CONCERNING THE ARRIVAL OF MURIEL WAKE AND
MOLLY JENKINS
BOSCOMBE was a quaint little village, composed of one long, steep
street of white-washed cottages occupied by the fishing folk, whose
wives might generally be seen of an evening gossiping on their
doorsteps, their fingers busily engaged in knitting navy blue jerseys.
On an eminence at the top of the street was the church, an ancient
edifice of granite, with a small graveyard encircling it; and close by
stood the vicarage, a substantial building of red sandstone, almost
overgrown with ivy and other creepers.
Of late, overlooking the sea, had sprung up a row of brick villas,
named Alma Terrace, that were let to lodging-house keepers, who reaped
a good harvest during the summer months, as Boscombe was beginning to
be rather better known than it had been, for the air from the Atlantic
was bracing, and the scenery wildly beautiful along the coast, added
to which there were fine sands, where children could find endless
amusement in building castles and forts and in gathering shells.
Marigold's aunts had taken a suite of apartments in one of the new
villas, where they were very comfortable and pleased with their
surroundings. The little girl spent most of her days out-of-doors.
In the morning she generally went out with her aunts, and amused
herself whilst they worked or read in a sheltered nook, searching for
anemones that hid themselves in the little pools between the rocks,
or in collecting seaweeds to press between sheets of blotting-paper
under her Aunt Pamela's instructions; and in the afternoon she would
take a long walk with Barker, visiting different places of interest in
the neighbourhood. She sometimes watched other children paddling and
building castles in the sand with wistful eyes, wishing she dared ask
her aunts to allow her to join them, but never plucking up courage to
do so, fearing they would be horrified at the idea.
"Perhaps I am too old to run about without shoes and stockings," she
thought, "but it must be lovely, I know!"
It was about a week after their arrival at Boscombe that Marigold was
one morning seated with her aunts under the shelter of the sea-wall,
when a pebble flung from behind, dropped into her lap, and a merry
voice cried—
"You see, I've come at last!"
The speaker was Muriel Wake, who proceeded to scramble down the side of
the wall with the agility of a cat.
"We only got here last night," she explained, as she shook hands
with Miss Holcroft and Miss Pamela. "We are staying at No. 5 Alma
Terrace—Mrs. Jones and I."
"And we are lodging at No. 8," Miss Holcroft said, smiling.
"I never thought you would really come, Muriel!" Marigold told her
friend in bright, glad tones. "I am so very glad to see you!"
"Father said he did not mind where we went; and when I told him I
wanted so much to go to Boscombe, he made inquiries about the place,
and—here I am!"
Muriel ended her sentence with a merry laugh, and sat down on the sand
facing Miss Holcroft and Miss Pamela, never doubting but that they were
pleased to see her. In reality, they hardly knew whether they were or
not, for though Muriel had always been well-behaved in their presence,
they were a little distrustful of her still.
Muriel was wearing a short blue serge skirt with a cotton shirt, and
a scarlet jelly-bag cap ornamented her golden curls. In her hands she
held a spade and a bucket, and she had a towel slung over one arm.
"Have you been having a good time, Marigold?" she asked. "What have you
been doing?"
Marigold explained, whilst Muriel's blue eyes opened wide with
astonishment as she listened.
"Good gracious, Marigold! Do you mean to tell me you haven't been
digging in the sand, or paddling?" she cried.
"Don't you think Marigold is too old for either of those amusements?"
Miss Pamela asked, with a tone of reproof in her voice.
"She is no older than I am," Muriel responded quickly, by no means
abashed. "There is nothing I enjoy more than wading in the water. I
mean to have a net and go shrimping! Oh, Miss Holcroft, you don't
intend to prevent Marigold's joining me, do you?"
Thus appealed to, Miss Holcroft looked helplessly at her sister.
Marigold was listening anxiously to the conversation; and Muriel now
turned her attention once more to her friend.
"Of course you have a spade and a bucket?" she said. "No! What a pity!"
"They sell them at the village shop," Miss Holcroft put in hastily, as
she drew out her purse. "Do you wish to dig in the sand with Muriel, my
dear? If so, take this money, and run and purchase what you want."
"Oh, thank you so much, Aunt Mary! Will you come with me, Muriel?"
"I think I'll stay where I am till you come back. If you hurry you
won't be away many minutes."
Marigold scrambled to her feet, and reaching the flight of steps cut in
the sea-wall, was soon lost to sight.
"How did you leave your father, my dear?" Miss Holcroft inquired
politely.
"Oh, very well, thank you. He is going abroad in a few days, and may
not be home again till Christmas."
