talked incessantly all the time the hair-cutting was proceeding, with the fond hope of distracting the girl's attention; but in naughty mood she refused to listen, insisted on sitting directly in front of her