Chapter V
Tom Comes Home
Tom was to arrive early in the afternoon, and there was anotherfluttering heart besides Maggie's when it was late enough for thesound of the gig-wheels to be expected; for if Mrs. Tulliver had astrong feeling, it was fondness for her boy. At last the soundcame,--that quick light bowling of the gig-wheels,--and in spite ofthe wind, which was blowing the clouds about, and was not likely torespect Mrs. Tulliver's curls and cap-strings, she came outside thedoor, and even held her hand on Maggie's offending head, forgettingall the griefs of the morning.
There he is, my sweet lad! But, Lord ha' mercy! he's got never acollar on it's been lost on the road, I'll be bound, and spoilt theset.
Mrs. Tulliver stood with her arms open; Maggie jumped first on one legand then on the other; while Tom descended from the gig, and said,with masculine reticence as to the tender emotions, Hallo! Yap--what!are you there?
Nevertheless he submitted to be kissed willingly enough, though Maggiehung on his neck in rather a strangling fashion, while his blue-grayeyes wandered toward the croft and the lambs and the river, where hepromised himself that he would begin to fish the first thing to-morrowmorning. He was one of those lads that grow everywhere in England, andat twelve or thirteen years of age look as much alike as goslings,--alad with light-brown hair, cheeks of cream and roses, full lips,indeterminate nose and eyebrows,--a physiognomy in which it seemsimpossible to discern anything but the generic character to boyhood;as different as possible from poor Maggie's phiz, which Nature seemedto have moulded and colored with the most decided intention. But thatsame Nature has the deep cunning which hides itself under theappearance of openness, so that simple people think they can seethrough her quite well, and all the while she is secretly preparing arefutation of their confident prophecies. Under these average boyishphysiognomies that she seems to turn off by the gross, she concealssome of her most rigid, inflexible purposes, some of her mostunmodifiable characters; and the dark-eyed, demonstrative, rebelliousgirl may after all turn out to be a passive being compared with thispink-and-white bit of masculinity with the indeterminate features.
Maggie, said Tom, confidentially, taking her into a corner, as soonas his mother was gone out to examine his box and the warm parlor hadtaken off the chill he had felt from the long drive, you don't knowwhat I've got in _my_ pockets, nodding his head up and down as ameans of rousing her sense of mystery.
No, said Maggie. How stodgy they look, Tom! Is it marls (marbles)or cobnuts? Maggie's heart sank a little, because Tom always said itwas no good playing with _her_ at those games, she played so badly.
Marls! no; I've swopped all my marls with the little fellows, andcobnuts are no fun, you silly, only when the nuts are green. But seehere! He drew something half out of his right-hand pocket.
What is it? said Maggie, in a whisper. I can see nothing but a bitof yellow.
Why, it's--a--new--guess, Maggie!
Oh, I _can't_ guess, Tom, said Maggie, impatiently.
Don't be a spitfire, else I won't tell you, said Tom, thrusting hishand back into his pocket and looking determined.
No, Tom, said Maggie, imploringly, laying hold of the arm that washeld stiffly in the pocket. I'm not cross, Tom; it was only because Ican't bear guessing. _Please_ be good to me.
Tom's arm slowly relaxed, and he said, Well, then, it's a newfish-line--two new uns,--one for you, Maggie, all to yourself. Iwouldn't go halves in the toffee and gingerbread on purpose to savethe money; and Gibson and Spouncer fought with me because I wouldn't.And here's hooks; see here--I say, _won't_ we go and fish to-morrowdown by the Round Pool? And you shall catch your own fish, Maggie andput the worms on, and everything; won't it be fun?
Maggie's answer was to throw her arms round Tom's neck and hug him,and hold her cheek against his without speaking, while he slowlyunwound some of the line, saying, after a pause,--
Wasn't I a good brother, now, to buy you a line all to yourself? Youknow, I needn't have bought it, if I hadn't liked.
Yes, very, very good--I _do_ love you, Tom.
Tom had put the line back in his pocket, and was looking at the hooksone by one, before he spoke again.
And the fellows fought me, because I wouldn't give in about thetoffee.
Oh, dear! I wish they wouldn't fight at your school, Tom. Didn't ithurt you?
Hurt me? no, said Tom, putting up the hooks again, taking out alarge pocket-knife, and slowly opening the largest blade, which helooked at meditatively as he rubbed his finger along it. Then headded,--
I gave Spouncer a black eye, I know; that's what he got by wanting toleather _me;_ I wasn't going to go halves because anybody leatheredme.
