Meanwhile, Marigold was growing rapidly well. She was now able to interview visitors, and Muriel Wake came to see her every day.
Muriel was a much pleasanter companion than she used to be, for she was a better and happier little girl, on friendly terms with her schoolfellows, and beloved in her own home. December was mild that year; and Marigold, carefully wrapped up, was soon able to walk out with her aunts.
One day, Farmer Jo drove up to the Misses Holcroft's house in Powderham Crescent, and declared he must not go home unless Marigold was allowed to accompany him, for his mother had set her heart on having Marigold for a visitor for a few days. To the little girl's extreme delight she was permitted to go, and spent a very pleasant week at Rocombe Farm.
It wanted but a few days to Christmas when Farmer Jo drove Marigold back to Exeter. On this occasion he did not offer to let her drive, at which she rather wondered. She was looking cheerful and happy, whilst her companion was unusually silent, though he appeared in good spirits.
"So you are going to desert the old aunts!" he remarked presently.
"Yes," she replied, with a slight sigh. "How I shall miss them!"
"Perhaps they will invite you to visit them sometimes," he suggested.
"Perhaps so," she agreed.
Farmer Jo laughed, whilst Marigold looked at him in surprise, for she did not think she had said anything to cause amusement.
"We are not taking the right road, are we?" she asked presently.