Produced by Al Haines [Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: Tom came running to prevent Maggie from snatching her line away.] TOM AND MAGGIE TULLIVER TOLD FROM GEORGE ELIOT'S "THE MILL ON THE FLOSS" THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LTD. LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK 1909 CONTENTS. I. TOM MUST GO TO SCHOOL II. THE CHOICE OF A SCHOOL III. TOM COMES HOME IV. ALL ABOUT A JAM PUFF V. THE FAMILY PARTY VI. THE MAGIC MUSIC VII. MAGGIE IS VERY NAUGHTY VIII. MAGGIE AND THE GIPSIES IX. THE GIPSY QUEEN ABDICATES X. TOM AT SCHOOL XI. THE NEW SCHOOLFELLOW XII. THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON XIII. PHILIP AND MAGGIE LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. TOM CAME RUNNING TO PREVENT MAGGIE FROM SNATCHING HER LINE AWAY . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ "MY PRETTY LADY, ARE YOU COME TO STAY WITH US?" "HERE, MAGGIE, COME AND HEAR IF I CAN SAY THIS" "O TOM, PLEASE DON'T," CRIED MAGGIE MAGGIE AND TOM TULLIVER. Chapter I. TOM MUST GO TO SCHOOL. "What I want, you know," said Mr. Tulliver of Dorlcote Mill--"what I want is to give Tom a good eddication. That was what I was thinking of when I gave notice for him to leave th' academy at Lady Day. I meant to put him to a downright good school at Midsummer. "The two years at th' academy 'ud ha' done well enough," the miller went on, "if I'd meant to make a miller and farmer of him like myself. 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 flourish. It 'ud be a help to me wi' these lawsuits and things." Mr. Tulliver was speaking to his wife, a blond, comely woman in a fan-shaped cap. "Well, Mr. Tulliver," said she, "you know best. But hadn'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 _wants_ 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. "Dear heart!" said Mrs. Tulliver, "how can you talk so, Mr. Tulliver? However, 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." "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 mustn't put a spoke i' the wheel about the washin' if we can't get a school near enough. But it's an uncommon puzzling thing to know what school to pick." Mr. Tulliver paused a minute or two, and dived with both hands into his pockets, as if he hoped to find some idea there. Then he said, "I know what I'll do, I'll talk it over wi' Riley. He's coming to-morrow." "Well, Mr. Tulliver, I've put the sheets out for the best bed, and Kezia's got 'em hanging at the fire. They aren't the best sheets, but they're good enough for anybody to sleep in, be he who he will." As Mrs. Tulliver spoke 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. "I think I've hit it, Bessy," said Mr. Tulliver, 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--auctioneering and vallyin' and that. 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 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 shouldn'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 Mudport, like Riley, he'll 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--an' 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. I doubt Tom's a bit slowish. He takes after your family, Bessy." "Yes, that he does," said Mrs. Tulliver; "he's wonderful for liking a deal o' salt in his broth. That was my brother's way, and my father's before him." "It seems a bit of a pity, though," said Mr. Tulliver, "as the lad should take after the mother's side instead o' the little wench. The little un takes after my side, now: she's twice as 'cute as Tom." "Yes, Mr. Tulliver, and it all runs to naughtiness. How to keep 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--there she is, wanderin' up an' down by the water, like a wild thing. She'll tumble in some day." Mrs. Tulliver rapped the window sharply, beckoned, and shook her head. "You talk o' 'cuteness, Mr. Tulliver," she said as she sat down; "but I'm sure the child's very slow i' some things, for if I send her upstairs to fetch anything, she forgets what she's gone for." "Pooh, nonsense!" said Mr. Tulliver. "She's a straight, black-eyed wench as anybody need wish to see; 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 her hair cut short.--Maggie, Maggie," continued the mother, as the child herself entered the room, "where's the use o' my telling you to keep away from the water? You'll tumble in and be drownded some day, and then you'll be sorry you didn't do as mother told you." Maggie threw off her bonnet. Now, Mrs. Tulliver, desiring her daughter to have a curled crop, 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 to keep the dark, heavy locks out of her gleaming black eyes. "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 and go on with your patchwork, like a little lady." "O mother," said Maggie in a very 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 silly work," said Maggie, with a toss of her mane--"tearing things to pieces to sew 'em together again. And I don't want to sew anything for my Aunt Glegg; I don't like her." Exit Maggie, drawing