THE NEW HOME
FOR many days Marigold lay at death's door, too ill to notice those who
were nursing her with loving care, and unflagging attention. Poor Miss
Holcroft was quite broken-down with grief, and could not restrain her
tears even in the presence of the little patient, so she was banished
from the sick-room entirely, and spent the greater portion of her time
hovering around the closed door that hid Marigold from her sight,
listening to the child's painful breathing with a sinking heart.
Mrs. Holcroft and Miss Pamela were indefatigable nurses. They took it
in turns to watch by the little sufferer; and there came a day when
they knew that their efforts were to be rewarded, and that God was
going to allow them to keep the precious life that had been given into
His care. By Marigold's sick-bed, without one word of explanation,
those two learnt to understand each other.
Marigold was better. The servants heard the glad news and rejoiced,
whilst Barker shed tears of relief and thankfulness. The parlour-maid's
bright face, as she opened the door to inquirers after the sick child,
was cheerful and smiling, and told the good report before her lips had
time to frame the hopeful words. In the drawing-room, Miss Holcroft sat
with a look of happiness on her face, ready to interview any caller
who might come. During the long, dragging days that had passed, there
had been many kind inquirers after Marigold. Mrs. Barker had arrived
every evening, going to the back door to hear what the servants had to
say of the patient; and Molly Jenkins and Marigold's school friends
had made constant visits to Powderham Crescent, whilst Farmer Jo had
ridden in every night to get the latest news of his little friend. But
to Muriel Wake Marigold's illness had been a terrible grief; and when
she was told that Marigold was actually out of danger, her delight knew
no bounds. She ran past the parlour-maid and into the drawing-room,
catching Miss Holcroft around the neck, and hugging her till the old
lady laughingly pleaded for mercy.
"Muriel, my dear child, pray curb your excitement!" Miss Holcroft said.
"I knew you would be glad to hear the good news."
"I am just wild with joy!" Muriel answered. "Oh, Miss Holcroft, I have
been so miserable and unhappy since Marigold's illness, and I prayed to
God to let her live! I don't know what I should do without her! Is she
really and truly better?"
"Yes, thank God! She spoke to her mother this morning, and later to
Pamela. Dr. Nowell says with careful nursing she will get well now!"
"Oh yes! oh yes!"
Muriel was so excited that she did not notice the door open, and turned
with a start as Miss Holcroft said—
"Here is Marigold's mother, Muriel, to give us the latest bulletin!"
"Marigold is sleeping quietly, I am glad to say," Mrs. Holcroft
responded, in hopeful tones; then, turning to Muriel, "Are you one of
my little girl's friends?"
"Yes. I am Muriel Wake."
"Ah! I have heard of you. Marigold will want to see you as soon as she
is a little stronger, I feel sure. You were at Boscombe during the
summer holidays, were you not?"
Mrs. Holcroft sat down by Muriel's side and entered into conversation
with her. At first the child was rather reserved in her manner, for
the sight of Marigold's mother brought back the remembrance of her old
treachery, but she soon lost all feeling of restraint, and chatted in
her usual bright fashion, till Mrs. Holcroft's pale, tired face was lit
up with smiles.
"Muriel, you will be late for afternoon school," Miss Holcroft reminded
her at last. "I really think you must go, my dear."
"Yes, Miss Holcroft," Muriel agreed. "Oh, won't the girls be glad to
hear my good news to-day!"
She took her departure hastily now, after a hurried farewell, and
hastened on her way with a smiling face that told of intense happiness
and joy.
The whole school learnt that Marigold Holcroft was better, with
feelings of relief and thankfulness, for she was becoming a general
favourite with the pupils now, as she had been with the teachers at
first. Grace Long murmured a fervent "Thank God!" which Muriel echoed
in her heart.
It was not many days before Marigold was well enough to think how
wonderful it was that her mother was there helping Aunt Pamela to nurse
her. She watched the two figures that were constantly at her bedside,
with puzzled eyes. It was happiness indeed to have her mother with
her, such happiness that sometimes she could scarcely realise it; and
she often grasped Mrs. Holcroft's hand tightly in her weak fingers, to
assure herself the dear presence was real, and not a dream.
