The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot (best self help books to read TXT) đ
- Author: George Eliot
- Performer: 0141439629
Book online «The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot (best self help books to read TXT) đ». Author George Eliot
Mrs. Pullet was silent, having to finish her crying, and rather flattered than indignant at being upbraided for crying too much. It was not everybody who could afford to cry so much about their neighbors who had left them nothing; but Mrs. Pullet had married a gentleman farmer, and had leisure and money to carry her crying and everything else to the highest pitch of respectability.
âMrs. Sutton didnât die without making her will, though,â said Mr. Pullet, with a confused sense that he was saying something to sanction his wifeâs tears; âours is a rich parish, but they say thereâs nobody else to leave as many thousands behind âem as Mrs. Sutton. And sheâs left no leggicies to speak on,âleft it all in a lump to her husbandâs nevvy.â
âThere wasnât much good iâ being so rich, then,â said Mrs. Glegg, âif sheâd got none but husbandâs kin to leave it to. Itâs poor work when thatâs all youâve got to pinch yourself for. Not as Iâm one oâ those as âud like to die without leaving more money out at interest than other folks had reckoned; but itâs a poor tale when it must go out oâ your own family.â
âIâm sure, sister,â said Mrs. Pullet, who had recovered sufficiently to take off her veil and fold it carefully, âitâs a nice sort oâ man as Mrs. Sutton has left her money to, for heâs troubled with the asthmy, and goes to bed every night at eight oâclock. He told me about it himselfâas free as could beâone Sunday when he came to our church. He wears a hareskin on his chest, and has a trembling in his talk,âquite a gentleman sort oâ man. I told him there wasnât many months in the year as I wasnât under the doctorâs hands. And he said, âMrs. Pullet, I can feel for you.â That was what he said,âthe very words. Ah!â sighed Mrs. Pullet, shaking her head at the idea that there were but few who could enter fully into her experiences in pink mixture and white mixture, strong stuff in small bottles, and weak stuff in large bottles, damp boluses at a shilling, and draughts at eighteenpence. âSister, I may as well go and take my bonnet off now. Did you see as the cap-box was put out?â she added, turning to her husband.
Mr. Pullet, by an unaccountable lapse of memory, had forgotten it, and hastened out, with a stricken conscience, to remedy the omission.
âTheyâll bring it upstairs, sister,â said Mrs. Tulliver, wishing to go at once, lest Mrs. Glegg should begin to explain her feelings about Sophyâs being the first Dodson who ever ruined her constitution with doctorâs stuff.
Mrs. Tulliver was fond of going upstairs with her sister Pullet, and looking thoroughly at her cap before she put it on her head, and discussing millinery in general. This was part of Bessyâs weakness that stirred Mrs. Gleggâs sisterly compassion: Bessy went far too well dressed, considering; and she was too proud to dress her child in the good clothing her sister Glegg gave her from the primeval strata of her wardrobe; it was a sin and a shame to buy anything to dress that child, if it wasnât a pair of shoes. In this particular, however, Mrs. Glegg did her sister Bessy some injustice, for Mrs. Tulliver had really made great efforts to induce Maggie to wear a leghorn bonnet and a dyed silk frock made out of her aunt Gleggâs, but the results had been such that Mrs. Tulliver was obliged to bury them in her maternal bosom; for Maggie, declaring that the frock smelt of nasty dye, had taken an opportunity of basting it together with the roast beef the first Sunday she wore it, and finding this scheme answer, she had subsequently pumped on the bonnet with its green ribbons, so as to give it a general resemblance to a sage cheese garnished with withered lettuces. I must urge in excuse for Maggie, that Tom had laughed at her in the bonnet, and said she looked like an old Judy. Aunt Pullet, too, made presents of clothes, but these were always pretty enough to please Maggie as well as her mother. Of all her sisters, Mrs. Tulliver certainly preferred her sister Pullet, not without a return of preference; but Mrs. Pullet was sorry Bessy had those naughty, awkward children; she would do the best she could by them, but it was a pity they werenât as good and as pretty as sister Deaneâs child. Maggie and Tom, on their part, thought their aunt Pullet tolerable, chiefly because she was not their aunt Glegg. Tom always declined to go more than once during his holidays to see either of them. Both his uncles tipped him that once, of course; but at his aunt Pulletâs there were a great many toads to pelt in the cellar-area, so that he preferred the visit to her. Maggie shuddered at the toads, and dreamed of them horribly, but she liked her uncle Pulletâs musical snuff-box. Still, it was agreed by the sisters, in Mrs. Tulliverâs absence, that the Tulliver blood did not mix well with the Dodson blood; that, in fact, poor Bessyâs children were Tullivers, and that Tom, notwithstanding he had the Dodson complexion, was likely to be as âcontrairyâ as his father. As for Maggie, she was the picture of her aunt Moss, Mr. Tulliverâs sister,âa large-boned woman, who had married as poorly as could be; had no china, and had a husband who had much ado to pay his rent. But when Mrs. Pullet was alone with Mrs. Tulliver upstairs, the remarks were naturally to the disadvantage of Mrs. Glegg, and they agreed, in confidence, that there was no knowing what sort of fright sister Jane would come out next. But their tete-a-tete was curtailed by the appearance of Mrs. Deane with little Lucy; and Mrs. Tulliver had to look on with a silent pang while Lucyâs blond curls were adjusted. It was quite unaccountable that Mrs. Deane, the thinnest and sallowest of all the Miss Dodsons, should have had this child, who might have been taken for Mrs. Tulliverâs any day. And Maggie always looked twice as dark as usual when she was by the side of Lucy.
