MARIGOLD'S FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL, AND HER
ENCOUNTER WITH MURIEL WAKE
MARIGOLD commenced her school-days with a buoyant heart, and a desire
to please Miss Hardcastle and the governesses. The principal was a
clever, clear-sighted woman, a splendid manager and disciplinarian, who
ruled her school with an iron hand, yet with such tact and skill that
she was much liked and respected by parents, teachers, and pupils. She
was a small woman, with a quiet manner, and a persuasive voice; but
there was a dignity about her that never failed to command obedience,
and the threat, "You shall be sent to Miss Hardcastle to be dealt with
as she thinks fit,"—was sufficient to subdue the spirit of the most
refractory scholar.
Marigold found herself classed with a dozen girls about her own age,
under the charge of a governess named Miss Smith. The little girl
was relieved to find that she was not behind the others in general
knowledge. She read and wrote well, was quick at arithmetic, and had
been well grounded in grammar, geography, and English history. The
subjects her mother had instructed her in had been taught thoroughly.
At the end of the first week Miss Hardcastle wrote a note to the Misses
Holcroft, and informed them of this fact; and Marigold noted that both
her aunts seemed surprised, though at the same time gratified that her
education had not been so neglected as they had anticipated. Marigold
soon began to find out what hard work really meant. She commenced to
learn French, music, and drawing, so that most of her time out of
school hours was occupied in preparing her lessons for the following
day, or in practising scales and exercises on the piano. She soon
settled into the ways of the school, and became a favourite with the
teachers, for she was always attentive and willing, always wishful to
do her best. With the girls Marigold was not popular, at first. They
considered she tried to curry favour with the governesses, which was
certainly not the case, and consequently they met her friendly advances
with cold looks, till one whispered to the others that she was a niece
of the rich Misses Holcroft, and therefore it might be better to be on
good terms with her.
One morning as Marigold was going home from school she was joined by
Muriel Wake, one of the girls in the same class as herself.
"We may as well walk together," Muriel remarked pleasantly. "You live
in Powderham Crescent, don't you? I pass near by."
Muriel was a pretty little girl, with blue eyes, fair hair, and rosy
cheeks. Marigold looked at her admiringly.
"I expect you find it dull living with your old aunts, don't you?"
Muriel questioned.
Marigold acknowledged that she did, and explained that she had a mother
and two brothers in London, whom she missed a great deal.
"But my aunts are very kind," she added, fearful lest she should seem
ungrateful.
"Are you going to live with them always?" Muriel inquired.
"I don't know. I came to live with them because they promised to
educate me. Mother wants me to learn to earn my own living, and that's
why I wish so much to get on at school, and learn all I can, so that I
may be able to help her by and by."
And Marigold, led on by her new acquaintance's questions, told her all
about her London home, and how hard her mother worked.
"Do you mean to say she works for a shop?" Muriel asked, her blue eyes
round with astonishment.
"Yes," was the reply. "I wish you could see some of her beautiful
designs."
"And she keeps no servant, but does the housework herself! And you have
been accustomed to black your own boots! Oh! I never heard of such a
thing before!"
"But she cannot afford to keep a servant," Marigold said hastily, half
regretful that she had spoken so openly.
"What was your father?" was the next question.
"He was in the army."
It struck Marigold that Muriel's manner was far less genial than it
had been when she first joined her, but she could not think what was
the reason of the change. She was not left long in ignorance, however,
for when the girls were dispersing after school in the afternoon, one
of them came up to her and asked if it was true what Muriel Wake was
telling everyone, that Marigold's mother had been a servant before her
marriage.
For a moment Marigold was so astonished that she stared at her
questioner in silence. Then a great wave of anger swept over her, and
her eyes flashed ominously.
"If Muriel Wake said that, she told a wicked story!" she cried
passionately.
"She did say so," the other girl replied, "but I did not think it was
true."
"It is utterly false!"
The conversation was taking place in the corner of a class-room whilst
the girls were putting away their books. Some of the scholars had
already left, and the governess had gone into the next room. Marigold
flew to the side of Muriel Wake and caught her by the arm.
"What do you mean by telling such a falsehood about my mother?"
