Chapter VII

MARIGOLD'S FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL, AND HER ENCOUNTER WITH MURIEL WAKE

MARIGOLD commenced her school-days with a buoyant heart, and a desire to please Miss Hardcastle and the governesses. The principal was a clever, clear-sighted woman, a splendid manager and disciplinarian, who ruled her school with an iron hand, yet with such tact and skill that she was much liked and respected by parents, teachers, and pupils. She was a small woman, with a quiet manner, and a persuasive voice; but there was a dignity about her that never failed to command obedience, and the threat, "You shall be sent to Miss Hardcastle to be dealt with as she thinks fit,"—was sufficient to subdue the spirit of the most refractory scholar.

Marigold found herself classed with a dozen girls about her own age, under the charge of a governess named Miss Smith. The little girl was relieved to find that she was not behind the others in general knowledge. She read and wrote well, was quick at arithmetic, and had been well grounded in grammar, geography, and English history. The subjects her mother had instructed her in had been taught thoroughly. At the end of the first week Miss Hardcastle wrote a note to the Misses Holcroft, and informed them of this fact; and Marigold noted that both her aunts seemed surprised, though at the same time gratified that her education had not been so neglected as they had anticipated. Marigold soon began to find out what hard work really meant. She commenced to learn French, music, and drawing, so that most of her time out of school hours was occupied in preparing her lessons for the following day, or in practising scales and exercises on the piano. She soon settled into the ways of the school, and became a favourite with the teachers, for she was always attentive and willing, always wishful to do her best. With the girls Marigold was not popular, at first. They considered she tried to curry favour with the governesses, which was certainly not the case, and consequently they met her friendly advances with cold looks, till one whispered to the others that she was a niece of the rich Misses Holcroft, and therefore it might be better to be on good terms with her.

One morning as Marigold was going home from school she was joined by Muriel Wake, one of the girls in the same class as herself.

"We may as well walk together," Muriel remarked pleasantly. "You live in Powderham Crescent, don't you? I pass near by."

Muriel was a pretty little girl, with blue eyes, fair hair, and rosy cheeks. Marigold looked at her admiringly.

"I expect you find it dull living with your old aunts, don't you?" Muriel questioned.

Marigold acknowledged that she did, and explained that she had a mother and two brothers in London, whom she missed a great deal.

"But my aunts are very kind," she added, fearful lest she should seem ungrateful.

"Are you going to live with them always?" Muriel inquired.

"I don't know. I came to live with them because they promised to educate me. Mother wants me to learn to earn my own living, and that's why I wish so much to get on at school, and learn all I can, so that I may be able to help her by and by."

And Marigold, led on by her new acquaintance's questions, told her all about her London home, and how hard her mother worked.

"Do you mean to say she works for a shop?" Muriel asked, her blue eyes round with astonishment.

"Yes," was the reply. "I wish you could see some of her beautiful designs."

"And she keeps no servant, but does the housework herself! And you have been accustomed to black your own boots! Oh! I never heard of such a thing before!"

"But she cannot afford to keep a servant," Marigold said hastily, half regretful that she had spoken so openly.

"What was your father?" was the next question.

"He was in the army."

It struck Marigold that Muriel's manner was far less genial than it had been when she first joined her, but she could not think what was the reason of the change. She was not left long in ignorance, however, for when the girls were dispersing after school in the afternoon, one of them came up to her and asked if it was true what Muriel Wake was telling everyone, that Marigold's mother had been a servant before her marriage.

For a moment Marigold was so astonished that she stared at her questioner in silence. Then a great wave of anger swept over her, and her eyes flashed ominously.

"If Muriel Wake said that, she told a wicked story!" she cried passionately.

"She did say so," the other girl replied, "but I did not think it was true."

"It is utterly false!"

The conversation was taking place in the corner of a class-room whilst the girls were putting away their books. Some of the scholars had already left, and the governess had gone into the next room. Marigold flew to the side of Muriel Wake and caught her by the arm.

