Chapter XII: Marigold's Visit at Rocombe Farm

SATURDAY morning was a busy time at Rocombe Farm, and Marigold was awakened early by pleasant sounds of life and bustle about the place. Jumping quickly out of bed, she ran to the window and peeped out from behind the blind upon the green lawn and the meadows beyond, fresh and glistening with dew.

Half an hour later she found her way downstairs and out into the yard, where the cows were being milked by a couple of the farm hands.

"Would you like a drink of milk, missy?" inquired one of the men.

Marigold thanked him, and said she would. She returned to the kitchen to fetch a cup, and enjoyed a good draught of the sweet, frothy beverage. Presently Mrs. Adams came down, and welcomed her young guest with a bright smile and an affectionate kiss.

What a happy day that was! Mother and son were eager that Marigold should enjoy herself and make the best of her short visit, which both declared must be repeated often.

She saw the butter made, fed the poultry, and investigated all the outbuildings, even to the pig-styes, in one of which she discovered a sow with eleven young ones; the sweetest, prettiest little creatures she had ever seen, only a few days old, black, and slippery as eels, as she found when she tried to catch one.

"I did not hurt him, indeed I did not!" she exclaimed, as having succeeded in grasping piggy in her two hands, the little animal uttered such piercing shrieks that she let him drop in alarm.

"No, no, of course not!" Farmer Jo, who was standing by looking on in some amusement, answered reassuringly.

"I never heard such a dreadful noise in my life," she continued. "Do little pigs always cry like that, Mr. Adams?"

"Always, if you touch them."

"They are very pretty; I thought pigs were ugly, dirty things!"

"That is quite a mistaken idea."

Marigold accompanied her host around his farm. He gave her a great deal of information about matters of which she had known nothing before; and she feared he must consider her extremely ignorant, especially when she mistook barley for wheat, and had to confess that she did not know the difference between a rook and a blackbird!

In the afternoon Dumpling was brought around to the front gate in the little basket carriage, and Mrs. Adams took Marigold for a most delightful drive through narrow shady lanes rich in ferns, where foxgloves grew tall, and meadow-sweet scented the air with its fragrance.

Dumpling was very fat, and his mistress allowed him to take his time; so the little girl could look about at leisure, and feast her eyes on the beautiful scenery visible from every gateway—wooded valleys, pleasant meadows, through which flowed a rippling stream, and far away in the distance the massive tore of the Dartmoor hills faintly visible through a soft blue haze.

"When Dartmoor looks near, we say it is going to rain," Mrs. Adams explained; "but if the distance appears great, as it does to-day, we know the weather will continue fine."

"How interesting everything is in the country!" Marigold said thoughtfully. "Oh, how I wish mother and the boys could have half the pleasures I get!"

"Perhaps their turn will come some day," was the cheery response. "One can never tell what the future holds in store for us. Your aunts seem very good, kind women, and anxious to make you happy."

"Yes; and indeed I am happy," the little girl declared earnestly.

"Then you can say, like the Psalmist: 'The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places.' Is it not so?"

"Yes."

After a moment's hesitation, Marigold explained to her new friend all about her mother and brothers, and her London home. Mrs. Adams listened with great interest, her bright dark eyes full of kindly sympathy.

"I see the thought troubles you that life is so much easier and pleasanter for you than for your mother and brothers," she said gravely; "but I would not let that worry me if I were you. It seems to me that your duty lies with your aunts at Exeter, for the present, at any rate. Has it ever occurred to you that they may want you more than your mother does?"

"No, never!"

"I think it is very possible they do. You tell me they make a happy home for you; you should enjoy it with a thankful heart, as a blessing God has given you, and not wonder why He has selected you instead of others to receive so many benefits. It is His will it should be so. When God bestows the good things of this world upon anyone, depend upon it He means them to be made the most of and appreciated. Do not worry about your mother, child; she has her Heavenly Father for a Guide, and He will mark out the fitting path for her, as He does for all who trust in Him. It seems to me that to be troubled because your dear ones are denied the pleasures you enjoy is almost to mistrust God."

"But it is so hard that I should be going away for a holiday by the seaside, when I know they want a change far more than I do!" Marigold cried, her voice full of a wistful sadness. "Poor mother has not been out of London for years, and the boys have so often talked of what they would do if they were in the country. Oh, Mrs. Adams, don't you think it is hard?"

"It appears so to you and me, my dear; but depend upon it God knows best. As you grow older you will learn, I hope, to trust Him more and more. It is difficult sometimes, when He takes from us what we love, whether it be riches, or home, or those dear to us, and bids us seek fresh interests in life. But we must be satisfied to let Him choose our path, remembering that He has promised to be with us always. As to that path—"

"Smooth let it be, or rough,
It will be still the best;
Winding or straight it leads
Right onward to Thy rest."

"Why, that is a verse from my mother's favourite hymn!" cried Marigold, a bright smile illuminating her countenance.

"It is a favourite one of mine too," the old lady told her, with an answering smile.

Presently Marigold mentioned Barker's mother. After a minute's reflection, Mrs. Adams remembered her quite well, although so many years had passed since they had last met. Marigold explained where Mrs. Barker lived, and all she knew about her, whilst Mrs. Adams made a mental note of the address, meaning to go and visit her old servant on some future occasion.

By and by Mrs. Adams asked the little girl if she would like to learn to drive, and receiving an answer in the affirmative, proceeded to show her how to handle the reins. Marigold was delighted, although at first she felt decidedly nervous; but Dumpling was a steady, well-behaved pony, and all went well.

