 Book 1, Chapter 1 of the Mill on the Floss. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibreVox.org. This reading by Lucy Bergoine. The Mill on the Floss by George Elliott. Book 1, Boy and Girl, Chapter 1, Outside Door Coat 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 fur planks with rounded sacks of oil-bearing seed, or with the dark glitter of coal, are born along to the town of St. Oaks, which shows its age, fluted red roofs and the broad gables of its forests, between the low-wooded hill and the river brink, tinging 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 a broad-leaved green crops, or touched already with the tint of the tender-bladed autumn sown corn. There is a remnant still of last year's golden clusters of beehive ricks, rising at intervals beyond the hedgerows, 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 the tributary ripple flows with the 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 death and loving. I remember those large-dipping willows, I remember the stone bridge, and this is Dorkot Mill. I must stand a minute 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 damps season adds a charm to the trimly-kept, comfortable dwelling house, as old as the alms and chestnuts that shelter it from the northern blast. The stream is brimful now, and lies high in this little whiffy 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 bowels, I am in love with moistness, and envy the white ducks that are dipping their heads far into the water here, among the whiffs, 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 deckness, which seems to heighten the peacefulness of the scene. They are like a grape curtain of sound, shutting one out from the world beyond. And now there is the thunder of the huge covered wagon coming home with sacks of grain. That honest wagonner 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 mildly approach 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 toward the bridge with all the more energy because they are so near home. Look at their grand shaggy feet that seem to grasp the firm earth at the patient strength of their necks bowed under the heavy collar at the mighty muscles of their struggling horses. I should like well to hear them nape 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 swift pace and the arch of the covered wagon disappears at the turning behind the trees. Now I can turn my eyes toward 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 curve with the brown ear seems to be leaking and vaping in ineffectual remonstrance with the wheels. Perhaps he is jealous because his playfellow in the beaver bonnet is so wrapped in its movement. It is time the little playfellow went in, I think, and there is a bright fire to tempt to. The red light shines out under the deepening gray of the sky. It is time too for me to leave off, resting my arms on the cold stone 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 Dawcott Mill as it looked one February afternoon, 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 had been dreaming of. End of Book 1, Chapter 1 Book 1 Boy and Girl Chapter 2 Mr. Tulliver of Dawcott Mill declares his resolution about Tom. What I want, you know, said Mr. Tulliver. What I want is to give Tom a good education, an education as will 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 the Academy I'd had done well enough if I'd meant to make a miller and farmer of him, for he's had a fine sight more school than I ever got. All the learn in my father ever paid for was a bit of birch at one end and the alphabet at the other. But I should like Tom to be a bit of a scholar, so as he might be up to the tricks of these fellows as talk fine and right with the flourish. It'd be a help to me with these lawsuits and arbitrations and things. I wouldn't make a downright lawyer of the lad. I should be sorry for him to be a rascal. But a sort of engineer, or a surveyor, or an auctioneer and valier, like Riley, or one of 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 with the law, I believe. For Riley looks lawyer-wake him in the face as hard as one cat looks another. He is none frightened at him. Mr. Tulliver was speaking to his wife, a blonde, calmly woman in a fan-shaped cap. I'm 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. Augs, and considered sweet things. Well, Mr. Tulliver, you know best. I have no objections. But hadn't I better kill a couple of fowl and have aunts and uncles to dinner next week, so as you may hear what sister Glegg and sister Pullett have got to say about it? There's a couple of fowl once killing. You may kill every fowl of the yard if you like, Bessie, but I shall ask neither aunt nor uncle what I'm to do with my own lad," said Mr. Tulliver defiantly. Dear heart! said Mrs. Tulliver, shocked at the sanguinary rhetoric. How can you talk so, Mr. Tulliver? But it's your way to speak disrespectful of my family, and sister Glegg throws all the blame upon me, though I'm sure I'm as innocent as the babe unborn. For nobody's ever heard me say as it wasn't lucky for my children to have aunts and uncles as can live independent. 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 yellow as thother before they'd been washed half a dozen times. And then, when the box is going backward and forward, I could send the lad a cake or a pork pie or an apple, for he can do with an extra bit, bless him, whether they stint him at the meals or no. My children can eat as much victuals as most, thank God. Well, well, we won't send Mada reach to the carrier's cart if other things fit in," said Mr. Tulliver. But she mustn't put a spoke of the wheel about the washin' if we can't get a school near enough. That's the fault I have to find with you, Bessie. If you see a stick of the road you're always thinkin' you can't step over it. You'd want me not to hire a good wagoner because he's got a mole on his face. Dear heart," said Mrs. Tulliver, in mild surprise, when did I ever make objections to a man because he'd got a mole in his face? I'm sure I'm rather fond of the moles. For my brother, as is dead and gone, had a mole on his brow. But I can't remember your ever offering to hire a wagoner with a mole, Mr. Tulliver. There was John Gibbs, hadn't a mole on his face, no more nor you have, and I was all for havin' you hire him, and so you did hire him. And if he hadn't to die to the inflammation as we paid Dr. Turnbull for attending him, he'd very like had been driving the wagon now. He might have a mole somewhere out of sight. But how was I to know that, Mr. Tulliver? No, no, Bessie, I didn't mean justly the mole. I meant it to stand for some at else. But never mind, it's puzzling work talking is. What I'm thinking on is how to find the right sort of school to send Tom to, for I might be tayin' in again as I've been with the Academy. I'll have nothing to do with the Academy again. Whatever school I send Tom to, it shan't be Academy. It shall be a place where the lads spend their time as some at else besides blacking the family's shoes and getting up the potatoes. It's not a common puzzling thing to know what school to pick. Mr. Tulliver paused a minute or two and dived with both hands into his breeches' pocket as if he hoped to find some suggestion there. Apparently he was not disappointed, for he presently said, I know what I'll do. I'll talk it over with Riley. He's coming to-morrow, tarbet-rate about the dam. Well, Mr. Tulliver, I've put the sheets out for the best bed and Casey has got him hangin' at the fire. They aren't the best sheets, enough for anybody to sleep in. Be he who he