Soon came the time when she began to ask questions.
"Aunt Pamela," she said one day, "it was you who sent for mother, was
it not?"
"Yes, my dear. Don't you remember that first night I sat up with you I
promised to do so next day?"
"Yes. It all seems so unreal. How could mother leave the boys, I
wonder?"
"Oh, that was easily managed. She arranged with a neighbour to take
them in, and board them till she returns. At first, when you began to
get better, she thought of taking you back to London with her, but
Dr. Nowell thinks that is not advisable. He says you must not live in
London, at any rate till the winter is past, so you will have to remain
with your old aunts a little longer, Marigold."
"Is mother going to have me to live with her again soon then, Aunt
Pamela?"
"Yes, child."
Marigold was silent after that, thinking deeply. Of course she wanted
to return to her mother and brothers, her heart beat joyfully at the
thought; but she could not help feeling sorrowful at the idea of
leaving Exeter.
"Mother," she whispered lovingly, when she was next alone with Mrs.
Holcroft, "dear mother, it made me so happy to think of your having had
that two hundred pounds a year left to you."
"Yes, darling, I knew it would," her mother replied. "I was wondering
how I should do as the boys grow older and want more money spent on
their education; and now it has been managed for me, you see. We are
going to leave where we are living at present, and take a little house
all covered with roses and ivy, and you will be with us, my darling!"
"Oh, mother! How wonderful it seems! But, oh, how Aunt Mary and Aunt
Pamela will miss me, and how I shall miss them! You don't know how good
they have been to me!"
"I think I do, my dear."
"I have so many friends here—"
"I have found that out," her mother interposed, smiling, "for I have
seen several of them myself, and thanked them for their kindness to my
little girl. The first I saw was a golden-haired, blue-eyed fairy, who
has made me promise to let you see her before anyone else."
"Muriel!" Marigold cried, laughing.
"Yes. Next, there was Barker's mother, who said you had been very kind
to her."
"I don't think I was ever very kind to her," Marigold said. "There
wasn't much I could do for her, except read a chapter from the Bible to
her now and then."
"I think from what she said she valued that above all. She sent her
love and her blessing to you. Then there was that lame girl you wrote
so much about, and several of your school friends, including Grace
Long, whom I seemed to know quite well from your description of her.
And last, but not least, there was Farmer Jo!"
"Oh, when did you see him, mother?" Marigold asked eagerly.
"This morning, my dear. When you are a little stronger he is going
to bring his mother to pay you a visit. Why, Marigold, you have made
more friends in the few months you have been here than in the years
you spent in London. Do you remember how you came against your will,
almost; and how difficult you found it to believe that your duty lay
here? Yet you found love and friendship awaiting you, and have been the
means of softening your aunts' hearts towards your father and me!"
Marigold remained silent, her heart too full for words.
"I shall be obliged to leave you shortly," her mother continued, "for I
must return to the boys; but you will soon see me again, and ere long
we shall be living once more under the same roof."
"Oh, how I am longing to see the boys!" Marigold cried.
"And they are longing quite as much to see you, my darling! You will
find them both grown. It seems to me that Rupert gets more like his
father every day."
"Have you noticed father's likeness, when he was a little boy, on the
dining-room wall?" Marigold inquired.
"Yes. What do you think your aunts are going to do? They are going to
have a copy made of the original likeness, and give it to me."
"Oh, mother, how good of them! How glad I am! Aunt Mary thought of
that, I am sure!"
"You are quite wrong! It was your Aunt Pamela!"
Marigold was a little low-spirited after her mother had returned to
London; but her aunts strove to cheer her by assuring her Mrs. Holcroft
would soon be back again—perhaps before Christmas.
Meanwhile, Marigold was growing rapidly well. She was now able to
interview visitors, and Muriel Wake came to see her every day.
Muriel was a much pleasanter companion than she used to be, for she
was a better and happier little girl, on friendly terms with her
schoolfellows, and beloved in her own home. December was mild that
year; and Marigold, carefully wrapped up, was soon able to walk out
with her aunts.
