Marigold's decision

by Agnes Giberne

"It isn't what I want to do," she said; "it is what I know I ought to do. And I think you ought to help me—not hinder. You haven't half such a quick temper as I have; and so it isn't so hard for you as for me. You ought to do all you can to help me to conquer, instead of—"

Narcissus was on the verge of tears. "I don't want to do wrong," she said. "Only if you knew how mother worries and worries. At least, I suppose you do know now, but you haven't had it so long. I don't feel inclined to fly out, but I do long to get away from her. If it wasn't for that, I shouldn't like leaving home at all."

"Only it must be even worse for her than for us—always to feel so cross," said Marigold. She came close to her sister, speaking more softly. "Narcissus, I've been praying lately, and making up my mind to try to have things happier—and then all at once I seemed to see what I ought to do. And you mustn't hinder. You must help me."

"You're a great deal better than I am," murmured Narcissus, in subdued accents. "Yes, of course I'll try—and I—I'll pray too. I will really, Marigold!"

James Todd strolled comfortably home in the darkness, not in the least troubled by the fact that his old mother would be worried by his long absence. He had not told her when he would return, or where he was going; and anxiety on her part seemed to him unreasonable. Todd liked to be perfectly free, and to have his own way on all occasions. It did not occur to him that the old parents, who, though by no means too well off, had given him a loving welcome, and had taken him in without a word of reproach or blame, possessed a claim to their way also.

In fact, he was not thinking about them at all, but about Marigold. She was a very nice girl, nice-looking, nice-mannered, nice in every way. He had known Marigold from childhood, and had always found her attractive; but she was very much more charming now than he had expected her to become. He liked particularly her resolute silence about Mrs. Plunkett's manner of faultfinding. A girl who was so cautious in blaming a stepmother would be also cautious in blaming a husband.

This idea developed slowly; for Todd's mental movements were not quicker than his bodily movements. It did develop, however, as he lounged homeward, turning Marigold admiringly over in his mind.

She might be just the very girl who would suit him for a wife! Why not? He had not seen her for two years, and those two years had made a woman of her. True, she was young still, barely eighteen, but her air was womanly.

What the two years had made of him—whether or no he was a man who would suit Marigold for a husband—how far he was in a position to support a wife at all—these were questions which did not enter into Todd's calculations. In fact, he was not in such a position. He had failed to make his way in England, and had been sent out to Africa with just enough money to start him. He had failed to get on as an emigrant, and had reached England in a penniless condition. The kind old parents, who had taken him in, were by no means able to undertake the support of a big useless son without a wife, much less of such a son with a wife. James meant, as he said, to do something; but he had no definite plans, no particular idea of what that something might be. It was as likely as not that he would try half-a-dozen things, and would fail in each as he had done in the past.

He knew all this, and it made not one iota of difference. James never troubled himself, and he never had troubled himself, to look forward. If he had a shilling in his pocket, and no prospect of any more to come, he would spend that shilling unhesitatingly on the first thing that he desired, without a qualm. He had flung up work in England because the fancy took him, and had emigrated by his friends' advice because he liked the notion. He had come home again, with equal light-heartedness, because he found that life in Africa could be no more a success than life in England without the trouble of steady toil.