The Mill on the Floss (33 page)

"But that can't be helped, you know," said Mr. Glegg. "If one o'
the family chooses to buy 'em in, they can, but one thing must be
bid for as well as another."

"And it isn't to be looked for," said uncle Pullet, with
unwonted independence of idea, "as your own family should pay more
for things nor they'll fetch. They may go for an old song by
auction."

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Mrs. Tulliver, "to think o' my chany
being sold i' that way, and I bought it when I was married, just as
you did yours, Jane and Sophy; and I know you didn't like mine,
because o' the sprig, but I was fond of it; and there's never been
a bit broke, for I've washed it myself; and there's the tulips on
the cups, and the roses, as anybody might go and look at 'em for
pleasure. You wouldn't like
your
chany to go for an old
song and be broke to pieces, though yours has got no color in it,
Jane,–it's all white and fluted, and didn't cost so much as mine.
And there's the castors, sister Deane, I can't think but you'd like
to have the castors, for I've heard you say they're pretty."

"Well, I've no objection to buy some of the best things," said
Mrs. Deane, rather loftily; "we can do with extra things in our
house."

"Best things!" exclaimed Mrs. Glegg, with severity, which had
gathered intensity from her long silence. "It drives me past
patience to hear you all talking o' best things, and buying in
this, that, and the other, such as silver and chany. You must bring
your mind to your circumstances, Bessy, and not be thinking o'
silver and chany; but whether you shall get so much as a flock-bed
to lie on, and a blanket to cover you, and a stool to sit on. You
must remember, if you get 'em, it'll be because your friends have
bought 'em for you, for you're dependent upon
them
for
everything; for your husband lies there helpless, and hasn't got a
penny i' the world to call his own. And it's for your own good I
say this, for it's right you should feel what your state is, and
what disgrace your husband's brought on your own family, as you've
got to look to for everything, and be humble in your mind."

Mrs. Glegg paused, for speaking with much energy for the good of
others is naturally exhausting.

Mrs. Tulliver, always borne down by the family predominance of
sister Jane, who had made her wear the yoke of a younger sister in
very tender years, said pleadingly:

"I'm sure, sister, I've never asked anybody to do anything, only
buy things as it 'ud be a pleasure to 'em to have, so as they
mightn't go and be spoiled i' strange houses. I never asked anybody
to buy the things in for me and my children; though there's the
linen I spun, and I thought when Tom was born,–I thought one o' the
first things when he was lying i' the cradle, as all the things I'd
bought wi' my own money, and been so careful of, 'ud go to him. But
I've said nothing as I wanted my sisters to pay their money for me.
What my husband has done for
his
sister's unknown, and we
should ha' been better off this day if it hadn't been as he's lent
money and never asked for it again."

"Come, come," said Mr. Glegg, kindly, "don't let us make things
too dark. What's done can't be undone. We shall make a shift among
us to buy what's sufficient for you; though, as Mrs. G. says, they
must be useful, plain things. We mustn't be thinking o' what's
unnecessary. A table, and a chair or two, and kitchen things, and a
good bed, and such-like. Why, I've seen the day when I shouldn't
ha' known myself if I'd lain on sacking i'stead o' the floor. We
get a deal o' useless things about us, only because we've got the
money to spend."

"Mr. Glegg," said Mrs. G., "if you'll be kind enough to let me
speak, i'stead o' taking the words out o' my mouth,–I was going to
say, Bessy, as it's fine talking for you to say as you've never
asked us to buy anything for you; let me tell you, you
ought
to have asked us. Pray, how are you to be purvided
for, if your own family don't help you? You must go to the parish,
if they didn't. And you ought to know that, and keep it in mind,
and ask us humble to do what we can for you, i'stead o' saying, and
making a boast, as you've never asked us for anything."

"You talked o' the Mosses, and what Mr. Tulliver's done for
'em," said uncle Pullet, who became unusually suggestive where
advances of money were concerned. "Haven't
they
been anear
you? They ought to do something as well as other folks; and if he's
lent 'em money, they ought to be made to pay it back."

"Yes, to be sure," said Mrs. Deane; "I've been thinking so. How
is it Mr. and Mrs. Moss aren't here to meet us? It is but right
they should do their share."

