Marigold sighed and looked thoughtful, for she had that day received a letter from her mother, saying how glad she would be for the boys' sakes when the holidays came, for the heat was making them languid, and Rupert had not been very well lately. How the little girl wished she could transplant her three loved ones to the Cornish fishing village, where it had been decided she was to accompany her aunts as soon as the term came to an end. She had never been by the seaside in her life, and though she was excited at the thought of the pleasure in store for her, yet her anticipation was shadowed by the remembrance of her mother and brothers, who, she knew, must be needing a change of air and scene far more than she did. She wondered if her aunts ever thought how monotonous their lives must be from year's end to year's end in that little suburban flat. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she missed part of the conversation that was going on, and started when Miss Holcroft called her by name.
"Yes, Aunt Mary," she answered quickly.
"What are you dreaming about, my dear? Have you not heard what Pamela has been saying?"
"Not a word, I am afraid," Marigold confessed. "I am so sorry, Aunt Pamela! Were you asking me something?"
"No, child. I was remarking that I saw Mrs. Adams in the city this afternoon, and she inquired how you were. I told her you were looking pale, and that we intended taking you away for a change next month; whereupon she said she wondered if you would care to spend a Sunday with them at Rocombe—that is the name of their farm."
"Oh, Aunt Pamela!" Marigold cried, her face shining with delight.
"I said I would ask you, and if you would like to go, Farmer Jo will drive in to fetch you on Friday evening, and bring you back early on Monday morning in time for school. It was a kind thought of Mrs. Adams, was it not? I see you like the idea, Marigold."
"Oh yes, yes! How good of her! I have never seen a farm! Oh, how kind people are to me!"
"I daresay two clear days in the country will blow the cobwebs away," Miss Holcroft said smilingly; "but need we trouble Mr. Adams to fetch Marigold? We might drive out to Rocombe ourselves, and leave her there."
"Perhaps that would be the better plan," Miss Pamela agreed. "I will write Mrs. Adams to that effect. The invitation was given with such spontaneous kindness that I had no scruples about accepting it, especially as I deemed doing so would be for Marigold's benefit."