THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF Dr. Blanche C. Brown of (geore 3Etiot THE MILL ON THE FLOSS VOL. I. ILLUSTRATED CABINET EDITION Mr. Tullruer and Mrs. Moss. Original Etching by C. O. Murray, O .3 x r - Ellustrateo Cabinet (JHtJitton Volume I. By George Eliot Boston Dana Estes & Company Publishers College Library 4i ft l > CONTENTS. VOL. L Book I. BOY AND GIRL. CHAPTF.H I. OUTSIDE DORLCOTE MILL 1 II. MR. TULLIVER, OF DORLCOTE MILL, DE- CLARES HIS RESOLUTION ABOUT TOM . 5 III. MR. RlLEY GIVES HIS ADVICE CONCERN- ING A SCHOOL FOR TOM 14 IV. TOM is EXPECTED 33 V. TOM COMES HOME 41 VI. THE AUNTS AND UNCLES ARE COMING . . 55 VII. ENTER THE AUNTS AND UNCLES .... 71 VIII. MR. TULLIVER SHOWS HIS WEAKER SIDE . 103 IX. To GARUM FIRS 117 X. MAGGIE BEHAVES WORSE THAN SHE EX- PECTED 137 XL MAGGIE TRIES TO RUN AWAY FROM HER SHADOW 146 XII. MR. AND MRS. GLEGG AT HOME .... 162 XIH. MR. TULLIVER FURTHER ENTANGLES THE SKEIN OF LIFE 180 Book II. SCHOOL-TIME. I. TOM'S "FIRST HALF" 185 II. THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 214 III. THE NEW SCHOOLFELLOW . 225 762727 CONTENTS. PAGK IV. "THE YOUNG IDEA" 234 V. MAGGIE'S SECOND VISIT 249 VI. A LOVE-SCENE 256 VII. THE GOLDEN GATES ARE PASSED . 263 Book III. THE DOWNFALL. I. WHAT HAD HAPPENED AT HOME .... 273 II. MRS. TULLIVER'S TERAPHIM, OR HOUSE- HOLD GODS 282 III. THE FAMILY COUNCIL 289 IV. A VANISHING GLEAM 311 V. TOM APPLIES HIS KNIFE TO THE OYSTER . 317 VI. TENDING TO REFUTE THE POPULAR PRE- JUDICE AGAINST THE PRESENT OF A POCKET-KNIFE 334 VII. How A HEN TAKES TO STRATAGEM . . . 844 VIII. DAYLIGHT ON THE WRECK 361 IX. AN ITEM ADDED TO THE FAMILY REGISTER 873 Hist of Illustrations. VOL. I. MR. TCLLIVER AND MRS. Moss Frontispiece MAGGIE AND THE GYPSY 151 TOM FRIGHTENING MAGGIE 254 MRS. TULLIVER AND MR. WAKEM 352 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. BOOK I. BOY AND GIRL. CHAPTER I. OUTSIDE DORLCOTE MILL. A WIDE plain, where the broadening Floss hurries on between its green banks to the sea, and the loving tide, rushing to meet it, checks its passage with an impetuous embrace. On this mighty tide the black ships laden with the fresh-scented fir- planks, with rounded sacks of oil-bearing seed, or with the dark glitter of coal are borne along to the town of St. Ogg's, which shows its aged, fluted red roofs and the broad gables of its wharves between the low wooded hill and the river-brink, tingeing the water with a soft purple hue under the transient glance of this February sun. Far away on each hand stretch the rich pastures, and the patches of dark earth, made ready for the seed of broad-leaved green crops, or touched already with the tint of the tender-bladed autumn-sown corn. There is a remnant still of the last year's golden clusters of bee-hive ricks rising at intervals beyond the -hedge- VOL. I. 1 2 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. rows; and everywhere the hedgerows are studded with trees : the distant ships seem to be lifting their masts and stretching their red-brown sails close among the branches of the spreading ash. Just by the red-roofed town ths tributary Ripple flows with a lively current into the Floss. How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing wavelets ! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along the bank and listen to its low placid voice, as to the voice of one who is deaf and loving. I remember those large dipping willows. I remember the stone bridge. And this is Dorlcote Mill. I must stand a min- ute or two here on the bridge and look at it, though the clouds are threatening, and it is far on. in the afternoon. Even in this leafless time of departing February it is pleasant to look at, perhaps the chill damp season adds a charm to the trimly kept comfortable dwelling-house, as old as the elms and chestnuts that shelter it from the northern blast. The stream is brimful now, and lies high in this little withy plantation, and half drowns the grassy fringe of the croft in front of the house. As I look at the full stream, the vivid grass, the delicate bright-green powder softening the outline of the great trunks and branches that gleam from under the bare purple boughs, I am in love with moistness, and envy the white ducks that are dipping their heads far into the water here among the withes, unmindful of the awkward appearance they make in the drier world above. The rush of the water and the booming of the mill bring a dreamy deafness, which seems to heighten the peacefulness of the scene. They are like u great curtain of sound, shutting one out BOY AND GIRL. 3 from the world beyond. And now there is the thunder of the huge covered wagon coming home with sacks of grain. That honest wagoner is thinking of his dinner, getting sadly dry in the oven at this late hour ; but he will not touch it till he has fed his horses, the strong, submissive, meek- eyed beasts, who, I fancy, are looking mild reproach at him from between their blinkers, that he should crack his whip at them in that awful manner as if they needed that hint ! See how they stretch their shoulders up the slope towards the bridge, with all the more energy because they are so near home. Look at their grand shaggy feet that seem to grarp the firm earth, at the patient strength of their necks bowed under the heavy collar, at the mighty muscles of their struggling haunches ! I should like well to hear them neigh over their hardly earned feed of corn, and see them, with their moist necks freed from the harness, dipping their eager nostrils into the muddy pond. Now they are on the bridge, and down they go again at a swifter pace, and the arch of the covered wagon disappears at the turning behind the trees. Now I can turn my eyes towards the mill again, and watch the unresting wheel sending out its diamond jets of water. That little girl is watching it too : she has been standing on just the same spot at the edge of the water ever since I paused on the bridge. And that queer white cur with the brown ear seems to be leaping and barking in ineffectual remonstrance with the wheel ; perhaps he is jeal- ous, because his playfellow in the beaver bonnet is so rapt in its movement. It is time the little play- fellow went in, I think ; and there is a very bright fire to tempt her: the red light shines out under 4 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. the deepening gray of the sky. It is time, too, for me to leave off resting my arms on the cold stuiie of this bridge. . . . Ah, my arms are really benumbed. I have been pressing my elbows on the arms of my chair, and dreaming that I was standing on the bridge in front of Dorlcote Mill, as it looked one February after- noon many years ago. Before I dozed off, I was going to tell you what Mr. and Mrs. Tulliver were talking about, as they sat by the bright fire in the left-hand parlour, on that very afternoon I have been dreaming of. CHAPTER II. MR. TULLIVER, OF DORLCOTE MILL, DECLARES HIS RESOLUTION ABOUT TOM. " WHAT I want, you know," said Mr. Tulliver, " what I want is to give Tom a good eddication ; an eddication as '11 be a bread to him. That was what I was thinking of when I gave notice for him to leave the academy at Lady Day. I mean to put him to a downright good school at Midsummer. The two years at th' academy 'ud ha' done well enough, if I 'd meant to make a miller and farmer of him, for he 's had a fine sight more schoolin' nor / ever got : all the learnin' my father ever paid for was a bit o' birch at one end and the alphabet at th' other. But I should like Tom to be a bit of a scholard, so as he might be up to the tricks o' these fellows as talk fine and write with a nourish. It 'ud be a help to me wi' these lawsuits and arbitrations and things. I would n't make a downright lawyer o' the lad, I should be sorry for him to be a raskill, but a sort o' engineer, or a surveyor, or an auctioneer and vallyer, like Riley, or one o' them smartish businesses as are all profits and no outlay, only for a big watch-chain and a high stool. They 're pretty nigh all one, and they 're not far off being even wi' the law, / believe ; for Riley looks Lawyer Wakem i' the face as hard as one cat looks another. He 's none frightened at him." 6 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Mr. Tulliver was speaking to his wife, a blond comely woman in a fan-shaped cap (I am afraid to think how long it is since fan-shaped caps were worn, they must be so near coming in again. At that time, when Mrs. Tulliver was nearly forty, they were new at St. Ogg's, and considered sweet things). "Well, Mr. Tulliver, you know best: I've no objections. But had n't I better kill a couple o' fowl and have th' aunts and uncles to dinner next week, so as you may hear what sister Glegg and sister Pullet have got to say about it ? There 's a couple o' fowl ivants killing ' " " You may kill every fowl i' the yard, if you like, Bessy ; but I shall ask neither aunt nor uncle what I 'm to do wi' my own lad," said Mr. Tulliver, defiantly. " Dear heart ! " said Mrs. Tulliver, shocked at this sanguinary rhetoric, " how can you talk so, Mr. Tulliver ? But it 's your way to speak disre- spactful o' my family ; and sister Glegg throws all the blame upo' me, though I 'm sure I 'm as inno- cent as the babe unborn. For nobody 's ever heard me say as it was n't lucky for my children to have aunts and uncles as can live independent. How- iver, if Tom 's to go to a new school, I should like him to go where I can wash him and mend him ; else he might as well have calico as linen, for they 'd be one as yallow as th' other before they 'd been washed half-a-dozen times. And then, when the box is goin' backards and forrards, I could send the lad a cake, or a pork-pie, or an apple ; for he can do with an extry bit, bless him, whether they stint him at the meals or no. My children can eat as much victuals as most, thank God." BOY AND GIRL. 7 " Well, well, we won't send him out o' reach o' the carrier's cart, if other things fit in," said Mr. Tulliver. " But you must n't put a spoke i' the wheel about the washin', if we can't get a school near enough. That 's the fault I have to find wi' you, Bessy ; if you see a stick i' the road, you 're allays thinkin' you can't step over it. You 'd want me , not to hire a good wagoner, 'cause he 'd got a mole on his face." " Dear heart ! " said Mrs. Tulliver, in mild sur- prise, " when did I iver make objections to a man because he 'd got a mole on his face ? I 'm sure I 'm rather fond o' the moles ; for my brother, as is dead an' gone, had a mole on his brow. But I can't remember your iver offering to hire a wagoner with a mole, Mr. Tulliver. There was John Gibbs had n't a mole on his face no more nor you have, an' I was all for having you hire him ; an' so you did hire him, an' if he had n't died o' th' inflammation, as we paid Dr. Turnbull for attending him, he 'd very like ha' been driving the wagon now. He might have a mole somewhere out o' sight, but how was I to know that, Mr. Tulliver ? " " No, no, Bessy ; I did n't mean justly the mole ; I meant it to stand for summat else ; but niver mind, it 's puzzling work, talking is. What I 'm thinking on, is how to find the right sort o' school to send Tom to, for I might be ta'en in again, as I 've been wi' th' academy. I '11 have nothing to do wi' a 'cade my again : whativer school I send Tom to, it sha'n't be a 'cademy ; it shall be a place where the lads spend their time i' summat else besides blacking the family's shoes, and getting up the potatoes. It's an uncommon puzzling thing to know what school to pick." 8 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Mr. Tulliver paused a minute or two, and dived with both hands into his breeches-pockets as if he hoped to find some suggestion there. Apparently he was not disappointed, for he presently said, " I know what I '11 do, I '11 talk it over wi' Eiley : he 's coming to-morrow, t' arbitrate about the dam." " Well, Mr. Tulliver, I 've put the sheets out for the best bed, and Kezia 's got 'em hanging at the fire. They are n't the best sheets, but they 're good enough for anybody to sleep in, be he who he will ; for as for them best Holland sheets, I should repent buying 'em, only they '11 do to lay us out in. An' if you was to die to-morrow, Mr. Tulliver, they 're mangled beautiful, an' all ready, an' smell o' laven- der as it 'ud be a pleasure to lay 'em out ; an' they lie at the left-hand corner o' the big oak linen-chest at the back : not as I should trust anybody to look 'em out but myself." As Mrs. Tulliver uttered the last sentence, she drew a bright bunch of keys from her pocket, and singled out one, rubbing her thumb and finger up and down it with a placid smile while she looked at the clear fire. If Mr. Tulliver had been a suscep- tible man in his conjugal relation, he might have supposed that she drew out the key to aid her imagination in anticipating the moment when he would be in a state to justify the production of the best Holland sheets. Happily he was not so; he was only susceptible in respect of his right to water- power ; moreover, he had the marital habit of not listening very closely, and since his mention of Mr. Riley, had been apparently occupied in a tactile examination of his woollen stockings. " I think I 've hit it, Bessy," was his first remark BOY AND GIRL. 9 after a short silence. " Riley 's as likely a man as any to know o' some school ; he 's had schooling himself, an' goes about to all sorts o' places, arbi- tratin' and vallyin' and that. And we shall have time to talk it over to-morrow night when the busi- ness is done. I want Tom to be such a sort o' man as Riley, you know, as can talk pretty nigh as well as if it was all wrote out for him, and kncws a good lot o' words as don't mean much, so as you can't lay hold of 'em i' law ; and a good solid knowledge o' business too." " Well," said Mrs. Tulliver, " so far as talking proper, and knowing everything, and walking with a bend in his back, and setting his hair up, I should n't mind the lad being brought up to that. But them fine-talking men from the big towns mostly wear the false shirt-fronts ; they wear a frill till it 's all a mess, and then hide it with a bib ; I know Riley does. And then, if Tom 's to go and live at Mud- port, like Riley, he '11 have a house with a kitchen hardly big enough to turn in, an' niver get a fresh egg for his breakfast, an' sleep up three pair o' stairs or four, for what I know and be burnt to death before he can get down." " No, no," said Mr. Tulliver, " I 've no thoughts of his going to Mudport : I mean him to set up his office at St. Ogg's, close by us, an' live at home,, But," continued Mr. Tulliver, after a pause, " what I 'in a bit afraid on is, as Tom has n't got the right sort o' brains for a smart fellow. I doubt he 's a bit slowish. He takes after your family, Bessy." " Yes, that he does," said Mrs. Tulliver,, accepting the last proposition entirely on its own merits; " he 's wonderful for liking a deal o' salt in his io THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. broth. That was my brother's way, and my father's befora him." " It seems a bit of a pity, though," said Mr. Tul- liver, " as the lad should take after the mother's side istead o' the little wench. That 's the worst on 't wi' the crossing o' breeds : you can never justly cal- kilate what '11 come on 't. The little un takes after my side, now : she 's twice as 'cute as Tom. Too 'cute for a woman, I 'in afraid," continued Mr. Tul- liver, turning his heal dubiously first on one side and then on the other. " It 's no mischief much whils she 's a little un, but an over-'cute woman 's no batter nor a long-tailed sheep, she '11 fetch iiuiie the bigger prica for that.'' " Yes, it is a mischief while she 's a little un, Mr. Tulliver, for it all runs to naughtiness. How to kejp her in a clean pinafore two hours together passes my cunning. An' now you put me i' mind," continued Mrs. Tulliver, rising and going to the window, " I don't know where she is now, an' it 's pretty nigh tea-time. Ah, I thought so, wan- derin' up an' down by the water, like a wild thing : she'll tumble in some day." Mrs. Tulliver rapped the window sharply, beck- oned, and shook her head, a process which she repeated more than once before she returned to her chair. " You talk o' 'cuteness, Mr. Tulliver," she observed as she sat down, "but I 'm sure the child's half an idiot i' some things ; for if I send her upstairs to fetch anything, she forgets what she 's gone for, an' perhaps 'ull sit down on the floor i' the sunshine an' plait her hair an' sing to herself like a Bedlam creatur', all the while I 'm waiting for her down- stairs. That niver run i' my family, thank God, no BOY AND GIRL. n more nor a brown skin as makes her look like a mulatter. I don't like to fly i' the face o' Provi- dence, but it seems hard as I should have but one gell, an' her so comical." "Pooh, nonsense!" said Mr. Tulliver ; "she's a straight black-eyed wench as anybody need wish to see. I don't know i' what she 's behind other folks's children ; and she can read almost as well as the parson." " But her hair won't curl all I can do with it, and she 's so franzy about having it put i' paper, and I Ve such work as never was to make her stand and have it pinched with th' irons." " Cut it off, cut it off short," said the father, rashly. " How can you talk so, Mr. Tulliver ? She 's too big a gell, gone nine, and tall of her age, to have he.r hair cut short ; an' there 's her cousin Lucy 's got a row o' curls round her head, an' not a hair out o' place. It seems hard as my sister Deane should have that pretty child ; I 'm sure Lucy takes more after me nor my own child does. Maggie, Maggie," continued the njother, in a tone of half-coaxing fretfulness, as this small mistake of nature entered the room, " where 's the use o' my telling you to keep away from the water ? You '11 tumble in and be drownded some day, an' then you '11 be sorry you did n't do as mother told you." Maggie's hair, as she threw off her bonnet, pain- fully confirmed her mother's accusation : Mrs. Tul- liver, desiring her daughter to have a curled crop, " like other folks's children," had had it cut too short in front to be pushed behind the ears ; and as it was usually straight an hour after it had been taken out of paper, Maggie was incessantly tossing her head 12 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. to keep the dark heavy locks out of her gleaming Llack eyes, an action which gave her very much the air of a small Shetland pony. " Oh dear, oh dear, Maggie, what are you thinkin' of, to throw your bonnet down there ? Take it upstairs, there 's a good gell, an' let your hair be brushed, an' put your other pinafore on, an' change your shoes do, for shame ; an' come an' go on with your patchwork, like a little lady." " Oh, mother," said Maggie, in a vehemently cross tone, " I don't want to do my patchwork." " What ! not your pretty patchwork, to make a counterpane for your aunt Glegg?" " It 's foolish work," said Maggie, with a toss of her mane, " tearing things to pieces to sew 'em together again. And I don't want to do anything for my aunt Glegg, I don't like her." Exit Maggie, dragging her bonnet by the string, whila Mr. Tulliver laughs audibly. " I wonder at you, as you '11 laugh at her, Mr. Tulliver," said the mother, with feeble fretful- ness in her tone. " You encourage her i' naughti- ness. An' her aunts will have it as it 's me spoils her." Mrs. Tulliver was what is called a good-tempered person, never cried, when she was a baby, on any slighter ground than hunger and pins; and from the cradle upwards had been healthy, fair, plump, and dull-witted; in short, the flower of her family for beauty and amiability. But milk and mildness are not the best things for keeping; and when they turn only a little sour, they may disagree with young stomachs seriously. I have often wondered whether those early Madonnas of Raphael, with the blond faces and somewhat stupid expression, kept BOY AND GIRL. 13 their placidity undisturbed when their strong-limbed, strong-willed boys got a little too old to do without clothing. I think they must have been given to feeble remonstrance, getting more and more peevish as it became more and more ineffectual. CHAPTER III. MR. RILEY GIVES HIS ADVICE CONCERNING A SCHOOL FOR TOM. THE gentleman in the ample white cravat and shirt- frill, taking his brandy-and-water so pleasantly with, his good friend Tulliver, is Mr. Riley, a gentleman with a waxen complexion and fat hands, rather highly educated for an auctioneer and appraiser, but large-hearted enough to show a great deal of bonhomie towards simple country acquaintances of hospitable habits. Mr. Riley spoke of such ac- quaintances kindly as " people of the old school." The conversation had come to a pause. Mr. Tulliver, not without a particular reason, had ab- stained from a seventh recital of the cool retort by which Riley had shown himself too many for Dix, and how Wakem had had his comb cut for once in his life, now the business of the dam had been settled by arbitration, and how there never would have been any dispute at all about the height of water if everybody was what they should be, and Old Harry had n't made the lawyers. Mr. Tulliver was, on the whole, a man of safe traditional opinions; but on one or two points he had trusted to his un- assisted intellect, and had arrived at several ques- tionable conclusions ; among the rest, that rats, weevils, and lawyers were created by Old Harry. Unhappily he had no one to tell him that this was rampant Manichidsrn, else he might have seen hia BOY AND GIRL. 15 error. But to-day it was clear that the good prin- ciple was triumphant: this affair of the water- power had been a tangled business somehow, for all it seemed look at it one way as plain as water's water ; but, big a puzzle as it was, it had n't got the better of Riley. Mr. Tul liver took his brandy-and-water a little stronger than usual, and, for a man who might be supposed to have a few hundreds lying idle at his banker's, was rather incautiously open in expressing his high estimate of his friend's business talents. But the dam was a subject of conversation that would keep ; it could always be taken up again at the same point, and exactly in the same condition ; and there was another subject, as you know, on which Mr. Tulliver was in pressing want of Mr. Riley 's advice. This was his particular reason for remaining silent for a short space after his last draught, and rubbing his knees in a meditative manner. He was not a man to make an abrupt transition. This was a puzzling world, as he often said, and if you drive your wagon in a hurry, you may light on an awkward corner. Mr. Riley, meanwhile, was not impatient. Why should he be ? Even Hotspur, one would think, must have been patient in his slippers on a warm hearth, taking copious snuff, and sipping gratuitous brandy-and- water. " There 's a thing I 've got i' my head," said Mr. Tulliver at last, in rather a lower tone than usual, as he turned his head and looked steadfastly at his companion. " Ah ! " said Mr. Riley, in a tone of mild interest. He was a man with heavy waxen eyelids and high- arched eyebrows, looking exactly the same undei 16 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. all circumstances. This immovability of face, and the habit of taking a pinch of snuff before he gave an answer, made him trebly oracular to Mr. Tulliver. " It 's a very particular thing," he went on ; " it 's about my boy Tom." At the sound of this name, Maggie, who was seated on a low stool close by the fire, with a large book open on her lap, shook her heavy hair back and looked up eagerly. There were few sounds that roused Maggie when she was dreaming over her book, but Tom's name served as well as the shrillest whistle : in. an instant she was on the watch, with gleaming eyes, like a Skye terrier suspecting mis- chief, or at all events determined to fly at any one who threatened it towards Tom. " You see, I want to put him to a new school at Midsummer," said Mr Tulliver ; " he 's comin' away from the 'cademy at Lady Day, an' I shall let him run loose for a quarter ; but after that I want to send him to a downright good school, where they '11 make a scholard of him." " Well," said Mr. Riley, " there 's no greater ad- vantage you can give him than a good education. Not," he added, with polite significance, " not that a man can't be an excellent miller and farmer, and a shrewd sensible fellow into the bargain, without much help from the schoolmaster." " I believe you," said Mr. Tulliver, winking, and turning his head on one side, " but that 's where it is. . I don't mean Tom to be a miller and farmer, I see no fun i' that : why, if I made him a miller an' farmer, he 'd be expectin* to take to the mill an' the land, an' a-hinting at me as it was time for me to lay by an' think o' my latter end. Nay, nay, BOY AND GIRL. 17 I've seen enough o' that wi' sons. I '11 never pull my coat off before I go to bed. I shall give Tom an eddication an' put him to a business, as he may make a nest for himself, an' not want to push me out o' mine. Pretty well if he gets it when T 'm dead an' gone. I sha'n't be put off wi' spoon-meat afore 1 've lost my teeth. " This was evidently a point on which Mr. Tulliver felt strongly ; and the impetus which had given unusual rapidity and emphasis to his speech showed itself still unexhausted for some minutes afterwards in a defiant motion of the head from side to side, and an occasional "Nay, nay," like a subsiding growl. These angry symptoms were keenly observed by Maggie, and cut her to the quick. Tom, it appeared, was supposed capable of turning his father out of doors, and of making the future in some way tragic by his wickedness. This was not to be borne ; and Maggie jumped up from her stool, forgetting all about her heavy book, which fell with a bang with- in the fender ; and going up between her father's knees, odid, in a half-crying, half-indignant voice, " Father, Tom would n't be naughty to you ever ; I know he would n't." Mrs. Tulliver was out of the room superintending a choice supper-dish, and Mr. Tulliver's heart was touched ; so Maggie was not scolded about the book. Mr. Riley quietly picked it up and looked at it, while the father laughed with a certain tender- ness in his hard-lined face, and patted his little girl on the back, and then held her hands and kept her between his knees. "What! they mustn't say any harm o' Tom, eh ? " said Mr. Tulliver, looking at Maggie with a VOL. I. 2 i8 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. twinkling eye. Then, in a lower voice, turning to Mr. Kiley, as though Maggie couldn't hear: "She undarstands what one 's talking about so as never was. And you should hear her read, straight off, as if she knowed it all beforehand. And allays at her book ! But it 's bad, it 's bad," Mr. Tulliver added sadly, checking this blamable exultation ; " a woman 's no business wi' being so clever ; it '11 turn to trouble, I doubt. But, bless you ! " here the exultation was clearly recovering the mastery, " she '11 read the books and understand 'em better nor half the folks as are growed up." Maggie's cheeks began to flush with triumphant excitement : she thought Mr liiley would have a respect for her now ; it had been evident that he thought nothing of her before. Mr. Riley was turning over the leaves of the book, and she could make nothing of his face, with its high-arched eyebrows ; but he presently looked at her and said, " Come, come and tell me something about this book ; here are some pictures, I want to know what they mean." Maggie with deepening colour went without hesi- tation to Mr. Riley's elbow, and looked over the book, eagerly seizing one corner, and tossing back her inane, while she said, " Oh, I '11 tell you what that means. It 's a dreadful picture, is n't it? But I can't help looking at it. That old woman in the water 's a witch, they 've put her in to find out whether she 's a witch or no, and if she swims she 's a witch, and if she 's drowned and killed, you know she 's innocent, and not a witch, but only a poor silly old * woman. But what good would it do her then, you BOY AND GIRL. 19 know, when she was drowned ? Only, I suppose, she 'd go to heaven, and God would make it up to her. And this dreadful blacksmith with his arms akimbo, laughing oh, is n't he ugly ? I '11 tell you what he is. He 's the devil really " (here Maggie's voice became louder and more emphatic), '' and not a right blacksmith ; for the devil takes the shape of wicked men, and walks about and sets people doing wicked things, and he 's oftener in the shape of a bad man than any other, because, you know, if people saw he was the devil, and he roared at 'em, they 'd run away, and he could n't make 'em do what he pleased." Mr. Tulliver had listened to this exposition of Maggie's with petrifying wonder. " Why, what book is it the wench has got hold on ? " he burst out at last. " ' The History of the Devil/ by Daniel Defoe ; not quite the right book for a little girl," said Mr. Riley, " How came it among your books, Tulli- ver ? " Maggie looked huit and discouraged, while her father said, " Why, it 's one o' the books I bought at Par- tridge's sale. They was all bound alike, it 's a good binding, you see, and I thought they 'd be all good books. There's Jeremy Taylor's 'Holy Living and Dying ' among 'em ; I read in it often of a Sunday " (Mr. Tulliver felt somehow a familiarity with that great writer because his name was Jeremy) ; " and there 's a lot more of 'em, sermons mostly, I think ; but they 've all got the same covers, and I thought they were all o' one sample, as you may say. But it seems one mustn't judge by th' outside. This is a puzzlin' world." 20 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Well," said Mr. Kiley, in an admonitory patron- izing tone, as he patted Maggie on the head, " I advise you to put by the ' History of the Devil,' and read some prettier book. Have you no prettier books ? " "Oh, yes," said Maggie, reviving a little in the desire to vindicate the variety of her reading, " 1 know the reading in this book isn't pretty but I like the pictures, and I make stories to the pictures out of my own head, you know. But I 've got ' ^Esop's Fables,' and a book about Kangaroos and things, and the ' Pilgrim's Progress ' " " Ah, a beautiful book," said Mr. Eiley ; " you can't read a better." " Well, but there 's a great deal about the devil in that," said Maggie, triumphantly, " and I '11 show you the picture of him in his true shape, as he fought with Christian." Maggie ran in an instant to the corner of the room, jumped on a chair, and reached down from the small bookcase a shabby old copy of Bunyan, which opened at once, without the least trouble of search, at the picture she wanted. "Here he is," she said, running back to Mr. Riley, " and Tom coloured him for me with his paints when he was at home last holidays, the body all black, you know, and the eyes red, like fire, because he 's all fire inside, and it shines out at his eyes." " Go, go ! " said Mr. Tulliver, peremptorily, begin- ning to feel rather uncomfortable at these free remarks on the personal appearance of a being powerful enough to create lawyers ; " shut up the book, and let 's hear no more o' such talk. It is as I thought, the child 'ud learn more mischief nor good wi' the books. Go, go and see after your mother." BOY AND GIRL. 21 Maggie shut up the book at once, with a sense of disgrace, but not being inclined to see after her mother, she compromised the matter by going into a dark corner behind her father's chair, and nursing her doll, towards which she had an occasional fit of fondness in Tom's absence, neglecting its toilet, but lavishing so many warm kisses on it that the waxen cheeks had a wasted unhealthy appearance. " Did you ever hear the like on 't ? " said Mr. Tulliver, as Maggie retired. " It 's a pity but what she 'd been the lad, she 'd ha' been a match for the lawyers, she would. It 's the wonderful'st thing " here he lowered his voice " as I picked the mother because she was n't o'er-'cute bein' a good-looking woman too, an' come of a rare family for managing ; but I picked her from her sisters o' purpose, 'cause she was a bit weak, like ; for I was n't a-goin' to be told the rights o' things by my own fireside. But you see when a man 's got brains himself, there 's no knowing where they'll run to; an' a pleasant sort o' soft woman may go on breeding you stupid lads and 'cute wenches, till it 's like as if the world was turned topsy-turvy. It 's an uncommon puzzlin' thing." Mr. Eiley's gravity gave way, and he shook a little under the application of his pinch of snuff, before he said, " But your lad 's not stupid, is he ? I saw him, when I was here last, busy making fishing-tackle ; he seemed quite up to it." " Well, he is n't not to say stupid, he 's got a notion o' things out o' door, an' a sort o' common- sense, as he 'd lay hold o' things by the right handle. But he 's slow with his tongue, you see, and he reads but poorly, and can't abide the books, 22 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. and spells all wrong, they tell me, an' as shy as can be wi' strangers, an' you never hear him say 'cute things like the little wench. Now, what I want is to send him to a school where they '11 make him a bit nimble with his tongue and his pen, and make a smart chap of him. I want my son to be even wi' these fellows as have got the start o' me with hav- ing better schooling. Not but what, if the world had been left as God made it, I could ha' seen my way, and held my own wi' the best of 'em ; but things have got so twisted round and wrapped up i' unreasonable words, as are n't a bit like 'em, as I 'm clean at fault, often an' often. Everything winds about so, the more straightforrard you are, the more you 're puzzled." Mr. Tulliver took a draught, swallowed it slowly, and shook his head in a melancholy manner, con- scious of exemplifying the truth that a perfectly sane intellect is hardly at home in this insane world. " You 're quite in the right of it, Tulliver," ob- served Mr. Kiley. " Better spend an extra hundred or two on your son's education, than leave it him in your will. I know I should have tried to do so by a son of mine, if I 'd had one, though, God knows, I have n't your ready money to play with, Tulliver ; and I have a houseful of daughters into the bargain." " I dare say, now, you know of a school as 'ud be just the thing for Tom," said Mr. Tulliver, not diverted from his purpose by any sympathy with Mr. Riley's deficiency of ready cash. Mr. Riley took a pinch of snuff, and kept Mr. Tulliver in suspense by a silence that seemed de- liberative, before he said, " I know of a very fine chance for any one that 's BOY AND GIRL. 23 got the necessary money, and that 's what you have, Tulliver. The fact is, I would n't recommend any friend of mine to send a boy to a regular school, if he could afford to do better. But if any one wanted his boy to get superior instruction and training, where he would be the companion of his master, and that master a first-rate fellow, I know his man. I would n't mention the chance to every- body, because I don't think everybody would suc- ceed in getting it, if he were to try ; but I mention it to you, Tulliver, between ourselves." The fixed inquiring glance with which Mr. Tul- liver had been watching his friend's oracular face became quite eager. " Ay, now, let 's hear," he said, adjusting himself in his chair with the complacency of a person who is thought worthy of important communications. " He 's an Oxford man," said Mr. Riley, senten- tiously, shutting his mouth close, and looking at Mr. Tulliver to observe the effect of this stimulating information. " What ! a parson ? " said Mr. Tulliver, rather doubtfully. " Yes, and an M. A. The bishop, I understand, thinks very highly of him : why, it was the bishop who got him his present curacy." " Ah ? " said Mr. Tulliver, to whom one thing was as wonderful as another concerning these unfamiliar phenomena. "But what can he want wi' Tom, then ? " " Why, the fact is, he 's fond of teaching, and wishes to keep up his studies, and a clergyman has but little opportunity for that in his parochial duties. He 's willing to take one or two boys as pupils to fill up his time profitably. The boys would 24 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. be quite of the family, the finest thing in the world for them ; under Stelling's eye continually." " But do you think they 'd give the poor lad twice o' pudding ? " said Mrs. Tulliver, who was now in her place again. " He 's such a boy for pudding as never was ; an' a growing boy like that, it 's dread- ful to think o' their stintin' him." " And what money 'ud he want ? " said Mr. Tul- liver, whose instinct told him that the services of this admirable M. A. would bear a high price. " Why, I know of a clergyman who asks a hun- dred and fifty with his youngest pupils, and he 's not to be mentioned with Stelling, the man I speak of. I know, on good authority, that one of the chief people at Oxford said, ' Stelling might get the high- est honours if he chose.' But he did n't care about university honours. He 's a quiet man, not noisy." "Ah, a deal better, a deal better,'' said Mr. Tulliver ; " but a hundred and fifty 's an uncommon price. I never thought o' payin' so much as that." "A good education, let me tell you, Tulliver, a good education is cheap at the money. But Stelling is moderate in his terms, he 's not a grasping man. I 've no doubt he 'd take your boy at a hundred, and that's what you wouldn't get many other clergy- men to do. I '11 write to him about it, if you like." Mr. Tulliver rubbed his knees, and looked at the carpet in a meditative manner. " But belike he 's a bachelor," observed Mrs. Tul- liver in the interval, " an' I 've no opinion o' house- keepers. There was my brother, as is dead an' gone, had a housekeeper once, an' she took half the feathers out o' the best bed, an' packed 'em up an* sent 'em away. An' it 's unknown the linen she made away with, Stott her name was. It 'ud break my heart BOY AND GIRL. 25 to send Tom where there 's a housekeeper, an' I hope you won't think of it, Mr. Tulliver." "You may set your mind at rest on that score, Mrs. Tulliver," said Mr. Riley, " for Stelling is mar- ried to as nice a little woman as any man need wish for a wife. There is n't a kinder little soul in the world; I know her family well. She has very much your complexion, light curly hair. She comes of a good Mudport family, and it's not every offer that would have been acceptable in that quarter. But Stelling 's not an every-day man. Rather a particular fellow as to the people he chooses to be connected with. But 1 think he would have no objection to take your son, I think he would not, on my representation." " I don't know what he could have against the lad," said Mrs. Tulliver, with a slight touch of motherly indignation ; " a nice fresh-skinned lad as anybody need wish to see." " But there 's one thing I 'm thinking on," said Mr. Tulliver, turning his head on one side and looking at Mr. Riley, after a long perusal of the carpet. "Wouldn't a parson be almost too high- learnt to bring up a lad to be a man o' business ? My notion o' the parsons was as they 'd got a sort o' learning as lay mostly out o' sight. And that is n't what I want for Tom. I want him to know figures, and write like print, and see into thingSj quick, and know what folks mean, and how to! wrap things up in words as are n't actionable. It 's an uncommon fine thing, that is," concluded Mr. Tulliver, shaking his head, " when you can let a man know what you think of him without paying for it." " Oh, my dear Tulliver," said Mr. Riley, " you 're 26 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. quite under a mistake about the clergy ; all the best schoolmasters are of the clergy. The schoolmasters who are not clergymen, are a very low set of men generally " " Ay, that Jacobs is, at the 'cademy," interposed Mr. Tulliver. "To be sure, men who have failed in other trades, most likely. Now a clergyman is a gentle- man by profession and education ; and besides that, he has the knowledge that will ground a boy, and prepare him for entering on any career with credit. There may be some clergymen who are mere book- men ; but you may depend upon it, Stelling is not one of them, a man that 's wide awake, let me tell you. Drop him a hint, and that's enough. You talk of figures, now ; you have only to say to Stell- ing, ' I want my son to be a thorough arithmetician,' and you may leave the rest to him." Mr. Riley paused a moment, while Mr. Tulliver, somewhat reassured as to clerical tutorship, was inwardly rehearsing to an imaginary Mr. Stelling the statement, " I want my son to know 'rethmetic." " You see, my dear Tulliver," Mr. Riley continued, "when you get a thoroughly educated man, like Stelling, he 's at no loss to take up any branch of instruction. When a workman knows the use of his tools, he can make a door as well as a window." " Ay, that 's true," said Mr. Tulliver, almost con- vinced now that the clergy must be the best of schoolmasters. " Well, I '11 tell you what T '11 do for you," said Mr. Riley, " and I would n't do it for everybody. I '11 see Stelling's father-in-law, or drop him a line when I get back to Mudport, to say that you wish to place your boy with his son-in-law, and I dare BOY AND GIRL. 2> say Stalling will write to you, and send you his terms." " But there 's. no hurry, is there ? " said Mrs. Tulliver ; "for > hope, Mr. Tulliver, 'you won't let Tom begin at his new school before Midsummer. He began at the 'cademy at the Lady Day quarter, and you see what good's come of it." "Ay, ay, Bessy, never brew wi' bad malt upo' Michaelmas-day, else you '11 have a poor tap," said Mr. Tulliver, winking and smiling at Mr. Riley with the natural pride of a man who has a buxom wife conspicuously his inferior in intellect. " But it's true there's no hurry, you've hit it there, Bessy." " It might be as well not to defer the arrange- ment too long," said Mr. Riley, quietly ; " for Stell- ing may have propositions from other parties, and I know he would not take more than two or three boarders, if so many. If I were you, I think I would enter on the subject with Stelling at once : there's no necessity for sending the boy before Midsummer, but I would be on the safe side, and make sure that nobody forestalls you." " Ay, there 's summat in that," said Mr. Tulliver. " Father," broke in Maggie, who had stolen un- perceived to her father's elbow again, listening with parted lips, while she held her doll topsy-turvy, and crushed its nose against the wood of the chair, '' father, is it a long way off where Tom is to go ? sha'n't we ever go to see him ? " " I don't know, my wench," said the father, tenderly. " Ask Mr. Riley ; he knows." Maggie came round promptly in front of Mr. Riley, and said, " How far is it, please, sir ? " " Oh, a long, long way off," that gentleman an- 28 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. swered, being of opinion that children, when they are not naughty, should always be spoken to jocosely. " You must borrow the seven-leagued boots to get to him." " That 's nonsense ! " said Maggie, tossing her head haughtily, and turning away, with the tears springing in her eyes. She began to dislike Mr. Riley : it was evident he thought her silly and of no consequence. " Hush, Maggie ! for shame of you, asking ques- tions and chattering," said her mother. "Come and sit down on your little stool and hold your tongue, do ! But," added Mrs. Tulliver, who had her own alarm awakened, " is it so far off as I could n't wash him and mend him ? " " About fifteen miles, that 's all," said Mr. Eiley. ' You can drive there and back in a day quite com- fortably. Or Stelling is a hospitable, pleasant man he'd be glad to have you stay." " But it 's too far off for the linen, I doubt," said Mrs. Tulliver, sadly. The entrance of supper opportunely adjourned this difficulty, and relieved Mr. Kiley from the labour of suggesting some solution or compromise, a labour which he would otherwise doubtless have under- taken ; for, as you perceive, he was a man of very obliging manners. And he had really given himself the trouble of recommending Mr. Stelling to his friend Tulliver without any positive expectation of a a solid, definite advantage resulting to himself, not- withstanding the subtle indications to the contrary which might have misled a too sagacious observer. For there is nothing more widely misleading than sagacity if it happens to get on a wrong scent ; and sagacity, persuaded that men usually act and speak BOY AND GIRL. 29 from distinct motives, with a consciously proposed end in view, is certain to waste its energies on imagi- nary game. Plotting covetousness and deliberate contrivance, in order to compass a selfish end, are nowhere abundant but in the world of the dramatist : they demand too intense a mental action for many of our fellow-parishioners to be guilty of them. It is easy enough to spoil the lives of our neighbours without taking so much trouble: we can do it by lazy acquiescence and lazy omission, by trivial falsi- ties for which we hardly know a reason, by small frauds neutralized by small extravagances, by mala- droit flatteries, and clumsily improvized insinuations. We live from hand to mouth, most of us, with a small family of immediate desires, we do little else than snatch a mors2l to satisfy the hungry brood, rarely thinking of seed-corn or the next year's crop. Mr. Riley was a man of business, and not cold towards his own interest, yet even he was more under the influence of small promptings than of far-sighted designs. He had no private understand- ing with the Eev. Walter Stelling ; on the contrary, he knew very little of that M. A. and his acquire- ments, not quite enough perhaps to warrant so strong a recommendation of him as he had given to his friend Tulliver. But he believed Mr. Stelling to be an excellent classic, for Gadsby had said so, and Gadsby's first cousin was an Oxford tutor; which was better ground for the belief even than his own immediate observation would have been, for though Mr. Kiley had received a tincture of the classics at the great Mudport Free School, and had a sense of understanding Latin generally, his com- prehension of any particular Latin was not ready 30 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Doubtless there remained a subtle aroma from hig juvenile contact with the " De Senectute," and the Fourth Book of the " ^Eneid," but it had ceased to be distinctly recognizable as classical, and was only perceived in the higher finish and force of his auctioneering style. Then, Stelling was an Oxford man, and the Oxford men were always no, no, it was the Cambridge men who were always good mathematicians. But a man who had had a univer- sity education could teach anything he liked ; espe- cially a man like Stelling, who had made a speech at a Mudport dinner on a political occasion, and had acquitted himself so well that it was generally re- marked this son-in-law of Timpson's was a sharp fellow. It was to be expected of a Mudport man, from the parish of St. Ursula, that he would not omit to do a good turn to a son-in-law of Timpson's, for Timpson was one of the most useful and influ- ential men in the parish, and had a good deal of business, which he knew how to put into the right hands. Mr. Riley liked such men, quite apart from any money which might b3 diverted, through their good judgment, from less worthy pockets into his own ; and it would be a satisfaction to him to say to Timpson on his return home, " I 've secured a good pupil for your son-in-law." Timpson had a large family of daughters; Mr. Riley felt for him; besides, Louisa Timpson's face, with its light curls, had been a familiar object to him over the pew wainscot on a Sunday for nearly fifteen years: it was natural her husband should be a commend- able tutor. Moreover, Mr. Riley knew of no other schoolmaster whom he had any ground for rec- ommending in preference : why then should he not recommend Stelling? His friend Tulliver had BOY AND GIRL. 31 asked him for an opinion ; it is always chilling, in friendly intercourse, to say you have no opinion to give. And if you deliver an opinion at all, it is mere stupidity not to do it with an air of conviction and well-founded knowledge. You make it your own in uttering it, and naturally get fond of it. Thus Mr. Kiley, knowing no harm of Stelling to begin with, and wishing him well, so far as he had any wishes at all concerning him, had no sooner recommended him than he began to think with admiration of a man recommended on such high authority, and would soon have gathered so warm an interest on the subject that if Mr. Tulliver had in the end declined to send Tom to Stelling, Mr. Eiley would have thought his " friend of the old school" a thoroughly pig-headed fellow. If you blame Mr. Riley very severely for giving a recommendation on such slight grounds, I must say you are rather hard upon him. Why should an auctioneer and appraiser thirty years ago, who had as good as forgott3n his free-school Latin, be expected to manifest a delicate scrupulosity which is not always exhibited by gentlemen of the learned professions, even in our present advanced stage of morality ? Besides, a man with the milk of human kindness in him can scarcely abstain from doing a good- natured action, and one cannot be good-natured all round. Nature herself occasionally quarters an inconvenient parasite on an animal towards whom she has otherwise no ill-will. What then ? We admire her care for the parasite. If Mr. Eiley had shrunk from giving a recommendation that was not based on valid evidence, he would not have helped Mr. Stelling to a paying pupil, and that would nob 32 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. have been so well for the reverend gentleman. Consider, too, that all the pleasant little dim ideas and complacencies of standing well with Tirnp- son, of dispensing advice when he was asked for it, of impressing his friend Tulliver with additional re- spect, of saying something, and saying it emphati- cally, with other inappreciably minute ingredients that went along with the warm hearth and the brandy-and-water to make up Mr. Biley's con- sciousness on this occasion would have been a mere blank. CHAPTER IV. TOM IS EXPECTED. IT was a heavy disappointment to Maggie that she was not allowed to go with her father in the gig when he went to fetch Tom home from the academy ; but the morning was too wet, Mrs. Tulliver said, for a little girl to go out in her best bonnet. Maggie took the opposite view very strongly, and it was a direct consequence of this difference of opinion that when her mother was in the act oi brushing out the reluctant black crop, Maggie suddenly rushed from under her hands and dipped her head in a basin of water standing near, in the vindictive determination that there should be no more chance of curls that day. " Maggie, Maggie ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver, sit- ting stout and helpless with the brushes on her lap, " what is to become of you if you 're so naughty ? I '11 tell your aunt Glegg and your aunt Pullet when they come next week, and they '11 never love you any more. Oh dear, oh dear ! look at your clean pinafore, wet from top to bottom. Folks 'ull think it's a judgment on me as I 've got such a child, they '11 think I 've done summat wicked." Before this remonstrance was finished, Maggie was already out of hearing, making her way towards the great attic that ran under the old high-pitched roof, shaking the water from her black locks as she 34 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. ran, like a Skye terrier escaped from his bath. This attic was Maggie's favourite retreat on a wet day, when the weather was not too cold; here she fretted out all her ill-humours, and talked aloud to the worm-eaten floors and the worm-eaten shelves, and the dark rafters festooned with cobwebs ; and here she kept a Fetish which she punished for all her misfortunes. This was the trunk of a large wooden doll, which once stared with the roundest of eyes above the reddest of cheeks, but was now entirely defaced by a long career of vicarious suffer- ing. Three nails driven into the head commemo- rated as many crises in Maggie's nine years of earthly struggle ; that luxury of vengeance having been suggested to her by the picture of Jael de- stroying Sisera in the old Bible. The last nail had been driven in with a fiercer stroke than usual, for the Fetish on that occasion represented aunt Glegg. But immediately afterwards Maggie had reflected that if she drove many nails in, she would not be so well able to fancy that the head was hurt when she knocked it against the wall, nor to comfort it, and make believe to poultice it, when her fury was abated; for even aunt Glegg would be pitiable when she had been hurt very much, and thoroughly humiliated, so as to beg her niece's pardon. Since then she had driven no more nails in, but had soothed herself by alter- nately grinding and beating the wooden head against the rough brick of the great chimneys that made two square pillars supporting the roof. That was what she did this morning on reaching the attic, sobbing all the while with a passion that expelled every other form of consciousness, even the memory of the grievance that had caused it. BOY AND GIRL. 35 As at last the sobs were getting quieter, and the grinding less fierce, a sudden beam of sunshine, falling through the wire lattice across the worm- eaten shelves, made her throw away the Fetish and run to the window. The sun was leally break- ing out ; the sound of the mill seemed cheerful again ; the granary doors were open ; and there was Yap, the queer white-and-brown terrier, with one ear turned back, trotting about and sniffing vaguely, as if he were in search of a companion. It was irresistible. Maggie tossed her hair back and ran downstairs, seized her bonnet without putting it on, peeped, and then dashed along the passage lest she should encounter her mother, and was quickly out in the yard, whirling round like a Pythoness, and singing as she whirled, "Yap, Yap, Tom's coming home!" while Yap danced and barked round her, as much as to say, if there was any noise wanted he was the dog for it. "Hegh, hegh, Miss! you 11 make yourself giddy, an' tumble down i' the dirt," said Luke, the head miller, a tall broad-shouldered man of forty, black- eyed and black-haired, subdued by a general meali- ness, like an auricula. Maggie paused in her whirling and said, stagger- ing a little, " Oh no, it does n't make me giddy, Luke ; may I go into the mill with you ? " Maggie loved to linger in the great spaces of the mill, and often came out with her black hair powdered to a soft whiteness that made her dark eyes flash out with new fire. The resolute din, the unresting motion of the great stones, giving her a dim delicious awe as at the presence of an uncontrollable force, the meal forever pouring, pouring, the fine white powder softening all sur- 36 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. faces, and making the very spider-nets look like a faery lace-work, the sweet pure scent of the meal, all helped to make Maggie feel that the mill was a little world apart from her outside every-day life. The spiders were especially a sub- ject of speculation with her. She wondered if they had any relatives outside the mill, for in that case there must be a painful difficulty in their family intercourse, a fat and floury spider, accus- tomed to take his fly well dusted with meal, must suffer a little at a cousin's table where the fly was au naturel, and the lady-spiders must be mutually shocked at each other's appearance. But the part of the mill she liked best was the topmost story, the corn-hutch, where there were the great heaps of grain, which she could sit on and slide down continually. She was in the habit of taking this recreation as she conversed with Luke, to whom she was very communicative, wishing him to think well of her understanding, as her father did. Perhaps she felt it necessary to recover position with him on the present occasion, for, u she sat sliding on the heap of grain near which he was busying himself, she said, at that shrill pitch which was requisite in mill- society, " I think you never read any book but the Bible, did you, Luke ? " "Nay, Miss, an' not much o' that," said Lu., ; with great frankness. " I 'm no reader, I are n't." " But if I lent you one of my books, Luke ? I 've not got any very pretty books that would be easy for you to read ; but there 's ' Pug's Tour of Europe,' that would tell you all about the different sorts of people in the world, and if you didn't under- stand the reading, the pictures would help you, BOY AND GIRL. 37 they show the looks and ways of the people, and what they do. There are the Dutchmen, very fat, and smoking, you know, and one sitting on a barrel." " Nay, Miss, I 'n no opinion o' Dutchmen. There be n't much good i' knowin' about them." " But they 're our fellow-creatures, Luke, we ought to know about our fellow-creatures." " Not much o' fellow-creaturs, I think, Miss ; all I know my old master, as war a knowin' man, used to say, says he, ' If e'er I sow my wheat wi'out brinin', I 'm a Dutchman,' says he; an' that war as much as to say as a Dutchman war a fool, or next door. Nay, nay, I are n't goin' to bother my- sen about Dutchmen. There 's fools enoo an' rogues enoo wi'out lookin' i' books for 'em." " Oh, well," said Maggie, rather foiled by Luke's unexpectedly decided views about Dutchmen, " per- haps you would like ' Animated Nature ' better, that's not Dutchmen, you know, but elephants and kangaroos, and the civet-cat, and the sun-fish, and a bird sitting on its tail, I forget its name. There are countries full of those creatures, instead of horses and cows, you know. Shouldn't you like to know about them, Luke ? " " Nay, Miss, I 'n got to keep count o' the flour an' corn, I can't do wi' knowin' so many things be- sides my work. That's what brings folks to the gallows, knowin' everything but what they 'n got to get their bread by. An' they're mostly lies, I think, what 's printed i' the books : them printed sheets are, anyhow, as the men cry i' the streets." " Why, you 're like my brother Tom, Luke," said Maggie, wishing to turn the conversation agreeably ; " Tom 's not fond of reading. I love Tom so dearly, 33 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Luke, better than anybody else in the world. "When he grows up, I shall keep his house, and we shall always live together. I can tell him every- thing he does n't know. But I think Tom 's clever, for all he does n't like books : he makes beautiful whipcord and rabbit-pens." " Ah," said Luke, " but he '11 be fine an' vexed, as the rabbits are all dead." " Dv3ad ! " screamed Maggie, jumping up from her sliding seat on the corn. " Oh dear, Luke ! What ! the lop-eared one, and the spotted doe that Tom spent all his money to buy ? " " As dead as molas," said Luke, fetching his com- parison from the unmistakable corpses nailed to the stable-wall. " Oh dear, Luke," said. Maggie, in a piteous tone, while the big tears rolled down her cheek ; " Tom told me to take care of 'em, and I forgot. What shall I do?" " Well, you see, Miss, they were in that far tool- house, an' it was nobody's business to see to 'em. I reckon Master Tom told Harry to feed 'em, but there 's no countin' on Harry, lie 's an offal crea- tur as iver come about the primises, he is. He re- members nothing but his own inside, an' I wish it'ud gripe him." " Oh, Luke, Tom told me to be sure and remem- ber the rabbits every day ; but how could I, when they did n't come into my head, you know ? Oh, he will be so angry with me, I know he will, and so sorry about his rabbits, and so am I sorry. Oh, what shall I do ? " "Don't you fret, Miss," said Luke, soothingly, "they're nash things, them lop-eared rabbits, they 'd happen ha' died, if they 'd been fed. Things BOY AND GIRL. 39 out o 1 natur niver thrive: God A'mighty doesn't like 'em. He made the rabbits' ears to lie back, an' it's nothin' but contrairiness to make 'em hing down like a mastiff dog's. Master Tom 'ull know better nor buy such things another time. Don't you fret, Miss. Will you come along home wi' me, and see my wife ? I 'm a-goin' this minute." The invitation offered an agreeable distraction to Maggie's grief, and her tears gradually subsided as she trotted along by Luke's side to his pleasant cottage, which stood with its apple and pear trees, and with the added dignity of a lean-to pigsty, at the other end of the Mill fields. Mrs. Moggs, Luke's wife, was a decidedly agreeable acquaintance. She exhibited her hospitality in bread and treacle, and possessed various works of art. Maggie actually forgot that she had any special cause of sadness this morning, as she stood on a chair to look at a remarkable series of pictures representing the Prodi- gal Son in the costume of Sir Charles Grandison, except that, as might have bean expected from his defective moral character, he had not, like that accomplished hero, the taste and strength of mind to dispense with a wig. But the indefinable weight the dead rabbits had left on her mind caused her to feel more than usual pity for the career of this weak young man, particularly when she looked at the picture where he leaned against a tree with a flaccid appearance, his knee-breeches unbuttoned and his wig awry, while the swine, apparently of some foreign breed, seemed to insult him by their good spirits over their feast of husks. " I 'm very glad his father took him back again, are n't you, Luke ? " she said. " For he was very sorry, you know, and would n't do wrong again." 40 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Eh, Miss," said Luke, " he 'd be no great shakes, I doubt, let 's feyther do what he would for him." That was a painful thought to Maggie, and she wished much that the subsequent history of the young man had not been left a blank. CHAPTEK V. TOM COMES HOME. TOM was to arrive early in the afternoon, and there was another fluttering heart besides Maggie's when it was late enough for the sound of the gig-wheels to be expected ; for if Mrs. Tulliver had a strong feeling, it was fondness for her boy. At last the sound came, that quick light bowling of the gig- wheels, and in spite of the wind, which was blow- ing the clouds about, and was not likely to respect Mrs. Tulliver's curls and cap-strings, she came out- side the door, and even held her hand on Maggie's offending head, forgetting all the griefs of the morning. " There he is, my sweet lad ! But, Lord ha' mercy ! he 's got never a collar on ; it 's been lost on the road, I '11 be bound, and spoilt the set." Mrs. Tulliver stood with her arms open ; Maggie jumped first on one leg and then on the other ; while Tom descended from the gig, and said, with masculine reticence as to the tender emotions, " Hello ! Yap what ! are you there ? " Nevertheless he submitted to be kissed willingly enough, though Maggie hung on his neck in rather a strangling fashion, while his blue-gray eyes wan- dered towards the croft and the lambs and the river, where he promised himself that he would begin to fish the first thing to-morrow morning. 