her bonnet by the string, while Mr. Tulliver laughs audibly. "I wonder at you as you'll laugh at her, Mr. Tulliver," said the mother. "An' her aunts will have it as it's _me_ spoils her." Chapter II. THE CHOICE OF A SCHOOL. Mr. Riley, who came next day, was a gentleman with a waxen face and fat hands. He talked with his host for some time about the water supply to Dorlcote Mill. Then after a short silence Mr. Tulliver changed the subject. "There's a thing I've got i' my head," said he at last, in rather a lower tone than usual, as he turned his head and looked at his companion. "Ah!" said Mr. Riley, in a tone of mild interest. "It's a very particular thing," Mr. Tulliver 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. "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'll make a scholard of him." "Well," said Mr. Riley, "there's no greater advantage you can give him than a good education." "I don't mean Tom to be a miller and farmer," said Mr. Tulliver; "I see no fun i' that. Why, if I made him a miller, he'd be expectin' to take the mill an' the land, an' a-hinting at me as it was time for me to lay by. Nay, nay; I've seen enough o' that wi' sons." These words cut Maggie to the quick. Tom was supposed capable of turning his father out of doors! This was not to be borne; and Maggie jumped up from her stool, forgetting all about her heavy book, which fell with a bang within the fender, and going up between her father's knees said, in a half-crying, half-angry voice,-- "Father, Tom wouldn't be naughty to you ever; I know he wouldn't." "What! they mustn't say any harm o' Tom, eh?" said Mr. Tulliver, looking at Maggie with a twinkling eye. Then he added gently, "Go, go and see after your mother." "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." Mr. Riley laughed, took a pinch of snuff, and said,-- "But your lad's not stupid, is he?" said Mr. Riley. "I saw him, when I was here last, busy making fishing-tackle; he seemed quite up to it." "Well, he isn't stupid. He's got a notion o' things out o' door, an' a sort o' common sense, and he'll 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, and spells all wrong, they tell me, 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'll make him a bit nimble with his tongue and his pen, and make a smart chap of him." "You're quite in the right of it, Tulliver," observed Mr. Riley. "Better spend an extra hundred or two on your son's education than leave it him in your will." "I dare say, now, you know of a school as 'ud be just the thing for Tom," said Mr. Tulliver. Mr. Riley took a pinch of snuff, and waited a little before he said,-- "I know of a very fine chance for any one that's got the necessary money, and that's what you have, Tulliver. But if any one wanted his boy to be placed under a first-rate fellow, I know his man. He's an Oxford man, and a parson. He's willing to take one or two boys as pupils to fill up his time. The boys would 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. "And what money 'ud he want?" said Mr. Tulliver. "Stelling is moderate in his terms; he's not a grasping man," said Mr. Riley. "I've no doubt he'd take your boy at a hundred. I'll write to him about it if you like." Mr. Tulliver rubbed his knees, and looked at the carpet. "But belike he's a bachelor," observed Mrs. Tulliver, "an' I've no opinion o' house-keepers. It 'ud break my heart 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 married to as nice a little woman as any man need wish for a wife. There isn't a kinder little soul in the world." "Father," broke in Maggie, who had stolen 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? Shan'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 answered. "You must borrow the seven-leagued boots to get to him." "That's nonsense!" said Maggie, tossing her head and turning away with the tears springing to her eyes. "Hush, Maggie, for shame of you, chattering so," 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 couldn't wash him and mend him?" "About fifteen miles, that's all," said Mr. Riley. "You can drive there and back in a day quite comfortably. Or--Stelling is a kind, 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. Chapter III. TOM COMES HOME. Tom was to arrive early one 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, and in spite of the wind, which was blowing the clouds about, and was not likely to respect Mrs. Tulliver's curls and cap-strings, she came and stood outside the door with her hand on Maggie's head. "There he is, my sweet lad! But he's got never a collar on; it's been lost on the road, I'll 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 stepped down from the gig, and said, "Hallo, Yap! what, are you there?" Then he allowed himself to be kissed willingly enough, though Maggie hung on his neck in rather a strangling fashion, while his blue eyes wandered 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. He was a lad with light brown hair, cheeks of cream and roses, and full lips. "Maggie," said Tom, taking her into a corner as soon as his mother was gone out to examine his box, "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 cob-nuts?" 