Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed. [Illustration: Marigold vanished swiftly, and soon came back, eggs in hand. Frontispiece.] MARIGOLD'S DECISION BY AGNES GIBERNE AUTHOR OF "MISS CON," "ST. AUSTIN'S LODGE," "DECIMA'S PROMISE," "THE ANDERSONS," ETC. ETC. ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. LANCE London JAMES NISBET & CO. 21 BERNERS STREET 1896 CONTENTS. [Illustration] CHAPTER I. WHAT SORT OF PEOPLE THEY WERE II. SERVICE III. WILD BEASTS IV. A VISITOR V. LATE AT NIGHT VI. MARIGOLD'S LIKING VII. MRS. PLUNKETT'S TROUBLE VIII. A DECISIVE STEP IX. NOT SO BAD [Illustration] MARIGOLD'S DECISION. [Illustration] CHAPTER I. WHAT SORT OF PEOPLE THEY WERE. "MARIGOLD!" cried a loud voice, rough in tone, as working-men's voices are sometimes apt to be. "I'm coming, father." There was a pause, but no Marigold appeared; and Josiah Plunkett set down his bag of tools with a decisive bump, which showed disapproval. He was undersized as to height, but broad in build, with long powerful arms, and a large good-humoured face. Even when he frowned, as at this moment, the look of good humour did not vanish. Like most of his sex, he had a particular dislike to being kept waiting. Of course, he often kept other people waiting, and thought nothing of it; but to be made to wait himself was a different matter. "I say! Mari-gold!" he shouted, with a vigour which made the walls of the little house to ring. It was a very small house, a mere rattle-trap in build, with lath and plaster walls, from which paper peeled and damp exuded, and into which no nails could be driven with the least prospect of remaining there. Josiah Plunkett, being a carpenter, had done the best he could for the inside of his home under the circumstances; but he could not make a good house out of a bad one. Such untidiness as existed was not his fault. "What's that noise for?" demanded a sour voice, and a woman appeared in the passage. She was taller than Plunkett, and sallow skinned; not thin in figure, but thin in face, while from the acidity of her expression, it would seem that all the sweetness which once existed in her had been turned to vinegar. There is always some original sugar in everybody's composition, but the sugar does not always keep its sweetness. "What's it all about?" she demanded sharply. "What about! It's about me!" declared the husband. "Now, you just look here. I've got to be off, and I want some'at to eat. I haven't a minute to lose."