42 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. He was one of those lads that grow everywhere in England, and at twelve or thirteen years of age look as much alike as goslings : a lad with light- brown hair, cheeks of cream and roses, full lips, indeterminate nose and eyebrows, a physiognomy in which it seems impossible to discern anything but the generic character of boyhood ; as different as possible from poor Maggie's phiz, which Nature seemed to have moulded and coloured with the most decided intention. But that same Nature has the deep cunning which hides itself under the appear- ance of openness, so that simple people think they can see through her quite well, and all the while she is secretly preparing a refutation of their con- fident prophecies Under these average boyish physiognomies that she seems to turn off by the gross, she conceals some of her most rigid, inflexible purposes, some of her most unmodifiable characters ; and the dark-eyed, demonstrative, rebellious girl may after all turn out to be a passive being com- pared with this pink-and-white bit of masculinity with the indeterminate features. " Maggie," said Tom, confidentially, taking her into a corner, as soon as his mother was gone out to examine his box, and the warm parlour had taken off the chill he had felt from the long drive, " you don't know what I 've got in my pockets," nodding his head up and down as a means of rousing her sense of mystery. " No," said Maggie. " How stodgy they look, Tom ! Is it marls (marbles) or cobnuts ? " Maggie's heart sank a little, because Tom always said it was " no good " playing with her at those games, she played so badly. " Marls ! no ; I Ve swopped all my marls with BOY AND GIRL. 43 the little fellows, and cobnuts are no fun, you silly, only when the nuts are green. But see here ! " He drew something half out of his right-hand pocket. " What is it ? " said Maggie, in a whisper. " I can see nothing but a bit of yellow." "Why, it's . . . a . . . new . . . guess, Maggie ! " " Oh, I cant guess, Tom," said Maggie, impa- tiently. " Don't be a spitfire, else I won't tell you," said Tom, thrusting his hand back into his pocket, and looking determined. " No, Tom," said Maggie, imploringly, laying hold of the arm that was held stiffly in the pocket. " I 'm not cross, Tom ; it was only because I can't bear guessing. Please be good to me." Tom's arm slowly relaxed, and he said : " Well, then, it 's a new fish-line, two new uns, one for you, Maggie, all to yourself. I would n't go halves in the toffee and gingerbread on purpose to save the money; and Gibson and Spouncer fought with me because I would n't. And here 's hooks ; see here ! ... I say, won't we go and fish to-morrow down by the Eound Pool ? And you shall catch your own fish, Maggie, and put the worms on, and everything, won't it be fun ? " Maggie's answer was to throw her arms round Tom's neck and hug him, and hold her cheek against his without speaking, while he slowly unwound some of the line, saying after a pause, " Was n't I a good brother, now, to buy you a line all to yourself ? You know, I need n't have bought it, if I had n't liked." " Yes, very, very good. . . . I do love you, Tom." Tom had put the line back in his pocket, and 44 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. was looking at the hooks one by one, before he spoke again. " And the fellows fought me, because I would n't give in about the toffee." " Oh dear ! I wish they would n't fight at your school, Tom. Did n't it hurt you ? " " Hurt me ? no," said Tom, putting up the hooks again, taking out a large pocket-knife, and slowly opening the largest blade, which he looked at medi- tatively as he rubbed his finger along it. Then he added, " I gave Spouncer a black eye, I know, that 's what he got by wanting to leather me ; I was n't going to go halves because anybody leathered me." " Oh, how brave you are, Tom ! I think you 're like Samson. If there came a lion roaring at me, I think you 'd fight him, would n't you, Tom ? " " How can a lion come roaring at you, you silly thing ? There 's no lions, only in the shows." " No ; but if we were in the lion countries, I mean in Africa, where it's very hot, the lions eat people there. I can show it you in the book where I read it." " Well, I should get a gun and shoot him." " But if you had n't got a gun we might have gone out, you know, not thinking just as we go fishing ; and then a great lion might run towards us roaring, and we could n't get away from him. What should you do, Tom ? " Tom paused, and at last turned away contemptu- ously, saying, " But the lion is n't coming. What 's the use of talking ? " "But I like to fancy how it would be," said Maggie, following him. "Just think what you would do, Tom." BOY AND GIRL. 45 " Oh, don't bother, Maggie ! you 're such a silly I shall go and see my rabbits." Maggie's heart began to flutter with fear. She dared not tell the sad truth at once, but she walked after Tom in trembling silence as he went out, thinking how she could tell him the news so as to soften at once his sorrow and his anger ; for Maggie dreaded Tom's anger of all things, it was quite a different anger from her own. " Tom," she said timidly, when they were out of doors, "how much money did you give for your rabbits ? " " Two half-crowns and a sixpence," said Tom, promptly. " I think I 've got a great deal more than that in my steel purse upstairs. I '11 ask mother to give it you." " What for ? " said Tom. " I don't want your money, you silly thing. I 've got a great deal more money than you, because I 'm a boy. I always have half-sovereigns and sovereigns for my Christ- mas boxes, because I shall be a man, and you only have five-shilling pieces, because you 're only a girl." "Well, but, Tom if mother would let me give you two half-crowns and a sixpence out of my purse to put into your pocket and spend, you know ; and buy some more rabbits with it ? " " More rabbits ? I don't want any more." " Oh, but, Tom, they 're all dead." Tom stopped immediately in his walk, and turned round towards Maggie. " You forgot to feed 'em, then, and Harry forgot ? " he said, his colour heighten- ing for a moment, but soon subsiding. " I '11 pitch into Harry, I'll have him turned away. And I 46 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. don't love you, Maggie. You sha'n't go fishing with me to-morrow. I told you to go and see the rabbits every day." He walked on again. " Yes, but I forgot and I could n't help it, indeed, Tom. I 'in so very sorry," said Maggie, while the tears rushed fast. " You 're a naughty girl," said Tom, severely, " and I 'm sorry I bought you the fish-line. I don't love you." "Oh, Tom, it 's very cruel," sobbed Maggie. " I 'd forgive you, if you forgot anything, I would n't mind what you did, I 'd forgive you and love you." " Yes, you 're a silly ; but I never do forget things, /don't." " Oh, please forgive me, Tom ; my heart will break," said Maggie, shaking with sobs, clinging to Tom's arm, and laying her wet cheek on his shoulder. Tom shook her off, and stopped again, saying in a peremptory tone, " Now, Maggie, you just listen. Are n't I a good brother to 'you ? " "Ye-ye-es," sobbed Maggie, her chin rising and falling convulsedly. " Did n't I think about your fish-line all this quarter, and mean to buy it. and saved my money o' purpose, and would n't go halves in the toffee, and Spouncer fought me because I would n't ? " " Ye-ye-es . . . and I ... lo-lo-love you so, Tom." " But you 're a naughty girl. Last holidays you licked the paint off my lozenge-box, and the holi- days before that you let the boat drag my fish-line down when I'd set you to watch it, and you pushed your head through my kite, all for nothing." " But I did n't mean," said Maggie ; " I could n't help it." BOY AND GIRL. 47 " Yes, you could," said Tom, " if you 'd minded what you were doing. And you 're a naughty girl, and you sha'n't go fishing with me to-morrow." With this terrible conclusion, Tom ran away from Maggie towards the mill, meaning to greet Luke there, and complain to him of Harry. Maggie stood motionless, except from her sobs, for a minute or two; then she turned round and ran into the house, and up to her attic, where she sat on the floor, and laid her head against the worm- eaten shelf, with a crushing sense of misery. Tom was come home, and she had thought how happy she should be, and now he was cruel to her. What use was anything, if Tom did n't love her ? Oh, he was very cruel ! Had n't she wanted to give him the money, and said how very sorry she was ? She knew she was naughty to her mother, but she had never been naughty to Tom, had never meant to be naughty to him. " Oh, he is cruel ! " Maggie sobbed aloud, finding a wretched pleasure in the hollow resonance that came through the long empty space of the attic. She never thought of beating or grinding her Fetish ; she was too miserable to be angry. These bitter sorrows of childhood ! when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the Space from summer to summer seems measureless. Maggie soon thought she had been hours in the attic, and it must be tea-time, and they were all having their tea, and not thinking of her. Well, then, she would stay up there and starve herself, hide herself behind the tub, and stay there all night ; and then they would all be frightened, and Tom would be sorry. Thus Maggie thought in the 48 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. pride of her heart, as she crept behind the tub ; but presently she began to cry again at the idea that they did n't mind her being there. If she went down again to Tom now, would he forgive her ? perhaps her father would be there, and he would take her part. But then she wanted Tom to forgive her because he loved her, not because his father told him. No, she would never go down if Tom did n't come to fetch her. This resolution lasted in great intensity for five dark minutes behind the tub ; but then the need of being loved, the strongest need in poor Maggie's nature, began to wrestle with her pride, and soon threw it. She crept from behind her tub into the twilight of the long attic, but just then she heard a quick footstep on the stairs. Tom had been too much interested in his talk with Luke, in going the round of the premises, walking in and out where he pleased, and whittling sticks without any particular reason, except that he did n't whittle sticks at school, to think of Maggie and the effect his anger had produced on her. He meant to punish her ; and that business having been performed, he occupied himself with other matters, like a practical person. But when he had been called in to tea, his father said, " Why, where 's the little wench ? " and Mrs. Tulliver, almost at the same moment, said, " Where 's your little sister ? " both of them having supposed that Maggie and Tom had been together all the afternoon. " I don't know," said Tom. He did n't want to " tell " of Maggie, though he was angry with her ; for Tom Tulliver was a lad of honour. " What ! has n't she been playing with you all this while ? " said the father. " She 'd been thinking o' nothing but your coming home." BOY AND GIRL. 49 " I have n't seen her this two hours," says Tom, commencing on the plumcake. " Goodness heart ! she 's got drownded ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver, rising from her seat and running to the window. " How could you let her do so ? " she added, as became a fearful woman, accusing she didn't know whom of she didn't know what. " Nay, nay, she 's none drownded," said Mr. Tul- liver. " You Ve been naughty to her, I doubt, Tom?" " I 'm sure I have n't, father," said Tom, indig- nantly. " I think she 's in the house." "Perhaps up in that attic," said Mrs. Tulliver, " a-singing and talking to herself, and forgetting all about meal-times." " You go and fetch her down, Tom," said Mr. Tulliver, rather sharply, his perspicacity or his fatherly fondness for Maggie making him suspect that the lad had been hard upon " the little un," else she would never have left his side. " And be good to her, do you hear ? Else I '11 let you know better." Tom never disobeyed his father, for Mr. Tulliver was a peremptory man, and, as he said, would never let anybody get hold of his whip-hand ; but he went out rather sullenly, carrying his piece of plumcake, and not intending to reprieve Maggie's punishment, which was no more than she deserved. Tom was only thirteen, and had no decided views in grammar and arithmetic, regarding them for the most part as open questions ; but he was particularly clear and positive on one point, namely, that he would punish everybody who deserved it : why, he would n't have minded being punished himself, if he deserved it ; but, then, he never did deserve it VOL I. 4 So THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. It was Tom's step, then, that Maggie heard on the stairs, when her need of love had triumphed over her pride, and she was going down with her swollen eyes and dishevelled hair to beg for pity. At least her father would stroke her head and say, " Never mind, my wench." It is a wonderful sub- duer, this need of love, this hunger of the heart, as peremptory as that other hunger by which Nature forces us to submit to the yoke, and change the face of the world. But she knew Tom's step, and her heart began to beat violently with the sudden shock of hope. He only stood still at the top of the stairs and said, " Maggie, you 're to come down." But she rushed to him and clung round his neck, sobbing, " Oh, Tom, please forgive me I can't bear it I will always be good alvyays remember things do love me please, dear Tom ! " We learn to restrain ourselves as we get older. We keep apart when we have quarrelled, express .ourselves in well-bred phrases, and in this way preserve a dignified alienation, showing much firm- ness on one side, and swallowing much grief on the other. We no longer approximate in our behaviour to the mere impulsiveness of the lower animals, but conduct ourselves in every respect like members of a highly civilized society. Maggie and Tom were still very much like young animals, and so she could rub her cheek against his, and kiss his ear in a random, sobbing way ; and there were tender fibres in the lad that had been used to answer to Maggie's fondling ; so that he behaved with a weak- ness quite inconsistent with his resolution to punish her as much as she deserved : lie actually began to kiss her in return, and say, BOY AND GIRL. 51 "Don't cry, then, Magsie here, eat a bit o" cake." Maggie's sobs began to subside, and she put out her mouth for the cake and bit a piece ; and then Tom bit a piece, just for company, and they ate together and rubbed each other's cheeks and brows and noses together, while they ate, with a humiliat- ing resemblance to two friendly ponies. " Come along, Magsie, and have tea," said Tom at last, when there was no more cake except what was downstairs. So ended the sorrows of this day, and the next morning Maggie was trotting with her own fishing- rod in one hand and a handle of the basket in the other, stepping always, by a peculiar gift, in the muddiest places, and looking darkly radiant from under her beaver-bonnet because Tom was good to her. She had told Tom, however, that she should like him to put the worms on the hook for her, although she accepted his word when he assured her that worms could n't feel (it was Tom's private opinion that it didn't much matter if they did). He knew all about worms, and fish, and those things ; and what birds were mischievous, and how padlocks opened, and which way the handles of the gates were to be lifted. Maggie thought this sort of knowledge was very wonderful, much more diffi- cult than remembering what was in the books ; and she was rather in awe of Tom's superiority, for he was the only person who called her knowledge " stuff," and did not feel surprised at her cleverness. Tom, indeed, was of opinion that Maggie was a silly little thing ; all girls were silly, they could n't throw a stone so as to hit anything, could n't do anything with a pocket-knife, and were frightened 52 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. at frogs. Still he was very fond of his sister, and meant always to take care of her, make her his housekeeper, and puni:h her when she did wrong. They were on their way to the Round Pool, that wonderrul pool, which the floods had made a long while ago : no one knew how deep it was ; and it was mysterious, too, that it should be almost a perfect round, framed in with willows and tall reads, so that the water was only to be seen when you got close to the brink. The sight of the old favourite spot always heightened Tom's good-humour, and he spoke to Maggie in the most amicable whispers, as he opened the precious basket, and prepared their tackle. He threw her line for her, and put the rod into her hand. Maggie thought it probable that the small fish would come to her hook, and the large ones to Tom's. But she had forgotten all about the fish, and was looking dreamily at the glassy water, when Tom said, in a loud whisper, " Look, look, Maggie ! " and came running to prevent her from snatching her line away. Maggie was frightened lest she had been doing something wrong, as usual ; but presently Tom drew out her line, and brought a large tench bouncing on the grass. Tom was excited. " O Magsie, you little duck ! Empty the basket." Maggie was not conscious of unusual merit, but it was enough that Tom called her Magsie, and was pleased with her. There was nothing to mar her delight in the whispers and the dreamy silences, when she listened to the light dipping sounds of the rising fish, and the gentle rustling, as if the willows and the reeds and the water had their happy whisperings also. Maggie thought it would BOY AND GIRL. 53 make a very nice heaven to sit by the pool in that way, and never be scolded. She never knew she had a bite till Tom told her ; but she liked fishing very much. It was one of their happy mornings. They trotted along and sat down together, with no thought that life would ever change much for them : they would only get bigger and not go to school, and it would always be like the holidays ; they would always live together and be fond of each other. And the mill with its booming, the great chestnut-tree under which they played at houses, their own little river, the Ripple, where the banks seemed like home, and Tom was always seeing the water rats, while Maggie gathered the purple plumy tops of the reeds, which she forgot and dropped afterwards, above all, the great Floss, along which they wan- dered with a sense of travel, to see the rushirg spring-tide, the awful Eagre, come up like a hungry monster, or to see the Great Ash which had once wailed and groaned like a man, these things would always be just the same to them. Tom thought people were at a disadvantage who lived on any other spot of the globe ; and Maggie, when she read about Christiana passing "the river over which there is no bridge," always saw the Floss between the green pastures by the Great Ash. Life did change for Tom and Maggie ; and yet they were not wrong in believing that the thoughts and loves of these first years would always make part of their lives. We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it, if it were not the earth where the same flowers come up again every spring that we used to gather with our tiny fingers as we sat lisping to ourselves on 54 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. the grass, the same hips and haws on the autumn hedgerows, the same redbreasts that we used to call " God's birds," because they did no harm to the precious crops. What novelty is worth that sweet monotony where everything is known, and loved because it is known ? The wood I walk in on this mild May day, with the young yellow-brown foliage of the oaks between me and the blue sky, the white star-flowers and the blue-eyed spesdwell and the ground ivy at my feet, what grove of tropic palms, what strange ferns or splendid broad-petalled blossoms, could ever thrill such deep and delicate fibres within me as this home scene ? These familiar flowers, these well-remembered bird-notes, this sky, with its fitful brightness, these furrowed and grassy fields, each with a sort of personality given to it by the capri- cious hedgerows, such things as these are the mother tongue of our imagination, the language that is laden with all the subtle inextricable associations the fleeting hours of our childhood left behind them. Our delight in the sunshine on the deep-bladed grass to-day might be no more than the faint per- ception of wearied souls, if it were not for the sun- shine and the grass in the far-off years which still live in us, and transform our perception into love. CHAPTER VI. THE AUNTS AND UNCLES ARE COMING. IT was Easter week, and Mrs. Tulliver's cheesecakes were more exquisitely light than usual : "A puff o' wind 'ud make 'em blow about like feathers," Kezia the housemaid said, feeling proud to live under a mistress who could make such pastry ; so that no season or circumstances could have been more pro- pitious for a family party, even if it had not been advisable to consult sister Glegg and sister Pullet about Tom's going to school. " I 'd as lief not invite sister Deane this time," said Mrs. Tulliver, " for she 's as jealous and having as can be, and 's allays trying to make the worst o' my poor children to their aunts and uncles." " Yes, yes," said Mr. Tulliver ; " ask her to come. I never hardly get a bit o' talk with Deane now ; we have n't had him this six months. What 's it matter what she says ? my children need be beholding to nobody." " That 's what you allays say, Mr. Tulliver ; but I 'm sure there 's nobody o' your side, neither aunt nor uncle, to leave 'em so much as a five-pound note for a leggicy. And there 's sister Glegg, and sister Pullet too, saving money unknown, for they put by all their own interest and butter- money too ; their husbands buy 'em everything." Mrs. Tulliver was a mild woman, but even a sheep will face about a little when she has lambs. 56 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Tchuh ! " said Mr. Tulliver. " It takes a big loaf when there 's many to breakfast. What signi- fies your sisters' bits o' money when they 've got half-a-dozen nevvies and nieces to divide it among ? And your sister Deane won't get 'em to leave all to one, I reckon, and make the country cry shame on 'em when they are dead ? " " I don't know what she won't get 'em to do," said Mrs. Tulliver, " for my children are so awk- 'ard wi' their aunts and uncles. Maggie 's ten times naughtier when they come than she is other days, and Tom does n 't like 'em, bless him, though it 's more nat'ral in a boy than a gell. And there 's Lucy Deane 's such a good child, you may set her on a stool, and there she 11 sit for an hour together, and never offer to get off. I can't help loving the child as if she was my own ; and I 'm sure she 's more like my child than sister Deane's, for she 'd allays a very poor colour for one of our family, sister Deane had." " Well, well, if you 're fond o' the child, ask her father and mother to bring her with 'em. And won't you ask their aunt and uncle Moss too ? and some o' their children ? " " Oh dear, Mr. Tulliver, why, there 'd be eight people besides the children, and I must put two more leaves i' the table, besides reaching down more o' the dinner-service ; and you know as well as I do as my sisters arid your sister don't suit well together." "Well, well, do as you like, Bessy," said Mr. Tulliver, taking up his hat and walking out to the mill. Few wives were more submissive than Mrs. Tulliver on all points unconnected with her family relations ; but she had been a Miss Dodson, and the Dodsous were a very respectable family indeed, BOY AND GIRL. 57 as much looked up to as any in their own parish, or the next to it. The Miss Dodsons had always been thought to hold up their heads very high, and no one was surprised the two eldest had married so well, not at an early age, for that was not the practice of the Dodson family. There were par- ticular ways of doing everything in that family, particular ways of bleaching the linen, of making the cowslip wine, curing the hams, and keeping the bottled gooseberries ; so that no daughter of that house could be indifferent to the privilege of having been born a Dodson rather than a Gibson or a Watson. Funerals were always conducted with peculiar propriety in the Dodson family : the hat- bands were never of a blue shade, the gloves never split at the thumb, everybody was a mourner who ought to be, and there were always scarfs for the bearers. When one of the family was in trouble or sickness, all the rest went to visit the unfortunate member, usually at the same time, and did not shrink from uttering the most disagreeable truths that correct family feeling dictated : if the illness or trouble was the sufferer's own fault, it was not in the practice of the Dodson family to shrink from saying so. In short, there was in this family a peculiar tradition as to what was the right thing in household management and social demeanour, and the only bitter circumstance attending this supe- riority was a painful inability to approve the con- diments or the conduct of families ungoverned by the Dodson tradition. A female Dodson, when in " strange houses," always ate dry bread with her tea, and declined any sort of preserves, having no confidence in the butter, and thinking that the pie- serves had probably begun to ferment from -want 58 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. of due sugar and boiling. There were some Dod- sons less like tha family than others, that was admitted ; but in so far as they were " kin," they were of necessity better than those who were "no kin." And it is remarkable that while no indi- vidual Dodson was satisfied with any other indivi- dual Dodson, each was satisfied not only with him or her self, but with the Dodsons collectively. The feeblest member of a family the one who has the least character is often the merest epitome of the family habits and traditions ; and Mrs. Tulliver was a thorough Dodson, though a mild one, as small-beer, so long as it is anything, is only describ- able as very weak ale ; and though she had groaned a little in her youth under the yoke of her elder sisters, and still shed occasional tears at their sisterly reproaches, it was not in Mrs. Tulliver to be an innovator on the family ideas. She was thankful to have been a Dodson, and to have one child who took after her own family, at least in his features and complexion, in liking salt and in eating beans, which a Tulliver never did. In other respects the true Dodson was partly la- tent in Tom, and he was as far from appreciating his " kin " on the mother's side as Maggie herself ; gen- erally absconding for the day with a large supply of the most portable food, when he received timely warning that his aunts and uncles were coming ; a moral symptom from which his aunt Glegg deduced the gloomiest views of his future. It was rather hard on Maggie that Tom always absconded without letting her into the secret, but the weaker sex are acknowl- edged to be serious impedimenta in cases of flight. On Wednesday, the day before the aunts and uncles were coming, there were such various and BOY AND GIRL. 59 suggestive scents, as of plumcakes in the oven and jellies in the hot state, mingled with the aroma of gravy, that it was impossible to feel altogether gloomy : there was hope in the air. Torn and Mag- gie made several inroads into the kitchen, and, like other marauders, were induced to keep aloof for a time only by being allowed to carry away a suffi- cient load of booty. " Tom," said Maggie, as they sat on the boughs of the elder-tree, eating their jam-puffs, " shall you run away to-morrow ? " "No," said Tom, slowly, when he had finished his puff, and was eying^ the third, which was to be di- vided between them, " no, I sha'n't." " Why, Tom ? Because Lucy 's coming ? " " No," said Tom, opening his pocket-knife and holding it over the puff, with his head on one side in a dubitative manner. (It was a difficult problem to divide that very . irregular polygon into two equal parts.) " What do / care about Lucy ? She 's only a girl, she can't play at bandy." " Is it the tipsy-cake, then ? " said Maggie, exert- ing her hypothetic powers, while she leaned for- ward towards Tom with her eyes fixed on the hovering knife. " No, you silly, that '11 be good the day after. It 's the pudden. I know what the pudden 's to be apricot roll-up my buttons ! " With this interjection, the knife descended on the puff, and it was in two ; but the result was not satis- factory to Tom, for he still eyed the halves doubt- fully. At last he said, " Shut your eyes, Maggie." " What for ? " "You never mind what for. Shut 'em when I tell you." 60 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Maggie obeyed. " Now, which '11 you have, Maggie, right hand or left ? " " I '11 have that with the jam run out," said Mag- gie, keeping her eyes shut to please Tom. " Why, you don't like that, you silly. You may have it if it comes to you fair, but I sha'n't give it you without. Eight or left, you choose, now. Ha-a-a ! " said Tom, in a tone of exasperation, as Maggie peeped. "You keep your eyes shut, now, else you sha'n't have any." Maggie's power of sacrifice did not extend so far ; indeed, I fear she cared less that Tom should enjoy the utmost possible amount of puff than that he should be pleased with her for giving him the best bit. So she shut her eyes quite close, till Tom told her to " say which," and then she said, " Left hand." " You 've got it," said Tom, in rather a bitter tone. " What ! the bit with the jam run out ? " " No ; here, take it," said Tom, firmly, handing decidedly the best piece to Maggie. " Oh, please, Tom, have it : 1 don't mind, I like the other ; please take this." " No, I sha'n't," said Tom, almost crossly, begin- ning on his own inferior piece. Maggie, thinking it was no use to contend further, began too, and ate up her half puff with consider- able relish as well as rapidity. But Tom had fin- ished first, and had to look on while Maggie ate her last morsel or two, feeling in himself a capacity for more. Maggie did n't know Tom was looking at her; she was seesawing on the elder-bough, lost to almost everything but a vague sense of jam and idleness. " Oh, you greedy thing ! " said Tom, when she BOY AND GIRL. 61 had swallowed the last morsel. He was conscious of having acted very fairly, and thought she ought to have considered this, and made up to him for it. He would have refused a bit of heis beforehand, but one is naturally at a different point of view before and after one's own share of puff is swallowed. Maggie turned quite pale. " Oh, Tom, why did n't you ask me ? " " / was n't going to ask you for a bit, you greedy. You might have thought of it without, when you knew I gave you the best bit." " But I wanted you to have it, you know I did," said Maggie, in an injured tone. " Yes, but I was n't going to do what was n't fair, like Spouncer. He always takes the best bit, if you don't punch him for it; and if you choose the best with your eyes shut, he changes his hands. But if I go halves, I '11 go 'ern fair, only I would n't be a greedy." With this cutting innuendo, Tom jumped down from his bough, and threw a stone with a " Hoigh ! " as a friendly attention to Yap, who had also been looking on while the eatables vanished, with an agi- tation of his ears and feelings which could hardly have been without bitterness. Yet the excellent dog accepted Tom's attention with as much alacrity as if he had been treated quite generously. But Maggie, gifted with that superior power of misery which distinguishes the human being, and places him at a proud distance from the most mel- ancholy chimpanzee, sat still on her bough, and gave herself up to the keen sense of unmerited re- proach. She would have given the world not to have eaten all her puff, and to have saved some of it for Tom. 'Not but that the puff was very nice, 62 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. for Maggie's palate was not at all obtuse, but she would have gone without it many times over, sooner than Tom should call her greedy and be cross with her. And he had said he would n't have it, and she ate it without thinking, how could she help it ? The tears flowed so plentifully that Maggie saw nothing around her for the next ten minutes ; but by that time resentment began to give way to the desire of reconciliation, and she jumped from her bough to look for Tom. He was no longer in the paddock behind the rickyard, where was he likely to be gone, and Yap with him ? Maggie ran to the high bank against the great holly-tree, where she could see far away towards the Floss. There was Tom ; but her heart sank again as she saw how far off he was on his way to the great river, and that he had another companion besides Yap, naughty Bob Jakin, whose official if not natural function of frightening the birds was just now at a standstill. Maggie felt sure that Bob was wicked, without very distinctly knowing why ; unless it was because Bob's mother was a dreadfully large fat woman, who lived at a queer round house down the river; and once, when Maggie and Torn had wandered thither, there rushed out a brindled dog that would n't stop barking ; and when Bob's mother came out after it and screamed above the barking to tell them not to be frightened, Maggie thought she was scolding them fiercely, and her heart beat with terror. Maggie thought it very likely that the round house had snakes on the floor, and bats in the bedroom ; for she had s?en Bob take off his cap to show Tom a little snake that was inside it, and another time he had a handful of young bats : alto- gether he was an irregular character", perhaps even BOY AND GIRL. 63 slightly diabolical, judging from his intimacy with snakes and bats ; and, to crown all, when Tom had Bob for a companion, he did n't mind about Maggie, and would never let her go with him. It must be owned that Tom was fond of Bob's company. How could it be otherwise ? Bob knew, directly he saw a bird's egg, whether it was a swal- low's or a tomtit's or a yellow-hammer's ; he found out all the wasps' nests, and could set all sorts of traps ; he could climb the trees like a squirrel, and had quite a magical power of detecting hedgehogs and stoats ; and he had courage to do things that were rather naughty, such as making gaps in the hedgerows, throwing stones after the sheep, and killing a cat that was wandering incognito. Such qualities in an inferior, who could always be treated with authority in spite of his superior knowingness, had necessarily a fatal fascination for Tom; and every holiday-time Maggie was sure to have days of grief because he had gone off with Bob. Well ! there was no hope for it he was gone now, and Maggie -could think of no comfort but to oo sit down by the hollow, or wander by the hedge- row, and fancy it was all different, refashioning her little world into just what she should like it to be. Maggie's was a troublous life, and this was the form in which she took her opium. Meanwhile Tom, forgetting all about Maggie and the sting of reproach which he had left in her heart, was hurrying along with Bob, whom he had met accidentally, to the scene of a great rat-catching in a neighbouring barn. Bob knew all about this par- ticular affair, and spoke of the sport with an enthu- siasm which no one who is not either divested of all manly feeling or pitiably ignorant of rat-catching, 64 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. can fail to imagine. For a person suspected of preternatural wickedness, Bob was really not so very villanous-looking ; there was even something agreeable in his snub-nosed face, with its close- curled border of red hair. But then his trousers were always rolled up at the knee, for the conven- ience of wading on the slightest notice ; and his virtue, supposing it to exist, was undeniably " virtue in rags," which, on the authority even of bilious philosophers, who think all well-dressed merit over- paid, is notoriously likely to remain unrecognized (perhaps because it is seen so seldom). " I know the chap as owns the ferrets," said Bob, m a hoarse treble voice, as he shuffled along, keeping his blue eyes fixed on the river, like an amphibious ani- mal who foresaw occasion for darting in. " He lives up the Kennel Yard at Sut Ogg's, he does. He's the biggest rot-catcher anywhere, he is. I 'd sooner be a rot-catcher nor anything, I would. The moles is nothing to the rots. But, Lors ! you mun ha' ferrets. Dogs is no good. Why, there's that dog, now ! " Bob continued, pointing with an air of disgust towards Yap ; " he 's no more good wi' a rot nor nothin'. I see it myself I did at the rot- catchin' i' your feyther's barn." Yap, feeling the withering influence of this scorn, tucked his tail in, and shrank close to Tom's leg, who felt a little hurt for him, but had not the superhuman courage to seem behindhand with Bob in contempt for a dog who made so poor a figure. " No, no," he said, " Yap 's no good at sport. I '11 have regular good dogs for rats and everything, when I Ve done school." " Hev ferrets, Measter Tom," said Bob eagerly, * them white ferrets wi' pink eyes. Lors, you might BOY AND GIRL. 65 catch your own rots, an' you might put a rot in a cage wi' a ferret, an' see 'em tight, you might. That 's what I 'd do, I know, an' it 'ud be better fun a'most nor seein' two chaps fight, if it was n't them chaps as sold cakes an' oranges at the Fair, as the things flew out o' their baskets, an' some o' the cakes was smashed. . . . But they tasted just as good," added Bob, by way of note or addendum, after a moment's pausa. " But, I say, Bob," said Tom, in a tone of delibera- tion, " ferrets are nasty biting things, they '11 bite a fellow without being set on." " Lors ! why, that 's the beauty on 'em. If a chap lays hold o'- your ferret, he won't ba long be- fore he hollows out a good un, he won't." At this moment a striking incident made the boys pause suddenly in their walk. It was the plunging of some small body in the water from among the neighbouring bulrushes : if it was not a water-rat, Bob intimated that he was ready to undergo the most unpleasant consequences. " Hoigh ! Yap hoigh ! there he is," said Tom, clapping his hands, as the little black snout made its arrowy course to the opposite bank. " Seize him, lad ! seize him ! " Yap agitated his ears and wrinkled his brows, but declined to plunge, trying whether barking would not answer the purpose just as well. " Ugh ! you coward ! " said Tom, and kicked him over, feeling humiliated as a sportsman to possess so poor-spirited an animal. Bob abstained from remark and passed on, choosing, however, to walk in the shallow edge of the overflowing river by way of change. " He 's none so full now, the Floss is n't," said VOL. I. 5 66 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Bob, as he kicked the water up before him, with an agreeable sense of being insolent to it. " Why, last 'ear, the meadows was all one sheet o' water, they was." " Ay, but," said Tom, whose mind was prone to see an opposition between statements that were really quite accordant, " but there was a big flood once, when the Round Pool was made. 1 know there was, 'cause father says so. And the sheep and cows were all drowned, and the boats went all over the fields ever such a way." " / don't care about a flood comin'," said Bob ; " I don't mind the water, no more nor the land. I 'd swim, I would." "Ah, but if you got nothing to eat for ever so long ? " said Tom, his imagination becoming quite active under the stimulus of that dread. " When I 'm a man, I shall make a boat with a wooden house on the top of it, like Noah's ark, and keep plenty to eat in it rabbits and things all ready. And then if the flood came, you know, Bob, I should n't mind. . . . And I 'd take you in, if I saw you swimming," he added, in the tone of a benevolent patron. " I are n't frighted," said Bob, to whom hunger did not appear so appalling. " But I 'd get in an' knock the rabbits on th' head when you wanted to eat 'em." " Ah, and I should have halfpence, and we 'd play at heads-and-tails," said Tom, not contemplating the possibility that this recreation might have fewer charms for his mature age. " I 'd divide fair to begin with, and then we 'd see who 'd win." " I 've got a halfpenny o' my own," said Bob, proudly, coming out of the water and tossinj? his halfpenny in the air. " Yeads or tails ? " BOY AND GIRL. 07 " Tails," said Tom, instantly fired with the desire to win. " It 's yeads," said Bob, hastily, snatching up the halfpenny as it fell. " It was n't," said Tom, loudly and peremptorily. " You give me the halfpenny, I Ve won it fair." " I sha'n't," said Bob, holding it tight in his pocket. "Then I '11 make you, see if I don't," said Tom. " You can't make me do nothing, you can't," said Bob. " Yes, I can." " No, you can't." " I 'm master." " I don't care for you." "But I'll make you care, you cheat!" said Tom, collaring Bob, and shaking him. " You get out wi' you," said Bob, giving Tom a kick. Tom's blood was thoroughly up : he went at Bob with a lunge, and threw him down ; but Bob seized hold and kept it like a cat, and pulled Tom down after him. They struggled fiercely on the ground for a moment or two, till Tom, pinning Bob down by the shoulders, thought he had the mastery. " You say you '11 give me the halfpenny now," he said, with difficulty, while he exerted himself to keep the command of Bob's arms. But at this moment Yap, who had been running on before, returned barking to the scene of action, and saw a favourable opportunity for biting Bob's bare leg not only with impunity but with honour. The pain from Yap's teeth, instead of surprising Bob into a relaxation of his hold, gave it a fiercer tenacity, and with a new exertion of his force, he pushed Tom backward and got uppermost. But 68 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. now Yap, who could get no sufficient purchase before, set his teeth in a new place, so that Bob, harassed in this way, let go his hold of Tom, and, almost throttling Yap, flung him into the river. By this time Tom was up again, and before Bob had quite recovered his balance after the act of swinging Yap, Tom fell upon him, threw him down, and got his knees firmly on Bob's chest. " You give me the halfpenny now," said Tom. " Take it," said Bob, sulkily. "No, I sha'n't take it; you give it me." Bob took the halfpenny out of his pocket, and threw it away from him on the ground. Tom loosed his hold, and left Bob to rise. "There the halfpenny lies," he said. "I don't want your halfpenny; I wouldn't have kept it. But you wanted to cheat : I hate a cheat. I sha'n't go along with you any more," he added, turning round homeward, not without casting a regret towards the rat-catching and other pleasures which he must relinquish along with Bob's society. " You may let it alone, then," Bob called out after him. " I shall cheat if I like ; there 's no fun i' playing else ; and I know where there 's a gold- finch's nest, but I '11 take care you don't. . . . An' you 're a nasty fightin' turkey-cock, you are " Tom walked on without looking round ; and Yap followed his example, the cold bath having mod- erated his passions. " Go along wi' you, then, wi' your drowned dog ; I wouldn't own such a dog, I wouldn't," said Bob, getting louder, in a last effort to sustain his defiance. But Tom was not to be provoked into turning round, and Bob's voice began to falter a little as he said, BOY AND GIRL. 69 "An' I'n gi'en you everything, an' showed you everything, an' niver wanted nothiii' from you. . . . An' there 's your horn-handed knife, then, as you gi'en me " Here Bob flung the knife as far as he could after Tom's retreating footsteps. But it produced no effect, except the sense in Bob's mind that there was a terrible void in his lot, now that knife was gone. He stood still till Tom had passed through the gate and disappeared behind the hedge. The knife would do no good on the ground there, it would n't vex Tom, and pride or resentment was a feeble passion in Bob's .mind compared with the love of a pocket-knife. His very fingers sent entreating thrills that he would go and clutch that familiar rough buck's-horn handle, which they had so often grasped for mere affection, as it lay idle in his pocket. And there were two blades, and they had just been sharpened ! What is life without a pocket-knife to him who has once tasted a higher existence ? No : to throw the handle after the hatchet is a comprehensible act of desperation, but to throw one's pocket-knife after an implacable friend is clearly in every sense a hyperbole, or throwing beyond the mark. So Bob shuffled back to the spot where the beloved knife lay in the dirt, and felt quite a new pleasure in clutching it again after the temporary separation, in opening one blade after the other, and feeling their edge with his well-hardened thumb. Poor Bob ! he was not sensitive on the point of honour, not a chivalrous character. That fine moral aroma would not have been thought much of by the public opinion of Kennel Yard, which was the very focus or heart of Bob's world, even if it could have made itself 70 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. perceptible there ; yet, for all that, he was not utterly a sneak and a thief as our friend Tom had hastily decided. But Tom, you perceive, was rather a Bhadaman- thine personage, having more than the usual share of boy's justice in him, the justice that desires to hurt culprits as much as they deserve to be hurt, and is troubled with no doubts concerning the exact amount of their deserts. Maggie saw a cloud on his brow when he came home, which checked her joy at his coming so much sooner than she had expected, and she dared hardly speak to him as he stood silently throwing the small gravel-stones into the mill-dam. It is not pleasant to give up a rat- catching when you have set your mind on it. But if Tom had told his strongest feeling at that mo- ment, he would have said, " I 'd do just the same again." That was his usual mode of viewing his past actions ; whereas Maggie was always wishing she had done something different CHAPTER VII. ENTER THE AUNTS AND UNCLES. THE Dodsons were certainly a handsome family, and Mrs. Glegg was not the least handsome of the sisters. As she sat in Mrs. Tulliver's arm- chair, no impartial observer could have denied that for a woman of fifty she had a very comely face and figure, though Tom and Maggie considered their aunt Glegg as the type of ugliness. It is true she despised the advantages of costume; for though, as she often observed, no woman had better clothes, it was not her way to wear her new things out before her old ones. Other women, if they liked, might have their best thread-lace in every wash ; but when Mis. Glegg died, it would be found that she had better lace laid by in the right-hand drawer of her wardrobe, in the Spotted Chamber, than ever Mrs. Wooll of St. Ogg's had bought in her life, although Mrs. Wooll wore her lace before it was paid for. So of her curled fronts : Mrs. Glegg had doubtless the glossiest and crispest brown curls in her drawers, as well as curls in various degrees of fuzzy laxness ; but to look out on the week-day world from under a crisp and glossy front would be to introduce a most dream- like and unpleasant confusion between the sacred and the secular. Occasionally, indeed, Mrs. Glegg wore one of her third-best fronts on a week-day visit, but not at a sister's bouse ; especially not at 72 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Mrs. Tulliver's, who, since her marriage, had hurt her sisters' feelings greatly by wearing her own hair, though, as Mrs. Glegg observed to Mrs. Deane, a mother of a family, like Bessy, with a husband always going to law, might have been expected to know better. But Bessy was always weak ! So if Mrs. Glegg's front to-day was more fuzzy and lax than usual, she had a design under it : she intended the most pointed and cutting allusion to Mrs. Tulliver's bunches of blond curls, separated from each other by a due wave of smoothness on each side of the parting. Mrs. Tulliver had shed tears several times at sister Glegg's unkindness on the subject of these unmatronly curls, but the con- sciousness of looking the handsomer for them naturally administered support. Mrs. Glegg chose to wear her bonnet in the house to-day, untied and tilted slightly, of course, a frequent practice of hers when she was on a visit, and happened to be in a severe humour ; she did n't know what draughts there might be in strange houses. For the same reason she wore a small sable tippet, which reached just to her shoulders and was very far from meeting across her well-formed chest, while her long neck was protected by a chevaux-de-frise of miscellane- ous frilling. One would need to be learned in the fashions of those times to know how far in the rear of them Mrs. Glegg's slate-coloured silk gown must have been ; but from certain constellations of small yellow spots upon it, and a mouldy odour about it suggestive of a damp clothes-chest, it was probable that it belonged to a stratum of garments just old enough to have come recently into wear. Mrs. Glegg held her large gold watch in her hand with the many-doubled chain round her lingers, and BOY AND GIRL. 73 observed to Mrs. Tulliver, who had just returned from a visit to the kitchen, that whatever it might be by other people's clocks and watches, it was gone half-past twelve by hers. " I don't know what ails sister Pullet," she con- tinued. " It used to be the way in our family for one to be as early as another, I 'm sure it was so in my poor father's time, and not for one sister to sit half an hour before the others came. But if the ways o' the family are altered, it sha'n't be my fault, I'll never be the one to come into a house when all the rest are going away. I wonder at sister Dsane, she used to le more like me. But if you '11 take my advice, Bessy, you '11 put the dinner forrard a bit, sooner than put it back, because folks are late as ought to ha' known better." " Oh dear, there 's no fear but what they '11 be all here in time, sister," said Mrs. Tulliver, in her mild- peevish tone. " The dinner won't be ready till half- past one. But if it's long for you to wait, let me fetch you a cheesecake and a glass o' wine." " Well, Bessy ! " said Mrs. Glegg, with a bitter smile, and a scarcely perceptible toss of her head, " I should ha' thought you 'd known your own sister better. I never did eat between meals, and I'm not going to begin. Not but what I hate that non- sense of having your dinner at half-past one, when you might have it at one. You was never brought up in that way, Bessy." " Why, Jane, what can I do ? Mr. Tulliver does n't like his dinner before two o'clock, but I put it half an hour earlier because o' you." "Yes, yes, I know how it is with husbands, they 're for putting everything off, they '11 put the 74 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. dinner off till after tea, if they've got wives as are weak enough to. give in to such work ; but it 's a pity for you, Bessy, as you have n't got more strength o' mind. It'll be well if your children don't suffer for it. And I hope you 've not gone and got a great dinner for us, going to expense for your sisters, as 'ud sooner eat a crust o' dry bread nor help to ruin you with extravagance. I wonder you don't take pattern by your sister Deane, she 's far more sensible. And here you 've got two chil- dren to provide for, and your husband 's spent your fortin i' going to law, and's likely to spend his own too. A boiled joint, as you could make broth of for the kitchen," Mrs. Glegg addsd, in a tone of emphatic protest, "and a plain pudding, with a spoonful o' sugar, and no spice, 'ud be far more becoming." With sister Glegg in this humour, there was a cheerful prospect for the day. Mrs. Tulliver never went the langth of quarrelling with her, any more than a water-fowl that puts out its leg in a depre- cating manner can be said to quarrel with a boy who throws stones. But this point of the dinner was a tender one, and not at all new, so that Mrs. Tulliver could make the same answer she had often made before. "Mr. Tulliver says he always will have a good dinner for his friends while he can pay for it," she said ; " and he 's a right to do as he likes in his own house, sister." " Well, Bessy, I can't leave your children enough out o' my savings to keep 'em from ruin. And you must n't look to having any o' Mr. Glegg's money, for it 's well if I don't go first, he comes of a long- lived family ; and if ha was to die and leave me BOY AND GIRL. 75 well for my life, he 'd tie all the money up to go back to his own kin." The sound of wheels while Mrs. Glegg was speak- ing was an interruption highly welcome to Mrs. Tulliver, who hastened out to receive sister Pullet, it must be sister Pullet, because the sound was that of a four-wheel. Mrs. Glegg tossed her head and looked rather sour about the mouth at the thought of the " four- wheel." She had a strong opinion on that subject. Sister Pullet was in tears when the one-horse chaise stopped before Mrs. Tulliver's door, and it was apparently requisite that she should shed a few more before getting out ; for though her husband and Mrs. Tulliver stood ready to support her, she sat still and shook her head sadly, as she looked through her tears at the vague distance. " Why, whativer is the matter, sister ? " said Mrs. Tulliver. She was not an imaginative woman, but it occurred to her that the large toilet-glass in sister Pullet's best bedroom was possibly broken for the second time. There was no reply but a further shake of the head, as Mrs. Pullet slowly rose and got down from the chaise, not without casting a glance at Mr. Pullet to see that he was guarding her handsome silk dress from injury. Mr. Pullet was a small man with a high nose, small twinkling eyes, and thin lips, in a fresh-looking suit of black and a white cravat, that seemed to have been tied very tight on some higher principle than that of mere personal ease. He bore about the same relation to his tall, good-looking wife, with her balloon sleeves, abundant mantle, and large befeathered and be- ribboned bonnet, as a small fishing-smack bears to a brig with all its sails spread. 76 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. It is a pathetic sight and a striking example of the complexity introduced into the emotions by a high state of civilization, the sight of a fashionably dressed female in grief. From the sorrow of a Hotten- tot to that of a woman in large buckram sleeves, with several bracelets on each arm, an architectural bonnet, and delicate ribbon-strings, what a long series of gradations ! In the enlightened child of civilization the abandonment characteristic of grief is checked and varied in the subtlest manner, so as to present an interesting problem to the analytic mind. If, with a crushed heart and eyes half blinded by the mist of tears, she were to walk with a too devious step through a door-place, she might crush her buckram sleeves too, and the deep con- sciousness of this possibility produces a composition of forces by which she takes a line that just clears the doorpost. Perceiving that the tears are hurry- ing fast, she unpins her strings and throws them languidly backward, a touching gesture, indica- tive, even in the deepest gloom, of the hope in future dry moments when cap-strings will once more have a charm. As the tears subside a little, and with her head leaning backward at the angle that will not injure her bonnet, she endures that terrible moment when grief, which has made all things else a weariness, has itself become weary ; she looks down pensively at her bracelets, and adjusts their clasps with that pretty studied fortuity which would be gratifying to her mind if it were once more in a calm and healthy state. Mrs. Pullet brushed each doorpost with great nicety about the latitude of her shoulders (at that period a woman was truly ridiculous to an instructed eye if she did not measure a yard and a half across the BOY AND GIRL. 77 shoulders), and having done that, sent the muscles of her face in quest of fresh tears as she advanced into the parlour where Mrs. Glegg was seated. " Well, sister, you 're late ; what 's the matter ? " said Mrs. Glegg, rather sharply, as they shook hands. Mrs. Pullet sat down, lifting up her mantle care- fully behind, before she answered, " She 's gone," unconsciously using an impressive figure of rhetoric. " It is n't the glass this time, then," thought Mrs. Tulliver. " Died the day before yesterday," continued Mrs. Pullet ; " an' her legs was as thick as my body," she added, with deep sadness, after a pause. " They 'd tapped her no end o' times, and the water they say you might ha' swum in it, if you 'd liked." " Well, Sophy, it 's a mercy she 's gone, then, whoever she may be," said Mrs. Glegg, with the promptitude and emphasis of a mind naturally clear and decided ; " but I can't think who you 're talking of, for my part." " But / know," said Mrs. Pullet, sighing and shak- ing her head ; " and there is n't another such a dropsy in the parish. / know as it 's old Mrs. Sutton o' the Twentylands." " Well, she 's no kin o' yours, nor much acquaint- ance as I 've ever heared of," said Mrs. Glegg, who always cried just as much as was proper when any- thing happened to her own " kin," but not on other occasions. " She 's so much acquaintance as I Ve seen her legs when they was like bladders. . . . And an old lady as had doubled her money over and over again, and kept it all in her own management to the last, 78 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. and had her pocket with her keys in under her pillow constant. There is n't many old ^arish'nera like her, I doubt." " And they say she 'd took as much physic as 'ud fill a wagon," observed Mr. Pullet. " Ah ! " sighed Mrs. Pullet, " she 'd another com- plaint ever so many years before she had the dropsy, and the doctors couldn't make out what it was. And she said to me, when I went to see her last Christmas, she said, ' Mrs. Pullet, if ever you have the dropsy, you 11 think o' me.' She did say so," added Mrs. Pullet, beginning to cry bitterly again ; " those were her very words. And she 's to be buried o' Saturday, and Pullet 's bid to the funeral." "Sophy," said Mrs. Glegg, unable any longer to contain her spirit of rational remonstrance, " Sophy, I wonder at you, fretting and injuring your health about people as don't belong to you. Your poor father never did so, nor your aunt Frances neither, nor any o' the family as I ever heared of. You could n't fret no more than this, if we 'd heared as our cousin Abbott had died sudden without making his will." Mrs. Pullet was silent, having to finish her cry- ing, and rather flattered than indignant at being upbraided for crying too much. It was not every- body who could afford to cry so much about their neighbours who had left them nothing; but Mrs. Pullet had married a gentleman farmer, and had leisure and money to carry her crying and every- thing else to the highest pitch of respectability. " Mrs. Sutton did n't die without making her will, though," said Mr. Pullet, with a confused sense that he was saying something to sanction his wife's tears; " ours is a rich parish, but they say there 's nobody BOY AND GIRL. 79 else to leave as many thousands behind 'era as Mrs. Sutton. And she 's left no leggicies, to speak on, left it all in a lump to her husband's nevvy." " There was n't much good i' being so rich, then," said Mrs. Glegg, " if she 'd got none but husband's kin to leave it to. It 's poor work when that 's all you 've got to pinch yourself for ; not as I 'm one o' those as 'ud like to die without leaving more money out at interest than other folks had reckoned. But it 's a poor tale when it must go out o' your own family." " I 'm sure, sister," said Mrs. Pullet, who had recovered sufficiently to take off her veil and fold it carefully, " it 's a nice sort o' man as Mrs. Sutton has left her money to, for he 's troubled with the asthmy, and goes to bed every night at eight o'clock. He told me about it himself as free as could be one Sunday when he came to our church. He wears a hare-skin on his chest, and has a trembling in his talk, quite a gentleman sort o' man. I told him there was n't many months in the year as I was n't under the doctor's hands. And he said, ' Mrs. Pullet, I can feel for you.' That was what he said, the very words. Ah ! " sighed Mrs. Pullet, shaking her head at the idea that there were but few who could enter fully into her experiences in pink mixture and white mixture, strong stuff in small bottles, and weak stuff in large bottles, damp boluses at a shilling, and draughts at eighteenpence. " Sister, I may as well go and take my bonnet off now. Did you see as the cap-box was put out?" she added, turning to her husband. Mr. Pullet, by an unaccountable lapse of memory, had forgotten it, and hastened out, with a stricken conscience, to remedy the omission. " They '11 bring it upstairs, sister," said Mrs. 8o THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Tulliver, wishing to go at once, lest Mrs. Glegg should begin to explain her feelings about Sophy's being the first Dodson who ever ruined her consti- tution with doctor's stuff. Mrs. Tulliver was fond of going upstairs with her sister Pullet, and looking thoroughly at her cap before she put it on her head, and discussing millinery in general. This was part of Bessy's weakness, that stirred Mrs. Glegg's sisterly com- passion : Bessy went far too well dressed, considering ; and she was too proud to dress her child in the good clothing her sister Glegg gave her from the primeval strata of her wardrobe ; it was a sin and a shame to buy anything to dress that child, if it was n't a pair of shoas. In this particular, however, Mrs. Glegg did her sister Bessy some injustice, for Mrs. Tulliver had really made great efforts to induce Maggie to wear a leghorn bonnet and a dyed silk frock made out of her aunt Glegg's, but the results had been such that Mrs. Tulliver was obliged to bury them in her maternal bosom ; for Maggie, declaring that the frock smelt of nasty dye, had taken an opportunity of basting it together with the roast-beef the first Sunday she wore it, and, finding this scheme answer, she had subsequently pumped on the bonnet with its green ribbons, so as to give it a general resemblance to a sage cheese garnished with withered lettuces. I must urge in excuse for Maggie, that Tom had laughed at her in the bonnet, and said she looked like an old Judy. Aunt Pullet, too, made presents of clothes, but these were always pretty enough to please Maggie as well as her mother. Of all her sisters, Mrs. Tulliver certainly preferred her sister Pullet, not without a return o* preference ; but Mrs. Pullet was sorry B^ssy had BOY AND GIRL. 81 those naughty awkward children ; she would do the best she could by them, but it was a pity they were n't as good and as pretty as sister Deane's child. Maggie and Tom, on their part, thought their aunt Pullet tolerable, chietiy because she was not their aunt Glegg. Tom always declined to go more than once, during his holidays, to see either of them : both his uncles tipped him that once, of course ; but at his aunt Pullet's there were a great many toads to pelt in the cellar-area, so that he preferred the visit to her. Maggie shuddered at the toads, and dreamed of them horribly, but she liked her uncle Pullet's, musical snuffbox. Still, it was agreed by the sisters, in Mrs. Tulliver's absence, that the Tulliver blood did not mix well with the Dodson blood ; that, in fact, poor Bessy's children were Tullivers, and that Tom, notwithstanding he had the Dodson complexion, was likely to be as " contrairy " as his father. As for Maggie, she was the picture of her aunt Moss, Mr. Tulliver's sister, a large-boned woman, who had married as poorly as could be, had no china, and had a husband who had much ado to pay his rent. But when Mrs. Pullet was alone with Mrs. Tulliver upstairs, the remarks were naturally to the disadvantage of Mrs. Glegg, and they agreed, in confidence, that there was no knowing what sort of fright sister Jane would come out next. But their tete-a-tete was cur- tailed by the appearance of Mrs. Deane with little Lucy ; and Mrs. Tulliver had to look on with a silent pang while Lucy's blond curls were adjusted. It was quite unaccountable that Mrs. Deane, the thinnest and sallowest of all the Miss Dodsons, should have had this child, who might have been taken for Mrs. Tulliver's any day. And Maggie VOL. I. 6 82 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. always looked twice as dark as usual when she was by the side of Lucy. She did to-day, when he and Tom came in from the garden with their father and their uncle Glegg. Maggie had thrown her bonnet off very carelessly, and, coining in with her hair rough as well as out of curl, rushed at once to Lucy, who was standing by her mother's knee. Certainly the contrast be- tween the cousins was conspicuous, and, to super- ficial eyes, was very much to the disadvantage of Maggie, though a connoisseur might have seen "points" in her which had a higher promise for maturity than Lucy's natty completeness. It was like the contrast between a rough, dark, overgrown puppy and a white kitten. Lucy put up the neatest little rosebud mouth to be kissed : everything about her was neat her little round neck, with the row of coral beads ; her little straight nose, not at all snubby ; her little clear eyebrows, rather darker than her curls, to match her hazel eyes, which looked up with shy pleasure at Maggie, taller by the head, though scarcely a year older. Maggie always looked at Lucy with delight. She was fond of fancying a world where the people never got any larger than children of their own age, and she made the queen of it just like Lucy, with a little crown on her head, and a little sceptre in her hand . . . only the queen was Maggie herself in Lucy's form. "Oh, Lucy," she burst out, after kissing her, "you'll stay with Tom and me, won't you? Oh./ kiss her, Tom." Tom, too, had come up to Lucy, but he was not going to kiss her, no ; he came up to her with Maggie, because it seemed easier, on the whole, than saying, " How do you do ? " to all those aunts and BOY AND GIRL. 83 uncles: he stood looking at nothing in particular, with the blushing, awkward air and semi-smile which are common to shy boys when in company, very much as if they had come into the world by mistake, and found it in a degree of undress that was quite embarrassing. " Heyday ! " said aunt Glegg, with loud emphasis. " Do little boys and gells come into a room without taking notice o' their uncles and aunts ? That was n't the way when / was a little gell." " Go and speak to your aunts and uncles, my dears," said Mrs. Tulliver, looking anxious and melancholy. She- wanted to whisper to Maggie a command to go and have her hair brushed. " Well, and how do you do ? And I hope you 're good children, are you ? " said aunt Glegg, in the same loud emphatic way, as she took their hands, hurting them with her large rings, and kissing their cheeks much against their desire. " Look up, Tom, look up. Boys as go to boarding-schools should hold their heads up. Look at me now." Tom de- clined that pleasure apparently, for he tried to draw his hand away. " Put your hair behind your ears, Maggie, and keep your frock on your shoulder." Aunt Glegg always spoke to them in this loud emphatic way, as if she considered them deaf, or perhaps rather idiotic : it was a means, she thought, of making them feel that they were accountable creatures, and might be a salutary check on naughty- tendencies. Bessy's children were so spoiled, they 'd need have somebody to make them feel their duty. " Well, my dears," said aunt Pullet, in a compas- sionate voice, " you grow wonderful fast. I doubt they'll outgrow their strength," she added, looking 4 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. over their heads with a melancholy expression at their mother. " I think the gell has too much hair. I 'd have it thinned and cut shorter, sister, if I was you : it is n't good for her health. It 's that as makes her skin so brown, I should n't wonder. Don't you think so, sister Deane ? " " I can't say, I 'm sure, sister," said Mrs. Deane, shutting her lips close again, and looking at Maggie with a critical eye. " No, no," said Mr. Tulliver, " the child 's healthy enough, there 's nothing ails her. There 's red wheat as well as white, for that matter, and some like the dark grain best. But it 'ud be as well if Bessy 'ud have the child's hair cut, so as it 'ud lie smooth." A dreadful resolve was gathering in Maggie's breast, but it was arrested by the desire to know from her aunt Deane whether she would leave Lucy behind : aunt Deane would hardly ever let Lucy come to see them. After various reasons for refusal, Mrs. Deane appealed to Lucy herself. " You would n't like to stay behind without mother, should you, Lucy ? " " Yes, please, mother," said Lucy, timidly, blush- ing very pink all over her little neck. " Well done, Lucy ! Let her stay, Mrs. Deane. let her stay," said Mr. Deane, a large but alert-looP- ing man, with a type of physique to be seen in all ranks of English society, bald crown, red whiskers, full forehead, and general solidity without heaviness. You may see noblemen like Mr. Deane, and you may see grocers or day-labourers like him ; but the keenness of his brown eyes was less common than his contour. He held a silver snuff-box very tightly in liis hand, and now and then exchanged a pinch BOY AND GIRL. 85 with Mr. Tulliver, whose box was only silver- mounted, so that it was naturally a joke between them that Mr. Tulliver wanted to exchange snuff- boxes also. Mr. Deane' s box had been given him by the superior partners in the firm to which he be- longed, at the same time that they gave him a share in the business, in acknowledgment of his valuable ser- vices as manager. No man was thought more highly of in St. Ogg's than Mr. Deane, and some persons were even of opinion that Miss Susan Dodson, who was once held to have made the worst match of all the Dodson sisters, might one day ride in a better car- riage, and live in a better house, even than her sister Pullet. There was no knowing where a man would stop who had got his foot into a great mill- owning, ship-owning business like that of Guest & Co., with a banking concern attached. And Mrs. Deane, as her intimate female friends observed, was proud and " having " enough : she would n't let her husband stand still in the world for want of spurring. " Maggie," said Mrs. Tulliver, beckoning Maggie to her, and whispering in her ear, as soon as this point of Lucy's staying was settled, " go and get your hair brushed, do, for shame. I told you not to come in without going to Martha first ; you know I did." "Tom, come out with me," whispered Maggie, pulling his sleeve as she passed him ; and Tom followed willingly enough. " Come upstairs with me, Tom," she whispered, when they were outside the door. " There 's some- thing I want to do before dinner." "There's no time to play at anything before dinner," said Tom, whose imagination was impatient of any intermediate prospect. 86 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Oh yes, there is time for this, do come. Tom." Tom followed Maggie upstairs into her mother's room, arid saw her go at once to a drawer, from which she took out a large pair of scissors. " What are they for, Maggie ? " said Tom, feeling his curiosity awakened. Maggie answered by seizing her front locks and cutting them straight across the middle of her forehead. " Oh, my buttons, Maggie, you '11 catch it ! " ex- claimed Tom; "you'd better not cut any more off." Snip ! went the great scissors again, while Tom was speaking ; and he could n't help feeling it was rather good fun : Maggie would look so queer. " Here, Tom, cut it behind for me," said Maggie, excited by her own daring, and anxious to finish the deed. " You '11 catch it, you know," said Tom, nodding his head in an admonitory manner, and hesitating a little as he took the scissors. "Never mind, make haste !" said Maggie, giving a little stamp with her foot. Her cheeks were quite flushed. The black locks were so thick, nothing could be more tempting to a lad who had already tasted the forbidden pleasure of cutting the pony's mane. I speak to those who know the satisfaction of making a pair of shears meet through a duly resist- ing mass of hair. One delicious grinding snip, and then another and another, and the hinder locks fell heavily on the floor, and Maggie stood cropped in a jagged, uneven manner, but with a sense of clear- ness and freedom, as if she had emerged from a wood into the open plain. BOY AND GIRL. 87 " Oh, Maggie," said Tom, jumping round her, and slapping his knees as he laughed, " oh, my buttons, what a queer thing you look ! Look at yourself in the glass, you look like the idiot we throw out nutshells to at school." Maggie felt an unexpected pang. She had thought beforehand chiefly of her own deliverance from her teasing hair and teasing remarks about it, and something also of the triumph she should have over her mother and her aunts by this very decided course of action : she did n't want her hair to look pretty, that was out of the question, she only wanted people to think her a clever little girl, and not to find fault with her. But now, when Tom began to laugh at her, and say she was like the idiot, the affair had quite a new aspect. She looked in the glass, and still Tom laughed and clapped his hands, and Maggie's flushed cheeks began to pale, and her lips to tremble a little. " Oh, Maggie, you '11 have to go down to dinner directly," said Tom. "Oh my!" "Don't laugh at me, Tom," said Maggie, in a passionate tone, with an outburst of angry tears, stamping, and giving him a push. " Now, then, spitfire ! " said Tom. " What did you cut it off for, then ? I shall go down : I can smell the dinner going in." He hurried downstairs, and left poor Maggie to that bitter sense of the irrevocable which was almost an every-day experience of her small soul. She could see clearly enough, now the thing was done, that it was very foolish, and that she should have to hear and think more about her hair than ever ; for Maggie rushed to her deeds with passion- ate impulse, and then saw not only their conse- 88 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. quences, but what would have happened if they had not been done, with all the detail and exagge- rated circumstance of an active imagination. Tom never did the same sort of foolish things as Maggie, having a wonderful instinctive discernment of what would turn to his advantage or disadvantage ; and so it happened that though he was much more wilful and inflexible than Maggie, his mother hardly ever called him naughty. But if Tom did make a mistake of that sort, he espoused it, and stood by it : he " did n't mind." If he broke the lash of his father's gig-whip by lashing the gate, he could n't help it, the whip should n't have got caught in the hinge. If Tom Tulliver whipped a gate, he was convinced, not that the whipping of gates by all boys was a justifiable act, but that he, Tom Tulliver, was justifiable in whipping that particular gate, and he was n't going to be sorry. But Maggie, as she stood crying before the glass, felt it impossible that she should go down to dinner and endure the severe eyes and severe words of her aunts, while Tom, and Lucy, and Martha, who waited at table, and perhaps her father and her uncles, would laugh at her, for if Tom had laughed at her, of course every one else would ; and if she had only let her hair alone, she could have sat with Tom and Lucy, and had the apricot-pudding and the custard ! What could she do but sob ? She sat as helpless and despairing among her black locks as Ajax among the slaughtered sheep. Very trivial, perhaps, this anguish seems to weather-worn mortals who have to think of Christmas bills, dead loves, and broken friendships; but it was not less bitter to Maggie perhaps it was even more bitter than what we are fond of calling antithetically the real troubles BOY AND GIRL. 89 of mature life. "Ah, my child, you will have real troubles to fret about by and by," is the consolation we have almost all of us had administered to us in our childhood, and have repeated to other children since we have been grown up. We have all of us sobbed so piteously, standing with tiny bare legs above our little socks, when we lost sight of our mother or nurse in some strange plr.ce ; but we can no longer recall the poignancy of that moment and weep over it, as we do over the remembered suffer- ings of five or ten years ago. Every one of those keen moments has left its trace, and lives in us still, but such traces have blent themselves irre- coverably with the firmer texture of our youth and manhood ; and so it comes that we can look on at the troubles of our children with a smiling disbelief in the reality of their pain. Is there any one who can recover the experience of his childhood, not merely with a memory of what he did and what happened to him, of what he liked and disliked when he was in frock and trousers, but with an intimate penetration, a revived consciousness of what he felt then, when it was so long from one Mid- summer to another ? what he felt when his school- fellows shut him out of their game because he would pitch the ball wrong out of mere wilfulness ; or on a rainy day in the holidays, when he did n't know how to amuse himself, and fell from idleness into mischief, from mischief into defiance, and from defiance into sulkiness ; or when his mother abso- lutely refused to let him have a tailed coat that "half," although every other boy of his age had gone into tails already ? Surely, if we could recall that early bitterness, and the dim guesses, the strangely perspectiveless conception of life that 90 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. gave the bitterness its intensity, we should not pooh-pooh the griefs of our children. " Miss Maggie, you 're to come down this min- ute," said Kezia, entering the room hurriedly. " Lawks ! what have you been a-doing ? I niver see such a fright ! " "Don't, Kezia ! " said Maggie, angrily. " Go away ! " " But I tell you, you 're to come down, Miss, this minute : your mother says so," said Kezia, going up to Maggie and taking her by the hand to raise her from the floor. " Get away, Kezia ; I don't want any dinner," said Maggie, resisting Kezia's arm. " I sha'u't come." " Oh, well, I can't stay. I 've got to wait at dinner," said Kezia, going out again. "Maggie, you little silly," said Tom, peeping into the room ten minutes after, " why don't you come and have your dinner ? There 's lots o' goodies, and mother says you 're to come. What are you crying for, you little spoony ? " Oh, it was dreadful ! Tom was so hard and un- concerned ; if he had been crying on the floor, Maggie would have cried too. And there was the dinner, so nice ; and she was so hungry. It was very bitter. But Tom was not altogether hard. He was not inclined to cry, and did not feel that Maggie's grief spoiled his prospect of the sweets; but he went and put his head near her, and said in a lower, comforting tone, " Won't you come, then, Magsie ? Shall I bring you a bit o' pudding when I Ve had mine ? . . . and a custard and things ? " " Ye-e-es," said Maggie, beginning to feel life a little more tolerable. BOY AND GIRL. 91 "Very well," said Tom, going away. But he turned again at the door and said, " But you 'd better come, you know. There's the dessert nuts, you know and cowslip wine." Maggie's tears had ceased, and she looked reflec- tive as Tom left her. His good-nature had taken off the keenest edge of her suffering, and nuts with cow- slip wine began to assert their legitimate influence. Slowly she rose from amongst her scattered locks, and slowly she made her way downstairs. Then she stood leaning with one shoulder against the frame of the dining-parlour door, peeping in when it was ajar. She saw Tom and Lucy with an empty chair between them, and there were the custards on a side-table, it was too much. She slipped in and went towards the empty chair. But she had no sooner sat down than she repented, and wished herself back again. Mrs. Tulliver gave a little scream as she saw her, and felt such a " turn " that she dropped the large gravy-spoon into the dish with the most se- rious results to the table-cloth. For Kezia had not betrayed the reason of Maggie's refusal to come down, not liking to give her mistress a shock in the moment of carving, and Mrs. Tulliver thought there was nothing worse in question than a fit of perverse- ness, which was inflicting its own punishment by depriving Maggie of half her dinner. Mrs. Tul liver's scream made all eyes turn towards the same point as her own, and Maggie's cheeks and ears began to burn, while uncle Glegg, a kind- looking, white-haired old gentleman, said, " Heyday ! what little gell's this ? why, I don't know her. Is it some little gell you Ve picked up in the road, Kezia?" 92 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS "Why, she's gone and cut her hair herself," said Mr. Tulliver in an undertone to Mr. Deane, laughing with much enjoyment. "Did you ever know such a little hussy as it is ? " " Why, little miss, you Ve made yourself look very funny," said uncle Pullet; and perhaps he never in his life made an observation which was felt to be so lacerating. " Fie, for shame ! " said aunt Glegg, in her loud- est, severest tone of reproof. " Little gells as cut their own hair should be whipped and fed on bread and water, not come and sit down with their aunts and uncles." "Ay, ay," said uncle Glegg, meaning to give a playful turn to this denunciation, " she must be sent to jail, I think, and they '11 cut the rest of her hair off there, and make it all even." " She 's more like a gypsy nor ever," said aunt Pullet, in a pitying tone ; " it 's very bad luck, sister, as the gell should be so brown, the boy 's fair enough. I doubt it '11 stand in her way i' life to be so brown." " She 's a naughty child, as '11 break her mother's heart," said Mrs. Tulliver, with the tears in her eyes. Maggie seemed to be listening to a chorus of re- proach and derision. Her first flush came from anger, which gave her a transient power of defiance, and Tom thought she was braving it out, supported by the recent appearance of the pudding and cus- tard. Under this impression, he whispered, " Oh my ! Maggie, I told you you 'd catch it." He meant to be friendly, but Maggie felt convinced that Tom was rejoicing in her ignominy. Her feeble power of defiance left her in an instant, her heart swelled, BOY AND GIRL. 93 and, getting up from her chair, she ran to her father, hid her face on his shoulder, and burst out into loud sobbing. " Come, come, my wench," said her father, sooth- ingly, putting his arm round her, " never mind ; you was i' the right to cut it off if it plagued you. Give over crying ; father '11 take your part." Delicious words of tenderness ! Maggie never forgot any of these moments when her father " took her part ; " she kept them in her heart, and thought of them long years after, when eveiy one else said that her father had done very ill by his children. " How your husband does spoil that child, Bessy !" said Mrs. Glegg, in a loud " aside " to Mrs. Tulliver. " It '11 be the ruin of her, if you don't take care. My father never brought his children up so, else we should ha' been a different sort o' family to what we are." Mrs. Tulliver's domestic sorrows seemed at this moment to have reached the point at which insen- sibility begins. She took no notice of her sister's remark, but threw back her cap-strings and dis- pensed the pudding in mute resignation. With the dessert there came entire deliverance for Maggie, for the children were told they might have their nuts and wine in the summer-house, since the day was so mild ; and they scampered out among the budding bushes of the garden with the alacrity of small animals getting from under a burning-glass. Mrs. Tulliver had her special reason for this per- mission : now the dinner was despatched, and every one's mind disengaged, it was the right moment to communicate Mr. Tulliver's intention concerning Tom, and it would be as well for Tom himself to be absent. The children were used to hear themselves 94 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. talked of as freely as if they were birds, and could understand nothing, however they might stretch their necks and listen ; but on this occasion Mrs. Tulliver manifested an unusual discretion, because she had recently had evidence that the going to school to a clergyman was a sore point with Tom, who looked at it as very much on a par with going to school to a constable. Mrs. Tulliver had a sigh- ing sense that her husband would do as he liked, whatever sister Glegg said, or sister Pullet either, but at least they would not be able to say, if the thing turned out ill, that Bessy had fallen in with her husband's folly without letting her own friends know a word about it. "Mr. Tulliver," she said, interrupting her husband in his talk with Mr. Deane, " it 's time now to tell the children's aunts and uncles what you 're think- ing of doing with Tom, is n't it ? " "Very well," said Mr. Tulliver, rather sharply, "I've no objections to tell anybody what I mean to do with him. I 've settled," he added, looking towards Mr. Glagg and Mr. Deane, "I 've settled to send him to a Mr. Stelling, a parson, down at King's Lorton, there, an uncommon clever fellow, I understand, as '11 put him up to most things." There was a rustling demonstration of surprise in the company, such as you may have observed in a country congregation when they hear an allusion to their week-day affairs from the pulpit, It was equally astonishing to the aunts and uncles to find a parson introduced into Mr. Tulliver's family ar- rangements. As for uncle Pullet, he could hardly have been more thoroughly obfuscated if Mr. Tulliver had said that he was going to send Tom to the Lord Chancellor : for uncle Pullet belonged to that extinct BOY AND GIRL. 95 class of British yeomen who, dressed in good broad- cloth, paid high rates and taxes, went to church, and ate a particularly good dinner on Sunday, without dreaming that the British constitution in Church and State had a traceable origin any more than the solar system and the fixed stars. It is melancholy, but true, that Mr. Pullet had the most confused idea of a bishop as a sort of a baronet, who might or might not be a clergyman ; and as the rector of his own parish was a man of high family and fortune, the idea that a clergyman could be a schoolmaster was too remote from Mr. Pullet's experience to be readily conceivable. 