MARIGOLD BECOMES FRIENDLY WITH GRACE LONG,
MISS HOLCROFT SPEAKS HER MIND
MISS HARDCASTLE'S pupils were allowed a break of twenty minutes in the
middle of the morning. When it was wet they remained indoors, but when
the weather was fine they usually repaired to the playground, where
big and little girls both passed the time in playing games. At first,
Marigold did not much enjoy this twenty minutes, because her companions
were not genial; but on the morning after her disagreement with Muriel
Wake she found that a change had taken place in the girls' feelings
towards her, the fact being that they were most of them thoroughly
disgusted with Muriel's behaviour, and ready to make up to Marigold for
their former coolness. She met their advances gladly, for she had felt
her loneliness in their midst; but she was determined that she would
not take any of them into her confidence, at least until she knew them
better.
In the playground Grace Long approached Marigold with a pleasant remark
about the beauty of the day. It was a perfect morning. The chestnut
trees that surrounded Miss Hardcastle's garden were in full bloom,
and the air was sweet with the mingled perfume of lilac and laburnum
blossoms. Marigold was seated on a bench by herself; she looked up a
little shyly when Grace addressed her, for the big girls did not have
much to say to their juniors, as a rule.
"Why are you not at play with the others?" Grace asked.
"I have been playing with them, but I got tired and sat down for a
rest. I have never been accustomed to running about much, but I have
been having a good time to-day."
Grace sat down on the bench by Marigold's side.
"Have you spoken to Muriel Wake this morning?" she inquired.
"Oh no! I don't wish to speak to her I don't want to have anything to
do with her!"
"She served you badly, but she will be sorry one of these days. Muriel
and I are alike in one respect—we are both motherless. She lives with
her father, who is an exceedingly rich man, and very seldom at home.
She has been brought up entirely by servants; her father seldom keeps
the same servants long, so Muriel has been first in the charge of one
person, then another. She has never had a fair chance of learning to be
faithful and true, poor little girl!"
Grace presently went on to talk of the other girls, until Marigold was
struck with surprise that she should know so much about them.
"You see I have lived in Exeter many years," she explained, "and all
that time I have been at school. I spend my holidays here too."
"You spend your holidays here!" Marigold exclaimed. "How is that?"
"I have nowhere else to go, because my father is in India, and I have
no friends in England. When my education is finished, I believe father
intends sending for me to go out to him."
"I suppose you are longing to go, are you not?"
"Well, I hardly know. Father seems like a stranger to me, and Miss
Hardcastle has always been my best friend. I dread the thought of
leaving her. You cannot imagine how kind she really is. Now, I wonder
if you will think me very curious if I ask you a question?"
"No, indeed! What is it?"
"What did Muriel Wake mean about your mother working?"
Marigold explained, whilst Grace listened attentively.
"Ah!" she cried, when the little girl had finished speaking, "how you
must love your mother!"
"I think that was why I was so very angry with Muriel. It seemed to
me so dreadful that she should sneer at mother, and try to make a
laughing-stock of her! She—who—who—"
Marigold paused, her chest heaving with strong emotion, her eyes full
of indignant tears.
Grace laid a gentle hand on hers, and pressed it sympathetically.
"Rich people don't understand," Marigold continued tremulously; "they
don't know what it is like to be poor! Even Aunt Mary and Aunt Pamela—"
She stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering that she ought not to
mention the relations that existed between her mother and aunts to a
comparative stranger.
"God understands," Grace said earnestly; "what does it matter about
others, if He knows?"
Marigold's face cleared, and a sunny smile chased all signs of sorrow
from her face.
"Ah, that is what mother says!" she answered brightly.
From that time the little girl's school-life was happier. There
sprang up between her and Grace Long a friendship which caused some
astonishment, on account of the difference in their respective ages.
