The Mill on the Floss George Eliot (ereader android .txt) đ
- Author: George Eliot
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âI donât know,â said Tom. He didnât want to âtellâ of Maggie, though he was angry with her; for Tom Tulliver was a lad of honour.
âWhat! hasnât she been playing with you all this while?â said the father. âSheâd been thinking oâ nothing but your coming home.â
âI havenât seen her this two hours,â says Tom, commencing on the plumcake.
âGoodness heart; sheâs got drowned!â exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver, rising from her seat and running to the window.
âHow could you let her do so?â she added, as became a fearful woman, accusing she didnât know whom of she didnât know what.
âNay, nay, sheâs none drowned,â said Mr. Tulliver. âYouâve been naughty to her, I doubt, Tom?â
âIâm sure I havenât, father,â said Tom, indignantly. âI think sheâs in the house.â
âPerhaps up in that attic,â said Mrs. Tulliver, âa-singing and talking to herself, and forgetting all about mealtimes.â
âYou go and fetch her down, Tom,â said Mr. Tulliver, rather sharplyâ âhis perspicacity or his fatherly fondness for Maggie making him suspect that the lad had been hard upon âthe little un,â else she would never have left his side. âAnd be good to her, do you hear? Else Iâll let you know better.â
Tom never disobeyed his father, for Mr. Tulliver was a peremptory man, and, as he said, would never let anybody get hold of his whip-hand; but he went out rather sullenly, carrying his piece of plumcake, and not intending to reprieve Maggieâs 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 pointâ ânamely, that he would punish everybody who deserved it. Why, he wouldnât have minded being punished himself if he deserved it; but, then, he never did deserve it.
It was Tomâs 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, âNever mind, my wench.â It is a wonderful subduer, this need of loveâ âthis hunger of the heartâ âas 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 Tomâs step, and her heart began to beat violently with the sudden shock of hope. He only stood still at the top of the stairs and said, âMaggie, youâre to come down.â But she rushed to him and clung round his neck, sobbing, âOh, Tom, please forgive meâ âI canât bear itâ âI will always be goodâ âalways remember thingsâ âdo love meâ âplease, dear Tom!â
We learn to restrain ourselves as we get older. We keep apart when we have quarrelled, express ourselves in well-bred phrases, and in this way preserve a dignified alienation, showing much 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 civilised 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 Maggieâs fondling, so that he behaved 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 sayâ â
âDonât cry, then, Magsie; here, eat a bit oâ cake.â
Maggieâs 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 otherâs cheeks and brows and noses together, while they ate, with a humiliating resemblance to two friendly ponies.
âCome along, Magsie, and have tea,â 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 couldnât feel (it was Tomâs private opinion that it didnât much matter if they did). He knew all about worms, and fish, and those things; and what birds were mischievous, and how padlocks opened, and which way the handles of the gates were to be lifted. Maggie thought this sort of knowledge was very wonderfulâ âmuch more difficult than remembering what was in the books; and she was rather in awe of Tomâs superiority, for he was the only person who called her knowledge âstuff,â and did not feel surprised at her cleverness. Tom, indeed, was of opinion that Maggie was a silly little thing; all girls were sillyâ âthey couldnât throw a stone so as to hit anything, couldnât do anything with a pocketknife, 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.
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