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 the little fellows; and cobnuts are no fun, you silly--only when the nuts are green. But see here!" He drew something 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 can't guess, Tom," said Maggie impatiently. "Don't be a spitfire, else I won't tell you," said Tom, thrusting his hand back into his pocket. "No, Tom," said Maggie, 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 wouldn't go halves in the toffee and gingerbread on purpose to save the money; and Gibson and Spouncer fought with me because I wouldn't. And here's hooks; see here! I say, won't we go and fish to-morrow down by Round Pond? And you shall catch your own fish, 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,-- "Wasn't I a good brother, now, to buy you a line all to yourself? You know, I needn't have bought it if I hadn't liked!" "Yes, very, very good. I do love you, Tom." Tom had put the line back in his pocket, and was looking at the hooks one by one, before he spoke again. "And the fellows fought me because I wouldn't give in about the toffee." "Oh dear! I wish they wouldn't fight at your school, Tom. Didn't it hurt you?" "Hurt me? No," said Tom, putting up the hooks again. Then he took out a large pocket-knife, and slowly opened the largest blade and rubbed his finger along it. At last he said,-- "I gave Spouncer a black eye, I know--that's what he got by wanting to leather me; I wasn'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; wouldn'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 hadn'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 couldn't get away from him. What _should_ you do, Tom?" Tom paused, and at last turned away, saying, "But the lion isn'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." "Oh, don't bother, Maggie! you're such a silly. I shall go and see my rabbits." Upon this Maggie's heart began to flutter with fear, for she had bad news for Tom. She dared not tell the sad truth at once, but she walked after Tom in trembling silence as he went out. "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'll 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." "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, and turned round towards Maggie. "You forgot to feed 'em, then, and Harry forgot?" he said, his colour rising for a moment. "I'll pitch into Harry--I'll have him turned away. And I don't love you, Maggie. You shan'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 couldn't help it, indeed, Tom. I'm 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." "O Tom, it's very cruel," sobbed Maggie. "I'd forgive you if you forgot anything--I wouldn't mind what you did--I'd forgive you and love you." "Yes, you're a silly; but I never do forget things--I 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. "Now, Maggie, you just listen. Aren't I a good brother to you?" "Ye-ye-es," sobbed Maggie. "Didn't I think about your fish-line all this quarter, and mean to buy it, and saved my money o' purpose, and wouldn't go halves in the toffee, and Spouncer fought me because I wouldn'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 holidays 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 didn't mean," said Maggie; "I couldn't help it." "Yes, you could," said Tom, "if you'd minded what you were doing. And you're a naughty girl, and you shan't go fishing with me to-morrow." With this Tom ran away from Maggie towards the mill, meaning to greet Luke there, and complain to him of Harry. "Oh, he is cruel!" Maggie sobbed aloud. She would stay up in the attic 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 pride of her heart, as she crept behind the tub; but presently she began to cry again at the idea that they didn't mind her being there. Meanwhile, Tom was too much interested in his talk with Luke, and in going the round of the mill, to think of Maggie at all. 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?" "I don't know," said Tom. He didn't want to "tell" of Maggie, though he was angry with her; for Tom Tulliver was a lad of honour. "What! hasn't she been playing with you all this while?" said the father. "She'd been thinking o' nothing but your coming home." "I haven't seen her this two hours," says Tom. "Goodness heart! she's got drownded," exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver, rising from her seat and running to the window. "Nay, nay, she's none drownded," said Mr. Tulliver.