"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Tulliver, "I never sent 'em word about Mr.
Tulliver, and they live so back'ard among the lanes at Basset, they
niver hear anything only when Mr. Moss comes to market. But I niver
gave 'em a thought. I wonder Maggie didn't, though, for she was
allays so fond of her aunt Moss."

"Why don't your children come in, Bessy?" said Mrs. Pullet, at
the mention of Maggie. "They should hear what their aunts and
uncles have got to say; and Maggie,–when it's me as have paid for
half her schooling, she ought to think more of her aunt Pullet than
of aunt Moss. I may go off sudden when I get home to-day; there's
no telling."

"If I'd had
my
way," said Mrs. Glegg, "the children 'ud
ha' been in the room from the first. It's time they knew who
they've to look to, and it's right as
somebody
should talk
to 'em, and let 'em know their condition i' life, and what they're
come down to, and make 'em feel as they've got to suffer for their
father's faults."

"Well, I'll go and fetch 'em, sister," said Mrs. Tulliver,
resignedly. She was quite crushed now, and thought of the treasures
in the storeroom with no other feeling than blank despair.

She went upstairs to fetch Tom and Maggie, who were both in
their father's room, and was on her way down again, when the sight
of the storeroom door suggested a new thought to her. She went
toward it, and left the children to go down by themselves.

The aunts and uncles appeared to have been in warm discussion
when the brother and sister entered,–both with shrinking
reluctance; for though Tom, with a practical sagacity which had
been roused into activity by the strong stimulus of the new
emotions he had undergone since yesterday, had been turning over in
his mind a plan which he meant to propose to one of his aunts or
uncles, he felt by no means amicably toward them, and dreaded
meeting them all at once as he would have dreaded a large dose of
concentrated physic, which was but just endurable in small
draughts. As for Maggie, she was peculiarly depressed this morning;
she had been called up, after brief rest, at three o'clock, and had
that strange dreamy weariness which comes from watching in a
sick-room through the chill hours of early twilight and breaking
day,–in which the outside day-light life seems to have no
importance, and to be a mere margin to the hours in the darkened
chamber. Their entrance interrupted the conversation. The shaking
of hands was a melancholy and silent ceremony, till uncle Pullet
observed, as Tom approached him:

"Well, young sir, we've been talking as we should want your pen
and ink; you can write rarely now, after all your schooling, I
should think."

"Ay, ay," said uncle Glegg, with admonition which he meant to be
kind, "we must look to see the good of all this schooling, as your
father's sunk so much money in, now,–

'When land is gone and money's spent,
Then learning is most excellent.'

Now's the time, Tom, to let us see the good o' your learning.
Let us see whether you can do better than I can, as have made my
fortin without it. But I began wi' doing with little, you see; I
could live on a basin o' porridge and a crust o' bread-and-cheese.
But I doubt high living and high learning 'ull make it harder for
you, young man, nor it was for me."

"But he must do it," interposed aunt Glegg, energetically,
"whether it's hard or no. He hasn't got to consider what's hard; he
must consider as he isn't to trusten to his friends to keep him in
idleness and luxury; he's got to bear the fruits of his father's
misconduct, and bring his mind to fare hard and to work hard. And
he must be humble and grateful to his aunts and uncles for what
they're doing for his mother and father, as must be turned out into
the streets and go to the workhouse if they didn't help 'em. And
his sister, too," continued Mrs. Glegg, looking severely at Maggie,
who had sat down on the sofa by her aunt Deane, drawn to her by the
sense that she was Lucy's mother, "she must make up her mind to be
humble and work; for there'll be no servants to wait on her any
more,–she must remember that. She must do the work o' the house,
and she must respect and love her aunts as have done so much for
her, and saved their money to leave to their nepheys and
nieces."

Tom was still standing before the table in the centre of the
group. There was a heightened color in his face, and he was very
far from looking humbled, but he was preparing to say, in a
respectful tone, something he had previously meditated, when the
door opened and his mother re-entered.

Poor Mrs. Tulliver had in her hands a small tray, on which she
had placed her silver teapot, a specimen teacup and saucer, the
castors, and sugar-tongs.

