"Very likely not. Your father loved the service at the cathedral too. At one time we thought he might choose to be a clergyman, but his father and grandfather were soldiers, and it seemed only natural he should follow in their footsteps. A good soldier is often a good Christian, I have noticed."
Marigold thought of her father's motto, and agreed.
The little girl soon fell into the ways of her new home. At first she felt unsettled and unhappy, missed her mother and the boys more than she ever owned, and stood in fear of Miss Pamela. But after a time she grew less homesick, and discovered that though Miss Pamela was cold and undemonstrative in her manner, yet she was not unkind, and desired to make her niece really happy.
Miss Holcroft Marigold had loved from the first. Everyone liked the gentle, good-hearted old lady whose quiet, uneventful life had been spent in trying to make others better and happier. Many were the tales of sin and grief that were poured into her ears from time to time, many were the sorrows she alleviated, and the tears she dried. Often she was imposed upon; often, it is to be feared, she wasted her sympathy upon unworthy objects; but the thought that she had perhaps refrained from giving assistance where it was needed would have haunted her, and she was consequently often reproved by Miss Pamela for being too easily led.
By her elder aunt Marigold's coming had been hailed with delight and keenest pleasure. She had longed to know her late nephew's widow and children, though she had but rarely dared to hint as much to her sister, and in welcoming Marigold she had been so genuinely pleased and glad to see her, that the child had recognised her feelings with a grateful heart.
Marigold soon began to understand that it was wiser not to speak much of her mother in the presence of her two aunts, for if she did so Miss Holcroft always looked anxious and uneasy, whilst Miss Pamela's face would grow sterner and colder than before, and she would pointedly turn the conversation. So the little girl dropped the habit of saying, "Mother says," as she had been accustomed to do, and if she ever mentioned the dearly loved name it was with a new, strange timidity. How she looked forward to her mother's letters! How she read them again and again, shedding tears over them one minute, and smiling the next! Mrs. Holcroft wrote charming letters, full of all the trifling details of home life that she knew would interest her little daughter, about the boys, her own work, and the people of their acquaintance. On one occasion Miss Holcroft came upon her when she was reading one of these letters, and some kindly impulse made the old lady lay her hand upon the child's shoulder with a caressing touch and inquire—
"Are your mother and brothers well, my dear? Have you good news from home?"
"Oh yes, thank you," the little girl replied, lifting a pair of shining, happy eyes to her aunt's face. Then she added hesitatingly, "Mother has written such a nice letter. I wonder if you would like to see it? Oh yes, I really mean it!"
Miss Holcroft took the proffered letter, and putting on her spectacles perused it slowly from beginning to end. When she returned it to Marigold she simply remarked—
"I hope your mother would not mind my seeing it. It has interested me very much."