1 know it is difficult for people in these instructed times to believe in uncle Pullet's ignorance ; but let them reflect on the remarkable results of a great natural faculty under favouring circumstances. And uncle Pullet had a great natu- ral faculty for ignorance. He was the first to give utterance to his astonishment. " Why, what can you be going to send him to a parson for ? " he said, with an amazed twinkling in his eyes, looking at Mr. Glegg and Mr. Deane, to see if they showed any signs of comprehension. " Why, because the parsons are the best school- masters, by what I can make out," said poor Mr. Tulliver, who, in the maze of this puzzling world, laid hold of any clew with great readiness and te- nacity. " Jacobs at th' academy 's no parson, and he 's done very bad by the boy ; and I made up my mind, if I sent him to school again, it should be to somebody different to Jacobs. And this Mr. Stell- ing, by what I can make out, is the sort o' man I want. And I mean my boy to go to him at Mid- summer," he concluded, in a tone of decision, tapping his siiuff-box and taking a pinch. 96 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " You 11 have to pay a swinging half-yearly bill, then, eh, Tulliver ? The clergymen have highish notions, in general," said Mr. Deane, taking snuff vigorously, as he always did when wishing to main- tain a neutral position. " What ! do you think the parson '11 teach him to know a good sample o' wheat when he sees it, neigh- bour Tulliver ? " said Mr. Glegg. who was fond of his jest ; and, having retired from business, felt that it was not only allowable but becoming in him to take a playful view of things. " Why, you see, I 've got a plan i' my head about Tom," said Mr. Tulliver, pausing after that state- ment and lifting up his glass. " Well, if I may be allowed to speak, and it 's sel- dom as I am," said Mrs. Glegg,- with a tone of bitter meaning, " I should like to know what good is to come to the boy, by bringiu' him up above his fortin." " Why," said Mr. Tulliver, not looking at Mrs. Glegg, but at the male part of his audience, " you see, 1 've made up my mind not to bring Tom up to my own business. I 've had my thoughts about it all along, and I made up my mind by what I saw with Garnett and his son. I mean to put him to some business as he can go into without capital, and I want to give him an eddication as he '11 be even wi' the lawyers and folks, and put me up to a notion now an' then." Mrs. Glegg emitted a long sort of guttural sound with closed lips, that smiled in mingled pity and scorn. " It 'ud be a fine deal bstter for some people," she said, after that introductory note, " if they 'd let the lawyers alone." BOY AND GIRL. 97 " Is he at the head of a grammar school, then, this clergyman, such as that at Market Bewley ? " said Mr. Deane. " No, nothing o' that," said Mr. Tulliver. " He won't take more than two or three pupils, and so he'll have the more time to attend to 'em, you know." "Ah, and get his eddication done the sooner : they can't learn much at a time when there's so many of 'em," said uncle Pullet, feeling that he was getting quite an insight into this difficult matter. " But he '11 want the more pay, I doubt," said Mr. Glegg. " Ay, ay, a cool hundred a year, that 's all," said Mr. Tulliver, with some pride at his own spirited course. " But then, you know, it 's an investment ; Tom's eddication 'ull be so much capital to him." " Ay, there 's something in that," said Mr. Glegg. " Well, well, neighbour Tulliver, you may be right, you may be right : ' AVhen land is gone and money 's spent, Then learning is most excellent.' I remember seeing those two lines wrote on a win- dow at Buxton. But us that have got no learning had better keep our money, eh, neighbour Pullet ?" Mr. Glegg rubbed his knees and looked very pleasant. " Mr. Glegg, I wonder at you," said his wife. " It 's very unbecoming in a man o' your age and belongings." " What 's unbecoming, Mrs. G. ? " said Mr. Glegg, winking pleasantly at the company. "My new blue coat as I 've got on ? " " I pity your weakness, Mr. Glegg. I say it 's VOL. I. 7 98 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. unbecoming to be making a joke when you see your own kin going headlongs to ruin." " If you mean me by that," said Mr. Tulliver, considerably nettled, " you need n't trouble yourself to fret about me. I can manage my own affairs without troubling other folks." " Bless me ! " said Mr. Deane, judiciously intro- ducing a new idea, " why, now I come to think of it, somebody said Wakem was going to send his son the deformed lad to a clergyman, did n't they, Susan ? " (appealing to his wife). " I can give no account of it, I 'm sure," said Mrs. Deane, closing her lips very tightly again. Mrs. Deane was not a woman to take part in a scene where missiles were flying. " Well," said Mr. Tulliver, speaking all the more cheerfully, that Mrs. Glegg might see he didn't mind her, " if Wakem thinks o' sending his son to a clergyman, depend on it I shall make no mistake i' sending Tom to one. Wakern 's as big a scoundrel as Old Harry ever made, but he knows the length of every man's foot he 's got to deal with. Ay, ay, tell me who 's Wakem's butcher, and I '11 tell you where to get your meat." "But lawyer Wakein's son 's got a hump-back," said Mrs. Pullet, who felt as if the whole business had a funereal aspect ; " it 's more nat'ral to send him to a clergyman." " Yes," said Mr. Glegg, interpreting Mrs. Pullet's observation with erroneous plausibility, " you must consider that, neighbour Tulliver ; Wakem's son is n't likely to follow any business. Wakem 'ull make a gentleman of him, poor fellow." " Mr. Glegg," said Mrs. G., in a tone which implied that her indignation would fizz and ooze a BOY AND GIRL. 99 little, though she was determined to keep it corked up, " you 'd far better hold your tongue. Mr. Tulli- ver does n't want to know your opinion nor mine neither. There 's folks in the world as know better than everybody else." " Why, I should think that 's you, if we 're to trust your own tale," said Mr. Tulliver, beginning to boil up again. " Oh, / say nothing," said Mrs. Glegg, sarcasti- cally. " My advice has never been asked, and I don't give it." " It '11 be the lirst time, then," said Mr. Tulliver. "It's the only thing you 're over-ready at giving." " I 've been over-ready at lending, then, if I have n't been over-ready at giving," said Mrs. Glegg. " There 's folks I 've lent money to, as perhaps I shall repent o' lending money to kin." " Come, come, come," said Mr. Glegg, soothingly. But Mr. Tulliver was not to be hindered of his retort. " You Ve got a bond for it, I reckon," he said ; " and you 've had your five per cent, kin or no kin." " Sister," said Mrs. Tulliver, pleadingly, " drink your wine, and let me give you some almonds and raisins." " Bessy, I 'm sorry for you," said Mrs. Glegg, very much with the feeling of a cur that seizes the opportunity of diverting his bark towards the man who carries no stick. " It 's poor work talking o' almonds and raisins." " Lors, sister Glegg, don't be so quarrelsome," said Mrs. Pullet, beginning to cry a little. " You may be struck with a fit, getting so red in the face after dinner, and we are but just out o' mourning, ioo THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. all of us, and all wi' gowns craped alike and just put by, it 's very bad among sisters." "I should think it is bad," said Mrs. Glegg. "Things are come to a fine pass when one sister invites the other to her house o' purpose to quarrel with her and abuse her." " Softly, softly, Jane, be reasonable, be reason- able," said Mr. Glegg. But while he was speaking, Mr. Tulliver, who had by no means said enough to satisfy his anger, burst out again. " Who wants to quarrel with you ? " he said. " It 's you as can't let people alone, but must be gnawing at 'em forever. / should never want to quarrel with any woman if she kept her place." "My place, indeed!" said Mrs. Glegg, getting rather more shrill. " There 's your betters, Mr. Tulliver, as are dead and in their grave, treated me with a different sort o' respect to what you do, though I 've got a husband as '11 sit by and see me abused by them as 'ud never ha' had the chance if there had n't been them in our family as married worse than they might ha' done." "If you talk o' that," said Mr. Tulliver, "my family 's as good as yours, and better, for it has n't got a damned ill-tempered woman in it." " Well," said Mrs. Glegg, rising from her chair, " I don't know whether you think it 's a fine thing to sit by and hear me swore at, Mr. Glegg ; but I 'm not going to stay a minute longer in this house. You can stay behind, and come home with the gig and I'll walk home." " Dear heart, dear heart ! " said Mr. Glegg, in a melancholy tone, as he followed his wife out of the room. BOY AND GIRL. 101 "Mr. Tulliver, how could you talk so ? " said Mrs Tulliver, with the tears in her eyes. " Let her go," said Mr. Tulliver, too hot to be damped by any amount of tears. " Let her go, and the sooner the better : she won't be trying to domi- neer over me again in a hurry." " Sister Pullet," said Mrs. Tulliver, helplessly, " do you think it 'ud be any use for you to go after her and try to pacify her ? " " Better not, better not," said Mr. Deane. " You '11 make it up another day." " Then, sisters, shall we go and look at the chil- dren ? " said Mrs. Tulliver, drying her eyes. No proposition could have been more seasonable. Mr. Tulliver felt very much as if the air had been cleared of obtrusive flies now the women were out of the room. There were few things he liked better than a chat with Mr. Deane, whose close applica- tion to business allowed the pleasure very rarely. Mr. Deane, he considered, was the " knowingest " man of his acquaintance, and he had besides a ready causticity of tongue that made an agreeable supple- ment to Mr. Tulliver's own tendency that way, which had remained in rather an inarticulate con- dition. And now the women were gone, they could carry on their serious talk without frivolous inter- ruption. They could exchange their views concern- ing the Duke of Wellington, whose conduct in the Catholic Question had thrown such an entirely new light on his character ; and speak slightingly of his conduct at the battle of Waterloo, which he would never have won if there had n't been a great many Englishmen at his back, not to speak of Blucher and the Prussians, who, as Mr. Tulliver had heard from a person of particular knowledge in that 102 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. matter, had come up in the very nick of time; though hare there was a slight dissidence, Mr. Deane remarking that he was not disposed to give much credit to the Prussians, the build of their vessels, together with the unsatisfactory character of transactions in Dantzic bear, inclining him to form rather a low view of Prussian pluck generally. Eather beaten on this ground, Mr. Tulliver pro- ceeded to express his fears that the country could never again be what it ussd to be ; but Mr. Deane, attached to a firm of which the returns were on the increase, naturally took a more lively view of the present ; and had some details to give concerning the state of the imports, especially in hides and spelter, which soothed Mr. Tulliver's imagination by throwing into more distant perspective the period when the country would become utterly the prey of Papists and Radicals, and there would be no more chance for honest men. Uncle Pullet sat by and listened with twinkling eyes to these high matters. He did n't understand politics himself, thought they were a natural gift, - but by what he could make out, this Duke of Wellington was no better than he should be. CHAPTER VIII. MK. TULLIVER SHOWS HIS WEAKER SIDE. * SUPPOSE sister Glegg should call her money in, it 'ud be very awkward for you to have to raise five hundred pounds now," said Mrs. Tulliver to her husband that evening, as she took a plaintive re- view of the day. Mrs. Tulliver had lived thirteen years with her husband, yet she retained in all the freshness of her early married life a facility of saying things which drove him in the opposite direction to the one she desired. Some minds are wonderful for keeping their bloom in this way, as a palriaichal gold-fish apparently retains to the last its youthful illusion that it can swim in a straight line teyond the encircling glass. Mrs. Tulliver was an amiable fish of this kind, and, after running her head against the same resisting medium for thirteen years, would go at it again to-day with undulled alacrity. This observation of hers tended directly to con- vince Mr. Tulliver that it would not be at all awk- ward for him to raise five hundred pounds ; and when Mrs. Tulliver became rather pressing to know how he would raise it without mortgaging the mill and the house which he had said he never would mortgage, since nowadays people were none so ready to lend money without security, Mr. Tulliver, get- ting warm, declared that Mrs. Glegg might do as 104 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. she liked about calling in her money, he should pay it in, whether or not. He was not going to be beholden to his wife's sisters. When a man had married into a family where there was a whole litter of women, he might have plenty to put up with if he chose ; but Mr. Tulliver did not choose. Mrs. Tulliver cried a little in a trickling quiet way as she put on her nightcap; but presently sank into a comfortable sleep, lulled by the thought that she would talk everything over with her sister Pullet to-morrow, when she was to take the children to Garum Firs to tea. Not that she looked forward to any distinct issue from that talk ; but it seemed impossible that past events should be so obstinate as to remain unmodified when they were complained against. Her husband lay awake rather longer, for he too was thinking of a visit he would pay on the mor- row ; and his ideas on the subject were not of so vague and soothing a kind as those of his amiable partner. Mr. Tulliver, when under the influence of a strong feeling, had a promptitude in action that may seem inconsistent with that painful sense of the compli- cated puzzling nature of human affairs under which his more dispassionate deliberations were conducted; but it is really not improbable that there was a direct relation between these apparently contradic- tory phenomena, since I have observed that for get- ting a strong impression that a skein is tangled, there is nothing like snatching hastily at a single thread. It was owing to this promptitude that Mr. Tulliver was on horseback soon after dinner the next day (he was not dyspeptic) on his way to Basset to see his sister Moss and her husband. For having made up his mind irrevocably that he BOY AND GIRL. 105 would pay Mrs. Glegg her loan of five hundred pounds, it naturally occurred to him that he had a promissory note for three hundred pounds lent to his brother-in-law Moss, and if the said brother-in- law could manage to pay in the money within a given time, it would go far to lessen the fallacious air of inconvenience which Mr. Tulliver's spirited step might have worn in the eyes of weak people who require to know precisely how a thing is to be done before they aie strongly confident that it will be easy. For Mr. Tulliver was in a position neither new nor striking, but, like other every-day things, sure to have a cumulative effect that will be felt in the long-run : he was held to be a much more substan- tial man than he really was. And as we are all apt to believe what the world believes about us, it was his habit to think of failure and ruin with the same sort of remote pity with which a spare long- necked man hears that his plethoric short-necked neighbour is stricken with apoplexy. He had been always used to hear pleasant jokes about his advan- tages as a man who worked his own mill, and owned a pretty bit of land ; and these jokes naturally kept up his sense that he was a man of considerable sub- stance. They gave a pleasant flavour to his glass on a market-day, and if it had not been for the recur- rence of half-yearly payments, Mr. Tulliver would really have forgotten that there was a mortgage of two thousand pounds on his very desirable freehold. That was not altogether his own fault, since one of the thousand pounds was his sister's fortune, which he had to pay on her marriage ; and a man who has neighbours that will go to law with him, is not likely to pay off his mortgages, especially if he io6 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. enjoys the good opinion of acquaintances who want to borrow a hundred pounds on security too lofty to be represented by parchment. Our friend Mr. Tulliver had a good-natured fibre in him, and did not like to give harsh refusals even to a sister, who had not only come into the world in that superflu- ous way characteristic of sisters, creating a necessity for mortgages, but had quite thrown herself away in marriage, and had crowned her mistakes by hav- ing an eighth baby. On this point Mr. Tulliver was conscious of being a little weak ; but he apolo- gized to himself by saying that poor Gritty had been a good-looking wench before she married Moss, he would sometimes say this even with a slight tremulousness in his voice. But this morn- ing he was in a mood more becoming a man of busi- ness, and in the course of his ride along the Basset lanes, with their deep ruts, lying so far away from a market-town that the labour of drawing produce and manure was enough to take away the best part of the profits on such poor land as that parish was made of, he got up a due amount of irritation against Moss as a man without capital, who, if murrain and blight were abroad, was sure to have his share of them, and who, the more you tried to help him out of the mud, would sink the further in. It would do him good rather than harm, now, if he were obliged to raise this three hundred pounds: it would make him look about him better, and not act so foolishly about his- wool this year as he did the last : in fact, Mr. Tulliver had been too easy with his brother-in-law, and because he had let the interest run on for two years, Moss was likely enough to think that he should never be troubled about the principal. But Mr. Tulliver was deter- BOY AND GIRL. 107 mined not to encourage such shuffling people any longer ; and a ride alung the Basset lanes was not likely to enervate a man's resolution by softening his temper. The deep-trodden hoof-marks, made in the muddiest days of winter, gave him a shake now and then which suggested a rash but stimulating snarl at the father of lawyers, who, whether by means of his hoof or otherwise, had doubtless some- thing to do with this state of the roads; and the abundance of foul land and neglected fences that met his eye, though they made no part of his brother Moss's farm, strongly contributed to his dissatisfaction with that unlucky agriculturist. If this was n't Moss's fallow, it might have been : Basset was all alike ; it was a beggarly parish in Mr. Tulliver's opinion, and his opinion was cer- tainly not groundless. Basset had a poor soil, poor roads, a poor non-resident landlord, a poor non- resident vicar, and rather less than half a curate, also poor. If any one strongly impressed with the power of the human mind to triumph over circum- stances, will contend that the parishioners of Basset might nevertheless have been a very superior class of people, I have nothing to urge against that ab- stract proposition; I only know that, in point of fact, the Basset mind was in strict keeping with its circumstances. The muddy lanes, green or clayey, that seemed to the unaccustomed eye to lead no- where but into each other, did really lead, with patience, to a distant high-road; but there were many feet in Basset which they led more frequently to a centre of dissipation, spoken of formerly as the "Markis o' Granby/' but among intimates as "Dicki- son's." A large low room with a sanded floor, a cold scent of tobacco, modified by undetected beer- io8 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. dregs, Mr. Dickison leaning against the doorpost with a melancholy pimpled face, looking as irrele- vant to the daylight as a last night's guttered candle, all this may not seem a very seductive form of temptation ; but the majority of men in Basset found it fatally alluring when encountered on their road towards four o'clock on a wintry afternoon ; and if any wife in Basset wished to indicate that her husband was not a pleasure -seeking man, she could hardly do it more emphatically than by say- ing that he did n't spend a shilling at Dickison's from one Whitsuntide to another. Mrs. Moss had said so of her husband more than once, when her brother was in a mood to find fault with him, as he certainly was to-day. And nothing could be less pacifying to Mr. Tulliver than the behaviour of the farmyard gate, which he no sooner attempted to push open with his riding-stick than it acted as gates without the upper hinge are known to do, to the peril of shins, whether equine or human. He was about to get down and lead his horse through the damp dirt of the hollow farmyard, shadowed drearily by the large half-timbered buildings, up to the long line of tumble-down dwelling-houses stand- ing on a raised causeway ; but the timely appear- ance of a cowboy saved him that frustration of a plan he had determined on, namely, not to get down from his horse during this visit. If a man means to be hard, let him keep in his saddle and speak from that height, above the level of pleading eyes, and with the command of a distant horizon. Mrs. Moss heard the sound of the horse's feet, and when her brother rode up, was already outside the kitchen door, with a half-weary smile on her face, and a black-eyed baby in her arms. Mrs. Moss's BOY AND GIRL. 109 face bore a faded resemblance to her brother's; baby's little fat hand, pressed against her cheek, seemed to show more strikingly that the cheek was faded. " Brother, I 'm glad to see you," she said in an affectionate tone. " I did n't look for you to-day. How do you do ? " " Oh ... pretty well, Mrs. Moss . . . pretty well," answered the brother, with cool deliberation, as if it were rather too forward of her to ask that question. She knew at once that her brother was not in a good humour : he never called her Mrs. Moss except when he was angry and when they were in company. But she thought it was in the order of nature that people who were poorly off should be snubbed. Mrs. Moss did not take her stand on the equality of the human race : she was a patient, prolific, loving-hearted woman. " Your husband is n't in the house, I suppose ? " added Mr. Tulliver, after a grave pause, during which four children had run out, like chickens whose mother has been suddenly in eclipse behind the hencoop. " No," said Mrs. Moss, " but he 's only in the potato-field yonders. Georgy, run to the Far Close in a minute, and tell father your uncle 's come. You '11 get down, brother, won't you, and take something ? " "No, no; I can't get down. I must be going home again directly," said Mr. Tulliver, looking at the distance. " And how 's Mrs. Tulliver and the children ? " said Mrs. Moss, humbly, not daring to press her invitation. " Oh . . . pretty well. Tom 's going to a new no THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. school at Midsummer, a deal of expense to me, It 's bad work for me, lying out o' my money." " I wish you 'd be so good as let the children come and see their cousins some day. My little uns want to see their cousin Maggie, so as never was. And me her godmother, and so fond of her, there 's nobody 'ud make a bigger fuss with her, according to what they 've got. And I know she likes to come, for she 's a loving child ; and how quick and clever she is, to be sure ! " If Mrs. Moss had been one of the most astute women in the world, instead of being one of the simplest, she could have thought of nothing more likely to propitiate her brother than this praise of Maggie. He seldom found any one volunteering praise of " the little wench ; " it was usually left en- tirely to himself to insist on her merits. But Maggie always appeared in the most amiable light at her aunt Moss's : it was her Alsatia, where she was out of the reach of law, if she upset anything, dirtied her shoes, or tore her frock, these things were matters of course at her aunt Moss's. In spite of himself, Mr.. Tulliver's eyes got milder, and he did not look away from his sister, as he said, " Ay : she 's fonder o' you than o' the other aunts, I think. She takes after our family : not a bit of her mother 's in her." " Moss says she 's just like what I used to be," said Mrs. Moss, " though I was never so quick and fond o' the books. But I think my Lizzy 's like her, she 's sharp. Come here, Lizzy, my dear, and let your uncle see you : he hardly knows you, you grow so fast." Lizzy, a black-eyed child of seven, looked very shy when her mother drew her forward, for the BOY AND GIRL. in small Mosses were much in awe of their uncle from Dorlcote Mill. She was inferior enough to Maggie in fire and strength of expression, to make the resemblance between the two entirely flattering to Mr. Tulliver's fatherly love. " Ay, they 're a bit alike," he said, looking kindly at the little figure in the soiled pinafore. " They both take after our mother. You 've got enough o' gells, Gritty," he added, in a tone half compassion- ate, half reproachful. " Four of 'em, bless 'em," said Mrs. Moss, with a sigh, stroking Lizzy's hair on each side of her fore- head ; " as many as there 's boys. They Ve got a brother apiece." " Ah, but they must turn out and fend for them- selves," said Mr. Tulliver, feeling that his severity was relaxing, and trying to brace it by throwing out a wholesome hint. " They must n't look to hang- ing on their brothers." " No ; but I hope their brothers 'ull love the poor things, and remember they came o' one father and mother : the lads 'ull never be the poorer for that," said Mrs. Moss, flashing out with hurried timidity, like a half-smothered fire. Mr. Tulliver gave his horse a little stroke on the flank, then checked it, and said angrily, " Stand still with you ! " much to the astonishment of that innocent animal. " And the more there is of 'em, the more they must love one another," Mrs. Moss went on, look- ing at her children with a didactic purpose. But she turned towards her brother again to say, '' Not but what I hope your boy 'ull allays be good to his sister, though there 's but two of 'em, like you and me, brother." ii2 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. That arrow went straight to Mr. Tulliver's heart. He had not a rapid imagination, but the thought of Maggie was very near to him, and he was not long in seeing his relation to his own sister side by side with Tom's relation to Maggie. Would the little wench ever be poorly off', and Tom rather hard upon her ? "Ay, ay, Gritty/' said the miller, with a new softness in his tone ; " but I 've allays done what I could for you," he added, as if vindicating himself from a reproach. " I 'm not denying that, brother, and I 'm noways ungrateful," said poor Mrs. Moss, too fagged by toil and children to have strength left for any pride. " But here 's the father. What a while you 've been, Moss ! " " While, do you call it ? " said Mr. Moss, feeling out of breath and injured. " I 've been running all the way. Won't you 'light, Mr. Tulliver?" " Well, I '11 just get down and have a bit o' talk with you in the garden," said Mr. Tulliver, thinking that he should be more likely to show a due spirit of resolve if his sister were not present. He got down, and passed with Mr. Moss into the garden, towards an old yew-tree arbour, while his sister stood tapping her baby on the back, and looking wistfully after them. Their entrance into the yew-tree arbour surprised several fowls that were recreating themselves by scratching deep holes in the dusty ground, and at once .took flight with much pother and cackling. Mr. Tulliver sat down on the bench, and tapping the ground curiously here and there with his stick, as if he suspected some hollowness, opened the con- BOY AND GIRL. 113 versation by observing, with something like a snail in his tone, " Why, you Ve got wheat again in that Corner Close, I see; and never a bit o' dressing on it. You '11 do no good with it this year." Mr. Moss, who, when he married Miss Tulliver, had been regarded as the buck of Basset, now wore a beard nearly a week old, and had the depressed, unexpectant air of a machine-horse. He answered in a patient-grumbling tone, " Why, poor farmers like me must do as they can : they must leave it to them as have got money to play with, to put half as much into the ground as they mean to get out of it." " I don't know who should have money to play with, if it is n't them as can borrow money without paying interest," said Mr. Tulliver, who wished to get into a slight quarrel; it was the most natuial and easy introduction to calling in money. " I know I 'm behind with the interest," said Mr. Moss, "but I was so unlucky wi' the wool last year ; and what with the Missis being laid up so, things have gone awk'arder nor usual." " Ay," snarled Mr. Tulliver, " there 's folks as things 'ull allays go awk'ard with : empty sacks 'ull never stand upright." " Well, I don't know what fault you Ve got to find wi' me, Mr. Tulliver," said Mr. Moss, deprecat- ingly ; " I know there is n't a day-labourer works harder." "What's the use o' that," said Mr. Tulliver, sharply, " when a man marries and 's got no capital to work his farm but his wife's bit o' fortin ? I was against it from the first ; but you 'd neither of you listen to me. And 1 can't lie out o' my money any longer, for I Ve got to pay five hundred o' Mrs. VOL. i. 8 ii4 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Glegg's, and there '11 be Tom an expense to me, I should find myself short, even saying I 'd got back all as is my own. You must look about and see how you can pay me the three hundred pound." " Well, if that 's what you mean," said Mr. Moss, looking blankly before him, "we'd better be sold up, and ha' done with it ; I must part wi' every head o' stock I 've got, to pay you and the landlord too." Poor relations are undeniably irritating, their existence is so entirely uncalled for on our part, and they are almost always very faulty people. Mr. Tulliver had succaeded in getting quite as much irritated with Mr. Moss as he had desired, and he was able to say angrily, rising from his seat, "Well, you must do as you can. / can't find money for everybody else as well as myself. I must look to my own business and my own family. I can't lie out o' my money any longer. You must raise it as quick as you can." Mr. Tulliver walked abruptly out of the arbour as he uttered the last sentence, and, without looking round at Mr. Moss, went on to the kitchen door, where the eldest boy was holding his horse, and his sister was waiting in a state of wondering alarm, which was not without its alleviations, for baby was making pleasant gurgling sounds, and performing a great deal of finger practice on the faded face. Mrs. Moss had eight children, but could never over- come her regret that the twins had not lived. Mr. Moss thought their removal was not without its consolations. " Won't you come in, brother ? " she said, looking anxiously at her husband, who was walking slowly up, while Mr. Tulliver had his foot already in the stirrup. BOY AND GIRL. 115 "No, no; good-by," said he, turning his horse's head, and riding away. No man could feel more resolute till he got out- side the yard-gate, and a little way along the deep- rutted lane ; but before he reached the next turning, which would take him out of sight of the dilapi- dated farm-buildings, he appeared to be smitten by some sudden thought. He checked his horse, and made it stand still in the same spot for two or three minutes, during which he turned his head from side to side in a melancholy way, as if he were looking at some painful object on more sides than one. Evidently, -after his fit of promptitude, Mr. Tulliver was relapsing into the sense that this is a puzzling world. He turned his horse, and rode slowly back, giving vent to the climax of feeling which had determined this movement by saying aloud as he struck his horse, " Poor little wench ! she '11 have nobody but Tom, belike, when I 'm gone." Mr. Tulliver's return into the yard was descried by several young Mosses, who immediately ran in with the exciting news to their mother, so that Mrs. Moss was again on the door-step when her brother rode up. She had been crying, but was rocking baby to sleep in her arms now, and made no osten- tatious show of sorrow as her brother looked at her, but merely said, " The father 's gone to the field again, if you want him, brother." "No, Gritty, no," said Mr. Tulliver, in a gentle tone. " Don't you fret that 's all I '11 make a shift without the money a bit only you must be as clever and contriving as you can." Mrs. Moss's tears came again at this unexpected kindness, and she could say nothing. ri6 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Come, come ! the little wench shall come and see you. I 'il bring her and Tom some day before he goes to school. You must n't fret ... 1 11 allays be a good brother to you." " Thank you for that word, brother," said Mrs. Moss, drying her tears ; then turning to Lizzy, she said, "Kun now, and fetch the coloured egg for cousin Maggie." Lizzy ran in, and quickly re- appeared with a small paper parcel. " It 's boiled hard, brother, and coloured with thrums, very pretty: it was done o' purpose for Maggie. Will you please to carry it in your pocket ? " " Ay, ay," said- Mr. Tulliver, putting it carefully in his side-pocket. " Good-by." And so the respectable miller returned along the Basset lanes rather more puzzled than before as to ways and means, but still with the sense of a danger escaped. It had come across his mind that if he were hard upon his sister, it might somehow tend to make Tom hard upon Maggie at some dis- tant day, when her father was no longer there to take her part; for simple people, like our friend Mr. Tulliver, are apt to clothe unimpeachable feel- ings in erroneous ideas, and this was his confused way of explaining to himself that his love and anxiety for " the little wench " had given him a new sensibility towards his sister. CHAPTER IX. TO GARUM FIRS. WHILE the possible troubles of Maggie's future were occupying her father's mind, she herself was tast- ing only the bitterness of the present. Childhood has no forebodings ; but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow. The fact was, the day had begun ill with Maggie. The pleasure of having Lucy to look at, and the prospect of the afternoon visit to Garum Firs, where she would hear uncle Pullet's musical box, had been marred as early as eleven o'clock by the advent of the hairdresser from St. Ogg's, who had spoken in the severest terms of the condition in which he had found her hair, holding up one jagged lock after another and saying, "See here! tut tut tut ! " in a tone of mingled disgust and pity, which to Maggie's imagination was equivalent to the strongest expression of public opinion. Mr. Rappit, the hairdresser, with his well-anointed coro- nal locks tending wavily upward, like the simu- lated pyramid of flame on a monumental urn, seemed to her at that moment the most formidable of her contemporaries, into whose street at St. Ogg's she would carefully refrain from entering through the rest of her life. Moreover, the preparation for a visit being always a serious affair in the Dodson family, Martha was enjoined to have Mrs. Tulliver's room ready an n8 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. hour earlier than usual, that the laying out of the best clothes might not be deferred till the last moment, as was sometimes the case in families of lax views, where the ribbon strings were never rolled up, where there was little or \io wrapping in silver paper, and where the sense tha!:, the Sunday clothes could be got at quite easily produced no shock to the mind. Already, at twelve o'clock, Mrs. Tulli- ver had on her visiting costume, with a protective apparatus of brown holland, as if she had been a piece of satin furniture in danger of flies ; Maggie was frowning and twisting her shoulders, that she might if possible shrink away from the prickliest of tuckers, while her mother was remonstrating, " Don't, Maggie, my dear, don't make yourself so ugly I " and Tom's cheeks were looking particularly brill : ant as a relief to his best blue suit, which he wore with becoming calmness ; having, after a little wrangling, effected what was always the one point of intsrest to him in his toilet, he had transferred all the contents of his every-day pockets to those actually in wear. As for Lucy, she was just as pretty and neat as she had been yesterday: no accidents ever hap- pened to her clothes, and she was never uncomfort- able in them, so that she looked with wondering pity at Maggie pouting and writhing under the exas- perating tucker. Maggie would certainly have torn it off, if sha had not been checked by the remem- brance of her recent humiliation about hsr hair; as it was, she confined herself to fretting and twisting, and behaving peevishly about the card-houses which they wore allowed to build till dinner, as a suitable amusement for boys and girls in their best clothes. Tom could build perfect pyramids of houses ; but BOY AND GIRL. 119 Maggie's would never bear the laying on of the roof : it was always so with the things that Maggie made ; and Tom had deduced the conclusion that no girls could ever make anything. But it hap- pened that Lucy proved wonderfully clever at building : she handled the cards so lightly, and moved so gently, that Tom condescended to admire her houses as well as his own, the more readily because she had asked him to teach her. Maggie, too, would have admiied Lucy's houses, and would have given up her own unsuccessful building to contemplate them, without ill-temper, if her tucker had not made her peevish, and if Tom had not inconsiderately laughed when her houses fell, and told her she was "a stupid." " Don't laugh at me, Tom ! " she burst out an- grily ; " I 'm not a stupid. I know a great many things yo'u don't." " Oh, I dare say, Miss Spitfire ! I 'd never be such a cross thing as you, making faces like that. Lucy does n't do so. I like Lucy better than you : / wish Lucy was my sister." "Then it's very wicked and cruel of you to wish so," said Maggie, starting up hurriedly from her place on the floor, and upsetting Tom's wonder- ful pagoda. She really did not mean it, but the circumstantial evidence was against her, and Tom turned white with anger, but said nothing: he would have struck her, only he knew it was cow- ardly to strike a girl, and Tom Tulliver was quite determined he would never do anything cowardly. Maggie stood in dismay and terror, while Tom got up from the floor and walked away, pale, from the scattered ruins of his pagoda, and Lucy looked on mutely, like a kitten pausing from its lapping. 120 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Oh, Tom," said Maggie, at last, going half-way towards him, " I did n't mean to knock it down, indeed, indeed I did n't." Tom took no notice of her, but took, instead, two or three hard peas out of his pocket, and shot them with his thumb-nail against the window, vaguely at first, but presently with the distinct aim of hitting a superannuated blue-bottle which was exposing its imbecility in the spring sunshine, clearly against the views of Nature, who had pro- vided Tom and the peas for the speedy destruction of this weak individual. Thus the morning had been made heavy to Maggie, and Tom's persistent coldness to her all through their walk spoiled the fresh air and sun- shine for her. He called Lucy to look at the half- built bird's-nest without caring to show it Maggie, and peeled a willow switch for Lucy and himself without offering one to Maggie. Lucy had said, " Maggie, should n't you like one ? " but Tom was deaf. Still the sight of the peacock opportunely spread- ing his tail on the stackyard wall, just as they reached Garum Firs, was enough to divert the mind temporarily from personal grievances. And this was only the beginning of beautiful sights at Garum Firs. All the farmyard life was wonderful there, bantams, speckled and top-knotted ; Friesland hens, with their feathers all turned the wrong way ; Guinea-fowls that flew and screamed and dropped their pretty -spotted feathers ; pouter-pigeons and a tame magpie ; nay, a goat, and a wonderful brindled dog, half mastiff, half bull-dog, as large as a lion. Then there were white railings and white gates all about, and glittering weathercocks of various de- BOY AND GIRL. 121 sign, and garden-walks paved with pebbles in beau- tiful patterns, nothing was quite common at Garura Firs ; and Tom thought that the unusual size of the toads there was simply due to the gen- eral un usualness which characterized uncle Pullet's possessions as a gentleman farmer. Toads who paid rent were naturally leaner. As for the house, it was not less remarkable ; it had a receding centre, and two wings with battlemented turrets, and was covered with glittering white stucco. Uncle Pullet had seen the expected party ap- proaching from the window, and made haste to unbar and unchain the front door, kept always in this fortified condition from fear of tramps, who might be supposed to know of the glass-case of stuffed birds in the hall, and to contemplate rushing in and carrying it away on their heads. Aunt Pullet, too, appeared at the doorway, and as soon as her sister was within hearing said, "Stop the children, for God's sake, Bessy, don't let 'em come up the door-steps : Sally 's bringing the old mat and the duster, to rub their shoes." Mrs. Pullet's front-door mats were by no means intended to wipe shoes on : the very scraper had a deputy to do its dirty work. Tom rebelled particu- larly against this shoe-wiping, which he always considered in the light of an indignity to his sex. He felt it as the beginning of the disagreeables incident to a visit at aunt Pullet's, where he had once been compelled to sit with towels wrapped round his boots, a fact which may serve to correct the too hasty conclusion that a visit to Garum Firs must have been a great treat to a young gentleman fond of animals, fond, that is, of throwing stones at them. 122 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. The next disagreeable was confined to his femi- nine companions : it was the mounting of the pol- ished oak stairs, which had very handsome carpets rolled up and laid by in a spare bedroom, so that the ascent of these glossy steps might have served, in barbarous times, as a trial by ordeal from which none but the most spotless virtue could have come off with unbroken limbs. Sophy's weakness about these polished stairs was always a subject of bitter remonstrance on Mrs. Gle'gg's part ; but Mrs. Tul- liver ventured on no comment, only thinking to herself it was a mercy when she and the children were safe on the landing. " Mrs. Gray has sent home my new bonnet, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, in a pathetic tone, as Mrs. Tulliver adjusted her cap. " Has she, sister ? " said Mrs. Tulliver, with an air of much interest. " And how do you like it ? " " It 's apt to make a mess with clothes, taking 'em out and putting 'em in again," said Mrs. Pullet, drawing a bunch of keys from her pocket and looking at them earnestly, " but it 'ud be a pity for you to go away without seeing it. There 's no knowing what may happen." Mrs. Pullet shook her head slowly at this last serious consideration, which determined her to single out a particular key. " I 'm afraid it '11 be troublesome to you getting it out, sister," said Mrs. Tulliver, " but I should like to see what sort of a crown she 's made you." Mrs. Pullet rose with a melancholy air, and unlocked one wing of a very bright wardrobe, where you may have hastily supposed she would find the new bonnet. Not at all. Such a supposition could only have arisen from a too superficial acquaintance BOY AND GIRL. 123 with the habits of the Dodson family. In this wardrobe Mrs. Pullet was seeking something small enough to be hidden among layers of linen, it was a door-key. " You must come with me into the best room," said Mrs. Pullet. "May the children come too, sister?" inquired Mrs. Tulliver, who saw that Maggie and Lucy were looking rather eager. "Well," said aunt Pullet, reflectively, "it'll perhaps be safer for 'em to come, they '11 be touching something if we leave 'em behind." So they went in procession along the bright and slippery corridor, dimly lighted by the semi-lunar top of the window which rose above the closed shutter : it was really quite solemn. Aunt Pullet paused and unlocked a door which opened on some- thing still more solemn than the passage : a darkened room, in which the outer light, entering feebly, showed what looked like the corpses of furniture in white shrouds. Everything that was not shrouded stood with its legs upwards. Lucy laid hold of Maggie's frock, and Maggie's heart beat rapidly. Aunt Pullet half opened the shutter, and then unlocked the wardrobe, with a melancholy delib- erateness which was quite in keeping with the funereal solemnity of the scene. The delicious scent of rose-leaves that issued from the wardrobe made the process of taking out sheet after sheet of silver paper quite pleasant to assist at, though the sight of the bonnet at last was an anticlimax to Maggie, who would have preferred something more strikingly preternatural. But few things could have been more impressive to Mrs. Tulliver. She looked all round it in silence for some moments, and 124 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. then said emphatically, "Well, sister, I'll never speak against the full crowns again ! " It was a great concession, and Mrs. Pullet felt it : she felt something was due to it. " You 'd like to see it on, sister?" she said sadly. " I '11 open the shutter a bit further." "Well, if you don't mind taking off your cap, sister," said Mrs. Tulliver. Mrs. Pullet took off her cap, displaying the brown silk scalp with a jutting promontory of curls which was common to the more mature and judicious women of those times, and, placing the bonnet on her head, turned slowly round, like a draper's lay- figure, that Mrs. Tulliver might miss no point of view. " I 've sometimes thought there 's a loop too much o' ribbon on this left side, sister ; what do you think ? " said Mrs. Pullet. Mrs. Tulliver looked earnestly at the point indi- cated, and turned her head on one side. " Well, I think it's best as it is; if you meddled with it, sister, you might repent." " That 's true," said aunt Pullet, taking off the bonnet and looking at it contemplatively. " How much might she charge you for that bonnet, sister?" said Mrs. Tulliver, whose rnind was actively engaged on the possibility of getting a humble imitation of this chef-d'oeuvre made from a piece of silk she had at home. Mrs. Pullet screwed up her mouth, and shook her head, and then whispered, " Pullet pays for it : he said I was to have the best bonnet at Garum Church, let the next best be whose it would." She began slowly to adjust the trimmings, in preparation for returning it to its place in the BOY AND GIRL. 125 wardrobe, and her thoughts seemed to have taken a melancholy turn, for she shook her head. " Ah," she said at last, " I may never wear it twice, sister ; who knows ? " " Don't talk o' that, sister," answered Mrs. Tulliver. " I hope you '11 have your health this summer." " Ah ! but there may come a death in the family, as there did soon after I had my green satin bonnet. Cousin Abbott may go, and we can't think o' wearing crape less nor half a year for him." "That would be unlucky," said Mrs. Tulliver, entering thoroughly into the possibility of an inop- portune decease. " There 's never so much pleasure i' wearing a bonnet the second year, especially when the crowns are so chancy, never two summers alike." "Ah, it 's the way i' this world," said Mrs. Pullet, returning the bonnet to the wardrobe, and locking it up. She maintained a silence characterized by head-shaking, until they had all issued from the solemn chamber and were in her own room again. Then, beginning to cry, she said, " Sister, if you should never see that bonnet again till I 'm dead and gone, you 11 remember I showed it you this day." Mrs. Tulliver felt that she ought to be affected, but she was a woman of sparse tears, stout and healthy, she could n't cry so much as her sister Pullet did, and had often felt her deficiency at funerals. Her effort to bring tears into her eyes issued in an odd contraction of her face. Maggie, looking on attentively, felt that there was some painful mystery about her aunt's bonnet which she was considered too young to understand: indig- nantly conscious, all the while, that she could have 126 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. understood that, as well as everything else, if she had been taken into confidence. When they went down, uncle Pullet observed, with some acumen, that he reckoned the missis had been showing her bonnet, that was what had made them so long upstairs. With Tom the inter- val had seemed still longer, for he had been seated in irksome constraint on the edge of a sofa directly opposite his uncle Pullet, who regarded him with twinkling gray eyes, and occasionally addressed him as "Young sir." " Well, young sir, what do you learn at school ? " was a standing question with uncle Pullet ; where- upon Tom always looked sheepish, rubbed his hands across his face, and answered, " I don't know." It was altogether so embarrassing to be seated tetc-&- tete with uncle Pullet, that Tom could not even look at the prints on the walls, or the fly-cages, or the wonderful flower-pots ; he saw nothing but his uncle's gaiters. Not that Tom was in awe of his uncle's mental superiority ; indeed, he had made up his mind that he did n't want to be a gentleman farmer, because he should n't like to be such a thin- legged silly fellow as his uncle Pullet, a molly- coddle, in fact. A boy's sheepishness is by no means a sign of overmastering reverence ; and while you are making encouraging advances to him under the idea that he is overwhelmed by a sense of your a<;o and wisdom, ten to one he is thinking you extremely queer. The only consolation T can suggest to you is that the Greek boys probably thought the same of Aristotle. It is only when you have mastered a restive horse, or thrashed a drayman, or have got a gun in your hand, that these shy juniors feel you to be a truly admirable and enviable character. At least, BOY AND GIRL. 127 T am quite sure of Tom Tulliver's sentiments on these points. In very tender years, when he still wore a lace border under his outdoor cap, he was often observed peeping through the bars of a gate, and making minatory gestures with his small fore- finger, while he scolded the sheep with an inar- ticulate burr, intended to strike terror into their astonished minds : indicating thus early that desiie for mastery over the inferior animals, wild and domestic, including cockchafers, neighbours' dogs, and small sisters, which in all ages has-been an attribute of so much promise for the fortunes of our race. Now .Mr. Pullet never rode anything taller than a low pony, and was the least predatory of men, considering firearms dangerous, as apt to go off of themselves by nobody's particular desire. So that Tom was not without strong reasons when, in confidential talk with a chum, he had described uncle Pullet as a nincompoop, taking care at the same time to observe that he was a very " rich fellow." The only alleviating circumstance in a tete-a-tete with uncle Pullet was that he kept a variety of lozenges and peppermint-drops about his person, and when at a loss for conversation, he filled up the void by proposing a mutual solace of this kind. " Do you like peppermints, young sir ? " required only a tacit answer when it was accompanied by a presentation of the article in question. The appearance of the little girls suggested to uncle Pullet the further solace of small sweet-cakes, of which he also kept a stock under lock and key for his own private eating on wet days ; but the three children had no sooner got the tempting deli- cacy between their fingers, than aunt Pullet desired them to abstain from eating it till the tray and the 128 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. plates came, since with those crisp cakes they would make the floor " all over " crumbs. Lucy did n't mind that much, for the cake was so pretty, she thought it was rather a pity to eat it ; but Tom, watching his opportunity while the elders were talking, hastily stowed it in his mouth at two bites, and chewed it furtively. As for Maggie, becoming fascinated, as usual, by a print of Ulysses and Nausicaa, which uncle Pullet had bought as a " pretty Scripture thing," she presently let fall her cake, and in an unlucky movement crushed it be- neath her foot, a source of so much agitation to aunt Pullet and conscious disgrace to Maggie, that she began to despair of hearing the musical snuff- box to-day, till, after some reflection, it occurred to her that Lucy was in high favour enough to venture on asking for a tune. So she whispered to Lucy ; and Lucy, who always did what she was desired to do, went up quietly to her uncle's knee, and, blush- ing all over her neck while she fingered her necklace, said, " Will you please play us a tune, uncle ? " Lucy thought it was by reason of some excep- tional talent in uncle Pullet that the snuff-box played such beautiful tunes, and indeed the thing was viewed in that light by the majority of his neighbours in Garum. Mr. Pullet had bought the box, to b3gin with, and he understood winding it up, and knew which tune it was going to play be- forehand ; altogether, the possession of this unique " piece of music " was a proof that Mr. Pullet's character was not of that entire nullity which might otherwise have been attributed to it. But uncle Pullet, when entreated to exhibit his accom- plishment, never depreciated it by a too ready con- sent. " We '11 sue about it," was the answer he BOY AND GIRL. 129 always gave, carefully abstaining from any sign of compliance till a suitable number of minutes had passed. Uncle Pullet had a programme for all great social occasions, and in this way fenced him- self in from much painful confusion and perplexing freedom of will. Perhaps the suspense did heighten Maggie's en- joyment when the fairy tune began : for the first time she quite forgot that she had a load on her mind, that Tom was angry with her ; and by the time " Hush, ye pretty warbling choir," had been played, her face wore that bright look of happiness, while she sat immovable with her hands clasped, which sometimes comforted her mother with the sense that Maggie could look pretty now and then, in spite of her brown skin. But when the magic music ceased, she jumped up, and, running towards Tom, put her arm round his neck and said, " Oh, Tom, is n't it pretty ? " Lest you should think it showed a revolting insensibility in Tom that he felt any new anger towards Maggie for this uncalled-for and, to him, inexplicable caress, I must tell you that he had his glass of cowslip wine in his hand, and that she jerked him so as to make him spill half of it. He must have been an extreme milksop not to say angrily, " Look there now ! " especially when his resentment was sanctioned, as it was, by general disapprobation of Maggie's behaviour. " Why don't you sit still, Maggie ? " her mother said peevishly. " Little gells must n't come to see me if they behave in that way,'' said aunt Pullet. "Why, you're too rough, little miss," said uncle Pullet. VOL. I. 9 i 3 o THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Poor Maggie sat down again, with the music all chafed out of her soul, and the seven small demons all in again. Mrs. Tulliver, foreseeing nothing but misbehaviour while the children remained indoors, took an early opportunity of suggesting that, now they were rested after their walk, they might go and play out of doors ; and aunt Pullet gave permission, only enjoining them not to go off the paved walks in the garden, and if they wanted to see the poultry fed, to view them from a distance on the horse-block ; a restriction which had been imposed ever since Tom had been found guilty of running after the peacock, with an illusory idea that fright would make one of its feathers drop off. Mrs. Tulliver's thoughts had been temporarily diverted from the quarrel with Mrs. Glegg by milli- nery and maternal cares, but now the great theme of the bonnet was thrown into perspective, and the children were out of the way, yesterday's anxieties recurred. " It weighs on my mind so as never was," she said, by way of opening the subject, " sister Glegg's leaving the house in that way. I'm sure I'd no wish t' offend a sister." " Ah," said aunt Pullet, " there 's no accounting for what Jane 'ull do. I would n't speak of it out o' the family if it was n't to Dr. Turnbull ; but it 's my belief Jane lives too low. I Ve said so to Pullet often and often, and he knows it." " Why, you said so last Monday was a week, when we came away from drinking tea with 'ern," said Mr. Pullet, beginning to nurse his knee and shelter it with his pocket-handkerchief, as was his way when the conversation took an interesting turn. BOY AND GIRL. 131 " Very like I did," said Mrs. Pullet, " for you remember when I said things better than 1 can remember myself. He 's got a wonderful memory, Pullet has," she continued, looking pathetically at her sister. " I should be poorly off if he was to have a stroke, for he always remembers when I Ve got to take my doctor's stuff, and I 'm taking three sorts now." " There 's the ' pills as before ' every other night, and the new drops at eleven and four, and the 'fervescing mixture ' when agreeable,' " rehearsed Mr. Pullet, with a punctuation determined by a lozenge on his tongue. " Ah, perhaps it 'ud be better for sister Glegg if she 'd go to the doctor sometimes, instead o' chew- ing Turkey rhubarb whenever there 's anything the matter with her," said Mrs. Tulliver, who naturally saw the wide subject of medicine chiefly in relation to Mrs. Glegg. " It 's dreadful to think on," said aunt Pullet, raising her hands and letting them fall again, " people playing with their own insides in that way ! And it 's flying i' the face o' Providence ; for what are the doctors for, if we are n't to call 'em in ? And when folks have got the money to pay for a doctor, it is n't respectable, as I Ve told Jane many a time. I 'm ashamed of acquaintance knowing it." " Well, we Ve no call to be ashamed," said Mr. Pullet, " for Dr. Turnbull has n't got such another patient as you i' this parish, now old Mrs. Sutton 's gone." " Pullet keeps all my physic-bottles did you know, Bessy ? " said Mrs. Pullet. " He won't have one sold. He says it's nothing but right folks should see 'em when I 'm gone. They fill two d 132 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. the long store-room shelves a'ready but," she added, beginning to cry a little, " it 's well if they ever fill three. I may go before I Ve made up the dozen o' these last sizes. The pill-boxes are in the closet in my room, you '11 remember that, sister, but there 's nothing to show for the boluses, if it is n't the bills." " Don't talk o' your going, sister," said Mrs. Tul- liver ; " I should have nobody to stand between me and sister Glegg if you was gone. And there 's nobody but you can get her to make it up with Mr. Tulliver, for sister Deane 's never o' my side, and if she was, it 's not to be looked for as she can speak like them as have got an independent fortin." " Well, your husband is awk'ard, you know, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, good-naturedly ready to use her deep depression on her sister's account as well as her own. " He 's never behaved quite so pretty to our family as he should do, and the chil- dren take after him, the boy 's very mischievous, and runs away from his aunts and uncles, and the gell 's rude and brown. It 's your bad-luck, and I 'm sorry for you, Bessy ; for you was allays my favourite sister, and we allays liked the same patterns." " I know Tulliver 's hasty, and says odd things," said Mrs. Tulliver, wiping away one small tear from the corner of her eye ; " but I 'in sure he 's never been the man, since he married me, to object to my making the friends o' my side o' the family welcome to the house." " / don't want to make the worst of you, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, compassionately, " for I doubt you '11 have trouble enough without that ; and your husband's got that poor sister and her children BOY AND GIRL. 133 hanging on him, and so given to lawing, they say. I doubt he'll leave you poorly off when he dies. Not as I 'd have it said out o' the family." This view of her position was naturally far from cheering to Mrs. Tulliver. Her imagination was not easily acted on ; but she could not help thinking that her case was a hard one, since it appeared that other people thought it hard. " I 'in sure, sister, I can't help myself," she said, urged by the fear lest her anticipated misfortunes might be held retributive, to take a comprehensive review of her past conduct. " There 's no woman strives more for' her children ; and I 'm sure, at scouring-time this Lady Day as I've had all the bed-hangings taken down, I did as much as the two gells put together; and there's this last elder- flower wine I Ve made beautiful ! I allays offer it along with the sherry, though sister Glegg will have it I 'm so extravagant ; and as for liking to have my clothes tidy, and not go a fright about the house, there 's nobody in the parish can say anything against me in respect o' backbiting and making mischief, for I don't wish anybody any harm ; and nobody loses by sending me a pork-pie, for my pies are fit to show with the best o' my neighbours' ; and the linen 's so in order, as if I was to die to-morrow I should n't be ashamed. A woman can do no more nor she can." " But it 's all o' no use, you know, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, holding her head on one side, and fixing her eyes pathetically on her sister, " if your husband makes away with his money. Not but what if you was sold up, and other folks bought your furniture, it 's a comfort to think as you 've kept it well rubbed. And there 's the linen, with your maiden r34 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. rmrk on, might go all over the country. It 'ud be a sad pity for our family." Mrs. Pullet shook her head slowly. " But what can I do, sister ? " said Mrs. Tulliver. " Mr. Tulliver 's not a man to be dictated to, not if I was to go to the parson, and get by heart what I should tell my husband for the best. And I 'm sure I don't pretend to know anything about putting out money and all that. I could never see into men's business as sister Glegg does." " Well, you 're like me in that, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet ; " and I think it 'ud be a deal more becom- ing o' Jane if she'd have that pier-glass rubbed oftener there was ever so many spots on it last week instead o' dictating to folks as have more comings in than she ever had, and telling 'em what they 've to do with their money. But Jane and me were allays contrairy ; she would have striped things, and I like spots. You like a spot too, Bessy : we allays hung together i' that." " Yes, Sophy," said Mrs. Tulliver, " I remember our having a blue ground wi'.h a white spot bo'h alike, I 've got a bit in a bed-quilt now ; and if you would but go and see sister Glegg, and persuade her to make it up with Tulliver, I should take it very kind of you. You was allays a good sister to me." " But the right thing 'ud be for Tulliver to go and make it up with her himself, and say he was sorry for speaking so rash. If he 's borrowed money of her, he should n't be above that," said Mrs. Pullet, whose partiality did not blind her to principles : she did not forget what was due to people of indepen- dent fortune. " It 's no use talking o' that," said poor MrC. BOY AND GIRL. 135 Tulliver, almost peevishly. " If I was to go down on my bare knees on the gravel to Tulliver, he 'd never humble himself." " Well, you can't expect me to persuade Jane to beg pardon," said Mrs. Pullet. "Her temper's be- yond everything ; it 's well if it does n't carry her off her mind, though there never was any of our family went to a madhouse." " I 'm not thinking of her begging pardon," said Mrs. Tulliver. "But if she'd just take no notice, and not call her money in ; as it 's not so much for one sister to ask of another ; time 'ud mend things, and Tulliver 'ud forget all about it, and they 'd be friends again." Mrs. Tulliver, you perceive, was not aware of her husband's irrevocable determination to pay in the five hundred pounds ; at least such a determination exceeded her powers of bslief. " Well, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, mournfully, " 1 don't want to help you on to ruin. I won't be behindhand i' doing you a good turn, if it is to be done. And I don't like it said among acquaintance as we Ve got quarrels in the family. I shall tell Jane that; and I don't mind driving to Jane's to-morrow, if Pullet does n't mind. What do you say, Mr. Pullet ? " " I 've no objections," said Mr. Pullet, who was perfectly contented with any course the quarrel might take, so that Mr. Tulliver did not apply to him for money. Mr. Pullet was nervous about his investments, and did not see how a man could have any security for his money unless he turned it into land. After a little further discussion as to whether it would not be better for Mrs. Tulliver to accompany 136 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. them on a visit to sister Glegg, Mrs. Pullet, observ- ing that it was tea-time, turned to reach from a drawer a delicate damask napkin, which she pinned before her in the fashion of an apron. The door did, in fact, soon open ; but instead of the tea-tray, Sally introduced an object so startling that both Mrs. Pullet and Mrs. Tulliver gave a scream, caus- ing uncle Pullet to swallow his lozenge for the fifth time in his life, as he afterwards noted. CHAPTER X. MAGGIE BEHAVES WORSE THAN SHE EXPECTED. THE startling object which thus made an epoch foi uncle Pullet was no other than little Lucy, with one side of her person, from her small foot to her bonnet-crown, wet and discoloured with mud, hold- ing out two tiny blackened hands, and making a very piteous face. To account for this unprece- dented apparition in aunt Pullet's parlour, we must return to the moment when the three children went to play out of doors, and the small demons who had taken possession of Maggie's soul at an early period of the day had returned in all the greater force after a temporary absence. All the disagreeable recol- lections of the morning were thick upon her, when Tom, whose displeasure towards her had been con- siderably refreshed by her foolish trick of causing him to upset his cowslip wine, said, " Here, Lucy, you come along with me," and walked off to the area where the toads were, as if there were no Maggie in existence. Seeing this, Maggie lingered at a distance, looking like a small Medusa with her snakes cropped. Lucy was naturally pleased that cousin Tom was so good to her, and it was very amusing to see him tickling a fat toad with a piece of string when the toad was safe down the area, with an iron grating over him. Still Lucy wished Maggie to enjoy the spectacle also, especially as she 138 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. would doubtless find a name for the toad, and say what had been, his past history ; for Lucy had a delighted semi-belief in Maggie's storiss about the live things they came upon by accident, how Mrs. Earwig had a wash at home, and one of her children had fallen into the hot copper, for which reason she was running so fast to fetch the doctor. Tom had a profound contempt for this nonsense of Maggie's, smashing the earwig at once as a superfluous yet easy means of proving the entire unreality of such a story ; but Lucy, for the life of her, could not help fancying there was something in it, and at all events thought it was very pretty make-believe. So now the desire to know the history of a very portly toad, added to her habitual affectionateness, made her run back to Maggie and say, " Oh, there is such a big, funny toad, Maggie ! Do come and see." Maggie said nothing, but turned away from her with a deeper frown. As long as Tom seemed to prefer Lucy to her, Lucy made part of his unkind- ness. Maggie would have thought a little while ago that she could never be cross with pretty little Lucy, any more than she could be cruel to a little white mouse ; but then, Tom had always been quite indifferent to Lucy before, and it had been left to Maggie to pet and make much of her. As it was, she was actually beginning to think that she should like to make Lucy cry, by slapping or pinching her, especially as it might vex Tom, whom it was of no use to slap, even if she dared, because he did n't rnind it. And if Lucy had n't been there, Maggie was sure he would have got friends with her sooner. Tickling a fat toad who is not highly sensitive, is an amusement that it is possible to exhaust, and BOY AND GIRL. 139 Tom by and by began to look round for some other mode of passing the time. But in so prim a garden, where they were not to go off the paved walks, there was not a great choice of spoit. The only great pleasure such a restriction suggested was the pleasure of breaking it, and Tom began to meditate an insurrectionary visit to the pond, about a field's length beyond the garden. " I say, Lucy," he began, nodding his head up and down with great significance, as he coiled up his string again, " what do you think I mean to do ? " " What, Tom ? " said Lucy, with curiosity. " I mean to go to the pond, and look at the pike. You may go with me if you like," said the young sultan. "Oh, Tom, dare you?" said Lucy. "Aunt said we must n't go out of the garden." " Oh, I shall go out at the other end of the gar- den," said Tom. " Nobody 'ull see us. Besides, I don't care if they do, I '11 run off home." " But / could n't run," said Lucy, who had never before been exposed to such severe temptation. " Oh, never mind, they won't be cross with you" said Tom. " You say I took you." Tom walked along, and Lucy trotted by his side, timidly enjoying the rare treat of doing something naughty, excited also by the mention of that celeb- .rity, the pike, about which she was quite uncer- tain whether it was a fish or a fowl. Maggie saw them leaving the garden, and could not resist the impulse to follow. Anger and jealousy can no more bear to \o?e sight of their objects than love, and that Tom and Lucy should do or see anything of which she was ignorant would have been an intolerable idea to Maggie. So she kept a few yards behind 140 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. them, unobserved by Tom, who was presently ab- sorbed in watching for the pike, a highly inter- esting monster, he was said to be so very old, so very large, and to have such a remarkable appetite. The pike, like other celebrities, did not show when he was watched for ; but Tom caught sight of some- thing in rapid movement in the water, which at- tracted him to another spot on the brink of the pond. " Here, Lucy ! " he said in a loud whisper, " come here ! take care ! keep on the grass don't step where the cows have been ! " he added, pointing to a peninsula of dry grass, with trodden mud on each side of it ; for Tom's contemptuous conception of a girl included the attribute of being unfit to walk in dirty places. Lucy came carefully as she was bidden, and bent down to look at what seemed a golden arrow-head darting through the water. It was a water-snake, Tom told her ; and Lucy at last could see the ser- pentine wave of its body, very much wondering that a snake could swim. Maggie had drawn nearer and nearer, she must see it too, though it was bitter to her like everything else, since Tom did not care about her seeing it. At last she was close by Lucy ; and Tom, who had been aware of her approach but would not notice it till he was obliged, turned round and said, " Now, get away, Maggie ; there 's no room for you on the grass here. Nobody asked you to come." There were passions at war in Maggie at that moment to have made a tragedy, if tragedies were made by passion only ; but the essential -n pcyeOos which was present in the passion was wanting to the action : the utmost Maggie could do, with a BOY AND GIRL. 141 fierce thrust of her small brown arm, was to push poor little pink-and-white Lucy into the cow-trodden mud. Then Tom could not restrain himself, and gave Maggie two smart slaps on the arm as he ran to pick up Lucy, who lay crying helplessly. Maggie retreated to the roots of a tree a few yards off, and looked on iinpenitently. Usually her repentance came quickly after one rash deed, but now Tom and Lucy had made her so miserable, she was glad to spoil their happiness, glad to make everybody un- comfortable. Why should she be sorry ? Tom was very slow to forgive her, however sorry she might have been. " I shall tell mother, you know, Miss Mag," said Tom, loudly and emphatically, as soon as Lucy was up and ready to walk away. It was not Tom's practice to " tell," but here justice clearly demanded that Maggie should be visited with the utmost pun- ishment : not that Tom had learned to put his views in that abstract form; he never mentioned "jus- tice," and had no idea that his desire to punish might be called by that fine name. Lucy was too entirely absorbed by the evil that had befallen her the spoiling of her pretty best clothes, and the discomfort of being wet and dirty to think much of the cause, which was entirely mysterious to her. She could never have guessed what she had done to make Maggie angry with her ; but she felt that Maggie was very unkind and disagreeable, and made no magnanimous entreaties to Tom that he would not " tell," only running along by his side and cry- ing piteously, while Maggie sat on the roots of the tree and looked after them with her small Medusa face. 142 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Sally," said Tom, when they reached the kitchen door, and Sally looked at them in speechless amaze, with a piece of bread-and-butter in her mouth and a toasting-fork in her hand, " Sally, tell mother it was Maggie pushed Lucy into the mud." " But Lors ha' massy, how did you get near such mud as that ? " said Sally, making a wry face, as she stooped down and examined the corpus delicti. Tom's imagination had not been rapid and capa- cious enough to include this question among the foreseen consequences, but it was no sooner put than he foresaw whither it tended, and that Maggie would not be considered the only culprit in the case. He walked quietly away from the kitchen door, leaving Sally to that pleasure of guessing which active minds notoriously prefer to ready-made knowledge. Sally, as you are aware, lost no time in presenting Lucy at the parlour door, for to have so dirty an ob- ject introduced into the house at Garum Firs was too great a weight to ba sustained by a single mind. " Goodness gracious ! " aunt Pullet exclaimed, after preluding by an inarticulate scream ; " keep her at the door, Sally ! Don't bring her off the oil- cloth, whatever you do." "Why, she's tumbled into some nasty mud," said Mrs. Tul liver, going up to Lucy to examine into the amount of damage to clothes for which she felt herself responsible to her sister Deane. " If you please, 'urn, it was Miss Maggie as pushed her in," said Sally ; " Master Tom 's been and said so, and they must ha' been to the pond, for it's only there they could ha' got into such dirt." " There it is, Bessy ; it 's what I 've been telling BOY AND GIRL. 143 you," said Mrs. Pullet, in a tone of prophetic sad- ness : " it 's your children, there 's no knowing what they 11 come to." Mrs. Tulliver was mute, feeling herself a truly wretched mother. As usual, the thought pressed upon her that people would think she had done something wicked to deserve her maternal troubles, while Mrs. Pullet began to give elaborate directions to Sally how to guard the premises from serious injury in the course of removing the dirt. Mean- time tea was to be brought in by the cook, and the two naughty children were to have theirs in an ignominious manner in the kitchen. Mrs. Tulliver went out to speak to these naughty children, sup- posing them to be close at hand ; but it was not until after some search that she found Tom leaning with rather a hardened careless air against the white paling of the poultry-yard, and lowering his piece of stiing on the other side as a means of exasperating the turkey-ccck. " Tom, you naughty boy, where 's your sister ? " said Mrs. Tulliver, in a distressed voice. " I don't know," said Tom ; his eagerness for justice on Maggie had diminished since he had seen clearly that it could hardly be brought about without the injustice of some blame on his own conduct. " Why, where did you leave her ? " said his mother, looking round. " Sitting under the tree, against the pond," said Tom, apparently indifferent to everything but the string and the turkey-cock. " Then go and fetch her in this minute, you naughty boy. And how could you think o' going to the pond, and taking your sister where there was 144 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. dirt ? You know she '11 do mischief, if there 's mischief to be done." It was Mrs. Tulliver's way, if she blamed Tom, to refer his misdemeanour, somehow or other, to Maggie. The idea of Maggie sitting alone by the pond roused an habitual fear in Mrs. Tulliver's mind, and she mounted the horse-block to satisfy herself by a eight of that fatal child, while Tom walked not very quickly on his way towards her. " They 're such children for the water, mine are," she said aloud without reflecting that there was no one to hear her ; " they '11 be brought in dead and drownded some day. I wish that river was far enough." But when she not only failed to discern Maggie, but presently saw Torn returning from the pool alone, this hovering fear entered and took complete possession of her, and she hurried to meet him. " Maggie 's nowhere about the pond, mother," said Tom ; " she 's gone away." You may conceive the terrified search for Maggie, and the difficulty of convincing her mother that she was not in the pond. Mrs. Pullet observed that the child might come to a worse end if she lived, there was no knowing; and Mr. Pullet, confused and overwhelmed by this revolutionary aspect of things, the tea deferred and the poultry alarmed by the unusual running to and fro, took up his spud as an instrument of search, and reached down a key to unlock the goosepen, as a likely place for Maggie to lie concealed in. Tom, after a while, started the idea that Maggie was gone home (without thinking it necessary to state that it was what he should have done hiniself BOY AND GIRL. 145 under the circumstances), and the suggestion was seized as a comfort by his mother. " Sister, for goodness' sake let 'em put the horse in the carriage and take me home, we shall per- haps find her on the road. Lucy can't walk in her dirty clothes," she said, looking at that innocent victim, who was wrapped up in a shawl, and sitting with naked feet on the sofa. Aunt Pullet was quite willing to take the shortest means of restoring her premises to order and quiet, and it was not long before Mrs. Tulliver was in the chaise looking anxiously at the most distant point before her. What the father would say if Maggie was lost ? was a question that predominated over every other. VOL.1. 