Pixie O'Shaughnessy, having no adornment to do for herself, acted as lady's-maid to her bedroom, with much satisfaction to her mistresses, and credit to herself. She brushed Kate's hair until it was so smooth and flat as to be almost invisible from a front view; she tied Ethel's sash, and the ribbon to match which confined the ends of her curls; and she fastened Flora's dress, which was a matter of difficulty and time, for though it was let out regularly each holiday-time, it invariably grew too tight before it was needed again. "I can't help it," the poor thing protested miserably. "I don't eat half as much as Ethel, and she's as thin as a stick. It's my fate! I was born fat, and I go on growing fatter and fatter all the time. I shall be a fat woman in a show, before I am done with it. It's hard lines, for I should so love to be slim and willowy. That's what the heroines are in books, and it makes me quite ill every time I read it. Nothing exciting ever happens to fat people! The thin ones get all the fun and excitement, and marry the nice man, while the poor fatty stays at home, and waits upon her hand and foot. Then she grows into an aunt, and takes charge of the nephews and nieces when they have fever or measles, or when the parents go abroad for a holiday. Everyone imposes upon her, just because she is fat!" "No, indeed, then, it is because she's good-natured. Look at yourself now; you are always laughing!" declared Pixie soothingly. "Hold yer breath a single moment while I get the better of this hook. Ye'll not need to curtsey too low, I'm thinking, or you'll go off like a cracker! And the elegant dress that it is, too! I remember the night Bridgie went to her first ball, the Hunt Ball it was, over at Roskillie. It was me mother's wedding-dress that she wore, and she looked like a picture in it, the darlin'! Me mother was for having it altered to be in the fashion, but me father says, `Leave it alone; you'll spoil it if ye alter a stitch! It's better than fashionable,' he says, `it's artistic, and fits the child like her own skin.' So away it was put in Bridgie's cupboard, and Esmeralda comes peeping at it, and, thinks she, `What yellow lace! It would be a disgrace to us all to have the girl dancing about with that dirty stuff round her neck,' so not a word did she speak, but off with the lace and washed it herself, with a good hard rub, and plenty of blue bag. Then she ironed it, with a morsel of starch to make it stand out and show itself off, and stitched it on again as proud as could be. It was to be a surprise for Bridgie, and, me dears, it _was_ a surprise! Mother and Bridgie screeching at the top of their voices, and looking as if the plague was upon us. Would ye believe it, it was just what they liked, to have the lace that colour, and it was the bad turn Esmeralda had done them, starching it up like new! Off it all came, and mother found an old lace scarf, yellower than