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."
The little girl went from the sitting-room into the kitchen, where her two brothers, Rupert and Lionel, aged respectively nine and seven, were amusing themselves, each in the way he liked best, Rupert with his fretwork, and Lionel by sticking coloured pictures into his scrap-book. At her desire they willingly cleared up the litter they had made; and then she set about getting their supper, which was comprised of thick bread-and-butter and a cup of cocoa apiece.
Mrs. Holcroft and her three children occupied a small flat—really a workman's flat—in a cheap suburb of London. Their home comprised one sitting-room, a kitchen and scullery, and three bedrooms. The mother, with her little daughter's assistance, did the housework, and the money they thus saved was spent in sending the two boys to a day-school. So far Mrs. Holcroft had instructed Marigold. The child was quick to learn, and though not behind other girls of her age in general knowledge, Mrs. Holcroft realised that she ought to be sent to school, and how to provide ways and means to bring about this result had long been weighing on the mother's mind.
When the boys were at last safely in bed, and Marigold had turned out the gas in their bedroom, she went back to the sitting-room, and found that Mrs. Holcroft had finished her work and was carefully folding it up.
"The labour of the day is over," Mrs. Holcroft remarked brightly. "I must go and kiss the boys good-night, and then you and I will have a cosy chat, Marigold."
The little girl poked the fire into a blaze, and pulled an easy-chair closer to the hearth. Outside the wild March wind was howling, and the rain pattering against the window-pane, whilst now and then the roll of a cab's wheels, or hurrying footsteps on the pavement were heard in a lull of the gale.
"What a weird night it is!" Mrs. Holcroft exclaimed, as she returned from saying good-night to her little sons. "Poor sailors! I pity them in this storm!"
She sank wearily into the easy-chair, and Marigold drew a stool close to her side on the hearthrug, and sat down on it, leaning her arms on her mother's knees.