"What do you mean by telling such a falsehood about my mother?" Marigold demanded, almost choking with passion.

Muriel looked at the white face of the angry child with a disagreeable light in her blue eyes, whilst she smiled scornfully.

"Take care what you say!" she cried. "I have told nothing but the truth."

"You said—" Marigold commenced furiously, when the other interrupted her.

"I said that your mother worked for her living by doing needlework for a shop. I also said that she scrubbed, cleaned, and cooked, and that I should not be surprised if she had not been a servant before your father married her, for it is well-known that your aunts won't have anything to do with her!"

There was a moment's dead silence. The other girls in the class-room had drawn around Muriel and Marigold, to listen to the dispute, and were looking on, some with keen delight in the situation, others with amusement, and a few with evident disapproval. By this time Marigold was so enraged that she scarcely knew what she was doing. She stared with wild eyes at the girl who only this morning had approached her with overtures of friendship, marvelling at her treachery. How she hated her! Oh, how bitterly she hated her! In her ungovernable passion Marigold lifted her hand and would have struck the fair, pretty face that smiled at her mockingly, had not somebody caught her by the wrist and prevented her doing so. Turning around sharply, she saw one of the elder girls had appeared upon the scene, and now stood looking around inquiringly. Marigold knew who the new-comer was—Grace Long, the most popular girl in the school, a general favourite with teachers and pupils alike.

"What is the meaning of this?" Grace asked, in her clear, pleasant tones. "What are you sneering about, Muriel Wake? That expression does not suit your style of beauty, let me tell you!"

There was a laugh at this, whilst Muriel flushed angrily, and tossed her head.

Grace still held Marigold's wrist in her firm clasp. She laid her other hand on the child's shoulder, and surveyed her angry face with cool, kindly eyes.

"What are you in such a fierce passion about?" she inquired.

Marigold struggled for composure in vain. Her heart was beating wildly, and her trembling lips refused to answer a word. Grace saw she was unable to speak, and appealed to her companions. "Will one of you explain? What has gone wrong? Why have these two quarrelled?"

"It is entirely Muriel's fault," began one of the girls who had looked disapproval, but had not interfered hitherto; and she proceeded to repeat all that had been said on either side. Grace listened in silence, whilst Muriel still smiled scornfully. By this time Marigold was beginning to cool down sufficiently to realise what was going on, and was trying hard to keep from crying. She was conscious that Grace was speaking.

"It seems to me a great fuss has been made about a little matter," she was saying. "I cannot speak of how one feels about a mother from experience, because mine died when I was born—" Marigold looked up quickly at the speaker with sympathy in her eyes—"but it seems to me that if one's mother had been a servant, one would love her as much as if she had been the highest lady in the land. There is no disgrace in being a servant."

"But it is not true! Mother was not a servant!" Marigold broke in.

"No, I do not suppose she was; but if she had been you need not have felt shame on that account. I think you have excited yourself without sufficient cause. As for you, Muriel Wake, you know well enough your motives for putting a false construction on what you have been told. I do not think Miss Hardcastle would be very pleased, were she to hear of your behaviour."

Muriel evidently did not think so either, for she hastily packed away her books in her desk, and left the class-room. Grace drew Marigold down on a form by her side, and pointed out to her gently and considerately how foolish and wrong she had been to lose her temper. Marigold listened attentively to all the elder girl said.

"I was silly to tell Muriel about mother," Marigold acknowledged; "but she seemed so nice and friendly, I never guessed she would repeat everything to the other girls—not that I should have minded, if she had only told the truth!"

"Of course not! Another time I would find out more about a person before becoming confidential, if I were you. Muriel is a mischief-maker, but you could not know that."

"I liked her so much, and now I feel I shall hate her as long as I live!"

"Hush! You must not speak like that. Muriel has not treated you well, but it is not right to bear malice in your heart."

Marigold knew it was not, so she remained silent. Grace continued kindly—

"I would not make a trouble of this little affair if I were you; and if anything of a like nature occurs again, don't lose your temper. You will not be respected by the other girls if you do, and besides it is very wrong."