will. For as for them best Holland sheets, I should repent by them, only they'll do to lay us out in. And if you was to die to-morrow, Mr. Tulliver, they're mangled beautiful and all ready and smell a lavender as it would be a pleasure to lay them out, and they lie at the left-hand corner of the big oak linen chest at the back, not as I should trust anybody to look them 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 with a placid smile while she looked at the clear fire. If Mr. Tulliver had been a susceptible 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 hid it, Bessie, was his first remark after a short silence. Riley's as likely a man as any to know of some school. He's had schooling himself, and goes about to all sorts of places, Arbitraton and Valleon and that, and we shall have time to talk it over to-morrow night when the business is done. I want Tom to be such sort of man as Riley, you know, as can talk pretty nigh as well as if it was all wrote out for him, and knows a good lot of words as don't mean much, so as he can't lay hold of him in law, and a good solid knowledge of 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, and never get a fresh egg for his breakfast, and sleep up three pair of stairs, or four for what I know, and be burnt to death before he can get down. No, no, said Mr. Tulliver, I have no thoughts of his going to Mudport. I mean him to set up his office at St. Augs, close by us and live at home. But—continued Mr. Tulliver after a pause— what I'm a bit afraid on is, as Tom hasn't got the right sort of brains for a smart fellow. I doubt he's a bit slowish. He takes after your family, Bessie. Yes, that he does, said Mrs. Tulliver, accepting the last proposition entirely on its own merits. He's wonderful for liking a deal of salt in his broth. That was my brother's way, and my father's before him. It seems a pity, though, said Mr. Tulliver, as the lad should take after the mother's side instead of the little wench. That's the worst on it with crossing a breeze. You can never justly calculate what'll come on. The little wench takes after my side now. She's twice as cute as Tom—too cute for a woman, I'm afraid," continued Mr. Tulliver, turning his head dubiously first on one side and then on the other. It's no mischief much while she's a little wench, but an over-cute woman's no better nor a long-tailed sheep shall fetch none the bigger price for that. Yes, it is a mischief while she's a little wench, Mr. Tulliver, for it runs to naughtiness. How to keep her in a clean pinafore two hours together passes my cunning. And now you put me in mind," continued Mr. Tulliver, rising and going to the window. I don't know where she is now, and it's pretty nigh tea-time. Oh, I thought so, wanderin' up and down by the water like a wild thing. She'll tumble in some day. Mrs. Tulliver wrapped the window sharply, beckoned and shook her head, a process which she repeated more than once before she returned to her chair. You talk acuteness, Mr. Tulliver," she observed as she sat down, but I'm sure the child's half an idiot of some things. For if I send her upstairs to fetch anything, she forgets what she's gone for, and perhaps she'll sit on the floor in the sunshine and platter hair and sing to herself like a bedlam creature all the while I'm waiting for her downstairs. That never run in my family, thank God! No more nor a brown skin as makes her look like a merlotter. I don't like to fly the face of Providence, but it seems hard as I should have but one gill, and her so comical. Poo! nonsense! said Mr. Tulliver. She's a straight black-eyed wench as anybody need wish to see. I don't know her what she's behind other folk's children, and she could read almost as well as the parson. But her hair won't curl all I can do with it, and she's so francy about having it put in paper, and I've such work as never was to make her stand and have it pinched with irons. Cut it off! Cut it off short! said the father, rashly. How can you talk so, Mr. Tulliver? She's too big a girl, gone nine and tall of her age to have her hair cut short, and there's her cousin Lucy's got a roll of curls round her head and not a hair out of place. It seems hard as my sister Dean should have that pretty child. I'm sure Lucy takes more after me than my own child does. Maggie! Maggie! continued the mother in a tone of calf-coaxing fretfulness as this small mistake of nature entered the room. Where's the use of my telling you to keep away from the water? You'll tumble in and be drowned some day, and then you'll be sorry you didn't do as mother told you. Maggie's hair, as she threw off her bonnet, painfully confirmed her mother's accusation. Mrs. Tulliver, desiring her daughter to have a curled crop, like other folk'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 to keep the dark heavy locks out of her gleaming black eyes, an action which gave her very much the air of a small shetland pony. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Maggie! What are you thinking of to throw your bonnet down there? Take it upstairs, there's a good gale, and let your hair be brushed, and put your other pinafore on and change your shoes. Do for shame! And come and 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 Gleg. It's foolish work, said Maggie, with a toss of her mane, tearing things to pieces to sew them together again, and I don't want to do anything for my Aunt Gleg. I don't like her. Exit Maggie, dragging her bonnet by the string, while Mr. Tulliver laughs audibly. I wonder it she was your laugh at her, Mr. Tulliver, said the mother, with feeble fretfulness in her tone. You encourage her a naughtiness, and her aunts will have it as its 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 upward 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 Madonna's of Raphael, with the blonde faces and somewhat stupid expression, keep 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. 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, his Mr. Riley, a gentleman with a wax and complexion and fat hands, rather highly educated for an auctioneer and appraiser, but large-hearted enough to show a great deal of bonnemy toward simple country acquaintances of hospitable habits. Mr. Riley spoke of such acquaintances kindly as The conversation had come to a pause. Mr. Tulliver, not without a particular reason, had abstained from a seventh recital of the cool retorts by which Riley had shown himself too many for dicks, and how Wacom 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 hadn'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 unassisted intellect, and had arrived at several questionable conclusions. Amongst the rest, that rats, weevils, and lawyers were created by old Harry. Unhappily he had no one to tell him that this was rampant menachism, else he might have seen his error. But today it was clear that the good principle was triumphant. This affair of the water-power had been a tangled business somehow, for it all seemed, look at it one way, as plain as water's water. But, big a puzzle as it was, it hadn't got the better of Riley. Mr. Tulliver 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 bankers, was rather unconsciously 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 impressing want of Mr. Riley's advice. This was his particular reason for remaining silent for a short space after his last draft, 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 might 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 in 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 wax and eyelids and high-arched eyebrows, looking