"My dear child!" sympathetically. "Then you will have no one but
servants to look after you during his absence! You must come and see us
as often as you can next term."
"Thank you, Miss Holcroft," Muriel said gratefully; adding in a lower
tone, "I've been ever so much happier since Marigold and I have been
friends."
"I am pleased to hear it," Miss Holcroft answered, smiling.
"Marigold's so good-natured," the child continued. "Perhaps you don't
know it, but I served her very unkindly once, and afterwards she
forgave me and did me a good turn. I couldn't have done it myself."
"Oh, but it is right to return good for evil. It is a Christian's duty
to forgive an injury."
"But, you see, I am not a Christian!"
"Perhaps you are trying to be one?"
"No. I'm thinking about it, though!"
At this point Miss Pamela, who had been listening to the conversation
in silence, asked what had become of Mrs. Jones.
"She's gone into the village to order some things from the shop,"
Muriel explained. "I told her I was going to see if I could find you."
A few minutes later Marigold returned with a new spade and a bucket,
and in a short while she and Muriel had commenced operations on the
sand.
"First of all we'll make two comfortable seats for your aunts," Muriel
suggested.
"Oh yes, that will be capital!" Marigold agreed eagerly.
They were soon busily engaged at this work, whilst Miss Holcroft and
Miss Pamela watched their proceedings with interest. Presently two
great mounds of sand had been collected, and under Muriel's directions
were fashioned into seats with backs to lean against.
"Pray come and take your easy-chairs!" Muriel cried, when everything
was completed.
They obeyed, smiling and good-humoured, whilst the children stood a few
steps away, looking on approvingly.
"We must make them seats every day," Marigold declared. "Are you sure
you are comfortable, Aunt Mary, and you, Aunt Pamela?"
"Quite sure," they both assured her.
"Now let us go and build castles by the sea," was Muriel's next
suggestion; "but you had better take your shoes and stockings off,
Marigold, as otherwise you will be sure to get wet, for the tide is
coming in."
Marigold glanced doubtfully at her aunts. It was Miss Pamela who
answered the look.
"Do as Muriel says, if you wish," she said, "and if it will add to your
enjoyment."
Five minutes later the little girls were playing barefooted at the
water's edge, and thoroughly enjoying themselves.
During the days that followed the children saw a great deal of each
other, and agreed exceedingly well. Mrs. Jones and Barker soon became
acquainted, and grew quite friendly whilst they strolled on the
sea-wall, or sat beneath its shade, where they could keep their eyes on
their respective charges.
Mrs. Jones was a stout, rather slow-witted, elderly woman, genuinely
attached to her little mistress. She was the only one of Mr. Wake's
servants who had been in his service for any length of time.
"During the seven years I've lived under his roof he hasn't been home,
at most, for more than a fortnight at a time," she confided to Barker,
"so it's not to be wondered that Miss Muriel ain't fonder of him. He's
almost like a stranger to the poor child."
One morning Miss Holcroft received a letter from an Exeter friend which
caused her great consternation, for it contained the news of the death
of Molly Jenkins' father.
"Oh dear! oh dear! What a shocking affair!" she cried, in distressed
accents to her sister and Marigold. "Oh, what trouble for poor Molly!
Her father met with a violent death, was knocked down by a carriage in
the street, and died whilst he was being conveyed to the hospital!"
"Molly's worst fear has been realised, then!" Miss Pamela exclaimed.
"How long ago did this happen, Mary?"
"Several days, I should imagine, as the unfortunate man was buried
yesterday. Oh, poor Molly! How I wish I was in Exeter, so that I might
try to comfort her!"
The tears were in Miss Holcroft's eyes as she spoke. Marigold looked
white and shocked, whilst Miss Pamela appeared in deep thought. There
was a brief silence, then Miss Holcroft continued, referring to her
letter.
"Molly seems to have been very brave. She attended the funeral, and saw
to all the arrangements herself. How sad to be alone as she is! I fear
now all is over she will break down."
"Oh no!" Miss Pamela said quickly. "I tell you what you must do, Mary,
you must send for her to come to us here."
"Oh, Pamela, do you mean that? Would you be willing to have her as our
guest?"
"Certainly," Miss Pamela responded, in her cold, brief way. "You know I
always mean what I say."
"Oh, what a darling you are, Aunt Pamela!" Marigold cried, rushing
impetuously across the room to her aunt, and giving her an approving
hug.
Miss Pamela was so surprised at this unlooked-for demonstration of
affection on her niece's part that she actually blushed.
"I think it is a splendid idea!" the little girl continued excitedly.
