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Ebook has 1356 lines and 48160 words, and 28 pages

CHAP.

LITTLE MAID MARIGOLD

MRS. HOLCROFT TELLS MARIGOLD ABOUT HER AUNTS, AND READS MISS PAMELA'S LETTER

"MARIGOLD, it is time for the boys to go to bed. I wish you would give them their supper, as I want to get this embroidery finished to-night, if possible."

The speaker was Mrs. Holcroft, a pale-faced, dark-eyed woman of about thirty-five, with a slight figure, and a somewhat nervous manner. She had been six years a widow, and a snowy cap rested on her brown hair--hair that was streaked with white around her temples. Marigold, her little daughter, aged eleven, was seated at a corner of the square table that stood in the middle of the sitting-room, so engrossed in the story-book she was reading that she failed to grasp the sense of her mother's request, and looked up inquiringly.

"What was that you said, mother?" she asked, turning a pair of thoughtful dark eyes upon her mother as she spoke, and carefully marking the place she was reading with a slip of paper before shutting her book,--"Something about the boys wasn't it?"

"Yes, dear. It is their bedtime, and I want you to see about their supper. I am sorry to disturb you, but--"

A slight sigh, and a glance at the work on which she was employed finished the sentence. Mrs. Holcroft added to her scanty means by doing art-needlework for a fashionable West-End shop, and all her spare moments were spent in designing new patterns for her embroideries, or in executing the orders she was fortunate enough to obtain.

"Of course I will see to the boys," Marigold replied cheerfully. "Must that work be finished to-night, mother?"

"Yes, my dear. You know the quarter's rent will be due next week, and we are badly in want of many things."

Marigold glanced around the shabby sitting-room with a sigh, as she rose and put away her book on a shelf. Then she crossed to her mother's side, and kissed her pale face lovingly.

"It's a shame you should have to work so hard, mother!" she whispered.

"Nonsense, my dear. I want to have a talk with you presently, Marigold; but put the boys to bed first."

The little girl went from the sitting-room into the kitchen, where her two brothers, Rupert and Lionel, aged respectively nine and seven, were amusing themselves, each in the way he liked best, Rupert with his fretwork, and Lionel by sticking coloured pictures into his scrap-book. At her desire they willingly cleared up the litter they had made; and then she set about getting their supper, which was comprised of thick bread-and-butter and a cup of cocoa apiece.

Mrs. Holcroft and her three children occupied a small flat--really a workman's flat--in a cheap suburb of London. Their home comprised one sitting-room, a kitchen and scullery, and three bedrooms. The mother, with her little daughter's assistance, did the housework, and the money they thus saved was spent in sending the two boys to a day-school. So far Mrs. Holcroft had instructed Marigold. The child was quick to learn, and though not behind other girls of her age in general knowledge, Mrs. Holcroft realised that she ought to be sent to school, and how to provide ways and means to bring about this result had long been weighing on the mother's mind.

When the boys were at last safely in bed, and Marigold had turned out the gas in their bedroom, she went back to the sitting-room, and found that Mrs. Holcroft had finished her work and was carefully folding it up.

"The labour of the day is over," Mrs. Holcroft remarked brightly. "I must go and kiss the boys good-night, and then you and I will have a cosy chat, Marigold."

The little girl poked the fire into a blaze, and pulled an easy-chair closer to the hearth. Outside the wild March wind was howling, and the rain pattering against the window-pane, whilst now and then the roll of a cab's wheels, or hurrying footsteps on the pavement were heard in a lull of the gale.

"What a weird night it is!" Mrs. Holcroft exclaimed, as she returned from saying good-night to her little sons. "Poor sailors! I pity them in this storm!"

She sank wearily into the easy-chair, and Marigold drew a stool close to her side on the hearthrug, and sat down on it, leaning her arms on her mother's knees.

"You always think of the poor sailors in a storm," she said; "I suppose that is because you are a sailor's daughter, mother."

"Yes, doubtless. And then, you know, Marigold, I always lived by the sea until I married your father; after that we led a somewhat wandering life for years. Your father was with his regiment, and of course I went with him."

Mrs. Holcroft was silent for a moment, her dark eyes looked troubled, and her hands nervously clasped and unclasped themselves in her lap.

"I want to tell you a little about your father and his people, my dear," she continued, "because I think you are old enough now to know why they were angry with him. It was because he married me, Marigold."

"Because he married you, mother!" the little girl echoed, in accents of intense surprise.

"Yes. I was an only child, and lived with my father in a little West-country fishing village. Father was a retired sea-captain, and our home overlooked the sea. I had such a happy girlhood, and never had a trouble in my life till one day when father told me that he had risked all his savings in one speculation which had failed, and we were ruined. Father only lived a week after that; the shock of knowing that he was penniless killed him!"

"How sad!" Marigold cried. "And it was then you married my father, wasn't it?"

"Yes. He was only a subaltern at that time, though later he was raised to the rank of captain. We had known each other a good while, for he used to stay in our village for the fishing. We were married hurriedly on account of poor father's death, and afterwards I discovered that the step my husband had taken had offended the nearest relatives he had, two maiden aunts who had brought him up from infancy, and who had always loved him very dearly."

"He thought that because they were so fond of him they would forgive his marrying without first consulting them; but he was mistaken. He went to see them, but they would have nothing to do with him, and declared they would never forgive him. He would never go near them again, for they were rich, and he feared they would think he wanted their money, when really he was anxious only to be friends with them because they had been so very good and kind to him in the past. When he died I wrote to them, and they answered me politely, and offered to take you, Marigold, and bring you up as they had done your father."