Marigold demanded, almost choking with passion.
Muriel looked at the white face of the angry child with a disagreeable
light in her blue eyes, whilst she smiled scornfully.
"Take care what you say!" she cried. "I have told nothing but the
truth."
"You said—" Marigold commenced furiously, when the other interrupted
her.
"I said that your mother worked for her living by doing needlework for
a shop. I also said that she scrubbed, cleaned, and cooked, and that
I should not be surprised if she had not been a servant before your
father married her, for it is well-known that your aunts won't have
anything to do with her!"
There was a moment's dead silence. The other girls in the class-room
had drawn around Muriel and Marigold, to listen to the dispute, and
were looking on, some with keen delight in the situation, others with
amusement, and a few with evident disapproval. By this time Marigold
was so enraged that she scarcely knew what she was doing. She stared
with wild eyes at the girl who only this morning had approached her
with overtures of friendship, marvelling at her treachery. How she
hated her! Oh, how bitterly she hated her! In her ungovernable passion
Marigold lifted her hand and would have struck the fair, pretty face
that smiled at her mockingly, had not somebody caught her by the wrist
and prevented her doing so. Turning around sharply, she saw one of the
elder girls had appeared upon the scene, and now stood looking around
inquiringly. Marigold knew who the new-comer was—Grace Long, the most
popular girl in the school, a general favourite with teachers and
pupils alike.
"What is the meaning of this?" Grace asked, in her clear, pleasant
tones. "What are you sneering about, Muriel Wake? That expression does
not suit your style of beauty, let me tell you!"
There was a laugh at this, whilst Muriel flushed angrily, and tossed
her head.
Grace still held Marigold's wrist in her firm clasp. She laid her other
hand on the child's shoulder, and surveyed her angry face with cool,
kindly eyes.
"What are you in such a fierce passion about?" she inquired.
Marigold struggled for composure in vain. Her heart was beating wildly,
and her trembling lips refused to answer a word. Grace saw she was
unable to speak, and appealed to her companions. "Will one of you
explain? What has gone wrong? Why have these two quarrelled?"
"It is entirely Muriel's fault," began one of the girls who had looked
disapproval, but had not interfered hitherto; and she proceeded to
repeat all that had been said on either side. Grace listened in
silence, whilst Muriel still smiled scornfully. By this time Marigold
was beginning to cool down sufficiently to realise what was going on,
and was trying hard to keep from crying. She was conscious that Grace
was speaking.
"It seems to me a great fuss has been made about a little matter,"
she was saying. "I cannot speak of how one feels about a mother from
experience, because mine died when I was born—" Marigold looked up
quickly at the speaker with sympathy in her eyes—"but it seems to me
that if one's mother had been a servant, one would love her as much as
if she had been the highest lady in the land. There is no disgrace in
being a servant."
"But it is not true! Mother was not a servant!" Marigold broke in.
"No, I do not suppose she was; but if she had been you need not have
felt shame on that account. I think you have excited yourself without
sufficient cause. As for you, Muriel Wake, you know well enough your
motives for putting a false construction on what you have been told. I
do not think Miss Hardcastle would be very pleased, were she to hear of
your behaviour."
Muriel evidently did not think so either, for she hastily packed
away her books in her desk, and left the class-room. Grace drew
Marigold down on a form by her side, and pointed out to her gently and
considerately how foolish and wrong she had been to lose her temper.
Marigold listened attentively to all the elder girl said.
"I was silly to tell Muriel about mother," Marigold acknowledged; "but
she seemed so nice and friendly, I never guessed she would repeat
everything to the other girls—not that I should have minded, if she had
only told the truth!"
"Of course not! Another time I would find out more about a
person before becoming confidential, if I were you. Muriel is a
mischief-maker, but you could not know that."
"I liked her so much, and now I feel I shall hate her as long as I
live!"
"Hush! You must not speak like that. Muriel has not treated you well,
but it is not right to bear malice in your heart."
Marigold knew it was not, so she remained silent. Grace continued
kindly—
"I would not make a trouble of this little affair if I were you; and
if anything of a like nature occurs again, don't lose your temper. You
will not be respected by the other girls if you do, and besides it is
very wrong."
