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“Ah!” said Mr. Riley, in a tone of mild interest.

“It’s a very particular thing,” Mr. Tulliver went on; “it’s about my boy Tom.”

At the sound of this name Maggie, who was seated on a low stool close by the fire, with a large book open on her lap, shook her heavy hair back and looked up eagerly.

“You see, I want to put him to a new school at Midsummer,” said Mr. Tulliver. “He’s comin’ away from the ‘cademy at Lady Day, an’ I shall let him run loose for a quarter; but after that I want to send him to a downright good school, where they’ll make a scholard of him.”

“Well,” said Mr. Riley, “there’s no greater advantage you can give him than a good education.”

“I don’t mean Tom to be a miller and farmer,” said Mr. Tulliver; “I see no fun i’ that. Why, if I made him a miller, he’d be expectin’ to take the mill an’ the land, an’ a-hinting at me as it was time for me to lay by. Nay, nay; I’ve seen enough o’ that wi’ sons.”

These words cut Maggie to the quick. Tom was supposed capable of turning his father out of doors! This was not to be borne; and Maggie jumped up from her stool, forgetting all about her heavy book, which fell with a bang within the fender, and going up between her father’s knees said, in a half-crying, half-angry voice,–

“Father, Tom wouldn’t be naughty to you ever; I know he wouldn’t.”

“What! they mustn’t say any harm o’ Tom, eh?” said Mr. Tulliver, looking at Maggie with a twinkling eye. Then he added gently, “Go, go and see after your mother.”

“Did you ever hear the like on’t?” said Mr. Tulliver as Maggie retired. “It’s a pity but what she’d been the lad.”

Mr. Riley laughed, took a pinch of snuff, and said,–

“But your lad’s not stupid, is he?” said Mr. Riley. “I saw him, when I was here last, busy making fishing-tackle; he seemed quite up to it.”

“Well, he isn’t stupid. He’s got a notion o’ things out o’ door, an’ a sort o’ common sense, and he’ll lay hold o’ things by the right handle. But he’s slow with his tongue, you see, and he reads but poorly, and can’t abide the books, and spells all wrong, they tell me, an’ you never hear him say ‘cute things like the little wench. Now, what I want is to send him to a school where they’ll make him a bit nimble with his tongue and his pen, and make a smart chap of him.”

“You’re quite in the right of it, Tulliver,” observed Mr. Riley. “Better spend an extra hundred or two on your son’s education than leave it him in your will.”

“I dare say, now, you know of a school as ‘ud be just the thing for Tom,” said Mr. Tulliver.

Mr. Riley took a pinch of snuff, and waited a little before he said,–

“I know of a very fine chance for any one that’s got the necessary money, and that’s what you have, Tulliver. But if any one wanted his boy to be placed under a first-rate fellow, I know his man. He’s an Oxford man, and a parson. He’s willing to take one or two boys as pupils to fill up his time. The boys would be quite of the family–the finest thing in the world for them–under Stelling’s eye continually.”

“But do you think they’d give the poor lad twice o’ pudding?” said Mrs. Tulliver, who was now in her place again.

“And what money ‘ud he want?” said Mr. Tulliver.

“Stelling is moderate in his terms; he’s not a grasping man,” said Mr. Riley. “I’ve no doubt he’d take your boy at a hundred. I’ll write to him about it if you like.”

Mr. Tulliver rubbed his knees, and looked at the carpet.