Marjorie was glad to get back even to the dismal house in which her lot was cast; it seemed almost cheerful to her after the unkempt hideousness of its depressing surroundings.
[CHAPTER XII]
BLACK COUNTRY ROSES
THAT first day at Daisy Bank was a fair sample of many others which followed it. Bit by bit order was restored to the once untidy and comfortless house. Mrs. Holtby's room was made as sweet and cheerful as it was possible for any room in such a neighbourhood to be; the floor was washed, the carpet shaken, clean white curtains were hung in the window, and fresh hangings on the bed; whilst upon the table stood a vase, which was filled with spring flowers, a constant supply of which was sent regularly by Phyllis from the dear home garden.
Then Marjorie took another room in hand, and, with Bessie's and Patty's help, worked the same reformation there, and so by degrees the house looked more home-like and far less dreary. But it was a hard life to which she had come, and sometimes she felt inclined to despair.
Work as hard as she might, from early in the morning till late at night, she could never keep pace with the darning and patching, the clearing and dusting, which seemed always waiting to be done. Her feet were weary with running up and down stairs; her head ached with the noise of the children, and at times she longed terribly for a single day's holiday and rest; but of this she saw no prospect whatever. Beyond a daily run over the pit mounds, she never got out, and she saw no one in these walks to whom she could speak. Her thoughts were her only companions, and they were anxious ones at times.
The home letters sounded bright, as a rule, but now and again some sentence in her mother's made her feel how much she was missed there. Her own letters were as cheerful as she could make them, although she wrote a truthful account of the place to which she had come, for she had promised her mother that she would do so.
As Marjorie wandered over the wilderness of ashes day after day, she thought of them all and of her pretty home, and a terrible yearning came over her to see them again, and to look even for five minutes at the scenes she loved so well. And then her thoughts would wander to Captain Fortescue. She had kept her promise to him before leaving home; she had written to tell him where she was going, but she had never received an answer; sometimes she wondered whether her letter had ever reached him. What was he doing now? Had he left the army? Was he happy la the new life upon which she supposed he must have entered? She thought of his words to her mother,—
"I shall allow myself in no luxury until all is paid."
What a hard life that would mean, if he kept his word! And she believed that he would keep his word; she felt that he was a man to be trusted. Over and over again her busy thoughts returned to this subject, and in her prayers for those at home, his name was added. It could not be wrong to pray for him, surely.