Book 5 - Chapter 6 - Page 2

indifferently.

That was a cutting word to Maggie. Her heart had leaped with the
sudden conviction that Tom was going to tell their father the debts
could be paid; and Tom would have let her be absent when that news was
told! But she carried away the tray and came back immediately. The
feeling of injury on her own behalf could not predominate at that
moment.

Tom drew to the corner of the table near his father when the tin box
was set down and opened, and the red evening light falling on them
made conspicuous the worn, sour gloom of the dark-eyed father and the
suppressed joy in the face of the fair-complexioned son. The mother
and Maggie sat at the other end of the table, the one in blank
patience, the other in palpitating expectation.

Mr. Tulliver counted out the money, setting it in order on the table,
and then said, glancing sharply at Tom:

"There now! you see I was right enough."

He paused, looking at the money with bitter despondency.

"There's more nor three hundred wanting; it'll be a fine while before
_I_ can save that. Losing that forty-two pound wi' the corn was a sore
job. This world's been too many for me. It's took four year to lay
_this_ by; it's much if I'm above ground for another four year. I must
trusten to you to pay 'em," he went on, with a trembling voice, "if
you keep i' the same mind now you're coming o' age. But you're like
enough to bury me first."

He looked up in Tom's face with a querulous desire for some assurance.

"No, father," said Tom, speaking with energetic decision, though there
was tremor discernible in his voice too, "you will live to see the
debts all paid. You shall pay them with your own hand."

His tone implied something more than mere hopefulness or resolution. A
slight electric shock seemed to pass through Mr. Tulliver, and he kept
his eyes fixed on Tom with a look of eager inquiry, while Maggie,
unable to restrain herself, rushed to her father's side and knelt down
by him. Tom was silent a little while before he went on.

"A good while ago, my uncle Glegg lent me a little money to trade
with, and that has answered. I have three hundred and twenty pounds in
the bank."

His mother's arms were round his neck as soon as the last words were
uttered, and she said, half crying:

"Oh, my boy, I knew you'd make iverything right again, when you got a
man."

But his father was silent; the flood of emotion hemmed in all power of
speech. Both Tom and Maggie were struck with fear lest the shock of
joy might even be fatal. But the blessed relief of tears came. The
broad chest heaved, the muscles of the face gave way, and the
gray-haired man burst into loud sobs. The fit of weeping gradually
subsided,