exactly the same under 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 streaming 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 sky-terrier suspecting mischief, or at all events determined to fly at anyone who threatened it toward Tom. You see, I want to put him to a new school at mid-summer, said Mr. Tulliver. He's coming away from the Academy at Lady Day, and I shall let him run loose for a quarter. But after that I want to send him to a downright good school, while they'll make a scholar of him. Well, said Mr. Riley, there is no greater advantage 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 of that. Why, if I made him a miller and farmer, he'd be expecting to take the mill and land, and hinting at me it was time for me to lay by and think of my latter end. Nay, nay, I've seen enough of that with sons. He'll never pull my coat off before I go to bed. I shall give Tom an education and put him to a business, and he may make a nest for himself, and not want to push me out of mine. Pretty well if he gets it, when I'm dead and gone. I shan't be put off with spoon-me, before I'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 afterward 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 within the fender, and going up between her father's knees said in a half-crying, half-indignant voice, Father, Tom wouldn't be naughty to you ever. I know he wouldn'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 tenderness 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 at all, eh? said Mr. Tulliver, looking at Maggie with a twinkling eye, then in a lower voice turning to Mr. Riley, as though Maggie couldn't hear. She understands what one's talking about so as never was, and you should hear her read, straight off, as if she noted all beforehand, and all is at her book. But it's bad, it's bad," Mr. Tulliver added sadly, checking this blimable exultation. A woman's no business would be in clever, it'll turn to trouble, I doubt. But bless you, here the exultation was clearly recovering the mastery. She'll read the books and understand them better, nor half the folks has her grown up. Maggie's cheeks began to flush with triumphant excitement. She thought Mr. Riley 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 presently he 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 color, went without hesitation to Mr. Riley's elbow and looked over the book, eagerly seizing one corner and tossing back her mane while she said, Oh, I'll tell you what that means. It's a dreadful picture, isn'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 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 a-kimbo. Laughing. Oh, isn't he ugly? I'll 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 him, they'd run away, and he couldn't make him do what he pleased. Mr. Tulliver had listened to this exposition of Maggie's with petrifying wonder. Why, what book is it the little wench has got hold of? 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, Mr. Tulliver? Maggie looked hurt and discouraged, while her father said, Why it's one of the books I bought at Partridge'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 them. 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 them, sermons, mostly, I think, but they've all got the same covers, and I thought they were all a one sample, as you may say, but it seems one mustn't judge by the outside. This is a puzzling world. Well, said Mr. Riley, in an admonitory patronizing tone as he padded 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. I 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. Riley, you can't read better. Well, but there's a great deal about the devil in that, said Maggie triumphantly, and I'll 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. Tolliver, peremptorily, beginning 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 such talk. It is, as I thought, the child will learn more mischief nor good with books. Go, go, and see after your mother. 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, toward 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 it? said Mr. Tolliver as Maggie retired. It's a pity but what she'd been the lad. She'd have been a match for the lawyers she would. It's the wonderfulest thing. Here he lowered his voice. As I picked the mother because she wasn't or cute, being a good-looking woman and two and come of a rare family for managing, but I picked her from her sister's a purpose because she was a bit weak-like, for I wasn't going to be told the rites of things by my own fireside. But you see when a man's got brains himself there's no knowing where they'll run to and a pleasant sort of 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, puzzling thing. Mr. Riley's gravity gave way and he shook a little under the application of his pinch of snuff before he said, but your lads not stupid is he? I saw him when I was here last busy making fishing tackle. He seemed quite up to it. Well, he isn't not to say stupid. He's got a notion of things out a door and a sort of common sense as he'd lay hold of 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 and as shy as can be with strangers and he never hear him say cute things like a 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. I want my son to be even with these fellows as have got the start of me with having better schooling. Not but what if the world had been left as God made it I could have seen my way and held my own with the best of them but things have got so twisted round and wrapped up in unreasonable words as aren't a bit like them as I'm clean at fault often and often. Everything winds about so straight forward you are the more you're puzzled. Mr. Tulliver took a draft, swallowed it slowly and shook his head in a melancholy manner, conscious 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, observed Mr. Riley, 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 haven't your ready money to play with, Tulliver, and I have a house full of daughters into the bargain. I dare say now you know of a school as it 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 deliberative before he said, I know of a very fine chance for anyone that's got the necessary money and that's what you have, Tulliver. The fact is I wouldn't recommend any friend of mine to send a boy to a regular school if he could afford to do better. But if anyone wanted his boy to get superior instruction and training where he would be the companion of his master and that master of first-rate fellow, I know his man. I wouldn't mention the chance to everybody because I don't think everybody would succeed in getting it if he were to try, but I mention it to you, Tulliver, between ourselves. The fixed inquiring glance with which Mr. Tulliver had been watching his friend's oracular face I know, 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 sententiously, 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 MA. 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 with 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 be quite of the family, the finest thing in the world for them, understellings I continually. But do you think they'd give the poor lad twice a pudding? said Mrs. Tulliver, who is now in her place again. He's such a boy for pudding as never was, and a growing boy like that, it's dreadful to think of their stint in him. And what money did he want? said Mr. Tulliver, whose instinct told him that the services of this admirable MA would bear a high price. Why, I know of a clergyman who asks a hundred and fifty with his youngest pupils, and he's not to be mentioned with Stelling, the man I speak of. I know of him, the man I speak of. I know, on good authority, that one of the chief people at Oxford said, Stelling might get the highest honors if he chose. But he didn't care about university honors. He's a quiet man, not noisy. Ah, a deal better, a deal better, said Mr. Tulliver. But a hundred and fifty is an uncommon price. I never thought of paying so much as that. A good education, let me tell you, Tulliver, a good education is cheap at the money. 