10 CHAPTEK XI. MAGGIE TRIES TO RUN AWAY FROM HER SHADOW. MAGGIE'S intentions, as usual, were on a larger scale than Tom had imagined. The resolution that gathered in her mind, after Tom and Lucy had walked away, was not so simple as that of going home. No! she would run away and go to the gypsies, and Tom should never see her any more. That was by no means a new idea to Maggie ; she had been so often told she was like a gypsy, and " half wild," that when she was miserable it seemed to her the only way of escaping opprobrium, and being entirely in harmony with circumstances, would be to live in a little brown tent on the commons: the gypsies, she considered, would gladly receive her, and pay her much respect on account of her superior knowledge. She had once mentioned her views on this point to Tom, and suggested that he should stain his face brown, and they should run away together ; but Tom rejected the scheme with contempt, observing that gypsies were thieves, and hardly got anything to eat, and had nothing to drive but a donkey. To-day, however, Maggie thought her misery had reached a pitch at which gypsydom was her only refuge, and she rose from her seat on the roots of the tree with the sense that this was a great crisis in her life ; she would run straight away till she came to Dunlow Common, where there BOY AND GIRL. 147 would certainly be gypsies ; and cruel Tom, and the rest of her relations who found fault with her, should never see her any more, She thought of her father as she ran along, but she reconciled herself to the idea of parting with him, by determining that she would secretly send him a letter by a small gypsy, who would run away without telling where she was, and just let him know that she was well and happy, and always loved him very much. Maggie soon got out of breath with running ; but by the time Tom got to the pond again, she was at the distance of three long fields, and was on the edge of the lane leading to the high-road. She stopped to pant a little, reflecting that running away was not a pleasant thing until one had got quite to the common where the gypsies were, but her resolution had not abated : she presently passed through the gate into the lane, not knowing where it would lead her, for it was not this way that they came from Dorlcote Mill to Garum Firs, and she felt all the safer for that, because there was no chance of her being overtaken. But she was soon aware, not without trembling, that there were two men coming along the lane in front of her : she had not thought of meeting strangers, she had been too much occupied with the idea of her friends com- ing after her. The formidable strangers were two shabby-looking men with flushed faces, one of them carrying a bundle on a stick over his shoulder ; but to her surprise, while she was dreading their disap- probation as a runaway, the man with the bundle stopped, and in a half-whining, half -coaxing tone asked her if she had a copper to give a poor man. Maggie had a sixpence in her pocket, her uncle 148 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Glegg's present, which she immediately drew out and gave this poor man with a polite smile, hoping he would feel very kindly towards her as a generous person. " That 's the only money I 've got," she said apologetically. " Thank you, little miss," said the man in a less respectful and grateful tone than Maggie anticipated, and she even observed that he smiled and winked at his companion. She walked on hurriedly, but was aware that the two men were standing still, probably to look after her, and she presently heard them laughing loudly. Suddenly it occurred to her that they might think she was an idiot : Tom had said that her cropped hair made her look like an idiot, and it was too painful an idea to be readily forgotten. Besides, she had no sleeves on, only a cape and a bonnet. It was clear that she was not likely to make a favourable impression on passengers, and she thought she would turn into the fields again ; but not on the same side of the lane as before, lest they should still be uncle Pullet's fields. She turned through the first gate that was not locked, and felt a delightful sense of privacy in creeping along by the hedgerows, after her recent humiliating encounter. She was used to wandering about the fields by herself, and was less timid there than on the high-road. Sometimes she had to climb over high gates, but that was a small evil ; she was getting out of reach very fast, and she should probably soon come within sight of Dunlow Common, or at least of some other common, for she had heard her father say that you could n't go very far without corning to a common. She hoped so, for she was getting rather tired and hungry, and until she reached the gypsies there was no definite prospect of bread-and-butter. It BOY AND GIRL. 149 was still broad daylight, for aunt Pullet, retaining the early habits of the Dodson family, took tea at half-past four by the sun, and at five by the kitchen clock ; so, though it was nearly an hour since Maggie started, there was no gathering gloom on the fields to remind her that the night would come. Still, it seemed to her that she had been walking a very great distance indeed, and it was really surpris- ing that the common did not come within sight. Hitherto she had been in the rich parish of Garuin, where there was a great deal of pasture-land, and she had only seen one labourer at a distance. That was fortunate in some respects, as labourers might be too ignorant to understand the propriety of her wanting to go to Dunlow Common ; yet it would have been better if she could have met some one who would tell her the way without wanting to know anything about her private business. At last, however, the green fields came to an end, and Maggi3 found herself looking through the bars of a gate into a lane with a wide margin of grass on each side of it. She had never seen such a wide lane before, and without her knowing why, it gave her the impression that the common could not be far off; perhaps it was because she saw a donkey with a log to his foot feeding on the grassy margin, for she had seen a donkey with that pitiable encum- brance on Dunlow Common when she had been across it in her father's gig. She crept through the bars of the gate and walked on with new spirit, though not without haunting images of Apollyon, and a highwayman with a pistol, and a blinking dwarf in yellow, with a mouth from ear to ear, and other miscellaneous dangers. For poor little Maggie had at once the timidity of an active imagination ISO THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. and the daring that comes from overmastering im- pulse. She had rushed into the adventure of seek- ing her unknown kindred, the gypsies ; and now she was in this strange lane, she hardly dared look on one side of her, lest she should see the diabolical blacksmith in his leathern apron grinning at her with his arms akimbo. It was not without a leap- ing of the heart that she caught sight of a small pair of bare legs sticking up, feet uppermost, by the side of a hillock ; they seemed something hideously preternatural, a diabolical kind of fungus ; for she was too much agitated at the first glance to see the ragged clothes and the dark shaggy head attached to them. It was a boy asleep, and Maggie trotted along faster and more lightly, lest she should wake him : it did not occur to her that he was one of her friends the gypsies, who in all probability would have very genial manners. But the fact was so, for at the next bend in the lane, Maggie actually saw the little semicircular black tent with the blue smoke rising before it, which was to be her refuge from all the blighting obloquy that had pursued bar in civilized life. She even saw a tall female figure by the column of smoke, doubtless the gypsy-mother, who provided the tea and other groceries; it was astonishing to herself that she did not feel more delighted. But it was startling to find the gypsies in a lane, after all, and not on a common; indeed, it was rather disappointing; for a mysterious illimitable common, where there were sand-pits to hide in, and one was out of every- body's reach, had always made part of Maggie's picture of gypsy life. She went on, however, and thought with some comfort that gypsies most likely knew nothing about idiots, so there was no danger .O .3 Maggie and the Gypsy. Original Etching by C. O. Murray. BOY AND GIRL. 151 of their falling into the mistake of setting her down at the first glance as an idiot. It was plain she had attracted attention ; for the tall figure, who proved to be a young woman with a baby on her arm, walked slowly to meet her. Maggie looked up in the new face rather tremblingly as it ap- proached, and was reassured by the thought that her aunt Pullet and the rest were right when they called her a gypsy, for this face, with the bright dark eyes and the long hair, was really something like what she used to see in the glass before she cut her hair off. " My little lady,, where are you going to ? " the gypsy said, in a tone of coaxing deference. It was delightful, and just what Maggie expected : the gypsies saw at once that she was a little lady, and were prepared to treat her accordingly. " Not any farther," said Maggie, feeling as if she were saying what she had rehearsed in a dream. " I 'm come to stay with you, please." "That's pretty; come, then. Why, what a nice little lady you are, to be sure ! " said the gypsy, taking her by the hand. Maggie thought her very agreeable, but wished she had not been so dirty. There was quite a group round the fire when they reached it. An old gypsy woman was seated on the ground nursing her knees, and occasionally poking a skewer into the round kettle that sent forth an odorous steam : two small shock-headed children were lying prone and resting on their elbows something like small sphinxes ; and a placid donkey was bending his head over a tall girl, who, lying on her back, was scratching his nose and indulging him with a bite of excellent stolen hay. The slanting sunlight fell kindly upon them, and 152 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. the scene was really very pretty and comfortable, Maggie thought, only she hoped they would soon set out the tea-cups. Everything would be quite charming when she had taught the gypsies to use a washing-basin, and to feel an interest in books. It was a little confusing, .though, that the young woman began to speak to the old one in a language which Maggie did not understand, while the tall girl, who was feeding the donkey, sat up and stared at her without offering any salutation. At last the old woman said, "What! my pretty lady, are you come to stay with us ? Sit ye down and tell us where you come from." It was just like a story: Maggie liked to be called pretty lady and treated in this way. She sat down and said, " I 'm come from home because I 'm unhappy, and I mean to be a gypsy. I '11 live with you if you like, and I can teach you a great many things." " Such a clever little lady," said the woman with the baby, sitting down by Maggie, and allowing baby to crawl ; " and such a pretty bonnet and frock," she added, taking off Maggie's bonnet and looking at it while she made an observation to the old woman, in the unknown language. The tall girl snatched the bonnet and put it on her own head hindforemost with a grin; but Maggie was determined not to show any weakness on this sub- ject, as if she were susceptible about her bonnet. " I don't want to wear a bonnet," she said ; " I 'd rather wear a red handkerchief, like yours " (look- ing at her friend by her side). " My hair was quite long till yesterday, when I cut it off; but I dare BOY AND GIRL. 153 say it will grow again very soon," she added apolo- getically, thinking it probable the gypsies had a strong prejudice in favour of long hair. And Maggie had forgotten even her hunger at that moment in the desire to conciliate gypsy opinion. " Oh, what a nice little lady ! and rich, I 'm sure," said the old woman. " Did n't you live in a beautiful house at home ? " " Yes, my home is pretty, and I 'm very fond of the river, where we go fishing but I 'm often very unhappy. I should have liked to bring my books with me, but I came away in a hurry, you know. But I can tell you almost everything there is in my books, I Ve read them so many times, and that will amuse you. And I can tell you something about Geography too, that 's about the world we live in, very useful and interesting. Did you ever hear about Columbus ? " Maggie's eyes had 'begun to sparkle and her cheeks to flush, she was really beginning to in- struct the gypsies, and gaining great influence over them. The gypsies themselves were not without amazement at this talk, though their attention was divided by the contents of Maggie's pocket, which the friend at her right hand had by this time emptied without attracting her notice. " Is that where you live, my little lady ? " said the old woman, at the mention of Columbus. " Oh no ! " said Maggie, with some pity ; " Colum- bus was a very wonderful man, who found out half the world, and they put chains on him and treated him very badly, you know, it 's in my Catechism of Geography but perhaps it 's rather too long to tell before tea . . . I want my tea so." The last words burst from Maggie, in spite of 154 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. herself, with a sudden drop from patronizing instruc- tion to simple peevishness. " Why, she 's hungry, poor little lady," said the younger woman. " Give her some o' the cold vic- tual. You 've been walking a good way, I '11 be bound, my dear. Where 's your home ? " " It 's Dorlcote Mill, a good way off," said Maggie. " My father is Mr. Tulliver, but we must n't let him know where I am, else he '11 fetch me home again. Where does the queen of the gypsies live ? " "What! do you want to go to her, my little lady ? " said the younger woman. The tall girl meanwhile was constantly staring at Maggie and grinning. Her manners were certainly not agree- able. " No," said Maggie, " I 'm only thinking that if she is n't a very good queen you might be glad when she died, and you could choose another. If I was a queen, I 'd be a very good queen and kind to everybody." " Here 's a bit o' nice victual, then," said the old woman, handing to Maggie a lump of dry bread, which she had taken from a bag of scraps, and a piece of cold bacon. " Thank you," said Maggie, looking at the food without taking it ; " but will you give me some bread-and-butter and tea instead ? I don't like bacon." " We 've got no tea nor butter," said the old woman, with something like a scowl, as if she were getting tired of coaxing. "Oh, a little bread and treacle would do," said Maggie. " We han't got no treacle," said the old woman crossly, whereupon there followed a sharp dialogue BOY AND GIRL. 155 between the two women in their unknown tongne, and one of the small sphinxes snatched at the bread-and-bacon, and began to eat it. At this moment the tall girl, who had gone a few yards off, came back, and said something which produced a strong effect. The old woman, seeming to forget Maggie's hunger, poked the skewer into the pot with new vigour, and the younger crept under the tent, and reached out some platters and spoons. Maggie trembled a little, and was afraid the tears would come into her eyes. Meanwhile the tall girl gave a shrill cry, and presently came running up the boy whom Maggie had passed as he was sleeping, a rough urchin about the age of Tom. He stared at Maggie, and there ensued much incom- prehensible chattering. She felt very lonely, and was quite sure she should begin to cry before long ; the gypsies did n't seem to mind her at all, and she felt quite weak among them. But the springing tears were checked by new terror, when two men came up, whose approach had been the cause of the sudden excitement. The elder of the two carried a bag, which he flung down, addressing the women in a loud and scolding tone, which they answered by a shower of treble sauciness ; while a black cur ran barking up to Maggie, and threw her into a tremor that only found a new cause in the curses with which the younger man called the dog off, and gave him a rap with a great stick he held in his hand. Maggie felt that it was impossible she should ever be queen of these people, or ever communicate to them amusing and useful knowledge. Both the men now seemed to be inquiring about Moggie, for they looked at her, and the tone of the conversation became of that pacific kind which IS6 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. implies curiosity on one side and the power of satis- fying it on the other. At last the younger woman said in her previous deferential coaxing tone, "This nice little lady's come to live with us: are n't you glad ? " " Ay, very glad," said the younger man, who was looking at Maggie's silver thimble and other small matters that had been taken from her pocket. He returned them all except the thimble to the younger woman, with some observation, and she immedi- ately restored them to Maggie's pocket, while the men seated themselves, and began to attack the con- tents of the kettle, a stew of meat and potatoes, which had been taken off the tire and turned out into a yellow platter. Maggie began to think that Tom must be right about the gypsies,- they must certainly be thieves, unless the man meant to return her thimble by and by. She would willingly have given it to him, for she was not at all attached to her thimble ; but the idea that she was among thieves prevented her from feeling any comfort in the revival of def- erence and attention towards her, all thieves, except Robin Hood, were wicked people. The women saw she was frightened. " We Ve got nothing nice for a lady to eat," said the old woman, in her coaxing tone. " And she 's so hungry, sweet little lady." " Here, my dear, try if you can eat a bit o' this," said the younger woman, handing some of the stew on a brown dish v/ith an iron spoon to Maggie, who, remembering that the old woman had seened angry with her for not liking the bread-and-bacon, dared not refuse the stew, though fear had chased away her appetite. If her father would but come by in BOY AND GIRL. 157 the gig and take her up ! Or even if Jack the Giantkiller, or Mr. Greatheart, or St. George who slew the dragon on the halfpennies, would happen to pass that way ! But Maggie thought with a sink- ing heart that these heroes were never seen in the neighbourhood of St. Ogg's, nothing very won- derful ever came there. Maggie Tulliver, you perceive, was by no means that well-trained, well-informed young person that a small female of eight or nine necessarily is in these days : she had only been to school a year at St. Ogg's, and had so few books that she sometimes read the dictionary ; so that in travelling over her small mind you would have found the most un- expected ignorance as well as unexpected knowl- edge. She could have informed you that there was such a word as " polygamy," and being also acquainted with " polysyllable," she had deduced the conclusion that " poly " meant " many ; " but she had had no idea that gypsies were not well sup- plied with groceries, and her thoughts generally were the oddest mixture of clear-eyed acumen and blind dreams. Her ideas about the gypsies had undergone a rapid modification in the last five minutes. From having considered them very respectful companions, amenable to instruction, she had begun to think that they meant perhaps to kill her as soon it was dark, and cut up her body for gradual cooking : the suspicion crossed her that the fierce-eyed old man was in fact the devil, who might drop that transparent disguise at any moment, and turn either into the grinning blacksmith or else a fiery-eyed monster with dragon's wings. It was no use trying to eat the stew, and yet the thing she most 158 TI1E MILL ON THE FLOSS. dreaded was to offend the gypsies, by betraying her extremely unfavourable opinion of them, and she wondered, with a keenness of interest that no theo- logian could have exceeded, whether, if the devil were really present, he would know her thoughts. " What ! you don't like the smell of it, my dear," said the young woman, observing that Maggie did not even take a spoonful of the stew. " Try a bit, come." "No, thank you," said Maggie, summoning all her force for a desperate effort, and trying to smile in a friendly way. " I have n't time, I think, it seems getting darker. I think I must go home now, and come again another day, and then I can bring you a basket with some jam-tarts and things." Maggie rose from her seat as she threw out this illusory prospect, devoutly hoping that Apollyon was gullible; but her hope sank when the old gypsy-woman said, " Stop a bit, stop a bit, little lady, we '11 take you home, all safe, when we 've done supper : you shall ride home, like a lady." Maggie sat down again, with little faith in this promise, though she presently saw the tall girl put- ting a bridle on the donkey, and throwing a couple of bags on his back. " Now then, little missis," said the younger man, rising, and leading the donkey forward, " tell us where you live, what 's the name o' the place ? " "Dorlcote Mill is my home," said Maggie, eagerly. " My father is Mr. Tulliver, he lives there." " What ! a big mill a little way this side o' St. Ogg's?" " Yes," said Maggie. " Is it far off ? I think I should like to walk there, if you please." " No, no, it '11 be getting dark ; we must make BOY AND GIRL. 159 haste. And the donkey '11 carry you as nice as can be, you '11 see." He lifted Maggie as he spoke, and set her on the donkey. She felt relieved that it was not the old man who seemed to be going with her, but she had only a trembling hope that she was really going home. " Here 's your pretty bonnet," said the younger woman, putting that recently despised but now welcome article of costume on Maggie's head ; " and you '11 say we 've been very good to you, won't you ? and what a nice little lady we said you was." " Oh yes, thank you," said Maggie, " I 'm very much obliged to you. But I wish you 'd go with me too." She thought anything was better than going with one of the dreadful men alone : it would be more cheerful to be murdered by a larger party. " Ah, you 're fondest o' me, are n't you ? " said the woman. " But I can't go, you '11 go too fast for me." It now appeared that the man also was to be seated on the donkey, holding Maggie before him ; and she was as incapable of remonstrating against this arrangement as the donkey himself, though no nightmare had ever seemed to her more horrible. When the woman had patted her on the back, and said " Good-by," the donkey, at a strong hint from the man's stick, set off at a rapid walk along the lane towards the point Maggie had come from an hour ago ; while the tall girl and the rough urchin, also furnished with sticks, obligingly escorted them for the first hundred yards, with much screaming and thwacking. Not Leonore, in that preternatural midnight ex- cursion with her phantom lover, was more terrified 160 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. than poor Maggie in this entirely natural ride on a short-paced donkey, with a gypsy behind her, who considered that he was earning half a crown. The red light of the setting sun seemed to have a portentous meaning, with which the alarming bray of the second donkey with the log on its foot must surely have some connection. Two low thatched cottages the only houses they passed in this lane seemed to add to its dreariness : they had no windows to speak of, and the doors were closed: it was probable that they were inhabited by witches, and it was a relief to find that the donkey did not stop there. At last oh, sight of joy ! this lane, the long- est in the world, was coming to an end, was opening on a broad high-road, where there was actually a coach passing ! And there was a finger-post at the corner : she had surely seen that finger-post before, "To St. Ogg's, 2 miles." The gypsy really meant to take her home, then : he was probably a good man, after all, and might have been rather hurt at the thought that she did n't like coming with him alone. This idea became stronger as she felt more and more certain that she knew the road quite well, and she was considering how she might open a conversation with the injured gypsy, and not only gratify his feelings but efface the impression of her cowardice, when, as they reached a cross-road, Maggie caught sight of some one coming on a white-faced horse. " Oh, stop, stop ! " she cried out. " There 's my father ! Oh, father, father ! " The sudden joy was almost painful, and before her father reached her, she was sobbing. Great was Mr. Tulliver's wonder, for he had made a round from Basset, and had not yet been home. BOY AND GIRL. 161 " Why, what 's the meaning o' this ? " he said, checking his horse, while Maggie slipped from the donkey and ran to her father's stirrup. " The little miss lost herself, I reckon," said the gypsy. " She 'd come to our tent at the far end o' Dunlow Lane, and I was bringing her where she said her home was. It 's a good way to come arter being on the tramp all day." " Oh yes, father, he 's been very good to bring me home," said Maggie " A very kind, good man ! " " Here, then, my man," said Mr. Tulliver, taking out five shillings. " It 's the best day's work you ever did. I could n't afford to lose the little wench; here, lift her up be "ore me." " Why, Maggie, how 's this, how 's this ? " he said, as they rode along, while she laid her head against her father, and sobbed. " How came you to be rambling about and lose yourself ? " " Oh, father," sobbed Maggie, " I ran away be- cause I was so unhappy, Tom was so angry with me. I could n't bear it." " Pooh, pooh," said Mr. Tulliver, soothingly, "you must n't think o' running away from father. What 'ud father do without his little wench ? " " Oh no, I never will again, father, never." Mr. Tulliver spoke his mind very strongly when he reached home that evening ; and the effect was seen in the remarkable fact that Maggie never heard one reproach from her mother, or one taunt from Tom, about this foolish business of her running away to the gypsies. Maggie was rather awe- stricken by this unusual treatment, and sometimes thought that her conduct had been too wicked to be alluded to. VOL. I. 11 CHAPTER XII. MR. AND MRS. GLEGG AT HOME. IN order to see Mr. and Mrs. Glegg at home, we must enter the town of St. Ogg's, that venerable town with the red-fluted roofs and the broad ware- house gables, where the black ships unlade them- selves of their burdens from the far north, and carry away, in exchange, the precious inland prod- ucts, the well-crushed cheese and the soft fleeces, which my refined readers have doubtless become acquainted with through the medium of the best classic pastorals. It is one of those old, old towns which impress one as a continuation and outgrowth of nature, as much as the nests of the bower-birds or the winding galleries of the white ants ; a town which carries the traces of its long growth and history like a millennial tree, and has sprung up and developed in the same spot between the river and the low hill from the time when the Roman legions turned their backs on it from the camp on the hillside, and the long-haired sea-kings came up the river and looked with fierce eager eyes at the fatness of the land. It is a town " familiar with forgotten years." The shadow of the Saxon hero-king si ill walks there fitfully, reviewing the scenes of his youth and love-time, and is met by the gloomier shadow of the dreadful heathen Dane, who was stabbed in the midst of his BOY AND GIRL. 163 warriors by the sword of an invisible avenger, and who rises on autumn evenings like a white mist from his tumulus on the hill, and hovers in the court of the old hall by the river-side, the spot where he was thus miraculously slain in the days before the old hall was built. It was the Normans who began to build that fine old hall, which is like the town, telling of the thoughts and hands of widely sundered generations ; but it is all so old that we look with loving pardon at its inconsisten- cies, and are well content that they who built the stone oriel, and they who built the Gothic facade and towers of finest small brickwork with the tre- foil ornament, and the windows and battlements defined with stone, did not sacrilegiously pull down the ancient half-timbered body with its oak-roofed banqueting-hall. But older even than this old hall is perhaps the bit of wall now built into the belfry of the parish church, and said to be a remnant of the original chapel dedicated to St. Ogg, the patron saint of this ancient town, of whose history I possess several manuscript versions. I incline to the briefest, since. if it should not be wholly true, it is at least likely to contain the least falsehood. " Ogg the son of Beorl," says my private hagiographer, " was a boat- man who gained a scanty living by ferrying passen- gers across the river Floss. And it came to pass, one evening when the winds were high, that there sat moaning by the brink of the river a woman with a child in her arms ; and she was clad in rags, and had a worn and withered look, and she craved to be rowed across the river. And the men thereabout questioned her, and said, ' Wherefore dost thou desire to cross the river ? Tarry till the morning, 1 64 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. and take shelter here for the night : so shalt thou be wise and not foolish." Still she went on to mourn and crave. But Ogg the son of Beorl came up and said, ' I will ferry thee across : it is enough that thy heart needs it.' And he ferried her across. And it came to pass, when she stepped ashore, that her rags were turned into robes of flowing white, and her face became bright with exceeding beauty, and there was a glory around it, so that she shed a light on the water like the moon in its brightness. And she said, ' Ogg, the son of Beorl, thou art blessed in that thou didst not question and wrangle with the heart's need, but wast smitten with pity, and didst straightway relieve the same. And from henceforth whoso steps into thy boat shall be in no peril from the storm ; and whenever it puts forth to the rescue, it shall save the lives both of men and beasts.' And when the floods came, many were saved by reason of that blessing on the boat. But when Ogg the son of Beorl died, behold, in the parting of his soul, the boat loosed itself from its moorings, and was floated with the ebbing tide in great swiftness to the ocean, and was seen no more. Yet it was witnessed in the floods of aftertime, that at the coming on of eventide, Ogg the son of Beorl was always seen with his boat upon the wide-spread- ing waters, and the Blessed Virgin sat in the prow, shedding a light around as of the moon in its brightness, so that the rowers in the gathering darkness took heart and pulled anew." This legond, one sees, reflects from a far-off time the visitation of the floods, which, even when they left human life untouched, were widely fatal to the helpless cattle, and swept as sudden death over all smaller living things. But the town knew worse BOY AND GIRL. 165 troubles even than the floods, troubles of the civil wars, when it was a continual fighting-place, where first Puritans thanked God for the blood of the Loyalists, and then Loyalists thanked God for the blood of the Puritans. Many honest citizens lost all their possessions for conscience' sake in those times, and went forth beggared from their native town. Doubtless there are many houses standing now on which those honest citizens turned their backs in sorrow : quaint-gabled houses looking on the river, jammed between newer warehouses, and pene- trated by surprising passages, which turn and turn at sharp angles till they lead you out on a muddy strand overflowed continually by the rushing tide. Everywhere the brick houses have a mellow look, and in Mrs. Glegg's day there was no incongruous new-fashioned smartness, no plate-glass in shop- windows, no fresh stucco-facing or other fallacious attempt to make fine old red St. Ogg's wear the air of a town that sprang up yesterday. The shop- windows were small and unpretending ; for the farmers' wives and daughters who came to do their shopping on market-days were not to be withdrawn from their regular well-known shops ; and the tradesmen had no wares intended for customers who would go on their way and be seen no more. Ah ! even Mrs. Glegg's day seems far back in the past now, separated from us by changes that widen the years. War and the rumour of war had then died out from the minds of men, and if they were ever thought of by the farmers in drab great-coats, who shook the grain out of their sample-bags and buzzed over it in the full market-place, it was as a state of things that belonged to a past golden age when prices were high. Surely the time was gone 1 66 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. forever when the broad river could bring up unwel- come ships : Russia was only the place where the linseed came from the more the better making grist for the great vertical millstones with their scythe-like arms, roaring and grinding and carefully sweeping as if an informing soul were in them. The Catholics, bad harvests, and the mysterious fluctu- ations of trade were the three evils mankind had to fear : even the floods had not been great of late years. The mind of St. Ogg's did not look exten- sively before or after. It inherited a long past without thinking of it, and had no eyes for the spirits that walk the streets. Since the centuries when St. Ogg with his boat and the Virgin Mother at the prow had been seen on the wide water, so many memories had been left behind, and had gradually vanished like the receding hill-tops ! And the present time was like the level plain where men lose their belief in volcanoes and earthquakes, thinking to-morrow will be as yesterday, and the giant forces that used to shake the earth are forever laid to sleep. The days were gone when people could be greatly wrought upon by their faith, still less change it : the Catholics were formidable be- cause they would lay hold of government and prop- erty, and burn men alive ; not because any sane and honest parishioner of St. Ogg's could be brought to believe in the Pope. One nged person remem- bsred how a rude multitude had been swayed when John Wesley preached in the cattle-market: but for a long while it had not been expected of preach- ers that they should shake the souls of men. An occasional burst of fervour, in Dissenting pulpits, on the subject of infant baptism, was the only symp- tom of a zeal unsuited to sober times when men had BOY AND GIRL. 167 done with change. Protestantism sat at ease, un- mindful of schisms, careless of proselytism : Dis- sent was an inheritance along with a superior pew and a business connection ; and Churchmanship only wondered contemptuously at Dissent as a fool- ish habit that clung greatly to families in the grocery and chandlering lines, though not incom- patible with prosperous wholesale dealing. But with the Catholic Question had come a slight ' wind of controversy to break the calm : the elderly rector had become occasionally historical and argu- mentative, and Mr. Spray, the Independent min- ister, had begun to preach political sermons, in which he distinguished with much subtlety between his fervent belief in the right of the Catholics to the franchise and his fervent belief in their eternal perdition. Most of Mr. Spray's hearers, however, were incapable of following his subtleties, and many cld-fashioned Dissenters were much pained by his " siding with the Catholics ; " while others thought he had better let politics alone. Public spirit was not held in high esteem at St. Ogg's, and men who busied themselves with political questions were regarded with some suspicion, as dangerous char- acters: they were usually persons who had little or no business of their own to manage, or, if they had, were likely enough to become insolvent. This was the general aspect of things at St. Ogg's in Mrs. Glegg's day, and at that particular period in her family history when she had had her quarrel with Mr. Tulliver. It was a time when ignorance was much more comfortable than at present, and was received with all the honours in very good society, without being obliged to dress itself in an elaborate costume of knowledge; a time when cheap periodicals 168 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. were not, and when country surgeons never thought of asking their female patients if they were fond of reading, but simply took it for granted that they preferred gossip : a time when ladies in rich silk gowns wore large pockets, in which they carried a mutton-bone to secure them against cramp. Mrs. Glegg carried such a bone, which she had inherited from her grandmother with a brocaded gown that would stand up empty, like a suit of armour, and a silver-headed walking-stick ; for the Dodson family' had been respectable for many generations. Mrs. Glegg had both a front and a back parlour in her excellent house at St. Ogg's, so that she had two points of view from which she could observe the weakness of her fellow-beings, and reinforce her thankfulness for her own exceptional strength of mind. From her front windows she could look down the Tofton Eoad, leading out of St. Ogg's, and note the growing tendency to " gadding about " in the wives of men not retired from business, together with a practice of wearing woven cotton stockings, which opened a dreary prospect for the coming generation ; and from her back windows she could look down the pleasant garden and orchard which stretched to the river, and observe the folly of Mr. Glegg in spending his time among " them flowers and vegetables." For Mr. Glegg, having retired from active business as a wool-stapler, for the pur- pose of enjoying himself through the rest of his life, had found this last occupation so much more severe than his business that he had been driven into amateur hard labour as a dissipation, and habit- ually relaxed by doing the work of two ordinary gardeners. The economizing of a gardener's wages might perhaps have induced Mrs. Glegg to wink at BOY AND GIRL. 169 this folly, if it were possible for a healthy female mind even to simulate respect for a husband's hobby. But it is well known that this conjugal complacency belongs only to the weaker portion of the sex, who are scarcely alive to the responsibilities of a wife as a constituted check on her husband's pleasures, which are hardly ever of a rational or commendable kind. Mr. Glegg on his side, too, had a double source of mental occupation, which gave every promise of baing inexhaustible. On the one hand, he surprised himself by his discoveries in natural history, finding that his piece of garden-ground contained wonder- ful caterpillars, slugs, and insects, which, so far as he had heard, had never before attracted human observation ; and he noticed remarkable coincidences between these zoological phenomena and the great events of that time, as, for example, that before the burning of York Minster there had been myste- rious serpentine marks on the leaves of the rose- trees, together with an unusual prevalence of slugs, which he had been puzzled to know the meaning of, until it flashed upon him with this melancholy con- flagration. (Mr. Glegg had an unusual amount of mental activity, which, when disengaged from the wool business, naturally made itself a pathway in other directions.) And his second subject of medi- tation was the " contrairiness " of the female mind, as typically exhibited in Mrs. Glegg. That a crea- ture made in a genealogical sense out of a man's rib, and in this particular case maintained in the highest respectability without any trouble of her own, should be normally in a state of contra- diction to the blandest propositions and even to the most accommodating concessions, was a mystery in 170 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. the scheme of things to which he had often in vain sought a clew in the early chapters of Genesis. Mr. Glegg had chosen the eldest Miss Dodson as a handsome embodiment of female prudence and thrift, and being himself of a money-getting, money-keep- ing turn, had calculated on much conjugal harmony. But in that curious compound, the feminine char- acter, it may easily happen that the flavour is un- pleasant in spite of excallent ingredients ; and a fine systematic stinginess may be accompanied with a seasoning that quite spoils its relish. Now, good Mr. Glegg himself was stingy in the most amiable manner : his neighbours called him " near," which always means that the person in question is a lov- able skinflint. If you expressed a preference for cheese-parings, Mr. Glegg would remember to save them for you, with a good-natured delight in grati- fying your palate, and he was given to pet all animals which required no appreciable keep. There was no humbug or hypocrisy about Mr. Glegg: his eyes would have watered with true feeling over the sale of a widow's furniture, which a five-pound note from his side-pocket would have prevented ; but a donation of five pounds to a person " in a small way of life " would have seemed to him a mad kind of lavish ness rather than " charity," which had always presented itsalf to him as a contribution of small aids, not a neutralizing of misfortune. And Mr. Glegg was just as fond of saving other people's money as his own : he would have ridden as far round to avoid a turnpike when his expenses were to be paid for him, as when they were to come out of his own pocket, and was quite zealous in trying to induce indifferent acquaintances to adopt a cheap aubstitute for blacking. This inalienable habit of BOY AND GIEL. 171 saving, as an end in itself, belonged to the indus- trious men of business of a former generation, who made their fortunes slowly, almost as the tracking of the fox belongs to the harrier, it constituted them a "race," which is nearly lost in these days of rapid money-getting, when lavislmess comes close on the back of want. In old-fashioned times, an " independence " was hardly ever made without a little miserliness as a condition, and you would have found that quality in every provincial distiict, combined with characters as various as the fruits from which we can extract acid. The true Harpa-- gons were always marked and exceptional charac- ters : not so the worthy tax-payers, who, having once pinched from real necessity, retained even in the midst of their comfortable retirement, with their wall-fruit and wine-bins, the habit of regarding life as an ingenious process of nibbling out one 's liveli- hood without leaving any perceptible deficit, and who would have been as immediately prompted to give up a newly taxed luxury when they had their clear five hundred a year, as when they had only five hundred pounds of capital. Mr. Glegg was one of these men, found so impracticable by chancellors of the exchequer; and knowing this, you will be the better able to understand why he had not swerved from the conviction that he had made an eligible marriage, in spite of the too pungent season- ing that nature had given to the eldest Miss Dodson's virtues. A man with an affectionate disposition, who finds a wife to concur with his fundamental idea of life, easily comes to persuade himself that no other woman would have suited him so well, and does a little daily snapping and quarrelling without any sense of alienation. Mr. Glegg, being 172 THE MILT, ON THE FLOSS. of a reflective turn, and no longer occupied with wool, had much wondering meditation on the pecu- liar constitution of the female mind as unfolded to him in his domestic life ; and yet he thought Mrs. Glegg's household ways a model for her sex : it struck him as a pitiable irregularity in other women if they did not roll up their table-napkins with the same tightness and emphasis as Mrs. Glegg did, if their pastry had a less leathery consistence, and their damson cheese a less venerable hardness than hers ; nay, even the peculiar combination of grocery and drug-like odours in Mrs. Glegg's private cup- board impressed him as the only right thing in the way of cupboard smells. I am not sure that he would not have longed for the quarrelling again, if it had ceased for an entire week ; and it is certain that an acquiescent mild wife would have left his meditations comparatively jejune and barren of mystery. Mr. Glegg's unmistakable kind-heartedness was shown in this, that it pained him more to see his wife at variance with others even with Dolly, the servant than to be in a state of cavil with her himself ; and the quarrel between her and Mr. Tulliver vexed him so much that it quite nullified the pleasure he would otherwise have had in the state of his early cabbages, as he walked in his garden before breakfast the next morning. Still he went into breakfast with some slight hope that, now Mrs. Glegg had " slept upon it," her anger might be subdued enough to give way to her usually strong sense of family decorum. She had been used to boast that there had never been any of those deadly quarrels among the Dodsons which had disgraced other families ; that no Dodson had ever been " cut BOY AND GIRL 173 off with a shilling," and no cousin of the Dodsons disowned ; as, indeed, why should they be ? for they had no cousins who had not money out at use, or some houses of their own, at the very least. There was one evening-cloud which had always disappeared from Mrs. Glegg's brow when she sat at the breakfast-table : it was her fuzzy front of curls ; for as she occupied herself in household matters in the morning, it would have been a mere extrav- agance to put on anything so superfluous to the making of leathery pastry as a fuzzy curled front. By half -past ten decorum demanded the front: until then Mrs. Glegg could economize it, and society would never be any the wiser. But the absence of that cloud only left it more apparent that the cloud of severity remained ; and Mr. Glegg, perceiving this, as he sat down to his milk-porridge, which it was his old frugal habit to stem his morn- ing hunger with, prudently resolved to leave the first remark to Mrs. Glegg, lest, to so delicate an article as a lady's temper, the slightest touch should do mischief. People who seem to enjoy their ill- temper have a way of keeping it in fine condition by inflicting privations on themselves. That was Mrs. Glegg's way: she made her tea weaker than usual this morning, and declined butter. It was a hard case that a vigorous mood for quarrelling, so highly capable of using any opportunity, should not meet with a single remark from Mr. Glegg on which to exercise itself. But by and by it ap- peared that his silence would answer the purpose, for he heard himself apostrophized at last in that tone peculiar to the wife of one's bosom. " Well, Mr. Glegg ! it 's a poor return I get for making you the wife I Ve made you all these years. 174 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. If this is the way I 'm to be treated, T 'd better ha' known it before my poor father died, and then, when I 'd wanted a home, I should ha' gone else- where as the choice was offered me." Mr. Glegg paused from his porridge and looked up, not with any new amazement, but simply with that quiet, habitual wonder with which we regard constant mysteiies. " Why, Mrs. G., what have I done now ? " " Done now, Mr. Glegg ? done now ? . . . I 'm sorry for you." Not seeing his way to any pertinent answer, Mr. Glegg reverted to his porridge. " There 's husbands in the world," continued Mrs. Glegg, after a pause, "as 'ud have known how to do something different to siding with everybody else against their own wives. Perhaps I 'm wrong, and you can teach me better. But I 've allays heard as it 's the husband's place to stand by the wife, in- stead o' rejoicing and triumphing when folks insult her." " Now, what call have you to say that ?" said Mr. Glegg, rather warmly ; for though a kind man, he was not as meek as Moses. " When did I rejoice or triumph over you?" " There 's ways o' doing things worse than speak- ing out plain, Mr. Glegg. I 'd sooner you 'd tell me to my fa x ce as you make light of me, than try to make out as everybody 's in the right but me, and come to your breakfast in the morning, as I 've hardly slept an hour this night, and sulk at me as if I was the dirt under your feet." " Sulk at you ? " said Mr. Glegg, in a tone of an- gry facetiousness. " You 're like a tipsy man as thinks everybody 's had too much but himself." BOY AND GIRL. 175 " Don't lower yourself with using coarse language to me, Mr. Glegg ! It makes you look very small, though you can't see yourself," said Mrs. Glegg, in a tone of energetic compassion. " A man in your place should set an example, and talk more sensible." " Yes ; but will you listen to sense ? " retorted Mr. Glegg, sharply, " The best sense I can talk to you is what I said last night, as you 're i' the wrong to think o' calling in your money, when it 's safe enough if you 'd let it alone, all because of a bit of a tiff, and I was in hopes you 'd ha' altered your mind this morning But if you 'd like to call it in, don't do it in a hurry now, and breed more enmity in the family, but wait till there 's a pretty moit- gage to be had without any trouble. You 'd have to set the lawyer to work now to find an investment, and make no end o' expense." Mrs. Glegg felt there was really something in this ; but she tossed her head and emitted a guttural interjection to indicate that her silence was only an armistice, not a peace. And, in fact, hostilities soon broke out again. " I '11 thank you for my cup o' tea, now, Mrs. G.," said Mr. Glegg, seeing that she did not proceed to give it him as usual, when he had finished his por- ridge. She lifted the teapot with a slight toss of the head, and said, " I 'm glad to hear you '11 thank me, Mr. Glegg. It's little thanks / get for what I do for folks i' this world. Though there 's never a woman o' your side o' the family, Mr. Glegg, as is fit to stand up with me, and I 'd say it if I was on my dying bed. Not but what I 've allays conducted myself civil to your kin, and there is n't one of 'em can say the 1 76 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. contrary, though my equils they are n't, arid nobody shall make me say it." " You 'd better leave finding fault wi' my kin till you 've left off quarrelling with your own, Mrs. G.," said Mr. Glegg, with angry sarcasm. " I '11 trouble you for the milk-jug." " That 's as false a word as ever you spoke, Mr. Glegg," said the lady, pouring out the milk with un- usual profuseness, as much as to say, if he wanted milk he should have it with a vengeance. "And you know it 's false. I 'm not the woman to quarrel with my own kin : you may, for I 've known you do it." " Why, what did you call it yesterday, then, leav- ing your sister's house in a tantrum ? " " I 'd no quarrel wi' my sister, Mr. Glegg, and it 's false to say it. Mr. Tulliver 's none o' my blood, and it was him quarrelled with me, and drove me out o' the house. But perhaps you 'd have had me stay and be swore at, Mr. Glegg ; perhaps you was vexed not to hear more abuse and foul language poured out upo' your own wife. But, let me tell you, it 's your disgrace." " Did ever anybody hear the like i' this parish ? " said Mr. Glegg, getting hot. " A woman, with everything provided for her, and allowed to keep her own money the same as if it was settled on her, and with a gig new stuffed and lined at no end o' expense, and provided for when I die beyond any- thing she could expect ... to go on i" this way, biting and snapping like a mad dog! It's beyond everything, as God A'mighty should ha' made women so." (These last words were uttered in a tone of sorrowful agitation. Mr. Glegg pushed his tea from him, and tapped the table with both his hands.) BOY AND GIRL. 177 " Well, Mr. Glegg, if those are your feelings, it 's best they should be known," said Mrs. Glegg, taking off her napkin, and folding it in an excited manner. " But if you talk o' my being provided for beyond what I could expect, I beg leave to tell you as I 'd a right to expect a many things as I don't find. And as to my being like a mad dog, it 's well if you 're not cried shame on by the county for your treatment of me, for it 's what I can't bear, and I won't bear " Here Mrs. Glegg's voice intimated that she was going to cry, and, breaking off from speech, she rang the bell violently. " Sally," she said, rising from her chair, and speaking in rather a choked voice, " light a fire up- stairs, and put the blinds down. Mr. Glegg, you '11 please to order what you 'd like for dinner. I shall have gruel." Mrs. Glegg walked across the room to the small book -case, and took down Baxter's " Saints' Ever- lasting Rest," which she carried with her upstairs. It was the book she was accustomed to lay open before her on special occasions, on wet Sunday mornings, or when she heard of a death in the family, or when, as in this case, her quarrel with Mr. Glegg had been set an octave higher than usual. But Mrs. Glegg carried something else upstairs with her, which, together with the " Saints' Rest " and the gruel, may have had some influence in gradually calming her feelings, and making it pos- sible for her to endure existence on the ground- floor shortly before tea-time. This was, partly, Mr. Glegg's suggestion that she would do well to let her five hundred lie still until a good investment turned up ; and, further, his parenthetic hint at his handsome provision for her in case of his death. VOL. 1. 12 178 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Mr. Glegg, like all men of his stamp, was extremely reticent about his will ; and Mrs. Glegg, in her gloomier moments, had forebodings that, like other husbands of whom she had heard, he might cherish the mean project of heightening her grief at his death by leaving her poorly off, in which case she was firmly resolved that she would have scarcely any weeper on her bonnet, and would cry no more than if he had bean a second husband. But if he had really shown her any testamentary tenderness, it would be affecting to think of him, poor man, when he was gone ; and even his foolish fuss about the flowers and garden-stuff, and his insistence on the subject of snails, would be touching when it was once fairly at an end. To survive Mr. Glegg, and talk eulogistically of him as a man who might have his weaknesses, but who had done the right thing by her, notwithstanding his numerous poor rela- tions; to have sums of interest coming in more fre- quently, and secrete it in various corners, baffling to the most ingenious of thieves (for, to Mrs. Glegg's mind, banks and strong-boxes would have nullified the pleasure of property, she might as well have taken her food in capsules) ; finally, to be looked up to by her own family and the neighbour- hood so as no woman can ever hope to be who has not the preterite and present dignity comprised in being a " widow well left," all this made a flatter- ing and conciliatory view of the future. So that wlien good Mr. Glegg, restored to good-humour by much hoeing, and moved by the sight of his wife's empty chair, with her knitting rolled up in the corner, went upstairs to her, and observed that the bell had been tolling for poor Mr. Morton, Mrs. Glegg answered magnanimously, quite as if she had BOY AND GIRL. 179 been an uninjured woman, " Ah ! then, there '11 be a good business for somebody to take to." Baxter had been open at least eight hours by this time, for it was nearly five o'clock ; and if people are to quarrel often, it follows as a corollary that their quarrels cannot be protracted beyond certain limits. Mr. and Mrs. Glegg talked quite amicably about the Tullivers that evening. Mr. Glegg went the length of admitting that Tulliver was a sad man for getting into hot water, and was like enough to run through his. property ; and Mrs. Glegg, meeting this acknowledgment half-way, declared that it was beneath her to take notice of such a man's conduct, and that, for her sister's sake, she would let him keep the five hundred awhile longer, for when she put it out on a mortgage she should only get four per cent. CHAPTER XIII. MR. TULLIVER FURTHER ENTANGLES THE SKEIN OF LIFE. OWING to this new adjustment of Mrs. Glegg's thoughts, Mrs. Pullet found her task of mediation the next day surprisingly easy. Mrs. Glegg, in- deed, checked her rather sharply for thinking it would be necessary to tell her elder sister what was the right mode of behaviour in family matters. Mrs. Pullet's argument, that it would look ill in the neighbourhood if people should have it in their power to say that there was a quarrel in the family, was particularly offensive. If the family name never suffered except through Mrs. Glegg, Mrs. Pullet might lay her head on her pillow in per- fect confidence. " It 's not to be expected, I suppose," observed Mrs. Glegg, by way of winding up the subject, " as I shall go to the mill again before Bessy comes to see me, or as I shall go and fall down o' my knees to Mr. Tulliver, and ask his pardon for showing him favours ; but I shall bear no malice, and when Mr. Tulliver speaks civil to me, I '11 speak civil to him. Nobody has any call to tell me what 's becoming." Finding it unnecessary to plead for the Tullivers, it was natural that aunt Pullet should relax a little in her anxiety for them, and recur to the annoyance she had suffered yesterday from the offspring of that BOY AND GIRL. 181 apparently ill-fated house. Mrs. Glegg heard a cir- cumstantial narrative, to which Mr. Pullet's remark- able memory furnished some items; and while aunt Pullet pitied poor Bessy's bad luck with her chil- dren, and expressed a half-formed project of pay- ing for Maggie's being sent to a distant boarding- school, which would not prevent her being so brown, but might tend to subdue some other vices in her, aunt Glegg blamed Bessy for her weakness, and appealed to all witnesses who should be living when the Tulliver children had turned out ill, that she, Mrs. Glegg, had always said how it would be from the very first, observing that it was wonderful to herself how all her words came true. " Then I may call and tell Bessy you '11 bear no malice, and everything be as it was before ? " Mrs. Pullet said, just before parting. " Yes, you may, Sophy," said Mrs. Glegg ; " you may tell Mr. Tulliver, and Bessy too, as I 'm not going to behave ill because folks behave ill to me : I know it's my place, as the eldest, to set an example in every respect, and I do it. Nobody can say different of me, if they '11 keep to the truth." Mrs. Glegg being in this state of satisfaction in her own lofty magnanimity, I leave you to judge what effect was produced on her by the reception of a short letter from Mr. Tulliver, that very evening, after Mrs. Pullet's departure, informing her that she need n't trouble her mind about her five hun- dred pounds, for it should be paid back to her in the course of the next month at farthest, together with the interest due thereon until the time of payment. And furthermore, that Mr. Tulliver had no wish to behave uncivilly to Mrs. Glegg, and she was welcome to his house whenever she liked to i8z THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. come, but he desired no favours from her, either for himself or his children. It was poor Mrs. Tulliver who had hastened this catastrophe, entirely through that irrepressible hopefulness of hers which led her to expect that similar causes may at any time produce different results. It had very often occurred in her experi- ence that Mr. Tulliver had done something because other people had said he was not able to do it, or had pitied him for his supposed inability, or in any other way piqued his pride; still, she thought to- day, if she told him when he came in to tea that sister Pullet was gone to try and make everything up with sister Glegg, so that he need n't think about paying in the money, it would give a cheer- ful effect to the meal. Mr. Tulliver had never slackened in his resolve to raise the money, but now he at once determined to write a letter to Mrs. Glegg, which should cut off all possibility of mistake. Mrs. Pullet gone to beg and pray for him, indeed ! Mr. Tulliver did not willingly write a letter, and found the relation between spoken and written lan- guage, briefly known as spelling, one of the most puzzling things in this puzzling world. Neverthe- less, like all fervid writing, the task was done in Ijss time than usual ; and if the spelling differed from Mrs. Glegg's, why, she belonged, like him- sslf, to a generation with whom spelling was a mat- ter of private judgment. Mrs. Glegg did not alter her will in consequence of this letter, and cut off the Tulliver children from their sixth and seventh share in her thousand pounds ; for she had her principles. No one must l>e able to say of her when she was dead that she had not divided her money with perfect fairness BOY AND GIRL. 183 among her own kin : in the matter of wills, personal qualities were subordinate to the great fundamental fact of blood ; and to be determined in the distribu- tion of your property by caprice, and not make your legacies bear a direct ratio to degrees of kinship, was a prospective disgrace that would have embit- tered her life. This had always been a principle in the Dodson family ; it was one form of that sense of honour and rectitude which was a proud tradition in such families, a tradition which has been the salt of our provincial society. But though the.letter could not shake Mrs. Glegg's principles, it made the family breach much more difficult to mend ; and as to the effect it pro- duced on Mrs. Glegg's opinion of Mr. Tulliver, she begged to be understood from that time forth that she had nothing whatever to say about him : his state of mind, apparently, was too corrupt for her to contemplate it for a moment. It was not until the evening before Tom went to school, at the be- ginning of August, that Mrs. Glegg paid a visit to her sister Tulliver, sitting in her gig all the while, and showing her displeasure by markedly abstain- ing from all advice and criticism, for, as she ob- served to her sister Deane, " Bessy must bear the consequence o' having such a husband, though I 'm sorry for her ; " and Mrs. Deane agreed that Bessy was pitiable. That evening Tom observed to Maggie, " Oh my ! Maggie, aunt Glegg 's beginning to come again ; I 'm glad I 'm going to school. You '11 catch it all now ! " Maggie was already so full of sorrow at the thought of Tom's going away from her, that this playful exultation of his seemed very unkind and she cried herself to sleep tnat night. 