Muriel Wake showed no further animosity towards Marigold, but the two
children rarely spoke, and avoided each other's company as much as
possible. Marigold's aunts were pleased to find that she was happy
at school, and that she was attentive to her duties. They were very
kind to her, taking her little excursions into the country on Saturday
afternoons, and allowing her to visit those of her schoolfellows with
whom she was on friendly terms; consequently, though the little girl
worked hard, she had plenty of recreation, and grew rosy-cheeked and
plump.
"I wonder what her mother would think of her now?" Miss Holcroft could
not refrain from remarking to her sister one day. Marigold was not
present, but Miss Pamela's face darkened, as she made reply—
"Why do you allow your mind to dwell on that woman? She is not likely
to see Marigold for some time to come!"
"No. But I was thinking how pleased she would be to know that the dear
child has so greatly improved in every way since she came to us. See
how she has grown, and what a healthy colour she has! When she first
arrived we were struck with her fragile appearance. Then, too, she
seems as happy as the day is long."
"Of course she is! She has every reason for happiness. She fretted for
her mother and brothers for a while, no doubt; but I believe we are
slowly weaning her from them."
Miss Holcroft made a faint gesture of dissent, which her sister noticed
with a frown.
"You do not agree with me, Mary?"
"I do not, Pamela. Marigold is as fond of them as she ever was, but
naturally she has got over the first pangs of separation. She writes
home regularly once a fortnight, and though she does not say so, I
am sure she simply longs for her letters in return. It is my private
opinion that the fact that she rarely mentions her mother's name makes
her dwell on her in her thoughts more than she would otherwise. Poor
Rupert's wife brought up his daughter well; that we must acknowledge."
Miss Holcroft had spoken with unwonted firmness hitherto; now she
looked at her sister with appealing eyes, as she added in rather
faltering accents—
"I think that our not being on friendly terms with the mother puts the
child in a false position, and gives people wrong impressions."
"What can you mean, Mary?" Miss Pamela asked sharply. "I fail to
understand you."
In a few words Miss Holcroft gave her sister an account of the
statement Muriel Wake had circulated about Marigold's mother some weeks
before.
"Why was I not told at the time?" Miss Pamela demanded.
"I should have known nothing about it myself, Pamela, if I had not
discovered poor little Marigold in her bedroom crying as though her
heart would break. I asked for an explanation; I am quite sure she
had not intended to tell either of us. I believe she is on good terms
with most of her schoolfellows now; but I often think of the unkind
construction people may be putting on our behaviour to the child's
mother."
"Our behaviour! What do you mean? We have never injured her in any way!
She is nothing to us!"
"But Marigold is. We are both fond of her, and—oh, Pamela, I wish you
were not so unforgiving. I cannot think how, feeling as you do, you can
kneel down and say the Lord's Prayer!"
Having spoken with indignant warmth, Miss Holcroft was not a little
alarmed at her temerity, fearing she might have offended her sister;
but Miss Pamela's face expressed nothing but astonishment; she had
never received such a reproof before.
It was evening, and the sisters were alone in the drawing-room,
whilst Marigold in her own room upstairs was engaged in writing her
fortnightly letter to her mother. Miss Pamela's head was bent over
her woolwork. In her youth it had been the fashionable employment for
ladies, and she was always deeply interested in it. She had worked
coverings for a suite of furniture, in bunches of flowers; indeed,
traces of her handiwork were to be seen all over the house.
"I must go upstairs and fetch that blue wool I bought yesterday for
these forget-me-nots," she remarked presently, as she rose and laid her
work on a table.
Miss Holcroft looked after her retreating figure anxiously.
"I do hope I have not offended her," she murmured, with a sigh.
But Miss Pamela was not offended, nor was she even angry.
"I cannot think how, feeling as you do, you can kneel down and say
the Lord's Prayer!" her sister had said, and the words rang in her
ears as she went slowly upstairs. Passing Marigold's room she paused
and glanced in, for the door was standing wide open. The little girl,
clad in a blue serge skirt and a cotton blouse, was bending over the
writing-table, so engrossed in her occupation that she never heard
her aunt's footsteps, and looked up with a start as Miss Pamela laid
a light hand upon her shoulder. Marigold blushed with surprise, and
jumping up, placed a chair for her aunt, who sat down, glancing round
the room as she did so, to see if it was in good order. Fortunately,
everything was in its place, and Miss Pamela noted the fact with an
approving smile.
