The Mill on the Floss (34 page)

"Then speak accordingly, Mr. Glegg!" said his wife, with slow,
loud emphasis, bending her head toward him significantly.

Tom's countenance had fallen during this conversation, and his
lip quivered; but he was determined not to give way. He would
behave like a man. Maggie, on the contrary, after her momentary
delight in Tom's speech, had relapsed into her state of trembling
indignation. Her mother had been standing close by Tom's side, and
had been clinging to his arm ever since he had last spoken; Maggie
suddenly started up and stood in front of them, her eyes flashing
like the eyes of a young lioness.

"Why do you come, then," she burst out, "talking and interfering
with us and scolding us, if you don't mean to do anything to help
my poor mother–your own sister,–if you've no feeling for her when
she's in trouble, and won't part with anything, though you would
never miss it, to save her from pain? Keep away from us then, and
don't come to find fault with my father,–he was better than any of
you; he was kind,–he would have helped
you
, if you had
been in trouble. Tom and I don't ever want to have any of your
money, if you won't help my mother. We'd rather not have it! We'll
do without you."

Maggie, having hurled her defiance at aunts and uncles in this
way, stood still, with her large dark eyes glaring at them, as if
she were ready to await all consequences.

Mrs. Tulliver was frightened; there was something portentous in
this mad outbreak; she did not see how life could go on after it.
Tom was vexed; it was no
use
to talk so. The aunts were
silent with surprise for some moments. At length, in a case of
aberration such as this, comment presented itself as more expedient
than any answer.

"You haven't seen the end o' your trouble wi' that child,
Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet; "she's beyond everything for boldness and
unthankfulness. It's dreadful. I might ha' let alone paying for her
schooling, for she's worse nor ever."

"It's no more than what I've allays said," followed Mrs. Glegg.
"Other folks may be surprised, but I'm not. I've said over and over
again,–years ago I've said,–'Mark my words; that child 'ull come to
no good; there isn't a bit of our family in her.' And as for her
having so much schooling, I never thought well o' that. I'd my
reasons when I said
I
wouldn't pay anything toward
it."

"Come, come," said Mr. Glegg, "let's waste no more time in
talking,–let's go to business. Tom, now, get the pen and ink––"

While Mr. Glegg was speaking, a tall dark figure was seen
hurrying past the window.

"Why, there's Mrs. Moss," said Mrs. Tulliver. "The bad news must
ha' reached her, then"; and she went out to open the door, Maggie
eagerly following her.

"That's fortunate," said Mrs. Glegg. "She can agree to the list
o' things to be bought in. It's but right she should do her share
when it's her own brother."

Mrs. Moss was in too much agitation to resist Mrs. Tulliver's
movement, as she drew her into the parlor automatically, without
reflecting that it was hardly kind to take her among so many
persons in the first painful moment of arrival. The tall, worn,
dark-haired woman was a strong contrast to the Dodson sisters as
she entered in her shabby dress, with her shawl and bonnet looking
as if they had been hastily huddled on, and with that entire
absence of self-consciousness which belongs to keenly felt trouble.
Maggie was clinging to her arm; and Mrs. Moss seemed to notice no
one else except Tom, whom she went straight up to and took by the
hand.

"Oh, my dear children," she burst out, "you've no call to think
well o' me; I'm a poor aunt to you, for I'm one o' them as take all
and give nothing. How's my poor brother?"

"Mr. Turnbull thinks he'll get better," said Maggie. "Sit down,
aunt Gritty. Don't fret."

"Oh, my sweet child, I feel torn i' two," said Mrs. Moss,
allowing Maggie to lead her to the sofa, but still not seeming to
notice the presence of the rest. "We've three hundred pounds o' my
brother's money, and now he wants it, and you all want it, poor
things!–and yet we must be sold up to pay it, and there's my poor
children,–eight of 'em, and the little un of all can't speak plain.
And I feel as if I was a robber. But I'm sure I'd no thought as my
brother––"

The poor woman was interrupted by a rising sob.

"Three hundred pounds! oh dear, dear," said Mrs. Tulliver, who,
when she had said that her husband had done "unknown" things for
his sister, had not had any particular sum in her mind, and felt a
wife's irritation at having been kept in the dark.