--"You've been naughty to her, I doubt, Tom?" "I'm sure I haven't, father," said Tom quickly. "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. "And be good to her, do you hear? Else I'll let you know better." Maggie, who had taken refuge in the attic, knew Tom's step, and her heart began to beat with the shock of hope. But he only stood still on the top of the stairs and said, "Maggie, you're to come down." Then she rushed to him and clung round his neck, sobbing, "O Tom, please forgive me! I can't bear it. I will always be good--always remember things. Do love me--please, dear Tom?" And the boy quite forgot his desire to punish her as much as she deserved; he actually began to kiss her in return, and say,-- "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 like two friendly ponies. "Come along, Magsie, and have tea," said Tom at last. So ended the sorrows of this day, and the next morning Maggie was to be seen trotting out with her own fishing-rod in one hand and a handle of the basket in the other. She had told Tom, however, that she should like him to put the worms on the hook for her. They were on their way to the Round Pool--that wonderful pool which the floods had made a long while ago. The sight of the old spot always heightened Tom's good-humour, and he opened the basket and prepared their tackle. He threw Maggie's line for her, and put the rod into her hand. She thought it probable that the small fish would come to her hook, and the large ones to Tom's. But after a few moments 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 out upon the grass. Tom was excited. "O Magsie! you little duck! Empty the basket." Maggie did not know how clever she had been; but it was quite 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 make a very nice heaven to sit by the pool in that way, and never be scolded. She never knew she had a bite until Tom told her, it is true, 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 very, very fond of each other. Chapter IV. ALL ABOUT A JAM PUFF. It was Easter week, and Mrs. Tulliver's cheese-cakes were even more light than usual, so that no season could have been better for a family party to consult Sister Glegg and Sister Pullet and Sister Deane about Tom's going to school. On Wednesday, the day before the aunts and uncles were coming, Tom and Maggie made several inroads into the kitchen, where great preparations were being made, and were induced to keep aloof for a time only by being allowed to carry away some of the good things to eat. "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--"no, I shan't." "Why, Tom? Because Lucy's coming?" "No," said Tom, opening his pocket-knife and holding it over the last jam puff, with his head on one side. "What do I care about Lucy? She's only a girl; she can't play at bandy." "Is it the tipsy-cake, then?" said Maggie, while she leaned forward towards Tom with her eyes fixed on the knife. "No, you silly; that'll be good the day after. It's the pudding. I know what the pudding's to be--apricot roll-up--oh, my buttons!" With this the knife came down on the puff, and in a moment that dainty lay in two; but the result was not pleasing to Tom, and after a few moments' thought he said,-- "Shut your eyes, Maggie." "What for?" "You never mind what for. Shut 'em, when I tell you." Maggie obeyed. "Now which'll you have, Maggie--right hand or left?" "I'll have that with the jam run out," said Maggie, 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 shan't give it you without. Right or left?--you choose, now. Ha-a-a!" said Tom, as Maggie peeped. "You keep your eyes shut, now, else you shan't have any." So Maggie 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 the best piece to Maggie. "Oh please, Tom, have it. I don't mind; I like the other. Please take this." "No, I shan't," said Tom, almost crossly. Maggie began to eat up her half puff with great relish; But Tom had finished his own first, and had to look on while Maggie ate her last morsel or two without noticing that Tom was looking at her. "Oh, you greedy thing!" said Tom, when she had eaten the last morsel. Maggie turned quite pale. "O Tom, why didn't you ask me?" "I wasn'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 wasn't going to do what wasn't fair. But if I go halves, I'll go 'em fair--only I wouldn't be a greedy." With this Tom jumped down from his bough, and threw a stone with a "hoigh!" to Yap, who had also been looking on wistfully while the jam puff vanished. Maggie sat still on her bough, and gave herself up to misery. 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; 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 wouldn'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; then she jumped from her bough to look for Tom. He was no longer near her, nor 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 in the distance; 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 task of frightening the birds was just now at a standstill. 