Chapter VII. Enter the Aunts and Uncles

muchagainsttheirdesire.“Lookup,Tom,lookup.Boysasgotoboarding-schoolsshouldholdtheirheadsup.Lookatmenow.”Tomdeclinedthatpleasureapparently,forhetriedtodrawhishandaway.“Putyourhairbehindyourears,Maggie,andkeepyourfrockonyourshoulder.” AuntGleggalwaysspoketotheminthisloud,emphaticway,asifsheconsideredthemdeaf,orperhapsratheridioticitwasameans,shethought,ofmakingthemfeelthattheywereaccountablecreatures,andmightbeasalutarycheckonnaughtytendencies.Bessy’schildrenweresospoiled—they’dneedhavesomebodytomakethemfeeltheirduty. “Well,mydears,”saidauntPullet,inacompassionatevoice,“yougrowwonderfulfast.Idoubtthey’lloutgrowtheirstrength,”sheadded,lookingovertheirheads,withamelancholyexpression,attheirmother.“Ithinkthegellhastoomuchhair.I’dhaveitthinnedandcutshorter,sister,ifIwasyouitisn’tgoodforherhealth.It’sthatasmakesherskinsobrown,Ishouldn’twonder.Don’tyouthinkso,sisterDeane?” “Ican’tsay,I’msure,sister,”saidMrsDeane,shuttingherlipscloseagain,andlookingatMaggiewithacriticaleye. “No,no,”saidMrTulliver,“thechild’shealthyenoughthere’snothingailsher.There’sredwheataswellaswhite,forthatmatter,andsomelikethedarkgrainbest.Butit’udbeaswellifBessy’udhavethechild’shaircut,soasit’udliesmooth.” AdreadfulresolvewasgatheringinMaggie’sbreast,butitwasarrestedbythedesiretoknowfromherauntDeanewhethershewouldleaveLucybehind.AuntDeanewouldhardlyeverletLucycometoseethem.Aftervariousreasonsforrefusal,MrsDeaneappealedtoLucyherself. “Youwouldn’tliketostaybehindwithoutmother,shouldyou,Lucy?” “Yes,please,mother,”saidLucy,timidly,blushingverypinkalloverherlittleneck. “Welldone,Lucy!Letherstay,MrsDeane,letherstay,”saidMrDeane,alargebutalert-lookingman,withatypeofphysiquetobeseeninallranksofEnglishsociety,—baldcrown,redwhiskers,fullforehead,andgeneralsoliditywithoutheaviness.YoumayseenoblemenlikeMrDeane,andyoumayseegrocersorday-labourerslikehimbutthekeennessofhisbrowneyeswaslesscommonthanhiscontour. Heheldasilversnuff-boxverytightlyinhishand,andnowandthenexchangedapinchwithMrTulliver,whoseboxwasonlysilver-mounted,sothatitwasnaturallyajokebetweenthemthatMrTulliverwantedtoexchangesnuff-boxesalso.MrDeane’sboxhadbeengivenhimbythesuperiorpartnersinthefirmtowhichhebelonged,atthesametimethattheygavehimashareinthebusiness,inacknowledgmentofhisvaluableservicesasmanager.NomanwasthoughtmorehighlyofinStOgg’sthanMrDeaneandsomepersonswereevenofopinionthatMissSusanDodson,whowasonceheldtohavemadetheworstmatchofalltheDodsonsisters,mightonedayrideinabettercarriage,andliveinabetterhouse,eventhanhersisterPullet.Therewasnoknowingwhereamanwouldstop,whohadgothisfootintoagreatmill-owning,ship-owningbusinesslikethatofGuest&Co.,withabankingconcernattached.AndMrsDeane,asherintimatefemalefriendsobserved,wasproudand“having”enoughshewouldn’tletherhusbandstandstillintheworldforwantofspurring. “Maggie,”saidMrsTulliver,beckoningMaggietoher,andwhisperinginherear,assoonasthispointofLucy’sstayingwassettled,“goandgetyourhairbrushed,do,forshame.ItoldyounottocomeinwithoutgoingtoMarthafirst,youknowIdid.” “Tomcomeoutwithme,”whisperedMaggie,pullinghissleeveasshepassedhimandTomfollowedwillinglyenough. “Comeupstairswithme,Tom,”shewhispered,whentheywereoutsidethedoor.“There’ssomethingIwanttodobeforedinner.” “There’snotimetoplayatanythingbeforedinner,”saidTom,whoseimaginationwasimpatientofanyintermediateprospect. “Ohyes,thereistimeforthisdocome,Tom.” TomfollowedMaggieupstairsintohermother’sroom,andsawhergoatoncetoadrawer,fromwhichshetookoutalargepairofscissors. “Whataretheyfor,Maggie?”saidTom,feelinghiscuriosityawakened. Maggieansweredbyseizingherfrontlocksandcuttingthemstraightacrossthemiddleofherforehead. “Oh,mybuttons!Maggie,you’llcatchit!”exclaimedTom“you’dbetternotcutanymoreoff.” Snip!wentthegreatscissorsagainwhileTomwasspeaking,andhecouldn’thelpfeelingitwasrathergoodfunMaggiewouldlooksoqueer. “Here,Tom,cutitbehindforme,”saidMaggie,excitedbyherowndaring,andanxioustofinishthedeed. “You’llcatchit,youknow,”saidTom,noddinghisheadinanadmonitorymanner,andhesitatingalittleashetookthescissors. “Nevermind,makehaste!”saidMaggie,givingalittlestampwithherfoot.Hercheekswerequiteflushed. Theblacklocksweresothick,nothingcouldbemoretemptingtoaladwhohadalreadytastedtheforbiddenpleasureofcuttingthepony’smane.Ispeaktothosewhoknowthesatisfactionofmakingapairofscissorsmeetthroughadulyresistingmassofhair.Onedeliciousgrindingsnip,andthenanotherandanother,andthehinder-locksfellheavilyonthefloor,andMaggiestoodcroppedinajagged,unevenmanner,butwithasenseofclearnessandfreedom,asifshehademergedfromawoodintotheopenplain. “Oh,Maggie,”saidTom,jumpingroundher,andslappinghiskneesashelaughed,“Oh,mybuttons!whataqueerthingyoulook!Lookatyourselfintheglassyoulookliketheidiotwethrowoutnutshellstoatschool.” Maggiefeltanunexpectedpang.Shehadthoughtbeforehandchieflyatherowndeliverancefromherteasinghairandteasingremarksaboutit,andsomethingalsoofthetriumphsheshouldhaveoverhermotherandherauntsbythisverydecidedcourseofactionshedidn’twantherhairtolookpretty,—thatwasoutofthequestion,—sheonlywantedpeopletothinkheracleverlittlegirl,andnottofindfaultwithher.Butnow,whenTombegantolaughather,andsayshewaslikeanidiot,theaffairhadquiteanewaspect.Shelookedintheglass,andstillTomlaughedandclappedhishands,andMaggie’scheeksbegantopale,andherlipstotremblealittle. “Oh,Maggie,you’llhavetogodowntodinnerdirectly,”saidTom.“Oh,my!” “Don’tlaughatme,Tom,”saidMaggie,inapassionatetone,withanoutburstofangrytears,stamping,andgivinghimapush. “Now,then,spitfire!”saidTom.“Whatdidyoucutitofffor,then?Ishallgodown:Icansmellthedinnergoingin.” HehurrieddownstairsandleftpoorMaggietothatbittersenseoftheirrevocablewhichwasalmostaneverydayexperienceofhersmallsoul.Shecouldseeclearlyenough,nowthethingwasdone,thatitwasveryfoolish,andthatsheshouldhavetohearandthinkmoreaboutherhairthaneverforMaggierushedtoherdeedswithpassionateimpulse,andthensawnotonlytheirconsequences,butwhatwouldhavehappenediftheyhadnotbeendone,withallthedetailandexaggeratedcircumstanceofanactiveimagination.TomneverdidthesamesortoffoolishthingsasMaggie,havingawonderfulinstinctivediscernmentofwhatwouldturntohisadvantageordisadvantageandsoithappened,thatthoughhewasmuchmorewilfulandinflexiblethanMaggie,hismotherhardlyevercalledhimnaughty.ButifTomdidmakeamistakeofthatsort,heespousedit,andstoodbyit:he“didn’tmind.”Ifhebrokethelashofhisfather’sgigwhipbylashingthegate,hecouldn’thelpit,—thewhipshouldn’thavegotcaughtinthehinge.IfTomTulliverwhippedagate,hewasconvinced,notthatthewhippingofgatesbyallboyswasajustifiableact,butthathe,TomTulliver,wasjustifiableinwhippingthatparticulargate,andhewasn’tgoingtobesorry.ButMaggie,asshestoodcryingbeforetheglass,feltitimpossiblethatsheshouldgodowntodinnerandendurethesevereeyesandseverewordsofheraunts,whileTomandLucy,andMartha,whowaitedattable,andperhapsherfatherandheruncles,wouldlaughatherforifTomhadlaughedather,ofcourseeveryoneelsewouldandifshehadonlyletherhairalone,shecouldhavesatwithTomandLucy,andhadtheapricotpuddingandthecustard!Whatcouldshedobutsob?ShesatashelplessanddespairingamongherblacklocksasAjaxamongtheslaughteredsheep.Verytrivial,perhaps,thisanguishseemstoweather-wornmortalswhohavetothinkofChristmasbills,deadloves,andbrokenfriendshipsbutitwasnotlessbittertoMaggie—perhapsitwasevenmorebitter—thanwhatwearefondofcallingantitheticallytherealtroublesofmaturelife.“Ah,mychild,youwillhaverealtroublestofretaboutbyandby,”istheconsolationwehavealmostallofushadadministeredtousinourchildhood,andhaverepeatedtootherchildrensincewehavebeengrownup.Wehaveallofussobbedsopiteously,standingwithtinybarelegsaboveourlittlesocks,whenwelostsightofourmotherornurseinsomestrangeplacebutwecannolongerrecallthepoignancyofthatmomentandweepoverit,aswedoovertherememberedsufferingsoffiveortenyearsago.Everyoneofthosekeenmomentshasleftitstrace,andlivesinusstill,butsuchtraceshaveblentthemselvesirrecoverablywiththefirmertextureofouryouthandmanhoodandsoitcomesthatwecanlookonatthetroublesofourchildrenwithasmilingdisbeliefintherealityoftheirpain.Isthereanyonewhocanrecovertheexperienceofhischildhood,notmerelywithamemoryofwhathedidandwhathappenedtohim,ofwhathelikedanddislikedwhenhewasinfrockandtrousers,butwithanintimatepenetration,arevivedconsciousnessofwhathefeltthen,whenitwassolongfromoneMidsummertoanotherwhathefeltwhenhisschoolfellowsshuthimoutoftheirgamebecausehewouldpitchtheballwrongoutofmerewilfulnessoronarainydayintheholidays,whenhedidn’tknowhowtoamusehimself,andfellfromidlenessintomisch