How did she like the service? Did she admire the church? Had she lived in Exeter long? Was she going to stay some time at Rocombe Farm? To these and many other queries she gave polite replies, but she was not sorry when Mrs. Adams and her son said good-bye to their acquaintances and moved away.
Before leaving the churchyard, however, they turned down a side path, and there, in a sheltered corner shaded by a laburnum tree, were five green mounds, which Mrs. Adams pointed out as the graves of her husband and children. The spot was surrounded by iron rails, and a monument in Devonshire marble bearing the names of those who slept below, and the date of their deaths, told to passers-by the tragic story.
Marigold made no remark, for a lump was in her throat and tears in her eyes, but she gave Mrs. Adams' hand a sympathetic squeeze that told more than words could say. The old lady smiled, and leaning on her son's arm, and with the child at her other side, walked back to Rocombe Farm.
In the afternoon Marigold went for a long walk with Farmer Jo, and in the evening they all went to church again. So the happy Sabbath passed away, bringing the little girl's visit nearly to an end.
She was up betimes in the morning, and after an early breakfast took a lingering farewell of her kind hostess. She felt as though she had known her all her life.
"You must come and see us again, my dear child," Mrs. Adams said.
"Oh, I will indeed, if my aunts will allow me! Thank you so much for your kindness, dear Mrs. Adams!"
Then Farmer Jo lifted Marigold into the high dogcart, and putting the reins into her hands, swung himself up by her side. Colonel started off at a swinging trot, and they had soon left Rocombe Farm far behind, and were nearing the Ever Faithful City.
"What are you thinking about, eh?" Farmer Jo inquired, after a lengthy silence on Marigold's part.
"I was thinking of the day I first saw you, when we travelled down from London together," she answered. "Do you know, I was rather frightened of you, at first?"