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 swallow's, or a tom-tit'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 finding hedgehogs and stoats; and every holiday-time Maggie was sure to have days of grief because Tom had gone off with Bob. Well, there was no help for it. He was gone now, and Maggie could think of no comfort but to sit down by the holly, or wander lonely by the hedgerow, nursing her grief. Chapter V. THE FAMILY PARTY. On the day of the family party Aunt Glegg was the first to arrive, and she was followed not long afterwards by Aunt Pullet and her husband. Maggie and Tom, on their part, thought their Aunt Pullet tolerable, 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 disliked the toads, and dreamed of them horribly; but she liked her Uncle Pullet's musical snuff-box. When Maggie and Tom came in from the garden with their father and their Uncle Glegg, they found that Aunt Deane and Cousin Lucy had also arrived. Maggie had thrown her bonnet off very carelessly, and coming in with her hair rough as well as out of curl, rushed at once to Lucy, who was standing by her mother's knee. 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. "O Lucy," burst out Maggie, 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 uncles. "Heyday!" said Aunt Glegg loudly. "Do little boys and gells come into a room without taking notice o' their uncles and aunts? That wasn't the way when _I_ was a little gell." "Go and speak to your aunts and uncles, my dears," said Mrs. Tulliver. She wanted also 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 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 would not do so, and 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 way, as if she thought them quite deaf, or perhaps rather silly. "Well, my dears," said Aunt Pullet sadly, "you grow wonderful fast.--I doubt they'll outgrow their strength," she added, looking over their heads 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 isn't good for her health. It's that as makes her skin so brown, I shouldn't wonder.--Don't you think so, Sister Deane?" "I can't say, I'm sure, sister," said Mrs. Deane. "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." Maggie now wished to learn from her Aunt Deane whether she would leave Lucy behind to stay at the mill. Aunt Deane would hardly ever let Lucy come to see them, to Maggie's great regret. "You wouldn't like to stay behind without mother, should you, Lucy?" she said to her little daughter. "Yes, please, mother," said Lucy timidly, blushing very pink all over her little neck. "Well done, Lucy!--Let her stay, Mrs. Deane, let her stay," said Mr. Deane, a large man, who held a silver snuff-box very tightly in his hand, and now and then exchanged a pinch with Mr. Tulliver. "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 something I want to do before dinner." "There's no time to play at anything before dinner," said Tom. "Oh yes, there is time for this. Do come, Tom." Tom followed Maggie upstairs into her mother's room, and saw her go at once to a drawer, from which she took a large pair of scissors. "What are they for, Maggie?" said Tom. Maggie answered by seizing her front locks and cutting them straight across the middle of her forehead. "Oh, my buttons, Maggie, you'll catch it!" exclaimed Tom; "you'd better not cut any more off." Snip went the great scissors again while Tom was speaking; and he couldn't help feeling it was rather good fun--Maggie would look so queer. "Here, Tom, cut it behind for me," said Maggie, much excited. "You'll catch it, you know," said Tom as he took the scissors. "Never mind; make haste!" said Maggie, giving a little stamp with her foot. Her cheeks were quite flushed. One delicious grinding snip, and then another and another. The hinder locks fell heavily on the floor, and soon Maggie stood cropped in a jagged, uneven manner. "O 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." Maggie felt an unexpected pang. She didn't want her hair to look pretty--she only wanted people to think her a clever little girl, and not to find fault with her untidy head. But now, when Tom began to laugh at her, the affair had quite a new aspect. She looked in the glass, and still Tom laughed and clapped his hands, while Maggie's flushed cheeks began to pale and her lips to tremble a little. "O Maggie, you'll have to go down to dinner directly," said Tom. "Oh my!" "Don't laugh at me, Tom," said Maggie, 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 at once. Maggie 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. As she stood crying before the glass she felt it impossible to 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! "Miss Maggie, you're to come down this minute," said Kezia, entering the room after a few moments. "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, on which she had thrown herself. "Get away, Kezia; I don't want any dinner," said Maggie, resisting Kezia's arm. "I shan'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 later, "why don't you come and have your dinner? There's lots o' goodies, and mother says you're to come." Oh, it was dreadful! Tom was so hard. 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, 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. "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." 