Oh, how brave you are, Tom! I think you're like Samson. If there camea lion roaring at me, I think you'd fight him, wouldn't you, Tom?
How can a lion come roaring at you, you silly thing? There's nolions, only in the shows.
No; but if we were in the lion countries--I mean in Africa, whereit's very hot; the lions eat people there. I can show it you in thebook where I read it.
Well, I should get a gun and shoot him.
But if you hadn't got a gun,--we might have gone out, you know, notthinking, just as we go fishing; and then a great lion might runtoward us roaring, and we couldn't get away from him. What should youdo, Tom?
Tom paused, and at last turned away contemptuously, saying, But thelion _isn't_ coming. What's the use of talking?
But I like to fancy how it would be, said Maggie, following him.Just think what you would do, Tom.
Oh, don't bother, Maggie! you're such a silly. I shall go and see myrabbits.
Maggie's heart began to flutter with fear. She dared not tell the sadtruth at once, but she walked after Tom in trembling silence as hewent out, thinking how she could tell him the news so as to soften atonce his sorrow and his anger; for Maggie dreaded Tom's anger of allthings; it was quite a different anger from her own.
Tom, she said, timidly, when they were out of doors, how much moneydid you give for your rabbits?
Two half-crowns and a sixpence, said Tom, promptly.
I think I've got a great deal more than that in my steel purseupstairs. I'll ask mother to give it you.
What for? said Tom. I don't want _your_ money, you silly thing.I've got a great deal more money than you, because I'm a boy. I alwayshave half-sovereigns and sovereigns for my Christmas boxes because Ishall be a man, and you only have five-shilling pieces, because you'reonly a girl.
Well, but, Tom--if mother would let me give you two half-crowns and asixpence out of my purse to put into your pocket and spend, you know,and buy some more rabbits with it?
More rabbits? I don't want any more.
Oh, but, Tom, they're all dead.
Tom stopped immediately in his walk and turned round toward Maggie.You forgot to feed 'em, then, and Harry forgot? he said, his colorheightening for a moment, but soon subsiding. I'll pitch into Harry.I'll have him turned away. And I don't love you, Maggie. You sha'n'tgo fishing with me to-morrow. I told you to go and see the rabbitsevery day. He walked on again.
Yes, but I forgot--and I couldn't help it, indeed, Tom. I'm so verysorry, said Maggie, while the tears rushed fast.
You're a naughty girl, said Tom, severely, and I'm sorry I boughtyou the fish-line. I don't love you.
Oh, Tom, it's very cruel, sobbed Maggie. I'd forgive you, if _you_forgot anything--I wouldn't mind what you did--I'd forgive you andlove you.
Yes, you're silly; but I never _do_ forget things, _I_ don't.
Oh, please forgive me, Tom; my heart will break, said Maggie,shaking with sobs, clinging to Tom's arm, and laying her wet cheek onhis shoulder.
Tom shook her off, and stopped again, saying in a peremptory tone,Now, Maggie, you just listen. Aren't I a good brother to you?
Ye-ye-es, sobbed Maggie, her chin rising and falling convulsedly.
Didn't I think about your fish-line all this quarter, and mean to buyit, and saved my money o' purpose, and wouldn't go halves in thetoffee, and Spouncer fought me because I wouldn't?
Ye-ye-es--and I--lo-lo-love you so, Tom.
But you're a naughty girl. Last holidays you licked the paint off mylozenge-box, and the holidays before that you let the boat drag myfish-line down when I'd set you to watch it, and you pushed your headthrough my kite, all for nothing.
But I didn't mean, said Maggie; I couldn't help it.
Yes, you could, said Tom, if you'd minded what you were doing. Andyou're a naughty girl, and you sha'n't go fishing with me to-morrow.
With this terrible conclusion, Tom ran away from Maggie toward themill, meaning to greet Luke there, and complain to him of Harry.
Maggie stood motionless, except from her sobs, for a minute or two;then she turned round and ran into the house, and up to her attic,where she sat on the floor and laid her head against the worm-eatenshelf, with a crushing sense of misery. Tom was come home, and she hadthought how happy she should be; and now he was cruel to her. What usewas anything if Tom didn't love her? Oh, he was very cruel! Hadn't shewanted to give him the money, and said how very sorry she was? Sheknew she was naughty to her mother, but she had never been naughty toTom--had never _meant_ to be naughty to him.
