Barker paused before a trim, well-kept garden, where simple cottage flowers bloomed gaily,—clumps of forget-me-nots and double daisies—those known as bachelors' buttons—golden wallflowers, and purple pansies. Mrs. Barker stood on the doorstep waiting to greet her visitors, for she had been watching for them from the window. She was a very old woman, whose sparse grey locks were tucked neatly away under a cap—her best, which was adorned with mauve ribbons, and whose face was lined and wrinkled, indeed, but nevertheless wore an expression of perfect contentment. After a youth and middle-age of hard work, Mrs. Barker was spending the remaining years of her life in peace and happiness. She had no worries, no troubles nowadays.
Marigold soon discovered that Barker in her mother's parlour, and Barker as she was known in her mistresses' house, bore but a slight resemblance to each other. The silent, grave-faced maid was metamorphosed into a bright, smiling woman, who seemed bent upon being the life of the little party. She had brought a large basket with her, the contents of which proved to be packages of tea, sugar, and other groceries, and lying on the top, so that it should not be crushed, was a summer mantle, which her own clever fingers had made for her mother.
"I remembered your old cloak would be too heavy for you to wear these sunny days," she explained, "and I think this will be the very thing-for you."
Mrs. Barker was delighted; her face was radiant with pleasure. She tried on the new garment, at once, whilst her daughter and Marigold looked on approvingly.
"I declare it's too good for me!" she exclaimed.
"Not a bit of it, mother. It suits her very well, doesn't it, miss?" Barker said, appealing to Marigold.
"Yes; it does indeed, Mrs. Barker," the little girl answered. "You look so nice in it!"
"I feel as grand as a duchess," Mrs. Barker declared. "My neighbours will hardly know me when they see me out-of-doors next!"
Marigold enjoyed her tea immensely. She drank it out of a bright pink teacup with "A present from Brighton" engraved upon it in gold letters. She was debating in her mind whether it would be considered a breach of good manners to remark upon it, when Mrs. Barker said—
"You are looking at your teacup, I see, miss. Isn't it pretty?"