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“But belike he’s a bachelor,” observed Mrs. Tulliver, “an’ I’ve no opinion o’ house-keepers. It ‘ud break my heart to send Tom where there’s a housekeeper, an’ I hope you won’t think of it, Mr. Tulliver.”

“You may set your mind at rest on that score, Mrs. Tulliver,” said Mr. Riley, “for Stelling is married to as nice a little woman as any man need wish for a wife. There isn’t a kinder little soul in the world.”

“Father,” broke in Maggie, who had stolen to her father’s elbow again, listening with parted lips, while she held her doll topsy-turvy, and crushed its nose against the wood of the chair–“father, is it a long way off where Tom is to go? Shan’t we ever go to see him?”

“I don’t know, my wench,” said the father tenderly. “Ask Mr. Riley; he knows.”

Maggie came round promptly in front of Mr. Riley, and said, “How far is it, please sir?”

“Oh, a long, long way off,” that gentleman answered. “You must borrow the seven-leagued boots to get to him.”

“That’s nonsense!” said Maggie, tossing her head and turning away with the tears springing to her eyes.

“Hush, Maggie, for shame of you, chattering so,” said her mother. “Come and sit down on your little stool, and hold your tongue, do. But,” added Mrs. Tulliver, who had her own alarm awakened, “is it so far off as I couldn’t wash him and mend him?”

“About fifteen miles, that’s all,” said Mr. Riley. “You can drive there and back in a day quite comfortably. Or–Stelling is a kind, pleasant man–he’d be glad to have you stay.”

“But it’s too far off for the linen, I doubt,” said Mrs. Tulliver sadly.

Chapter III.

TOM COMES HOME.

Tom was to arrive early one afternoon, and there was another fluttering heart besides Maggie’s when it was late enough for the sound of the gig wheels to be expected; for if Mrs. Tulliver had a strong feeling, it was fondness for her boy.

At last the sound came, and in spite of the wind, which was blowing the clouds about, and was not likely to respect Mrs. Tulliver’s curls and cap-strings, she came and stood outside the door with her hand on Maggie’s head.

“There he is, my sweet lad! But he’s got never a collar on; it’s been lost on the road, I’ll be bound, and spoilt the set!”

Mrs. Tulliver stood with her arms open; Maggie jumped first on one leg and then on the other; while Tom stepped down from the gig, and said, “Hallo, Yap! what, are you there?”

Then he allowed himself to be kissed willingly enough, though Maggie hung on his neck in rather a strangling fashion, while his blue eyes wandered towards the croft and the lambs and the river, where he promised himself that he would begin to fish the first thing to-morrow morning. He was a lad with light brown hair, cheeks of cream and roses, and full lips.

“Maggie,” said Tom, taking her into a corner as soon as his mother was gone out to examine his box, “you don’t know what I’ve got in my pockets,” nodding his head up and down as a means of rousing her sense of mystery.

“No,” said Maggie. “How stodgy they look, Tom! Is it marls (marbles) or cob-nuts?” Maggie’s heart sank a little, because Tom always said it was “no good” playing with her at those games, she played so badly.

“Marls! no. I’ve swopped all my marls with the little fellows; and cobnuts are no fun, you silly–only when the nuts are green. But see here!” He drew something out of his right-hand pocket.

“What is it?” said Maggie in a whisper. “I can see nothing but a bit of yellow.”

“Why, it’s a new– Guess, Maggie!”

“Oh, I can’t guess, Tom,” said Maggie impatiently.

“Don’t be a spitfire, else I won’t tell you,” said Tom, thrusting his hand back into his pocket.