The Mill on the Floss Read Online Free Page A

lawyers; "shut up
the book, and let's hear no more o' such talk. It is as I
thought–the child 'ull learn more mischief nor good wi' the books.
Go, go and see after your mother."
    Maggie shut up the book at once, with a sense of disgrace, but
not being inclined to see after her mother, she compromised the
matter by going into a dark corner behind her father's chair, and
nursing her doll, toward which she had an occasional fit of
fondness in Tom's absence, neglecting its toilet, but lavishing so
many warm kisses on it that the waxen cheeks had a wasted,
unhealthy appearance.
    "Did you ever hear the like on't?" said Mr. Tulliver, as Maggie
retired. "It's a pity but what she'd been the lad,–she'd ha' been a
match for the lawyers,
she
would. It's the wonderful'st
thing"–here he lowered his voice–"as I picked the mother because
she wasn't o'er 'cute–bein' a good-looking woman too, an' come of a
rare family for managing; but I picked her from her sisters o'
purpose, 'cause she was a bit weak like; for I wasn't agoin' to be
told the rights o' things by my own fireside. But you see when a
man's got brains himself, there's no knowing where they'll run to;
an' a pleasant sort o' soft woman may go on breeding you stupid
lads and 'cute wenches, till it's like as if the world was turned
topsy-turvy. It's an uncommon puzzlin' thing."
    Mr. Riley's gravity gave way, and he shook a little under the
application of his pinch of snuff before he said,–
    "But your lad's not stupid, is he? I saw him, when I was here
last, busy making fishing-tackle; he seemed quite up to it."
    "Well, he isn't not to say stupid,–he's got a notion o' things
out o' door, an' a sort o' common sense, as he'd lay hold o' things
by the right handle. But he's slow with his tongue, you see, and he
reads but poorly, and can't abide the books, and spells all wrong,
they tell me, an' as shy as can be wi' strangers, an' you never
hear him say 'cute things like the little wench. Now, what I want
is to send him to a school where they'll make him a bit nimble with
his tongue and his pen, and make a smart chap of him. I want my son
to be even wi' these fellows as have got the start o' me with
having better schooling. Not but what, if the world had been left
as God made it, I could ha' seen my way, and held my own wi' the
best of 'em; but things have got so twisted round and wrapped up i'
unreasonable words, as aren't a bit like 'em, as I'm clean at
fault, often an' often. Everything winds about so–the more
straightforrad you are, the more you're puzzled."
    Mr. Tulliver took a draught, swallowed it slowly, and shook his
head in a melancholy manner, conscious of exemplifying the truth
that a perfectly sane intellect is hardly at home in this insane
world.
    "You're quite in the right of it, Tulliver," observed Mr. Riley.
"Better spend an extra hundred or two on your son's education, than
leave it him in your will. I know I should have tried to do so by a
son of mine, if I'd had one, though, God knows, I haven't your
ready money to play with, Tulliver; and I have a houseful of
daughters into the bargain."
    "I dare say, now, you know of a school as 'ud be just the thing
for Tom," said Mr. Tulliver, not diverted from his purpose by any
sympathy with Mr. Riley's deficiency of ready cash.
    Mr. Riley took a pinch of snuff, and kept Mr. Tulliver in
suspense by a silence that seemed deliberative, before he
said,–
    "I know of a very fine chance for any one that's got the
necessary money and that's what you have, Tulliver. The fact is, I
wouldn't recommend any friend of mine to send a boy to a regular
school, if he could afford to do better. But if any one wanted his
boy to get superior instruction and training, where he would be the
companion of his master, and that master a first rate fellow, I
know his man. I wouldn't mention the chance to everybody, because I
don't think everybody would succeed in getting it, if he were to
try; but I mention it to you, Tulliver, between