Marigold glanced doubtfully at her aunts. It was Miss Pamela who answered the look.
"Do as Muriel says, if you wish," she said, "and if it will add to your enjoyment."
Five minutes later the little girls were playing barefooted at the water's edge, and thoroughly enjoying themselves.
During the days that followed the children saw a great deal of each other, and agreed exceedingly well. Mrs. Jones and Barker soon became acquainted, and grew quite friendly whilst they strolled on the sea-wall, or sat beneath its shade, where they could keep their eyes on their respective charges.
Mrs. Jones was a stout, rather slow-witted, elderly woman, genuinely attached to her little mistress. She was the only one of Mr. Wake's servants who had been in his service for any length of time.
"During the seven years I've lived under his roof he hasn't been home, at most, for more than a fortnight at a time," she confided to Barker, "so it's not to be wondered that Miss Muriel ain't fonder of him. He's almost like a stranger to the poor child."
One morning Miss Holcroft received a letter from an Exeter friend which caused her great consternation, for it contained the news of the death of Molly Jenkins' father.
"Oh dear! oh dear! What a shocking affair!" she cried, in distressed accents to her sister and Marigold. "Oh, what trouble for poor Molly! Her father met with a violent death, was knocked down by a carriage in the street, and died whilst he was being conveyed to the hospital!"
"Molly's worst fear has been realised, then!" Miss Pamela exclaimed. "How long ago did this happen, Mary?"
"Several days, I should imagine, as the unfortunate man was buried yesterday. Oh, poor Molly! How I wish I was in Exeter, so that I might try to comfort her!"