CHAPTER X

GOOD-BYE

WHEN Louis Verner arrived at Fernbank on the morning of Captain Fortescue's departure, Marjorie was looking out for him, and as soon as he took the "Standard" out of his pocket, she ran upstairs and carried it to her own room.

Spreading the paper out on the bed, she turned to the advertisement page, and looked down the column headed "SITUATIONS VACANT." She passed quickly over those at the top of the column, "Wanted, a Gentleman of Smart Habits," "Wanted a Salesman," "Wanted a Well-educated Youth," etc., and passed on to those advertisements which referred to women.

"'A Working Housekeeper wanted for a London Business House.'

"I should not do for that," she said.

"'Lady Cook wanted at once.'

"I should not like to be a lady cook, nor do I know enough about cooking.

"Oh! This is better. 'Mother's Help—Nice young girl.' I wonder if I am a nice young girl," she said, laughing. "'Three boys, ages 11, 5, and 2. Good reference. Write fully, Mrs. Burstall, 51, Lester Street, S.E.'

"Some registry office, I suppose. I don't like the sound of that 'nice young girl.'

"Oh! Here's another. 'Mother's help wanted, fond of children, must be thoroughly domesticated, comfortable home, one servant kept. Apply by letter, Mrs. Holtby, Daisy Bank, Staffordshire.'

"That sounds better! I am fond of children. I wonder if I am thoroughly domesticated! And Daisy Bank sounds inviting. I wonder if it is the name of the house or the place. I should like to go to a pretty place, if possible. Of course it does not matter really, only after Borrowdale—" And Marjorie looked lovingly at the beautiful view from her bedroom window.

"Mother," she called, as Mrs. Douglas passed the bedroom door, "come and look at these advertisements."

Mother and daughter sat down together and read them through, and Mrs. Douglas agreed with Marjorie that the Daisy Bank one appeared to be the most promising.

"But, oh, darling," she said, "how shall I ever get on without you?"

"Or I without you, mother?" said Marjorie. "But we must do something, and this seems the best, does it not?"

"I suppose so, dear."

"And I do think it will be good for Phyllis. She is so clever and capable, when she gives her mind to anything, and I am sure she will save you all she can, and she would never settle away from home, would she?"

"Oh no, that would never do!" said Mrs. Douglas. "I don't think poor little Phyllis is cut out to rough it at all."

So that day the letter was written, and Marjorie took it herself to the post-office, and, as she dropped it into the box, felt like Julius Cæsar when he crossed the Rubicon.

How impatiently she waited for the answer! It came two days afterwards in a man's handwriting.

"COLWYN HOUSE,

"Daisy Bank.

"DEAR MISS DOUGLAS,

"Mrs. Holtby being ill and unable to write to you herself, she has asked me to inform you that we have written to your referees, and if all proves satisfactory, she will be pleased to engage you at a salary of twenty-five pounds per annum. Your duties will be quite simple, and we shall treat you as one of the family. As you ask for a reference from me, I beg to give you the following:—

"A. Crayshaw, Esq.,

"The Laurels,

"West Bromwich.

"Should you decide to come to us, we shall be pleased to receive you this day week.

"Yours truly,

"LIONEL HOLTBY."

"What do you think of it, mother?"

"I think it sounds all right, dear, but of course we must write to this Mr. Crayshaw before deciding anything."

The letter from West Bromwich proved quite satisfactory, bearing witness to the respectability of the Holtby family, and therefore, after much thought and also much prayer, Mrs. Douglas consented to Marjorie's going to Daisy Bank.

"You can come home again if all is not right," she said. "Rather than you should be unhappy, we will forfeit anything."

That last week at home seemed to fly on the wings of the wind. There was so much to be done; their heads were so fully occupied in thinking of what was needed for Marjorie's outfit, as she called it, their hands were so busy in cutting out and making sundry pretty blouses and morning dresses, that there was little time to dwell upon the parting that was coming.

