In the playground, one day, Grace Long spoke to Marigold upon the subject.
"So you do not hate Muriel any longer?" she said, smiling.
"No. She has been much nicer to me lately," was the response. "I think she is often disagreeable because she is unhappy."
"That is my opinion also; but it is selfish and unkind of her to try to make others suffer on that account. Poor Muriel! I am very glad to see you and she are better friends. Are you looking forward to the holidays? I am. Miss Hardcastle is going to take me to Ilfracombe for a few weeks. Isn't that something to look forward to?"
"It is indeed!"
"Are you going away?" Grace inquired.
"I expect not. I have heard nothing about it. I should dearly love to go home, but there is no chance of that," with a regretful shake of the head.
"Oh, I am sorry! But, never mind, perhaps you will see your mother sooner than you think."
Marigold tried to smile cheerfully, but it was a vain attempt. She was not looking forward to the end of the term with glad anticipation in any way, for she would miss the companionship of the girls; and she could not help envying the boarders who were going home for the holidays. Not that she was in the least unhappy with her aunts, only hearing so much about going home' brought back the old feeling of homesickness that she was striving to overcome, and had mastered to a great extent, though sometimes the longing for her mother and brothers was too strong to be kept in check. She grew a little languid and heavy-eyed, and her usually bright spirits flagged.
"You have been working too hard, child," Miss Pamela told her; "you will be glad of a rest."