Book 4 - Chapter 3

A Voice from the Past

One afternoon, when the chestnuts were coming into flower, Maggie had
brought her chair outside the front door, and was seated there with a
book on her knees. Her dark eyes had wandered from the book, but they
did not seem to be enjoying the sunshine which pierced the screen of
jasmine on the projecting porch at her right, and threw leafy shadows
on her pale round cheek; they seemed rather to be searching for
something that was not disclosed by the sunshine. It had been a more
miserable day than usual; her father, after a visit of Wakem's had had
a paroxysm of rage, in which for some trifling fault he had beaten the
boy who served in the mill. Once before, since his illness, he had had
a similar paroxysm, in which he had beaten his horse, and the scene
had left a lasting terror in Maggie's mind. The thought had risen,
that some time or other he might beat her mother if she happened to
speak in her feeble way at the wrong moment. The keenest of all dread
with her was lest her father should add to his present misfortune the
wretchedness of doing something irretrievably disgraceful. The
battered school-book of Tom's which she held on her knees could give
her no fortitude under the pressure of that dread; and again and again
her eyes had filled with tears, as they wandered vaguely, seeing
neither the chestnut-trees, nor the distant horizon, but only future
scenes of home-sorrow.

Suddenly she was roused by the sound of the opening gate and of
footsteps on the gravel. It was not Tom who was entering, but a man in
a sealskin cap and a blue plush waistcoat, carrying a pack on his
back, and followed closely by a bullterrier of brindled coat and
defiant aspect.

"Oh, Bob, it's you!" said Maggie, starting up with a smile of pleased
recognition, for there had been no abundance of kind acts to efface
the recollection of Bob's generosity; "I'm so glad to see you."

"Thank you, Miss," said Bob, lifting his cap and showing a delighted
face, but immediately relieving himself of some accompanying
embarrassment by looking down at his dog, and saying in a tone of
disgust, "Get out wi' you, you thunderin' sawney!"

"My brother is not at home yet, Bob," said Maggie; "he is always at
St. Ogg's in the daytime."

"Well, Miss," said Bob, "I should be glad to see Mr. Tom, but that
isn't just what I'm come for,--look here!"

Bob was in the act of depositing his pack on the door-step, and with
it a row of small books fastened together with string.

Apparently, however, they were not the object to which he wished to
call Maggie's attention, but rather something which he had carried
under his arm, wrapped in a red handkerchief.

"See here!" he said again, laying