"What madness, to be sure!" said Mrs. Glegg. "A man with a
family! He'd no right to lend his money i' that way; and without
security, I'll be bound, if the truth was known."

Mrs. Glegg's voice had arrested Mrs. Moss's attention, and
looking up, she said:

"Yes, there
was
security; my husband gave a note for
it. We're not that sort o' people, neither of us, as 'ud rob my
brother's children; and we looked to paying back the money, when
the times got a bit better."

"Well, but now," said Mr. Glegg, gently, "hasn't your husband no
way o' raising this money? Because it 'ud be a little fortin, like,
for these folks, if we can do without Tulliver's being made a
bankrupt. Your husband's got stock; it is but right he should raise
the money, as it seems to me,–not but what I'm sorry for you, Mrs.
Moss."

"Oh, sir, you don't know what bad luck my husband's had with his
stock. The farm's suffering so as never was for want o' stock; and
we've sold all the wheat, and we're behind with our rent,–not but
what we'd like to do what's right, and I'd sit up and work half the
night, if it 'ud be any good; but there's them poor children,–four
of 'em such little uns––"

"Don't cry so, aunt; don't fret," whispered Maggie, who had kept
hold of Mrs. Moss's hand.

"Did Mr. Tulliver let you have the money all at once?" said Mrs.
Tulliver, still lost in the conception of things which had been
"going on" without her knowledge.

"No; at twice," said Mrs. Moss, rubbing her eyes and making an
effort to restrain her tears. "The last was after my bad illness
four years ago, as everything went wrong, and there was a new note
made then. What with illness and bad luck, I've been nothing but
cumber all my life."

"Yes, Mrs. Moss," said Mrs. Glegg, with decision, "yours is a
very unlucky family; the more's the pity for
my
sister."

"I set off in the cart as soon as ever I heard o' what had
happened," said Mrs. Moss, looking at Mrs. Tulliver. "I should
never ha' stayed away all this while, if you'd thought well to let
me know. And it isn't as I'm thinking all about ourselves, and
nothing about my brother, only the money was so on my mind, I
couldn't help speaking about it. And my husband and me desire to do
the right thing, sir," she added, looking at Mr. Glegg, "and we'll
make shift and pay the money, come what will, if that's all my
brother's got to trust to. We've been used to trouble, and don't
look for much else. It's only the thought o' my poor children pulls
me i' two."

"Why, there's this to be thought on, Mrs. Moss," said Mr. Glegg,
"and it's right to warn you,–if Tulliver's made a bankrupt, and
he's got a note-of-hand of your husband's for three hundred pounds,
you'll be obliged to pay it; th' assignees 'ull come on you for
it."

"Oh dear, oh dear!" said Mrs. Tulliver, thinking of the
bankruptcy, and not of Mrs. Moss's concern in it. Poor Mrs. Moss
herself listened in trembling submission, while Maggie looked with
bewildered distress at Tom to see if
he
showed any signs
of understanding this trouble, and caring about poor aunt Moss. Tom
was only looking thoughtful, with his eyes on the tablecloth.

"And if he isn't made bankrupt," continued Mr. Glegg, "as I said
before, three hundred pounds 'ud be a little fortin for him, poor
man. We don't know but what he may be partly helpless, if he ever
gets up again. I'm very sorry if it goes hard with you, Mrs. Moss,
but my opinion is, looking at it one way, it'll be right for you to
raise the money; and looking at it th' other way, you'll be obliged
to pay it. You won't think ill o' me for speaking the truth."

"Uncle," said Tom, looking up suddenly from his meditative view
of the tablecloth, "I don't think it would be right for my aunt
Moss to pay the money if it would be against my father's will for
her to pay it; would it?"

Mr. Glegg looked surprised for a moment or two before he said:
"Why, no, perhaps not, Tom; but then he'd ha' destroyed the note,
you know. We must look for the note. What makes you think it 'ud be
against his will?"

"Why," said Tom, coloring, but trying to speak firmly, in spite
of a boyish tremor, "I remember quite well, before I went to school
to Mr. Stelling, my father said to me one night, when we were
sitting by the fire together, and no one else was in the
room––"

Tom hesitated a little, and then went on.

