MARIGOLD'S UNTIDINESS, A MEETING WITH FARMER JO
AND HIS MOTHER, AND A VISIT TO THE LACE-MAKER
"MARIGOLD, I have this minute come from your bedroom, where I was
greatly annoyed at the sight of your personal belongings strewed in
every direction. I opened your set of drawers, and they were in a state
of disorder; your towels had fallen on the floor, or perhaps you had
thrown them there—"
"Oh, Aunt Pamela, I am so sorry—"
"You are a very untidy little girl, I regret to say," Miss Pamela
continued severely, "and I am grieved to see it. Go upstairs at once,
and set your room in order. Next week you will be at school, if all's
well, when you will have less time on your hands, and if you are so
careless you will always be in trouble."
Marigold, who had been reading a story-book whilst she sat by the
window in the drawing-room, rose quickly, and with cheeks red with
shame ran hastily upstairs. Miss Pamela had not complained without
sufficient cause, as Marigold acknowledged when she looked around her
pretty bedroom, for her jacket and hat were flung carelessly on a
chair; one boot was by the window, the other directly inside the door;
and the writing-table was littered with note-paper and envelopes, some
of the latter having fallen on the floor.
"Oh dear! oh dear!" sighed Marigold; "no wonder Aunt Pamela looked so
dreadfully cross!" She recalled how often her mother had remonstrated
with her about her careless, untidy ways. On this occasion she had
refrained from putting her room in order before dinner, so that she
might have more time to continue reading the story she was so greatly
interested in, and afterwards she had gone back to her book, never
dreaming that her Aunt Pamela would discover her neglect. She felt
very guilty and uneasy, as she hastily set to work to put her garments
in their proper places. Before she had quite completed her task, Miss
Holcroft came in, her gentle face a little troubled.
"Oh, Marigold, my dear, you must really learn to be more careful," she
said. "Pamela is so put out that you left your room in such a state of
untidiness, after her impressing upon you how particular she is. Did
not your mother teach you to be neat?"
"Oh yes, indeed, Aunt Mary! It is not mother's fault that I am so
careless, really it is not! She used to be always telling me about it.
You see, we had not much room to spare in our flat, and when I littered
the place with my things it made such a muddle!"
"So I should imagine!"
"I wanted to finish the book I was reading," Marigold explained, "and I
thought I should be able to put my room tidy by and by."
"That is procrastination. Never put off to a future time what you ought
to do in the present."
"I did not think Aunt Pamela would come into my room."
"Ah! You mean you did not think your fault would be found out. You
knew you were disobeying our wishes; but it never occurred to you,
I suppose, to think that you were not acting quite straight in the
matter. Always be true, my dear, and then we shall be able to trust
you."
Marigold's eyes filled with tears at the reproof, gently given though
it was, and she felt thoroughly ashamed. Her lips trembled as she said
in a low voice—
"I am very sorry, Aunt Mary; I am indeed!"
"Be more careful and thoughtful for the future, my dear child. Now, I
have come to ask if you would like to go to the cathedral with us this
afternoon; both Pamela and I are going, and we thought, as you will
be at school next week, that you ought not to miss the opportunity of
accompanying us to-day."
"Oh, Aunt Mary, I should like so much to go with you," the little girl
replied gladly, her face brightening.
"Well, put on your hat and jacket at once, then, and join us
downstairs."
Marigold obeyed with alacrity, and presently sallied forth between her
two aunts, reflecting that it was Friday, and therefore very possible
that they might see Farmer Jo and his mother. Nor was she disappointed,
for again on leaving the cathedral, she espied them in front,
arm-in-arm as before.
"Aunt Mary," said Marigold in an excited whisper, "do you notice? There
are Farmer Jo and his mother!"
"Yes, so I perceive," Miss Holcroft answered. "Pamela," turning to her
sister, "do you see that odd-looking pair?"
Miss Pamela glanced in the direction indicated, and a faint smile
crossed her face.
"Certainly I do," she replied, "and I recognise one of them. The old
lady is called Mrs. Adams; I met her on one occasion at Mrs. Nowell's."
Mrs. Nowell was the wife of Dr. Nowell, who lived a few houses distant
from the Misses Holcroft, in Powderham Crescent.
"Oh, Aunt Pamela," Marigold cried eagerly, "do you mean to say you know
Mrs. Adams? That is her son who is with her, and he is the gentleman
who was so kind to me in the train!"
"Is he, indeed?" Miss Pamela said, with interest in her tones.
"Do you not think we might speak to them, and thank Mr. Adams for his
attention to Marigold?" Miss Holcroft suggested. "As you have met
Mrs. Adams at Mrs. Nowell's, it would be but common politeness to
acknowledge her son's courtesy to our niece!"
"That is very true; but perhaps she may not remember me."