On their way home they drew up outside the village shop, which was also the post-office, and Mrs. Adams went in to make some purchases, leaving Marigold outside. It was the funniest shop she had ever seen, Marigold decided, as she looked at the medley of goods displayed in the window—groceries and stationery, sweets and buns, clothes-pegs and brushes, all huddled together. She was smiling amusedly when Mrs. Adams reappeared and took her seat again.

"Were you laughing at our little shop?" the old lady questioned.

"Yes," Marigold acknowledged; "they seem to sell all sorts of things there."

"So they do. They keep a little of everything. You see, we are three miles from Exeter, and I do not know how we should get on without our shop. Have you enjoyed the drive?"

"Oh, so much, thank you! It has been a beautiful afternoon!"

They found Farmer Jo on the look-out for their return. He smiled when he saw Marigold with the reins in her hand, and told her on Monday when he took her home, she should drive Colonel in the dogcart.

The little girl's visit was slipping away all too quickly, she thought. On Sunday morning she accompanied Mrs. Adams and her son to church, and sat between them in a large square pew. It was only when they stood up that she could see the rest of the congregation, for the seats were of the high-backed, old-fashioned kind, with doors.

The worshippers were mostly of the labouring classes, and the choir was composed of women as well as men. It was a simple service, and the clergyman—an old man who had held the living for nearly half a century, and who knew the histories of all his parishioners—preached a plain sermon, such as the most uneducated person could understand, taking for his text the first part of the fifty-first verse of the second chapter of St. Luke's Gospel—

"'And He went down with them, and came to Nazareth, and was subject
unto them.'"

He proceeded to explain how Jesus fulfilled His duty to His earthly parents, submitting to their rule and doing their bidding. It was a sermon on duty,—the duty we owe to each other, and, above all, the duty of every living soul to God. Marigold listened intently, and was quite sorry when the clergyman had finished, for he had a simple, direct way of speaking, and possessed a pleasant voice that had a ring of sincerity in its mellow tones.

Outside in the churchyard, when the service was over, Mrs. Adams and Farmer Jo exchanged greetings with their friends and neighbours, as is the fashion in country parishes, and Marigold was introduced to so many strangers that she was rosy with blushes on account of the attention she was drawing upon herself, and the questions she had to answer.

How did she like the service? Did she admire the church? Had she lived in Exeter long? Was she going to stay some time at Rocombe Farm? To these and many other queries she gave polite replies, but she was not sorry when Mrs. Adams and her son said good-bye to their acquaintances and moved away.

Before leaving the churchyard, however, they turned down a side path, and there, in a sheltered corner shaded by a laburnum tree, were five green mounds, which Mrs. Adams pointed out as the graves of her husband and children. The spot was surrounded by iron rails, and a monument in Devonshire marble bearing the names of those who slept below, and the date of their deaths, told to passers-by the tragic story.

Marigold made no remark, for a lump was in her throat and tears in her eyes, but she gave Mrs. Adams' hand a sympathetic squeeze that told more than words could say. The old lady smiled, and leaning on her son's arm, and with the child at her other side, walked back to Rocombe Farm.

In the afternoon Marigold went for a long walk with Farmer Jo, and in the evening they all went to church again. So the happy Sabbath passed away, bringing the little girl's visit nearly to an end.

She was up betimes in the morning, and after an early breakfast took a lingering farewell of her kind hostess. She felt as though she had known her all her life.

"You must come and see us again, my dear child," Mrs. Adams said.

"Oh, I will indeed, if my aunts will allow me! Thank you so much for your kindness, dear Mrs. Adams!"

Then Farmer Jo lifted Marigold into the high dogcart, and putting the reins into her hands, swung himself up by her side. Colonel started off at a swinging trot, and they had soon left Rocombe Farm far behind, and were nearing the Ever Faithful City.

"What are you thinking about, eh?" Farmer Jo inquired, after a lengthy silence on Marigold's part.

"I was thinking of the day I first saw you, when we travelled down from London together," she answered. "Do you know, I was rather frightened of you, at first?"

"Now I wonder why?"

"Because you were so big, and when I saw you peeping at me from behind your newspaper, I thought you would fancy me silly to cry, and I had an idea you might laugh at me!"

"I was never farther from laughing in my life," he declared. "I never could bear to see anyone in trouble—but that's all past. You've made a lot of friends in Exeter by this time, I don't doubt."

"Oh yes, a great many!"

"What about that sour-faced individual who met you at the station?" he asked, smiling at the remembrance of Barker's astonishment at sight of him. "Do you reckon her among your friends?"

"Barker? Yea, indeed! She's a very nice woman when you get to know her. Oh!" with regret in her tones, "we are very nearly at home now, are we not?"

"Yes, very nearly."

Five minutes later the dogcart drew up in front of the Misses Holcroft's house in Powderham Crescent. Marigold hoped her aunts would be looking out, so that they might see she had driven, nor was she disappointed, for at the first glance she caught sight of their faces. Mr. Adams declined to come in; and, after he had lifted Marigold down, and handed her portmanteau to the servant who had been sent out to fetch it, he took his departure, whilst Marigold stood on the doorstep waving her hand till he was out of sight. Then she went indoors to answer her aunts' eager questions, and to give them a full and lengthy account of her visit.

The two days she had spent at Rocombe Farm had done her a world of good mentally as well as physically, and it touched her deeply to see how pleased her aunts were at her return. If she had been away two months, instead of only two days, they could not have been more glad to welcome her home.