by George Eliot
Chapter IX.
THE GIPSY QUEEN ABDICATES.
Maggie began to think that Tom must be right about the gipsies: theymust certainly be thieves, unless the man meant to return her thimbleby-and-by. All thieves, except Robin Hood, were wicked people.
The women now saw she was frightened.
"We've got nothing nice for a lady to eat," said the old woman, in hercoaxing tone. "And she's so hungry, sweet little lady!"
"Here, my dear, try if you can eat a bit o' this," said the youngerwoman, handing some of the stew on a brown dish with an iron spoon toMaggie, who dared not refuse it, though fear had chased away herappetite. If her father would but come by in the gig and take her up!Or even if Jack the Giantkiller, or Mr. Greatheart, or St. George whoslew the dragon on the half-pennies, would happen to pass that way!
"What! you don't like the smell of it, my dear," said the young woman,observing that Maggie did not even take a spoonful of the stew. "Try abit--come."
"No, thank you," said Maggie, trying to smile in a friendly way. "Ihaven't time, I think--it seems getting darker. I think I must go homenow, and come again another day, and then I can bring you a basket withsome jam-tarts and things."
Maggie rose from her seat, when the old gipsy-woman said, "Stop a bit,stop a bit, little lady; we'll take you home all safe when we've donesupper. You shall ride home like a lady."
Maggie sat down again, with little faith in this promise, though shepresently saw the tall girl putting a bridle on the donkey and throwinga couple of bags on his back.
"Now, then, little missis," said the younger man, rising and leadingthe donkey forward, "tell us where you live. What's the name o' theplace?"
"Dorlcote Mill is my home," said Maggie eagerly. "My father is Mr.Tulliver; he lives there."
"What! a big mill a little way this side o' St. Ogg's?"
"Yes," said Maggie. "Is it far off? I think I should like to walkthere, if you please."
"No, no, it'll be getting dark; we must make haste. And the donkey'llcarry you as nice as can be--you'll see."
He lifted Maggie as he spoke, and set her on the donkey.
"Here's your pretty bonnet," said the younger woman, putting it onMaggie's head. "And you'll say we've been very good to you, won't you,and what a nice little lady we said you was?"
"Oh yes, thank you," said Maggie; "I'm very much obliged to you. But Iwish you'd go with me too."
"Ah, you're fondest o' me, aren't you?" said the woman. "But I can'tgo; you'll go too fast for me."
It now appeared that the man also was to be seated on the donkey,holding Maggie before him, and no nightmare had ever seemed to her morehorrible. When the woman had patted her on the back, and said"good-bye," the donkey, at a strong hint from the man's stick, set offat a rapid walk along the lane towards the point Maggie had come froman hour ago.
Maggie was completely terrified at this ride on a short-paced donkey,with a gipsy behind her, who considered that he was earning half acrown. Two low thatched cottages--the only houses they passed in thislane--seemed to add to the dreariness. They had no windows to speakof, and the doors were closed. It was probable that they wereinhabited by witches, and it was a relief to find that the donkey didnot stop there.
At last--oh, sight of joy!--this lane, the longest in the world, wascoming to an end, and was opening on a broad highroad, where there wasactually a coach passing! And there was a finger-post at the corner.She had surely seen that finger-post before--"To St. Ogg's, 2 miles."
The gipsy really meant to take her home, then. He was probably a goodman after all, and might have been rather hurt at the thought that shedidn't like coming with him alone. This idea became stronger as shefelt more and more certain that she knew the road quite well, when, asthey reached a cross-road, Maggie caught sight of some one coming on ahorse which seemed familiar to her.
"Oh, stop, stop!" she cried out. "There's my father!--O father,father!"
The sudden joy was almost painful, and before her father reached hershe was sobbing. Great was Mr. Tulliver's wonder, for he had beenpaying a visit to a married sister, and had not yet been home.
"Why, what's the meaning o' this?" he said, checking his horse, whileMaggie slipped from the donkey and ran to her father's stirrup.
"The little miss lost herself, I reckon," said the gipsy. "She'd cometo our tent at the far end o' Dunlow Lane, and I was bringing her whereshe said her home was. It's a good way to come arter being on thetramp all day."
"Oh yes, father, he's been very good to bring me home," said Maggie--"avery kind, good man!"
"Here, then, my man," said Mr. Tulliver, taking out five shillings."It's the best day's work you ever did. I couldn't afford to lose thelittle wench. Here, lift her up before me."
"Why, Maggie, how's this, how's this?" he said, as they rode along,while she laid her head against her father and sobbed. "How came youto be rambling about and lose yourself?"
"O father," sobbed Maggie, "I ran away because I was so unhappy--Tomwas so angry with me. I couldn't bear it."
"Pooh, pooh!" said Mr. Tulliver soothingly; "you mustn't think o'running away from father. What 'ud father do without his little wench?"
"Oh no, I never will again, father--never."
Mr. Tulliver spoke his mind very strongly when he reached home thatevening, and Maggie never heard one reproach from her mother, or onetaunt from Tom, about running away to be queen of the gipsies.