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 clergymen to do. I'll write to him about it if you'd like. Mr. Tulliver rubbed his knees and looked at the carpet in a meditative manner. But be like he's a bachelor, observed Mrs. Tulliver in the interval, and I have no opinion of housekeepers. There was my brother, as is dead and gone, had a housekeeper once, and she took half the feathers out of the best bed, and packed him up and sent him away. And it's unknown the linen she made away with. Stought, her name was. It'd break my heart to send Tom where there's a housekeeper, and 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. I know her family well. She has very much your complexion, light, curly hair. She comes of a good mud-port family, and I'd offer that it would have been acceptable in that quarter. But Stelling's not an everyday man, rather a particular fellow as to the people he chooses to be connected with. But I 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-learned to bring up a lad to be a man of business? My notion of the parson's was as they'd got a sort of learning as lay mostly at a sight. And that isn't what I want for Tom. I want him to know figures and rites like print and see into things quick and know what folks mean and how to wrap things up in words as aren't actionable. It's an uncommon fine thing, that is," said Mr. Riley's 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 under quite 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. Ah, that Jacobs is at the Academy. Interpose, Mr. Tulliver. To be sure, men who have failed in other trades most likely. Now, a clergyman is a gentleman 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 bookmen, 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 Stelling, I want my son to be a thorough arithmetician and you may leave the rest to him. Mr. Riley paused a moment and assured as to clerical tutorship was inwardly rehearsing to an imaginary Mr. Stelling the statement, I want my son to know arithmetic. 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. Why, that's true, said Mr. Tulliver, almost convinced now that the clergy would be able to help the school masters. Well, I'll tell you what I'll do for you, said Mr. Riley, and I wouldn't do it for everybody. I'll 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 say Stelling will write to you and send you his terms. But there's no hurry, is there? said Mrs. Tulliver, for I hope Mr. Tulliver you won't let Tom begin at his new school until he's come of it. Aye, aye, Bessie, never brew with bad malt upon Michael Mastay else you'll 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, Bessie. It might be as well not to defer the arrangement too long, said Mr. Riley quietly, for Stelling may have propositions that he would not take more than two or three borders, 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 mid-summer, but I would be on the safe side and make sure that nobody forestalls you. Aye, there's some it in that, said Mr. Tulliver. Father, broken Maggie, who had stolen unperceived 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 Thomas to go? Shouldn'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. Being of opinion that children when they are not naughty should always be spoken to jacosely. You must borrow the seven-legged boots from 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 questions 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 wakened, 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 as a hospitable, pleasant man, he'd be glad to have you stay. But it's too far off for the linen-eyed doubt, said Mrs. Tulliver, sadly. The entrance of supper opportunally adjourned this difficulty and relieved Mr. Riley from the labour of suggesting some solution or compromise, a labour which he would otherwise doubtless have undertaken, 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 solid, definite advantage resulting to himself, notwithstanding the subtle indications to the contrary, which might have misled a too sagacious observer. For there is nothing more widely misleading than sagacity that has been speak'd from distinct motives, with a consciously proposed end in view, is certain to waste its energies on imaginary 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 trivial falsities for which we hardly know a reason, by small frauds neutralised by small extravagances, by maladroit flatteries and clumsily improvised insinuations. We live from hand to mouth, most of us, with a small family of immediate desires. We do little else than snatch a morsel 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 toward his own interest, even he was more under the influence of small promptings than of far-sighted designs. He had no private understanding with the Reverend Walter Stelling. On the contrary, he knew very little of that Emmae in his acquirements, not quite enough perhaps to warrant so strong a recommendation of him as he had given to his friend Tolliver. 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 than it should have been, for though Mr. Riley had received a tincture of the classics at the great Mudport Free School and had a sense of understanding Latin generally, his comprehension of any particular Latin was not ready. Doubtless there remained a subtle aroma from his juvenile contact with the De Senectute and the fourth book of the Aeneid, but it had ceased to be distinctly recognisable 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 man were always— no, no, it was the Cambridge men who were always good mathematicians. But a man who had had a university education could teach anything he liked, especially 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 remarked this son-in-law of Timpsons 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 Timpsons, where Timpsons was one of the most useful and influential 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 be diverted through their good judgment, from less worthy pockets into his own, and it would be a satisfaction to him to say to Timpsons on his return home, I've secured a good pupil for your son-in-law. Timpsons had a large family of daughters, Mr. Riley felt for him. Besides, Louisa Timpsons' face, with its light curls, had been a familiar object to him over the pew-wayne-skit on a Sunday for nearly fifteen years. It was natural her husband should be a commendable tutor. Moreover, Mr. Riley knew of no other school-master, whom he had any ground for recommending in preference. Why, then, should he not recommend sterling? His friend Tolliver had asked him for an opinion. It is always chilling and 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 conviction and well-founded knowledge. You make it your own in uttering it, and naturally get fond of it. Thus, Mr. Riley, knowing no harm of sterling to begin with, and wishing him well, so far as he had any wishes at all concerning him, had no sooner recommended him that he began to think with admiration of a man recommended on such high authority, and would soon have gathered so warm