"See here, sister," she said, looking at Mrs. Deane, as she set
the tray on the table, "I thought, perhaps, if you looked at the
teapot again,–it's a good while since you saw it,–you might like
the pattern better; it makes beautiful tea, and there's a stand and
everything; you might use it for every day, or else lay it by for
Lucy when she goes to housekeeping. I should be so loath for 'em to
buy it at the Golden Lion," said the poor woman, her heart
swelling, and the tears coming,–"my teapot as I bought when I was
married, and to think of its being scratched, and set before the
travellers and folks, and my letters on it,–see here, E. D.,–and
everybody to see 'em."

"Ah, dear, dear!" said aunt Pullet, shaking her head with deep
sadness, "it's very bad,–to think o' the family initials going
about everywhere–it niver was so before; you're a very unlucky
sister, Bessy. But what's the use o' buying the teapot, when
there's the linen and spoons and everything to go, and some of 'em
with your full name,–and when it's got that straight spout,
too."

"As to disgrace o' the family," said Mrs. Glegg, "that can't be
helped wi' buying teapots. The disgrace is, for one o' the family
to ha' married a man as has brought her to beggary. The disgrace
is, as they're to be sold up. We can't hinder the country from
knowing that."

Maggie had started up from the sofa at the allusion to her
father, but Tom saw her action and flushed face in time to prevent
her from speaking. "Be quiet, Maggie," he said authoritatively,
pushing her aside. It was a remarkable manifestation of
self-command and practical judgment in a lad of fifteen, that when
his aunt Glegg ceased, he began to speak in a quiet and respectful
manner, though with a good deal of trembling in his voice; for his
mother's words had cut him to the quick.

"Then, aunt," he said, looking straight at Mrs. Glegg, "if you
think it's a disgrace to the family that we should be sold up,
wouldn't it be better to prevent it altogether? And if you and aunt
Pullet," he continued, looking at the latter, "think of leaving any
money to me and Maggie, wouldn't it be better to give it now, and
pay the debt we're going to be sold up for, and save my mother from
parting with her furniture?"

There was silence for a few moments, for every one, including
Maggie, was astonished at Tom's sudden manliness of tone. Uncle
Glegg was the first to speak.

"Ay, ay, young man, come now! You show some notion o' things.
But there's the interest, you must remember; your aunts get five
per cent on their money, and they'd lose that if they advanced it;
you haven't thought o' that."

"I could work and pay that every year," said Tom, promptly. "I'd
do anything to save my mother from parting with her things."

"Well done!" said uncle Glegg, admiringly. He had been drawing
Tom out, rather than reflecting on the practicability of his
proposal. But he had produced the unfortunate result of irritating
his wife."

"Yes, Mr. Glegg!" said that lady, with angry sarcasm. "It's
pleasant work for you to be giving my money away, as you've
pretended to leave at my own disposal. And my money, as was my own
father's gift, and not yours, Mr. Glegg; and I've saved it, and
added to it myself, and had more to put out almost every year, and
it's to go and be sunk in other folks' furniture, and encourage 'em
in luxury and extravagance as they've no means of supporting; and
I'm to alter my will, or have a codicil made, and leave two or
three hundred less behind me when I die,–me as have allays done
right and been careful, and the eldest o' the family; and my
money's to go and be squandered on them as have had the same chance
as me, only they've been wicked and wasteful. Sister Pullet,
you
may do as you like, and you may let your husband rob
you back again o' the money he's given you, but that isn't
my
sperrit."

"La, Jane, how fiery you are!" said Mrs. Pullet. "I'm sure
you'll have the blood in your head, and have to be cupped. I'm
sorry for Bessy and her children,–I'm sure I think of 'em o' nights
dreadful, for I sleep very bad wi' this new medicine,–but it's no
use for me to think o' doing anything, if you won't meet me
half-way."

"Why, there's this to be considered," said Mr. Glegg. "It's no
use to pay off this debt and save the furniture, when there's all
the law debts behind, as 'ud take every shilling, and more than
could be made out o' land and stock, for I've made that out from
Lawyer Gore. We'd need save our money to keep the poor man with,
instead o' spending it on furniture as he can neither eat nor
drink. You
will
be so hasty, Jane, as if I didn't know
what was reasonable."