1 84 TBE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Mr. Tulliver's prompt procedure entailed on him further promptitude in finding the convenient person who was desirous of lending five hundred pounds on bond. " It must be no client of Wakem's," he said to himself ; and yet at the end of a fortnight it turned out to the contrary ; not because Mr. Tulliver's will was feeble, but because external fact was stronger. Wakem's client was the only convenient person to be found. Mr. Tulliver had a destiny as well as (Edipus, and in this case he might plead, like (Edipus, that his deed was inflicted on him rather than committed by him. BOOK n. SCHOOL-TIME. CHAPTER I. .TOM'S "FIKST HALF." TOM TULLIVER'S sufferings during the first quartet he was at King's Lorton, under the distinguished care of the Rev. Walter Stelling, were rather severe. At Mr. Jaeobs's academy, life had not presented itself to him as a difficult problem: there were plenty of fellows to play with ; and Tom, being good at all active games, fighting especially, had that precedence among them which appeared to him in- separable from the personality of Tom Tulliver. Mr. Jacobs himself familiarly known as Old Goggles, from his habit of wearing spectacles imposed no painful awe ; and if it was the property of snuffy old hypocrites like him to write like copperplate and surround their signatures with arabesques, to spell without forethought, and to spout " My name is Norval " without bungling, Tom, for his part, was rather glad he was not in danger of those mean accomplishments. He was not going to be a snuffy schoolmaster, he; but a substantial man, like his father, who used to go hunting when he was younger, and rode a capital black mare, as pretty a bit of horse-flesh as ever you saw : Tom had heard what 1 86 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. her points were a hundred times. He meant to go hunting too, and to be generally respected. When people were grown up, he considered, nobody in- quired about their writing and spelling ; when he was a man, he should be master of everything, and do just as he liked. It had been very difficult for him to reconcile himself to the idea that his school-- time was to be prolonged, and that he was not to be brought up to his father's business, which he had always thought extremely pleasant, for it was noth- ing but riding about, giving orders, and going to market ; and he thought that a clergyman would give him a great many Scripture lessons, and prob- ably make him learn the Gospel and Epistle on a Sunday as well as the Collect. But in the absence of specih'c information, it was impossible for him to imagine that school and a schoolmaster would be something entirely different from the academy of Mr. Jacobs. So, not to be at a deficiency, in case of his finding genial companions, he had taken care to carry with him a small box of percussion-caps ; not that there was anything particular to be done with them, but they would serve to impress strange boys with a sense of his familiarity with guns. Thus poor Tom, though he saw very clearly through Maggie's illusions, was not without illusions of his own, which were to be cruelly dissipated by his enlarged experience at King's Lorton. He had not been there a fortnight before it was evident to him that life, complicated not only with the Latin Grammar but with a new standard of English pronunciation, was a very difficult business, made all the more obscure by a thick mist of bash- fulness. Tom, as you have observed, was never an exception among boys for ease of address ; but the SCHOOL-TIME. 187 difficulty of enunciating a monosyllable, in reply to Mr. or Mrs. Stelling was so great that he even dreaded to be asked at table whether he would have more pudding. As to the percussion-caps, he had almost resolved, in the bitterness of his heart, that he would throw them into a neighbouring pond ; for not only was he the solitary pupil, but he began even to have a certain scepticism about guns, and a general sense that his theory of life was under- mined. For Mr. Stelling thought nothing of guns, or horses either, apparently ; and yet it was impos- sible for Tom to . despise Mr. Stelling as lie had despised Old Goggles. If there were anything that was not thoroughly genuine about Mr. Stelling, it lay quite beyond Tom's power to detect it : it is only by a wide comparison of facts that the wisest full-grown man can distinguish well-rolled barrels from more supernal thunder. Mr. Stelling was a well-sized, broad-chested man, not yet thirty, with rlaxen hair standing erect, and large lightish-gray eyes, which were always very wide open; 'he had a sonorous bass voice, and an air of defiant self-confidence inclining to brazenness. He had entered on his career with great vigour, and intended to make a considerable impression on his fellow-men. The Rev. Walter Stelling was not a man who would remain among the " inferior clergy " all his life. He had a true British determination to push his way in the world. As a schoolmaster, in the first place ; for there were capital masterships of grammar-schools to be had, and Mr. Stelling meant to have one of them. But as a preacher also, for he meant always to preach in a striking manner, so as to have his congregation swelled by admirers from neighbouring parishes, and to produce 1 88 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. a great sensation whenever he took occasional duty for a brother clergyman of minor gifts. The style of preaching he had chosen was the extemporane- ous, which was held little short of the miraculous in rural parishes like King's Lorton. Some passages of Massillon and Bourdaloue, which he knew by heart, were really very effective when rolled out in Mr. Stelling's deepest tones; but as comparatively feeble appeals of his own were delivered in the same loud and impressive manner, they were often thought quite as striking by his hearers. Mr. Stelling's doctrine was of no particular school; if anything, it had a tinge of evangelicalism, for that was " the telling thing" just then in the diocese to which King's Lorton belonged. In short, Mr. Stelling was a man who meant to rise in his profession, and to rise by merit, clearly, since he had no inter- est beyond what might be promised by a proble- matic relationship to a great lawyer who had not yet become Lord Chancellor. A clergyman who has such vigorous intentions naturally gets a little into debt at starting ; it is not to be expected that he will live in the meagre style of a man who means to be a poor curate all his life ; and if the few hundreds Mr. Timpson advanced towards his daugh- ter's fortune did not suffice for the purchase of handsome furniture, together with a stock of wine, a grand piano, and the laying out of a superior flower-garden, it followed, in the most rigorous man- ner, either that these things must be procured by some other means, or else that the Rev. Mr. Stelling must go without them, which last alternative would be an absurd procrastination of the fruits of success, where success was certain. Mr. Stelling was so broad-chested and resolute that he felt equal SCHOOL-TIME. 189 to anything ; he would become celebrated by shak- ing the consciences of his hearers, and he would by and by edit a Greek play, and invent several new readings. He had not yet selected the play, for having been married little more than two years, his leisure time had been much occupied with attentions to Mrs. Stelling ; but he had told that fine woman what he meant to do some day, and she felt great confidence in her husband, as a man who understood everything of that sort. But the immediate step to future success was to bring on Tom Tulliver during this first half-year; for, by a singular coincidence, there had been some negotiation concerning another pupil from the same neighbourhood, and it might further a decision in Mr. Stelling's favour, if it were understood that young Tulliver, who, Mr. Stelling observed in con- jugal privacy, was rather a rough cub, had made prodigious progress in a short time. It was on this ground that he was severe with Tom about his lessons : he was clearly a boy whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin Grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr. Stelling was a harsh- tempered or unkind man, quite the contrary : he was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner ; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr. Stelling's ; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr. Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, " Now, Tulliver ! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it ? " Tom, to whom in 190 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin ; of course he answered, " Roast-beef," where- upon there followed much laughter and some prac- tical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way re- fused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear "a silly." If he could have seen a fellow-pupil under- go these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman : one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman's undivided neglect ; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman's undi- vided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr. Tulliver paid a high price in Tom's ini- tiatory months at King's Lorton. That respectable miller and malster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley's advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr. Stelling's eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult slow remark of Mr. Tulliver's with, " I see, my good sir, I see ; " " To be sure, to be sure;" " You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world," that Mr. Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the every-day affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he SCHOOL-TIME. 191 had heard at the last sessions, Mr. Tulliver thought the Eev. Mr. Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact : he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr. Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness: most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally : it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr. Tulliver several stories about " Swing " and incendi- arism, and asked, his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr. Tulliver himself did not know, and so was necessa- rily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs. Tulliver, finding that Mrs. Stelling's views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own ; moreover, that Mrs. Stell- ing, though so young a woman, and only anticipat- ing her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving 192 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. " They must be very well off, though," said Mrs. Tulliver, " for everything 's as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it." " Ah," said Mr. Tulliver, " he 's got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows 'em something. There 's Tom 'ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account : he says teaching comes natural to him. That 's wonderful, now," added Mr. Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr. Stelling, that he set about it with that uni- formity of method and independence of circum- stances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr. Broderip's amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was " Binny's " function to build : the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr. Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction : all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the SCHOOL-TIME. 193 display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile: all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr. Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship ; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr. Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual ; on the other hand, he had no secret, belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and pre- bends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds : he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr. Stelling believed in his method of education : he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr. Tulliver's boy. Of course, when the miller talked of " mapping " and "summing" in a vague and diffident manner, Mr. Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted ; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr. Stelling's duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed, he knew no other : he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad ; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so VOL. I. 13 I 9 4 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. abstract as the relation between cases and termina- tions could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognize a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr. Stelling as something more than natural stupidity : he suspected obstinacy, or, at any rate, indifference ; and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. " You feel no interest in what you're doing, sir," Mr. Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Kev. Mr. Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr. Stelling took no note of these things : he only observed that Tom's facul- ties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolized to him in the pages of the Eton Gram- mar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they were equal. Whence Mr. Stelling concluded that Tom's brain being peculiarly impervious to ety- mology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements : it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of SCHOOL-TIME. 195 any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr. Stelling's theory : if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor ! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one's ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, "and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one's knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. Aristotle ! if you had had the advantage of being "the freshest modern " instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamen- tation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin : he never called it an instrument of torture ; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a " bore " and " beastly stuff." At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state 196 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to in- structed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to " the masses," who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth ; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the every-day affairs of life, through the medium of this language, and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr. Jacobs's academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were " in the New Testament ; " and Mr. Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emascu- late his pupil's mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pri ie, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights ; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crush- ings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware SCHOOL-TIME. 197 that Mr. Stelling's standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid : he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl's susceptibility. He was of a very firm, not to say obstinate disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature : the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable him- self to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr. Stelling's approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rap- ping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understand- ing, or strengthen the verbal memory ; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it ; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of intro- ducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr. Stelling, convinced that this must be careless- ness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to 198 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource ; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and "little sister" (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God's commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, " and please to make me always remember my Latin." He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: "And make Mr. Stelling say I sha'n't do Euclid any more. Amen." The fact that he got through his supines with- out mistake the next day encouraged him to perse- vere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralized any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr. Stelling's continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom's despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a nodus worthy of interference; and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of pray- ing for help any longer ? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it : he could n't help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with ; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And SCHOOL-TIME. 199 then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, " Hoigh ! " would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whip- cord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life be- fore, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs. Stelling had lately had her second baby ; and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs. Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura, while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day, it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk ; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs. Stelling's window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive towards Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvan- tages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall oc- 200 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. casionally officiate as lady's-maid, when, more- over, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appoint- ment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr. Stelling knew better : he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her : it was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver's gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr. Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr. Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then ? He had married " as kind a little soul as ever breathed," according to Mr. Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs. Stelling's blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr. Stelling's fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that, there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs. Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people's " duty." But he could n't help playing with little SCHOOL-TIME. 201 Laura, and liking to amuse her ; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby draw- ing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs. Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow, and, oh, how Tom longed for playfellows ! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness ; though, when he was at home, he always repre- sented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Mag- gie actually came. Mrs. Stelling had given a gen- eral invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; 'so when Mr. Tulliver drove over to King's Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr. Tulli- ver's first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. " Well, my lad," he said to Tom, when Mr. Stel- ling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, " you look rarely ! School agrees with you." Tom wished he had looked rather ill. " I don't think I am well, father," said Tom ; " I wish you 'd ask Mr. Stelling not to let ine do Euclid, it brings on the toothache, I think." (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) "Euclid, my lad, why, what's that?" said Mr. Tulliver. " Oh, I don't know ; it 's definitions, and axioms, 202 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. and triangles, and things. It 's a book I 've got to learn in, there 's no sense in it." " Go, go ! " said Mr. Tulliver, reprovingly, " you mustn't say so. You must learn what your mas- ter tells you. He knows what it 's right for you to learn." " / 'II help you now, Tom," said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. " 1 'm come to stay ever so long, if Mrs. Stelling asks me. I 've brought my box and my pinafores, haven't I, father?" " You help me, you silly little thing ! " said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. "I should like to see you doing one of my lessons ! Why, I learn Latin too ! Girls never learn such things. They 're too silly." " I know what Latin is very well," said Mag- gie, confidently. "Latin 's a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There 's bonus, a gift." " Now, you 're just wrong there, Miss Maggie ! " said Tom, secretly astonished. " You think you 're very wise ! But bonus means ' good,' as it hap- pens, bonus, bona, bonum" " Well, that 's no reason why it should n't mean ' gift,' " said Maggie, stoutly. " It may mean several things, almost every word does. There 's ' lawn,' it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket-handkerchiefs are made of." " Well done, little 'un," said Mr. Tulliver, laugh- ing ; while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie's knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with SCHOOL-TIME. 203 him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs. Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie's stay ; but Mr. Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Mag- gie thought Mr. Stelling was a charming man, and Mr. Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the "end of the fortnight. " Now, then, come with me into the study, Mag- gie," said Tom, as their father drove away. " What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly ? " he continued ; for though her hair was now under anew dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. " It makes you look as if you were crazy." " Oh, I can't help it," said Maggie, impatiently. "Don't tease me, Tom. Oh, what books!" she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. " How I should like to have as many books as that ! " " Why, you could n't read one of 'em," said Tom, triumphantly. "They're all Latin." " No, they are n't," said Maggie. " I can read the back of this . . . 'History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.' " " Well, what does that mean ? You don't know," said Tom, wagging his head. " But I could soon find out," said Maggie, scorn- fully. 204 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. "Why, how?" " I should look inside, and see what it was about." " You 'd better not, Miss Maggie," said Tom, see- ing her hand on the volume. " Mr. Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and / shall catch it, if you take it out." " Oh, very well ! Let me see all your books, then," said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom's neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigour, till Maggie's hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr. Stelling's reading- stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground- floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the- house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr. or Mrs. Stelling. " Oh, I say, Maggie," said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, " we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything, Mrs. Stelling '11 make us cry peccavi." " What 's that ? " said Maggie. " Oh, it 's the Latin for a good scolding," said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. " Is she a cross woman ? " said Maggie. " I believe you ! " said Tom, with an emphatic nod. SCHOOL-TIME. 205 "I think all women are crosser than men," said Maggie. " Aunt Glegg 's a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does." " Well, you '11 be a woman some day," said Tom, " so you need n't talk." " But I shall be a clever woman," said Maggie, with a toss. " Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody '11 hate you." "But you oughtn't to hate me, Tom: it'll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister." " Yes ; but if you 're a nasty disagreeable thing, I shall hate you." " Oh, but, Tom, you won't ! I sha'n't be dis- agreeable. I shall be very good to you and I shall be good to everybody. You won't hate me really, will you, Tom ? " " Oh, bother ! never mind ! Come, it 's time for me to learn my lessons. See here ! what I Ve got to do," said Tom, drawing Maggie towards him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable, she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. " It 's nonsense ! " she said, " and very ugly stuff, nobody need want to make it out." " Ah, there now, Miss Maggie ! " said Tom, draw- ing the book away, and wagging his head at her, " you see you 're not so clever as you thought you were." 206 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Oh," said Maggie, pouting, " I dare say I could make it out, if I 'd learned what goes before, as you have." "But that's what you just couldn't, Miss Wis- dom," said Tom. " For it 's all the harder when you know what goes before ; for then you 've got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now : I must go on with this. Here's the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that." Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification ; for she de- lighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise about Latin, at slight expense. She presently made up her mind to skip the rules in the Syntax, the examples became so absorbing. These mysterious sentences, snatched from an unknown context, like strange horns of beasts, and leaves of unknown plants, brought from some far-off region, gave boundless scope to her imagination, and were all the more fascinating because they were in a peculiar tongue of their own, which she could learn to interpret. It was really very interesting, $he Latin Grammar that Tom had said no girls could learn ; and she was proud because she found it interesting. The most fragmentary examples were her favourites. Mors omnibus est communis would have been jejune, only she liked to know the Latin ; but the fortunate gentleman whom every one congratulated because he had a son " endowed with such a disposition " afforded her a great deal of pleasant conjecture, and she was quite lost in the " thick grove penetrable by no star," when Toin called out, SCHOOL-TIME. 207 " Now, then, Magsie, give us the Grammar ! " " Oh, Tom, it 's such a pretty book ! " she said, as she jumped out of the large arm-chair to give it him ; " it 's much prettier than the Dictionary. I could learn Latin very soon. I don't think it 's at all hard." " Oh, I know what you Ve been doing," said Tom., " you Ve been reading the English at the end. Any donkey can do that." Tom seized the book and opened it with a deter- mined and business-like air, as much as to say that he had a lesson to learn which no donkeys would find themselves equal to. Maggie, rather piqued, turned to the bookcases to amuse herself with puzzling out the titles. Presently Tom called to her: "Here, Magsie, come and hear if I can say this. Stand at that end of the table, where Mr. Stelling sits when he hears me." Maggie obeyed, and took the open book. " "Where do you begin, Tom ? " " Oh, I begin at Appellativa arborum because I say all over again what I Ve been learning this week." Tom sailed along pretty well for three lines ; and Maggie was beginning to forget her office of prompter in speculating as to what mas could mean, which came twice over, when he stuck fast at Sunt etiam volucrum. " Don't tell me, Maggie ; Sunt etiam volucrum . . . Sunt etiam volucrum . . . ut ostrea, cetus " " No," said Maggie, opening her mouth and shak- ing her head. "Sunt etiam volucrum," said Tom, very slowly, as if the next words might be expected to come 208 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. sooner when he gave them this strong hint that they were waited for. " C, e, u," said Maggie, getting impatient. " Oh, I know, hold your tongue ! " said Tom. " Ceu passer, hirundo ; Ferarum . . . ferarum Tom took his pencil and made several hard dots with it on his book-cover . . . "ferarum " " Oh dear, oh dear, Tom," said Maggie, " what a time you are ! Ut " " Ut, ostrea " " No, no," said Maggie, " ut, tigris " " Oh yes, now I can do," said Tom ; " it was tigris vulpes, I 'd forgotten : ut tigris, vulpes ; et Pisciit.m" With some further stammering and repetition, Tom got through the next few lines. " Now then," he said, " the next is what I Ve just learnt for to-morrow. Give me hold of the book a minute." After some whispered gabbling, assisted by the beating of his fist on the table, Tom returned the book. " Mascula nomina in a" he began. " No, Tom," said Maggie, " that does n't come next. It 's Nomen non creskens genittivo " " Creskens genittivo ! " exclaimed Tom, with a derisive laugh, for Tom had learned this omitted passage for his yesterday's lesson, and a young gentleman does not require an intimate or exten- sive acquaintanca with Latin before he can feel the pitiable absurdity of a false quantity. " Creskens yenittivo ! What a little silly you are, Maggie ! " " Well, you need n't laugh, Tom, for you did n't remember it at all I 'ui sure it 's spelt so ; how was I to know ? " SCHOOL-TIME. 209 " Phee-e-e-h ! I told you girls could n't learn Latin. It 's Nomen non crescens genitivo" " Very well, then," said Maggie, pouting. " I can say that as well as you can. And you don't mind your stops. For you ought to stop twice as long at a semicolon as you do at a comma, and you make the longest stops where there ought to be no stop at all." " Oh, well, don't chatter. Let me go on." They were presently fetched to spend the rest of the evening in the drawing-room ; and Maggie became so animated with Mr. Stelling, who, she felt sure, admired her cleverness, that Tom was rather amazed and alarmed at her audacity. But she was suddenly subdued by Mr. Stelling's alluding to a little girl of whom he had heard that she once ran away to the gypsies. " What a very odd little girl that must be ! " said Mrs. Stelling, meaning to be playful, but a play- fulness that turned on her supposed oddity was not at all to Maggie's taste. She feared that Mr. Stel- ling, after all, did not think much of her, and went to bed in rather low spirits. Mrs. Stelling, she felt, looked at her as if she thought her hair was very ugly because it hung down straight behind. Nevertheless it was a very happy fortnight to Maggie, this visit to Tom. She was allowed to be in the study while he had his lessons, and in her various readings got very deep into the examples in the Latin Grammar. The astronomer who hated women generally, caused her so much puzzling specu- lation that she one day asked Mr. Stelling if all astronomers hated women, or whether it was only this particular astronomer. But forestalling hi3 answer, she said, VOL. I. 14 210 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " I suppose it 's all astronomers : because, you know, they live up in high towers, and if the women came there, they might talk and hinder them from looking at the stars." Mr. Stelling liked her prattle immensely, and they were on the best terms. She told Tom she should like to go to school to Mr. Stelling, as he did, and learn just the same things. She knew she could do Euclid, for she had looked into it again, and she saw what ABC meant : they were the names of the lines. " I 'm sure you could n't do it, now," said Tom ; " and I '11 just ask Mr. Stelling if you could." " I don't mind," said the little conceited minx. " I '11 ask him myself." " Mr. Stelling," she said, that same evening when they were in the drawing-room, "couldn't I do Euclid, and all Tom's lessons, if you were to teach me instead of him ? " " No ; you could n't," said Tom, indignantly. " Girls can't do Euclid ; can they, sir ? " " They can pick up a little of everything, I dare say," said Mr. Stelling. " They 've a great deal of superficial cleverness ; but they could n't go far into anything. They 're quick and shallow." Tom, delighted with this verdict, telegraphed his triumph by wagging his head at Maggie, behind Mr. Stelling's chair. As for Maggie, she had hardly ever been so mortified. She had been so proud to be called " quick " all her little life, and now it appeared that this quickness was the brand of in- feriority. It would have been better to be slow, like Tom. " Ha, ha ! Miss Maggie ! " said Tom, when they were alone ; " you see it 's not such a fine thing to SCHOOL-TIME. 211 be quick. You '11 never go far into anything, you know." And Maggie was so oppressed by this dreadful destiny that she had no spirit for a retort. But when this small apparatus of shallow quick- ness was fetched away in the gig by Luke, and the the study was once more quite lonely for Tom, he missed her grievously. He had really been brighter, and had got through his lessons better, since she had been there ; and she had asked Mr. Stelling so many questions about the Roman Empire, and whether there really ever was a man who said, in Latin, " I would not buy it for a farthing or a rotten nut," or whether that had only been turned into Latin, that Tom had actually come to a dim understanding of the fact that there had once been people upon the earth who were so fortunate as to know Latin with- out learning it through the medium of the Eton Grammar. This luminous idea was a great addi- tion to his historical acquirements during this half- year, which were otherwise confined to an epitomized history of the Jews. But the dreary half-year did come to an end. How glad Tom was to see the last yellow leaves fluttering before the cold wind ! The dark after- noons and the first December snow seemed to him far livelier than the August sunshine ; and that he might make himself the surer about the flight of the days that were carrying him homeward, he stuck twenty-one sticks deep in a corner of the garden, when he was three weeks from the holi- days, and pulled one up every day with a great wrench, throwing it to a distance with a vigour of will which would have carried it to limbo if it had been in the nature of sticks to travel so far. 212 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. But it was worth purchasing, even at the heavy price of the Latin Grammar, the happiness of see- ing the bright light in the parlour at home, as the gig passed noiselessly over the snow-covered bridge ; the happiness of passing from the cold air to the warmth and the kisses and the smiles of that famil- iar hearth, where the pattern of the rug and the grate and the fire-irons were " first ideas " that it was no more possible to criticise than the solidity and extension of matter. There is no sense of ease like the ease we felt in those scenes where we were born, where objects became dear to us before we had known the labour of choice, and where the outer world seemed only an extension of our own person- ality ; we accepted and loved it as we accepted our own sense of existence and our own limbs. Very commonplace, even ugly, that furniture of our early home might look if it were put up to auction ; an improved taste in upholstery scorns it ; and is not the striving after something better and better in our surroundings, the grand characteristic that dis- tinguishes man from the brute, or, to satisfy a scrupulous accuracy of definition, that distinguishes the British man from the foreign brute ? But heaven knows where that striving might lead us, if our affections had not a trick of twining round those old inferior things, if the loves and sanc- tities of our life had no deep immovable roots in memory. One's delight in an elderberry bush overhanging the confused leafage of a hedge- row bank, as a more gladdening sight than the finest cistus or fuchsia spreading itself on the soft- est undulating turf, is an entirely unjustifiable preference to a nursery-gardener, or to any of those severely regulated minds who are free from the SCHOOL-TIME. 213 weakness of any attachment that does not rest on a demonstrable superiority of qualities. And there is no better reason for preferring this elderberry bush than that it stirs an early memory, that it is no novelty in my life, speaking to me merely through my present sensibilities to form and colour, but the long companion of my existence, that wove itself into my joys when joys were vivid. CHAPTEK II. THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS. FINE old Christmas, with the snowy hair and ruddy face, had done his duty that year in the noblest fashion, and had set off his rich gifts of warmth and colour with all the heightening contrast of frost and snow. Snow lay on the croft and river-bank in undula- tions softer than the limbs of infancy ; it lay with the neatliest finished border on every sloping roof, making the dark-red gables stand out with a new depth of colour ; it weighed heavily on the laurels and fir-trees, till it fell from them with a shudder- ing sound ; it clothed the rough turnip-field with whiteness, and made the sheep look like dark blotches: the gates were all blocked up with the sloping drifts, and here and there a disregarded four-footed beast stood as if petrified " in unrecum- bent sadness ; " there was no gleam, no shadow, for the heavens, too, were one still, pale cloud, no sound or motion in anything but the dark river that flowed and moaned like an unresting sorrow. But old Christmas smiled as he laid this cruel-seeming spell on the outdoor world, for he meant to light up home with new brightness, to deepen all the richness of indoor colour, and give a keener edge of delight to the warm fragrance of food : he meant to prepare a sweet imprisonment that would strengthen the primitive fellowship of kindred, and make the sun- SCHOOL-TIME. 215 shine of familiar human faces as welcome as the hidden day-star. His kindness fell but hardly on the homeless, fell but hardly on the homes where the hearth was not very warm, and where the food had little fragrance ; where the human faces had no sunshine in them, but rather the leaden, blank-eyed gaze of unexpectant want. But the fine old season meant well ; and if he has not learnt the secret how to bless men impartially, it is because his father Time, with ever-unrelenting purpose, still hides that secret in his own mighty, slow-beating heart. And yet this Christmas day, in spite of Tom's fresh delight in home, was not, he thought, some- how or other, quite so happy as it had always been before. The red berries were just as abundant on the holly, and he and Maggie had dressed all the windows and mantelpieces and picture-frames on Christmas eve with as much taste as ever, wedding the thick-set scarlet clusters with branches of the black-berried ivy. There had been singing under the windows after midnight, supernatural singing, Maggie always felt, in spite of Tom's contemptuous insistence that the singers were old Patch, the parish clerk, and the rest of the church choir: she trembled with awe when their carolling broke in upon her dreams, and the image of men in fustian clothes was always thrust away by the vision of angels resting on the parted cloud. The midnight chant had helped as usual to lift the morning above the level of common days ; and then there was the smell of hot toast and ale from the kitchen at the breakfast-hour; the favourite anthem, the green boughs, and the short sermon gave the appropriate festal character to the church-going ; and aunt and 2i 6 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. uncle Moss, with all their seven children, were look- ing like so many reflectors of the bright parlour-fire, when the church-goers came back, stamping the snow from their feet. The plum-pudding was of the same handsome roundness as ever, and came in with the symbolic blue flames around it, as if it had been heroically snatched from the nether fires into which it had been thrown by dyspeptic Puri- tans ; the dessert was as splendid as ever, with its golden oranges, brown nuts, and the crystalline light and dark of apple-jelly and damson cheese: in all these things Christmas was as it had always been since Tom could remember; it was only dis- tinguished, if by anything, by superior sliding and snowballs. Christmas was cheery, but not so Mr. Tulliver. He was irate and defiant ; and Tom, though he espoused his father's quarrels and shared his father's sense of injury, was not without some of the feel- ing that oppressed Maggie when Mr. Tulliver got louder and more angry in narration and assertion with the increased leisure of dessert. The attention that Tom might have concentrated on his nuts and wine was distracted by a sense that there were rascally enemies in the world, and that the busi- ness of grown-up life could hardly be conducted without a good deal of quarrelling. Now, Tom was not fond of quarrelling, unless it could soon be put an end to by a fair stand-up fight with an adversary whom he had every chance of thrashing ; and his father's irritable talk made him uncomfortable, though he never accounted to himself for the feel- ing, or conceived the notion that his father was faulty in this respect. The particular embodiment of the evil principle SCHOOL-TIME. 217 now exciting Mr. Tulliver's determined resistance was Mr. Pivart, who, having lands higher up the Bipple, was taking measures for their irrigation, which either were, or would be, or were bound to be (on the principle that water was water), an in- fringement on Mr. Tulliver's legitimate share of water-power. Dix, who had a mill on the stream, was a feeble auxiliary of Old Harry compared with Pivart. Dix had been brought to his senses by arbitration, and Wakem's advice had not carried him far. No: Dix, Mr. Tulliver considered, had been as good as nowhere in point of law ; and in the intensity of his indignation against Pivart, his contempt for a baffled adversary like Dix began to wear the air of a friendly attachment. He had no male audience to-day except Mr. Moss, who knew nothing, as he said, of the " natur' o' mills," and could only assent to Mr. Tulliver's arguments on the a priori ground of family relationship and mone- tary obligation ; but Mr. Tulliver did not talk with the futile intention of convincing his audience, he talked to relieve himself ; while good Mr. Moss made strong efforts to keep his eyes wide open, in spite of the sleepiness which an unusually good dinner produced in his hard-worked frame. Mrs. Moss, more alive to the subject, and interested in everything that affected her brother, listened and put in a word as often as maternal preoccupations allowed. " Why, Pivart 's a new name hereabout, brother, is n't it ? " she said ; " he did n't own the land in father's time, nor yours either, before I was married." " New name ? Yes, I should think it is a new name," said Mr. Tulliver, with angry emphasis. " Dorlcote Mill 's been in our family a hundred 2i8 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. year and better, and nobody ever heard of a Pivart meddling with the river, till this fellow came and bought Bincome's farm out of hand, before anybody else could so much as say ' snap.' But 1 11 Pivart him ! " added Mr. Tulliver, lifting his glass with a sense that he had defined his resolution in an unmistakable manner. " You won't be forced to go to law with him, I hope, brother ? " said Mrs. Moss, with some anxiety. " I don't know what I shall be forced to ; but I know what I shall force him to, with his dikes and erigations, if there 's any law to be brought to bear o' the right side. I know well enough who 's at the bottom of it ; he 's got Wakem to back him and egg him on. I know Wakem tells him the law can't touch him for it, but there 's folks can handle the law besides Wakem. It takes a big ras- kil to beat him ; but there 's bigger to be found, as know more o' th" ins and outs o' the law, else how came Wakem to lose Brumley's suit for him ? " Mr. Tulliver was a strictly honest man, and proud of being honest, but he considered that in law the ends of justice could only be achieved by employing a stronger knave to frustrate a weaker. Law was a sort of cock-fight, in which it was the business of injured honesty to get a game bird with the best pluck and the strongest spurs. " Gore 's no fool, you need n't tell me that," he observed presently, in a pugnacious tone, as if poor Gritty had been urging that lawyer's capabilities ; " but, you see, he is n't up to the law as Wakem is. And water 's a very particular thing, you can't pick it up with a pitchfork. That 's why it 's been nuts to Old Harry and the lawyers. It 's plain enough what 's the rights and the wrongs of water, if you SCHOOL-TIME. 219 look at it straight-forrard ; for a river 's a river, and if you Ve got a mill, you must have water to turn it; and it's no use telling me Pivart's erigation and nonsense won't stop my wheel : I know what belongs to water better than that. Talk to me o' what th' engineers say ! I say it 's common sense, as Pivart's dikes must do me an injury. But if that 's their engineering, I '11 put Tom to it by and by, and he shall see if he can't find a bit more sense in th' engineering business than what that comes to." Tom, looking round with some anxiety at this announcement of his prospects, unthinkingly with- drew a small rattle he was amusing Baby Moss with, whereupon she, being a baby that knew her own mind with remarkable clearness, instanta- neously expressed her sentiments in a piercing yell, and was not to be appeased even by the restoration of the rattle, feeling apparently that the original wrong of having it taken from her remained in all its force. Mrs. Moss hurried away with her into another room, and expressed to Mrs. Tulliver, who accompanied her, the conviction that the dear child had good reasons for crying ; implying that if it was supposed to be the rattle that baby clamoured for, she was a misunderstood baby. The thoroughly justifiable yell being quieted, Mrs. Moss looked at her sister-in-law and said, " I 'm sorry to see brother so put out about this water work." " It 's your brother's way, Mrs. Moss ; I 'd never anything o' that sort before I was married," said Mrs. Tulliver, with a half-implied reproach. She always spoke of her husband as " your brother " to Mrs. Moss in any case when his line of conduct 220 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. was not matter of pure admiration. Amiable Mrs. Tulliver, who was never angry in her life, had yet her mild share of that spirit without which she could hardly have been at once a Dodson and a woman. Being always on the defensive towards her own sisters, it was natural that she should be keenly conscious of her superiority, even as the weakest Dodson, over a husband's sister, who, be- sides being poorly off, and inclined to " hang on " her brother, had the good-natured submissiveness of a large, easy-tempered, untidy, prolific woman, with affection enough in her not only for her own husband and abundant children, but for any number of collateral relations. " I hope and pray he won't go to law," said Mrs. Moss, " for there 's never any knowing where that '11 end. And the right does n't allays win. This Mr. Pivart 's a rich man, by what I can make out, and the rich mostly get things their own way." "As to that," said Mrs. Tulliver, stroking her dress down, " I 've seen what riches are in my own family; for my sisters have got husbands as can afford to do pretty much what they like. But I think sometimes I shall be drove off my head with the talk about this law and erigation ; and my sisters lay all the fault to me, for they don't know what it is to marry a man like your brother, how should they ? Sister Pullet has her own way from morning till night." " Well," said Mrs. Moss, " I don't think I should like my husband if he had n't got any wits of his own, and I had to find head-piece for him. It 's a deal easier to do what pleases one's husband than to be puzzling what else one should do." " If people come to talk o' doing what pleases SCHOOL-TIME. 221 their husbands," said Mrs. Tulliver, with a faint imi- tation of her sister Glegg, " I 'm sure your brother might have waited a long while before he 'd have found a wife that 'ud have let him have his say in everything, as I do. It's nothing but law and erigation now, from when we first get up in the morning till we go to bed at night ; and I never contradict him ; I only say, ' Well, Mr. Tulliver, do as you like ; but whativer you do, don't go to law.' " Mrs. Tulliver, as we have seen, was not without influence over her husband. No woman is, she can always incline him to do either what she wishes, or the reverse ; and on the composite impulses that were threatening to hurry Mr. Tulliver into "law," Mrs. Tulliver's monotonous pleading had doubtless its share of force ; it might even be comparable to that proverbial feather which has the credit or discredit of breaking the camel's back ; though, on a strictly impartial view, the blame ought rather to lie with the previous weight of feathers which had already placed the back in such imminent peril that an otherwise innocent feather could not settle on it without mischief. Not that Mrs. Tiilliver's feeble beseeching could have had this feather's weight in virtue of her single personal- ity; but whenever she departed from entire assent to her husband, he saw in her the representative of the Dodson family ; and it was a guiding principle with Mr. Tulliver, to let the Dodsons know that they were not to domineer over him, or more specifically that a male Tulliver was far more than equal to four female Dodsons, even though one of them was Mrs. Glegg. But not even a direct argument from that typical Dodson female herself against his going to law, 222 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. could have heightened his disposition towards it so much as the mere thought of Wakem, continually freshened by the sight of the too able attorney on market-days. Wakem, to his certain knowledge, was (metaphorically speaking) at the bottom of Pivart's irrigation : Wakem had tried to make Dix stand out, and go to law about the dam ; it was unquestionably Wakem who had caused Mr. Tulli- ver to lose the suit about the right of road and the bridge that made a thoroughfare of his land for every vagabond who preferred an opportunity of damaging private property to walking like an honest man along the high-road ; all lawyers were more or less rascals, but Wakem's rascality was of that peculiarly aggravated kind which placed itself in opposition to that form of right embodied in Mr. Tulliver's inter- ests and opinions. And as an extra touch of bitter- ness, the injured miller had recently, in borrowing the five hundred pounds, been obliged to carry a little business to Wakem's office on his own account. A hook-nosed glib fellow ! as cool as a cucumber, always looking so sure of his game ! And it was vexatious that Lawyer Gore was not more like him, but was a bald, round-featured man, with bland manners and fat hands ; a game-cock that you would be rash to bet upon against Wakem. Gore was a sly fellow ; his weakness did not lie on the side of scrupulosity: but the largest amount of winking, however significant, is not equivalent to seeing through a stone wall ; and confident as Mr. Tulliver was in his principle that water was water, and in the direct inference that Pivart had not a leg to stand on in this affnir of irrigation, he had an uncomfortable suspicion that Wakem had more law to show against this (rationally) irrefragable SCHOOL-TIME. 223 inference than Gore could show for it. But then, if they went to law, there was a chance for Mr. Tulliver to employ Counsellor Wylde on his side, instead of having that admirable bully against him ; and the prospect of seeing a witness of Wakem's made to perspire arid become confounded, as Mr. Tulliver's witness had once been, was alluring to the love of retributive justice. Much rumination had Mr. Tulliver on these puz- zling subjects during his rides on the gray horse, much turning of the head from side to side, as the scales dipped alternately ; but the probable result was still out of sight, only to be reached through much hot argument and iteration in domestic and social life. That initial stage of the dispute which consisted in the narration of the case and the enforcement of Mr. Tulliver's views concerning it throughout the entire circle of his connections would necessarily take time, and at the beginning of February, when Tom was going to school again, there were scarcely any new items to be detected in his father's statement of the cnse against Pivart, or any more specific indication of the measures he was bent on taking against that rash contravener of the principle that water was water. Iteration, like friction, is likely to generate heat instead of pro- gress, and Mr. Tulliver's heat was certainly more and more palpable. If there had been no new evidence on any other point, there had been new evidence that Pivart was as " thick as mud " with Wakem. " Father," said Tom, one evening near the end of the holidays, " uncle Glegg says Lawyer Wakem is going to send his son to Mr. Stelling. It is n't true what they said about his going to be sent to 224 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. France. You won't like me to go to school with Wakem's son, shall you?" "It's no matter for that, my boy," said Mr. Tulliver; "don't you learn anything bad of him, that 's all. The lad 's a poor deformed creatur, and takes after his mother in the face : I think there is n't much of his father in him. It 's a sign Wakem thinks high o' Mr. Stelling, as he sends his son to him ; and Wakem knows meal from bran." Mr. Tulliver in his heart was rather proud of the fact that his son was to have the same advantages as Wakem's : but Tom was not at all easy on the point; it would have been much clearer if the lawyer's son had not been deformed, for then Tom would have had the prospect of pitching into him with all that freedom which is derived from a high moral sanction. CHAPTEK III THE NEW SCHOOLFELLOW. IT was a cold, wet January day on which Tom went back to school ; a day quite in keeping with this severe phase of his destiny. If he had not carried in his pocket a parcel of sugar-candy and a small Dutch doll for little Laura, there would have been no ray of expected pleasure to enliven the general gloom. But he liked to think how Laura would put out her lips and her tiny hands for the bits of sugar-candy ; and, to give the greater keen- ness to these pleasures of imagination, he took out the parcel, made a small hole in the paper, and bit off a crystal or two, which had so solacing an effect under the confined prospect and damp odours of the gig-umbrella, that he repeated the process more than once on his way. " Well, Tulliver, we 're glad to see you again," said Mr. Stelling, heartily. " Take off your wrap- pings and come into the study till dinner. You '11 find a bright fire there, and a new companion." Tom felt in an uncomfortable flutter as he took off his woollen comforter and other wrappings. He had seen Philip Wakem at St. Ogg's, but had always turned his eyes away from him as quickly as pos- sible. He would have disliked having a deformed boy for his companion, even if Philip had not been the son of a bad man. And Tom did not see how a bad man's son could be very good. His own VOL. I. 15 226 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. father was a good man, and he would readily have fought any one who said the contrary. He was in a state of mingled embarrassment and defiance as he followed Mr. Stelling to the study. " Here is a new companion for you to shake hands with, Tulliver," said that gentleman on entering the study, " Master Philip Wakem. I shall leave you to make acquaintance by yourselves. You already know something of each other, I imagine ; for you are neighbours at home." Tom looked confused and awkward, while Philip rose and glanced at him timidly. Tom did not like to go up and put out his hand, and he was not prepared to say, " How do you do ? " on so short a notice. Mr. Stelling wisely turned away, and closed the door behind him : boys' shyness only wears off in the absence of their elders. Philip was at once too proud and too timid to walk towards Tom. He thought, or rather felt, that Tom had an aversion to looking at him : every one, almost, disliked looking at him ; and his de- formity was more conspicuous when he walked. So they remained without shaking hands or even speaking, while Tom went to the fire and warmed himself, every now and then casting furtive glances at Philip, who seemed to be drawing absently first one object and then another on a piece of paper he had before him. He had seated himself again, and as he drew, was thinking what he could say to Tom, and trying to overcome his own repugnance to making the first advances. Tom began to look oftener and longer at Philip's face, for he could see it without noticing the hump, and it was really not a disagreeable face, very SCHOOL-TIME. 227 old-looking, Tom thought. He wondered how much older Philip was than himself. An anato- mist even a mere physiognomist would have seen that the deformity of Philip's spine was not a congenital hump, but the result of an accident in infancy ; but you do not expect from Tom any ac- quaintance with such distinctions : to him Philip was simply a humpback. He had a vague notion that the deformity of Wakem's son had some relation to the lawyer's rascality, of which he had so often heard his father talk with hot emphasis ; and he felt, too, a half-admitted fear of him as probably a spiteful fellow, who, not being able to fight you, had cunning ways of doing you a mischief by the sly. There was a humpbacked tailor in the neigh- bourhood of Mr. Jacobs's academy, who was con- sidered a very unamiable character, and was much hooted after by public-spirited boys solely on the ground of his unsatisfactory moral qualities ; so that Tom was not without a basis of fact to go upon. Still, no face co'uld be more unlike that ugly tailor's than this melancholy boy's face: the brown hair round it waved and curled at the ends like a girl's ; Tom thought that truly pitiable. This Wakem was a pale, puny fellow, and it was quite clear he would not be able to play at anything worth speak- ing of ; but he handled his pencil in an enviable manner, and was apparently making one thing after another without any trouble. What was he draw- ing ? Tom was quite warm now, and wanted some- thing new to be going forward. It was certainly more agreeable to have an ill-natured humpback as a companion than to stand looking out of the study window at the rain, and kicking his foot against the washboard in solitude ; something would hap- 228 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. pen every day, "a quarrel or something ; " and Tom thought he should rather like to show Philip that he had better not try his spiteful tricks on him. He suddenly walked across the hearth, and looked over Philip's paper. " Why, that 's a donkey with panniers, and a spaniel, and partridges in the corn ! " he exclaimed, his tongue being completely loosed by surprise and admiration. " Oh, my buttons ! I wish I could draw like that. I'm to learn drawing this half, I wonder if I shall learn to make dogs and donkeys ! " "Oh, you can do them without learning," said Philip ; " I never learned drawing." " Never learned ? " said Tom, in amazement. "Why, when I make dogs and horses and those things, the heads and the legs won't come right ; though I can see how they ought to be very well. I can make houses, and all sorts of chimneys, chimneys going all down the wall, and windows in the roof, and all that. But I dare say I could do dogs and horses if I was to try more," he added, reflecting that Philip might falsely suppose that he was going to " knock under," if he were too frank about the imperfection of his accomplishments. " Oh yes," said Philip, " it 's very easy. You 've only to look well at things, and draw them over and over again. What you do wrong once, you can alter the next time." "But have n't you been taught anything ?" said Tom, beginning to have a puzzled suspicion that Philip's crooked back might be the source of re- markable faculties. " I thought you 'd been to Bchool a long while." " Yes," said Philip, smiling, " I 've been taught SCHOOL-TIME. 229 Latin, and Greek, and mathematics, and writing and such things." " Oh, but I say, you don't like Latin, though, do you ? " said Tom, lowering his voice confidentially. " Pretty well ; I don't care much about it," said Philip. "Ah, but perhaps you haven't got into the Propria quce maribus," said Tom, nodding his head sideways, as much as to say, " That was the test : it was easy talking till you came to that" Philip felt some bitter complacency in the prom- ising stupidity. of this well-made active-looking boy; but made polite by his ow r n extreme sensitiveness as well as by his desire to conciliate, he checked his inclination to laugh, and said quietly, " I 've done with the grammar ; I don't learn that any more." " Then you won't have the same lessons as I shall ? " said Tom, with a sense of disappointment. " No ; but I dare say I can help you. I shall be very glad to help you if I can." Tom did not say " Thank you," for he was quite absorbed in the thought that Wakem's son did not seem so spiteful a fellow as might have been expected. " I say," he said presently, " do you love your father?" " Yes," said Philip, colouring deeply ; " don't you love yours ? " " Oh yes. ... I only wanted to know," said Tom, rather ashamed of himself, now he saw Philip colouring and looking uncomfortable. He found much difficulty in adjusting his attitude of mind towards the son of Lawyer Wakem ; and it had oc- curred to him that if Philip disliked his father, 230 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. that fact might go some way towards clearing up liis perplexity. " Shall you learn drawing now ? " he said, by way of changing the subject. "No," said Philip. "My father wishes me to give all my time to other things now." " What ! Latin, and Euclid, and those things ? " said Tom. "Yes," said Philip, who had left off using his pencil, and was resting his head on one hand, while Tom was leaning forward on both elbows, and look- ing with increasing admiration at the dog and the donkey. "And you don't mind that?" said Tom, with strong curiosity. " No ; I like to know what everybody else knows. I can study what I like by arid by." " I can't think why anybody should learn Latin," said Tom. " It 's no good." " It 's part of the education of a gentleman," said Philip. " All gentlemen learn the same things." " What ! do you think Sir John Crake, the master of the harriers, knows Latin ? " said Tom, who had often thought he should like to resemble Sir John Crake. " He learnt it when he was a boy, of course," said Philip. " But I dare say he 's forgotten it." "Oh, well, I can do that, then," said Tom, not with any epigrammatic intention, but with serious satisfaction at the idea that, as far as Latin was concerned, there was no hindrance to his resem- bling Sir John Crake. " Only you 're obliged to remember it while you 're at school, else you Ve got to learn ever so many lines of ' Speaker.' Air. Stelling 's very particular, did you know ? He '11 SCHOOL-TIME. 231 have you up ten times if you say * nam ' for ' jam ' ... he won't let you go a letter wrong, / can tell you." " Oh, I don't mind," said Philip, unable to choke a laugh ; " I can remember things easily. And there are some lessons I 'm very fond of. I 'm very fond of Greek history, and everything about the Greeks. I should like to have been a Greek and fought the Persians, and then have come home and have written tragedies, or else have been listened to by everybody for my wisdom, like Socrates, and have died a grand death." (Philip, you perceive, was not without a wish to impress the well-made barbarian with a sense of his mental superiority.) Why, were the Greeks great fighters ? " said Tom, who saw a vista in this direction. " Is there anything like David, and Goliath, and Samson, in the Greek history ? Those are the only bits I like in the history of the Jews." " Oh, there are very fine stories of that sort about the Greeks, about the heroes of early times who killed the wild beasts, as Samson did. And in the ' Odyssey ' that 's a beautiful poem there 's a more wonderful giant than Goliath, Polypheme, who had only one eye in the middle of his fore- head ; and Ulysses, a little fellow but very wise and cunning, got a red-hot pine-tree and stuck it into this one eye, and made him roar like a thou- sand bulls." " Oh, what fun ! " said Tom, jumping away from the table, and stamping first with one leg and then the other. " I say, can you tell me all about those stories ? Because I sha'n't learn Greek, you know. . . . Shall I ? " he added, pausing in his stamping, with a sudden alarm, lest the contrary might be pos- 232 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. sible. "Does every gentleman learn Greek? . . . Will Mr. Stelling make me begin with it, do you think ? " " No, I should think not, very likely not," said Philip. " But you may read those stories without knowing Greek. I Ve got them in English." " Oh, but I don't like reading ; I 'd sooner have you tell them me. But only the fighting ones, you know. My sister Maggie is always wanting to tell me stories, but they 're stupid things. Girls' stories always are. Can you tell a good many fighting stories ? " " Oh yes," said Philip ; " lots of them, besides the Greek stories. I can tell you about Kichard Coeur- de-Lion and Saladin, and about William Wallace, and Robert Bruce, and James Douglas, I know no end." " You 're older than I am, are n't you ? " said Tom. " Why, how old are you ? I 'm fifteen." " I 'm only going in fourteen," said Tom. " But I thrashed all the fellows at Jacobs's, that 's where I was before I came here. And I beat 'em all at bandy and climbing. And I wish Mr. Stel- ling would let us go fishing. * / could show you how to fish. You could fish, could n't you ? It 's only standing, and sitting still, you know." Tom, in his turn, wished to make the balance dip in his favour. This hunchback must not sup- pose that his acquaintance with fighting stories put him on a par with an actual fighting hero, like Tom Tulliver. Philip winced under this allusion to his unfitness for active sports, and he answered almost peevishly, " I can't bear fishing. I think people look like SCHOOL-TIME. 233 fools sitting watching a line hour after hour, or else throwing and throwing, and catching nothing." "Ah, but you wouldn't say they looked like fools when they landed a big pike, I can tell you," said Tom, who had never caught anything that was " big " in his life, but whose imagination was on the stretch with indignant zeal for the honour of sport. Wakem's son, it was plain, had his dis- agreeable points, and must be kept in due check. Happily for the harmony of this first interview, they were now called to dinner, and Philip was not allowed to develop farther his unsound views on the subject of fishing. But Tom said to him- self that was just what he should have expected from a hunchback. CHAPTEE IV. " THE YOUNG IDEA." THE alternations of feeling in that first dialogue between Tom and Philip continued to mark their intercourse even after many weeks of schoolboy intimacy. Tom never quite lost the feeling that Philip, being the son of a " rascal," was his natu- ral enemy, never thoroughly overcame his repulsion to Philip's deformity : he was a boy who adhered tenaciously to impressions once received ; as with all minds in which mere perception predominates over thought and emotion, the external remained to him rigidly what it was in the first instance. But then it was impossible not to like Philip's company when he was in a good humour ; he could help one so well in one's Latin exercises, which Tom regarded as a kind of puzzle that could only be found out by a lucky chance ; and he could tell such wonder- ful fighting stories about Hal of the Wynd, for example, and other heroes who were especial favourites with Tom, because they laid about them with heavy strokes. He had small opinion of Sala- din, whose scimitar could cut a cushion in two in an instant : who wanted to cut cushions ? That was a stupid story, and he didn't care to hear it again. But when Robert Bruce, on the black pony, rose in his stirrups, and, lifting his good battle-axe, cracked at once the helmet and the skull of the too hasty knight at Bannockburn, then Tom felt all the SCHOOL-TIME. 235 exaltation of sympathy, and if he had had a cocoa- nut at hand, he would have cracked it at once with the poker. Philip in his happier moods indulged Tom to the top of his bent, heightening the crash and bang and fury of every fight with all the artil- lery of epithets and similes at his command. But he was not always in a good humour or happy mood. The slight spurt of peevish susceptibility which had escaped him in their first interview was a symptom of a perpetually recurring mental ail- ment, half of it nervous irritability, half of it the heart-bitterness produced by the sense of his deformity. In these fits of susceptibility every glance seemed to him to be charged either with offensive pity or with ill-repressed disgust, at the very least it was an indifferent glance, and Philip felt indifference as a child of the south feels the chill air of a northern spring. Poor Tom's blunder- ing patronage when they were out of doors together would sometimes make him turn upon the well- meaning lad quite savagely ; and his eyes, usually sad and quiet, would flash with anything but play- ful lightning. No wonder Tom retained his sus- picions of the humpback. But Philip's self-taught skill in drawing was another link between them ; for Tom found, to his disgust, that his new drawing-master gave him no dogs and donkeys to draw, but brooks and rustic bridges and ruins, all with a general softness of black-lead surface, indicating that nature, if any- thing, was rather satiny ; and as Tom's feeling for the picturesque in landscape was at present quite latent, it is not surprising that Mr. Goodrich's pro- ductions seemed to him an uninteresting form of art. Mr. Tulliver, having a vague intention that 236 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS Tom should be put to some business which in- cluded the drawing out of plans and maps, had complained to Mr. Kiley, when he saw him at Mud- port, that Tom seemed to be learning nothing of that sort ; whereupon that obliging adviser had suggested that Tom should have drawing-lessons. Mr. Tulliver must not mind paying extra for draw- ing ; let Tom be made a good draughtsman, and he would be able to turn his pencil to any purpose. So it was ordered that Tom should have drawing- lessons ; and whom should Mr. Stelling have se- lected as a master if not Mr. Goodrich, who was considered quite at the head of his profession with- in a circuit of twelve miles round King's Lorton ? By which means Tom learned to make an extremely fine point to his pancil, and to represent landscape with a " broad generality," which, doubtless from a narrow tendency in his mind to details, he thought extremely dull. All this, you remember, happened in those dark ages when there were no schools of design, before schoolmasters were invariably men of scrupulous integrity, and before the clergy were all men of enlarged minds and varied culture. In those less favoured days, it is no fable that there were other clergymen besides Mr. Stelling who had narrow intellects and large wants, and whose income, by a logical confusion to which Fortune, being a female as well as blindfold, is peculiarly liable, was pro- portioned not to their wants but to their intellect, with which income has clearly no inherent re- lation. The problem these gentlemen had to solve was to readjust the proportion between their wants and their income ; and since wants are not easily starved to death, the simpler method appeared to be SCHOOL-TIME. 237 to raise their income. There was but one way of doing this ; any of those low callings in which men are obliged to do good work at a low price were forbidden to clergymen : was it their fault if their only resource was to turn out very poor work at a high price ? Besides, how should Mr. Stelling be expected to know that education was a delicate and difficult business, any more than an animal en- dowed with a power of boring a hole through a rock should be expected to have wide views of excava- tion ? Mr. Stelling's faculties had been early trained to boring in a straight line, and he had no fac- ulty to spare. But among Tom's contemporaries, whose fathers cast their sons on clerical instruction to find them ignorant after many days, there were many far less lucky than Tom Tulliver. Education was almost entirely a matter of luck usually of ill luck in those distant days. The state of mind in which you take a billiard-cue or a dice-box in your hand is one of soter certainty compared with that of old-fashioned fathers, like Mr. Tulliver, when they selected a school or a tutor for their sons. Excellent men, who had been forced all their lives to spell on an impromptu-phonetic system, and having carried on a successful business in spite of this disadvantage, had acquired money enough to give their sons a better start in life than they had had themselves, must necessarily take their chance as to the conscience and the competence of the schoolmaster whose circular fell in their way, and appeared to promise so much more than they would ever have thought of asking for, including the re- turn of linen, fork, and spoon. It was happy for them if some ambitious draper of their acquaintance had not brought up his son to the Church, and if 238 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. that young gentleman, at the age of f our-and-twent y, had not closed his college dissipations by an impru- dent marriage : otherwise, these innocent fathers, desirous of doing the best for their offspring, could only escape the draper's son by happening to be on the foundation of a grammar-school as yet unvisited by commissioners, where two or three boys could have, all to themselves, the advantages of a large and lofty building, together with a head-master, toothless, dim-eyed, and deaf, whose erudite indis- tinctness and inattention were engrossed by them at the rate of three hundred pounds a head, a ripe scholar, doubtless, when first appointed ; but all ripeness beneath the sun has a further stage less esteemed in the market. Tom Tulliver, then, compared with many other British youths of his time who have since had to scramble through life with some fragments of more or less relevant knowledge, and a great deal of strictly relevant ignorance, was not so very unlucky. Mr. Stelling was a broad-chested healthy man, with the bearing of a gentleman, a conviction that a grow- ing boy required a sufficiency of beef, and a certain hearty kindness in him that made him like to see Tom looking well and enjoying his dinner; not a man of refined conscience, or with any deep sense of the infinite issues belonging to every-day duties ; not quite competent to his high offices ; but incom- petent gentlemen must live, and without private fortune it is difficult to see how they could all live genteelly if they had nothing to do with education or government. Besides, it was the fault of Tom's mental constitution that his faculties could not be nourished on the sort of knowledge Mr. Stelling had to communicate. A boy born with a deficient SCHOOL-TIME. 239 power of apprehending signs and abstractions must suffer the penalty of his congenital deficiency, just as if he had been born with one leg shorter than the other. A method of education sanctioned by the long practice of our venerable ancestors was not to give way before the exceptional dulness of a boy who was merely living at the time