Chapter X

THE RECONCILIATION BETWEEN MARIGOLD AND MURIEL WAKE

IT was a hot July day. Afternoon school was over at last, and Miss Hardcastle's girls trooped out into the sunshine, glad to be in the open air, for the weather was terribly oppressive, and the schoolrooms, though well ventilated, had been almost unbearably close. Marigold was nearly half-way home when a sudden doubt assailed her mind, and she made a hasty search in her schoolbag, only to find that she had left behind her a book she particularly wanted. She must return to fetch it, or she would not be able to prepare one of her most important lessons for the following day; so she hastily retraced her footsteps, and entered the class-room with flushed cheeks and panting breath. After taking the forgotten book from her desk, she sat down, meaning to rest a few minutes before starting for home again; and then she noticed that she was not alone, as she had imagined.

Seated at a table by one of the open windows was Muriel Wake, her elbows resting on the blank sheet of paper in front of her, and her head in her hands. She did not glance at Marigold, who regarded her with astonishment, for there was an air of utter dejection about the little figure that surprised her greatly. Muriel was usually full of life and high spirits.

Having rested until she had become somewhat cooler, and had regained her breath, Marigold picked up her bag of books, and was about to leave the room when a slight sound, half sigh, half sob, from Muriel arrested her attention, and she paused irresolutely. Although Muriel had treated her in such an unfriendly fashion, Marigold could not bear to see her in trouble without trying to console her, and after a moment's hesitation she crossed to her side, and touched her lightly on the shoulder.

"Muriel! Why are you crying? What is it?"

Muriel started as though she had been stung, and shook off the other's hand impatiently.

"What do you want?" she demanded, in pettish tones. "Why can't you leave me alone? I don't want you bothering me with questions, just as if you cared!"

"I—I thought you were crying," Marigold explained, "and—and I wondered if I could help you in any way."

Muriel raised a hot, tear-stained face and gazed at her companion with blurred blue eyes.

"I suppose you're mocking me!" she cried angrily. "Why don't you go away and leave me in peace? You're glad to see me like this, I know!"

"Indeed I am not, and you're very wicked to say so!" Marigold protested warmly. Then, her pity at the sight of Muriel's woebegone countenance getting the better of her indignation, she added more quietly, "Don't be silly! You know very well I'm not mocking you! Tell me what's wrong, do!"

"Do you really want to know? But no, of course you don't! You'll tell the other girls, so that they may jeer at me!"

"I hope I should not treat anyone so badly as that!"

"Well, Miss Smith has kept me in because I worked my sum all wrong," Muriel condescended to explain, speaking in a sulky tone, "and I haven't the faintest idea how to do it."

"Is that why you're crying?" Marigold questioned, for, as a rule, her companion did not take to heart any trouble in connection with her work.

"My head is aching, and I'm so dreadfully hot!"

"Why didn't you tell Miss Smith? Perhaps she would have let you off this once."

"Not she—cross old thing! She said I did not attend when she was explaining the rule, and working the example on the blackboard. However, as I can't work the sum, I suppose I must sit here until she chooses to let me go, or until I melt!"

Marigold laughed; and a slight smile flickered across Muriel's face.

"Would Miss Smith mind if I helped you?" the former inquired.

"Oh, would you, Marigold? No, I don't think Miss Smith would mind. It's not that I won't do the sum, I really can't. I don't know how! See, this is it."

Muriel drew an arithmetic book towards her, and pointed out the sum. It presented no difficulties to Marigold, who was quick at arithmetic, and had been attentive during the lesson that day, whilst Muriel had been gazing idly about the room and not attending to a word the governess had been saying. It had been a hot, trying day for teachers and pupils, so it was small wonder Miss Smith had lost her patience with Muriel, when she had made the discovery that the child knew nothing whatever about the lesson she had been at some pains to make plain and simple for her pupils.

Presently the two heads—one golden, the other brown—were bent together over the hitherto blank sheet of paper; and soon, under Marigold's instructions, Muriel was enabled to understand, and work the sum correctly.

"Thank you, Marigold. I should never have done it but for you," Muriel said, with real gratitude in her voice; adding a little shamefacedly, "It is too bad of me to let you stay in on this broiling afternoon when you might have been out in the fresh air!"

