More about Pixie

More About Pixie
by Mrs G. de Horne Vaizey
CHAPTER ONE.
A NEW NEIGHBOUR.
The night nurse was dusting the room preparatory to going off duty for
the day, and Sylvia was lying on her water-bed watching her
movements with gloomy, disapproving eyes. For four long weeks--ever
since the crisis had passed and she had come back to consciousness of
her surroundings--she had watched the same proceeding morning after
morning, until its details had become almost unbearably wearisome to
her weak nerves.
First of all came Mary to sweep the floor--she went down on her knees,
and swept up the dust with a small hand-brush, and however carefully
she might begin, it was quite, quite certain that she would end by
knocking up against the legs of the bed, and giving a jar and shock to
the quivering inmate. Then she would depart, and nurse would take the
ornaments off the mantelpiece, flick the duster over them, and put them
back in the wrong places.
It did not seem of the least importance to her whether the blue vase
stood in the centre or at the side, but Sylvia had a dozen reasons for
wishing to have it in exactly one position and no other. She liked to see
its graceful shape and rich colouring reflected in the mirror which hung
immediately beneath the gas-bracket; if it were moved to the left it
spoiled her view of a tiny water-colour painting which was one of her
greatest treasures, while if it stood on the right it ousted the greatest
treasure of all--the silver-framed portrait of the dear, darling, most
beloved of fathers, who was afar off at the other side of the world,
tea-planting in Ceylon.

Sylvia was too weak to protest, but she burrowed down among the
clothes, and moped to herself in good old typhoid fashion. "Wish she
would leave it alone! Wish people wouldn't bother about the room.
Don't care if it is dusty! Wish I could be left in peace. Don't believe I
shall ever be better. Don't believe my temperature ever will go down.
Don't care if it doesn't! Wish father were home to come and talk, and
cheer me up. Boo-hoo-hoo!"
The tears trickled down and splashed saltly against her lips, but she
kept her sobs under control, for crying was a luxury which was
forbidden by the authorities, and could only be indulged in by stealth.
The night nurse thought that the patient had fallen asleep, but when she
went off duty, and her successor arrived, she cast a suspicious glance at
the humped-up bedclothes, and turned them down with a gentle but
determined hand.
"Crying again?" she cried. "Oh, come now, I can't allow that! What are
you crying about on such a lovely, bright morning, when you have had
such a good night's rest?"
"I had a horrid night. I couldn't sleep a bit. I feel so mum-mum-
miserable!" wailed the patient dolefully. "I'm so tired of being in bed."
"You won't have very much longer of it now. Your temperature is
lower than it has ever been this morning. You ought to be in good
spirits instead of crying in this silly way. Come now, cheer up! I am not
going to allow such a doleful face."
"I'm very cheerful when I'm well. Ask Aunt Margaret if I'm not. I've a
most lively disposition. Everyone says so," whined Sylvia dismally.
"I'm tired of everything and everybody. So would you be if you'd been
in bed for two months."
"Tired of me as well as the rest?"
"Yes, I am. You are a nasty, horrid, strict, cross thing." But a smile
struggled through the tears, and a thin hand stole out from beneath the

clothes and pressed the white-sleeved arms in eloquent contradiction.
Whatever Sylvia was tired of, it was certainly not this gentle, sweet-
faced little woman who--humanly speaking--had brought her back from
the verge of the grave. She snoodled her head along the pillow so as to
lean it against the nurse's shoulder, and said in weak, disconnected
snatches, "I'm sorry--I'm so horrid. I feel so cross and low-spirited. I
want--a change. Can't you think--of something nice?"
"You are going to have some beautiful chicken-soup for your lunch. It
is in a perfect jelly."
"Hate chicken-soup! Hate the sight of soup! Want to have salmon and
cucumber, and ice creams, and nice rich puddings."
Nurse laughed complacently.
"So you shall--some day! Glad you feel well enough to want them now.
Would you like to be carried to the sofa by the window for an hour this
afternoon, while your bed is being aired and made comfortable? I think
it would do you good to lie in the sunshine, and the doctor could help
me to carry you. It would be quite