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 as it stood 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 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 serious results to the table-cloth. Mrs. Tulliver'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?" "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. "Fie, for shame!" said Aunt Glegg in her loudest tone. "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 playfully "she must be sent to jail, I think, and they'll cut the rest off there, and make it all even." "She's more like a gipsy 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'll stand in her way i' life, to be so brown." "She's a naughty child, as'll break her mother's heart," said Mrs. Tulliver, with the tears in her eyes. "Oh my, Maggie," whispered Tom, "I told you you'd catch it." The child's heart swelled, 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 soothingly, putting his arm round her, "never mind; you was i' the right to cut it off if it plagued you. Give over crying; father'll take your part." "How your husband does spoil that child, Bessy," said Mrs. Glegg in a loud "aside" to Mrs. Tulliver. "It'll be the ruin of her if you don't take care. My father niver brought his children up so, else we should ha' been a different sort o' family to what we are." Mrs. Tulliver took no notice of her sister's remark, but threw back her cap-strings and served the pudding in silence. When the dessert came 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 like small animals getting from under a burning-glass. Chapter VI. THE MAGIC MUSIC. The children were to pay an afternoon visit on the following day to Aunt Pullet at Garum Firs, where they would hear Uncle Pullet's musical-box. Already, at twelve o'clock, Mrs. Tulliver had on her visiting costume. Maggie was frowning, and twisting her shoulders, that she might, if possible, shrink away from the prickliest of tuckers; while her mother was saying, "Don't, Maggie, my dear--don't look so ugly!" Tom's cheeks were looking very red against his best blue suit, in the pockets of which he had, to his great joy, stowed away all the contents of his everyday pockets. As for Lucy, she was just as pretty and neat as she had been yesterday, and she looked with wondering pity at Maggie pouting and writhing under the tucker. While waiting for the time to set out, they were allowed to build card-houses, as a suitable amusement for boys and girls in their best clothes. Tom could build splendid houses, but Maggie's would never bear the laying on of the roof. It was always so with the things that Maggie made, and Tom said that no girls could ever make anything. But it happened that Lucy was very clever at building; she handled the cards so lightly, and moved so gently, that Tom admired her houses as well as his own--the more readily because she had asked him to teach her. Maggie, too, would have admired Lucy's houses if Tom had not laughed when her houses fell, and told her that she was "a stupid." "Don't laugh at me, Tom!" she burst out angrily. "I'm not a stupid. I know a great many things you don't." "Oh, I dare say, Miss Spitfire! I'd never be such a cross thing as you--making faces like that. Lucy doesn't do so. I like Lucy better than you. I wish Lucy was _my_ sister." "Then it's wicked and cruel of you to wish so," said Maggie, starting up from her place on the floor and upsetting Tom's wonderful pagoda. She really did not mean it, but appearances were against her, and Tom turned white with anger, but said nothing. He would have struck her, only he knew it was cowardly to strike a girl. Maggie stood in dismay and terror while Tom got up from the floor and walked away. Lucy looked on mutely, like a kitten pausing from its lapping. "O Tom," said Maggie at last, going half-way towards him, "I didn't mean to knock it down--indeed, indeed, I didn't." Tom took no notice of her, but took, instead, two or three hard peas out of his pocket, and shot them with his thumbnail against the window, with the object of hitting a bluebottle which was sporting in the spring sunshine. Thus the morning had been very sad to Maggie, and when at last they set out Tom's coldness to her all through their walk spoiled the fresh air and sunshine for her. He called Lucy to look at the half-built bird's nest without caring to show it to Maggie, and peeled a willow switch for Lucy and himself without offering one to Maggie. Lucy had said, "Maggie, shouldn't _you_ like one?" but Tom was deaf. Still, the sight of the peacock spreading his tail on the stackyard wall, just as they reached the aunt's house, was enough to turn the mind from sadness. 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 dog, half mastiff, half bull-dog, as large as a lion! Uncle Pullet had seen the party from the window, and made haste to unbar and unchain the front door. Aunt Pullet, too, appeared at the doorway, and as soon as her sister was within hearing said, "Stop the children, Bessy; don't let 'em come up the doorsteps. Sally's bringing the old mat and the duster to rub their shoes." "You
{'title': 'Tom and Maggie Tulliver by George Eliot', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}