"Nonsense! I am very glad I could help you. May you leave now, or must you wait for Miss Smith's permission to go?"

"Oh, she said when I had worked the sum I could put my paper on her desk and go."

In a few minutes the two children started on their homeward way together. Marigold could not help thinking of the day when she had given Muriel her confidence, and how it had been betrayed. The remembrance made her feel rather embarrassed, and she wished their walk was over. Muriel was looking pale and tired. She was not a very strong child, and the hot weather was trying her health and spirits.

"Shan't you be glad when the holidays come?" she asked. "I don't think we ought to have to go to school in this heat. Are you going home for the holidays?"

"I—I am afraid not."

"I suppose father will send me to the seaside; he generally does every summer. That will be a change anyway!"

"Will your father go with you?" Marigold inquired.

"Good gracious, no!" as though surprised at the idea. "He will take his holiday abroad somewhere, I expect; and I shall be packed off with our housekeeper, Mrs. Jones. She's a silly old woman, but, on the whole, I think I'd rather have her for a companion than father!"

"Are you not very fond of your father, then?"

"No, I'm not," Muriel acknowledged candidly.

"Isn't he good to you?" Marigold questioned.

"Oh, I suppose so. Yes. He gives me plenty of money, and when he comes home he brings me presents; but—well, I often think I should be better pleased if he loved me a little more."

"Oh, but surely he loves you!"

"I don't believe he does: He never wants to have me with him, or cares anything about what I do!" Muriel said, with a sigh that sounded genuinely regretful.

Marigold, whose home, in spite of its poverty, had always been rich in affection, looked at her companion with her dark eyes full of sympathy. Muriel noted the look, and somehow it touched a soft part of her selfish little heart, and she said, speaking hurriedly—

"What made you help me to-day? I wouldn't have done it, if you'd been in my place."

Marigold made no answer. She blushed rosy red and turned her head aside.

"Didn't you feel glad to see me crying?"

"No, indeed I did not!"

"Don't you hate me for having spoken of your mother to the other girls as I did?"

"No, not now. I did at the time, but afterwards I began to feel differently. I—I thought perhaps you did not understand how much I minded to hear mother spoken of like that."

"Oh, but I did understand. I did it on purpose to annoy you," Muriel confessed frankly. "I disliked you, because I saw Miss Smith thought a lot of you. She said to me one day: 'I wish you were as good and attentive as Marigold Holcroft; I never have to tell her the same thing twice!' I was jealous of you from the first."

"Oh, Muriel!" in reproachful tones.

"I was; and you must have seen it. That is why I was so astonished when you offered to help me with that sum. What made you do it?"

"I was sorry to see you crying."

"How odd! I should have been glad if it had been you! I wonder why you don't hate me?"

"I'm afraid I did hate you once; but I found if I went on hating you and feeling wicked I couldn't pray, so I tried to forgive you instead."

"Why couldn't you pray?" in accents of intense astonishment and curiosity.

"Because I couldn't say, 'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us.' That was why."

"You funny girl! I should never have thought about that at all."

"Don't you think about what you pray, then? Don't you feel that you're talking to God, and that He knows all you do, and think, and say?"

"No."

After a moment's silence, during which Marigold turned and looked at her companion to see if she was speaking sincerely, Muriel remarked—

"I suppose you are very religious. Of course, I say my prayers every night and morning, but I go through them as quickly as I can, to get them over."

"But what is the use of praying at all, if you feel like that?"

"I don't suppose it is any use!"

"Oh, Muriel! Did no one ever teach you that God is your Friend?" Then, as Muriel shook her golden head, Marigold continued impulsively, "You said just now you would be better pleased if your father loved you a little more, but you don't seem to care whether God loves you or not. Don't you know He does?"

"I never thought about it."

"Do you never read the Bible?"

"Never, except at school."

"Oh, I wish you would read a few verses from the Bible every day, like I do. I have my father's Bible for my own now, and—"

Marigold paused abruptly, wondering if on the morrow she would have cause to regret that she had not kept her companion more at a distance, instead of having touched upon a subject that was very near her heart. Perhaps Muriel guessed her thoughts, for she said quickly—

"Go on. What were you going to say? I promise I won't repeat it like I did before."