It was not until the last night, when her trunk was locked and strapped and taken downstairs, and when only the dress-basket, which was to be left open until the morning, remained in her room as evidence of her coming journey, it was only then that, for a little time, Marjorie's heart failed her. It was so hard to leave them all, but especially her mother. She could not help her tears falling fast as she thought of it. She was going out into the world alone. No, not alone, her best Friend would go with her; she would not forget that. And all this had come by His ordering; it was His will that was being done. She looked up and read a card which she had bought the last time she was in Keswick, and which was hanging over her bed. In the middle of this card, in gold letters, were these two words—

"YES, LORD,"

And underneath them was this verse—

"One great eternal Yes, To all my Lord shall say, To what I know, or yet shall know, In all the untried way."

And, as Marjorie knelt by her bed, the "Yes, Lord," was said.

When she went downstairs not a sign of trouble was left on her face. They would all feel rather dull that night, she said to herself, and she must try to cheer them.

"I wonder Marjorie can be so merry when she is going away for so long," said Phyllis that night, as she went into Leila's room to say good night to her sister.

"Marjorie never thinks of herself," was Leila's answer; "she only thinks of mother."

Phyllis stooped to kiss little Carl as he lay asleep in his cot, and as she did so, she said to herself that she would try, when Marjorie was gone, to follow in her footsteps.

The next morning was bright and frosty, and the sky was without a single cloud; the hills and dales were flooded with sunshine, which was unusually bright for the time of year. The snow had all gone, and the spring flowers were coming up fast in the garden. As Marjorie went away, she held in her hand a large bunch of violets and snowdrops, which Phyllis had gathered for her before breakfast. Her mother came with her to the gate, where Colonel Verner's dog-cart was waiting, for Louis had promised to drive her into Keswick.

It was hard work to say good-bye to her mother, but Marjorie tried to do it with a bright face; she did not want to make it harder for her mother at that moment. Then she got up beside Louis; and Phyllis, who was coming to see her off, jumped up behind.

Marjorie turned round as they drove over the bridge, and saw her mother and little Carl at the garden gate, still looking after her. She looked up at the house, and at old Dorcas, who had come to the door, and was waving her apron, and, higher still, she saw Leila, watching from the bedroom window, and she was afraid that she was crying.

Never did Borrowdale look more beautiful in Marjorie's eyes! She gazed long and lovingly at every mountain peak that came in sight; she longed to store away in her memory each bit of the loveliness, so that when she was far away she might refresh herself by the recollection of it all.

Louis was very angry that Marjorie was going from home; he would not believe that it was necessary, and he thought that when he came back for the Long Vacation, it would be a great nuisance to find her gone. He had quite come to the conclusion lately that he liked Marjorie better than Phyllis, and now she was going away from him. He wished heartily that Captain Fortescue had never come to Rosthwaite, upsetting all their plans, and making a break in the happy little party at Fernbank.

Louis Verner was good-natured and easy-going, but he had no power of taking a calm, sensible view of anything; he wanted life to go on smoothly and comfortably, and he could not see why it should not always do so.

"Louis," said Marjorie, as they drove along, "when I come home, the first question I shall ask you will be this: 'What are you going to be?' And I shall expect a satisfactory answer!"

"Oh yes. I'm sure to have decided by that time; but it's very difficult, isn't it?"

"Not if you give your mind to it, and find out what you're fit for."

"Oh yes! Well, I will try, Marjorie. It's an awful nuisance your going away; you might have helped me to settle."

"I? What nonsense, Louis! No one can do that but yourself. But you must do it. I can see Colonel Verner is very worried about it."

"Yes, I believe he is. Well, I will try. But don't let us talk about that now, Marjorie. You'll write to me, of course?"

"I will if I've time, Louis; but I don't know what my duties will be," she said, laughing.

"Oh! Never mind the duties. I shall expect to hear from you—don't forget, Marjorie."

"When do you go back to Oxford?"

"The beginning of next week; it is a grind! I feel as if I had only just come down."

They were early for the train, and walked up and down the platform till it came up. As they did so, Marjorie kept remembering many little things she wanted to say to Phyllis.

"Don't forget Leila's tea in the morning. You will get up, won't you?"

"Oh yes, Marjorie."

"And look after mother, and if she seems tired, get her to rest a little. And, Phyllis, do be careful that Carl doesn't go near the river; that garden gate ought always to be kept shut."

Then the engine came steaming into the station with the Cockermouth train behind it, and in a few minutes Marjorie was leaning out of the window and waving a last good-bye to Louis and Phyllis, who had run to the end of the platform to watch the train out of sight.