The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot Read Free Book Online Page B

childhood! when sorrow is all new and
strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and
weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless.
    Maggie soon thought she had been hours in the attic, and it must
be tea-time, and they were all having their tea, and not thinking
of her. Well, then, she would stay up there and starve
herself,–hide herself behind the tub, and stay there all night,–and
then they would all be frightened, and Tom would be sorry. Thus
Maggie thought in the pride of her heart, as she crept behind the
tub; but presently she began to cry again at the idea that they
didn't mind her being there. If she went down again to Tom
now–would he forgive her? Perhaps her father would be there, and he
would take her part. But then she wanted Tom to forgive her because
he loved her, not because his father told him. No, she would never
go down if Tom didn't come to fetch her. This resolution lasted in
great intensity for five dark minutes behind the tub; but then the
need of being loved–the strongest need in poor Maggie's
nature–began to wrestle with her pride, and soon threw it. She
crept from behind her tub into the twilight of the long attic, but
just then she heard a quick foot-step on the stairs.
    Tom had been too much interested in his talk with Luke, in going
the round of the premises, walking in and out where he pleased, and
whittling sticks without any particular reason,–except that he
didn't whittle sticks at school,–to think of Maggie and the effect
his anger had produced on her. He meant to punish her, and that
business having been performed, he occupied himself with other
matters, like a practical person. But when he had been called in to
tea, his father said, "Why, where's the little wench?" and Mrs.
Tulliver, almost at the same moment, said, "Where's your little
sister?"–both of them having supposed that Maggie and Tom had been
together all the afternoon.
    "I don't know," said Tom. He didn't want to "tell" of Maggie,
though he was angry with her; for Tom Tulliver was a lad of
honor.
    "What! hasn't she been playing with you all this while?" said
the father. "She'd been thinking o' nothing but your coming
home."
    "I haven't seen her this two hours," says Tom, commencing on the
plumcake.
    "Goodness heart; she's got drownded!" exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver,
rising from her seat and running to the window.
    "How could you let her do so?" she added, as became a fearful
woman, accusing she didn't know whom of she didn't know what.
    "Nay, nay, she's none drownded," said Mr. Tulliver. "You've been
naughty to her, I doubt, Tom?"
    "I'm sure I haven't, father," said Tom, indignantly. "I think
she's in the house."
    "Perhaps up in that attic," said Mrs. Tulliver, "a-singing and
talking to herself, and forgetting all about meal-times."
    "You go and fetch her down, Tom," said Mr. Tulliver, rather
sharply,–his perspicacity or his fatherly fondness for Maggie
making him suspect that the lad had been hard upon "the little un,"
else she would never have left his side. "And be good to her, do
you hear? Else I'll let you know better."
    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 Maggie's
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 point,–namely, that he would
punish everybody who deserved it. Why, he wouldn't have minded
being punished himself if he deserved it; but, then, he never
did
deserve it.
    It was Tom's 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