One day, Farmer Jo drove up to the Misses Holcroft's house in Powderham
Crescent, and declared he must not go home unless Marigold was allowed
to accompany him, for his mother had set her heart on having Marigold
for a visitor for a few days. To the little girl's extreme delight she
was permitted to go, and spent a very pleasant week at Rocombe Farm.
It wanted but a few days to Christmas when Farmer Jo drove Marigold
back to Exeter. On this occasion he did not offer to let her drive, at
which she rather wondered. She was looking cheerful and happy, whilst
her companion was unusually silent, though he appeared in good spirits.
"So you are going to desert the old aunts!" he remarked presently.
"Yes," she replied, with a slight sigh. "How I shall miss them!"
"Perhaps they will invite you to visit them sometimes," he suggested.
"Perhaps so," she agreed.
Farmer Jo laughed, whilst Marigold looked at him in surprise, for she
did not think she had said anything to cause amusement.
"We are not taking the right road, are we?" she asked presently.
"Oh yes!" was the quick response.
"I thought we had passed the turning that leads to Powderham Crescent."
Farmer Jo made no verbal reply to this; but he laughed again, his great
form shaking, and his jovial face one broad beam of good humour.
"Oh, surely we are going the wrong way!" she cried, as they turned down
a quiet road with pretty villas on either side.
But Farmer Jo took no heed. He pulled Colonel up before a little house
overgrown with creepers, and before she could remonstrate, jumped out,
lifted her down, and carried her up the garden path to the front door,
placing her carefully on the doorstep. Then, still laughing, and with a
quickness unusual in so large a man, he retraced his footsteps, swung
himself up into the dogcart, and drove away. Scampering footsteps were
now heard within the house, and voices that made Marigold's heart beat
wildly. In another moment the door was flung open wide, and she was
dragged into an adjoining sitting-room by a pair of merry, laughing
boys who clung around her neck, kissing her and crying—
"Welcome home, Marigold! Here you are at last!"
"Rupert! Lionel!" she exclaimed, for they were her own dear brothers
whom she had pictured miles and miles away; and it was her mother who
now took her in her arms, and kissed her tenderly.
"Poor child! How puzzled she looks!" Mrs. Holcroft said. "How well your
aunts must have kept our secret! Did neither Farmer Jo nor his mother
give you a hint of the truth, darling? This is our new home. I selected
the house after your illness, and your aunts have superintended the
furnishing of it for me."
"Do you mean that you and the boys are going to live here, mother?"
"Yes. We only arrived last night."
"Oh, mother, it seems too good to be true! I can hardly realise it yet!"
But the presence of her mother and brothers soon made Marigold
understand the truth; and when later her aunts came in, she could not
help crying for joy at the thought that she was not to be parted from
them after all.
"I could not bear the thought of leaving you," she told them, "and now
I shall always be near you, and able to run in to see you every day!
Oh, how thankful I am!"
It seemed to the little girl that her cup of joy was full. She was to
remain at Exeter, where she had made so many friends, and have her
nearest and dearest with her; and she was delighted to see how well the
boys got on with Miss Holcroft and Miss Pamela.
Rupert was his father over again, both aunts declared, and Lionel was a
dear little fellow. In fact, their nephew's children were all that they
could wish. They were very glad that circumstances had allowed Mrs.
Holcroft to make her home in Exeter; they did not know how they could
have endured to part with Marigold altogether.
Mrs. Holcroft was a wise woman, and she never made reference to
the past, or to Miss Pamela's unforgiveness in the years gone by;
perhaps she understood better than anyone else the character of the
undemonstrative woman who was constantly trying by little acts of
kindness to make up for past neglect, and dislike.
"Mother," said Marigold one day, "can you realise that you and I were
parted for eight long months?"
"Yes, dear, quite well. Do you know, I think the separation did us both
good?"
"Oh, mother!"
"You were accustomed to rely too much on me, my darling, but now you
have learnt to go straight to God Himself for help in trouble or doubt;
whilst I, who was so fearful lest my little girl should fall back from
the good fight, have a fuller trust in Him who sent her to her father's
old home to obtain forgiveness for him, and to bring happiness into the
lonely lives of his aunts. I think you will agree with me, that our
separation has been fraught with nothing but blessings to us all."
THE END