Chapter IV: Marigold's First Days in Her Aunts' Home

MARIGOLD awoke early on the first morning after her arrival at her new home. The bright April sun was shining into her bedroom window from a cloudless blue sky. It was indeed a perfect morning. The little girl jumped out of bed, and drawing up the blind to its fullest height, threw open the window, and stood for a minute or two inhaling the delicate scent of primroses and hyacinths from the garden below. Then she proceeded quickly to dress, wondering what time it was, for she had no watch, and she was fearful lest she should be late for the eight o'clock breakfast. When she was fully dressed she knelt down and said her prayers, asking God's blessing on her new life, and afterwards sat by the open window to read her daily portion from her father's Bible. Downstairs she could hear movements in the house, and presently there was a step outside her bedroom door, followed by a knock on the door itself.

"Come in," said Marigold.

The door opened, and Miss Pamela entered. She looked surprised at the sight of her niece already fully dressed. Marigold put down her Bible on the writing-table, and advancing to her aunt held up her face for a kiss.

"You are up in good time," Miss Pamela remarked, as she lightly touched Marigold's cheek with her lips. "Are you usually such an early riser?"

"Yes, Aunt Pamela, I always got up when mother did at home, to dust the sitting-room whilst she cooked the breakfast. But I could not guess the time this morning, and I was afraid of being late."

"I understand. It is now only half-past seven. I came to see if you were awake, and instead I find you up and reading."

Miss Pamela glanced at the Bible on the writing-table, recollection in her look. She took it up after a moment's hesitation, and opening it turned to the flyleaf. After a short silence she said—

"So you have your father's Bible, child?"

"Yes," Marigold answered; "mother gave it to me only the night before last. She said she thought father would wish me to have it."

Miss Pamela stood looking at the Bible thoughtfully. Marigold could not guess that she was recalling the day when she and her sister had given it to their nephew, who had been then a schoolboy, and how Miss Holcroft had begged him to read it.

"I will, Aunt Mary, if only to please you!" he had answered gaily. Later, Miss Pamela knew he had read it to please himself.

She laid the Bible down without further comment upon it, and glanced around the room. "Barker unpacked your box, I suppose? I hope you are a tidy little girl, and keep your things in good order?" she questioned.

"I am afraid I'm not very tidy, Aunt Pamela!" Marigold responded truthfully, blushing at having to make the confession.

"That is a pity. An untidy woman is most objectionable! 'A place for everything and everything in its place,' is an excellent rule. Now, if you are ready, we will go downstairs, and you may assist me to arrange some fresh flowers for the breakfast table."

Marigold followed her aunt with alacrity. At the back of the house was a long garden between high walls, the centre of which was given up to the growth of vegetables, whilst the narrow beds at the sides were devoted to the cultivation of flowers. Marigold uttered a cry of mingled surprise and pleasure when she caught sight of primroses and violets, clumps of golden daffodils and narcissi, forget-me-nots, and virginia stocks and wallflowers bursting into fragrant blossom.

"Oh, Aunt Pamela, what a pretty garden! What lovely flowers!"

Miss Pamela's face showed evident signs of gratification at Marigold's exclamations of admiration. "You like flowers?" she asked, looking with interest at the child's glowing countenance.

"Oh, I love them!"

"Well, then, go and gather a bunch with some lady's grass and southernwood, and afterwards come into the breakfast-room."

Marigold willingly did as she had been told. Miss Pamela arranged the flowers in delicate glass vases for the table, whilst her little niece looked on admiringly, thinking how nice it was to have a beautiful garden, and what a pleasant apartment the breakfast-room was, with its view from the window of apple-trees bursting into bloom, rows of peas and beans appearing above the brown earth, and a profusion of spring flowers.

When Miss Holcroft came down a little later she was pleased to see Marigold looking bright and cheerful, and told her she knew she would be like sunshine in the house. Marigold laughed, and gave the old lady a hearty kiss.

On the whole, Marigold's first day in her new home passed happily enough. In the morning Miss Holcroft took her out shopping; and in the afternoon she went with Miss Pamela to the service at the cathedral.