"I know it is! Oh dear, what would mother have thought if she had seen me just now! I am so glad you came up in time to stop me from striking Muriel. Oh, I never knew before I had such a dreadful temper!"

"'He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty: and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city,'" quoted Grace softly.

Marigold went home in a very unhappy frame of mind. Her aunts noticed something had gone wrong, but refrained from asking any questions. The little girl prepared her lessons for the next day in a halfhearted sort of way, and went upstairs to her bedroom early, excusing herself on the plea of being tired. Ringing in her ears all the evening had been the words Grace Long had repeated from the sayings of the wise king: "He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty: and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."

Marigold flung herself down by the side of her bed, and wept bitterly as she went over in thought the events of the day. Never in her life before had she given away to such a passion of anger. How weak she had been! how easily put out! And yet, when she recalled Muriel's treatment of her, her heart was hot with indignation again. First of all gaining her confidence, and then betraying it without a scruple! Was not such conduct enough to irritate anyone? Muriel was a hateful girl!

"Fight the good fight of faith!"

Marigold started guiltily as her father's motto flashed through her mind. Fight the good fight of faith for the sake of Him who, when He was oppressed and afflicted, opened not His mouth, save to pray for forgiveness for those who had wronged Him. A sense of shame and humiliation crept over the child as she wept. How she had meant to humbly follow in the steps of the Saviour, and how grievously she had erred this day! She had fallen back from the fight; the enemy had beaten her! Oh, if she could only tell her mother, but no, that was impossible; she could not write of the cause of her wrath, the very thought of it made her angry even now, when she was beginning to realise how wrong her passion had been. She did not think she could ever forgive Muriel Wake!

"Child, what is amiss?"

It was her Aunt Mary's voice, and her Aunt Mary's arms that lifted her from the ground.

"What is troubling you, my dear?" Miss Holcroft asked tenderly, as Marigold flung herself crying bitterly upon her breast.

Then the whole story came out. The old lady listened with troubled eyes, and a little glow of indignation rose to her face as Marigold said—"Muriel told the girls that the reason why you and Aunt Pamela would have nothing to do with mother was because she had been a servant!"

Marigold did not spare herself. She confessed she would have struck Muriel but for the timely intervention of the elder girl.

"I know it was very wicked," she sobbed, "and mother would be so grieved to know how I lost my temper; but indeed, Aunt Mary, I am sorry!"

"You certainly had cause for indignation," Miss Holcroft allowed, "but temper always does harm. There is such a thing as just wrath, but that was not your feeling, I conclude, Marigold, for from what you have told me I imagine you lost entire control of yourself, and did not know what you were doing. If you had reflected for a moment, I feel sure you would not have thought of striking that girl, badly as she had treated you."

"No, indeed, Aunt Mary!"

"You see to what lengths an unbridled temper will lead one. I had no idea you were so passionate."

"I had no idea of it, myself," Marigold said dolefully.

"But perhaps you were never so greatly aggravated before, my dear!"

"No, I don't think I ever was. It—it was on mother's account, really."

"Try to forget the remarks of that unkind little girl; and ask God to help you to curb your angry temper. He will, you may be sure. And now, dear child, go to rest, and do not allow your mind to dwell upon the events of the day; and when you go to school to-morrow do not resent what has occurred. It was good of that big girl to interest herself on your behalf. What did you say her name was?"

"Grace Long. She is a boarder, but I do not know much about her, because she does not work in our class-room. She was very kind to me to-day. I think she must be a nice girl, because everyone seems to like her."

"Well, good-night, Marigold. Sleep well, and forget your troubles in pleasant dreams."

"Good-night, dear Aunt Mary," Marigold replied, as she flung her arms around the old lady's neck, and gave her a loving kiss. "You are one of the best people in the world!"

Miss Holcroft laughed, and shook her head. As she went downstairs to join her sister in the drawing-room her gentle face settled into graver lines, and she sighed regretfully as she thought of Marigold's mother.