"You are improving, Marigold," she said. "I have not had to complain of
your untidiness lately, I am pleased to say."
Marigold blushed a rosier red, this time with pleasure, for Aunt
Pamela's words of praise were rare.
"You are writing to your mother, I suppose?"
"Yes, Aunt Pamela."
"You get on with your schoolfellows better than you used, do you not,
Marigold?"
"Oh yes!"
"Mary has been telling me that you had something to put up with from
them at first—she mentioned one girl in particular, Muriel Wake, I
think, who made herself extremely objectionable."
"I find that is Muriel's way," Marigold explained. "I see now how silly
I was to think so much about what she said. The girls do not care for
her, and, indeed; I think she would be very unpopular if she were not
so rich."
"Ah! Is she so very rich, then?"
"Yes, I believe so. The girls say she will be a great heiress one day.
She leaves me alone now, but I know she dislikes me, though I can't
think why. The girl I like best in the whole school is Grace Long. Oh,
by the bye, Aunt Pamela, Barker says she is going to have tea with her
old mother next Saturday afternoon, and if you and Aunt Mary will give
your permission, she will take me with her."
"Good gracious, child! Why does Barker want your company?"
"Because she has told me so much about her mother that she thought I
should like to know her."
"And do you really want to make the old woman's acquaintance?"
"Yes, Aunt Pamela, indeed I do!"
"Well, I have no objection to your doing so. She lives in an almshouse,
does she not?"
"Yes. When she was young she lived in service with Mrs. Adams."
"What! Farmer Jo's mother!" Miss Pamela exclaimed.
Marigold nodded. There was a smile upon her lips, and her eyes shone
brightly. At that moment, for the first time, she felt quite easy in
her Aunt Pamela's company.
"How is it people take you into their confidence, child? Barker is
usually such an uncommunicative person."
"I was telling her about mother—" Marigold began, and paused abruptly.
"Yes?" Miss Pamela queried.
"And—and then she told me about her old mother, and afterwards, when
she had been home to see her, I asked how she was, and said I should
like to know her. That's how it was Barker came to ask me to go with
her on Saturday. She is so fond of her mother!"
"I see. I had no idea you and Barker were on such good terms."
Miss Pamela rose, remarking as she did so—
"You had better get on with your letter, my dear. Will you give your
mother a message from me?"
"Yes, Aunt Pamela," Marigold replied, in accents of profound
astonishment.
For a few minutes Miss Pamela stood undecided, then she said—
"Tell your mother from me that we find her little daughter a good
child. That is all."
"Oh, thank you, Aunt Pamela! Mother will like to hear that better than
anything!"
Marigold threw her arms impulsively around Miss Pamela's neck and gave
her a hearty kiss. Her aunt returned the caress with unusual warmth,
and then left her to finish her interrupted letter.
Downstairs in the drawing-room Miss Holcroft was wondering what had
become of her sister, but when Miss Pamela at length re-entered the
room it was with a smile on her lips.
"Pamela, I hope I did not speak too plainly just now," Miss Holcroft
commenced timidly, as the other resumed her woolwork. "Perhaps it
was not my place to make such a remark. I had no right to judge your
conduct. I fear you are displeased with me."
"No, I am not, Mary. Why should you not say what you think? You had a
perfect right to express your opinion."
Miss Holcroft's face brightened at this, and she ventured to continue—
"Then you acknowledge we have been a little unjust to poor Rupert's
widow?"
"Not at all. I acknowledge nothing of the kind. But I will allow that
she has brought up Marigold carefully, if that is any satisfaction to
you, Mary."
"I believe she is a good woman and a Christian, or she would not be so
loved by her little daughter," Miss Holcroft said, with decision in her
tones.
To this remark her sister made no reply, and presently changed the
topic of conversation.