an interest in the subject that if Mr. Tolliver had in the end declined to send Tom to sterling, Mr. Riley 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 forgotten his free school Latin, be expected to manifest a delicate scrupulosity which is not always exhibited by gentlemen of 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 toward whom she has otherwise no ill will. What then? We admire her care for the parasite. If Mr. Riley had shrunk from giving a recommendation that was not based on valid evidence, he would not have helped Mr. Sterling to a paying pupil, and that would not have been so well for the reverend gentleman. Consider, the pleasant little dim ideas and complacencies of standing well with Timpson, of dispensing advice when he was asked for it, of impressing his friend, Tolliver, with additional respect, of saying something and saying it emphatically with other inappreciably minute ingredients that went along with the warm hearth and the brandy and water to make up Mr. Riley's consciousness on this occasion, would have been a mere blank. End of Book One, Chapter Three Book One, Chapter Four of the Mel on the Floss This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Elizabeth Klett The Mel on the Floss by George Elliott Book One, Boy and Girl Chapter Four 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. Tolliver 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 of 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. Tolliver, sitting stout and helpless with the brushes on her lap. What is to become of you if you're so naughty? I'll tell your aunt, Gleg, and your aunt, pull it when they come next week, and they'll never love you any more. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Look at your clean pinafore wet from top to bottom. Folks'll think it's a judgment on me as I've got such a child. Before this remonstrance was finished, Maggie was already out of hearing, making her way toward the great attic that run under the high old-pitched roof, shaking the water from her black locks as she ran, like a sky 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 were-meeting floors and the were-meeting 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 suffering. Three nails driven into the head commemorated as many crises in Maggie's nine years of earthly struggle, that luxury of vengeance having been suggested to her by the picture of Gael destroying Cicera 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 Gleg. But immediately afterward 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 Gleg would be pitiable when she had been hurt very much and thoroughly humiliated so as to beg her nieces pardon. Since then she had driven no more nails in, but had soothed herself by alternately 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. 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 rarely breaking 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 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 python's 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. Hey, hey, Miss, you'll make yourself giddy and tumble down of the dirt, a broad-shouldered man of forty, black-eyed and black-haired, subdued by a general mealiness like an auricula. Maggie paused in her whirling and said, staggering a little, oh, no, it doesn'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, with 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 surfaces and making the very spider-nats look like a fairy lacework the sweet, pure scent of the meal all helped to make Maggie feel that the mill was a little world apart from her outside everyday life the spiders were especially a subject of speculation with her and the lady's appearance outside the mill for in that case there must be a painful difficulty in their family intercourse a fat and flowery spider accustomed to take his fly well-dusted with meal must suffer a little at a cousin's table where the fly was, oh, naturel and the lady's 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 time, but 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 her position with him on the present occasion for, as she sat sliding on the heap of grain near which she was busying himself she said, at that shrill pit which was requisite in mill society I think you never read any book but the Bible, did you, Luke? with great frankness I'm no reader, I aren'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 Pugs Tour of Europe that would tell you all about the different sorts of people in the world and if you didn't understand the reading the pictures would help you they show the looks and the ways of people and what they do there are the Dutchmen very fat and smoking, you know they have no opinion of Dutchmen they're being much good in knowing about them but there are fellow-creatures, Luke we ought to know about our fellow-creatures not much of fellow-creatures, I think, miss all I know, my old master as war and no one man used to say, says he if ere I sow my wheat we out brine and I'm a Dutchman, says he and that were as much to say as a Dutchman were a fool or next door nay, nay, I aren't going to bother me sell about Dutchmen there's fools anew and rogues anew without looking at books for them oh well said Maggie rather foiled by Luke's unexpectedly decided views about Dutchmen perhaps you would like animated nature better that's not Dutchmen, you know but elephants and kangaroos and the civet cat and the sunfish 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've got to keep count of the flower and corn I can't do with knowing so many things besides my work that's what brings folks to the gallows knowing everything but what they've got to get their bread by and there mostly lies I think what's printed in the books them printed sheets are anyhow as the men cry at the streets why you're like my brother Tom, Luke said Maggie wishing to turn the conversation slowly Tom's not fond of reading I love Tom so dearly, 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 everything he doesn't know but I think Tom's clever for all he doesn't like books he makes beautiful whip-cord and rabbit pens ah, said Luke but he'll be fine and vexed as the rabbits are all dead dead screamed Maggie jumping up from her sliding seat on the corn oh dear, Luke, what! the lop-eared one in the spotted dough that Tom spent all his money to buy as dead as moles said Luke, fetching his comparison 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 him and I forgot I do well, you see, Miss, they were in that far tool-house and it was nobody's business to see to him I reckon Master Tom told Harry to feed him, but there's no counting on Harry he's an awful creature as ever come about the premises he is he remembers nothing but his own inside and I wish it had griped him oh, Luke Tom told me to be sure and remember the rabbits every day but how could I when they didn't come into my head, you know oh, he'll 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 there gnash things, then loppiered rabbits they'd happen a-died if they'd been fed things out of nature never thrive God amite, he doesn't like them he made the rabbits ears to lie back and it's nothing but contrariness to make him hang down like a Mastiff's dog Master Tom will know better why such things another time don't you fret, Miss will you come along home with 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 prodigal son in the costume of Sir Charles Grandison except that, as might have been 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 felt 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 