Magic for Marigold Read Online Free PDF Page B

you for that.” But she never called her “the woman-doctor” again. She spoke with her own dignity of “Dr. Richards”—for a short time.
    Klondike brought Dr. Richards to Cloud of Spruce and took her away. Her own car was laid up for repairs. But nobody was paying much attention to Klondike just then.
    At the end of the two weeks it seemed to Lorraine that the shadow had ceased to deepen on the little wasted face.
    A few more days—was it not lightening—lifting? At the end of three more weeks Dr. Richards told them that the baby was out of danger. Lorraine fainted and Young Grandmother shook and Klondike broke down and cried unashamedly like a schoolboy.
    3
    A few days later the clan had another conclave—a smaller and informal one. The aunts and uncles present were all genuine ones. And it was not, as Salome thankfully reflected, on a Friday.
    â€œThis child must be named at once,” said Young Grandmother authoritatively. “Do you realize that she might have died without a name?”
    The horror of this kept the Lesleys silent for a few minutes. Besides, every one dreaded starting up another argument so soon after those dreadful weeks. Who knew but what it had been a judgment on them for quarreling over it?
    â€œBut what shall we call her?” said Aunt Anne timidly.
    â€œThere is only one name you can give her,” said Old Grandmother, “and it would be the blackest ingratitude if you didn’t. Call her after the woman who has saved her life, of course.”
    The Lesleys looked at each other. A simple, graceful, natural solution of the problem—if only.
    â€œBut Woodruff ,” sighed Aunt Marcia.
    â€œShe’s got another name, hasn’t she?” snapped Old Grandmother. “Ask Horace there what M stands for? He can tell you, or I’m much mistaken.”
    Everyone looked at Klondike. In the anxiety of the past weeks everybody in the clan had been blind to Klondike’s goings-on—except perhaps Old Grandmother.
    Klondike straightened his shoulders and tossed back his mane. It was as good a time as any to tell something that would soon have to be told.
    â€œHer full name,” he said, “is now Marigold Woodruff Richards, but in a few weeks’ time it will be Marigold Woodruff Lesley.”
    â€œAnd that,” remarked Lucifer to the Witch of Endor under the milk bench at sunset, with the air of a cat making up his mind to the inevitable, “is that.”
    â€œWhat do you think of her?” asked the Witch, a little superciliously.
    â€œOh, she has points,” conceded Lucifer. “Kissable enough.”
    The Witch of Endor, being wise in her generation, licked her black paws and said no more, but continued to have her own opinion.

CHAPTER 3
    April Promise
    1
    On the evening of Old Grandmother’s ninety-eighth birthday there was a sound of laughter on the dark staircase—which meant that Marigold Lesley, who had lived six years and thought the world a very charming place, was dancing downstairs. You generally heard Marigold before you saw her. She seldom walked. A creature of joy, she ran or danced. “The child of the singing heart,” Aunt Marigold called her. Her laughter always seemed to go before her. Both Young Grandmother and Mother, to say nothing of Salome and Lazarre, thought that golden trill of laughter echoing through the somewhat prim and stately rooms of Cloud of Spruce the loveliest sound in the world. Mother often said this. Young Grandmother never said it. That was the difference between Young Grandmother and Mother.
    Marigold squatted down on the broad, shallow, uneven sandstone steps at the front door and proceeded to think things over—or, as Aunt Marigold, who was a very dear, delightful woman, phrased it, “make magic for herself.” Marigold was always making magic of some kind.
    Already, even at six, Marigold found this an entrancing