then present. And Mr. Stelling was convinced that a boy so stu- pid at signs and abstractions must be stupid at everything else, even if that reverend gentleman could have taught him everything else. It was the practice of our venerable ancestors to apply that ingenious instrument the thumb-screw, and to tighten and tighten it in order to elicit non-existent facts ; they had a fixed opinion to begin with, that the facts were existent, and what had they to do but to tighten the thumb-screw ? In like manner, Mr. Stelling had a fixed opinion that all boys with any capacity could learn what it was the only regu- lar thing to teach : if they were slow, the thumb- screw must be tightened, the exercises must be insisted on with increased severity, and a page of Virgil be awarded as a penalty to encourage and stimulate a too languid inclination to Latin verse. The thumb-screw was a little relaxed, however, during this second half-year. Philip was so advanced in his studies, and so apt, that Mr. Stelling could obtain credit by his facility, which required little help, much more easily than by the troublesome process of overcoming Tom's dulness. Gentlemen with broad chests and ambitious intentions do sometimes disappoint their friends by failing to carry the world before them. Perhaps it is that high achievements demand some other unusual qualification besides an unusual desire for high 240 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. prizes ; perhaps it is that these stalwart gentlemen are rather indolent, their divince particulum aurce being obstructed from soaring by a too hearty appe- tite. Some reason or other there was why Mr. Stel- ling deferred the execution of many spirited projects, why he did not begin the editing of his Greek play, or any other work of scholarship, in his leisure hours, but, after turning the key of his private study with much resolution, sat down to one of Theodore Hook's novels. Tom was gradually al- lowed to shuffle through his lessons with less rigour, and, having Philip to help him, he was able to make some show of having applied his mind in a confused and blundering way, without being cross-examined into a betrayal that his mind had been entirely neutral in the matter. He thought school much more bearable under this modification of circum- stances ; and he went on contentedly enough, pick- ing up a promiscuous education chiefly from things that were not intended as education at all. What was understood to be his education was simply the practice of reading, writing, and spelling, carried on by an elaborate appliance of unintelligible ideas, and by much failure in the effort to learn by rote. Nevertheless, there was a visible improvement in Tom under this training ; perhaps because he was not a boy in the abstract, existing solely to illus- trate the evils of a mistaken education, but a boy made of flesh and blood, with dispositions not en- tirely at the mercy of circumstances. There was a great improvement in his bearing, for example ; and some credit on' this score was due to Mr. Poulter, the village schoolmaster, who, being an old Peninsular soldier, was employed to drill Tom, a source of high mutual pleasure. Mr. SCHOOL-TIME. 241 Poulter, who was understood by the company at the Black Swan to have once struck terror into the hearts of the French, was no longer personally formidable. He had rather a shrunken appearance, and was tremulous in the mornings, not from age, but from the extreme perversity of the King's Lor- ton boys, which nothing but gin could enable him to sustain with any firmness. Still, he carried himself with martial erectness, had his clothes scrupulously brushed, and his trousers tightly strapped ; and on the Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, when he came to Tom, he was always inspired with gin and old memories, which gave him an exceptionally spirited air, as of a superannuated charger who hears the drum. The drilling-lessons were always protracted by episodes of warlike narrative, much more interest- ing to Tom than Philip's stories out of the Iliad ; for there were no cannon in the Iliad, and, besides, Tom had felt some disgust on learning that Hector and Achilles might possibly never have existed. But the Duke of Wellington was really alive, and Bony had not been long dead, therefore Mr. Poulter's reminiscences of the Peninsular War were removed from all suspicion of being mythical. Mr. Poulter, it appeared, had been a conspicuous figure at Talavera, and had contributed not a little to the peculiar terror with which his regiment of infantry was regarded by the enemy. On afternoons, when his memory was more stimulated than usual, he re- membered that the Duke of Wellington had (in strict privacy, lest jealousies should be awakened) expressed his esteem for that fine fellow Poulter. The very surgeon who attended him in the hospital after he had received his gunshot-wound had been profoundly impressed with the superiority of Mr. voi- i. 16 242 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Poulter's flesh ; no other flesh would have healed in anything like the same time. On less personal matters connected with the important warfare in which he had been engaged, Mr. Poulter was more reticent, only taking care not to give the weight of his authority to any loose notions concerning mili- tary history. Any one who pretended to a knowl- edge of what occurred at the siege of Badajos was especially an object of silent pity to Mr. Poulter; he wished that prating person had been run down and had the breath trampled out of him at the first go-off, as he himself had, he might talk about the siege of Badajos then ! Tom did not escape irritat- ing his drilling-master occasionally, by his curiosity concerning other military matters than Mr. Poulter's personal experience. " And General Wolfe, Mr. Poulter ? was n't he a wonderful fighter ? " said Tom, who held the notion that all the martial heroes commemorated on the pub- lic-house signs were engaged in the war with Bony. "Not at all!" said Mr. Poulter, contemptuously. " Nothing o' the sort ! . . . Heads up ! " he added, in a tone of stern command, which delighted Tom, and made him feel as if he were a regiment in his own person. "No, no!" Mr. Poulter would continue, on com- ing to a pause in his discipline. " They 'd better not talk to me about General Wolfe. He did noth- ing but die of his wound ; that 's a poor haction, I consider. Any other man 'ud have died o' the wounds I Ve had. . . . One of my sword-cuts 'ud ha' killed a fellow like General Wolfe." " Mr. Poulter," Tom would say, at any allusion to the sword, " I wish you 'd bring your sword and do the sword-exercise 1 " SCHOOL-TIME. 243 For a long while Mr. Poulter only shook his head in a significant manner at this request, and smiled patronizingly, as Jupiter may have done when Semele urged her too ambitious request. But one afternoon, when a sudden shower of heavy rain had detained Mr. Poulter twenty minutes longer than usual at the Black Swan, the sword was brought, just for Tom to look at. " And this is the real sword you fought with in all the battles, Mr. Poulter ? " said Tom, handling the hilt. " Has it ever cut a Frenchman's head off?" " Head off ? Ah ! and would, if he 'd had three heads." " But you had a gun and bayonet besides ? " said Tom. "/ should like the gun and bayonet best, because you could shoot 'em first and spear 'em after. Bang ! Ps-s-s-s ! " Tom gave the req- uisite pantomime to indicate the double enjoy- ment of pulling the trigger and thrusting the spear. " Ah, but the sword 's the thing when you come to close fighting," said Mr. Poulter, involuntarily falling in with Tom's enthusiasm, and drawing the sword so suddenly that Tom leaped back with much agility. " Oh, but, Mr. Poulter, if you 're going to do the exercise," said Tom, a little conscious that he had not stood his ground as became an Englishman, " let me go and call Philip. He '11 like to see you, you know." " What ! the humpbacked lad ? " said Mr. Poulter, contemptuously. "What's the use of his looking on?" " Oh, but he knows a great deal about fighting," 244 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. said Tom, " and how they used to fight with bows and arrows and battle-axes." " Let him come, then. I '11 show him something different from his bows and arrows," said Mr. Poul- ter, coughing, and drawing himself up, while he gave a little preliminary play to his wrist. Tom ran in to Philip, who was enjoying his after- noon's holiday at the piano, in the drawing-room, picking out tunes for himself and singing them. He was supremely happy, perched like an amor- phous bundle on the high stool, with his head thrown back, his eyes fixed on the opposite cornice, and his lips wide open, sending forth with all his might impromptu syllables to a tune of Arne's, which had hit his fancy. " Come, Philip," said Tom, bursting in ; " don't stay roaring ' la la ' there, come and see old Poul- ter do his sword-exercise in the carriage-house ! " The jar of this interruption the discord of Tom's tones coming across the notes to which Philip was vibrating in soul and body would have been enough to unhinge his temper, even if there had been no question of Poulter the drilling- master; and Tom, in the hurry of seizing some- thing to say to prevent Mr. Poulter from thinking he was afraid of the sword when he sprang away from it, had alighted on this proposition to fetch Philip, though he knew well enough that Philip hated to hear him mention his drilling-lessons. Tom would never have done so inconsiderate a thing except under the severe stress of his personal pride. Philip shuddered visibly as he paused from his music. Then, turning red, he said, with violent passion, " Get away, you lumbering idiot ! Don't come SCHOOL-TIME. 245 bellowing at me, you 're not fit to speak to any- thing but a cart-horse ! " It was not the first time Philip had been made angry by him, but Tom had never before been assailed with verbal missiles that he understood so well. " I 'm fit to speak to something better than you, you poor-spirited imp!" said Tom, lighting up im- mediately at Philip 's fire. " You know I won't hit you, because you 're no better than a girl. But I 'm an honest man's son, and your father 's a rogue, everybody says so ! " Tom flung out of the room, and slammed the door after him, made strangely heedless by his anger; for to slam doors within the hearing of Mrs. Stelling, who was probably not far off, was an offence only to be wiped out by twenty lines of Virgil. In fact, that lady did presently descend from her room, in double wonder at the noise and the subsequent cessation of Philip's music. She found him sitting in a heap on the hassock, and crying bitterly. " What 's the matter, Wakem ? What was that noise about ? Who slammed the door ? " Philip looked up, and hastily dried his eyes. " It was Tulliver who came in ... to ask me to go out with him." " And what are you in trouble about ? " said Mrs. Stelling. Philip was not her favourite of the two pupils ; he was less obliging than Tom, who was made use- ful in many ways. Still his father paid more than Mr. Tulliver did, and she meant him to feel that she behaved exceedingly well to him. Philip, how- ever, met her advances towards a good understanding 246 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. very much as a caressed mollusk meets an invita- tion to show himself out of his shell. Mrs. Stel- ling was not a loving, tender-hearted woman : she was a woman whose skirt sat well, who adjusted her waist and patted her curls with a preoccupied air when she inquired after your welfare. These things, doubtless, represent a great social power, but it is not the power of love, and no other power could win Philip from his personal reserve. He said, in answer to her question, " My tooth- ache came on and made me hysterical again." This had been the fact once, and Philip was glad of the recollection, it was like an inspiration to enable him to excuse his crying. He had to accept eau-de-Cologne, and to refuse creosote in conse- quence; but that was easy. Meanwhile Tom, who had for the first time sent a poisoned arrow into Philip's heart, had returned to the carriage-house, where he found Mr. Poulter, with a fixed and earnest eye, wasting the perfec- tions of his sword-exercise on probably observant but inappreciative rats. But Mr. Poulter was a host in himself; that is to say, he admired him- self more than a whole army of spectators could have admired him. He took no notice of Tom's return, being too entirely absorbed in the cut and thrust, the solemn one, two, three, four ; and Tom, not without a slight feeling of alarm at Mr. Poulter's fixed eye and hungry-looking sword, which seemed impatient for something else to cut besides the air, admired the performance from as great a distance as possible. It was not until Mr. Poulter paused and wiped the perspiration from his fore- head, that Tom felt the full charm of the sword- exercise, and wished it to be repeated. SCHOOL-TIME. 247 "Mr. Poulter," said Tom, when the sword was being finally sheathed, " I wish you 'd lend me your sword a little while to keep." " No, no, young gentleman," said Mr. Poulter, shaking his head decidedly ; " you might do your- self some mischief with it." "No, I'm sure I wouldn't I'm sure I'd take care and not hurt myself, I should n't take it out of the sheath much, but I could ground arms with it, and all that." " No, no, it won't do, I tell you ; it won't do," said Mr. Poulter, preparing to depart. " What 'ud Mr. Stelling say to me ? " "Oh, I say, do, Mr. Poulter ! I 'd give you my five-shilling piece if you 'd let me keep the sword a week. Look here ! " said Tom, reaching out the attractively large round of silver. The young dog calculated the effect as well as if he had been a philosopher. "Well," said Mr. Poulter, with still deeper gravity, "you must keep it out of sight, you know." " Oh yes, I '11 keep it under the bed," said Tom, eagerly, " or else at the bottom of my large box." " And let me see, now, whether you can draw it out of the sheath without hurting yourself." That process having been gone through more than once, Mr. Poulter felt that he had acted with scru- pulous conscientiousness, and said, " Well now, Master Tulliver, if I take the crown-piece, it is to make sure as you '11 do no mischief with the sword." " Oh no, indeed, Mr. Poulter," said Tom, de- lightedly handing him the crown-piece, and grasp- ing the sword, which, he thought, might have been lighter with advantage. 248 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " But if Mr. Stelling catches you carrying it in ? " said Mr. Poulter, pocketing the crown-piece provi- sionally while he raised this new doubt. " Oh, he always keeps in his upstairs study on Saturday afternoons," said Tom, who disliked any- thing sneaking, but was not disinclined to a little stratagem in a worthy cause. So he carried off the sword in triumph, mixed with dread, dread that he might encounter Mr. or Mrs. Stelling, to his bedroom, where, after some consideration, he hid it in the closet behind some hanging clothes. That night he fell asleep in the thought that he would astonish Maggie with it when she came, tie it round his waist with his red comforter, and make her believe that the sword was his own, and that he was going to be a soldier. There was nobody but Maggie who would be silly enough to believe him, or whom he dared allow to know that he had a sword ; and Maggie was really coming next week to see Tom, before she went to a boarding-school with Lucy. If you think a lad of thirteen would not have been so childish, you must be an exceptionally wise man, who, although you are devoted to a civil calling, requiring you to look bland rather than formidable, yet never, since you had a beard threw yourself into a martial attitude, and frowned before the looking-glass. It is doubtful whether our soldiers would be maintained if there were not pa- cific people at home who like to fancy themselves soldiers. War, like other dramatic spectacles, might possibly cease for want of a "public." CHAPTEE V. MAGGIE'S SECOND VISIT. THIS last breach between the two lads was not readily mended, and for some time they spoke to each other no more than was necessary. Their natural antipathy of temperament made resentment an easy passage to hatred, and in Philip the transi- tion seemed to have begun : there was no malignity in his disposition, but there was a susceptibility that made him peculiarly liable to a strong sense of re- pulsion. The ox we may venture to assert it on the authority of a great classic is not given to use his teeth as an instrument of attack ; and Tom was an excellent bovine lad, who ran at questionable objects in a truly ingenious bovine manner; but he had blundered on Philip's tenderest point, and had caused him as much acute pain as if he had studied the means with the nicest precision and the most en- venomed spite. Torn saw no reason why they should not make up this quarrel as they had done many others, by behaving as if nothing had happened ; for though he had never before said to Philip that his father was a rogue, this idea had so habitually made part of his feeling as to the lelation between him- self and his dubious schoolfellow, whom he could neither like nor dislike, that the mere utterance did not make such an epoch to him as it did to Philip. And he had a right to say so when Philip hectored over him, and called him names. But perceiving 2so THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. that his first advances towards amity were not met, he relapsed into his least favourable disposition towards Philip, and resolved never to appeal to him either about drawing or exercises again. They were only so far civil to each other as was necessary to prevent their state of feud from being observed by Mr. Stelling, who would have " put down " such nonsense with great vigour. When Maggie came, however, she could not help looking with growing interest at the new school- fellow, although he was the son of that wicked Lawyer Wakem, who made her father so angry. She had arrived in the middle of school-hours, and had sat by while Philip went through his lessons with Mr. Stelling. Tom, some weeks ago, had sent her word that Philip knew no end of stories, not stupid stories like hers ; and she was convinced now from her own observation that he must be very clever : she hoped he would think her rather clever too, when she came to talk to him. Maggie, more- over, had rather a tenderness for deformed things ; she preferred the wry-necked lambs, because it seemed to her that the lambs which were quite strong and well made would n't mind so much about being petted ; and she was especially fond of petting objects that would think it very delightful to be petted by her. She loved Tom very dearly, but she often wished that he cared more about her loving him. " I think Philip Wakem seems a nice boy, Tom," she said, when they went out of the study together into the garden, to pass the interval before dinner. " He could n't choose his father, you know ; and I 've read of very bad men who had good sons, as well as good parents who had bad children. And if SCHOOL-TIME. 251 Philip is good, I think we ought to be the more sorry for him because his father is not a good man. You like him, don't you ? " " Oh, he 's a queer fellow," said Tom, curtly, " and he 's as sulky as can be with me, because I told him his father was a rogue. And I 'd a right to tell him so, for it was true and he began it, with calling me names. But you stop here by yourself a bit, Magsie, will you ? I 've got something I want to do upstairs." " Can't I go too ? " said Maggie, who, in this first day of meeting again, loved Tom's shadow. " No, it 's something I '11 tell you about by and by, not yet," said Tom, skipping away. In the afternoon the boys were at their books in the study, preparing the morrow's lessons, that they might have a holiday in the evening in honour of Maggie's arrival. Tom was hanging over his Latin Grammar, moving his lips inaudibly like a strict but impatient Catholic repeating his tale of paternosters ; and Philip, at the ether end of the room, was busy with two volumes, with a look of contented diligence that excited Maggie's curiosity : he did not look at all as if he were learning a lesson. She sat on a low stool at nearly a right angle with the two boys, watching first one and then the other ; and Philip, looking off his book once towards the fireplace, caught the pair of questioning dark eyes fixed upon him. He thought this sister of Tulliver's seemed a nice little thing, quite unlike her brother ; he wished he had a little sister. What was it, he wondered, that made Maggie's dark eyes remind him of the stories about princesses being turned into animals ? . . . I think it was that her eyes were full of unsatisfied intelligence, and unsatisfied, beseeching affection. 252 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. "I say, Magsie," said Tom at last, shutting his books and putting them away with the energy and decision of a perfect master in the art of leaving off, " I 've done my lessons now. Come upstairs with me." " What is it ? " said Maggie, when they were out- side the door, a slight suspicion crossing her mind as she remembered Tom's preliminary visit upstairs. " It is n't a trick you 're going to play me, now ? " " No, no, Maggie," said Tom, in his most coaxing tone ; " it 's something you '11 like ever so." He put his arm round her neck, and she put hers round his waist, and, twined together in this way, they went upstairs. " I say, Magsie, you must not tell anybody, you know," said Tom, " else I shall get fifty lines." " Is it alive ? " said Maggie, whose imagination had settled for the moment on the idea that Tom kept a ferret clandestinely. " Oh, I sha'n't tell you," said he. " Now you go into that corner and hide your face, while I reach it out," he added, as he locked the bedroom door be- hind them. " I '11 tell you when to turn round. You mustn't squeal out, you know." " Oh, but if you frighten me, I shall," said Maggie, beginning to look rather serious. " You won't be frightened, you silly thing," said Tom. " Go and hide your face, and mind you don't peep." " Of course I sha'n't peep," said Maggie, disdain- fully ; and she buried her face in the pillow like a person of strict honour. But Torn looked round warily as he walked to the closet ; then he stepped into the narrow space, and almost closed the door. Maggie kept her face SCHOOL-TIME. 253 buried without the aid of principle, for in that dream- suggestive attitude she had soon forgotten where she was, and her thoughts were busy with the poor deformed boy, who was so clever, when Tom called out, " Now then, Magsie ! " Nothing but long meditation and preconcerted arrangement of effects could have enabled Tom to present so striking a figure as he did to Maggie when she looked up. Dissatisfied with the pacific aspect of a face which had no more than the faintest hint of flaxen eyebrow, together with a pair of amiable blue-gray eyes and round pink cheeks that refused to look formidable, let him frown as he would before the looking-glass, (Philip had once told him of a man who had a horse-shoe frown, and Tom had tried with all his frowning-might to make a horse-shoe on his forehead), he had had recourse to that unfailing source of the terrible, burnt cork, and had made himself a pair of black eyebrows that met in a satisfactory manner over his nose, and were matched by a less carefully adjusted blackness about the chin. He had wound a red handkerchief round his cloth cap to give it the air of a turban, and his red comforter across his breast as a scarf, an amount of red which, with the tremendous frown on his brow, and the decision with which he grasped the sword, as he held it with its point resting on the ground, would suffice to convey an approximative idea of his fierce and bloodthirsty disposition. Maggie looked bewildered for a moment, and Tom enjoyed that moment keenly ; but in the next she laughed, clapped her hands together, and said, " Oh, Tom, you Ve made yourself like Bluebeard at the show." It was clear she had not been struck with the 254 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. presence of the sword, it was not unsheathed. Her frivolous mind required a more direct appeal to its sense of the terrible, and Tom prepared for his master-stroke. Frowning with a double amount of intention, if not of corrugation, he (carefully) drew the sword from its sheath, and pointed it at Maggie. " Oh, Tom, please don't," exclaimed Maggie, in a tone of suppressed dread, shrinking away from him into the opposite corner. " I shall scream I 'm sure I shall ! Oh, don't ! I wish I 'd never come upstairs ! " The corners of Tom's mouth showed an inclina- tion to a smile of complacency that was immediately checked as inconsistent with the severity of a great warrior. Slowly he let down the scabbard on the floor, lest it should make too much noise, and then said sternly, " I 'm the Duke of Wellington ! March ! " stamp- ing forward with the right leg a little bent, and the sword still pointing towards Maggie, who, trembling and with tear-filled eyes, got upon the bed, as the only means of widening the space between them. Tom, happy in this spectator of his military per- formances, even though the spectator was only Maggie, proceeded, with the utmost exertion of his force, to such an exhibition of the cut and thrust as would necessarily be expected of the Duke of Wellington. " Tom, I will not bear it, I will scream," said Maggie, at the first movement of the sword. " You '11 hurt yourself ; you'll cut your head off ! " " One two," said Tom, resolutely, though at "two" his wrist trembled a little. "Three" came more slowly, and with it the sword swung down- wards, and Maggie gave a loud shriek. The sword Tom frightening Maggie. Original Etching by C. O. Murray. SCHOOL-TIME. 255 had fallen with its edge on Tom's foot, and in a moment after he had fallen too. Maggie leaped from the bed, still shrieking, and immediately there was a rush of footsteps towards the room. Mr. Stelling, from his upstairs study, was the first to enter. He found both the children on the floor. Tom had fainted, and Maggie was shaking him by the collar of his jacket, screaming, with wild eyes. She thought he was dead, poor child ! and yet she shook him, as if that would bring him back to life. In another minute she was sobbing with joy be- cause Tom had opened his eyes : she could n't sor- row yet that he had hurt his foot, it seemed as if all happiness lay in his being alive. CHAPTER VI. A LOVE SCENE. POOR Tom bore his severe pain heroically, and was resolute in not " telling " of Mr. Poulter more than was unavoidable : the five-shilling piece remained a secret even to Maggie. But there was a terrible dread weighing on his mind, so terrible that he dared not even ask the question which might bring the fatal " yes," he dared not ask the surgeon or Mr. Stelling, " Shall I be lame, sir ? " He mastered himself so as not to cry out at the pain ; but when his foot had been dressed, and he was left alone with Maggie seated by his bedside, the children sobbed together with their heads laid on the same pillow. Tom was thinking of himself walking about on crutches, like the wheelwright's son ; and Maggie, who did not guess what was in his mind, sobbed for company. It had not occurred to the surgeon or to Mr. Stelling to anticipate this dread in Tom's mind, and to reassure him by hopeful words. But Philip watched the surgeon out of the house, and waylaid Mr. Stelling to ask the very question that Tom had not dared to ask for himself. " I beg your pardon, sir, but does Mr. Askern say Tulliver will be lame ? " " Oh no, oh no," said Mr. Stelling, " not perma- nently, only for a little while." " Did he tell Tulliver so, sir, do you think ? " " No ; nothing was said to him on the subject." SCHOOL-TIME. 257 " Then may I go and tell him, sir ? " " Yes, to be sure : now you mention it, I dare say he may be troubling about that. Go to his bedroom, but be very quiet at present." It had been Philip's first thought when he heard of the accident, " Will Tulliver be lame ? It will be very hard for him if he is ; " and Tom's hitherto unforgiven offences were washed out by that pity. Philip felt that they were no longer in a state of repulsion, but were being drawn into a common current of suffering and sad privation. His imagi- nation did not dwell on the outward calamity and its future effect on Tom's life, but it made vividly present to him the probable state of Tom's feeling. Philip had only lived fourteen years, but those years had, most of them, been steeped in the sense of a lot irremediably hard. " Mr. Askern says you '11 soon be all right again, Tulliver, did you know ? " he said, rather timidly, as he stepped gently up to Tom's bed. " I 've just been to ask Mr. Stelling, and he says you '11 walk as well as ever again by and by." Tom looked up with that momentary stopping of the breath which comes with a sudden joy ; then he gave a long sigh, and turned his blue-gray eyes straight on Philip's face, as he had not done for a fortnight or more. As for Maggie, this intimation of a possibility she had not thought of before, af- fected her as a new trouble ; the bare idea of Tom's being always lame overpowered the assurance that such a misfortune was not likely to befall him, and she clung to him and cried afresh. " Don't be a little silly, Magsie," said Tom, ten- derly, feeling very brave now. " I shall soon get well." VOL. I. 17 253 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Good-by, Tulliver," said Philip, putting out his small, delicate hand, which Tom clasped immediately with his more substantial fingers. " I say," said Tom, " ask Mr. Stelling to let you come and sit with me sometimes, till I get up again, Wakem, and tell me about Eobert Bruce, you know." After that, Philip spent all his time out of school- hours with Tom and Maggie. Tom liked to hear fighting stories as much as ever, but he insisted strongly on the fact that those great fighters, who did so many wonderful things and came off unhurt, wore excellent armour from head to foot, which made fighting easy work, he considered. He should not have hurt his foot if he had had an iron shoe on. He listened with great interest to a new story of Philip's about a man who had a very bad wound in his foot, and cried out so dreadfully with the pain that his friends could bear with him no longer, but put him ashore on a desert island, with nothing but some wonderful poisoned arrows to kill animals with for food. " I did n't roar out a bit, you know," Tom said, " and I dare say my foot was as bad as his. It 'a cowardly to roar." But Maggie would have it that when anything hurt you very much, it was quite permissible to cry out, and it was cruel of people not to bear it. She wanted to know if Philoctetes had a sister, and why she did n't go with him on the desert island and take care of him. One day, soon after Philip had told this story, he and Maggie were in the study alone together while Tom's foot was being dressed. Philip was at his books, and Maggie, after sauntering idly round the SCHOOL-TIME. 259 room, not caring to do anything in particular, be- cause she would soon go to Tom again, went and leaned on the table near Philip to see what he was doing, for they were quite old friends now, and perfectly at home with each other. " What are you reading about in Greek ? " she said. " It 's poetry, I can see that, because the lines are so short." " It 's about Philoctetes, the lame man I was telling you of yesterday," he answered, resting his head on his hand, arid looking at her, as if he were not at all sorry to be interrupted. Maggie, in her absent way, continued to lean forward, resting on her arms and moving her feet about, while her dark eyes got more and more fixed and vacant, as if she had quite forgotten Philip and his book. " Maggie," said Philip, after a minute or two, still leaning on his elbow and looking at her, "if you had had a brother like me, do you think you should have loved him as well as Tom ? " Maggie started a little on being roused from her reverie, and said, " What ? " Philip repeated his question. " Oh yes, better," she answered immediately. "No, not better; because I don't think I could love you better than Tom. But I should be so sorry so sorry for you." Philip coloured ; he had meant to imply, would she love him as well in spite of his deformity, and yet when she alluded to it so plainly, he winced under her pity. Maggie, young as she was, felt her mistake. Hitherto she had instinctively behaved as if she were quite unconscious of Philip's defor- mity : her own keen sensitiveness and experience under family criticism sufficed to teach her this as 260 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. well as if she had been directed by the most finished breeding. " But you are so very clever, Philip, and you can play and sing," she added quickly. " I wish you were my brother. I 'm very fond of you. And you would stay at home with me when Tom went out, and you would teach me everything, would n't you ? Greek and everything ? " "But you'll go away soon, and go to school, Maggie," said Philip, "and then you'll forget all about me and not care for me any more. And then I shall see you when you 're grown up, and you '11 hardly take any notice of me." " Oh no, I sha'n't forget you, I 'm sure," said Maggie, shaking her head very seriously. "I never forget anything and I think about everybody when I 'm away from them. I think about poor Yap, he 's got a lump in his throat, and Luke says he '11 die. Only don't you tell Tom, because it will vex him so. You never saw Yap : he 's a queer little dog, nobody cares about him but Tom and me." " Do you care as much about me as you do about Yap, Maggie ? " said Philip, smiling rather sadly. " Oh yes, I should think so," said Maggie, laughing. " I 'm very fond of you, Maggie ; I shall never forget you" said Philip, " and when I 'm very un- happy, I shall always think of you, and wish I had a sister with dark eyes, just like yours." " Why do you like my eyes ? " said Maggie, well pleased. She had never heard any one but her father speak of her eyes as if they had merit. " I don't know," said Philip. " They 're not like any other eyes. They seem trying to speak try- ing to speak kindly. I don't like other people to SCHOOL-TIME. 261 look at me much, but I like you to look at me, Maggie." "Why, I think you're fonder of me than Tom is," said Maggie, rather sorrowfully. Then, won- dering how she could convince Philip that she could like him just as well, although he was crooked, she said, " Should you like me to kiss you, as I do Tom ? I will, if you like." " Yes, very much ; nobody kisses me." Maggie put her arm round his neck, and kissed him quite earnestly. " There now," she said, " I shall always remem- ber you, and kiss you when I see you again, if it 's ever so long. But I '11 go now, because I think Mr. Askern 's done with Tom's foot." When their father came the second time, Maggie said to him, " Oh, father, Philip Wakem is so very good to Tom, he is such a clever boy, and I do love him. And you love him too, Tom, don't you ? Say you love him," she added entreatingly. Tom coloured a little as he looked at his father, and said, " I sha'n't be friends with him when I leave school, father ; but we Ve made it up now, since my foot has been bad, and he 's taught me to play at draughts, and I can beat him." "Well, well," said Mr. Tulliver, "if he's good to you, try and make him amends, and be good to him. He 's a poor crooked creatur, and takes after his dead mother. But don't you be getting too thick with him, he's got his father's blood in him too. Ay, ay, the gray colt may chance to kick like his black sire." The jarring natures of the two boys effected what Mr. Tulliver's admonition alone might have failed to 262 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. effect : in spite of Philip's new kindness, and Tom's answering regard in this time of his trouble, they never became close friends. When Maggie was gone, and when Tom by and by began to walk about as usual, the friendly warmth that had been kindled by pity and gratitude died out by degrees, and left them in their old relation to each other. Philip was often peevish and contemptuous ; and Tom's more specific and kindly impressions grad- ually melted into the old background of suspicion and dislike towards him as a queer fellow, a hump- back, and the son of a rogue. If boys and men are to be welded together in the glow of transient feel- ing, they must be made of metal that will mix, else they inevitably fall asunder when the heat dies out CHAPTER VII. THE GOLDEN GATES ARE PASSED. So Tom went on even to the fifth half-year till he was turned sixteen at King's Lorton, while Maggie was growing, with a rapidity which her aunts considered highly reprehensible, at Miss Firniss's boarding-school in the ancient town of Laceham on the Floss, with cousin Lucy for her companion. In her early letters to Tom she had always sent her love to Philip, and asked many questions about him, which were answered by brief sentences about Tom's toothache, and a turf-house which he was helping to build in the garden, with other items of that kind. She was pained to hear Tom say in the holidays that Philip was as queer as ever again, and often cross : they were no longer very good friends, she perceived ; and when she reminded Tom that he ought always to love Philip for being so good to him when his foot was bad, he answered, " Well, it is n't my fault : / don't do anything to him." She hardly ever saw Philip during the re- mainder of their school-life ; in the Midsummer holidays he was always away at the seaside, and at Christmas she could only meet him at long inter- vals in the streets of St. Ogg's. When they did meet, she remembered her promise to kiss him ; but, as a young lady who had been at a boarding-school, she knew now that such a greeting was out of the question, and Philip would not expect it. The 264 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. promise was void, like so many other sweet, illusory promises of our childhood; void as promises made in Eden before the seasons were divided, and when the starry blossoms grew side by side with the ripening peach, impossible to be fulfilled when the golden gates had been passed. But when their father was actually engaged in the long-threatened lawsuit, and Wakem, as the agent at once of Pivart and Old Harry, was acting against him, even Maggie felt, with some sadness, that they were not likely ever to have any intimacy with Philip again ; the very name of Wakem made her father angry, and she had once heard him say, that if that crook-backed son lived to inherit his father's ill-gotten gains, there would be a curse upon him. " Have as little to do with him at school as you can, my lad," he said to Tom ; and the command was obeyed the more easily because Mr. Stelling by this time had two additional pupils; for though this gentleman's rise in the world was not of that meteor-like rapidity which the admirers of his extemporaneous eloquence had expected for a preacher whose voice demanded so wide a sphere, he had yet enough of growing prosperity to enable him to increase his expenditure in continued dispro- portion to his income. As for Tom's school course, it went on with mill- like monotony, his mind continuing to move with a slow, half-stifled pulse in a medium of unin- teresting or unintelligible ideas. But each vaca- tion he brought home larger and larger drawings with the satiny rendering of landscape, and water- colours in vivid greens, together with manuscript books full of exercises and problems, in which the handwriting was all the finer because he gave his SCHOOL-TIME. 265 whole mind to it. Each vacation he brought home a new book or two, indicating his progress through different stages of history, Christian doctrine, and Latin literature ; and that passage was not entirely without result, besides the possession of the books. Tom's ear and tongue had become accustomed to a great many words and phrases which are understood to be signs of an educated condition ; and though he had never really applied his mind to any one of his lessons, the lessons had left a deposit of vague, fragmentary, ineffectual notions. Mr. Tulliver, see- ing signs of acquirement beyond the reach of his own criticism, thought it was probably all right with Tom's education : he observed, indeed, that there were no maps, and not enough " summing ; " but he made no formal complaint to Mr. Stelling. It was a puzzling business, this schooling ; and if he took Tom away, where could he send him with better effect ? By the time Tom had reached his last quarter at King's Lorton, the years had made striking changes in him since the day we saw him returning from Mr. Jacobs's academy. He was a tall youth now, carrying himself without the least awkward- ness, and speaking without more shyness than was a becoming symptom of blended diffidence and pride : he wore his tail-coat and his stand-up collars, and watched the down on his lip with eager impatience, looking every day at his virgin razor, with which he had provided himself in the last holidays. Philip had already left, at the autumn quarter, that he might go to the south for the winter, for the sake of his health ; and this change helped to give Tom the unsettled, exultant feeling that usually belongs to the last months before leaving 266 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. school. This quarter, too, there was some hope of his father's lawsuit being decided : that made the prospect of home more entirely pleasurable. For Tom, who had gathered his view of the case from his father's conversation, had no doubt that Pivart would be beaten. Tom had not heard anything from home for some weeks, a fact which did not surprise him, for his father and mother were not apt to manifest their affection in unnecessary letters, when, to his great surprise, on' the morning of a dark cold day near the end of November, he was told, soon after entering the study at nine o'clock, that his sister was in the drawing-room. It was Mrs. Stel- ling who had come into the study to tell him, and she left him to enter the drawing-room alone. Maggie, too, was tall now, with braided and coiled hair : she was almost as tall as Tom, though she was only thirteen ; and she really looked older than he did at that moment. She had thrown off her bonnet, her heavy braids were pushed back from her forehead, as if it would not bear that extra load, and her young face had a strangely worn look, as her eyes turned anxiously towards the door. When Tom entered she did not speak, but only went up to him, put her arms round his neck, and kissed him earnestly. He was used to various moods of hers, and felt no alarm at the unusual seriousness of her greeting. "Why, how is it you're come so early this cold morning, Maggie ? Did you come in the gig ? " said Tom, as she backed towards the sofa, and drew him to her side. " No, I came by the coach. I Ve walked from the turnpike." SCHOOL-TIME. 267 " But how is it you 're not at school ? The holi- days have not begun yet ? " " Father wanted me at home," said Maggie, with a slight trembling of the lip. " I came home three or four days ago." "Isn't my father well?" said Tom, rather anxiously. '' Not quite," said Maggie. " He 's very unhappy, Tom. The lawsuit is ended, and I came to tell you because I thought it would be better for you to know it before you came home, and I did n't like only to send y.ou a letter." "My father hasn't lost?" said Tom, hastily, springing from the sofa, and standing before Maggie with his hands suddenly thrust in his pockets. " Yes, dear Tom," said Maggie, looking up at him with trembling. Tom was silent a minute or two, with his eyes fixed on the floor. Then he said, " My father will have to pay a good deal of money, then ? " " Yes," said Maggie, rather faintly. " Well, it can't be helped," said Tom, bravely, not translating the loss of a large sum of money into any tangible results. " But my father 's very much vexed, I dare say ? " he added, looking at Maggie, and thinking that her agitated face was only part of her girlish way of taking things. "Yes," said Maggie, again faintly. Then, urged to fuller speech by Tom's freedom from apprehen- sion, she said loudly and rapidly, as if the words would burst from her, " Oh, Tom, he will lose the mill and the land, and everything; he will have nothing left." Tom's eyes flashed out one look of surprise at 268 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. her, before he turned pale, and trembled visibly. He said nothing, but sat down on the sofa again, looking vaguely out of the opposite window. Anxiety about the future had never entered Tom's mind. His father had always ridden a good horse, kept a good house, and had the cheerful, confident air of a man who has plenty of property to fall back upon. Tom had never dreamed that his father would " fail ; " that was a form of misfortune which he had always heard spoken of as a deep disgrace, and disgrace was an idea that he could not asso- ciate with any of his relations, least of all with his father. A proud sense of family respectability was part of the very air Tom had been born and brought up in. He knew there were people in St. Ogg's who made a show without money to support it, and he had always heard such people spoken of by his own friends with contempt and reprobation. He had a strong belief, which was a lifelong habit, and re- quired no definite evidence to rest on, that his father could spend a great deal of money if he chose; and since his education at Mr. Stelling's had given him a more expensive view of life, he had often thought that when he got older he would make a figure in the world, with his horse and dogs and saddle, and other accoutrements of a fine young man, and show himself equal to any of his contem- poraries at St. Ogg's, who might consider themselves a grade above him in society, because their fathers were professional men or had large oil-mills. As to the prognostics and headshaking of his aunts and uncles, they had never produced the least effect on him, except to make him think that aunts and uncles were disagreeable society : he had heard them find fault in much the same way as long as he SCHOOL-TIME. 269 could remember. His father knew better than they did. The down had come on Tom's lip, yet his thoughts and expectations had been hitherto only the repro- duction, in changed forms, of the boyish dreams in which he had lived three years ago. He was awakened now with a violent shock. Maggie was frightened at Tom's pale, trembling silence. There was something else to tell him, something worse. She threw her arms round him at last, and said, with a half sob, " Oh, Tom, dear, dear Tom, don't fret too much, try and bear it well." Tom turned his cheek passively to meet her en- treating kisses, and there gathered a moisture in his eyes, which he just rubbed away with his hand. The action seemed to rouse him, for he shook him- self and said, "I shall go home with you, Maggie. Did n't my father say I was to go ? "No, Tom, father didn't wish it," said Maggie, her anxiety about his feeling helping her to master her agitation. What would he do when she told him all? "But mother wants you to come, poor mother ! she cries so. Oh, Tom, it 's very dreadful at home." Maggie's lips grew whiter, and she began to tremble almost as Tom had done. The two poor things clung closer to each other, both trembling, the one at an unshapen fear, the other at the image of a terrible certainty. When Maggie spoke, it was hardly above a whisper. " And . . . and . . . poor father " Maggie could not utter it. But the suspense was intolerable to Torn. A vague idea of going to prison, as a consequence of debt, was the shape his fears had begun to take. 270 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. "Where's my father?" he said impatiently. " Tell me, Maggie." " He 's at home," said Maggie, finding it easier to reply to that question. " But," she added, after a pause, "not himself. ... He fell off his horse. ... He has known nobody but me ever since. . . . He seems to have lost his senses. . . . Oh, father, father " With these last words, Maggie's sobs burst forth with the more violence for the previous struggle against them. Tom felt that pressure of the heart which forbids tears: he had no distinct vision of their troubles as Maggie had, who had been at home; he only felt the crushing weight of what seemed unmitigated misfortune. He tightened his arm almost convulsively round Maggie as she sobbed, but his face looked rigid and tearless, his eyes blank, as if a black curtain of cloud had suddenly fallen on his path. But Maggie soon checked herself abruptly: a single thought had acted on her like a startling sound. " We must set out, Tom, we must not stay, father will miss me, we must be at the turnpike at ten to meet the coach." She said this with hasty decision, rubbing her eyes, and rising to seize her bonnet. Tom at once felt the same impulse, and rose too. " Wait a minute, Maggie," he said. " I must speak to Mr. Stelling, and then we'll go." He thought he must go to the study where the pupils were, but on his way he met Mr. Stelling, who had heard from his wife that Maggie appeared to be in trouble when she asked for her brother ; and, now that he thought the brother and sister SCHOOL-TIME. ' 271 had been alone long enough, was coming to inquire and offer his sympathy. " Please, sir, I must go home," Tom said abruptly, as he met Mr. Stelling in the passage. "I must go back with my sister directly. My father 's lost his lawsuit he 's lost all his property and he 's very ill." Mr. Stelling felt like a kind-hearted man; he foresaw a probable money loss for himself, but this had no appreciable share in his feeling, while he looked with grave pity at the brother and sister for whom youth and sorrow had begun together. When he knew how Maggie had come, and how eager she was to get home again, he hurried their departure, only whispering something to Mrs. Stel- ling, who had followed him, and who immediately left the room. Tom and Maggie were standing on the door-step, ready to set out, when Mrs. Stelling came with a little basket, which she hung on Maggie's arm, saying, "Do remember to eat something on the way, dear." Maggie's heart went out towards this woman whom she had never liked, and she kissed her silently. It was the first sign within the poor child of that new sense which is the gift of sorrow, that susceptibility to the bare offices of humanity, which raises them into a bond of loving fellowship, as to haggard men among the icebergs the mere presence of an ordinary comrade stirs the deep fountains of affection. Mr. Stelling put his hand on Tom's shoulder and said, " God bless you, my boy ; let me know how you get on." Then he pressed Maggie's hand ; but there were no audible good-byes. Tom had so often thought how joyful he should be the day 272 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. he left school "for good!" And now his school years seemed like a holiday that had come to an end. The two slight youthful figures soon grew indis- tinct on the distant road, were soon lost behind the projecting hedgerow. They had gone forth together into their new life of sorrow, and they would nevermore see the sunshine undimmed by remembered cares. They had entered the thorny wilderness, and the golden gates of their childhood had forever closed behind them. BOOK III. THE DOWNFALL. CHAPTER I. WHAT HAD HAPPENED AT HOME. WHEN Mr. Tulliver first knew the fact that the lawsuit was decided against him, and that Pivart and Wakem were triumphant, every one who happened to observe him at the time thought that, for so confident and hot-tempered a man, he bore the blow remarkably well. He thought so himself: he thought he was going to show that if Wakem or anybody else considered him crushed, they would find themselves mistaken. He could not refuse to see that the costs of this protracted suit would take more than he possessed to pay them ; but he appeared to himself to be full of expedients by which he could ward off any results but such as were tolerable, and could avoid the appearance of breaking down in the world. All the obstinacy and defiance of his nature, driven out of their old channel, found a vent for themselves in the im- mediate formation of plans by which he would meet his difficulties, and remain Mr. Tulliver of Dorlcote Mill in spite of them. There was such a rush of projects in his brain, that it was no won- der his face was flushed when he came away from VOL. I. 18 274 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. his talk with his attorney, Mr. Gore, and mounted his horse to ride home from Lindum. There was Furley, who held the mortgage on the land, a reasonable fellow, who would see his own interest, Mr. Tulliver was convinced, and who would be glad not only to purchase the whole estate, includ- ing the mill and homestead, but would accept Mr. Tulliver as tenant, and be willing to advance money to be repaid with high interest out of the profits of the business, which would be made over to him, Mr. Tulliver only taking enough barely to maintain himself and his family. Who would neglect such a profitable investment ? Certainly not Furley, for Mr. Tulliver had determined that Furley should meet his plans with the utmost alacrity ; and there are men whose brains have not yet been danger- ously heated by the loss of a lawsuit, who are apt to see in their own interest or desires a motive for other men's actions. There was no doubt (in the miller's mind) that Furley would do just what was desirable ; and if he did why, things would not be so very much worse. Mr. Tulliver and his family must live more meagrely and humbly, but it would only be till the profits of the business had paid off Furley's advances, and that might be while Mr. Tulliver had still a good many years of life before him. It was clear that the costs of the suit could be paid without his being obliged to turn out of his old place, and look like a ruined man. It was certainly an awkwaid moment in his affairs. There was that suretyship for poor Riley, who had died suddenly last April, and left his friend saddled with a debt of two hundred and fifty pounds, a fact which had helpe 1 to make Mr. Tulliver's bank- ing-book less pLasant leading than a man might THE DOWNFALL. 275 desire towards Christmas. Well ! he had never been one of those poor-spirited sneaks who would refuse to give a helping hand to a fellow-traveller in this puzzling world. The really vexatious busi- ness was the fact that some months ago the creditor who had lent him the five hundred pounds to repay Mrs. Grlegg had become uneasy about his money (set on by Wakem, of course), and Mr. Tul- liver, still confident that he should gain his suit, and finding it eminently inconvenient to raise the said sum until that desirable issue had taken place, had rashly acceded to the demand that he should give a bill of sale on his household furniture, and some other effects, as security in lieu of the bond. It was all one, he had said to himself : he should soon pay off the money, and there was no harm in giving that security any more than another. But now the consequences of this bill of sale oc- curred to him in a new light, and he remembered that the time was close at hand when it would be enforced unless the money were repaid. Two months ago he would have declared stoutly that he would never be beholden to his wife's friends ; but now he told himself as stoutly that it was nothing but right and natural that Bessy should go to the Pullets and explain the thing to them : they would hardly let Bessy's furniture be sold, and it might be security to Pullet if he advanced the money, there would, after all, be no gift or favour in the matter. Mr. Tulliver would never have asked for anything from so poor-spirited a fellow for himself, but Bessy might do so if she liked. It is precisely the proudest and most obstinate men who are the most liable to shift their position 276 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. and contradict themselves in this sudden manner : everything is easier to them than to face the simple fact that they have been thoroughly defeated, and musfc begin life anew. And Mr. Tulliver, you per- ceive, though nothing more than a superior miller and maltster, was as proud and obstinate as if he had been a very lofty personage, in whom such dispositions might be a source of that conspicuous, far-echoing tragedy which sweeps the stage in regal robes, and makes the dullest chronicler sublime. The pride and obstinacy of millers, and other insig- nificant people, whom you pass unnoticingly on the roai every day, have their tragedy too ; but it is of that unwept, hidden sort, that goes on from genera- tion to generation, and leaves no record, such tragedy, perhaps, as Ins in the conflicts of young souls, hungry for joy, under a lot made suddenly hard to them, under the dreariness of a home where the morning brings no promise with it, and where the unexpectant discontent of worn and disappointed parents weighs on the children like a damp, thick air, in which all the functions of life are depressed ; or such tragedy as lies in the slow or sudden death that follows on a bruised passion, though it may be a death that finds only a parish funeral. There are certain animals to which tenacity of position is a law of life, they can never flourish again, after a single wrench ; and there are certain human beings to whom predominance is a law of life, they can only sustain humiliation so long as they can refuse to believe in it, and, in their own conception, pre- dominate still. Mr. Tulliver was still predominating in his own imagination as he approached St. Ogg's, through which he had to pass on his way homeward. But THE DOWNFALL. 277 what was it that suggested to him, as he saw the Laceham coach entering the town, to follow it to the coach-office, and get the clerk there to write a letter requiring Maggie to come home the very next day ? Mr. Tulliver's own hand shook too much under his excitement for him to write himself, and he wanted the letter to be given to the coachman to deliver at Miss Firniss's school in the morning. There was a craving which he would not account for to himself, to have Maggie near him without delay she must come back by the coach to-morrow. To Mrs. Tulliver, when he got home, he would admit no difficulties, and scolded down her burst of grief on hearing that the lawsuit was lost, by angry assertions that there was nothing to grieve about. He said nothing to her that night about the bill of sale, and the application to Mrs. Pullet, for he had kept her in ignorance of the nature of that transac- tion, and had explained the necessity for taking an inventory of the goods as a matter connected with his will. The possession of a wife conspicuously one's inferior in intellect is, like other high privi- leges, attended with a few inconveniences, and, among the rest, with the occasional necessity for using a little deception. The next day Mr. Tulliver was again on horse- back in the afternoon, on his way to Mr. Gore's office at St. Ogg's. Gore was to have seen Furley in the morning, and to have sounded him in relation to Mr. Tulliver's affairs. But he had not gone half- way when he met a clerk from Mr. Gore's office, who was bringing a letter to Mr. Tulliver. Mr. Gore had been prevented by a sudden call of business from waiting at his office to see Mr. Tulliver, accord- ing to appointment, but would be at his office at 278 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. eleven to-morrow morning, and meanwhile had sent some important information by letter. " Oh ! " said Mr. Tulliver, taking the letter, but not opening it. "Then tell Gore I'll see him to- morrow at eleven;" and he turned his horse. The clerk, struck with Mr. Tulliver's glistening, excited glance, looked after him for a few moments, and then rode away. The reading of a letter was not the affair of an instant to Mr. Tulliver ; he took in the sense of a statement very slowly through the medium of written or even printed characters ; so he had put the letter in his pocket, thinking he would open it in his arm-chair at home. But by and by it occurred to him that there might be something in the letter Mrs. Tulliver must not know about, and, if so, it would be better to keep it out of her sight altogether. He stopped his horse, took out the letter, and read it. It was only a short letter ; the substance was that Mr. Gore had ascertained, on secret but sure authority, that Furley had been lately much straitened for money, and had parted with his securities, among the rest, the mortgage on Mr. Tulliver^s property, which he had transferred to Wakem. In half an hour after this Mr. Tulliver's own wagoner found him lying by the roadside insensible, with an open latter near him, and his gray horse snuffing uneasily about him. When Maggie reached home that evening, in obedience to her father's call, he was no longer insensible. About an hour before, he had become conscious, and after vague, vacant looks around him, had muttered something about " a letter," which he presently repeated impatiently. At the instance of Mr. Turnbull, the medical man, Gore's letter was THE DOWNFALL. 279 brought and laid on the bed, and the previous impatience seemed to be allayed. The stricken man lay for some time with his eyes fixed on the letter, as if he were trying to knit up his thoughts by its help. But presently a new wave of memory seemed to have come and swept the other away ; he turned his eyes from the letter to the door, and after look- ing uneasily, as if striving to see something his eyes were too dim for, he said, " The little wench." He repeated the words impatiently from time to time, appearing entirely unconscious of everything except this one importunate want, and giving no sign of knowing his wife or any one else ; and poor Mrs. Tulliver, her feeble faculties almost paralyzed by this sudden accumulation of troubles, went back- wards and forwards to the gate to see if the Lace- ham coach were coming, though it was not yet time. But it came at last, and set down the poor anxious girl, no longer the " little wench " except to her father's fond memory. " Oh mother, what is the matter ? " Maggie said, with pale lips, as her mother came towards her crying. She didn't think her father was ill, be- cause the letter had come at his dictation from the office at St. Ogg's. But Mr. Turnbull came now to meet her: a medical man is the good angel of the troubled house, and Maggie ran towards the kind old friend, whom she remembered as long as she could remem- ber anything, with a trembling, questioning look. " Don't alarm yourself too much, my dear," he said, taking her hand. "Your father has had a sudden attack, and has not quite recovered his memory. But he has been asking for you, and it will do him good to see you. Keep as quiet as you 280 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. can ; take off your things, and come upstairs with me." Maggie obeyed, with that terrible beating of the heart which makes existence seern simply a painful pulsation. The very quietness with which Mr. Turnbull spoke had frightened her susceptible im- agination. Her father's eyes were still turned uneasily towards the door when she entered and met the strange, yearning, helpless look that had been seeking her in vain. With a sudden flash and movement, he raised himself in the bed, she rushed towards him, and clasped him with agonized kisses. Poor child ! it was very early for her to know one of those supreme moments in life when all we have hoped or delighted in, all we can dread or endure, falls away from our regard as insignificant, is lost, like a trivial memory, in that simple, primitive love which knits us to the beings who have been nearest to us, in their times of helplessness or of anguish. But that flash of recognition had been too great a strain on the father's bruised, enfeebled powers. He sank back again in renewed insensibility and rigidity, which lasted for many hours, and was only broken by a flickering return of consciousness, in which he took passively everything that was given to him, and seemed to have a sort of infantine satisfac- tion in Maggie's near presence, such satisfaction as a baby has when it is returned to the nurse's lap. Mrs. Tulliver sent for her sisters, and there was much wailing and lifting up of hands below stairs : both uncles and aunts saw that the ruin of Bessy and her family was as complete as they had ever foreboded it, and there was a general family sense that a judgment had fallen on Mr. Tulliver, which it would be an impiety to counteract by too much THE DOWNFALL. 281 kindness. But Maggie heard little of this, scarcely ever leaving her father's bedside, where she sat opposite him with her hand on his. Mrs. Tulliver wanted to have Tom fetched home, and seemed to be thinking more of her boy even than of her hus- band ; but the aunts and uncles opposed this. Tom was better at school, since Mr. Turnbull said there was no immediate danger, he believed. But at the end of the second day, when Maggie had become more accustomed to her father's fits of insensibility, and to the expectation that he would revive from them, the thought of Tom had become urgent with her too ; and when her mother sat crying at night and saying, " My poor lad ... it 's nothing but right he should come home," Maggie said, " Let me go for him, and tell him, mother; I'll go to-morrow morning if father does n't know me and want me. It would be so hard for Tom to come home and not know anything about it beforehand." And the next morning Maggie went, as we have seen. Sitting on the coach on their way home, the brother and sister talked to each other in sad, interrupted whispers. " They say Mr. Wakem has got a mortgage or something on the land, Tom," said Maggie. " It was the letter with that news in it that made father ill, they think." " I believe that scoundrel 's been planning all along to ruin my father," said Tom, leaping from the vaguest impressions to a definite conclusion. " I '11 make him feel for it when I 'm a man. Mind you never speak to Philip again." " Oh, Tom ! " said Maggie, in a tone of sad remon- strance ; but she had no spirit to dispute anything then, still less to vex Tom by opposing him. CHAPTEE II. MRS. TULLIVER'S TERAPHIM, OR HOUSEHOLD GODS. WHEN the coach set down Tom and Maggie, it was five hours since she had started from home, and she was thinking with some trembling that her father had perhaps missed her, and asked for " the little wench " in vain. She thought of no other change that might have happened. She hurried along the gravel-walk, and entered the house before Tom ; but in the entrance she was startled by a strong smell of tobacco. The parlour door was ajar, that was where the smell came from. It was very strange : could any visitor be smoking at a time like this ? Was her mother there ? If so, she must be told that Tom was come. Maggie, after this pause of surprise, was only in the act of opening the door when Tom came up, and they both looked into the parlour together. There was a coarse, dingy man, of whose face Tom had some vague recollection, sitting in his father's chair, smoking, with a jug and glass beside him. The truth flashed on Tom's mind in an instant. To " have the bailiff in the house " and " to be sold up " were phrases which he had been used to, even as a little boy : they were part of the disgrace and misery of " failing," of losing all one's money, and being ruined, sinking into the condition of poor working-people. It seemed only natural this should happen, since his father had lost all his property, THE DOWNFALL. 283 and he thought of no more special cause for this particular form of misfortune than the loss of the lawsuit. But the immediate presence of this dis- grace was so much keener an experience to Tom than the worst form of apprehension, that he felt at this moment as if his real trouble had only just begun : it was a touch on the irritated nerve com- pared with its spontaneous dull aching. " How do you do, sir ? " said the man, taking the pipe out of his mouth, with rough, embarrassed civility. The two young startled faces made him a little uncomfortable. But Tom turned away hastily without speaking : the sight was too hateful. Maggie had not under- stood the appearance of this stranger, as Tom had. She followed him, whispering, " Who can it be, Tom ? what is the matter ? " Then, with a sud- den undefined dread lest this stranger might have something to do with a change in her father, she rushed upstairs, checking herself at the bedroom door to throw off her bonnet, and enter on tiptoe. All was silent there ; her father was lying, heedless of everything around him, with his eyes closed as when she had left him. A servant was there, but not her mother. " Where 's my mother ? " she whispered. The servant did not know. Maggie hastened out and said to Tom, " Father is lying quiet ; let us go and look for my mother. I wonder where she is." Mrs. Tulliver was not downstairs, not in any of the bedrooms. There was but one room below the attic which Maggie had left unsearched ; it was the store-room, where her mother kept all her linen and all the precious " best things " that were only 284 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. unwrapped and brought out on special occasions. Tom, preceding Maggie as they returned along the passage, opened the door of this room, and immedi- ately said, " Mother ! " Mrs. Tulliver was seated there with all her laid- up treasures. One of the linen-chests was open : the silver teapot was unwrapped from its many folds of paper, and the best china was laid out on the top of the closed linen-chest; spoons and skewers and ladles were spread in rows on the shelves ; and the poor woman was shaking her head and weeping, with a bitter tension of the mouth, over the mark, " Elizabeth Dodson," on the corner of some table-cloths she held in her lap. She dropped them, and started up as Tom spoke. " Oh, my boy, my boy ! " she said, clasping him round the neck. " To think as I should live to see this day ! We 're ruined . . . everything 's going to be sold up ... to think as your father should ha' married me to bring me to this ! We 've got noth- ing ... we shall be beggars ... we must go to the workhouse " She kissed him, then seated herself again, and took another table-cloth on her lap, unfolding it a little way to look at the pattern, while the children stood by in mute wretchedness, their minds quite filled for the moment with the words " beggars " and " workhouse." " To think o' these cloths as I spun myself," she went on, lifting things out and turning them over with an excitement all the more strange and pite- ous because the stout blond woman was usually so passive : if she had been ruffled before, it was at the surface merely ; " and Job Haxey wove 'em, and brought the piece home on his back, as I remember THE DOWNFALL. 285 standing at the door and seeing him come, before I ever thought o' marrying your father ! And the pattern as I chose myself and bleached so beauti- ful, and I marked 'em so as nobody ever saw such marking, they must cut the cloth to get it out, for it 's a particular stitch. And they 're all to be sold and go into strange people's houses, and per- haps be cut with the knives, and wore out before I 'm dead. You '11 never have one of 'em, my boy," she said, looking up at Tom with her eyes full of tears, " and I meant 'em for you. I wanted you to have all o' this pattern. Maggie could have had the large check, it never shows so well when the dishes are on it." Tom was touched to the quick, but there was an angry reaction immediately. His face flushed as he said, " But will my aunts let them be sold, mother ? Do they know about it ? They '11 never let your linen go, will they ? Have n't you sent to them ? " " Yes, I sent Luke directly they 'd put the bailies in, and your aunt Pullet 's been and, oh dear, oh dear, she cries so, and says your father's disgraced my family and made it the talk o' the country ; and she '11 buy the spotted cloths for herself, because she 's never had so many as she wanted o' that pat- tern, and they sha'n't go to strangers, but she 's got more checks a'ready nor she can do with." (Here Mrs. Tulliver began to lay back the table-cloths in the chest, folding and stroking them automatically.) "And your uncle Glegg's been too, and he says things must be bought in for us to lie down on, but he must talk to your aunt ; and they 're all coming to consult. . . . But I know they'll none of 'em take my chany," she added, turning towards the 286 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. cups and saucers, " for they all found fault with 'em when I bought 'em 'cause 'o the small gold sprig all over 'em between the flowers. But there 's none of 'em got better chany, not even your aunt Pullet herself, and I bought it wi' my own money as I 'd saved ever since I was turned fifteen ; and the silver teapot, too, your father never paid for 'em. And to think as he should ha' married me, and brought me to this." Mrs. Tulliver burst out crying afresh, and she sobbed with her handkerchief at her eyes a few mo- ments, but then, removing it, she said in a deprecat- ing way, still half sobbing, as if she were called upon to speak before she could command her voice, " And I did say to him times and times, ' Whativer you do, don't go to law,' and what more could I do ? I 've had to sit by while my own f ortin 's been spent, and what should ha' been my children's too. You'll have niver a penny, my boy . . . but it isn't your poor mother's fault." She put out one arm towards Tom, looking up at him piteously with her helpless, childish blue eyes. The poor lad went to her and kissed her, and she clung to him. For the first time Tom thought of his father with some reproach. His natural incli- nation to blame, hitherto kept entirely in abeyance towards his father by the predisposition to think him always right, simply on the ground that he was Tom Tulliver's father, was turned into this new channel by his mother's plaints, and with his indignation against Wakem there began to mingle some indignation of another sort. Perhaps his father might have helped bringing them all down in the world, and making people talk of them with contempt; but no one should talk long of THE DOWNFALL. 