Little maid Marigold

Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
CHAP.
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.