"I know it is! Oh dear, what would mother have thought if she had seen
me just now! I am so glad you came up in time to stop me from striking
Muriel. Oh, I never knew before I had such a dreadful temper!"
"'He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty: and he that
ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city,'" quoted Grace softly.
Marigold went home in a very unhappy frame of mind. Her aunts noticed
something had gone wrong, but refrained from asking any questions. The
little girl prepared her lessons for the next day in a halfhearted sort
of way, and went upstairs to her bedroom early, excusing herself on the
plea of being tired. Ringing in her ears all the evening had been the
words Grace Long had repeated from the sayings of the wise king: "He
that is slow to anger is better than the mighty: and he that ruleth his
spirit than he that taketh a city."
Marigold flung herself down by the side of her bed, and wept bitterly
as she went over in thought the events of the day. Never in her life
before had she given away to such a passion of anger. How weak she had
been! how easily put out! And yet, when she recalled Muriel's treatment
of her, her heart was hot with indignation again. First of all gaining
her confidence, and then betraying it without a scruple! Was not such
conduct enough to irritate anyone? Muriel was a hateful girl!
"Fight the good fight of faith!"
Marigold started guiltily as her father's motto flashed through her
mind. Fight the good fight of faith for the sake of Him who, when
He was oppressed and afflicted, opened not His mouth, save to pray
for forgiveness for those who had wronged Him. A sense of shame and
humiliation crept over the child as she wept. How she had meant to
humbly follow in the steps of the Saviour, and how grievously she
had erred this day! She had fallen back from the fight; the enemy
had beaten her! Oh, if she could only tell her mother, but no, that
was impossible; she could not write of the cause of her wrath, the
very thought of it made her angry even now, when she was beginning to
realise how wrong her passion had been. She did not think she could
ever forgive Muriel Wake!
"Child, what is amiss?"
It was her Aunt Mary's voice, and her Aunt Mary's arms that lifted her
from the ground.
"What is troubling you, my dear?" Miss Holcroft asked tenderly, as
Marigold flung herself crying bitterly upon her breast.
Then the whole story came out. The old lady listened with troubled
eyes, and a little glow of indignation rose to her face as Marigold
said—"Muriel told the girls that the reason why you and Aunt Pamela
would have nothing to do with mother was because she had been a
servant!"
Marigold did not spare herself. She confessed she would have struck
Muriel but for the timely intervention of the elder girl.
"I know it was very wicked," she sobbed, "and mother would be so
grieved to know how I lost my temper; but indeed, Aunt Mary, I am
sorry!"
"You certainly had cause for indignation," Miss Holcroft allowed, "but
temper always does harm. There is such a thing as just wrath, but that
was not your feeling, I conclude, Marigold, for from what you have told
me I imagine you lost entire control of yourself, and did not know what
you were doing. If you had reflected for a moment, I feel sure you
would not have thought of striking that girl, badly as she had treated
you."
"No, indeed, Aunt Mary!"
"You see to what lengths an unbridled temper will lead one. I had no
idea you were so passionate."
"I had no idea of it, myself," Marigold said dolefully.
"But perhaps you were never so greatly aggravated before, my dear!"
"No, I don't think I ever was. It—it was on mother's account, really."
"Try to forget the remarks of that unkind little girl; and ask God to
help you to curb your angry temper. He will, you may be sure. And now,
dear child, go to rest, and do not allow your mind to dwell upon the
events of the day; and when you go to school to-morrow do not resent
what has occurred. It was good of that big girl to interest herself on
your behalf. What did you say her name was?"
"Grace Long. She is a boarder, but I do not know much about her,
because she does not work in our class-room. She was very kind to me
to-day. I think she must be a nice girl, because everyone seems to like
her."
"Well, good-night, Marigold. Sleep well, and forget your troubles in
pleasant dreams."
"Good-night, dear Aunt Mary," Marigold replied, as she flung her arms
around the old lady's neck, and gave her a loving kiss. "You are one of
the best people in the world!"
Miss Holcroft laughed, and shook her head. As she went downstairs to
join her sister in the drawing-room her gentle face settled into graver
lines, and she sighed regretfully as she thought of Marigold's mother.