Little Maid Marigold
9781465680570
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
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.