Oh, he is cruel! Maggie sobbed aloud, finding a wretched pleasure inthe hollow resonance that came through the long empty space of theattic. She never thought of beating or grinding her Fetish; she wastoo miserable to be angry.
These bitter sorrows of childhood! when sorrow is all new and strange,when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, andthe space from summer to summer seems measureless.
Maggie soon thought she had been hours in the attic, and it must betea-time, and they were all having their tea, and not thinking of her.Well, then, she would stay up there and starve herself,--hide herselfbehind the tub, and stay there all night,--and then they would all befrightened, and Tom would be sorry. Thus Maggie thought in the prideof her heart, as she crept behind the tub; but presently she began tocry again at the idea that they didn't mind her being there. If shewent down again to Tom now--would he forgive her? Perhaps her fatherwould be there, and he would take her part. But then she wanted Tom toforgive 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. Thisresolution lasted in great intensity for five dark minutes behind thetub; but then the need of being loved--the strongest need in poorMaggie'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, butjust then she heard a quick foot-step on the stairs.
Tom had been too much interested in his talk with Luke, in going theround of the premises, walking in and out where he pleased, andwhittling sticks without any particular reason,--except that he didn'twhittle sticks at school,--to think of Maggie and the effect his angerhad produced on her. He meant to punish her, and that business havingbeen performed, he occupied himself with other matters, like apractical person. But when he had been called in to tea, his fathersaid, Why, where's the little wench? and Mrs. Tulliver, almost atthe same moment, said, Where's your little sister?--both of themhaving supposed that Maggie and Tom had been together all theafternoon.
I don't know, said Tom. He didn't want to tell of Maggie, thoughhe was angry with her; for Tom Tulliver was a lad of honor.
What! hasn't she been playing with you all this while? said thefather. She'd been thinking o' nothing but your coming home.
I haven't seen her this two hours, says Tom, commencing on theplumcake.
Goodness heart; she's got drownded! exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver, risingfrom 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 beennaughty to her, I doubt, Tom?
I'm sure I haven't, father, said Tom, indignantly. I think she's inthe house.
Perhaps up in that attic, said Mrs. Tulliver, a-singing and talkingto herself, and forgetting all about meal-times.
You go and fetch her down, Tom, said Mr. Tulliver, rathersharply,--his perspicacity or his fatherly fondness for Maggie makinghim suspect that the lad had been hard upon the little un, else shewould never have left his side. And be good to her, do you hear? ElseI'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, andnot intending to reprieve Maggie's punishment, which was no more thanshe deserved. Tom was only thirteen, and had no decided views ingrammar and arithmetic, regarding them for the most part as openquestions, but he was particularly clear and positive on onepoint,--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 herneed of love had triumphed over her pride, and she was going down withher swollen eyes and dishevelled hair to beg for pity. At least herfather would stroke her head and say, Never mind, my wench. It is awonderful subduer, this need of love,--this hunger of the heart,--asperemptory as that other hunger by which Nature forces us to submit tothe yoke, and change the face of the world.
But she knew Tom's step, and her heart began to beat violently withthe sudden shock of hope. He only stood still at the top of the stairsand said, Maggie, you're to come down. But she rushed to him andclung round his neck, sobbing, Oh, Tom, please forgive me--I can'tbear it--I will always be good--always remember things--do loveme--please, dear Tom!
We learn to restrain ourselves as we get older. We keep apart when wehave quarrelled, express ourselves in well-bred phrases, and in thisway preserve a dignified alienation, showing much firmness on oneside, and swallowing much grief on the other. We no longer approximatein our behavior to the mere impulsiveness of the lower animals, butconduct ourselves in every respect like members of a highly civilizedsociety. Maggie and Tom were still very much like young animals, andso she could rub her cheek against his, and kiss his ear in a randomsobbing way; and there were tender fibres in the lad that had beenused to answer to Maggie's fondling, so that he behaved with aweakness quite inconsistent with his resolution to punish her as muchas she deserved. He actually began to kiss her in return, and say,--
Don't cry, then, Magsie; here, eat a bit o' cake.
Maggie's sobs began to subside, and she put out her mouth for the cakeand bit a piece; and then Tom bit a piece, just for company, and theyate together and rubbed each other's cheeks and brows and nosestogether, while they ate, with a humiliating resemblance to twofriendly ponies.
Come along, Magsie, and have tea, said Tom at last, when there wasno more cake except what was down-stairs.