287 Tom Tulliver with contempt. The natural strength and firmness of his nature was beginning to assert itself, urged by the double stimulus of resentment against his aunts, and the sense that he must behave like a man and take care of his mother. " Don't fret, mother," he said tenderly. " I shall soon be able to get money : I '11 get a situation of some sort." " Bless you, my boy ! " said Mrs. Tulliver, a lit- tle soothed. Then, looking round sadly, "But I should n't ha' minded so much if we could ha' kept the things wi' my name on 'em." Maggie had witnessed this scene with gathering anger. The implied reproaches against her father her father, who was lying there in a sort of living death neutralized all her pity for griefs about table- cloths and china ; and her anger on her father's account was heightened by some egoistic resent- ment at Tom's silent concurrence with her mother in shutting her out from the common calamity. She had become almost indifferent to her mother's habitual depreciation of her, but she was keenly alive to any sanction of it, however passive, that she might suspect in Tom. Poor Maggie was by no means made up of unalloyed devotedness, but put forth large claims for herself where she loved strongly. She burst out at last in an agitated, almost violent tone, " Mother, how can you talk so ? as if you cared only for things with your name on, and not for what has my father's name too and to care about anything but dear father him- self I when he 's lying there, and may never speak to us again. Tom, you ought to say so too, you ought not to let any one find fault with my father." 288 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Maggie, almost choked with mingled grief and anger, left the room, and took her old place on her father's bed. Her heart went out to him with a stronger movement than ever, at the thought that people would blame him. Maggie hated blame : she had been blamed all her life, and nothing had come of it but evil tempers. Her father had always defended and excused her, and her loving remem- brance of his tenderness was a force within her that would enable her to do or bear anything for his sake. Tom was a little shocked at Maggie's outburst, telling him as well as his mother what it was right to do ! She ought to have learned better than have those hectoring, assuming manners, by this time. But he presently went into his father's room, and the sight there touched him in a way that effaced the slighter impressions of the previous hour. When Maggie saw how he was moved, she went to him and put her arm round his neck as he sat by the bed, and the two children forgot everything else in the sense that they had one father and one sorrow. CHAPTER III. THE FAMILY COUNCIL. IT was at eleven o'clock the next morning that the aunts and uncles came to hold their consultation. The fire was lighted in the large parlour, and poor Mrs. Tulliver, .with a confused impression that it was a great occasion, like a funeral, unbagged the bell-rope tassels, and unpinned the curtains, adjust- ing them in proper folds, looking round and shak- ing her head sadly at the polished tops and legs of the tables, which sister Pullet herself could not accuse of insufficient brightness. Mr. Deane was not coming, he was away on business ; but Mrs. Deane appeared punctually in that handsome new gig with the head to it, and the livery-servant driving it, which had thrown so clear a light on several traits in her character to some of her female friends in St. Ogg's. Mr. Deane had been advancing in the world as rapidly as Mr. Tulliver had been going down in it ; and in Mrs. Deane's house the Dodson linen and plate were beginning to hold quite a subordinate position, as a mere supplement to the handsomer articles of the same kind, purchased in recent years: a change which had caused an occasional coolness in the sisterly intercourse between her and Mrs. Glegg, who felt that Susan was getting " like the rest," and there would soon be little of the true Dodson spirit surviving except in herself, and, it might be VOL. I. 19 290 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. hoped, in those nephews who supported the Dodson name on the family land, far away in the Wolds. People who live at a distance are naturally less faulty than those immediately under our own eyes ; and it seems superfluous, when we consider the re- mote geographical position of the Ethiopians, and how very little the Greeks had to do with them, to inquire further why Homer calls them " blameless." Mrs. Deane was the first to arrive ; and when she had taken her seat in the large parlour, Mrs. Tulliver came down to her with her comely face a little distorted, nearly as it would have been if she had been crying : she was not a woman who could shed abundant tears, except in moments when the prospect of losing her furniture became unusually vivid, but she felt how unfitting it was to be quite calm under present circumstances. " Oh, sister, what a world this is ! " she exclaimed as she entered ; " what trouble, oh dear ! " Mrs. Deane was a thin-lipped woman, who made small well-considered speeches on peculiar occa- sions, repeating them afterwards to her husband, and asking him if she had not spoken very properly. " Yes, sister," she said, delibsrately, " this is a changing world, and we don't know to-day what may happen to-morrow. But it 's right to be pre- pared for all things, and, if trouble 's sent, to remem- ber as it is n't sent without a cause. I 'm very sorry for you as a sister, and if the doctor orders jelly for Mr. Tulliver, I hope you '11 let me know : I '11 send it willingly. For it is but right he should have proper attendance while he's ill." "Thank you, Susan," said Mrs. Tulliver, rather faintly, withdrawing her fat hand from her sister's thin one. " But there 's been no talk o' jelly yet." THE DOWNFALL. 291 Then after a moment's pause she added, " There 's a dozen o' cut jelly-glasses upstairs. ... I shall never put jelly into 'em no more." Her voice was rather agitated as she uttered the last words, but the sound of wheels diverted her thoughts. Mr. and Mrs. Glegg were come, and were almost immediately followed by Mr. and Mrs. Pullet. Mrs. Pullet entered crying, as a compendious mode, at all times, of expressing what were her views of life in general, and what, in brief, were the opinions she held concerning the particular case before her. Mrs. Glegg had on her fuzziest front, and gar- ments which appeared to have had a recent resur- rection from rather a creasy form of burial, a costume selected with the high moral purpose of instilling perfect humility into Bessy and her children. " Mrs. G., won't you come nearer the fire ? " said her husband, unwilling to take the more comfortable seat without offering it to her. "You see I've seated myself here, Mr. Glegg," returned this superior woman ; " you can roast your- self, if you like." "Well," said Mr. Glegg, seating himself good- humouredly, " and how 's the poor man upstairs ? " "Dr. Turnbull thought him a deal better this morning," said Mrs. Tulliver ; " he took more notice, and spoke to me ; but he 's never known Tom yet, -looks at the poor lad as if he was a stranger, though he said something once about Tom and the pony. The doctor says his memory 's gone a long way back, and he does n't know Tom because he 's thinking of him when he was little. Eh dear, eh dear!" 292 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " I doubt it 's the water got on his "brain," said aunt Pullet, turning round from adjusting her cap in a melancholy way at the pier-glass. " It 's much if he ever gets up again ; and if he does, he '11 most like be childish, as Mr. Carr was, poor man ! They fed him with a spoon as if he'd been a babby for three year. He 'd quite lost the use of his limbs ; but then he 'd got a Bath chair, and somebody to draw him ; and that 's what you won't have, I doubt, Bessy." " Sister Pullet," said Mrs. Glegg, severely, " if I understand right, we've come together this morn- ing to advise and consult about what 's to be done in this disgrace as has fallen upon the family, and not to talk o' people as don't belong to us. Mr. Carr was none of our blood, nor noways connected with us, as I 've ever heared." "Sister Glegg," said Mrs. Pullet, in a pleading tone, drawing on her gloves again, and stroking the fingers in an agitated manner, " if you 've got any- thing disrespectful to say o' Mr. Carr, I do beg of you as you won't say it to me. / know what he was," she added, with a sigh ; " his breath was short to that degree as you could hear him two rooms off." " Sophy ! " said Mrs. Glegg, with indignant dis- gust, " you do talk o' people's complaints till it 's quite undecent. But I say again, as I said before, I did n't come away from home to talk about ac- quaintance, whether they'd short breath or long. If we are n't come together for one to hear what the other 'ull do to save a sister and her children from the parish, / shall go back. One can't act without the other, I suppo.se : it is n't to be expected as / should do everything." THE DOWNFALL. 293 " Well, Jane," said Mrs. Pullet, " I don't see as you Ve been so very forrard at doing. So far as I know, this is the first time as here you 've been, since it's been known as the bailiff's in the house ; and I was here yesterday, and looked at all Bessy's linen and things, and I told her I 'd buy in the spotted table-cloths. I could n't speak fairer ; for as for the teapot as she does n't want to go out o' tha family, it stands to sense I can't do with two silver teapots, not if it had n't a straight spout but the spotted damask I was allays fond on." " I wish it could be managed so as my teapot and chany and the best castors needn't be put up for sale/' said poor Mrs. Tulliver, beseechingly, " and the sugar-tongs, the first things ever I bought." " But that can't be helped, you know," said Mr. Glegg. " If one o' the family chooses to buy 'em in, they can, but one thing must be bid for as well as another." " And it is n't to be looked for," said uncle Pullet, with unwonted independence of idea, " as your own family should pay more for things nor they '11 fetch. They may go for an old song by auction." " Oh dear, oh dear," said Mrs. Tulliver, " to think o' my chany being sold i' that way and I bought it when I was married, just as you did yours, Jane and Sophy ; and I know you did n't like mine, be- cause o' the sprig, but I was fond of it ; and there 's never been a bit broke, for I 've washed it myself, and there 's the tulips on the cups, and the roses, as anybody might go and look at 'em for pleasure. You would n't like your chany to go for an old song and be broke to pieces, though yours has got no colour in it, Jane, it 's all white and fluted, and did n't cost so much as mine. And there 's the 294 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. castors sister Deane, I can't think but you 'd like to have the castors, for I Ve heard you say they 're pretty." "Well, I 've no objection to buy some of the best things," said Mrs. Deane, rather loftily ; " we can do with extra things in our house." " Best things ! " exclaimed Mrs. G-legg, with sever- ity, which had gathered intensity from her long silence. " It drives me past patience to hear you all talking o' best things, and buying in this, that, and the other, such as silver and chany. You must bring your mind to your circumstances, Bessy, and not be thinking o' silver and chany ; but whether you shall get so much as a flock-bed to lie on, and a blanket to cover you, and a stool to sit on. You must remember, if you get 'em, it '11 be because your friends have bought 'em for you, for you 're depen- dent upon them for everything ; for your husband lies there helpless, and has n't got a penny i' the world to call his own. And it 's for your own good I say this, for it 's right you should feel what your state is, and what disgrace your husband 's brought on your own family, as you 've got to look to for everything and be humble in your mind." Mrs. Glegg paused, for speaking with much energy for the good of others is naturally exhausting. Mrs. Tulliver, always borne down by the family pre- dominance of sister Jane, who had made her wear the yoke of a younger sister in very tender years, said pleadingly, " I 'm sure, sister, I Ve never asked anybody to do anything, only buy things as it 'ud be a pleasure to 'em to have, so as they might n't go and be spoiled i' strange houses. I never asked anybody to buy the things in for me and my children ; though there 'a THE DOWNFALL. 295 the linen I spun, and I thought when Tom was born I thought one o'- the first things when he was lying i' the cradle, as all the things I'd bought wi' my own money, and been so careful of, 'ud go to him. But I 've said nothing as I wanted my sisters to pay their money for me. What my husband has done for his sister 's unknown, and we should ha' been better off this day if it had n't been as he 's lent money and never asked for it again." " Come, come," said Mr. Glegg, kindly, " don't let us make things too dark. What 's done can't be undone. We shall make a shift among us to buy what 's sufficient for you ; though, as Mrs. G. says, they must be useful, plain things. We must n't le thinking o' what 's unnecessary. A table, and a chair or two, and kitchen things, and a good bed, and such-like. Why, I 've seen the day when I should n't ha' known myself if I 'd lain on sacking i'stead o' the floor. We get a deal o' useless things about us, only because we've got the money to spend." "Mr. Glegg," said Mrs. G., "if you'll be kind enough to let me speak, i'stead o' taking the words out o' my mouth I was going to say, Bessy, as it 's fine talking for you to say as you Ve never asked us to buy anything for you ; let me tell you, you ought to have asked us. Pray, how are you to be purvided for, if your own family don't help you? You must go to the parish, if they did n't. And you ought to know that, and keep it in mind, and ask us humble to do what we can for you, i'stead o' saying, and making a boast, as you 've never asked us for anything." " You talked o' the Mosses, and what Mr. Tul- liver 's done for 'em," said uncle Pullet, who became 296 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. unusually suggestive where advances of money were concerned. " Have n't they been anear you ? They ought to do something, as well as other folks ; and ; f he 's lent, 'ern money, they ought to be made to pay it back." " Yes, to be sure," said Mrs. Deane ; " I 've been thinking so. How is it Mr. and Mrs. Moss are n't here to meet us ? It is but right they should do their share." " Oh dear ! " said Mrs. Tulliver, " I never sent 'ein word about Mr. Tulliver, and they live so back'ard among the lanes at Basset, they niver hear anything only when Mr. Moss comes to market. But I niver gave 'em a thought. I wonder Maggie did n't, though, for she was allays so fond of her aunt Moss." " Why don't your children come in, Bessy ? " said Mrs. Pullet, at the mention of Maggie. " They should hear what their aunts and uncles have got to say ; and Maggie when it 's me as have paid for half her schooling, she ought to think more of her aunt Pullet than of aunt Mosses. I may go off sudden when I get home to-day, there 's no telling." " If I 'd had my way," said Mrs. Glegg, " the children 'ud ha' been in the room from the first. It- 's time they knew who they 've to look to, and it 's right as somebody should talk to 'em, and let 'em know their condition i' life, and what they 're come down to, and make 'em feel as they Ve got to suffer for their father's faults." " Well, I '11 go and fetch 'em, sister," said Mrs. Tulliver, resignedly. She was quite crushed now, and thought of the treasures in the store-room with no other feeling than blank despair. She went upstairs to fetch Tom and Maggie, who THE DOWNFALL. 297 were both in their father's room, and was on her way down again, when the sight of the store-room door suggested a new thought to her. She went towards it, and left the children to go down by themselves. The aunts and uncles appeared to have heen in warm discussion when the brother and sister entered, both with shrinking reluctance ; for though Tom, with a practical sagacity which had been roused into activity by the strong stimulus of the new emotions he had undergone since yesterday, had been turning over in his mind a plan which he meant to propose to one of his aunts or uncles, he felt by no means amicably towards them, and dreaded meeting them all at once as he would have dreaded a large dose of concentrated physic, which was but just endur- able in small draughts. As for Maggie, she was peculiarly depressed this morning: she had been called up, after brief rest, at three o'clock, and had that strange dreamy weariness which comes from watching in a sick-room through the chill hours of early twilight and bieaking day, in which the outside daylight life seems to have no impor- tance, and to be a mere margin to the hours in the darkened chamber. Their entrance interrupted the conversation. The shaking of hands was a melancholy and silent ceremony, till uncle Pullet observed, as Tom approached him, " Well, young sir, we 've been talking as we should want your pen and ink ; you can write rarely now, after all your schooling, I should think." " Ay, ay," said uncle Glegg, with admonition which he meant to be kind, " we must look to see the goud of all this schooling, as your father 8 s sunk so much money in now 298 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. 'When land is gone and money's spent, Then learning is most excellent.' Now 's the time, Tom, to let us see the good o' yout learning. Let us see whether you can do better than I can, as haVe made my fortin without it. But I began wi' doing with little, you see : I could live on a basin o' porridge and a crust o' bread-and-cheese. But I doubt high living and high learning 'nil make it harder for you, young man, nor it was for me." " But he must do it," interposed aunt Glegg, ener- getically, " whether it 's hard or no. He has n't got to consider what's hard; he must consider as he is n't to trusten to his friends to keep him in idle- ness and luxury : he 's got to bear the fruits of his father's misconduct, and bring his mind to fare hard and to work hard. And he must be humble and grateful to his aunts and uncles for what they 're doing for his mother and father, as must be turned out into the streets and go to the workhouse if they did n't help 'em. And his sister, too," continued Mrs. Glegg, looking severely at Maggie, who had sat down on the sofa by her aunt Deane, drawn to her by the sense that she was Lucy's mother, " she must make up her mind to be humble and work ; for there '11 be no servants to wait on her any more she must remember that. She must do the work o' the house, and she must respect and love her aunts as have done so much for her, and saved their money to leave to their nepheys and nieces." Tom was still standing before the table in the centre of the group. There was a heightened colour in his face, and he was very far from looking humbled, but he was preparing to say, in a respect- ful tone, something he had previously meditated, when the door opened and his mother re-entered. THE DOWNFALL. 299 Poor Mrs. Tulliver had in her hands a small tray, on which she had placed her silver teapot, a speci- men teacup and saucer, the castors, and sugar-tongs. " See here, sister," she said, looking at Mrs. Deane, as she set the tray on the table, " I thought, perhaps, if you looked at the teapot again, it 's a good while since you saw it, you might like the pattern better : it makes beautiful tea, and there 's a stand and everything : you might use it for every day, or else lay it by for Lucy when she goes to housekeep- ing. I should be so loath for 'em to buy it at the Golden Lion," said the poor woman, her heart swell- ing, and the tears coming, " my teapot as I bought when I was married, and to think of its being scratched, and set before the travellers and folks, and my letters on it see here, E. D. and every- body to see 'em." " Ah, dear, dear ! " said aunt Pullet, shaking her head with deep sadness, " it 's very bad, to think o' the family initials going about everywhere, it niver was so before : you 're a very unlucky sister, Bessy. But what's the use o' buying the teapot, when there 's the linen and spoons and everything to go, and some of 'em with your full name, and when it 's got that straight spout too ? " "As to disgrace o' the family," said Mrs. Glegg, " that can't be helped wi' buying teapots. The dis- grace is, for one o' the family to ha' married a man as has brought her to beggary. The disgrace is, as they 're to be sold up. We can't hinder the country from knowing that." Maggie had started up from the sofa at the allu- sion to her father, but Tom saw her action and flushed face in time to prevent her from speaking. " Be quiet, Maggie," he said, authoritatively, push- 300 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. ing her aside. It was a remarkable manifestation of self-command and practical judgment in a lad of fifteen, that when his aunt Glegg ceased, he began to speak in a quiet and respectful manner, though with a good deal of trembling in his voice ; for his mother's words had cut him to the quick. "Then, aunt," he said, looking straight at Mrs. Glegg, "if you think it's a disgrace to the family that we should be sold up, would n't it be better to prevent it altogether ? And if you and my aunt Pullet," he continued, looking at the latter, " think of leaving any money to me and Maggie, would n't it be better to give it now, and pay the debt we 're going to be sold up for, and save my mother from parting with her furniture ? " There was silence for a few moments, for every one, including Maggie, was astonished at Tom's sudden manliness of tone. Uncle Glegg was the first to speak. "Ay, ay, young man, come now! You show some notion o' things. But there 's the interest, you must remember ; your aunts get five per cent on their money, and they 'd lose that if they ad- vanced it, you haven't thought o' that." "I could work and pay that every year," said Tom, promptly. "I'd do anything to save my mother from parting with her things." " Well done ! " said uncle Glegg, admiringly. He had been drawing Tom out, rather than reflecting on the practicability of his proposal. But he had produced the unfortunate result of irritating his wife. " Yes, Mr. Glegg ! " said that lady, with angry sarcasm. "It's pleasant work for you to be giving my money away, as you Ve pretended to leave at THE DOWNFALL. 301 my own disposal. And my money, as was my own father's gift, and not yours, Mr. Glegg ; and I 've saved it, and added to it myself, and had more to put out almost every year, and it 's to go and be sunk in other folks' furniture, and encourage 'em in luxury and extravagance as they Ve no means of supporting ; and I 'm to alter my will, or have a codicil made, and leave two or three hundred less behind me when I die, me as have allays done right and been careful, and the eldest o' the family ; and my money 's to go and be squandered on them as have had the same chance as me, only they 've been wicked and wasteful. Sister Pullet, you may do as you like, and you may let your husband rob you back again o' the money he's given you, but that is n't my sperrit." " La, Jane, how fiery you are ! " said Mrs. Pullet. " I 'm sure you 11 have the blood in your head, and have to be cupped. I'm sorry for Bessy and her children, I 'm sure I think of 'em o' nights dread- ful, for I sleep very bad wi' this new medicine ; but it 's no use for me to think o' doing anything, if you won't meet me half-way." "Why, there's this to be considered," said Mr. Glegg. " It 's no use to pay off this debt and save the furniture, when there 's all the law debts be- hind, as s ud take every shilling, and more than could be made out o' land and stock, for I 've made that out from Lawyer Gore. We 'd need save our money to keep the poor man with, instead o' spending it on furniture as he can neither eat nor drink. You will be so hasty, Jane, as if I didn't know what was reasonable." " Then speak accordingly, Mr. Glegg ! " said his wife, with slow, loud emphasis, bending her head towards him significantly. 302 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Tom's countenance had fallen during this conver- sation, and his lip quivered ; but he was determined not to give way. He would behave like a man. Maggie, on the contrary, after her momentary de- light in Tom's speech, had relapsed into her state of trembling indignation. Her mother had been standing close by Tom's side, and had been clinging to his arm ever since he had last spoken : Maggie suddenly started up and stood in front of them, her eyes flashing like the eyes of a young lioness. " Why do you come, then," she burst out, " talk- ing and interfering with us and scolding us, if you don't mean to do anything to help my poor mother, your own sister, if you've no feeling for her when she's in trouble, and won't part with anything, though you would never miss it, to save her from pain ? Keep away from us, then, and don't come to find fault with my father, he was better than any of you, he was kind, he would have helped you, if you had been in trouble. Tom and I don't ever want to have any of your money, if you won't help my mother. We 'd rather not have it ! we '11 do without you." Maggie, having hurled her defiance at aunts and uncles in this way, stood still, with her large dark eyes glaring at them, as if she were ready to await all consequences. Mrs. Tulliver was frightened; there was some- thing portentous in this mad outbreak ; she did not see how life could go on after it. Tom was vexed ; it was no use to talk so. The aunts were silent with surprise for some moments. At length, in a case of aberration such as this, comment pre- sented itself as more expedient than any answer. " You have n't seen the end o 1 your trouble wi' THE DOWNFALL. 303 that child, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet ; " she 's beyond everything for boldness and unthankfulness. It's dreadful. I might ha' let alone paying for her schooling, for she's worse nor ever." "It's no more than what I've allays said," fol- lowed Mrs. Glegg. " Other folks may be surprised, but I 'm not. I Ve said over and over again, years ago I've said, 'Mark my words; that child 'ull come to no good : there is n't a bit of our family in her.' And as for her having so much schooling, I never thought well o' that. I 'd my reasons when I said / would n't pay anything towards it." "Come, come," said Mr. Glegg, "let's waste no more time in talking, let 's go to business. Tom, now, get the pen and ink " While Mr. Glegg was speaking, a tall dark figure was seen hurrying past the window. " Why, there 's Mrs. Moss," said Mrs. Tulliver. " The bad news must ha' reached her, then ; " and she went out to open the door, Maggie eagerly following her. "That's fortunate," said Mrs. Glegg. "She can agree to the list o' things to be bought in. It 's but right she should do her share when it 's rier own brother." Mrs. Moss was in too much agitation to resist Mrs. Tulliver's movement, as she drew her into the parlour, automatically, without reflecting that it was hardly kind to take her among so many persons in the first painful moment of arrival. The tall, worn, dark-haired woman was a strong contrast to the Dodson sisters as she entered in her shabby dress, with her shawl and bonnet looking as if they had been hastily huddled on, and with that entire ab- sence of self-consciousness which belongs to keenly 304 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. felt trouble. Maggie was clinging to her arm ; and Mrs. Moss seemed to notice no one else except Tom, whom she went straight up to and took by the hand. " Oh, my dear children," she burst out, " you Ve no call to think well o' me ; I 'm a poor aunt to you, for I 'm one o' them as take all and give nothing. . How 's my poor brother ? " "Mr. Turnbull thinks he'll get better," said Maggie. " Sit down, aunt Gritty. Don't fret." "Oh, my sweet child, I feel torn i' two," said Mrs. Moss, allowing Maggie to lead her to the sofa, but still not seeming to notice the presence of the rest. " We 've three hundred pounds o' my brother's money, and now he wants it, and you all want it, poor things ! and yet we must be sold up to pay it, and there's my poor children eight of 'em, and the little un of all can't speak plain. And I feel as if I was a robber. But I'm sure I'd no thought as my brother " The poor woman was interrupted by a rising sob. " Three hundred pounds ! oh dear, dear ! " said Mrs. T\illiver, who, when she had said that her husband had done " unknown " things for his sis- ter, had not had any particular sum in her mind, and felt a wife's irritation at having been kept in the dark. " What madness, to be sure ! " said Mrs. Glegg. " A man with a family ! He 'd no right to lend his money i' that way; and without security, I'll be bound, if the truth was known." Mrs. Glegg's voice had arrested Mrs. Moss's at- tention, and, looking up, she said, " Yes, there was security : my husband gave a THE DOWNFALL. 305 note for it. We 're not that sort o' people, neither of us, as 'ud rob my brother's children ; and we looked to paying back the money when the times got a bit better." "Well, but now," said Mr. Glegg, gently, "hasn't your husband no way o' raising this money ? Be- cause it'd be a little fortin, like, for these folks, if we can do without Tulliver's being made a bank- rupt. Your husband's got stock : it is but right he should raise the money, as it seems to me, not but what I 'm sorry for you, Mrs. Moss." " Oh, sir, you don't know what bad luck my hus- band 's had with his stock. The farm 's suffering so as never was for want o' stock ; and we Ve sold all the wheat, and we 're behind with our rent . . . not but what we 'd like to do what 's right, and I 'd sit up and work half the night, if it 'ud be any good . . . but there's them poor children . . . four of em such little uns "Don't cry so, aunt, don't, fret," whispered Maggie, who had kept hold of Mrs. Moss's hand. " Did Mr. Tulliver let you have the money all at once ? " said Mrs. Tulliver, still lost in the concep- tion of things which had been "going on" without her knowledge. " No ; at twice," said Mrs. Moss, rubbing her eyes, and making an effort to restrain her tears. " The last was after my bad illness, four years ago, as everything went wrong, and there was a new note made then. What with illness and bad luck, I Ve been nothing but cumber all my life." " Yes, Mrs. Moss," said Mrs. Glegg, with decision. " Yours is a very unlucky family ; the more 's the pity for my sister." " I set off' in the cart as soon as ever I heard o' VOL. I. 20 306 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. what had happened," said Mrs. Moss, looking at Mrs. Tulliver. " I should never ha' stayed away all this while, if you 'd thought well to let me know. And it is n't as I 'm thinking all about our- selves, and nothing about my brother, only the money was so on my mind, I couldn't help speak- ing about it. And my husband and me desire to do the right thing, sir," she added, looking at Mr. Glegg, " and we '11 make shift and pay the money, come what will, if that 's all my brother 's got to trust to. We've been used to trouble, and don't look for much else. It 's only the thought o' my poor children pulls me i' two." " Why, there 's this to be thought on, Mrs. Moss," said Mr. Glegg, " and it 's right to warn you ; if Tulliver 's made a bankrupt, and he's got a note-of-hand of your husband's for three hundred pounds, you '11 be obliged to pay it : tb' assignees 'ull come on you for it." " Oh dear, oh dear ! " said Mrs. Tulliver, thinking of the bankruptcy, and not of Mrs. Moss's concern in it. Poor Mrs. Moss herself listened in trembling submission, while Maggie looked with bewildered distress at Tom to see if he showed any signs of understanding this trouble, and caring about poor aunt Moss. Tom was only looking thoughtful, with his eyes on the table-cloth. " And if he is n't made bankrupt," continued Mr. Glegg, " as I said before, three hundred pounds 'ud be a little fortin for him, poor man. We don't know but what he may be partly helpless, if he ever gets up again. I 'm very sorry if it goes hard with you, Mrs. Moss, but my opinion is, looking at it one way, it '11 be right for you to raise the money ; and looking at it th' other way, you '11 be THE DOWNFALL. 307 obliged to pay it. You won't think ill o' me for speaking the truth." " Uncle," said Tom, looking up suddenly from his meditative view of the table-cloth. "I don't think it would be right for my aunt Moss to pay the money, if it would be against my father's will for her to pay it ; would it ? " Mr. Glegg looked surprised for a moment or two before he said, " Why, no, perhaps not, Tom ; but then he 'd ha' destroyed the note, you know. We must look for the note. What makes you think it 'ud be against his will?" " Why," said Tom, colouring, but trying to speak firmly, in spite of a boyish tremor, " I remember quite well, before I went to school to Mr. Stelling, my father said to me one night, when we were sit- ting by the fire together, and no one else was in the room " Tom hesitated a little, and then went on. " He said something to me about Maggie, and then he said, ' I 've always been good to my sister, though she married against my will, and I've lent Moss money ; but I shall never think of dis- tressing him to pay it: I'd rather lose it. My children must not mind being the poorer for that.' And now my father's ill, and not able to speak for himself, I should n't like anything to be done contrary to what he said to me." " Well, but then, my boy," said uncle Glegg, whose good feeling led him to enter into Tom's wish, but who could not at once shake off his habitual abhorrence of such recklessness as destroy- ing securities, or alienating anything important enough to make an appreciable difference in a man's property, " we should have to make away 3o8 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. wi' the note, you know, if we 're to guard against what may happen, supposing your father's made bankrupt " " Mr. Glegg," interrupted his wife, severely, " mind what you 're saying. You 're putting yourself very forrard in other folks's business. If you speak rash, don't say it was my fault." " That 's such a thing as I never beared of before," said uncle Pullet, who had been making haste with his lozenge in order to express his amazement; " making away with a note ! I should think any- body could set the constable on you for it." "Well, but," said Mrs. Tulliver, "if the note's worth all that money, why can't we pay it away, and save my things from going away ? We 've no call to meddle with your uncle and aunt Moss, Tom, if you think your father 'ud be angry when he gets well." Mrs. Tulliver had not studied the question of exchange, and was straining her mind after original ideas on the subject. " Pooh, pooh, pooh ! you women don't understand these things," said uncle Glegg. " There 's no way o' making it safe for Mr. and Mrs. Moss but de- stroying the note." " Then I hope you '11 help me to do it, uncle," said Tom, earnestly. " If my father should n't get well, I should be very unhappy to think anything had been done against his will, that I could hinder. And I 'm sure he meant me to remember what he said that evening. I ought to obey my father's wish about his property." Even Mrs. Glegg could not withhold her approval from Tom's words : she felt that the Dodson blood was certainly speaking in him, though, if his father THE DOWNFALL. 309 had been a Dodson, there would never have been this wicked alienation of money. Maggie would hardly have restrained herself from leaping on Tom's neck, if her aunt Moss had not prevented her by herself rising and taking Tom's hand, while she said with rather a choked voice, " You 11 never be the poorer for this, my dear boy, if there's a God above; and if the money's wanted for your father, Moss and me 'ull pay it, the same as if there was ever such security. We '11 do as we 'd be done by ; for if my children have got no other luck, they Ve got an honest father and mother." " Well," said Mr. Glegg, who had been meditating after Tom's words, " we should n't be doing any wrong by the creditors, supposing your father was bankrupt. I 've been thinking o' that, for I 've been a creditor myself, and seen no end o' cheating. If he meant to give your aunt the money before ever he got into this sad work o' la wing, it 's the same as if he 'd made away with the note himself ; for he 'd made up his mind to be that much poorer. But there 's a deal o' things to be considered, young man," Mr. Glegg added, looking admonishingly at Tom, " when you come to money business, and you may be taking one man's dinner away to make another man's breakfast. You don't understand that, I doubt?" " Yes, I do," said Tom, decidedly. " I know if I owe money to one man, I 've no right to give it to another. But if iny father had made up his mind to give my aunt the money before he was in debt, he had a right to do it." " Well done, young man ! I did n't think you 'd been so sharp," said uncle Glegg, with much candour. 3io THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " But perhaps your father did make away with the note. Let us go and see if we can find it in the chest." " It 's in my father's room. Let us go too, aunt Gritty," whispered Maggie. CHAPTER IV. A VANISHING GLEAM. MR. TULLIVER, even between the fits of spasmodic rigidity which had recurred at intervals ever since he had been found fallen from his horse, was usually in so apathetic a condition that the exits and en- trances into his room were not felt to be of great importance. He had lain so still, with his eyes closed, all this morning, that Maggie told her aunt Moss she must not expect her father to take any notice of them. They entered very quietly, and Mrs. Moss took her seat near the head of the bed, while Maggie sat in her old place on the bed, and put her hand on her father's without causing any change in his face. v Mr. Glegg and Tom had also entered, treading softly, and were busy selecting the key of the old oak chest from the bunch which Tom had brought from his father's bureau. They succeeded in open- ing the chest which stood opposite the foot of Mr. Tulliver's bed and propping the lid with the iron holder, without much noise. " There 's a tin box," whispered Mr. Glegg ; " he 'd most like put a small thing like a note in there. Lift it out, Tom ; but I '11 just lift up these deeds - they 're the deeds o' the house and mill, I suppose and see what there is under 'em." Mr. .Glegg had lifted out the parchments, and 312 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. had fortunately drawn back a little, when the iron holder gave way, and the heavy lid fell with a loud bang that resounded over the house. Perhaps there was something in that sound more than the mere fact of the strong vibration that produced the instantaneous effect on the frame of the prostrate man, and for the time completely shook off the obstruction of paralysis. The chest had belonged to his father and his father's father, and it had always been rather a solemn business to visit it All long-known objects, even a mere window-fastening or a particular door-latch, have sounds which are a sort of recognized voice to us, a voice that will thrill and awaken, when it has been used to touch deep-lying tibres. In the same moment when all the eyes in the room were turned upon him, he started up and looked at the chest, the parchments in Mr. Glegg's hand, and Tom holding the tin box, with a glance of perfect con- sciousness and recognition. " What are you going to do with those deeds ? " he said, in his ordinary tone of sharp questioning whenever he was irritated. " Come here, Tom. What do you do, going to my chest ? " Tom obeyed, with some trembling: it was the first time his father had recognized him. But in- stead of saying anything more to him, his father continued to look with a growing distinctness of suspicion at Mr. Glegg and the deeds. " What 's been happening, then ? " he said sharply. " What are you meddling with my deeds f or ? Is Wakem laying hold of everything ? . . . Why don't you tell me what you 've been a-doing ? " he added impatiently, as Mr. Glegg advanced to the foot of the bed before speaking. THE DOWNFALL. 313 " No, no, friend Tulliver," said Mr. Glegg, in a soothing tone. " Nobody 's getting hold of anything as yet. We only came to look and see what was in the chest. You 've been ill, you know, and we Ve had to look after things a bit. But let 's hope you 11 soon be well enough to attend to everything your~ self." Mr. Tulliver looked round him meditatively, at Tom, at Mr. Glegg, and at Maggie ; then suddenly appearing aware that some was seated by his side at the head of the bed, he turned sharply round and saw his sister. " Eh, Gritty ! " he said, in the half-sad, affection- ate tone in which he had been wont to speak to her. " What ! you 're there, are you ? How could you manage to leave the children ? " " Oh, brother ! " said good Mrs. Moss, too impul- sive to be prudent, " 1 'm thankful I 'm come now to see you yourself again, I thought you 'd never know us any more." " What ! have I had a stroke ?" said Mr. Tulliver, anxiously, looking at Mr. Glegg. " A fall from your horse, shook* you a bit, that 's all, I think," said Mr. Glegg. " But you '11 soon get over it, let 's hope." Mr. Tulliver fixed his eyes on the bed-clothes, and remained silent for two or three minutes. A new shadow came over his face. He looked up at Maggie first, and said in a lower tone, " You got the letter, then, my wench ? " " Yes, father," she said, kissing him with a full heart. She felt as if her father were come back to her from the dead, and her yearning to show him how she had always loved him could be fulfilled. " Where 's your mother ?" he said, so preoccupied 3 i4 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. that he received the kiss as passively as some quiet animal might have received it. "She's downstairs with my aunts, father; shall I fetch her ? " " Ay, ay : poor Bessy ! " and his eyes turned towards Tom as Maggie left the room. " You '11 have to take care of 'em both if I die, you know, Tom. You '11 be badly off, I doubt. But you must see and pay everybody. And mind, there 's fifty pound o' Luke's as I put into the busi- ness, he gave it me a bit at a time, and he 's got nothing to show for it. You must pay him first thing." Uncle Glegg involuntarily shook his head, and looked more concerned than ever, but Tom said firmly, " Yes, father. And have n't you a note from my uncle Moss for three hundred pounds ? We came to look for that. What do you wish to be done about it, father?" " Ah ! I 'm glad you thought o' that, my lad," said Mr. Tulliver. " I allays meant to be easy about that money, because o' your aunt. You must n't mind losing the money, if they can't pay it, and it's like enough they can't. The note's in that box, mind! I allays meant to be good to you, Gritty," said Mr. Tulliver, turning to his sister ; " but, you know, you aggravated me when you would have Moss." At this moment Maggie re-entered with her mother, who came in much agitated by the news that her husband was quite himself again. " Well, Bessy," he said, as she kissed him, " you must forgive me if you 're worse off than you ever expected to be. But it 's the fault o' the law, it 's THE DOWNFALL. 315 none o' mine," he added angrily. " It 's the fault o' raskills ! Tom, you mind this : if ever you 've got the chance, you make Wakem smart. If you don't, you're a good-for-nothing son. You might horse- whip him, but he'd set the law on you, the law's made to take care o' raskills." Mr. Tulliver was getting excited, and an alarming flush was on his face. Mr. Glegg wanted to say something soothing, but he was prevented by Mr. Tulliver's speaking again to his wife. " They '11 make a shift to pay everything, Bessy," he said, "and yet leave, you your furniture; and your sis- ters '11 do something for you . . . and Tom '11 grow up ... though what he 's to be I don't know . . . I Ve done what I could . . . I Ve given him an eddi- cation . . . and there 's the little wench, she '11 get married . . . but it 's a poor tale " The sanative effect of the strong vibration was exhausted, and with the last words the poor man fell again, rigid and insensible. Though this was only a recurrence of what had happened before, it struck all present as if it had been death, not only from its contrast with the completeness of the re- vival, but because his words had all had reference to the possibility that his death was near. But with poor Tulliver death was not to be a leap : it was to be a long descent under thickening shadows. Mr. Turnbull was sent for ; but when he heard what had passed, he said this complete restoration, though only temporary, was a hopeful sign, proving that there was no permanent lesion to prevent ulti- mate recovery. Among the threads of the past which the stricken man had gathered up, he had omitted the bill of sale ; the flash of memory had only lit up promi- 316 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. nent ideas, and he sank into forgetfulness again with half his humiliation unlearned. But Tom was clear upon two points, that his uncle Moss's note must be destroyed, and that Luke's money must be paid, if in no, other way, out of his own and Maggie's money now in the savings- bank. There were subjects, you perceive, on which Tom was much quicker than on the niceties of classical construction, or the relations of a mathe- matical demonstration. CHAPTEE V. TOM APPLIES HIS KNIFE TO THE OYSTER. THE next day, at ten o'clock, Tom was on his way to St. Ogg's, to see his uncle Deane, who was to come home last night, his aunt had said ; and Tom had made up his mind that his uncle Deane was the right person to ask for advice about getting some employment. He was in a great way of business ; he had not the narrow notions of uncle Glegg ; and he had risen in the world on a scale of advancement which accorded with Tom's ambition. It was a dark, chill, misty morning, likely to end in rain, one of those mornings "when even happy people take refuge in their hopes. And Tom was very unhappy : he felt the humiliation as well as the prospective hardships of his lot with all the keen- ness of a proud nature ; and with all his resolute dutif uluess towards his father there mingled an irre- pressible indignation against him which gave mis- fortune the less endurable aspect of a wrong. Since these were the consequences of going to law, his father was really blamable, as his aunts and uncles had always said he was ; and it was a significant indication of Tom's character, that though he thought his aunts ought to do something more for his mother, he felt nothing like Maggie's violent resent- ment against them for showing no eager tenderness and generosity. There were no impulses in Tom that led him to expect what did not present itself 3 i8 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. to him as a right to be demanded. Why should people give away their money plentifully to those who had not taken care of their own money ? Tom saw some justice in severity; and all the more, because he had confidence in himself that he should never deserve that just severity. It was very hard upon him that he should be put at this disadvantage in life by his father's want of prudence ; but he was not going to complain and to find fault with people because they did not make everything easy for him. He would ask no one to help him, more than to give him work and pay him for it. Poor Tom was not without his hopes to take refuge in under the chill damp imprisonment of the December fog which seemed only like a part of his home troubles. At sixteen, the mindthat has the strongest affinity for fact cannot escape illusion and self-flattery ; and Tom, in sketching his future, had no other guide in arranging his facts than the suggestions of his own brave self-reliance. Both Mr. Gleggand Mr. Deane, he knew, had been very poor once ; he did not want to save money slowly and retire on a moderate for- tune like his uncle Glegg, but he would be like his uncle Deane, get a situation in some great house of business and rise fast. He had scarcely seen anything of his uncle Deane for the last three years, the two families had been getting wider apart ; but for this very reason Tom was the more hopeful about applying to him. His uncle Glegg, he felt sure, would never encourage any spirited project, but he had a vague imposing idea of the resources at his uncle Deane's command. He had heard his father say, long ago, how Deane had made bimself so valuable to Guest & Co. that they were glad enough to oiler him a share in the business ; that THE DOWNFALL. 319 was what Tom resolved he would do. It was intoler- able to think of being poor and looked down upon all one's life. He would provide for his mother and sister, and make every one say that he was a man of high character. He leaped over the years in this way, and in the haste of strong purpose and strong desire, did not see how they would be made up of slow days, hours, and minutes. By the time he had crossed the stone bridge over the Floss and was entering St. Ogg's, he was think- ing that he would buy his father's mill and land again when he was rich enough, and improve the house and live there : he should prefer it to any smarter, newer place, and he could keep as many horses and dogs as he liked. Walking along the street with a firm, rapid step, at this point in his reverie he was startled by some one who had crossed without his notice, and who said to him in a rough, familiar voice, " Why, Master Tom, how 's your father this morning ? " It was a publican of St. Ogg's, one of his father's customers. Tom disliked being spoken to just then ; but he said civilly, " He 's still very ill, thank you." " Ay, it 's been a sore chance for you, young man, has n't it ? this lawsuit turning out against him," said the publican, with a confused beery idea of being good-natured. Tom reddened and passed on: he would have felt it like the handling of a bruise, even if there had been the most polite and delicate reference to his position. " That 's Tulliver's son," said the publican to a grocer standing on the adjacent door-step. " Ah ! " said the grocer, " I thought I knew his 320 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. features. He takes after his mother's family; she was a Dodson. He 's a fine, straight youth : what 's he been brought up to ? " " Oh ! to turn up his nose at his father's cus- tomers, and be a fine gentleman, not much else, I think." Tom, roused from his dream of the future to a thorough consciousness of the present, made all the greater haste to reach the warehouse offices of Guest & Co., where he expected to find his uncle Deane. But this was Mr. Deane's morning at the bank, a clerk told him, with some contempt for his ignorance : Mr. Deane was not to be found in River Street on a Thursday morning. At the bank Tom was admitted into the private room where his uncle was, immediately after sending in his name. Mr. Deane was auditing accounts ; but he looked up as Tom entered, and, putting out his hand, said, "Well, Tom, nothing fresh the matter at home, I hope ? How 's your father ? " "Much the same, thank you, uncle," said Tom, feeling nervous. " But I want to speak to you, please, when you 're at liberty." "Sit down, sit down," said Mr. Deane, relapsing into his accounts, in which he and the managing- clerk remained so absorbed for the next half-hour that Tom began to wonder whether he should have to sit in this way till the bank closed, there seemed so little tendency towards a conclusion in the quiet monotonous procedure of these sleek, prosperous men of business. Would his uncle give him a place in the bank? It would be very dull, prosy work, he thought, writing there forever to the loud ticking of a timepiece. He preferred THE DOWNFALL. 321 some other way of getting rich. But at last there was a change : his uncle took a pen and wrote something with a flourish at the end. " You '11 just step up to Torry's now, Mr. Spence, will you ? " said Mr. Deane ; and the clock suddenly became less loud and deliberate in Tom's ears. " Well, Tom," said Mr. Deane when they were alone, turning his substantial person a little in his chair, and taking out his snuff-box, " what 's the business, my boy, what 's the business ? " Mr. Deane, who had heard from his wife what had passed the day before, thought Tom was come to appeal to him for some means of averting the sale. "I hope you'll excuse me for troubling you, uncle," said Tom, colouring, but speaking in a tone which, though tremulous, had a certain proud in- dependence in it ; " but I thought you were the best person to advise me what to do." "Ah!" said Mr. Deane, reserving his pinch of snuff, and looking at Tom with new attention, " let us hear." " I want to get a situation, uncle, so that I may earn some money," said Tom, who never fell into circumlocution. " A situation ? " said Mr. Deane, and then took his pinch of snuff with elaborate justice to each nostril. Tom thought snuff-taking a most provok- ing habit. " Why, let me see, how old are you ? " said Mr. Deane, as he threw himself backward again. "Sixteen, I mean, I am going in seventeen," said Tom, hoping his uncle noticed how much beard he had. " Let me see, your father had some notion of making you an engineer, I think ? " VOL. I. 21 322 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " But I don't think I could get any money at that for a long while, could I ? " "That's true ; but people don't get much money at anything, my boy, when they 're only sixteen. You 've had a good deal of schooling^ however : I supposs you 're pretty well up in accounts, eh ? You understand book-keeping?" " No, " said Tom, rather falteringly. " I was in Practice. But Mr. Stelling says I write a good hand, uncle. That's my writing," added Tom, lay- ing on the table a copy of the list he had made yesterday. " Ah ! that 's good, that 's good. But, you see, the best hand in the world '11 not get you a better place than a copying-clerk's, if you know nothing of book-keeping, nothing of accounts. And a copying-clerk's a cheap article. But what have you been learning at school, then ? " Mr. Deane had not occupied himself with methods of education, and had no precise conception of what went forward in expensive schools. " We learned Latin," said Tom, pausing a little between each item, as if he were turning over the books in his school-desk to assist his memory, " a good deal of Latin ; and the last year I did Themes, one week in Latin and one in English ; and Greek and Roman History ; and Euclid ; and I began Algebra, but I left it off again ; and we had one day every week for Arithmetic. Then I used to have drawing-lessons ; and there were several other books we either read or learned out of, English Poetry, and Horse Paulinae, and Blair's Rhetoric, the last half." Mr. Deane tapped his snuff-box again, and screwed up his mouth : he felt in the position of THE DOWNFALL. 323 many estimable persons when they had read the New Tariff, and found how many commodities were imported of which they knew nothing : like a cautious man of business, he was not going to speak rashly of a raw material in which he had had no experience. But the presumption was, that if it had been good for anything, so successful a man as himself would hardly have been ignorant of it. About Latin he had an opinion, and thought that in case of another war, since people would no longer wear hair-powder, it would be well to put a tax upon Latin as a luxury much run upon by the higher classes, and not telling at all on the ship-owning department. But, for what he knew, the Horse Paulinse might be something less neutral. On the whole, this list of acquirements gave him a sort of repulsion towards poor Tom. " Well," he said, at last, in rather a cold sardonic tone, " you Ve had three years at these things, you must be pretty strong in 'em. Hadn't you better take up some line where they '11 come in handy?" Tom coloured, and burst out with new energy, "I'd rather not have any employment of that sort, uncle. I don't like Latin and those things. I don't know what I could do with them unless I went as usher in a school ; and I don't know them well enough for that : besides, I would as soon carry a pair of panniers. I don't want to be that sort of person. I should like to enter into some business where I can get on, a manly business, where I should have to look after things, and get credit for what I did. And I shall want to keep my mother and sister." "Ah, young gentleman," said Mr. Deane, with 324 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. that tendency to repress youthful hopes which stout and successful men of fifty find one of their easiest duties, " that 's sooner said than done, sooner said than done." " But did n't you get on in that way, uncle ? " said Tom, a little irritated that Mr. Deane did not enter more rapidly into his views. " I mean, did n't you rise from one place to another through your abilities and good conduct ? " " Ay, ay, sir," said Mr. Deane, spreading himself in his chair a little, and entering with great readi- ness into a retrospect of his own career. " But I '11 tell you how I got on. It was n't by getting astride a stick, and thinking it would turn into a horse if I sat on it long enough. I kept my eyes and ears open, sir, and I was n't too fond of my own back, and I made my master's interest my own. Why, with only looking into what went on in the mill, I found out how there was a waste of five hundred a year that might be hindered. Why, sir, I had n't more schooling to begin with than a charity boy ; but I saw pretty soon that I could n't get on far without mastering accounts, and I learned 'em between working hours, after I'd been unlading. Look here." Mr. Deane opened a book, and pointed to the page. " I write a good hand enough, and I '11 match anybody at all sorts of reckoning by the head, and I got it all by hard work, and paid for it out of my own earnings, often out of my own dinner and supper. And I looked into the nature of all the things we had to do with in the business, and picked up knowledge as I went about my work, and turned it over in my head. Why, I'm no mechanic, I never pretended to be, but I've thought of a thing or two that the mechanics never THE DOWNFALL. 325 thought of, and it 's made a fine difference in our returns. And there is n't an article shipped or un- shipped at our wharf but I know the quality of it. If I got places, sir, it was because I made myself fit for 'em. If you want to slip into a round hole, you must make a ball of yourself, that 's where it is." Mr. Deane tapped his box again. He had been led on by pure enthusiasm in his subject, and had really forgotten what bearing this retrospective survey had on his listener. He had found occasion for saying the same thing more than once before, and was not distinctly aware that he had not his port-wine before him. " Well, uncle," said Tom, with a slight complaint in his tone, "that's what I should like to do. Can't / get on in the same way ? " " In the same way ? " said Mr. Deane, eying Torn with quiet deliberation. "There go two or three questions to that, Master Tom. That depends on what sort of material you are, to begin with, and whether you Ve been put into the right mill. But I '11 tell you what it is. Your poor father went the wrong way to work in giving you an education. It was n't my business, and I did n't interfere ; but it is as I thought it would be. You 've had a sort of learning that's all very well for a young fellow like our Mr. Stephen Guest, who'll have nothing to do but sign checks all his life, and may as well have Latin inside his head as any other sort of stuffing." " But, uncle," said Tom, earnestly, " I don't see why the Latin need hinder me from getting on in business. I shall soon forget it all : it makes no difference to me. I had to do my lessons at school ; 326 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. but I always thought they 'd never be of any use to ine afterwards, I did n't care about them." " Ay, ay, that 's all very well," said Mr. Deane ; " but it does n't alter what I was going to say. Your Latin and rigmarole may soon dry off you, but you '11 be but a bare stick after that. Besides, it 's whitened your hands and taken the rough work out of you. And what do you know ? Why, you know nothing about book-keeping, to begin with, and not so much of reckoning as a common shop- man. You '11 have to begin at a low round of the ladder, let me tell you, if you mean to get on in life. It's no use forgetting the education your father 's been paying for, if you don't give yourself a new un." Tom bit his lips hard ; he felt as if the tears were rising, and he would rather die than let them. " You want me to help you to a situation," Mr. Deane went on ; " well, I Ve no fault to find with that. I 'm willing to do something for you. But you youngsters nowadays think you 're to begin with living well and working easy : you 've no notion of running afoot before you get on horseback. Now, you must remember what you are, you 're a lad of sixteen, trained to nothing particular. There 's heaps of your sort, like so many pebbles, made to fit in nowhere. Well, you might be apprenticed to some business, a chemist's and druggist's perhaps ; your Latin might come in a bit there Tom was going to speak, but Mr. Deane put up his hand and said, " Stop ! hear what I 've got to say. You don't want to be a 'prentice, I know, I know, you want to make more haste, and you don't want to stand behind a counter. But if you 're a copying-clerk, THE DOWNFALL. 327 you'll have to stand behind a desk, and stare at your ink and paper all day : there is n't much out- look there, and you won't be much wiser at the end of the year than at the beginning. The world is n't made of pen, ink, and paper, and if you 're to get on in the world, young man, you must know what the world 's made of. Now the best chance for you 'ud be to have a place on a wharf or in a warehouse, where you 'd learn the smell of things, but you would n't like that, I '11 be bound ; you 'd have to stand cold and wet, and be shouldered about by rough fellows. You're too fine a gentleman for. that." Mr. Deane paused and looked hard at Tom, who certainly felt some inward struggle before he could reply. " I would rather do what will be best for me in the end, sir ; I would put up with what was disagreeable." " That 's well, if you can carry it out. But you must remember it is n't only laying hold of a rope, you must go on pulling. It 's the mistake you lads make that have got nothing either in your brains or your pocket, to think you Ve got a better start in the world if you stick yourselves in a place where you can keep your coats clean, and have the shop- wenches take you for fine gentlemen. That was n't the way / started, young man : when I was sixteen, my jacket smelt of tar, and I was n't afraid of hand- ling cheeses. That's the reason I can wear good broadcloth now, and have my legs under the same table with the heads of the best firms in St. Ogg's." Uncle Deane tapped his box, and seemed to ex- pand a little under his waistcoat and gold chain, as he squared his shoulders in the chair. 328 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Is there any place at liberty that you know of now, uncle, that I should do for ? I should like to set to work at once," said Tom, with a slight tremor in his voice. " Stop a bit, stop a bit ; we must n't be in too great a hurry. You must bear in mind, if I put you in a place you re a bit young for, because you hap- pen to be my nephew, I shall be responsible ior you. And there 's no better reason, you know, than your being my nephew ; because it remains to be seen whether you 're good for anything." "I hope I should never do you any discredit, uncle," said Tom, hurt, as all boys are at the state- ment of the unpleasant truth that people feel no ground for trusting them. " I care about my own credit too much for that." " Well done, Tom, well done ! That 's the right spirit, and I never refuse to help anybody if they Ve a mind to do themselves justice. There's a young man of two-and-twenty I Ve got my eye on now. I shall do what I can for that young man, he 's got some pith in him. But then, you see, he's made good use of his time, a first-rate calculator, can tell you the cubic contents of anything in no time, and put me up the other day to a new market for Swedish bark ; he 's uncommonly knowing in manu- factures, that young fellow." " I 'd better set about learning book-keeping, hadn't I, uncle?" said Tom, anxious to prove his readiness to exert himself. "Yes, yes, you can't do amiss there. But . . . ah, Spence, you 're back again. Well, Tom, there 's nothing more to be said just now, I think, and I must go to business again. Good-by. Kemember me to your mother." THE DOWNFALL. 329 Mr. Deane put out his hand, with an air of friendly dismissal, and Tom had not courage to ask another question, especially in the presence of Mr. Spence. So he went out again into the cold damp air. He had to call at his uncle Glegg's about the money in the savings-bank, and by the time he set out again, the mist had thickened, and he could not see very far before him ; but going along River Street again, he was startled, when he was within two yards of the projecting side of a shop- window, by the words "Dorlcote Mill" in large letters on a hand-bill, placed as if on purpose to stare at him. It was the catalogue of the sale to take place the next week, it was a reason for hurrying faster out of the town. Poor Tom formed no visions of the distant future as he made his way homeward ; he only felt that the present was very hard. It seemed a wrong towards him that his uncle Deane had no confidence in him, did not see at once that he should acquit himself well, which Tom himself was as certain of as of the daylight. Apparently he, Tom Tul liver, was likely to be held of small account in the world, and for the first time he felt a sinking of heart under the sense that he really was very ignorant, and could do very little. Who was that enviable young man, that could tell the cubic contents of things in no time, and make suggestions about Swedish bark ? Swedish bark ! Tom had been used to be so entirely satisfied with himself in spite of his breaking down in a demonstration, and construing nunc illas pro- mite vires, as " now promise those men ; " but now he suddenly felt at a disadvantage, because he knew less than some one else knew. There must be a world of things connected with that Swedish bark, which, if he only knew them, might have helped 330 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. him to get on. It would have been much easier to make a figure with a spirited horse and a new saddle. Two hours ago, as Tom was walking to St. Ogg's, he saw the distant future before him, as he might have seen a tempting stretch of smooth sandy beach beyond a belt of flinty shingles ; he was on the grassy bank then, and thought the shingles might soon be passed. But now his feet were on the sharp stones ; the belt of shingles had widened, and the stretch of sand had dwindled into narrowness. " What did my uncle Deane say, Tom ? " said Maggie, putting her arm through Tom's as he was wanning himself rather drearily by the kitchen fire. " Did he say he would give you a situation ? " " No, he did n't say that. He did n't quite promise me anything ; he seemed to think I could n't have a very good situation. I 'm too young." " But did n't he speak kindly, Tom ? " " Kindly ? Pooh ! what 's the use of talking about that ? I would n't care about his speaking kindly, if I could get a situation. But it 's such a nuisance and bother, I 've been at school all -this while learning Latin and things, not a bit of good to me, and now my uncle says, I must set about learn- ing book-keeping and calculation, and those things. He seems to make out I 'm good for nothing." Tom's mouth twitched with a bitter expression as he looked at the fire. " Oh, what a pity we have n't got Dominie Samp- son ! " said Maggie, who could n't help mingling some gayety with their sadness. " If he had taught rne book-keeping by double entry and after the Italian method, as he did Lucy Bertram, I could teach you, Tom." THE DOWNFALL. 331 " You teach ! Yes, I dare say. That 's always the tone you take," said Tom. " Dear Tom, I was only joking," said Maggie, putting her cheek against his coat-sleeve. " But it 's always the same, Maggie," said Tom, with the little frown he put on when he was about to be justifiably severe. "You're always setting yourself up above me and every one else, and I Ve wanted to tell you about it several times. You ought not to have spoken as you did to my uncles and aunts, you should leave it to me to take care of my mother and you, and not put yourself forward. You think you know better than any one, but you 're almost always wrong. I can judge much better than you can." Poor Tom ! he had just come from being lectured and made to feel his inferiority : the reaction of his strong, self -asserting nature must take place some- how ; and here was a case in which he could justly show himself dominant. Maggie's cheek flushed and her lip quivered with conflicting resentment and affection, and a certain awe as well as admira- tion of Tom's firmer and more effective character. She did not answer immediately ; very angry words rose to her lips, but they were driven back again, and she said at last, " You often think I am conceited, Tom, when I don't mean what I say at all in that way. I don't mean to put myself above you, I know you be- haved better than I did yesterday. But you are ahvays so harsh to me, Tom." With the last words the resentment was rising again. " No, I 'm not harsh," said Tom, with severe de- cision. " I 'm always kind to you ; and so I shall 332 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. be : I shall always take care of you. But you must mind what I say." Their mother came in now; and Maggie rushed away, that her burst of tears, which she felt must come, might not happen till she was safe upstairs. They were very bitter tears : everybody in the world seemed so hard and unkind to Maggie : there was no indulgence, no fondness, such as she ima- gined when she fashioned the world afresh in her own thoughts. In books there were people who were always agreeable or tender, and delighted to do things that made one happy, and who did not show their kindness by finding fault. The world outside the books was not a happy one, Maggie felt : it seemed to be a world where people behaved the best to those they did not pretend to love, and that did not belong to them. And if life had no love in it, what else was there for Maggie ? Nothing but pov- erty and the companionship of her mother's narrow griefs, perhaps of her father's heart-cutting child- ish dependence. There is no hopelessness so sad as that of early youth, when the soul is made up of wants, and has no long memories, no superadded life in the life of others ; though we who look on think lightly of such premature despair, as if our vision of the future lightened the blind sufferer's present. Maggie in her brown frock, with her eyes red- dened and her heavy hair pushed back, looking from the bed where her father lay, to the dull walls of this sad chamber which was the centre of her world, was a creature full of eager, passionate longings for all that was beautiful and glad ; thirsty for all knowledge ; with an ear straining after dreamy music that died away and would not come near to her ; with a blind, unconscious yearning for some- THE DOWNFALL. 333 thing that would link together the wonderful im- pressions of this mysterious life, and give her soul a sense of home in it. No wonder, when there is this contrast between the outward and the inward, that painful collisions come of it. CHAPTER VI TENDING TO REFUTE THE POPULAR PREJUDICE AGAINST THE PRESENT OF A POCKET-KNIFE. IN that dark time of December, the sale of the household furniture lasted beyond the middle of the second day. Mr. Tulliver, who had begun, in his intervals of consciousness, to manifest an irritability which often appeared to have as a direct effect the recurrence of spasmodic rigidity and insensibility, had lain in this living death throughout the critical hours when the noise of the sale came nearest to his chamber. Mr. Turnbull had decided that it would be a less risk to let him remain where he was, than to move him to Luke's cottage, a plan which the good Luke had proposed to Mrs. Tulliver, thinking it would be very bad if the master were " to waken up " at the noise of the sale ; and the wife and chil- dren had sat imprisoned in the silent chamber, watching the large prostrate figure on the bed, and trembling lest the blank face should suddenly show some response to the sounds which fell on their own ears with such obstinate, painful repetition. But it was over at last, that time of importunate certainty and eye-straining suspense. The sharp sound of a voice, almost as metallic as the rap that followed it, had ceased ; the tramping of footsteps on the gravel had died out, Mrs. Tulliver's blond face seemed aged ten years by the last t'lirty hours : the poor woman's mind had been busy divining when THE DOWNFALL. 