breaches 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 aren't you, Luke? she said for he was very sorry, you know and wouldn't do wrong again Sir Miss," said Luke, he'd be no great shake's eye doubt let's father 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 End of Book 1, Chapter 4 Book 1, Chapter 5 of the Mill on the Floss this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Elizabeth Klett The Mill on the Floss by George Elliott Book 1, Boy and Girl Chapter 5 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 blowing the clouds about and was not likely to respect Mrs. Tulliver's curls and cap-strings she came outside 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 a mercy he's got never a collar on it's been lost on the road the foil, 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 wandered toward the Croft and the Lambs that he would begin to fish the first thing tomorrow morning he was one of those lads that grow everywhere in England and at twelve or thirteen years of age look as much alike as Gosling's 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 to boyhood as different as possible from poor Maggie's fizz which nature seemed to have molded and colored as decided intention but that same nature has the deep cunning which hides itself under the appearance 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 confident 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 this girl may after all turn out to be a passive being compared 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 parlor had taken off the chill he had felt from the long drive you don't know what I've gotten my pockets nodding his head up and down as a means of rousing her sense of mystery No! said Maggie don't you they look Tom is it Marles, 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 Marles, no I've swapped all my Marles with 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 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 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 ones 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 tomorrow down by the round pool and you shall catch your own fish Maggie and put the worms on and everything to 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 and the hook 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 taking out a large pocket knife and slowly opening the largest blade which he looked at meditatively as he rubbed his finger along it then he added I gave Spouncer a black eye I know I wasn't going to go half 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 to you in a 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 to know not thinking just as we go fishing and then a great lion might run toward us roaring and we couldn't get away from him what should you do Tom Tom paused and at last turned away contemptuously saying but the lion isn't coming what's the use of talking but I like to fancy how it would be for 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 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'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 I always have half sovereigns and sovereigns for my Christmas box 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 toward Maggie you forgot to feed him then and Harry forgot he said his color heightening for a moment but soon subsiding 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 tomorrow 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 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 wouldn't mind what you did I'd forgive you and love you yes you're silly but I never do forget things I don't oh do 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 aren't I a good brother to you yes sobbed Maggie her chin rising and falling convulsively didn't I think about your fish line all this quarter and mean to buy it and saved my money a purpose and wouldn't go haves in the toffee and lots of thought me because I wouldn't yes and I 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 tomorrow with this terrible conclusion Tom ran away from Maggie toward 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 didn't love her oh he was very cruel hadn'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 residence 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 be all 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 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 didn'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 through 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 a doubt where he pleased and whittling sticks without any particular reason except that he didn'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 into 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 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 time? said the father she'd been thinking of nothing but you're coming home I haven't seen her this two hours says Tom commencing on the plum-cake goodness heart she's got drowned in 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 non-drowned said Mr. Tulliver you've been naughty to her I doubt Tom I'm sure I haven't father said Tom indignantly 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 mealtimes 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 one else she would never have left his side and be good to her do you hear else I'll 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 plum-cake 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 wouldn't have minded being punished himself if he deserved it but then he never did deserve it 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 by wench it is a wonderful subduer 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 a sudden shock of hope and she 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 always remember things do love me please dear Tom we learn to restrain ourselves as we get older we keep apart when we have quarreled with one side alienation showing much firmness 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 and she made with a weakness quite inconsistent with his resolution to punish her as much as she deserved he actually began to kiss her in return and say don't cry then Maggie here eat a bit of 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 and said to Maggie come along Maggie 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 couldn't feel it was Tom's private opinion that it didn't matter much 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 difficult 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 couldn't throw a stone so as to hit anything couldn't do anything with a pocket knife and were frightened at frogs still he was very fond of his sister and meant always to take care of her make her his housekeeper and punish her when she did wrong they were on their way to the round pool that wonderful pool which the floods had made a long while ago and he knew how deep it was and it was mysterious too that it should be almost a perfect round framed in with willows and tall reeds so that the water was only to be seen when you got close to the brink the sight of the old favorite spot always heightened Tom's good humor 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 was going to turn 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 trench bouncing on the grass Tom was excited oh, Maggie you little duck empty the basket Maggie was not conscious of unusual merit but it was enough that Tom called her Maggie 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 dripping 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 