Chapter III. Mr Riley Gives His Advice Concerning a School for Tom

rnessinhishard-linedface,andpattedhislittlegirlontheback,andthenheldherhandsandkeptherbetweenhisknees. “What!theymustn’tsayanyharmo’Tom,eh?”saidMrTulliver,lookingatMaggiewithatwinklingeye.Then,inalowervoice,turningtoMrRiley,asthoughMaggiecouldn’thear,“Sheunderstandswhatone’stalkingaboutsoasneverwas.Andyoushouldhearherread,—straightoff,asifsheknoweditallbeforehand.Andallaysatherbook!Butit’sbad—it’sbad,”MrTulliveraddedsadly,checkingthisblamableexultation.“Awoman’snobusinesswi’beingsocleverit’llturntotrouble,Idoubt.Butblessyou!”—heretheexultationwasclearlyrecoveringthemastery,—“she’llreadthebooksandunderstand’embetternorhalfthefolksasaregrowedup.” Maggie’scheeksbegantoflushwithtriumphantexcitement.ShethoughtMrRileywouldhavearespectforhernowithadbeenevidentthathethoughtnothingofherbefore. MrRileywasturningovertheleavesofthebook,andshecouldmakenothingofhisface,withitshigh-archedeyebrowsbuthepresentlylookedather,andsaid,— “Come,comeandtellmesomethingaboutthisbookherearesomepictures,—Iwanttoknowwhattheymean.” Maggie,withdeepeningcolour,wentwithouthesitationtoMrRiley’selbowandlookedoverthebook,eagerlyseizingonecorner,andtossingbackhermane,whileshesaid,— “Oh,I’lltellyouwhatthatmeans.It’sadreadfulpicture,isn’tit?ButIcan’thelplookingatit.Thatoldwomaninthewater’sawitch,—they’veputherintofindoutwhethershe’sawitchornoandifsheswimsshe’sawitch,andifshe’sdrowned—andkilled,youknow—she’sinnocent,andnotawitch,butonlyapoorsillyoldwoman.Butwhatgoodwoulditdoherthen,youknow,whenshewasdrowned?Only,Isuppose,she’dgotoheaven,andGodwouldmakeituptoher.Andthisdreadfulblacksmithwithhisarmsakimbo,laughing,—oh,isn’theugly?—I’lltellyouwhatheis.He’stheDevilreally”(hereMaggie’svoicebecamelouderandmoreemphatic),“andnotarightblacksmithfortheDeviltakestheshapeofwickedmen,andwalksaboutandsetspeopledoingwickedthings,andhe’softenerintheshapeofabadmanthananyother,because,youknow,ifpeoplesawhewastheDevil,andheroaredat’em,they’drunaway,andhecouldn’tmake’emdowhathepleased.” MrTulliverhadlistenedtothisexpositionofMaggie’swithpetrifyingwonder. “Why,whatbookisitthewenchhasgotholdon?”heburstoutatlast. “‘TheHistoryoftheDevil,’byDanielDefoe,—notquitetherightbookforalittlegirl,”saidMrRiley.“Howcameitamongyourbooks,MrTulliver?” Maggielookedhurtanddiscouraged,whileherfathersaid,— “Why,it’soneo’thebooksIboughtatPartridge’ssale.Theywasallboundalike,—it’sagoodbinding,yousee,—andIthoughtthey’dbeallgoodbooks.There’sJeremyTaylor’s‘HolyLivingandDying’among’em.IreadinitoftenofaSunday”(MrTulliverfeltsomehowafamiliaritywiththatgreatwriter,becausehisnamewasJeremy)“andthere’salotmoreof’em,—sermonsmostly,Ithink,—butthey’veallgotthesamecovers,andIthoughttheywereallo’onesample,asyoumaysay.Butitseemsonemustn’tjudgebyth’outside.Thisisapuzzlin’world.” “Well,”saidMrRiley,inanadmonitory,patronizingtoneashepattedMaggieonthehead,“Iadviseyoutoputbythe‘HistoryoftheDevil,’andreadsomeprettierbook.Haveyounoprettierbooks?” “Oh,yes,”saidMaggie,revivingalittleinthedesiretovindicatethevarietyofherreading.“Iknowthereadinginthisbookisn’tprettybutIlikethepictures,andImakestoriestothepicturesoutofmyownhead,youknow.ButI’vegot‘?sop’sFables,’andabookaboutKangaroosandthings,andthe‘Pilgrim’sProgress....’” “Ah,abeautifulbook,”saidMrRiley“youcan’treadabetter.” “Well,butthere’sagreatdealabouttheDevilinthat,”saidMaggie,triumphantly,“andI’llshowyouthepictureofhiminhistrueshape,ashefoughtwithChristian.” Maggieraninaninstanttothecorneroftheroom,jumpedonachair,andreacheddownfromthesmallbookcaseashabbyoldcopyofBunyan,whichopenedatonce,withouttheleasttroubleofsearch,atthepictureshewanted. “Hereheis,”shesaid,runningbacktoMrRiley,“andTomcolouredhimformewithhispaintswhenhewasathomelastholidays,—thebodyallblack,youknow,andtheeyesred,likefire,becausehe’sallfireinside,anditshinesoutathiseyes.” “Go,go!”saidMrTulliver,peremptorily,beginningtofeelratheruncomfortableatthesefreeremarksonthepersonalappearanceofabeingpowerfulenoughtocreatelawyers“shutupthebook,andlet’shearnomoreo’suchtalk.ItisasIthought—thechild’ulllearnmoremischiefnorgoodwi’thebooks.Go,goandseeafteryourmother.” Maggieshutupthebookatonce,withasenseofdisgrace,butnotbeinginclinedtoseeafterhermother,shecompromisedthematterbygoingintoadarkcornerbehindherfather’schair,andnursingherdoll,towardwhichshehadanoccasionalfitoffondnessinTom’sabsence,neglectingitstoilet,butlavishingsomanywarmkissesonitthatthewaxencheekshadawasted,unhealthyappearance. “Didyoueverhearthelikeon’t?”saidMrTulliver,asMaggieretired.“It’sapitybutwhatshe’dbeenthelad,—she’dha’beenamatchforthelawyers,shewould.It’sthewonderful’stthing”—hereheloweredhisvoice—“asIpickedthemotherbecauseshewasn’to’er’cute—bein’agood-lookingwomantoo,an’comeofararefamilyformanagingbutIpickedherfromhersisterso’purpose,’causeshewasabitweaklikeforIwasn’tagoin’tobetoldtherightso’thingsbymyownfi