The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot (best self help books to read TXT) 📖

Maggie left her good aunt Gritty at the end of the week, and went to Garum Firs to pay her visit to aunt Pullet according to agreement. In the mean time very unexpected things had happened, and there was to be a family party at Garum to discuss and celebrate a change in the fortunes of the Tullivers, which was likely finally to carry away the shadow of their demerits like the last limb of an eclipse, and cause their hitherto obscured virtues to shine forth in full-rounded splendor. It is pleasant to know that a new ministry just come into office are not the only fellowmen who enjoy a period of high appreciation and full-blown eulogy; in many respectable families throughout this realm, relatives becoming creditable meet with a similar cordiality of recognition, which in its fine freedom from the coercion of any antecedents, suggests the hopeful possibility that we may some day without any notice find ourselves in full millennium, with cockatrices who have ceased to bite, and wolves that no longer show their teeth with any but the blandest intentions.

Lucy came so early as to have the start even of aunt Glegg; for she longed to have some undisturbed talk with Maggie about the wonderful news. It seemed, did it not? said Lucy, with her prettiest air of wisdom, as if everything, even other people’s misfortunes (poor creatures!) were conspiring now to make poor dear aunt Tulliver, and cousin Tom, and naughty Maggie too, if she were not obstinately bent on the contrary, as happy as they deserved to be after all their troubles. To think that the very day—the very day—after Tom had come back from Newcastle, that unfortunate young Jetsome, whom Mr. Wakem had placed at the Mill, had been pitched off his horse in a drunken fit, and was lying at St. Ogg’s in a dangerous state, so that Wakem had signified his wish that the new purchasers should enter on the premises at once!

It was very dreadful for that unhappy young man, but it did seem as if the misfortune had happened then, rather than at any other time, in order that cousin Tom might all the sooner have the fit reward of his exemplary conduct,—papa thought so very highly of him. Aunt Tulliver must certainly go to the Mill now, and keep house for Tom; that was rather a loss to Lucy in the matter of household comfort; but then, to think of poor aunty being in her old place again, and gradually getting comforts about her there!

On this last point Lucy had her cunning projects, and when she and Maggie had made their dangerous way down the bright stairs into the handsome parlor, where the very sunbeams seemed cleaner than elsewhere, she directed her manoeuvres, as any other great tactician would have done, against the weaker side of the enemy.

“Aunt Pullet,” she said, seating herself on the sofa, and caressingly adjusting that lady’s floating capstring, “I want you to make up your mind what linen and things you will give Tom toward housekeeping; because you are always so generous,—you give such nice things, you know; and if you set the example, aunt Glegg will follow.”

“That she never can, my dear,” said Mrs. Pullet, with unusual vigor, “for she hasn’t got the linen to follow suit wi’ mine, I can tell you. She’d niver the taste, not if she’d spend the money. Big checks and live things, like stags and foxes, all her table-linen is,—not a spot nor a diamond among ‘em. But it’s poor work dividing one’s linen before one dies,—I niver thought to ha’ done that, Bessy,” Mrs. Pullet continued, shaking her head and looking at her sister Tulliver, “when you and me chose the double diamont, the first flax iver we’d spun, and the Lord knows where yours is gone.”

“I’d no choice, I’m sure, sister,” said poor Mrs. Tulliver, accustomed to consider herself in the light of an accused person. “I’m sure it was no wish o’ mine, iver, as I should lie awake o’ nights thinking o’ my best bleached linen all over the country.”

“Take a peppermint, Mrs. Tulliver,” said uncle Pullet, feeling that he was offering a cheap and wholesome form of comfort, which he was recommending by example.

“Oh, but, aunt Pullet,” said Lucy, “you’ve so much beautiful linen. And suppose you had had daughters! Then you must have divided it when they were married.”

“Well, I don’t say as I won’t do it,” said Mrs. Pullet, “for now Tom’s so lucky, it’s nothing but right his friends should look on him and help him. There’s the tablecloths I bought at your sale, Bessy; it was nothing but good natur’ o’ me to buy ‘em, for they’ve been lying in the chest ever since. But I’m not going to give Maggie any more o’ my Indy muslin and things, if she’s to go into service again, when she might stay and keep me company, and do my sewing for me, if she wasn’t wanted at her brother’s.”

“Going into service” was the expression by which the Dodson mind represented to itself the position of teacher or governess; and Maggie’s return to that menial condition, now circumstances offered her more eligible prospects, was likely to be a sore point with all her relatives, besides Lucy. Maggie in her crude form, with her hair down her back, and altogether in a state of dubious promise, was a most undesirable niece; but now she was capable of being at once ornamental and useful. The subject was revived in aunt and uncle Glegg’s presence, over the tea and muffins.

“Hegh, hegh!” said Mr. Glegg, good-naturedly patting Maggie on the back, “nonsense, nonsense! Don’t let us hear of you taking a place again, Maggie. Why, you must ha’ picked up half-a-dozen sweethearts at the bazaar; isn’t there one of’em the right sort of article? Come, now?”

“Mr. Glegg,” said his wife, with that shade of increased politeness in her severity which she always put on with her crisper fronts, “you’ll excuse me, but you’re far too light for a man of your years. It’s respect and duty to her aunts, and the rest of her kin as are so good to her, should have kept my niece from fixing about going away again without consulting us; not sweethearts, if I’m to use such a word, though it was never heared in my family.”

“Why, what did they call us, when we went to see ‘em, then, eh, neighbor Pullet? They thought us sweet enough then,” said Mr. Glegg, winking pleasantly; while Mr. Pullet, at the suggestion of sweetness, took a little more sugar.

“Mr. Glegg,” said Mrs. G., “if you’re going to be undelicate, let me know.”

“La, Jane, your husband’s only joking,” said Mrs. Pullet; “let him joke while he’s got health and strength. There’s poor Mr. Tilt got his mouth drawn all o’ one side, and couldn’t laugh if he was to try.”

“I’ll trouble you for the muffineer, then, Mr. Glegg,” said Mrs. G., “if I may be so bold to interrupt your joking. Though it’s other people must see the joke in a niece’s putting a slight on her mother’s eldest sister, as is the head o’ the family; and only coming in and out on short visits, all the time she’s been in the town, and then settling to go away without my knowledge,—as I’d laid caps out on purpose for her to make ‘em up for me,—and me as have divided my money so equal–-”

“Sister,” Mrs. Tulliver broke in anxiously, “I’m sure Maggie never thought o’ going away without staying at your house as well as the others. Not as it’s my wish she should go away at all, but quite contrairy. I’m sure I’m innocent. I’ve said over and over again, ‘My dear, you’ve no call to go away.’ But there’s ten days or a fortnight Maggie’ll have before she’s fixed to go; she can stay at your house just as well, and I’ll step in when I can, and so will Lucy.”

“Bessy,” said Mrs. Glegg, “if you’d exercise a little more thought, you might know I should hardly think it was worth while to unpin a bed, and go to all that trouble now, just at the end o’ the time, when our house isn’t above a quarter of an hour’s walk from Mr. Deane’s. She can come the first thing in the morning, and go back the last at night, and be thankful she’s got a good aunt so close to her to come and sit with. I know I should, when I was her age.”

“La, Jane,” said Mrs. Pullet, “it ‘ud do your beds good to have somebody to sleep in ‘em. There’s that striped room smells dreadful mouldy, and the glass mildewed like anything. I’m sure I thought I should be struck with death when you took me in.”

“Oh, there is Tom!” exclaimed