All doubts on that point, however, were immediately set at rest; for
in another moment the little old lady turned around to take a last
look at the cathedral, and catching sight of Miss Pamela, a gleam of
recognition crossed her face. Miss Pamela hurried forward.
"How do you do, Mrs. Adams? I think we have met at Mrs. Nowell's, have
we not? I hope you will introduce me to your son, because my sister and
I feel we owe him a debt of gratitude for his goodness to our little
niece."
"I'm sure Jo was only glad to be of service, weren't you, Jo?" Mrs.
Adams said, appealing to her son.
"That's so, that's so," he answered.
"This is my son, Jo, Miss Holcroft. Jo, you've heard me speak of this
lady before."
Miss Pamela explained that her sister was Miss Holcroft. Then Marigold
drew forward her Aunt Mary, and they all stood chatting together for
several minutes. Farmer Jo's face was redder and more smiling than
ever. He beamed on every one with evident goodwill, and was inwardly
delighted that his mother appeared to get on with the ladies. Miss
Holcroft's gentle face was wreathed with smiles, whilst Miss Pamela,
though not so cordial in her manner as her sister, was extremely
gracious, for her.
Marigold stood by listening eagerly to the conversation, and
was greatly astonished when she heard Miss Pamela give her new
acquaintances an invitation to tea.
This, however, was declined for to-day; but Mrs. Adams promised when
she paid a visit to her friend, Mrs. Nowell, that she would call on the
Misses Holcroft as well.
"Do you like Exeter, little missy?" asked Farmer Jo of Marigold, whilst
his mother was talking to her aunts.
"I think so," she responded; but her tone sounded doubtful.
"Are you not sure?" he inquired amusedly.
"Not quite. I love the cathedral, and I have been for some beautiful
walks with my aunts into the country; but you see, Mr. Adams, I should
like everything so much better if my mother and the boys were here."
"You have brothers, then?"
"Yes, two. They are called Rupert and Lionel. I miss them dreadfully."
"I daresay you do. You are going to live with your aunts, aren't you?
Well—well—it will be nice for them to have a young body in the house.
It must have been lonely for them before now, I'm sure; but you'll be
able to brighten them up! Ah, your mother did not like parting with
you, I know!"
"No, but she thought it would be best," Marigold explained.
"Yes," he acquiesced, "best for you. Mothers don't think of themselves."
After that they parted. Farmer Jo and his mother went one way, and the
Misses Holcroft with Marigold in the opposite direction.
"I am glad we had an opportunity of thanking Mr. Adams," Miss Holcroft
said. "What a strange coincidence that you should have known his
mother, Pamela!"
"They are an eccentric couple," her sister responded. "Mrs. Nowell told
me about them. They are rich, but live a very simple life on their
farm, and seem quite happy and contented with a quiet, uneventful
existence. They are extremely generous to those less fortunate than
themselves; Mrs. Nowell gave me several instances of their kindliness
to others. I took a fancy to the old lady when I first met her."
"I hope we shall see her again," Miss Holcroft said.
"So that is the Farmer Jo you mentioned on the night of your arrival,
Marigold," Miss Pamela continued; "I think you were right in your
estimate of him, child, for I do not doubt he is a good man."
Marigold smiled and coloured with pleasure, for she was very grateful
to Farmer Jo. He had engaged her attention, and had cheered her when
she had been sad and low-spirited after her parting from her mother,
and she had been terribly afraid that Aunt Pamela would not approve of
his big person and loud voice. But Miss Pamela was far more discerning
than her little niece realised; those keen eyes of hers, that were so
sharp to detect anything false or mean, were not slow to recognise
truth and goodness. Mrs. Adams and her son might be peculiar and
unusual, but there was about each the stamp of sincerity that Miss
Pamela valued above everything.
Miss Holcroft now said she wished to visit someone in her district
before returning home; Marigold might accompany her if she wished. The
little girl assented willingly, for she had heard her Aunt Mary mention
the district where she visited amongst the poor on several occasions,
and was curious to see what it was like.
"I am going to see Molly Jenkins," Miss Holcroft explained to her
sister. "There is no reason why Marigold should not go with me, is
there?"
"No," Miss Pamela agreed; "perhaps Molly will like to see Marigold. I
have some shopping I wish to do this afternoon, so I will not bear you
company any farther."
"Very well, Pamela. Now then, Marigold, we must go this way."
Marigold tripped along lightly by her Aunt Mary's side, her bright eyes
noting all that came within their reach. They were evidently coming
to a poorer part of the city, for the shops were much smaller, and
presently they turned down a narrow back street.
"My district is here," Miss Holcroft explained. "It used to be a
fashionable part of Exeter. Can you fancy that?"