"Oh, mother!"

"I refused. I do not know if I was right or wrong; but I think, I hope I was right! I could not give you up to them, then. I wanted to train my little girl myself till she should be old enough to remember her mother's teaching. I believe my husband's aunts to be good women, but I could not leave it to them to set your infant feet in the way of truth--that I felt was your mother's privilege, a duty for which I was accountable to God."

Mrs. Holcroft's usually pale cheeks were flushed with excitement, her dark eyes glowed with the light of a great purpose.

"And so I chose to rear you in poverty, to work for you myself, and I have never regretted it. But, latterly, I have known that you ought to have advantages of education that I cannot give you; and so, Marigold, a few days ago I wrote to your father's aunts, and asked them for the sake of the love they once bore their nephew to assist his daughter to obtain that which in the future should enable her to earn her own living. In my pocket is their reply, written by Miss Pamela Holcroft, the younger of the sisters, who is, I have heard, much the sterner and less forgiving of the two!"

"Oh, mother!" Marigold broke in; "how could you ask them?"

Mrs. Holcroft smiled at the indignation in the child's voice as she answered--

"Remember they are your father's aunts, and would willingly, I believe gladly, have adopted you years ago, if I would have permitted it. I think they would have loved you very dearly, Marigold, and you would have had every comfort and luxury that money could supply--sometimes when we have had to go short at home I have wondered if, after all, I acted wisely!"

"Oh yes, yes, mother, be very sure you did! I don't mind being poor, so long as I am with you!"

"We have been happy together; you have been my right hand since you were a little toddling mite who used to insist on dusting the legs of the chairs for me! I do not know what I should have done without you through the dark days after your father's death, and of late years you have become very helpful in many ways. I am not naturally so brave as you, Marigold; you are a true soldier's daughter."

The little girl beamed with pleasure at these words of praise. The remembrance of her father was a dim memory, but she knew he had been an honourable man, an upright, truth-loving Christian gentleman, and her mother always spoke of him with tender affection and pride.

Mrs. Holcroft now took a large, square envelope from her pocket, from which she drew Miss Pamela Holcroft's letter, written in a fine flowing handwriting, and proceeded to read it aloud. It ran as follows:--

"NO -- POWDERHAM CRESCENT, EXETER, March. 18, 189--."

"To MRS. HOLCROFT." "MADAM,--In reply to your letter to my sister and myself, which we received yesterday, wherein you request us for the sake of our nephew to extend a favour to his daughter, and supply you with the necessary means to enable you to obtain for her such an education as will allow her to earn her own living, I must tell you that we are unanimous upon this point, and distinctly decline to entertain the idea for a moment." "When our misguided nephew married without our consent, and even without consulting us in reference to the matter, we washed our hands of him; but we desire to be just, and would not visit the sins of the parents upon the children, therefore we are willing to take the little girl, Marigold, into our own home, to see she is well-educated, and, if she prove tractable and grateful, to provide for her future. We are agreeable that she should write to you once a fortnight, and if you please, that she should visit you for a month once a year, that she may not grow up a stranger to her mother and brothers. We desire you to consider this offer at your leisure, not hastily, but with due thought, and are convinced that in doing so you will realise what is best for the welfare of our nephew's daughter.--I am, madam, yours faithfully," "PAMELA HOLCROFT."

"There, darling," Mrs. Holcroft said, as she folded up the letter and returned it to her pocket, "now you know all. What am I to say to Miss Pamela?"

"Say that I can never, never leave you, mother!" Marigold cried passionately. "What a cold, horrid letter to write! As though I could ever live with a nasty old woman like that!"

"Hush, hush! You must not speak so! Think how good and kind your father's aunts always were to him, and he disappointed them more than you can understand! I feel he would wish you to go to them now, and if they should love you, my little daughter, they may learn to forgive him in time. I want you to take advantage of their generous offer, to learn all you possibly can, and grow up a clever, helpful woman, so that whatsoever betides in the future, you may be able to earn your own living. Miss Pamela says she and her sister will provide for you, but my great hope is that they will put you in the way of providing for yourself. It is my wish that you should go to Exeter, because I believe it will be for your ultimate good."

"Oh, mother, mother, do not send me away from you!"

The tears rose to Marigold's eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. She looked pitifully into her mother's face, and read there a look of mingled regret and determination,--regret at the coming parting, determination that no personal feeling or weakness on her part should mar her little daughter's prospects.

"I do not want to part with you, my darling," Mrs. Holcroft said gently; "I should like to keep you always by my side, but that cannot be. I believe it is my duty to let you go to Exeter to your aunts, and I want you not to put difficulties in the way. Our path in life is rarely smooth, but we can do much to make things easier, if we make up our minds to be cheerful, and contented with our lot. Let God choose. He will show you the way to go, stand by your side, and help you over all difficulties, if you humbly trust in Him. You know that, Marigold?"

"Yes, mother," the child acknowledged; "but--"

"But it is hard to trust, because you cannot see your way marked out quite clearly. Oh, my dear, we are all like little children treading an unknown road; but One has gone before who through trial and tribulation has overcome the obstacles that alarm us, and who will lead us on our pilgrimage through this world till we come to His everlasting kingdom. Marigold, you know you have Jesus for your Friend, do you not?"

"Yes, mother."

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