Tom es Home
TOM was to arrive early iernoon, and there was another flutteri besides Maggies when it was late enough for the sound of the gig wheels to be expected; for if Mrs Tulliver had a strong feeling, it was fondness for her boy. At last the sound came - that quick light bowling of the gig wheels - and in spite of the wind which was blowing the clouds about, and was not likely to respect Mrs Tullivers curls and cap-strings, she came outside the door, and even held her hand on Maggies offending head, fetting all the griefs of the m. `There he is, my sweet lad! But, Lord ha mercy, hes got never a collar on; its been lost on the road, Ill be bound, and spoilt the set.
Mrs Tulliver stood with her arms open; Maggie jumped first on one leg and then oher; while Tom desded from the gig and said, with mase retice as to the tender emotions, `Hallo! Yap, what, are you there?
heless, he submitted to be kissed willingly enough, though Maggie hung on his ne rather a strangling fashion, while his blue-grey eyes waowards the croft and the lambs and the river where he promised himself that he would begin to fish the first thing to-morrow m. He was one of those lads that grow everywhere in England, and, at twelve or thirteen years of age, look as much alike as goslings: - a lad with light brown hair, cheeks of cream and roses, full lips, ierminate nose and eye-brows - a physiognomy in which it seems impossible to dis anything but the generic character of boyhood; as different as possible from pgies phiz, whiature seemed to have moulded and coloured with the most decided iion. But that same Nature has the deep ing which hides itself uhe appearance of openness, so that simple people think they see through her quite well, and all the while she is secretly preparing a refutation of their fident prophecies. Uhese average boyish physioghat she seems to turn off by the gross, she ceals some of her mid inflexible purposes, some of her most unmodifiable characters, and the dark-eyed, demonstrative, rebellious girl may after all turn out to be a passive being pared with this pink and white bit of masity with ierminate features.
`Maggie, said Tom, fidentially, taking her into a er, as soon as his mother was go to examine his box, and the arlour had taken off the chill he had felt from the long drive, `you dont know what Ive got in my pockets - nodding his head up and down as a means of rousing her sense of mystery.
`No, said Maggie. `How stodgy they look, Tom! Is it marls (marbles) - or uts? Maggies heart sank a little, because Tom always said it was `no good playing withher at those games - she played so badly.
`Marls! no - Ive swopped all my marls with little fellows. And uts are no fun, you silly, only whes are green. But see here! He drew something half out of his right-hand pocket.
`What is it? said Maggie, in a whisper. `I see nothing but a bit of yellow.
`Why its... a... new... guess, Maggie!
`O, I t guess, Tom, said Maggie, impatiently.
`Dont be a spitfire, else I wont tell you, said Tom, thrusting his hand bato his pocket, and lookiermined.
`No, Tom, said Maggie, implly, laying hold of the arm that was held stiffly in the pocket. `Im not cross, Tom - it was only because I t bear guessing. Please, be good to me.
Toms arm slowly relaxed, and he said, `Well, then; its a new fish-liwo new uns - one for you, Maggie, all to yourself. I wouldnt go halves ioffee and gingerbread o pu