But Tom was not altogether hard. He was not inclined to cry, but he went and put his head near her and said in a lower, comforting tone,-- "Won't you come, then, Magsie? Shall I bring you a bit o' pudding when I've had mine, and a custard and things?" "Ye-e-es," said Maggie, beginning to feel life a little more tolerable. "Very well," said Tom, going away. But he turned again at the door and said, "But you'd better come, you know. There's the dessert--nuts, you know, and cowslip wine." Slowly she rose from amongst her scattered locks, and slowly she made her way downstairs. Then she stood leaning with one shoulder against the frame of the dining-parlour door, peeping in as it stood ajar. She saw Tom and Lucy with an empty chair between them, and there were the custards on a side-table. It was too much. She slipped in and went towards the empty chair. But she had no sooner sat down than she wished herself back again. Mrs. Tulliver gave a little scream as she saw her, and felt such a "turn" that she dropped the large gravy-spoon into the dish, with the most serious results to the table-cloth. Mrs. Tulliver's scream made all eyes turn towards the same point as her own, and Maggie's cheeks and ears began to burn, while Uncle Glegg, a kind-looking, white-haired old gentleman, said,-- "Heyday! What little gell's this? Why, I don't know her. Is it some little gell you've picked up in the road, Kezia?" "Why, she's gone and cut her hair herself," said Mr. Tulliver in an undertone to Mr. Deane, laughing with much enjoyment. "Did you ever know such a little hussy as it is?" "Why, little miss, you've made yourself look very funny," said Uncle Pullet. "Fie, for shame!" said Aunt Glegg in her loudest tone. "Little gells as cut their own hair should be whipped, and fed on bread and water--not come and sit down with their aunts and uncles." "Ay, ay," said Uncle Glegg playfully "she must be sent to jail, I think, and they'll cut the rest off there, and make it all even." "She's more like a gipsy nor ever," said Aunt Pullet in a pitying tone. "It's very bad luck, sister, as the gell should be so brown; the boy's fair enough. I doubt it'll stand in her way i' life, to be so brown." "She's a naughty child, as'll break her mother's heart," said Mrs. Tulliver, with the tears in her eyes. "Oh my, Maggie," whispered Tom, "I told you you'd catch it." The child's heart swelled, and getting up from her chair she ran to her father, hid her face on his shoulder, and burst out into loud sobbing. "Come, come, my wench," said her father soothingly, putting his arm round her, "never mind; you was i' the right to cut it off if it plagued you. Give over crying; father'll take your part."