335 her favourite things were being knocked down by the terrible hammer ; her heart had been fluttering at the thought that first one thing and then another had gone to be identified as hers in the hateful pub- licity of the Golden Lion ; and all the while she had to sit and make no sign of this inward agitation. Such things bring lines in well-rounded faces, and broaden the streaks of white among the hairs that once looked as if they had been dipped in pure sun- shine. Already, at three o'clock, Kezia, the good- hearted, bad-tempered housemaid, who regarded all people that came to the sale as her personal enemies, the dirt on whose feet was of a peculiarly vile quality, had begun to scrub and swill with an energy much assisted by a continual low muttering against " folks as came to buy up other folks's things," and made light of " scrazing " the tops of mahogany tables over which better folks than them- selves had had to suffer a waste of tissue through evaporation. She was not scrubbing indiscrimi- nately, for there would be further dirt of the same atrocious kind made by people who had still to fetch away their purchases : but she was bent on bringing the parlour, where that "pipe-smoking pig" the bailiff had sat, to such an appearance of scant comfort as could be given to it by cleanli- ness, and the few articles of furniture bought in for the family. Her mistress and the young folks should have their tea in it that night, Kezia was determined. It was between five and six o'clock, near the usual tea-time, when she came upstairs and said that Master Tom was wanted. The person who wanted him was in the kitchen, and in the first moments by the imperfect fire and candle light, 336 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Tom had not even an indefinite sense of any acquaintance with the rather broad-set but active figure, perhaps two years older than himself, that looked at him with a pair of blue eyes set in a disk of freckles, and pulled some curly red locks with a strong intention of respect. A low-crowned oilskin- covered hat, and a certain shiny deposit of dirt on the rest of the costume, as of tablets prepared for writing upon, suggested a calling that had to do with boats ; but this did not help Tom's memory. " Sarvant, Mister Tom," said he of the red locks, with a smile which seemed to break through a self- imposed air of melancholy. " You don't know me again, I doubt," he went on, as Tom continued to look at him inquiringly ; " but I 'd like to talk to you by yourself a bit, please." " There 's a fire i' the parlour, Master Tom," said Kezia, who objected to leaving the kitchen in the crisis of toasting. " Come this way, then," said Tom, wondering if this young fellow belonged to Guest & Co.'s Wharf, for his imagination ran continually towards that particular spot, and uncle Deane might any time be sending for him to say that there was a situation at liberty. The bright fire in the parlour was the only light that showed the few chairs, the bureau, the carpet- less floor, and the one table, no, not the one table : there was a second table, in a corner, with a large Bible and a few other books upon it It was this new strange bareness that Tom felt first, before he thought of looking again at the face which was also lit up by the fire, and which stole a half-shy, questioning glance at him as the entirely strange voice said, THE DOWNFALL. 337 "' Why ! you don't remember Bob, then, as you gen the pocket-knife to, Mr. Tom ? " The rough-handled pocket-knife was taken out in the same moment, and the largest blade opened by way of irresistible demonstration. " What ! Bob Jakin ? " said Tom, not with any cordial delight, for he felt a little ashamed of that early intimacy symbolized by the pocket-knife, and was not at all sure that Bob's motives for recalling it were entirely admirable. " Ay, ay, Bob Jakin, if Jakin it must be, 'cause there 's so many Bobs as you went arter the squer- rils with, that day as I plumped right down from the bough, and bruised my shins a good un, but I got the squerril tight for all that, an' a scratter it was. An' this littlish blade 's broke, you see, but I would n't hev a new un put in, 'cause they might be cheatin' me an' givin' me another knife istid, for there is n't such a blade i' the country, it 's got used to my hand, like. An' there was niver nobody else gen me nothin' but what I got by my own sharpness, only you, Mr. Tom ; if it was n't Bill Fawks as gen me the terrier pup istid o' drowndin' it, an' I had to jaw him a good un afore he 'd give it me." Bob spoke with a sharp and rather treble volu- bility, and got through his long speech with sur- prising despatch, giving the blade of his knife an affectionate rub on his sleeve when he had finished. " Well, Bob," said Tom, with a slight air of patron- age, the foregoing reminiscences having disposed him to be as friendly as was becoming, though there was no part of his acquaintance with Bob that he remembered better than the cause of their parting quarrel ; " is there anything I can do for you ? " VOL. i. 22 338 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. " Why, no, Mr. Tom," answered Bob, shutting up his knife with a click and returning it to his pocket, where he seemed to be feeling for something else. " I should n't ha' come back upon you now ye 're i' trouble, an' folks say as the master, as I used to frighten the birds for, an' he flogged me a bit for fun when he catched me eatin' the turnip, as they say he '11 niver lift up his yead no more, I should n't ha' come now to ax you to gi' rne another knife, 'cause you gen me one afore. If a chap gives me one black eye, that 's enough for me : I sha'n't ax him for another afore I sarve him. out; an' a good turn 's worth as much as a bad un, anyhow. I shall niver grow down'ards again, Mr. Tom, an' you war the little chap as I liked the best when / war a little chap, for all you leathered me, and would n't look at me again. There 's Dick Brumby, there, I could leather him as much as I 'd a mind ; but lors ! you get tired o' leatherin' a chap when you can Diver make him see what you want him to shy at I'n seen chaps as 'ud stand starin' at a bough till their eyes shot out, afore they 'd see as a bird's tail war n't a leaf. It's poor work goin' wi' such raff, but you war allays a rare un at shying, Mr. Tom, an' I could trusten to you for droppin' down wi' your stick in the nick o' time at a runnin' rat, or a stoat, or that, when I war a-beatin' the bushes." Bob had drawn out a dirty canvas bag, and would perhaps not have paused just then if Maggie had not entered the room and darted a look of surprise and curiosity at him, whereupon he pulled his red locks again with due respect. But the next moment the sense of the altered room came upon Maggie with a force that overpowered the thought of Bob's THE DOWNFALL. 339 presence. Her eyes had immediately glanced from him to the place where the bookcase had hung ; there was nothing now but the oblong unfadcd space on the wall, and below it the small table with the Bible and the few other books. " Oh, Tom," she burst out, clasping her hands, " where are the books ? I thought my uncle Glegg said he would buy them, did n't he ? are those all they 've left us ? " " I suppose so," said Tom, with a sort of desperate indifference. " Why should they buy many books when they bought so little furniture ? " " Oh, but, Tom," said Maggie, her eyes filling with tears, as she rushed up to the table to see what books had been rescued. " Our dear old Pilgrim's Progress that you coloured with your little paints ; and that picture of Pilgrim with a mantle on, look- ing just like a turtle, oh dear ! " Maggie went on, half sobbing as she turned over the few books. " I thought we should never part with that while we lived, everything is going away from us, the end of our lives will have nothing in it like the beginning ! " Maggie turned away from the table and threw herself into a chair, with the big tears ready to roll down her cheeks, quite blinded to the presence of Bob, who was looking at her with the pursuant gaze of an intelligent dumb animal, with percep- tions more perfect than his comprehension. " Well, Bob," said Tom, feeling that the subject of the books was unseasonable, " I suppose you just came to see me because we 're in trouble ? That was very good-natured of you." " I '11 tell you how it is, Master Tom," said Bob, beginning to untwist his canvas bag. " You see, 340 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. I 'n been with a barge this two 'ear that's how I 'n been gettin' my livin' if it was n't when I was tentin' the furnace, between whiles, at Torry's mill. But a fortni't ago I 'd a rare bit o' luck, I allays thought I was a lucky chap, for I niver set a trap but what I catched something ; but this was n't a trap, it was a fire i' Torry's mill, an' I doused it, else it 'ud ha' set th' oil alight, an' the genelman gen me ten suvreigns, he g3n me 'em himself last week. An' he said first, I was a sperrited chap, but I knowed that afore, but then he outs wi' the ten suvreigns, an' that war summat new. Here they are, all but one ! " Here Bob emptied the canvas bag on the table. " An' when I 'd got 'em, my head was all of a boil like a kettle o' broth, thinkin' what sort o' life I should take to, for there war a many trades I 'd thought on ; for as for the barge, I 'm clean tired out wi't, for it pulls the days out till they're as long as pigs' chitterlings. An' I thought first I 'd ha' ferrets an' dogs, an' be a rat-catcher; an' then I thought as I should like a bigger way o' life, as I did n't know so well ; for I 'n seen to the bottom o' rat-catching ; an' I thought, an' thought, till at last I settled I 'd be a packman, for they 're knowin' fellers, the pack- men are, an' I 'd carry the lightest things I could i' my pack, an' there 'd be a use for a feller's tongue, as is no use neither wi' rats nor barges. An' I should go about the country far an' wide, an' come round the women wi' my tongue, an' get my dinner hot at the public, lors ! it 'ud be a lovely life ! " Bob paused, and then said, with defiant decision, as if resolutely turning his back on that paradisaic picture, " But I don't mind about it, not a chip ! An' THE DOWNFALL. 341 I 'n changed one o' the suvreigns to buy my mother a goose for dinner, an' I 'n bought a blue plush wes- coat, an' a sealskin cap for if I meant to be a packman, I 'd do it respectable. But I don't mind about it, not a chip ! My yead is n't a turnip, an' I shall p'r'aps have a chance o' dousing another fire afore long. I 'm a lucky chap. So I '11 thank you to take the nine suvreigns, Mr. Tom, and set your- sen up with 'em somehow, if it 's true as the mas- ter 's broke. They may n't go fur enough, but they'll help." Tom was touched keenly enough to forget his pride and suspicion. " You 're a very kind fellow, Bob," he said, colour- ing, with that little diffident tremor in his voice, which gave a certain charm even to Tom's pride and severity, " and I sha'n't forget you again, though I didn't know you this evening. But I can't take the nine sovereigns : I should be taking your little fortune from you, and they would n't do me much good either." " Would n't they, Mr. Tom ? " said Bob, regret- fully. " Now don't say so 'cause you think I want 'em. I aren't a poor chap. My mother gets a good penn'orth wi' picking feathers an' things ; an' if she eats nothin' but bread-an'-water, it runs to fat. An' I 'm such a lucky chap ; an' I doubt you are n't quite so lucky, Mr. Tom, th' old master is n't, anyhow, an' so you might take a slice o' my luck an' no harm done. Lors ! I found a leg o' pork i' the river one day : it had tumbled out o' one o' them round-sterned Dutchmen, I '11 be bound. Come, think better on it, Mr. Tom, for old 'quinetance' sake, else I shall think you bear me a grudge." Bob pushed the sovereigns forward; but before 342 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Tom could speak, Maggie, clasping her hands, and looking penitently at Bob, said, " Oh, I 'm so sprry, Bob, I never thought you were so good. Why, I think you're the kindest person in the world ! " Bob had not been aware of the injurious opinion for which Maggie was performing an inward act of penitence, but he smiled with pleasure at this hand- some eulogy, especially from a young lass who, as he informed his mother that evening, had " such uncommon eyes, they looked somehow as they made him feel nohow." " No, indeed, Bob, I can't take them," said Tom ; " but don't think I feel your kindness less because I say no. I don't want to take anything from any- body, but to work my own way. And those sove- reigns would n't help me much, they would n't, really, if I were to take them. Let me shake hands with you instead." Tom put out his pink palm, and Bob was not slow to place his hard grimy hand within it. " Let me put the sovereigns in the bag again," said Maggie ; " and you '11 come and see us when you 've bought your pack, Bob." " It 's like as if 1 'd come out o' make-believe, o* purpose to show 'em you," said Bob, with an air of discontent, as Maggie gave him the bag again, "a-taking 'em back i' this way. I am a bit of a Do, you know ; but it is n't that sort o' Do : it 's on'y when a feller 's a big rogue or a big flat, I like to let him in a bit, that 's all." " Now, don't you be up to any tricks, Bob," said Tom, " else you '11 get transported some day." " No, no ; not me, Mr. Tom," said Bob, with an air of cheerful confidence. " There 's no law again' THE DOWNFALL. 343 flea-bites. If I was n't to take a fool in now and then, he 'd niver get any wiser. But, lors ! hev a suvreign to buy you and Miss summat, on'y for a token, just to match my pocket-knife." While Bob was speaking, he laid down the sover- eign, and resolutely twisted up his bag again. Tom pushed back the gold, and said, " No, indeed, Bob ; thank you heartily : but I can't take it." And Maggie, taking it between her fingers, held it up to Bob, and said more persuasively, " Not now, but perhaps another time. If ever Tom or my father wants help that you can give, we '11 let you know, won't we, Tom ? That 's what you would like, to have us always depend on you as a friend that we can go to, is n't it, Bob ? " " Yes, Miss, and thank you," said Bob, reluctantly taking the money ; " that 's what I 'd like, any- thing as you like. An' I wish you good-by, Miss, and good luck, Mr. Tom, and thank you for shak- ing hands wi' me, though you wouldn't take the money." Kezia's entrance, with very black looks, to inquire if she should n't bring in the tea now, or whether the toast was to get hardened to a brick, was a sea- sonable check on Bob's flux of words, and hastened his parting bow. CHAPTEK VIL HOW A HEN TAKES TO STRATAGEM. THE days passed, and Mr. Tulliver showed, at least to the eyes of the medical man, stronger and stronger symptoms of a gradual return to his nor- mal condition ; the paralytic obstruction was, little by little, losing its tenacity, and the mind was ris- ing from under it with fitful struggles, like a living creature making its way from under a great snow- drift, that slides and slides again, and shuts up the newly made opening. Time would .have seemed to creep to the watch- ers by the bed, if it had only been measured by the doubtful, distant hope which kept count of the moments within the chamber ; but it was measured for them by a fast-approaching dread which made the nights come too quickly. While Mr. Tulliver was slowly becoming himself again, his lot was hastening towards its moment of most palpable change. The taxing-masters had done their work like any respectable gunsmith conscientiously pre- paring the musket that, duly pointed by a brave arm, will spoil a life or two. Allocaturs, filing of bills in Chancery, decrees of sale, are legal chain- shot or bomb-shells that can never hit a solitary mark, but must fall with widespread shattering. So deeply inherent is it in this life of ours that men have to suffer for each other's sins, so inevitably diffusive is human suffering, that even justice makes its victims, and we can conceive no retribution that THE DOWNFALL. 345 does not spread beyond its mark in pulsations of unmerited pain. By the beginning of the second week in January the bills were out advertising the sale, under a de- cree of Chancery, of Mr. Tulliver's farming and other stock, to be followed by a sale of the mill and land, held in the proper after-dinner hour at the Golden Lion. The miller himself, unaware of the lapse of time, fancied himself still in that first stage of his misfortunes when expedients might be thought of; and often in his conscious hours talked in a feeble, disjointed manner, of plans he would carry out when he " got well." The wife and chil- dren were not without hope of an issue that would at least save Mr. Tulliver from leaving the old spot and seeking an entirely strange life. For uncle Deane had been induced to interest himself in this stage of the business. It would not, he acknowl- edged, be a bad speculation for Guest & Co. to buy Dorlcote Mill, and carry on the business, which was a good one, and might be increased by the addition of steam-power ; in which case Tulliver might be retained as manager. Still Mr. Deane would say nothing decided about the matter : the fact that Wakem held the mortgage on the land might put it into his head to bid for the whole estate, and, further, to outbid the cautious firm of Guest & Co., who did not carry on business on sen- timental grounds. Mr. Deane was obliged to tell Mrs. Tulliver something to that effect, when he rode over to the mill to inspect the books in com- pany with Mrs. Glegg : for she had observed that "if Guest & Co. would only think about it, Mr. Tulliver's father and grandfather had been carry- ing on Dorlcote Mill long before the oil-mill of that 346 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. firm had been so much as thought of." Mr. Deane, in reply, doubted whether that was precisely the relation between the two mills which would deter- mine their value as investments. As for uncle Glegg, the thing lay quite beyond his imagination ; the good-natured man felt sincere pity for the Tulliver family, but his money was all locked up in excellent mortgages, and he could run no risk ; that would be unfair to his own relatives ; but he had made up his mind that Tulliver should have some new flannel waiscoats which he had himself renounced in favour of a more elastic commodity, and that he would buy Mrs. Tulliver a pound of tea now and then ; it would be a journey which his benevolence delighted in beforehand, to carry the tea, and see her pleasure on being assured it was the best black. Still, it was clear that Mr. Deane was kindly disposed towards the Tullivers. One day he had brought Lucy, who was come home for the Christ- mas holidays, and the little blond angel-head had pressed itself against Maggie's darker cheek with many kisses and some tears. These fair slim daughters keep up a tender spot in the heart of many a respectable partner in a respectable firm, and perhaps Lucy's anxious pitying questions about her poor cousins helped to make uncle Deane more prompt in finding Tom a temporary place in the warehouse, and in putting him in the way of getting evening lessons in book-keeping and calculation. That might have cheered the lad and fed his hopes a little, if there had not come at the same time the much-dreaded blow of finding that his father must be a bankrupt, after all ; at least, the creditors must be asked to take less than their due, THE DOWNFALL. 347 which to Tom's untechnical mind was the same thing as bankruptcy. His father must not only be said to have "lost his property," but to have " failed," the word that carried the worst obloquy to Tom's mind. For when the defendant's claim for costs had been satisfied, there would remain the friendly bill of Mr. Gore, and the deficiency at the bank, as well as the other debts, which would make the assets shrink into unequivocal disproportion : " not more than ten or twelve shil- lings in the pound," predicted Mr. Deane, in a de- cided tone, tightening his lips ; and the words fell on Tom like a scalding liquid, leaving a continual smart. He was sadly in want of something to keep up his spirits a little in the unpleasant newness of his position, suddenly transported from the easy car- peted ennui of study-hours at Mr. Stelling's, and the busy idleness of castle-building in a " last half " at school, to the companionship of sacks and hides, and bawling men thundering down heavy weights at his elbow. The first step towards getting on in the world was a chill, dusty, noisy affair, and im- plied going without one's tea in order to stay in St. Ogg's and have an evening lesson from a one- armed elderly clerk, in a room smelling strongly of bad tobacco. Tom's young pink-and-white face had its colours very much deadened by the time he took off his hat at home, and sat down with keen hunger to his supper. No wonder he was a little cross if his mother or Maggie spoke to him. But all this while Mrs. Tulliver was brooding over a scheme by which she, and no one else, would avert the result most to be dreaded, and prevent Wakem from entertaining the purpose of bidding 348 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. for the mill. Imagine a truly respectable and amiable hen, by some portentous anomaly, taking to reflection and inventing combinations by which she might prevail on Hodge not to wring her neck, or send her and her chicks to market : the result could hardly be other than much cackling and flut- tering. Mrs. Tulliver, seeing that everything had gone wrong, had begun to think that she had been too passive in life ; and that, if she had applied her mind to business, and taken a strong resolution now and then, it would have been all the better for her and her family. Nobody, it appeared, had thought of going to speak to Wakem on this business of the mill ; and yet, Mrs. Tulliver reflected, it would have been quite the shortest method of securing the right end. It would have been of no use, to be sure, for Mr. Tulliver to go, even if he had been able and willing, for he had been " going to law against Wakem " and abusing him for the last ten years; Wakem was always likely to have a spite against him. And now that Mrs. Tulliver had come to the conclusion that her husband was very much in the wrong to bring her into this trouble, she was inclined to think that his opinion of Wakem was wrong too. To be sure, Wakem had " put the bailies in the house, and sold them up;" but she supposed he did that to please the man that lent Mr. Tulliver the money, for a lawyer had more folks to please than one, and he wasn't likely to put Mr. Tulliver, who had gone to law with him, above everybody else in the world. The attorney might be a very reasonable man, why not? He had married a Miss Clint, and at the time Mrs. Tulliver had heard of that marriage, the summer when she wore her blue satin spencer, and had THE DOWNFALL. 349 not yet any thoughts of Mr. Tulliver, she knew no harm of Wakem. And certainly towards herself whom he knew to have been a Miss Dodson it was out of all possibility that he could en- tertain anything but good- will, when it was once brought home to his observation that she, for her part, had never wanted to go to law, and indeed was at present disposed to take Mr. Wakem's view of all subjects rather than her husband's. In fact, if that attorney saw a respectable matron like herself disposed " to give him good words," why should n't he . listen to her representations ? For she would put the matter clearly before him, which had never been done yet. And he would never go and bid for the mill on purpose to spite her, an innocent woman, who thought it likely enough that she had danced with him in their youth at Squire Darleigh's, for at those big dances she had often and often danced with young men whose names she had forgotten. Mrs. Tulliver hid these reasonings in her own bosom ; for when she had thrown out a hint to Mr. Deane and Mr. Glegg, that she would n't mind going to speak to Wakem herself, they had said, " No, no, no," and " Pooh, pooh," and " Let Wakem alone," in the tone of men who were not likely to give a candid attention to a more definite expo- sition of her project; still less dared she mention the plan to Tom and Maggie, for "the children were always so against everything their mother said ; " and Tom, she observed, was almost as much set against Wakem as his father was. But this unusual concentration of thought naturally gave Mrs. Tulliver an unusual power of device and de- termination ; and a day or two before the sale, to be 350 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. held at the Golden Lion, when there was no longer any time to be lost, she carried out her plan by a stratagem. There were pickles in question, a large stock of pickles and ketchup which Mrs. Tulliver possessed, and which Mr. Hyndmarsh the grocer would certainly purchase if she could trans- act the business in a personal interview, so she would walk with Tom to St. Ogg's that morning : and when Tom urged that she might let the pickles be. at present he didn't like her to go about just yet, she appeared so hurt at this conduct in her son, contradicting her about pickles which she had made after the family receipts inherited from his own grandmother, who had died when his mother was a little girl, that he gave way, and they walked together until she turned towards Danish Street, where Mr. Hyndmarsh retailed his grocery, not faj from the offices of Mr. Wakem. That gentleman was not yet come to his office: would Mrs. Tulliver sit down by the fire in his private room and wait for him ? She -had not long to wait before the punctual attorney entered, knit- ting his brow with an examining glance at the stout blond woman who rose, courtesying deferent : ally : a tallish man, with an aquiline nose and abumlnnt iron-gray hair. You have never seen Mr. Wakem be- fore, and are possibly wondering whether he was really as eminent a rascal, and as crafty, bitter an enemy of honest humanity in general, and of Mr. Tulliver in particular, as he is represented to be in that eidolon or portrait of him which we have seen to exist in the miller's mind. It is clear that the irascible miller was a man to interpret any chance-shot that grazed him as an attempt on his own life, and was liable to entangle- THE DOWNFALL. 351 ments in this puzzling world, which, due consid- eration had to his own infallibility, required the hypothesis ' of a very active diabolical agency to explain them. It is still possible to believe that the attorney was not more guilty towards him than an ingenious machine, which performs its work with much regularity, is guilty towards the rash man who, venturing too near it, is caught up by some fly-wheel or other, and suddenly converted into unexpected mince-meat. But it is really impossible to decide this question by a glance at his person : the lines and lights of the human countenance are like other symbols, not always easy to read witbout a key. On an a priori view of Wakem's aquiline nose, which of- fended Mr. Tulliver, there was not more rascality than in the shape of his stiff shirt-collar, though this too, along with his nose, might have become fraught with damnatory meaning when once the rascality was ascertained. " Mrs. Tulliver, I think ? " said Mr. Wakem. " Yes, sir. Miss Elizabeth Dodson as was." " Pray be seated. You have some business with me?" " Well, sir, yes," said Mrs. Tulliver, beginning to feel alarmed at her own courage, now she was really in presence of the formidable man, and reflecting that she had not settled with herself how she should begin. Mr. Wakem felt in his waistcoat- pockets, and looked at her in silence. " I hope, sir," she began at last, "I hope, sir, you 're not a-thinking as / bear you any ill-will because o' my husband's losing his lawsuit, and the bailies being put in, and the linen being sold oh dear ! ... for I was n't brought up in that way. 352 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. I 'm sure you remember my father, sir, for he was close friends with Squire Darleigh, and we allays went to the dances there the Miss Dodsons nobody could be more looked on and justly, for there was four of us, and you 're quite aware as Mrs. Glegg and Mrs. Deane are my sisters. And as for going to law and losing money, and having sales before you 're dead, I never saw anything o' that before I was married, nor for a long while after. And I 'm not to be answerable for my bad luck i' marrying out o' my own family into one where the goings-on was different. And as for being drawn in t' abuse you as other folks abuse you, sir, that I niver was, and nobody can say it of me." Mrs. Tulliver shook her head a little, and looked at the hem of her pocket-handkerchief. " I 've no doubt of what you say, Mrs. Tulliver," said Mr. Wakem, with cold politeness. " But you have some question to ask me ? " " Well, sir, yes. But that 's what I 've said to myself, I Ve said you 'd had some nat'ral feeling ; and as for my husband, as has n't been himself for this two months, I'm not a-defending him in no way for being so hot about th' erigation not but what there 's worse men, for he never wronged nobody of a shilling nor a penny, not willingly and as for his fieriness and lawing, what could I do ? And him struck as if it was with death when he got the letter as said you 'd the hold upo' the land. But I can't believe but what you 11 behave as a gentleman." " What does all this mean, Mrs. Tulliver ? " said Mr. Wakem, rather sharply. " What do you want to ask me ? " " Why, sir, if you '11 be so good," said Mrs. Tul- Mrs. TulUver and Mr. Wakem. Original Etching by C. O. Murray. THE DOWNFALL. 353 liver, starting a little, arid speaking more hurriedly, " if you '11 be so good not to buy the mill an' the land, the land would n't so much matter, only my husband 'ull be like mad at your having it." Something like a new thought flashed across Mr. Wakem's face as he said, " Who told you I meant to buy it ? " " Why, sir, it 's none o' my inventing, and I should never ha' thought of it; for my husband, as ought to know about the law, he allays used to say as lawyers had never no call to buy anything, either lands or houses, for they allays got 'em into their hands other ways. An' I should think that 'ud be the way with you, sir ; and I niver said as you 'd be the man to do contrairy to that." "Ah, well, who was it that did say so?" said Wakem, opening his desk, and moving things about, with the accompaniment of an almost inaudible whistle. " Why, sir, it was Mr. Glegg and Mr. Deane, as have all the management; and Mr. Deane thinks as Guest & Co. 'ud buy the mill and let Mr. Tul- liver work it for 'em, if you did n't bid for it and raise the price. And it 'ud be such a thing for my husband to stay where he is, if he could get his living : for it was his father's before him, the mill was, and his grandfather built it, though I was n't fond o' the noise of it, when first I was married, for there was no mills in our family not the Dodsons' and if I 'd known as the mills had so much to do with the law, it would n't have been me as 'ud have been the first Dodson to marry one ; but I went into it blindfold, that I did, erigation and everything." " What ! Guest & Co. would keep the mill in VOL. i. 23 354 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. their own hands, I suppose, and pay your husband wages ? " " Oh dear, sir, it 's hard to think of," said poor Mrs. Tulliver, a little tear making its way, " as my husband should take wage. But it 'ud look more like what used to be, to stay at the mill than to go anywhere else ; and if you '11 only think if you was to bid for the mill and buy it, my husband might be struck worse than he was before, and niver get better again as he's getting now." " Well, but if I bought the mill, and allowed your husband to act as my manager in the same way, how then ? " said Mr. Wakem. " Oh, sir, I doubt he could niver be got to do it, not if the very mill stood still to beg and pray of him. For your name 's like poison to him, it 's so as never was ; and he looks upon it as you 've been the ruin of him all along, ever since you set the law on him about the road through the meadow that 's eight year ago, and he 's been going on ever since as I Ve allays told him he was wrong " " He 's a pig-headed, foul-mouthed fool ! " bursf out Mr. Wakem, forgetting himself. " Oh dear, sir ! " said Mrs. Tulliver, frightened at a result so different from the one she had fixed her mind on ; "I would n't wish to contradict you, but it 's like enough he 's changed h'is mind with this illness, he 's forgot a many things he used to talk about. And you would n't like to have a corpse on your mind, if he was to die ; and they do say as it 's allays unlucky when Dorlcote Mill changes hands, and the water might all run away, and then . . . not as I 'm wishing you any ill-luck, sir, for I forgot to tell you as I remember your wedding as if it was yesterday Mrs. Wakem was a Miss Clint, I know THE DOWNFALL. 355 that and my boy, as there is n't a nicer, hand- somer, straighter boy nowhere, went to school with your son " Mr. Wakem rose, opened the door, and called to one of his clerks. " You must excuse me for interrupting you, Mrs. Tulliver ; I have business that must be attended to ; and I think there is nothing more necessary to be said." " But if you would bear it in mind, sir," said Mrs. Tulliver, rising, " and not run against me and my children ; and I 'm not denying Mr. Tulliver 's been in the wrong, but he 's been punished enough, and there 's worse men, for it 's been giving to other folks has been his fault. He 's done nobody any harm but himself and his family, the more 's the pity, and I go and look at the bare shelves every day, and think where all my things used to stand." " Yes, yes, I '11 bear it in mind," said Mr. Wakem, hastily, looking towards the open door. " And if you 'd please not to say as I Ve been to speak to you, for my son 'ud be very angry with me for demeaning myself, I know he would, and I Ve trouble enough without being scolded by my children." Poor Mrs. Tulliver's voice trembled a little, and she could make no answer to the attorney's " good- morning," but courtesied and walked out in silence. "Which day is it that Dorlcote Mill is to be sold ? Where 's the bill ? " said Mr. Wakem to his clerk when they were alone. " Next Friday is the day : Friday at six o'clock." " Oh, just run to Winship's the auctioneer, and see if he 's at home. I have some business for him: ask him to come up." 356 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Although, when Mr. Wakem entered his office that morning, he had had no intention of purchas- ing Dorlcote Mill, his mind was already made up : Mrs. Tulliver had suggested to him several deter- mining motives, and his mental glance was very rapid : he was one of those men who can be prompt without being rash, because their motives run in fixed tracks, and they have no need to reconcile conflicting aims. To suppose that Wakem had the same sort of inveterate hatred towards Tulliver that Tulliver had towards him, would be like supposing that a pike and a roach can look at each other from a similar point of view. The roach necessarily ab- hors the mode in which the pike gets his living, and the pike is likely to think nothing further even of the most indignant roach than that he is ex- cellent good eating ; it could only be when the roach choked him that the pil^e could entertain a strong personal animosity. If Mr. Tulliver had ever seriously injured or thwarted the attorney, Wakem would not have refused him the distinction of being a special object of his vindictiveness. But when Mr. Tulliver called Wakem a rascal at the market dinner-table, the attorney's clients were not a whit inclined to withdraw their business from him ; and if, when Wakem himself happened to be present, some jocose cattle-feeder, stimulated by opportunity and brandy, made a thrust at him by alluding to old ladies' wills, he maintained perfect sang froid, and knew quite well that the majority of substantial men then present were perfectly con- tented with the fact that " Wakem was Wakem ; " that is to say, a man who always knew the step- ping-stones that would carry him through very THE DOWNFALL. 357 muddy bits of practice. A man who had made a large fortune, had a handsome house among the trees at Tofton, and decidedly the finest stock of port-wine in the neighbourhood of St. Ogg's, was likely to feel himself on a level with public opinion. And I am not sure that even honest Mr. Tulliver himself, with his general view of law as a cockpit, might not, under opposite circumstances, have seen a fine appropriateness in the truth that " Wakem was Wakem ; " since I have understood from per- sons versed in history, that mankind is not dis- posed to look narrowly into the conduct of great victors when their victory is on the right side. Tulliver, then, could be no obstruction to Wakem ; on the contrary, he was a poor devil whom the law- yer had defeated several times, a hot-tempered fellow, who would always give you a handle against him. Wakem's conscience was not uneasy because he had used a few tricks against the miller : why should he hate that unsuccessful plaintiff, that pitiable, furious bull entangled in the meshes of a net? Still, among the various excesses to which human nature is subject, moralists have never numbered that of being too fond of the people who openly revile us. The successful Yellow candidate for the borough of Old Topping, perhaps, feels no pursuant meditative hatred toward the Blue editor who consoles his subscribers with vituperative rhe- toric against Yellow men who sell their country, and are the demons of private life ; but he might not be sorry, if law and opportunity favoured, to kick that Blue editor to a deeper shade of his favour- ite colour. Prosperous men take a little vengeance now and then, as they take a diversion, when it 358 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. comes easily in their way, and is no hindrance to business ; and such small unimpassioned revenges have an enormous effect in life, running through all degrees of pleasant infliction, blocking the fit men out of places, and blackening characters in unpremeditated talk. Still more, to see people who have been only insignificantly offensive to us, re- duced in life and humiliated without any special efforts of ours, is apt to have a soothing, flattering influence : Providence, or some other prince of this world, it appears, has undertaken the task of ret- ribution for us ; and really, by an agreeable constitu- tion of things, our- enemies somehow don't prosper. Wakem was not without this parenthetic vindic- tiveness towards the uncomplimentary miller ; and now Mrs. Tulliver had put the notion into his head, it presented itself to him as a pleasure to do the very thing that would cause Mr. Tulliver the most deadly mortification, and a pleasure of a complex kind, not made up of crude malice, but mingling with it the relish of self-approbation. To see an enemy humiliated gives a certain contentment, but this is jejune compared with the highly blent satisfaction of seeing him humiliated by your benevo- lent action or concession on his behalf. That is a sort of revenge which falls into the scale of virtue, and Wakem was not without an intention of keeping that scale respectably filled. He had once had the pleasure of putting an old enemy of his into one of the St. Ogg's almshouses, to the rebuilding of which he had given a large subscription ; and here was an opportunity of providing for another by making him his own servant. Such things give a completeness to prosperity, and contribute elements of agreeable consciousness that are not dreamed of by that short- THE DOWNFALL. 359 sighted, over-heated vindictiveness, which goes out of its way to wreak itself in direct injury. And Tulliver, with his rough tongue filed by a sense of obligation, would make a better servant than any chance-fellow who was cap-in-hand for a situation. Tulliver was known to be a man of proud honesty, and Wakem was too acute not to believe in the ex- istence of honesty. He was given to observing indi- viduals, not to judging of them according to maxims, and no one knew better than he that all men were not like himself. Besides, he intended to overlook the whole business of land and mill pretty closely: he was fond of these practical rural matters. But there were good reasons for purchasing Dorlcote Mill, quite apart from any benevolent vengeance on the miller. It was really a capital investment; besides, Guest & Co. were going to bid for it. Mr. Guest and Mr. Wakem were on friendly dining terms, and the attorney liked to predominate over a ship-owner and mill-owner who was a little too loud in the town affairs as well as in his table-talk. For Wakem was not a mere man of business : he was considered a pleasant fellow in the upper circles of St. Ogg's, chatted amusingly over his port-wine, did a little amateur farming, and had certainly been an excellent husband and father: at church, when he went there, he sat under the handsomest of mural monuments erected to the memory of his wife. Most men would have married again under his cir- cumstances, but he was said to be more tender to his deformed son than most men were to their best- shapen offspring. Not that Mr. Wakem had not other sons besides Philip ; but towards them he held only a chiaroscuro parentage, and provided for them in a grade of life duly beneath his own. In this 3<5o THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. fact, indeed, there lay the clenching motive to the purchase of Dorlcote Mill. While Mrs. Tulliver was talking, it had occurred to the rapid-minded lawyer, among all the other circumstances of the case, that this purchase would, in a few years to come, furnish a highly suitable position for a certain favourite lad whom he meant to bring on in the world^. These were the mental conditions on which Mrs. Tulliver had undertaken to act persuasively, and had failed : a fact which may receive some illustra- tion from the remark of a great philosopher, that fly-fishers fail in preparing their bait so as to make it alluring in the right quarter, for want of a due acquaintance with the subjectivity of fishes. CHAPTER VIII. DAYLIGHT ON THE WRECK. IT was a clear frosty January day on which Mr. Tulliver first came downstairs : the bright sun on the chestnut boughs and the roofs opposite his window had made him impatiently declare that he would be caged up no longer: he thought every- where would be more cheery under this sunshine than his bedroom ; for he knew nothing of the bare- ness below, which made the Hood of sunshine im- portunate, as if it had an unfeeling pleasure in showing the empty places, and the marks where well-known objects once had been. The impres- sion on his mind that it was but yesterday when he received the letter from Mr. Gore was so continually implied in his talk, and the attempts to convey to him the idea that many weeks had passed and much had happened since then, had been so soon swept away by recurrent forgetfulness, that even Mr. Turnbull had begun to despair of preparing him to meet the facts by previous knowl- edge. The full sense of the present could only be imparted gradually by new experience, n'ot by mere words, which must remain weaker than the impressions left by the old experience. This reso- lution to come downstairs was heard with trembling by the wife and children. Mrs. Tulliver said Tom must not go to St. Ogg's at the usual hour, he must wait and see his father downstairs ; and Tom 362 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. complied, though with an intense inward shrinking from tha painful scene. The hearts of all three had been more deeply dejected than ever during the last few days. For Guest & Co. had not bought the mill : both mill and land had been knocked down to Wakem, who had been over the premises, and had laid before Mr. Deane and Mr. Glegg, in Mrs. Tulliver's presence, his willingness to employ Mr. Tulliver, in case of his recovery, as a manager of the business. This proposition had occasioned much family debating. Uncles and aunts were almost unanimously of opinion that such an offer ought not to be rejected when there was nothing in the way but a feeling in Mr. Tulliver's mind, which, as neither aunts nor uncl3s shared it, was regarded as entirely unreasonable and childish, indeed, as a transferring towards Wakem of that indignation and hatred which Mr. Tulliver ought properly to have directed against himself for his general quarrel- someness, and his special exhibition of it in going to law. Here was an opportunity for Mr. Tulliver to provide for his wife and daughter without any assistance from his wife's relations, and without that too evident descent into pauperism which makes it annoying to respectable people to meet the degraded member of the family by the wayside. Mr. Tul- liver, Mrs. Glegg considered, must be made to feel, when he came to his right mind, that he could never humble himself enough ; for that had come which she had always foreseen would come of his insolence in time past " to them as were the best friends he 'd got to look to." Mr. Glegg and Mr. Deane were less stern in their views, but they both of them thought Tulliver had done enough harm by his hot-tempered crotchets, and ought to put them out THE DOWNFALL. 363 of the question when a livelihood was offered him : Wakem showed a right feeling about the matter, he had no grudge against Tulliver. Tom had pro- tested against entertaining the proposition : he should n't like his father to be under Wakem ; he thought it would look mean-spirited; but his mother's main distress was the utter impossibility of ever "turning Mr. Tulliver round about Wakem," or getting him to hear reason, no, they would all have to go and live in a pigsty on purpose to spite Wakem, who spoke "so as nobody could be fairer." Indeed, Mrs. Tulliver's mind was reduced to such confusion by living in this strange medium of un- accountable sorrow, against which she continually appealed by asking, " Oh dear, what have I done to deserve worse than other women ? " that Maggie began to suspect her poor mother's wits were quite going. " Tom," she said, when they were out of their father's room together, "we must try to make fa- ther understand a little of what has happened before he goes downstairs. But we must get my mother away. She will say something that will do harm. Ask Kezia to fetch her down, and keep her engaged with something in the kitchen." Kezia was equal to the task. Having declared her intention of staying till the master could get about again, " wage or no wage," she had found a certain recompense in keeping a strong hand over her mistress, scolding her for " moithering " herself, and going about all day without changing her cap, and looking as if she was " mushed." Altogether, this time of trouble was rather a Saturnalian time to Kezia : she could scold her betters with unre- proved freedom. On this particular occasion there 364 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. were drying clothes to be fetched in : she wished to know if one pair of hands could do everything in- doors and out, and observed that she should have thought it would be good for Mrs. Tulliver to put on her bonnet, and get a breath of fresh air by doing that needful piece of work. Poor Mrs. Tulliver went submissively downstairs : to be ordered about by a servant was the last remnant of her household dig- nities, she would soon have no servant to scold her. Mr. Tulliver was resting in his chair a little after the fatigue of dressing, and Maggie and Tom were seated near him, when Luke entered to ask if he should help master downstairs. " Ay, ay, Luke, stop a bit, sit down," said Mr. Tulliver, pointing his stick towards a chair, and looking at him with that pursuant gaze which con- valescent persons often have for those who have tended them, reminding one of an infant gazing about after its nurse. For Luke had been a con- stant night-watcher by his master's bed. " How 's the water now, eh, Luke ? " said Mr. Tul- liver. " Dix has n't been choking you up again, eh ? " " No, sir, it 's all right." "Ay, I thought not: he won't be in a hurry at that again, now Eiley 's been to settle him. That was what I said to Riley yesterday ... I said Mr. Tulliver leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arm-chair, and looking on the ground as if in search of something, striving after vanishing images like a man struggling against a doze. Maggie looked at Tom in mute distress, their father's mind was so far off the present, which would by and by thrust itself on his wandering consciousness ! Tom was almost ready to rush away, with that impatience of painful emotion which makes one of THE DOWNFALL. 365 the differences between youth and maiden, man and woman. " Father," said Maggie, laying her hand on his, " don't you remember that Mr. Riley is dead ? " " Dead ? " said Mr. Tulliver, sharply, looking in her face with a strange, examining glance. " Yes, he died of apoplexy nearly a year ago ; I remember hearing you say you had to pay money for him ; and he left his daughters badly off, one of them is under-teacher at Miss Firniss's, where I Ve been to school, you know " " Ah ? " said her father, doubtfully, still looking in her face. But as soon as Tom began to speak, he turned to look at him with the same inquiring glances, as if he were rather surprised at the pres- ence of these two young people. Whenever his mind was wandering in the far past, he fell into this oblivion of their actual faces : they were not those of the lad and the little wench who belonged to that past. " It 's a long while since you had the dispute with Dix, father," said Tom. " I remember your talking about it three years ago, before I went to school at Mr. Stelling's. I 've been at school there three years ; don't you remember ? " Mr. Tulliver threw himself backward again, los- ing the childlike outward glance under a rush of new ideas, which diverted him from external impressions. " Ay, ay," he said, after a minute or two, " I Ve paid a deal o' money ... I was determined my son should have a good eddication : I 'd none myself, and I Ve felt the miss of it. And he '11 want no other fortin : that 's what I say ... if Wakem was to get the better of me again " 366 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. The thought of Wakera roused new vibrations, and after a moment's pause he began to look at the coat he had on, and to feel in his side-pocket. Then he turned to Tom, and said, in his old sharp way, " Where have they put Gore's letter ? " It was close at hand in a drawer, for he had often asked for it before. " You know what there is in the letter, father ? " said Tom, as he gave it to him. " To be sure I do," said Mr. Tulliver, rather angrily. " What o' that ? If Furley can't take to the property, somebody else can : there 's plenty o' people in the world besides Furley. But it 's hin- dering, my not being well, go and tell 'em to get the horse in the gig, Luke : I can get down to St. Ogg's well enough, Gore 's expecting me." " No, dear father ! " Maggie burst out entreatingly, " it 's a very long while since all that : you 've been ill a great many weeks, more than two months, everything is changed." Mr. Tulliver looked at them all three alternately with a startled gaze : the idea that much had hap- pened of which he knew nothing had often tran- siently arrested him before, but it came upon him now with entire novelty. " Yes, father," said Tom, in answer to the gaze. " You need n't trouble your mind about business until you are quite well : everything is settled about that for the present, about the mill and the land and the debts." " What 's settled, then ? " said his father, angrily. " Don't you take on too much about it, sir," said Luke. " You 'd ha' paid i very body if you could, that 's what I said to Master Tom, I said you 'd ha' paid iverybody if you could." THE DOWNFALL. 367 Good Luke felt, after the manner of contented hard-working men whose lives have been spent in servitude, that sense of natural fitness in rank which made his master's downfall a tragedy to him. He was urged, in his slow way, to say something that would express his share in the family sorrow ; and these words, which he had used over and over again to Tom when he wanted to decline the full payment of his fifty pounds out of the children's money, were the most ready to his tongue. They were just the words to lay the most painful hold on his master's bewildered mind. " Paid everybody ? " he said, with vehement agi- tation, his face flushing, and his eye lighting up. "Why . . . what . . . have they made me a bankrupt ? " "Oh, father, dear father!" said Maggie, who thought that terrible word really represented the fact, " bear it well because we love you your children will always love you. Tom will pay them all ; he says he will, when he 's a man." She felt her father beginning to tremble ; his voice trembled, too, as he said after a few moments, " Ay, my little wench, but I shall never live twice o'er." " But perhaps you will live to see me pay every- body, father," said Tom, speaking with a great effort. "Ah, my lad," said Mr. Tulliver, shaking his head slowly, "but what's broke can never be whole again ; it 'ud be your doing, not mine." Then looking up at him, "You're only sixteen it's an up-hill fight for you but you must n't throw it at your father; the raskills have been too many for him. I 've given you a good eddication, that '11 start you." 368 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Something in his throat half choked the last words ; the flush which had alarmed his children because it had so often preceded a recurrence of paralysis, had subsided, and his face looked pale and tremulous. Tom said nothing: he was still struggling against his inclination to rush away. His father remained quiet a minute or two, but his mind did not seem to be wandering again. " Have they sold me up, then ? " he said, more calmly, as if he were possessed simply by the desire to know what had happened. " Everything is sold, father ; but we don't know all about the mill and the land yet," said Tom, anxious to ward off any question leading to the fact that Wakem was the purchaser. " You must not be surprised to see the room look very bare downstairs, father," said Maggie ; " but there 's your chair and the bureau, they 're not gone." " Let us go help me down, Luke I '11 go and see everything," said Mr. Tulliver, leaning on his stick, and stretching out his other hand towards Luke. " Ay, sir," said Luke, as he gave his arm to his master, " you '11 make up your mind to 't a bit better when you 've seen iverything : you '11 get used to 't. That 's what my mother says about her shortness o' breath, she says she 's made friends wi't now, though she fought again' it sore when it fust come on." Maggie ran on bafore to see that all was right in the dreary parlour, where the h're, dulled by the frosty sunshine, seemed part of the general shabbiness. She turned her father's chair, and pushed aside the table to make an easy way for him, and then stood with THE DOWNFALL. 369 a beating heart to see him enter and look round for the first time. Tom advanced before him, carrying the leg-rest, and stood beside Maggie on the hearth. Of those two young hearts Tom's suffered the most unmixed pain, for Maggie, with all her keen suscep- tibility, yet felt as if the sorrow made larger room for her love to flow in, and gave breathing-space to her passionate nature. No true boy feels that : he would rather go and slay the Nemean lion, or per- form any round of heroic labours, than endure perpetual appeals to his pity, for evils over which he can make no conquest. Mr. Tulliver paused just inside the door, resting on Luke, and looking round him at all the bare places, which for him were filled with the shadows of departed objects, the daily companions of his life. His faculties seemed to be renewing their strength from getting a footing on this demonstra- tion of the senses. " Ah ! " he said, slowly, moving towards his chair, " they 've sold me up ... they 've sold me up." Then seating himself, and laying down his stick, while Luke left the room, he looked round again. " They 've left the big Bible," he said. " It 's got everything in, when I was born and married, bring it me, Tom." The quarto Bible was laid open before him at the fly-leaf; and while he was reading with slowly travelling eyes, Mrs. Tulliver entered the room, but stood in mute surprise to find her husband down already, and with the great Bible before him. " Ah," he said, looking at a spot where his finger rested, " my mother was Margaret Beaton, she died when she was forty-seven : hers was n't a long- VOL. i. 24 370 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. lived family, we 're our mother's children, Gritty and me are, we shall go to our last bed before long." He seemed to be pausing over the record of his sister's birth and marriage, as if it were suggesting new thoughts to him ; then he suddenly looked up at Tom, and said, in a sharp tone of alarm, "They have n't come upo' Moss for the money as I lent him, have they ? " " No, father," said Tom ; " the note was burnt." Mr. Tulliver turned his eyes on the page again, and presently said, "Ah . . . Elizabeth Dodson ... it's eighteen year since I married her " " Come next Lady Day," said Mrs. Tulliver, going up to his side and looking at the page. Her husband fixed his eyes earnestly on her face. " Poor Bessie," he said, " you was a pretty lass then, everybody said so, and I used to think you kept your good looks rarely. But you're sorely aged . . . don't you bear me ill-will ... I meant to do well by you ... we promised one another for better or for worse " But I never thought it 'ud be so for worse as this," said poor Mrs. Tulliver, with the strange scared look that had come over her of late ; " and my poor father gave me away . . . and to come on so all at once " Oh, mother," said Maggie, " don't talk in that way." " No, I know you won't let your poor mother speak . . . that's been the way all my life . . . your father never minded what I said ... it 'ud have been o' no use for me to beg and pray . . . THE DOWNFALL. 371 and it 'ud be no use now, not if I was to go down o' my hands and knees " "Don't say so, Bessy," said Mr. Tulliver, whose pride, in these first moments of humiliation, was in abeyance to the sense of some justice in his wife's reproach. "If there's anything left as I could do to make you amends, I would n't say you nay." " Then we might stay here and get a living, and I might keep among my own sisters . . . and me been such a good wife to you, and never crossed you from week's end to week's end . . . and they all say so ... they say it 'ud be nothing but right . . . only you J re so turned against Wakem." " Mother," said Tom, severely, " this is not the time to talk about that." " Let her be," said Mr. Tulliver. " Say what you mean, Bessy." " Why, now the mill and the land 's all Wakem's, and he 's got everything in his hands, what 's the use o' setting your face against him ? when he says you may stay here, and speaks as fair as can be, and says you may manage the business and have thirty shilling a week, and a horse to ride about to market? And where have we got to put our heads ? We must go into one o' the cottages in the village . . . and me and my children brought down to that . . . and all because you must set your mind against folks till there's no turning you." Mr. Tulliver had sunk back in his chair, trembling. " You may do as you like wi ' me, Bessy," he said, in a low voice ; " I 've been the bringing of you to poverty . . . this world 's too many for me . . . I 'm naught but a bankrupt it 's no use standing up for anything now." 372 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. "Father," said Tom, "I don't agree with my mother or my uncles, and I don't think you ought to submit to be under Wakem. I get a pound a week now, and you can find something else to do when you get well." " Say no more, Tom, say no more : I 've had enough for this day. Give me a kiss, Bessy, and let us bear one another no ill-will : we shall never be young again . . . tliis world's been too many for me." CHAPTER IX. AN ITEM ADDED TO THE FAMILY REGISTER THAT first moment of renunciation and submission was followed by days of violent struggle in the miller's mind, as the gradual access of bodily strength brought with it increasing ability to em- brace in one view all the conflicting conditions under which he found himself. Feeble limbs easily resign themselves to be tethered, and when we are subdued by sickness it seems possible to us to ful- fil pledges which the old vigour comes back and breaks. There were times when poor Tulliver thought the fulfilment of his promise to Bessy was something quite too hard for human nature : he had promised her without knowing what she was going to say, she might as well have asked him to carry a ton weight on his back. But again, there were many feelings arguing on her side, besides the sense that life had been made hard to her by having married him. He saw a possi- bility, by much pinching, of saving money out of his salary towards paying a second dividend to his creditors, and it would not be easy elsewhere to get a situation such as he could fill. He had led an easy life, ordering much and working little, and had no aptitude for any new business. He must perhaps take to day-labour, and his wife must have help from her sisters, a prospect doubly bitter to 374 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. him, now they had let all Bessy's precious things be sold, probably because they liked to set her against him, by making her feel that he had brought her to that pass. He listened to their admonitory talk, when they came to urge on him what he was bound to do for poor Bessy's sake with averted eyes, that every now and then flashed on them furtively when their backs were turned. Nothing but the dread of needing their help could have made it an easier alternative to take their advice. But the strongest influence of all was the love of the old premises where he had run about when he was a boy, just as Tom had done after him. The Tullivers had lived on this spot for generations, and he had sat listening on a low stool on winter evenings while his father talked of the old half- timbered mill that had been there before the last great floods which damaged it so that his grandfather pulled it down and built the new one. It was when he got able to walk about and look at all the old objects, that he felt the strain of this clinging affection for the old home as part of his life, part of himself. He could n't bear to think of himself living on any other spot than this, where he knew the sound of every gate and door, and felt that the shape and colour of every roof and weather-stain and broken hillock was good, because his growing senses had been fed on them. Our instructed vagrancy, which has hardly time to linger by the hedgerows, but runs away early to the tropics, and is at home with palms and banyans, which is nourished on books of travel, and stretches the theatre of its imagination to the Zambesi, can hardly get a dim notion of what an old-fashioned man like Tulliver felt for this spot, where all his memories THE DOWNFALL. 375 centred, and where life seemed like a familiar smooth-handled tool that the fingers clutch with loving ease. And just now he was living in that freshened memory of the far-off time which conies to us in the passive hours of recovery from sickness. " Ay, Luke," he said, one afternoon, as he stood looking over the orchard gate, " I remember the day they planted those apple-trees. My father was a , huge man for planting, it was like a merry- making to him to get a cart full o' young trees, and I used to stand i' the cold with him, and follow him about like a dog." Then he turned round, and, leaning against the gate-post, looked at the opposite buildings. " The old mill 'ud miss me, I think, Luke. There 's a story as when the mill changes hands, the river 's angry, I Ve heard my father say it many a time. There 's no telling whether there may n't be summat in the story, for this is a puzzling world, and Old Harry 's got a finger in it, it 's been too many for me, I know." "Ay, sir," said Luke, with soothing sympathy, " what wi' the rust on the wheat, an' the firin' o' the ricks an' that, as I Ve seen i' my time, things often looks comical: there's the bacon fat wi' our last pig runs away like butter, it leaves naught but a scratchin'." "It's just as if it was yesterday, now," Mr. Tulliver went on, " when my father began the malt- ing. I remember, the day they finished the malt- house, I thought summat great was to come of it ; for we 'd a plum^ pudding that day and a bit of a feast, and I said to my mother, she was a fine dark-eyed woman, my mother was, the little 376 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. wench 'ull be as like her as two peas." Here Mr. Tulliver put his stick between his legs, and took out his snuff-box, for the greater enjoyment of this anecdote, which dropped from him in fragments, as if he every other moment lost narration in vision. " I was a little chap no higher much than my mother's knee, she was sore fond of us children, Gritty and me, and so I said to her, ' Mother,' I said, ' shall we have plum pudding every day because o' the malt-house ? ' She used to tell me o' that till her dying day. She was but a young woman when she died, my mother was. But it 's forty good year since they finished the malt-house, and it is n't many days out of 'em all, as I have n't looked out into the yard there, the first thing in the morning, all weathers, from year's end to year's end. I should go off my head in a new place. I should be like as if I 'd lost my way. It 's all hard, whichever way I look at it, the harness 'ull gall me, but it 'ud be surnmat to draw along the old road, instead of a new un." " Ay, sir," said Luke, " you 'd be a deal better here nor in some new place. I can't abide new places mysen : things is allays awk'ard, narrow- wheeled waggins, belike, and the stiles all another sort, an' oat-cake i' some places, tow'rt th' head o' the Floss, there. It's poor work, changing your country-side." " But I doubt, Luke, they '11 be for getting rid o' Ben, and making you do with a lad, and I must help a bit wi' the mill. You '11 have a worse place." "Ne'er mind, sir," said Luke, "I sha'n't plague mysen. I 'n been wi' you twenty year, an' you can't get twenty year wi' whistlin' for 'ern, no more THE DOWNFALL. 377 nor you can make the trees grow : you mun wait till God A' mighty sends 'em. I can't abide new victual nor new faces, / can't, you niver know but what they '11 gripe you." The walk was finished in silence after this, for Luke had disburdened himself of thoughts to an extent that left his conversational resources quite barren, and Mr. Tulliver had relapsed from his recollections into a painful meditation on the choice of hardships before him. Maggie noticed that he was unusually absent that evening at tea; and afterwards he sat leaning forward in his chair, looking at the ground, moving his lips, and shak- ing his head from time to time. Then he looked hard at Mrs. Tulliver, who was knitting opposite him ; then at Maggie, who, as she bent over her sewing, was intensely conscious of some drama going forward in her father's mind. Suddenly he took up the poker and broke the large coal fiercely. "Dear heart, Mr. Tulliver, what can you be thinking of ? " said his wife, looking up in alarm ; " it 's very wasteful, breaking the coal, and we 've got hardly any large coal left, and I don't know where the rest is to come from." " I don't think you 're quite so well to-night, are you, father ? " said Maggie ; " you seem un- easy." " Why, how is it Tom does n't come ? " said Mr. Tulliver, impatiently. " Dear heart ! is it time ? I must go and get his supper," said Mrs. Tulliver, laying down her knit- ting, and leaving the room. " It 's nigh upon half-past eight," said Mr. Tulliver. " He '11 be here soon. Go, go and get 378 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. the big Bible, and open it at the beginning, where everything's set down. And get the pen and ink." Maggie obeyed, wondering; but her father gave no further orders, and only sat listening for Tom's footfall on the gravel, apparently irritated by the wind, which had risen, and was roaring so as to drown all other sounds. There was a strange light in his eyes that rather frightened Maggie ; she began to wish that Tom would come too. "There he is, then," said Mr. Tulliver, in an excited way, when the knock came at last. Maggie went to open the door ; but her mother came out of the kitchen hurriedly, saying, " Stop a bit, Maggie ; I '11 open it." Mrs. Tulliver had begun to be a little frightened at her boy, but she was jealous of every office others did for him. " Your supper 's ready by the kitchen-fire, my boy," she said, as he took off his hat and coat. "You shall have it by yourself, just as you like, and I won't speak to you." "I think my father wants Tom, mother," said Maggie ; " he must come into the parlour first." Tom entered with his usual saddened evening face ; but his eyes fell immediately on the open Bible and the inkstand, and he glanced with a look of anxious surprise at his father, who was saying, " Come, come, you 're late, I want you." "Is there anything the matter, father?" said Tom. " You sit down, all of you," said Mr. Tulliver, peremptorily. " And, Tom, sit down here ; I Ve got something for you to write i' the Bible." THE DOWNFALL. 379 They all three sat down, looking at him. He began to speak slowly, looking first at his wife. " I Ve made up my mind, Bessy, and 1 11 be as good as my word to you. There 11 be the same grave made for us to lie down in, and we must n't be bearing one another ill-will. 1 11 stop in the old place, and 1 11 serve under Wakem, and 1 11 serve him like an honest man : there 's no Tulliver but what 's honest, mind that, Tom ! " here his voice rose : " they 11 have it to throw up against me as I paid a dividend, but it was n't my fault, it was because there 's raskills in the world. They Ve been too many for me, and I must give in. 1 11 put my neck in harness, for you Ve a right to say as I've brought you into trouble, Bessy and 1 11 serve him as honest as if he was no raskill ; I 'm an honest man, though I shall never hold my head up no more, I 'm a tree as is broke, a tree as is broke." He paused, and looked on the ground. Then suddenly raising his head, he said, in a louder yet deeper tone, " But I won't forgive him ! I know what they say, he never meant me any harm, that 's the way Old Harry props up the raskills, he 's been at the bottom of everything but he 's a fine gentle- man I know, I know. I should n't ha' gone to law, they say. But who made it so as there was no arbitrating and no justice to be got ? It signifies nothing to him, I know that ; he 's one o' them fine gentlemen as get money by doing business for poorer folks, and when he 's made beggars of 'em he 11 give 'em charity. I won't forgive him! I wish he might be punished with shame till his own son 'ud like to forget him. 380 THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. I wish he may do summat as they 'd make him work at the treadmill ! But he won't, he 's too big a raskill to let the law lay hold on him. And you mind this, Tom, you never forgive him neither, if you mean to be my son. There '11 maybe come a time when you may make him feel, it '11 never come to me, I 'n got my head under the yoke. Now write, write it i' the Bible." " Oh, father, what ? " said Maggie, sinking down by his knee, pale and trembling. " It 's wicked to curse and bear malice." "It isn't wicked, I tell you," said her father, fiercely. " It 's wicked as the raskills should pros- per, it 's the devil's doing. Do as I tell you, Tom. Write." " What am I to write ? " said Tom, with gloomy submission. "Write as your father, Edward Tulliver, took service under John Wakem, the man as had helped to ruin him, because I 'd promised my wife to make her what amends I could for her trouble, and because I wanted to die in th' old place where I was born and my father was born. Put that i' the right words you know how and then write, as I don't forgive Wakem for all that ; and for all I '11 serve him honest, I wish evil may befall him. Write that." There was a dead silence as Tom's pen moved along the paper ; Mrs. Tulliver looked scared, and Maggie trembled like a leaf. " Now let me hear what you 've wrote," said Mr. Tulliver. Tom read aloud, slowly. " Now write write as you '11 remember what Wakem 's done to your father, and you '11 make him THE DOWNFALL. 381 and his feel it, if ever the day comes. And sign your name Thomas Tulliver." " Oh no, father, dear father ! " said Maggie, almost choked with fear. " You should n't make Tom write that." " Be quiet, Maggie ! " said Tom. " I shall write it" END OF VOL. L UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES COLLEGE LIBRARY This book is due on the last date stamped below. College n COL U& Book Slip-15m-8,'58 (589084)4280 UCLA-College Library PR 4664 A1 1901 v.1 L 005 684 500 1 College Library PR 4664 Al 1901 v.l