So ended the sorrows of this day, and the next morning Maggie wastrotting with her own fishing-rod in one hand and a handle of thebasket in the other, stepping always, by a peculiar gift, in themuddiest places, and looking darkly radiant from under herbeaver-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 couldn'tfeel (it was Tom's private opinion that it didn't much matter if theydid). He knew all about worms, and fish, and those things; and whatbirds were mischievous, and how padlocks opened, and which way thehandles of the gates were to be lifted. Maggie thought this sort ofknowledge was very wonderful,--much more difficult than rememberingwhat was in the books; and she was rather in awe of Tom's superiority,for he was the only person who called her knowledge stuff, and didnot feel surprised at her cleverness. Tom, indeed, was of opinion thatMaggie was a silly little thing; all girls were silly,--they couldn'tthrow a stone so as to hit anything, couldn't do anything with apocket-knife, and were frightened at frogs. Still, he was very fond ofhis sister, and meant always to take care of her, make her hishousekeeper, and punish her when she did wrong.
They were on their way to the Round Pool,--that wonderful pool, whichthe floods had made a long while ago. No one knew how deep it was; andit was mysterious, too, that it should be almost a perfect round,framed in with willows and tall reeds, so that the water was only tobe seen when you got close to the brink. The sight of the old favoritespot always heightened Tom's good humor, and he spoke to Maggie in themost amicable whispers, as he opened the precious basket and preparedtheir tackle. He threw her line for her, and put the rod into herhand. Maggie thought it probable that the small fish would come to herhook, and the large ones to Tom's. But she had forgotten all about thefish, and was looking dreamily at the glassy water, when Tom said, ina loud whisper, Look, look, Maggie! and came running to prevent herfrom snatching her line away.
Maggie was frightened lest she had been doing something wrong, asusual, but presently Tom drew out her line and brought a large tenchbouncing on the grass.
Tom was excited.
O Magsie, you little duck! Empty the basket.
Maggie was not conscious of unusual merit, but it was enough that Tomcalled her Magsie, and was pleased with her. There was nothing to marher delight in the whispers and the dreamy silences, when she listenedto the light dripping sounds of the rising fish, and the gentlerustling, as if the willows and the reeds and the water had theirhappy whisperings also. Maggie thought it would make a very niceheaven to sit by the pool in that way, and never be scolded. She neverknew she had a bite till Tom told her; but she liked fishing verymuch.
It was one of their happy mornings. They trotted along and sat downtogether, with no thought that life would ever change much for them;they would only get bigger and not go to school, and it would alwaysbe like the holidays; they would always live together and be fond ofeach other. And the mill with its booming; the great chestnut-treeunder which they played at houses; their own little river, the Ripple,where the banks seemed like home, and Tom was always seeing thewater-rats, while Maggie gathered the purple plumy tops of the reeds,which she forgot and dropped afterward; above all, the great Floss,along which they wandered with a sense of travel, to see the rushingspring-tide, the awful Eagle, come up like a hungry monster, or to seethe Great Ash which had once wailed and groaned like a man, thesethings would always be just the same to them. Tom thought people wereat a disadvantage who lived on any other spot of the globe; andMaggie, when she read about Christiana passing the river over whichthere is no bridge, always saw the Floss between the green pasturesby the Great Ash.
Life did change for Tom and Maggie; and yet they were not wrong inbelieving that the thoughts and loves of these first years wouldalways make part of their lives. We could never have loved the earthso well if we had had no childhood in it,--if it were not the earthwhere the same flowers come up again every spring that we used togather with our tiny fingers as we sat lisping to ourselves on thegrass; the same hips and haws on the autumn's hedgerows; the sameredbreasts that we used to call God's birds, because they did noharm to the precious crops. What novelty is worth that sweet monotonywhere everything is known, and _loved_ because it is known?
The wood I walk in on this mild May day, with the young yellow-brownfoliage of the oaks between me and the blue sky, the whitestar-flowers and the blue-eyed speedwell and the ground ivy at myfeet, what grove of tropic palms, what strange ferns or splendidbroad-petalled blossoms, could ever thrill such deep and delicatefibres within me as this home scene? These familiar flowers, thesewell-remembered bird-notes, this sky, with its fitful brightness,these furrowed and grassy fields, each with a sort of personalitygiven to it by the capricious hedgerows,--such things as these are themother-tongue of our imagination, the language that is laden with allthe subtle, inextricable associations the fleeting hours of ourchildhood left behind them. Our delight in the sunshine on thedeep-bladed grass to-day might be no more than the faint perception ofwearied souls, if it were not for the sunshine and the grass in thefar-off years which still live in us, and transform our perceptioninto love.