GOOD-BYE
WHEN Louis Verner arrived at Fernbank on the morning of Captain
Fortescue's departure, Marjorie was looking out for him, and as soon as
he took the "Standard" out of his pocket, she ran upstairs and carried
it to her own room.
Spreading the paper out on the bed, she turned to the advertisement
page, and looked down the column headed "SITUATIONS VACANT." She passed
quickly over those at the top of the column, "Wanted, a Gentleman of
Smart Habits," "Wanted a Salesman," "Wanted a Well-educated Youth,"
etc., and passed on to those advertisements which referred to women.
"'A Working Housekeeper wanted for a London Business House.'
"I should not do for that," she said.
"'Lady Cook wanted at once.'
"I should not like to be a lady cook, nor do I know enough about
cooking.
"Oh! This is better. 'Mother's Help—Nice young girl.' I wonder if I am
a nice young girl," she said, laughing. "'Three boys, ages 11, 5, and
2. Good reference. Write fully, Mrs. Burstall, 51, Lester Street, S.E.'
"Some registry office, I suppose. I don't like the sound of that 'nice
young girl.'
"Oh! Here's another. 'Mother's help wanted, fond of children, must be
thoroughly domesticated, comfortable home, one servant kept. Apply by
letter, Mrs. Holtby, Daisy Bank, Staffordshire.'
"That sounds better! I am fond of children. I wonder if I am thoroughly
domesticated! And Daisy Bank sounds inviting. I wonder if it is the
name of the house or the place. I should like to go to a pretty
place, if possible. Of course it does not matter really, only after
Borrowdale—" And Marjorie looked lovingly at the beautiful view from
her bedroom window.
"Mother," she called, as Mrs. Douglas passed the bedroom door, "come
and look at these advertisements."
Mother and daughter sat down together and read them through, and Mrs.
Douglas agreed with Marjorie that the Daisy Bank one appeared to be the
most promising.
"But, oh, darling," she said, "how shall I ever get on without you?"
"Or I without you, mother?" said Marjorie. "But we must do something,
and this seems the best, does it not?"
"I suppose so, dear."
"And I do think it will be good for Phyllis. She is so clever and
capable, when she gives her mind to anything, and I am sure she will
save you all she can, and she would never settle away from home, would
she?"
"Oh no, that would never do!" said Mrs. Douglas. "I don't think poor
little Phyllis is cut out to rough it at all."
So that day the letter was written, and Marjorie took it herself to
the post-office, and, as she dropped it into the box, felt like Julius
Cæsar when he crossed the Rubicon.
How impatiently she waited for the answer! It came two days afterwards
in a man's handwriting.
"COLWYN HOUSE,
"Daisy Bank.
"DEAR MISS DOUGLAS,
"Mrs. Holtby being ill and unable to write to you herself, she has
asked me to inform you that we have written to your referees, and if
all proves satisfactory, she will be pleased to engage you at a salary
of twenty-five pounds per annum. Your duties will be quite simple, and
we shall treat you as one of the family. As you ask for a reference
from me, I beg to give you the following:—
"A. Crayshaw, Esq.,
"The Laurels,
"West Bromwich.
"Should you decide to come to us, we shall be pleased to receive you
this day week.
"Yours truly,
"LIONEL HOLTBY."
"What do you think of it, mother?"
"I think it sounds all right, dear, but of course we must write to this
Mr. Crayshaw before deciding anything."
The letter from West Bromwich proved quite satisfactory, bearing
witness to the respectability of the Holtby family, and therefore,
after much thought and also much prayer, Mrs. Douglas consented to
Marjorie's going to Daisy Bank.
"You can come home again if all is not right," she said. "Rather than
you should be unhappy, we will forfeit anything."
That last week at home seemed to fly on the wings of the wind. There
was so much to be done; their heads were so fully occupied in thinking
of what was needed for Marjorie's outfit, as she called it, their
hands were so busy in cutting out and making sundry pretty blouses and
morning dresses, that there was little time to dwell upon the parting
that was coming.
It was not until the last night, when her trunk was locked and strapped
and taken downstairs, and when only the dress-basket, which was to be
left open until the morning, remained in her room as evidence of her
coming journey, it was only then that, for a little time, Marjorie's
heart failed her. It was so hard to leave them all, but especially her
mother. She could not help her tears falling fast as she thought of it.