She did to-day, when she and Tom came in from the garden with their father and their uncle Glegg. Maggie had thrown her bonnet off very carelessly, and coming in with her hair rough as well as out of curl, rushed at once to Lucy, who was standing by her motherâs knee. Certainly the contrast between the cousins was conspicuous, and to superficial eyes was very much to the disadvantage of Maggie though a connoisseur might have seen âpointsâ in her which had a higher promise for maturity than Lucyâs natty completeness. It was like the contrast between a rough, dark, overgrown puppy and a white kitten. Lucy put up the neatest little rosebud mouth to be kissed; everything about her was neat,âher little round neck, with the row of coral beads; her little straight nose, not at all snubby; her little clear eyebrows, rather darker than her curls, to match hazel eyes, which looked up with shy pleasure at Maggie, taller by the head, though scarcely a year older. Maggie always looked at Lucy with delight.
She was fond of fancying a world where the people never got any larger than children of their own age, and she made the queen of it just like Lucy, with a little crown on her head, and a little sceptre in her handâonly the queen was Maggie herself in Lucyâs form.
âOh, Lucy,â she burst out, after kissing her, âyouâll stay with Tom and me, wonât you? Oh, kiss her, Tom.â
Tom, too, had come up to Lucy, but he was not going to kiss herâno; he came up to her with Maggie, because it seemed easier, on the whole, than saying, âHow do you do?â to all those aunts and uncles. He stood looking at nothing in particular, with the blushing, awkward air and semi-smile which are common to shy boys when in company,âvery much as if they had come into the world by mistake, and found it in a degree of undress that was quite embarrassing.
âHeyday!â said aunt Glegg, with loud emphasis. âDo little boys and gells come into a room without taking notice of their uncles and aunts? That wasnât the way when I was a little gell.â
âGo and speak to your aunts and uncles, my dears,â said Mrs. Tulliver, looking anxious and melancholy. She wanted to whisper to Maggie a command to go and have her hair brushed.
âWell, and how do you do? And I hope youâre good children, are you?â said Aunt Glegg, in the same loud, emphatic way, as she took their hands, hurting them with her large rings, and kissing their cheeks much against their desire. âLook up, Tom, look up. Boys as go to boarding-schools should hold their heads up. Look at me now.â Tom declined that pleasure apparently, for he tried to draw his hand away. âPut your hair behind your ears, Maggie, and keep your frock on your shoulder.â
Aunt Glegg always spoke to them in this loud, emphatic way, as if she considered them deaf, or perhaps rather idiotic; it was a means, she thought, of making them feel that they were accountable creatures, and might be a salutary check on naughty tendencies. Bessyâs children were so spoiledâtheyâd need have somebody to make them feel their duty.
âWell, my dears,â said aunt Pullet, in a compassionate voice, âyou grow wonderful fast. I doubt theyâll outgrow their strength,â she added, looking over their heads, with a melancholy expression, at their mother. âI think the gell has too much hair. Iâd have it thinned and cut shorter, sister, if I was you; it isnât good for her health. Itâs that as makes her skin so brown, I shouldnât wonder. Donât you think so, sister Deane?â
âI canât say, Iâm sure, sister,â said Mrs. Deane, shutting her lips close again, and looking at Maggie with a critical eye.
âNo, no,â said Mr. Tulliver, âthe childâs healthy enough; thereâs nothing ails her. Thereâs red wheat as well as white, for that matter, and some like the dark grain best. But it âud be as well if Bessy âud have the childâs hair cut, so as it âud lie smooth.â
A dreadful resolve was gathering in Maggieâs breast, but it was arrested by the desire to know from her aunt Deane whether she would leave Lucy behind. Aunt Deane would hardly ever let Lucy come to see them. After various reasons for refusal, Mrs. Deane appealed to Lucy herself.
âYou wouldnât like to stay behind without mother, should you, Lucy?â
âYes, please, mother,â said Lucy, timidly, blushing very pink all over her little neck.
âWell done, Lucy! Let her stay, Mrs. Deane, let her stay,â said Mr. Deane, a large but alert-looking man, with a type of physique to be seen in all ranks of English society,âbald crown, red whiskers, full forehead, and general solidity without heaviness. You may see noblemen like Mr. Deane, and you may see grocers or day-laborers like him; but the keenness of his brown eyes was less common than his contour.
He held a silver snuff-box very tightly in his hand, and now and then exchanged a pinch with Mr. Tulliver, whose box was only silver-mounted, so that it was naturally a joke between them that Mr. Tulliver wanted to exchange
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