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 plume tops of the reeds which she forgot and dropped afterward above all the great floss along which they wandered with a sense of travel to see the rushing spring tide the awful eager 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 at 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 the grass the same hips and hauls on the autumn hedgerows the same red breasts 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 Speedwell 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 fibers 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 capricious hedgerows such things as these are the mother tongue of our imagination the language that has 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 today might be no more than the faint perception of wearied souls if it were not for the sunshine and the grass in the far-off years which still live in us and transform our perception into love The Mill on the Floss by George Elliott It was Easter week and Mrs. Tulliver's cheesecakes were more exquisitely light than usual a puff of wind would make them blow about like feathers Keesia, 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 propitious for a family party even if it had not been advisable to consult sister Glegg and sister Pullitt about Tom's going to school Yes, yes, said Mr. Tulliver ask her to come I never hardly get a bit of talk with Dean now we haven't had him this six months what's it matter what she says my children need be beholding to nobody their husbands buy them everything Mrs. Tulliver was a mild woman but even a sheep will face about a little when she has lambs Chugh, said Mr. Tulliver it takes a big loaf when there's many to breakfast what signifies your sister's bits of money when they've got half a dozen nevies and nieces to divide it among and your sister Dean won't get them to leave all to one, I reckon and to make the country cry shame on them when they're dead I don't know what she won't get them to do, said Mrs. Tulliver for my children are so awkward with their aunts and uncles Maggie's ten times naughtier when they come than she is other days and Tom doesn't like them, bless him though it's more natural and a boy than a girl and there's Lucy Dean such a good child you may set her on a stool and there she'll 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 Dean's for she'd always a very poor colour for one of our family sister Dean had well well if you're fond of the child ask her father and mother to bring her with him and won't you ask there on to Uncle Moss too and some of their children oh dear Mr. Tulliver why there'd be eight people besides the children and I must put two more leaves at the table besides reaching down more the dinner service and you know as well as I do as my sisters and your sister don't suit well together well well do as you like Bessie 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 Dodsons were a very respectable family indeed 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 particular ways of doing everything in that family particular ways of bleaching the linen of making the cow slip 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 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 scarves 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 the 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 demeanor the only better circumstance attending this superiority was a painful inability to approve the condiments or the conduct of families ungoverned by the Dodson tradition a female Dodson went 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 preserves had probably begun to ferment from want of due sugar and boiling there were some Dodson's less like the family than others that was admitted but insofar as they were kin they were of necessity better than those who were no kin and it is remarkable that while no individual Dodson was satisfied with any other individual Dodson each was satisfied not only with him or herself but with the Dodson's 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. Tolliver was a thorough Dodson though a mild one as small beer so long as it is anything is only describable as very weak ale and though she had grown 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. Tolliver 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 Tolliver never did in other respects the true Dodson was partly latent in Tom and he was as far from appreciating his kin on the mother's side as Maggie herself generally 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 Greg 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 acknowledged to be serious impedimenta in cases of flight on Wednesday the day before the aunts and uncles were coming there were such various and suggestive scents as of plum cakes 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 Tom and Maggie 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 sufficient load of booty Tom, said Maggie, as they sat on the boughs of the elder tree eating their jam puffs now you run away to-morrow no, said Tom slowly when he had finished his puff and was eyeing the third which was to be divided between them no, I shan'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 dubiative manner it was a difficult problem to divide that very irregular polygon into two equal parts what do I care about Lucy? she's only a girl. she can't play it, Bandy is it the tipsy cake, then? said Maggie, exerting her hypothetical powers while she leaned forward toward Tom with her eyes fixed on the hovering knife no, you silly, that'll be good the day after it's the puddin' I know what the puddin's to be. apricot roll up oh, my buttons with this interjection the knife descended on the puff and it wasn't two, but the result was not satisfactory to Tom for he still eyed the halves doubtfully at last he said shut your eyes, Maggie what for? you never mind what for, shut them 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! said Tom in a tone of exasperation as Maggie peeped you keep your eyes shut now else you shan'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 a rather 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 I don't mind I like the other please take this no I shan't said Tom almost crossly beginning on his own inferior piece Maggie thinking that it was no use to contend further began to and ate up her half puff with considerable relish as well as rapidity but Tom had finished first and had to look on while Maggie ate her last morsel or two feeling in himself a capacity for more Maggie didn't know Tom was looking at her she was seesawing on the elder bow lost to almost everything but a vague sense of jam and idleness oh you greedy thing said Tom when she had swallowed the last morsel he was conscious of having acted very fairly but she ought to have considered this and made up to him for it he would have refused a bit of hers 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 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 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 hands but if I go habs I'll go unfair only I wouldn't be a greedy with this cutting in Nwendo Tom jumped down from his bow and threw a stone with a hoi as a friendly attention to Yap who had also been looking on while the eatables vanished an agitation 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 melancholy chimpanzee still sat on her bow and gave herself up to the keen sense of unmerited reproach 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 for Maggie's palette was not at all obtuse but she would have gone without it many