"We'll do all we possibly can to make her happy, won't we?"
"Steady, Marigold!" Miss Holcroft interposed. "You are settling matters
too quickly. We do not know yet if she will come or not. I think,
Pamela, I will write at once, and suggest her coming to us straight
away."
"Yes," agreed Miss Pamela. "Tell her she will disappoint us all if she
declines our invitation; and, Mary, I think you had better send the
money for her journey, don't you? You can do it in such a way that she
cannot mind accepting it."
Miss Holcroft nodded comprehensively, and sat down with her writing
materials at hand to consider how best to word her letter.
Meanwhile, Marigold having caught sight of Muriel waiting for her
outside, went out to join her friend. The two children strolled down
to the beach together. Marigold informed her companion that they were
likely to have an addition to their party. Muriel heard all Marigold
had to say about Molly Jenkins in silence. She did not appear much
interested, and was decidedly not pleased.
"I don't see what your aunts want to have her here for," was the first
remark she made, after Marigold had told her all there was to tell.
"Don't you think she'll be a great nuisance?"
"No; why should she be?"
"She is lame, isn't she?"
"Yes; but she can walk with crutches, you know. I thought we should be
able to make her a seat on the sands like we do for my aunts, so that
she could sit there reading or working, and watch us at play."
"But why should she come here at all? She's only a common lace-maker,
isn't she?"
"She is a lace-maker, certainly," Marigold responded, with a bright
flash of anger in her eyes, "but she's not in the least common!"
"Now you're cross with me," Muriel said, with a discontented pout.
Marigold made no answer, and the other continued—
"You won't think anything of me when that lame girl comes. I know what
it will be; you'll be dancing attendance upon her all day long, and I
shall be left in the lurch!"
"Nonsense, Muriel! You know better! Of course, I shall be as nice and
kind to poor Molly as I possibly can, because I like her, and because
she will be very sad at having lost her father!"
"What a horrid man he must have been!" Muriel cried, with a gesture of
disgust.
"Molly loved him," Marigold answered gently, "and I expect she is
in great trouble now he is gone. You'll be kind to her, won't you,
Muriel?" coaxingly.
Muriel made no reply for a moment, then she burst out—
"Oh, Marigold, I am a bad, wicked girl! I am, really! I cannot help
feeling jealous of this Molly Jenkins. I'm so afraid you'll like her
better than you like me! I know it's horrid of me to mind, but you
are the first real friend I ever had, and I don't want anyone to come
between us."
Marigold looked greatly surprised, for she was never in the least
jealous herself, and could not realise how much anyone might suffer
from such a failing.
"Molly won't come between us," she said reassuringly. "Why, she's years
older than we are!"
"I know. I suppose you think me very selfish, don't you?"
"I think when you see Molly you'll like her yourself," Marigold
replied, ignoring her companion's question. And such proved to be the
case, for Molly accepted the invitation to come to Boscombe, and a
few days later arrived, pale and tired, but with a look of patient
resignation on her countenance that made Muriel feel ashamed of the
jealous thoughts she had harboured against her.
"How dreadful to be lame like that!" Muriel whispered to Marigold, as,
the first day after her arrival, the cripple girl joined them on the
sea-wall. "Oh, poor thing, will she be able to get down on the beach, I
wonder!" And it was Muriel who ran to Molly's assistance and helped her
down the flight of steps with a care and a tenderness that surprised
her friend. "We have made you such a beautiful seat with a nice back,"
Muriel said. "Do try it!"
Molly willingly complied, looking with a grateful smile at the pretty,
blue-eyed child who seemed so eager for her comfort.
"Well?" Muriel asked. "Is that right?"
"Oh yes, indeed, thank you! How good you are to me!"
"Oh no!" shrinking back a trifle abashed. "It was Marigold's idea!"
The lame girl smiled as she looked from one face to the other.
"Thank you both!" she said. "How delightful it is here! How fresh the
air smells! It seems to blow new life into one!"
"Yes," agreed Miss Holcroft, joining them at that moment. "We shall
soon have you looking as brown as these two children, Molly! Did you
ever see such a pair of gipsies? They are out-of-doors from morning
till night."
"We will try to catch you some shrimps when the tide is farther out,"
Marigold told Molly. "Come along, Muriel. Let us go and ask one of the
fishermen what time it will be low water." And the two children went
off together, whilst Molly looked after them with eyes that were moist
with tears, for she was in that weak condition when it is easier to
weep than to smile. During the last few weeks she had gone through a
great deal, but she still had faith to say: "Thy will be done," though
the thought of her dead father brought such anguish to her heart as
only God in His good time could heal.