“Here, then, my man,” said Mr Tulliver, taking out five shillings. “It’s the best day’s work _you_ ever did. I couldn’t afford to lose the little wench; here, lift her up before me.” “Why, Maggie, how’s this, how’s this?” he said, as they rode along, while she laid her head against her father and sobbed. “How came you to be rambling about and lose yourself?” “Oh, father,” sobbed Maggie, “I ran away because I was so unhappy; Tom was so angry with me. I couldn’t bear it.” “Pooh, pooh,” said Mr Tulliver, soothingly, “you mustn’t think o’ running away from father. What ’ud father do without his little wench?” “Oh no, I never will again, father—never.” Mr Tulliver spoke his mind very strongly when he reached home that evening; and the effect was seen in the remarkable fact that Maggie never heard one reproach from her mother, or one taunt from Tom, about this foolish business of her running away to the gypsies. Maggie was rather awe-stricken by this unusual treatment, and sometimes thought that her conduct had been too wicked to be alluded to. Chapter XII. Mr and Mrs Glegg at Home In order to see Mr and Mrs Glegg at home, we must enter the town of St Ogg’s,—that venerable town with the red fluted roofs and the broad warehouse gables, where the black ships unlade themselves of their burthens from the far north, and carry away, in exchange, the precious inland products, the well-crushed cheese and the soft fleeces which my refined readers have doubtless become acquainted with through the medium of the best classic pastorals.