Thus encouraged, Marigold told how she had become possessed of her father's Bible, and what his motto had been. Muriel listened attentively, her face full of interest.

"'Fight the good fight of faith,'" she repeated thoughtfully. "And that is what you are trying to do, Marigold? I don't believe it would be the least good my trying, although I rather like the idea. I'll think it over. Do you know you and Grace Long are very much alike?"

"Oh, do you really think so?" Marigold questioned eagerly, her eyes brightening with pleasure, for she had a very sincere admiration for Grace.

"Yes. Not in appearance, but in the way you think about things. Grace is good-natured, and so are you. She must have a dull time of it always at school; but she seems happy enough. Sometimes I envy her, for I'm never very happy myself," Muriel confessed, a little dejectedly.

Marigold's aunts both looked greatly surprised when the little girl informed them that she had walked home from school with Muriel Wake; but their astonishment was profounder still when, a few days later, she asked permission to invite Muriel to tea on the following Saturday.

"Why, Marigold! That disagreeable child who served you so unkindly!" Miss Holcroft exclaimed.

"Yes, I know, Aunt Mary. I think Muriel is really sorry about that, and these last few days we have become much more friendly. I have not said anything to her about asking her here, so if you would rather not—"

"No, no!" Miss Holcroft interposed. "Have her to tea by all means if you wish it."

"But is it wise to be on friendly terms with a child possessing such a treacherous disposition?" Miss Pamela asked doubtfully.

"I am so sorry for her, Aunt Pamela!"

"How is that? I thought she had everything this world can give to make her happy."

"But she is not happy," Marigold told them positively.

"Then I fear she is an ungrateful, discontented little girl, Marigold!"

"I am afraid I cannot make you understand. No one cares for her, and—oh! I know it is her own fault, but it hurts her all the same!"

"Well, you have our permission to invite her here if you wish it, my dear," Miss Pamela replied; "but I should advise you to be cautious in your dealings with her, and not trust her too much."

So Muriel Wake became acquainted with Marigold's aunts, and as she was on her best behaviour, she made, on the whole, a favourable impression, and obtained their consent to Marigold's paying her a visit on a future occasion.

So commenced a friendship that was a surprise to everybody, including Miss Hardcastle herself who wondered what possible attraction wayward, undependable Muriel Wake could have for such a girl as Marigold, who gave no trouble whatever at school and worked with a hearty good will.

In the playground, one day, Grace Long spoke to Marigold upon the subject.

"So you do not hate Muriel any longer?" she said, smiling.

"No. She has been much nicer to me lately," was the response. "I think she is often disagreeable because she is unhappy."

"That is my opinion also; but it is selfish and unkind of her to try to make others suffer on that account. Poor Muriel! I am very glad to see you and she are better friends. Are you looking forward to the holidays? I am. Miss Hardcastle is going to take me to Ilfracombe for a few weeks. Isn't that something to look forward to?"

"It is indeed!"

"Are you going away?" Grace inquired.

"I expect not. I have heard nothing about it. I should dearly love to go home, but there is no chance of that," with a regretful shake of the head.

"Oh, I am sorry! But, never mind, perhaps you will see your mother sooner than you think."

Marigold tried to smile cheerfully, but it was a vain attempt. She was not looking forward to the end of the term with glad anticipation in any way, for she would miss the companionship of the girls; and she could not help envying the boarders who were going home for the holidays. Not that she was in the least unhappy with her aunts, only hearing so much about going home' brought back the old feeling of homesickness that she was striving to overcome, and had mastered to a great extent, though sometimes the longing for her mother and brothers was too strong to be kept in check. She grew a little languid and heavy-eyed, and her usually bright spirits flagged.

"You have been working too hard, child," Miss Pamela told her; "you will be glad of a rest."

"She wants a whiff of sea air, I think," Miss Holcroft said kindly, "a few weeks on the coast would do her good. Pamela, what do you say, shall we spend August by the seaside?"

"We will think about it," Miss Pamela replied. "There will be plenty of time to consider that matter later on."