"He said something to me about Maggie, and then he said: 'I've
always been good to my sister, though she married against my will,
and I've lent Moss money; but I shall never think of distressing
him to pay it; I'd rather lose it. My children must not mind being
the poorer for that.' And now my father's ill, and not able to
speak for himself, I shouldn't like anything to be done contrary to
what he said to me."

"Well, but then, my boy," said Uncle Glegg, whose good feeling
led him to enter into Tom's wish, but who could not at once shake
off his habitual abhorrence of such recklessness as destroying
securities, or alienating anything important enough to make an
appreciable difference in a man's property, "we should have to make
away wi' the note, you know, if we're to guard against what may
happen, supposing your father's made bankrupt––"

"Mr. Glegg," interrupted his wife, severely, "mind what you're
saying. You're putting yourself very forrard in other folks's
business. If you speak rash, don't say it was my fault."

"That's such a thing as I never heared of before," said uncle
Pullet, who had been making haste with his lozenge in order to
express his amazement,–"making away with a note! I should think
anybody could set the constable on you for it."

"Well, but," said Mrs. Tulliver, "if the note's worth all that
money, why can't we pay it away, and save my things from going
away? We've no call to meddle with your uncle and aunt Moss, Tom,
if you think your father 'ud be angry when he gets well."

Mrs. Tulliver had not studied the question of exchange, and was
straining her mind after original ideas on the subject.

"Pooh, pooh, pooh! you women don't understand these things,"
said uncle Glegg. "There's no way o' making it safe for Mr. and
Mrs. Moss but destroying the note."

"Then I hope you'll help me do it, uncle," said Tom, earnestly.
"If my father shouldn't get well, I should be very unhappy to think
anything had been done against his will that I could hinder. And
I'm sure he meant me to remember what he said that evening. I ought
to obey my father's wish about his property."

Even Mrs. Glegg could not withhold her approval from Tom's
words; she felt that the Dodson blood was certainly speaking in
him, though, if his father had been a Dodson, there would never
have been this wicked alienation of money. Maggie would hardly have
restrained herself from leaping on Tom's neck, if her aunt Moss had
not prevented her by herself rising and taking Tom's hand, while
she said, with rather a choked voice:

"You'll never be the poorer for this, my dear boy, if there's a
God above; and if the money's wanted for your father, Moss and me
'ull pay it, the same as if there was ever such security. We'll do
as we'd be done by; for if my children have got no other luck,
they've got an honest father and mother."

"Well," said Mr. Glegg, who had been meditating after Tom's
words, "we shouldn't be doing any wrong by the creditors, supposing
your father
was
bankrupt. I've been thinking o' that, for
I've been a creditor myself, and seen no end o' cheating. If he
meant to give your aunt the money before ever he got into this sad
work o' lawing, it's the same as if he'd made away with the note
himself; for he'd made up his mind to be that much poorer. But
there's a deal o' things to be considered, young man," Mr. Glegg
added, looking admonishingly at Tom, "when you come to money
business, and you may be taking one man's dinner away to make
another man's breakfast. You don't understand that, I doubt?"

"Yes, I do," said Tom, decidedly. "I know if I owe money to one
man, I've no right to give it to another. But if my father had made
up his mind to give my aunt the money before he was in debt, he had
a right to do it."

"Well done, young man! I didn't think you'd been so sharp," said
uncle Glegg, with much candor. "But perhaps your father
did
make away with the note. Let us go and see if we can
find it in the chest."

"It's in my father's room. Let us go too, aunt Gritty,"
whispered Maggie.

Chapter IV
A Vanishing Gleam

Mr. Tulliver, even between the fits of spasmodic rigidity which
had recurred at intervals ever since he had been found fallen from
his horse, was usually in so apathetic a condition that the exits
and entrances into his room were not felt to be of great
importance. He had lain so still, with his eyes closed, all this
morning, that Maggie told her aunt Moss she must not expect her
father to take any notice of them.

They entered very quietly, and Mrs. Moss took her seat near the
head of the bed, while Maggie sat in her old place on the bed, and
put her hand on her father's without causing any change in his
face.

Mr. Glegg and Tom had also entered, treading softly, and were
busy selecting the key of the old oak chest from the bunch which
Tom had brought from his father's bureau. They succeeded in opening
the chest,–which stood opposite the foot of Mr. Tulliver's bed,–and
propping the lid with the iron holder, without much noise.