Like most children brought up in a London suburb, Marigold had seen none of the great buildings, such as St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey, that are the pride and glory of our metropolis, and, therefore, when she saw the Exeter Cathedral for the first time, she was much impressed by its age and grandeur. A feeling of awe crept into her heart, and she looked around her with wondering eyes.

She followed her aunt into the sacred building with hushed, reverent footsteps, and entered with pleasure into the service. How grand it all was! The sunshine glinting through the richly coloured windows, the finely trained voices of the choir led in the treble parts by one clear boy's voice sweeter and higher than the rest.

The anthem that afternoon was taken from the twenty-fourth Psalm—

"'Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting
doors; and the King of glory shall come in.'"

"'Who is this King of glory? The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord
mighty in battle.'"

Marigold's heart swelled with an exultant feeling as she listened entranced.

Then came the question again—

"'Who is this King of glory?'"—and the triumphant reply—"'The Lord
of hosts, He is the King of glory.'"

A sob burst from Marigold's lips, and tears rushed to her eyes, her pleasure approached so near to pain.

When the service was over she followed her aunt into the sunshine again, and Miss Pamela glanced with a little surprise at her flushed cheeks and shining eyes as she inquired—

"Did you like it, Marigold?"

"Oh, it was lovely, Aunt Pamela! I never heard such singing before!"

"Very likely not. Your father loved the service at the cathedral too. At one time we thought he might choose to be a clergyman, but his father and grandfather were soldiers, and it seemed only natural he should follow in their footsteps. A good soldier is often a good Christian, I have noticed."

Marigold thought of her father's motto, and agreed.

The little girl soon fell into the ways of her new home. At first she felt unsettled and unhappy, missed her mother and the boys more than she ever owned, and stood in fear of Miss Pamela. But after a time she grew less homesick, and discovered that though Miss Pamela was cold and undemonstrative in her manner, yet she was not unkind, and desired to make her niece really happy.

Miss Holcroft Marigold had loved from the first. Everyone liked the gentle, good-hearted old lady whose quiet, uneventful life had been spent in trying to make others better and happier. Many were the tales of sin and grief that were poured into her ears from time to time, many were the sorrows she alleviated, and the tears she dried. Often she was imposed upon; often, it is to be feared, she wasted her sympathy upon unworthy objects; but the thought that she had perhaps refrained from giving assistance where it was needed would have haunted her, and she was consequently often reproved by Miss Pamela for being too easily led.

By her elder aunt Marigold's coming had been hailed with delight and keenest pleasure. She had longed to know her late nephew's widow and children, though she had but rarely dared to hint as much to her sister, and in welcoming Marigold she had been so genuinely pleased and glad to see her, that the child had recognised her feelings with a grateful heart.

Marigold soon began to understand that it was wiser not to speak much of her mother in the presence of her two aunts, for if she did so Miss Holcroft always looked anxious and uneasy, whilst Miss Pamela's face would grow sterner and colder than before, and she would pointedly turn the conversation. So the little girl dropped the habit of saying, "Mother says," as she had been accustomed to do, and if she ever mentioned the dearly loved name it was with a new, strange timidity. How she looked forward to her mother's letters! How she read them again and again, shedding tears over them one minute, and smiling the next! Mrs. Holcroft wrote charming letters, full of all the trifling details of home life that she knew would interest her little daughter, about the boys, her own work, and the people of their acquaintance. On one occasion Miss Holcroft came upon her when she was reading one of these letters, and some kindly impulse made the old lady lay her hand upon the child's shoulder with a caressing touch and inquire—

"Are your mother and brothers well, my dear? Have you good news from home?"

"Oh yes, thank you," the little girl replied, lifting a pair of shining, happy eyes to her aunt's face. Then she added hesitatingly, "Mother has written such a nice letter. I wonder if you would like to see it? Oh yes, I really mean it!"

Miss Holcroft took the proffered letter, and putting on her spectacles perused it slowly from beginning to end. When she returned it to Marigold she simply remarked—

"I hope your mother would not mind my seeing it. It has interested me very much."

She did not explain that it had interested her in the writer; but, after that day, Marigold understood that her Aunt Mary bore no ill-will to her mother, whatever Aunt Pamela might feel.

Easter fell about the middle of April that year. It had been decided that at the commencement of the summer term, in the first week of May, Marigold was to attend a day-school not far distant from Powderham Crescent.