Marigold noticed, to her surprise, that here and there were large,
old-fashioned houses, evidently once of importance, but now, for the
most part, neglected, and some even fallen to decay. Slatternly women
and children hovered around the doors; and occasionally a face would
brighten at the sight of Miss Holcroft, whilst she would pause to say a
few pleasant words to a mother with a sickly-looking baby in her arms,
and listen patiently to the tale of woe that said how the husband was
out of work "on account of the drink, ma'am," and how the children had
to be sent to school half-fed. Marigold had been accustomed to live
amongst working people all her life, but they had been respectable
mechanics and artisans, not those who, though of the working-class, did
very little work at all. She had never been in contact with men who
spent their days loafing at the corners of streets with their hands in
their pockets, women gossiping and remarking on the passers-by, and
little children so dirty that she instinctively drew away from them
half in pity, half in disgust.
"Oh, Aunt Mary, what a miserable part this is!" she cried.
"Yes," Miss Holcroft acknowledged with a sigh, "it is one of the
most wretched districts in Exeter. Strangers who visit our beautiful
cathedral town little think that there are such miserable parts hidden
away in the heart of the city!"
"Are the people who live here very wicked, Aunt Mary?"
"Some are, I fear,—fathers who spend the little money they earn in
drink, and mothers who neglect their children and homes for the sake
of the same vice. But, my dear, not all are bad. God has His faithful
servants here, His jewels whose lustre no evil surroundings can dim,
whose goodness but shines brighter in contrast to the sin around. You
heard me say I was going to see Molly Jenkins? Well, she is a poor lame
girl who makes Honiton lace for a livelihood. She cannot move without
crutches, and rarely goes out except to take her work to the shop where
she sells it, and yet she is one of the brightest souls I know!"
"Oh, I should like to see her work so much, Aunt Mary!" Marigold
exclaimed, her tones full of eager interest, as her thoughts flew to
her mother. The little girl's heart swelled at the remembrance. It
seemed so unjust that she should be living in affluence whilst her dear
mother was toiling hard to keep the home.
"Here we are," Miss Holcroft said, at length, as she paused before a
large house that once, no doubt, had been a handsome residence. The
front door stood open, and Marigold followed her aunt up the steps into
a spacious hall, and from thence up a flight of broad stairs. The house
that had fallen from its former glory so far as to be let in tenements
to half a dozen different families was a high one, and they had to
climb to the top storey to reach their destination. Then Miss Holcroft
knocked at a door, and a bright, clear voice bade them—"Come in!"
They entered a large lofty room with two windows, in front of one of
which was seated a girl about seventeen or eighteen years of age.
Before her, on a small table, rested a cushion such as is generally
used by lace-makers, and over which she had been bending at work on the
delicate fabric that her fingers so deftly manufactured. She rose as
her visitors entered, and leaning on her crutches crossed the room to
meet them. Marigold saw her figure was thin and twisted; but her face
was really beautiful, with large grey eyes and pale, delicate features.
"I have brought my little niece to make your acquaintance, Molly,"
Miss Holcroft said, in her pleasant voice. "You are much interested in
needlework, are you not, Marigold?"
"Yes," Marigold answered, "indeed I am. May I look at what you have
been doing, please?"
Colouring with pleasure, the lame girl spread before Marigold's
admiring eyes about a dozen sprigs of lace similar to the piece she had
on her cushion.
"They are ordered for a bridal veil," she explained.
"Oh, how lovely!" Marigold cried. "I never saw anything so beautiful
before."
"They are indeed beautiful," Miss Holcroft said. "I hope you will get a
good sum for these delicate roses."
"Yes, Miss Holcroft, I am pleased to say I shall. My good friend of
whom I have told you, the vicar's wife at home, got this order for me
direct. I am to put in my best work, and charge what I think a fair
price."
Miss Holcroft nodded approvingly, for she knew how badly lace-workers
are paid as a rule.
Molly was genuinely delighted to see her visitors. She pointed out the
view from the windows to Marigold, where beyond the chimney-tops could
be seen pleasant fields, and hills dotted with green woods.
"The stairs are rather a trial to me, sometimes," she said, smiling,
"but to be high up above the squalor of the street makes up for that,
in my opinion. I always think I can smell the flowers in the fields
yonder whilst I sit by the window working, and that keeps me in good
spirits."
"I think this is a delightful room," Marigold remarked, "it is so
sunny!"
"Yes. In summer it is rather too hot, though, because it is close to
the roof; but I like to hear the sparrows twittering under the eaves,
and to watch them bringing hay and dried grass to make their nests. I
should miss the birds if I lived on the ground floor!"
"I think you're the most contented person I ever met, Molly!" Miss
Holcroft exclaimed.
"God has given me so many blessings," the lame girl responded, "that it
would be a shame if I was discontented. When I compare my lot to others
in this very house, I see how much I have to be thankful for!"