She was going out into the world alone. No, not alone, her best Friend
would go with her; she would not forget that. And all this had come by
His ordering; it was His will that was being done. She looked up and
read a card which she had bought the last time she was in Keswick, and
which was hanging over her bed. In the middle of this card, in gold
letters, were these two words—
"YES, LORD,"
And underneath them was this verse—
"One great eternal Yes,
To all my Lord shall say,
To what I know, or yet shall know,
In all the untried way."
And, as Marjorie knelt by her bed, the "Yes, Lord," was said.
When she went downstairs not a sign of trouble was left on her face.
They would all feel rather dull that night, she said to herself, and
she must try to cheer them.
"I wonder Marjorie can be so merry when she is going away for so long,"
said Phyllis that night, as she went into Leila's room to say good
night to her sister.
"Marjorie never thinks of herself," was Leila's answer; "she only
thinks of mother."
Phyllis stooped to kiss little Carl as he lay asleep in his cot, and as
she did so, she said to herself that she would try, when Marjorie was
gone, to follow in her footsteps.
The next morning was bright and frosty, and the sky was without a
single cloud; the hills and dales were flooded with sunshine, which
was unusually bright for the time of year. The snow had all gone, and
the spring flowers were coming up fast in the garden. As Marjorie went
away, she held in her hand a large bunch of violets and snowdrops,
which Phyllis had gathered for her before breakfast. Her mother came
with her to the gate, where Colonel Verner's dog-cart was waiting, for
Louis had promised to drive her into Keswick.
It was hard work to say good-bye to her mother, but Marjorie tried to
do it with a bright face; she did not want to make it harder for her
mother at that moment. Then she got up beside Louis; and Phyllis, who
was coming to see her off, jumped up behind.
Marjorie turned round as they drove over the bridge, and saw her mother
and little Carl at the garden gate, still looking after her. She looked
up at the house, and at old Dorcas, who had come to the door, and was
waving her apron, and, higher still, she saw Leila, watching from the
bedroom window, and she was afraid that she was crying.
Never did Borrowdale look more beautiful in Marjorie's eyes! She gazed
long and lovingly at every mountain peak that came in sight; she longed
to store away in her memory each bit of the loveliness, so that when
she was far away she might refresh herself by the recollection of it
all.
Louis was very angry that Marjorie was going from home; he would not
believe that it was necessary, and he thought that when he came back
for the Long Vacation, it would be a great nuisance to find her gone.
He had quite come to the conclusion lately that he liked Marjorie
better than Phyllis, and now she was going away from him. He wished
heartily that Captain Fortescue had never come to Rosthwaite, upsetting
all their plans, and making a break in the happy little party at
Fernbank.
Louis Verner was good-natured and easy-going, but he had no power of
taking a calm, sensible view of anything; he wanted life to go on
smoothly and comfortably, and he could not see why it should not always
do so.
"Louis," said Marjorie, as they drove along, "when I come home, the
first question I shall ask you will be this: 'What are you going to
be?' And I shall expect a satisfactory answer!"
"Oh yes. I'm sure to have decided by that time; but it's very
difficult, isn't it?"
"Not if you give your mind to it, and find out what you're fit for."
"Oh yes! Well, I will try, Marjorie. It's an awful nuisance your going
away; you might have helped me to settle."
"I? What nonsense, Louis! No one can do that but yourself. But you must
do it. I can see Colonel Verner is very worried about it."
"Yes, I believe he is. Well, I will try. But don't let us talk about
that now, Marjorie. You'll write to me, of course?"
"I will if I've time, Louis; but I don't know what my duties will be,"
she said, laughing.
"Oh! Never mind the duties. I shall expect to hear from you—don't
forget, Marjorie."
"When do you go back to Oxford?"
"The beginning of next week; it is a grind! I feel as if I had only
just come down."
They were early for the train, and walked up and down the platform
till it came up. As they did so, Marjorie kept remembering many little
things she wanted to say to Phyllis.
"Don't forget Leila's tea in the morning. You will get up, won't you?"
"Oh yes, Marjorie."
"And look after mother, and if she seems tired, get her to rest a
little. And, Phyllis, do be careful that Carl doesn't go near the
river; that garden gate ought always to be kept shut."
Then the engine came steaming into the station with the Cockermouth
train behind it, and in a few minutes Marjorie was leaning out of the
window and waving a last good-bye to Louis and Phyllis, who had run to
the end of the platform to watch the train out of sight.