"I hope you will be a good girl, and work hard to get on," Miss Pamela told her. "We wish you to have a good education to fit you for your position in life."

"I will try my hardest to learn all I can," Marigold responded earnestly.

"You will doubtless make friends at school," Miss Pamela continued, "and I hope you will have the good sense to choose them for more lasting qualities than those that usually attract youthful minds. You are unaccustomed to the companionship of other girls, and I warn you not to form rash opinions about your schoolfellows, but to select your friends with caution."

"I will remember what you say, Aunt Pamela," the little girl said, feeling somewhat puzzled. "Is it a large school where I am going?"

"There are between thirty and forty pupils, I believe. The principal, Miss Hardcastle, is a remarkably clever woman, and she is assisted by a staff of well-trained governesses, with visiting masters for music, and the higher branches of mathematics. Girls are expected to study subjects nowadays which were considered unnecessary when I was young; so you will have to work hard, if you mean to become a clever woman!"

To become a clever woman so that she should be able to earn her own living and assist her mother, was Marigold's one ambition, and she made up her mind to exert herself as much as possible, and do her very best.

Marigold had already been to the afternoon service at the cathedral with one or the other of her aunts on several occasions, but she had never once caught sight of Farmer Jo, although she had always looked about, in hopes of seeing him.

At last, one Friday afternoon as she was leaving the cathedral with Miss Holcroft, she saw a large tweed-clad figure in front, in company with a little old lady clad in an old-fashioned brown silk gown. Acting on the impulse of the moment, and much to her aunt's surprise, she darted on ahead and caught up to them.

"How do you do, Mr. Adams?" she cried, in glad tones. "Oh, how glad I am I happened to see you!"

"What!" exclaimed Farmer Jo, in his loud, hearty voice. "It's never the little maid I travelled down from London with! Why, it is! Now, this is a pleasure!"

He took her hand and shook it heartily, then introduced his mother, who was the very opposite to her son in every way, being small and thin, with merry brown eyes like a bird's.

"I suppose you have been to the cathedral too," the old lady said, smiling. "My son and I generally attend the afternoon service on Fridays. We think it a rare treat, don't we, Jo?"

"That we do, mother!"

"It's so quiet and peaceful there, it makes one think of heaven," she continued.

"So it does, so it does," her son agreed.

"I am always grateful to those who gave us our cathedral. How they must have loved God, to have built such a place to His glory! I always feel that when I look at the carving, and—"

She paused, suddenly conscious of the approach of Miss Holcroft. A shyness seemed to come over mother and son, the former made a low, old-fashioned courtesy, the latter took off his hat, and they passed on arm-in-arm.

"Marigold!" said Miss Holcroft, in a horrified tone of voice, "who are those odd-looking people?"

The little girl explained. She was a trifle uneasy, perhaps she had not behaved rightly; perhaps Aunt Mary would be angry at being left in such an unceremonious fashion, and would tell Aunt Pamela, who had looked so scornful on the night of her arrival when she had spoken of Farmer Jo. But Miss Holcroft was not angry, though she had been a little shocked to see Marigold running after two complete strangers, as she had imagined.

"You should have waited and explained the matter to me, Marigold," she said; "had you done so, I could have spoken to them myself, and thanked the gentleman for his kindness to you in the train."

"Oh, Aunt Mary, I see now that is what I ought to have done! I acted without thinking! I am so sorry!"

"Never mind, my dear. Perhaps we may see them again some day, and then you can introduce me to them properly. Mother and son, you say? Dear me! He is so big, and she is such a tiny woman!"

Marigold dreaded what Miss Pamela would say when her sister told her of the encounter with Farmer Jo and his mother, but apparently the incident had not made so great an impression on Miss Holcroft's mind as on Marigold's, for the former did not revert to it again for some days to come. Meanwhile, the time was drawing near when Marigold was to make another important step in life, and go to school. Her mother wrote warning her of fresh trials and temptations that would cross her path, and begging her to remember her father's motto always. Marigold did remember it, but perhaps it was not unnatural that she did not realise how hard it might be for her to fight the good fight of Faith that hitherto had not been fraught with many difficulties, with her mother's cheering presence and her mother's loving care as bulwarks of strength, always at hand.