“Well, Bessy,” said Mrs Pullet, mournfully, “_I_ don’t want to help you
on to ruin. I won’t be behindhand i’ doing you a good turn, if it is to
be done. And I don’t like it said among acquaintance as we’ve got
quarrels in the family. I shall tell Jane that; and I don’t mind
driving to Jane’s tomorrow, if Pullet doesn’t mind. What do you say, Mr
Pullet?”
“I’ve no objections,” said Mr Pullet, who was perfectly contented with
any course the quarrel might take, so that Mr Tulliver did not apply to
_him_ for money. Mr Pullet was nervous about his investments, and did
not see how a man could have any security for his money unless he
turned it into land.
After a little further discussion as to whether it would not be better
for Mrs Tulliver to accompany them on a visit to sister Glegg, Mrs
Pullet, observing that it was tea-time, turned to reach from a drawer a
delicate damask napkin, which she pinned before her in the fashion of
an apron. The door did, in fact, soon open, but instead of the
tea-tray, Sally introduced an object so startling that both Mrs Pullet
and Mrs Tulliver gave a scream, causing uncle Pullet to swallow his
lozenge—for the fifth time in his life, as he afterward noted.
Chapter X.
Maggie Behaves Worse Than She Expected
The startling object which thus made an epoch for uncle Pullet was no
other than little Lucy, with one side of her person, from her small
foot to her bonnet-crown, wet and discoloured with mud, holding out two
tiny blackened hands, and making a very piteous face. To account for
this unprecedented apparition in aunt Pullet’s parlour, we must return
to the moment when the three children went to play out of doors, and
the small demons who had taken possession of Maggie’s soul at an early
period of the day had returned in all the greater force after a
temporary absence. All the disagreeable recollections of the morning
were thick upon her, when Tom, whose displeasure toward her had been
considerably refreshed by her foolish trick of causing him to upset his
cowslip wine, said, “Here, Lucy, you come along with me,” and walked
off to the area where the toads were, as if there were no Maggie in
existence. Seeing this, Maggie lingered at a distance, looking like a
small Medusa with her snakes cropped. Lucy was naturally pleased that
cousin Tom was so good to her, and it was very amusing to see him
tickling a fat toad with a piece of string when the toad was safe down
the area, with an iron grating over him. Still Lucy wished Maggie to
enjoy the spectacle also, especially as she would doubtless find a name
for the toad, and say what had been his past history; for Lucy had a
delighted semi-belief in Maggie’s stories about the live things they
came upon by accident,—how Mrs Earwig had a wash at home, and one of
her children had fallen into the hot copper, for which reason she was
running so fast to fetch the doctor. Tom had a profound contempt for
this nonsense of Maggie’s, smashing the earwig at once as a superfluous