times over sooner than Tom should call her greedy and be crossed 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 but by that time resentment began to give way to the desire of reconciliation and she jumped from her bow to look for Tom he was no longer in the paddock behind the rickyard where was he likely to be gone and yelp with him? Maggie ran to the high bank against the great holly-tree where she could see far away toward 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 yelp Naughty Bob Jaykin 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 Tom had wandered thither there rushed out a brindled dog that wouldn'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 seen Bob take off his cap to show Tom a little snake that was inside it and another time he had had a handful of young bats altogether he was an irregular character perhaps even slightly diabolical judging from his intimacy with snakes and bats and to crown all, when Tom had Bob for a companion he didn'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 Swallows or Tomtits or Yellowhammers 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 hedge-rows 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 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 troubleous 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 particular affair and spoke of the sport with an enthusiasm which no one who is not either divested of all manly feeling or pitiably ignorant of rat-catching can fail to imagine for a person suspected of preternatural wickedness Bob was really not so very villainous 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 convenience of waiting 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 overpaid was voraciously likely to remain unrecognised perhaps because it is seen so seldom I know the chap who owns the ferrets said Bob in a hoarse treble voice as he shuffled along keeping his blue eyes fixed on the river like an amphibious animal who foresaw occasion for darting in he lives at the kennel-yard at the dogs he does he's the biggest rat-catcher anywhere he is I'd sooner be a rat-catcher nor anything I would the moles is nothing to the rats but lures, yaman have 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 with a rotten or nothing I see it myself I did at the rat-catcher in your father'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, snow good at sport I'll have regular good dogs for rats and everything when I'm done school have ferrets, Mr. Tom, said Bob eagerly them white ferrets with pink eyes lures, you might catch your own rats and you might put a rat in a cage with a ferret and see them fight, you might that's what I'd do, I know and it'd be better fun almost never seeing two chaps fight if it wasn't them chaps who sold cakes and oranges at the fair as the things flew out of their baskets and some of the cakes were smashed but they tasted just as good added Bob by way of note or addendum after a moment's pause but I say Bob, said Tom in a tone of deliberation ferrets are nasty biting things they'll bite a fellow without being set on lures, why that's the beauty on them if a chap lays hold of your ferret he won't be long before he hollows out a good and 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 bulrishes if it was not a water rat Bob intimated that he was ready to undergo the most unpleasant consequences hoy, yap, hoy, 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 isn't said Bob as he kicked the water up before him with an agreeable sense of being insolent to it why last year the meadows was all one sheet of water they was I but said Tom whose mind was prone to seeing opposition between statements that were really accordant but there was a big flood once when the round pool was made I know there was because father says so and the sheep and cows all drowned and the boats went all over the fields ever such a way I don't care about a flood coming said Bob I don't mind the water no more the land I'd swim I would ah but if you got nothing to eat forever so long said Tom his imagination becoming quite active under the stimulus of the 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 already and then if the flood came you know Bob I shouldn't mind and I take you in if I saw you swimming he added in the tone of a benevolent patron I aren't frighted said Bob to whom hunger did not appear so appalling but I'd get in and knock the rabbits on the head when you wanted to eat him ah and I should have halfpence and we play at heads and tails said Tom not contemplating the possibility that this recreation might have fewer charms for his mature age I divide fair to begin with and then we'd see who'd win I've got a half penny of me own said Bob proudly coming out of the water and tossing his half penny in the air yes or tails tails said Tom instantly fired with the desire to win it's yes said Bob hastily snatching up the half penny as it fell it wasn't said Tom loudly and peremptorily you give me the half penny I've won it fair I shan't said Bob holding it tight in his pocket then I'll make you see if I don't said Tom yes I can you can't make me do nothing you can't said Bob 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 with 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'll give me the half penny 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 favorable opportunity for biting Bob's bare leg not only with impunity but with honor 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 up for most but 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 half penny now said Tom take it said Bob sulkily no I shan't take it you give it me Bob took the half penny out of his pocket and threw it away from him on the ground Tom loosed his hold and left Bob to rise there the half penny lies he said I don't want your half penny I wouldn't have kept it but you wanted to cheat I hate to cheat I shan't go along with you anymore he added turning round homeward not without casting regret toward the rat catching and other pleasures which he must relinquish along with Bob society you may let it alone then Bob called out after him I shall cheat if I like there's no fun at playing else and I know where there's a goldfinch nest but I'll take care you don't and you're a nasty fighting turkey cock you are Tom walked on without looking around and Yap followed his example the cold bath having moderated his passions go along with you then with 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 and I'm giving you everything and showed you everything and never wanted nothing from you and there's your horn handed knife then is he giving 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 wouldn'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 in treating thrills that he would go and clutch that familiar rough Buxhorn handle which they had so often grasped from your 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 it 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 honor not a chivalrous character that fine moral aroma would not have been thought much of by the public opinion of Kennell Yard which was the very focus or heart of Bob's world even if it could have made itself 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 rataman theme personage having more than the usual share of boys 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 desserts Maggie saw a cloud on his brows he came home which checked her joy it is 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 moment he would have said I 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 end of book one chapter six