“That’s fortunate,” said Mrs. Glegg. “She can agree to the list o’ things to be bought in. It’s but right she should do her share when it’s her own brother.”
Mrs. Moss was in too much agitation to resist Mrs. Tulliver’s movement, as she drew her into the parlor automatically, without reflecting that it was hardly kind to take her among so many persons in the first painful moment of arrival. The tall, worn, dark-haired woman was a strong contrast to the Dodson sisters as she entered in her shabby dress, with her shawl and bonnet looking as if they had been hastily huddled on, and with that entire absence of self-consciousness which belongs to keenly felt trouble. Maggie was clinging to her arm; and Mrs. Moss seemed to notice no one else except Tom, whom she went straight up to and took by the hand.
“Oh, my dear children,” she burst out, “you’ve no call to think well o’ me; I’m a poor aunt to you, for I’m one o’ them as take all and give nothing. How’s my poor brother?”
“Mr. Turnbull thinks he’ll get better,” said Maggie. “Sit down, aunt Gritty. Don’t fret.”
“Oh, my sweet child, I feel torn i’ two,” said Mrs. Moss, allowing Maggie to lead her to the sofa, but still not seeming to notice the presence of the rest. “We’ve three hundred pounds o’ my brother’s money, and now he wants it, and you all want it, poor things!—and yet we must be sold up to pay it, and there’s my poor children,—eight of ’em, and the little un of all can’t speak plain. And I feel as if I was a robber. But I’m sure I’d no thought as my brother——”
The poor woman was interrupted by a rising sob.
“Three hundred pounds! oh dear, dear,” said Mrs. Tulliver, who, when she had said that her husband had done “unknown” things for his sister, had not had any particular sum in her mind, and felt a wife’s irritation at having been kept in the dark.
“What madness, to be sure!” said Mrs. Glegg. “A man with a family! He’d no right to lend his money i’ that way; and without security, I’ll be bound, if the truth was known.”
Mrs. Glegg’s voice had arrested Mrs. Moss’s attention, and looking up, she said:
“Yes, there was security; my husband gave a note for it. We’re not that sort o’ people, neither of us, as ’ud rob my brother’s children; and we looked to paying back the money, when the times got a bit better.”
“Well, but now,” said Mr. Glegg, gently, “hasn’t your husband no way o’ raising this money? Because it ’ud be a little fortin, like, for these folks, if we can do without Tulliver’s being made a bankrupt. Your husband’s got stock; it is but right he should raise the money, as it seems to me,—not but what I’m sorry for you, Mrs. Moss.”
“Oh, sir, you don’t know what bad luck my husband’s had with his stock. The farm’s suffering so as never was for want o’ stock; and we’ve sold all the wheat, and we’re behind with our rent,—not but what we’d like to do what’s right, and I’d sit up and work half the night, if it ’ud be any good; but there’s them poor children,—four of ’em such little uns——”
“Don’t cry so, aunt; don’t fret,” whispered Maggie, who had kept hold of Mrs. Moss’s hand.
“Did Mr. Tulliver let you have the money all at once?” said Mrs. Tulliver, still lost in the conception of things which had been “going on” without her knowledge.
“No; at twice,” said Mrs. Moss, rubbing her eyes and making an effort to restrain her tears. “The last was after my bad illness four years ago, as everything went wrong, and there was a new note made then. What with illness and bad luck, I’ve been nothing but cumber all my life.”
“Yes, Mrs. Moss,” said Mrs. Glegg, with decision, “yours is a very unlucky family; the more’s the pity for my sister.”
“I set off in the cart as soon as ever I heard o’ what had happened,” said Mrs. Moss, looking at Mrs. Tulliver. “I should never ha’ stayed away all this while, if you’d thought well to let me know. And it isn’t as I’m thinking all about ourselves, and nothing about my brother, only the money was so on my mind, I couldn’t help speaking about it. And my husband and me desire to do the right thing, sir,” she added, looking at Mr. Glegg, “and we’ll make shift and pay the money, come what will, if that’s all my brother’s got to trust to. We’ve been used to trouble, and don’t look for much else. It’s only the thought o’ my poor children pulls me i’ two.”
“Why, there’s this to be thought on, Mrs. Moss,” said Mr. Glegg, “and it’s right to warn you,—if Tulliver’s made a bankrupt, and he’s got a note-of-hand of your husband’s for three hundred pounds, you’ll be obliged to pay it; th’ assignees ’ull come on you for it.”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” said Mrs. Tulliver, thinking of the bankruptcy, and not of Mrs. Moss’s concern in it. Poor Mrs. Moss herself listened in trembling submission, while Maggie looked with bewildered distress at Tom to see if he showed any signs of understanding this trouble, and caring about poor aunt Moss. Tom was only looking thoughtful, with his eyes on the tablecloth.
“And if he isn’t made bankrupt,” continued Mr. Glegg, “as I said before, three hundred pounds ’ud be a little fortin for him, poor man. We don’t know but what he may be partly helpless, if he ever gets up again. I’m very sorry if it goes hard with you, Mrs. Moss, but my opinion is, looking at it one way, it’ll be right for you to raise the money; and looking at it th’ other way, you’ll be obliged to pay it. You won’t think ill o’ me for speaking the truth.”
“Uncle,” said Tom, looking up suddenly from his meditative view of the tablecloth, “I don’t think it would be right for my aunt Moss to pay the money if it would be against my father’s will for her to pay it; would it?”
Mr. Glegg looked surprised for a moment or two before he said: “Why, no, perhaps not, Tom; but then he’d ha’ destroyed the note, you know. We must look for the note. What makes you think it ’ud be against his will?”
“Why,” said Tom, coloring, but trying to speak firmly, in spite of a boyish tremor, “I remember quite well, before I went to school to Mr. Stelling, my father said to me one night, when we were sitting by the fire together, and no one else was in the room——”
Tom hesitated a little, and then went on.
“He said something to me about Maggie, and then he said: ‘I’ve always been good to my sister, though she married against my will, and I’ve lent Moss money; but I shall never think of distressing him to pay it; I’d rather lose it. My children must not mind being the poorer for that.’ And now my father’s ill, and not able to speak for himself, I shouldn’t like anything to be done contrary to what he said to me.”
“Well, but then, my boy,” said Uncle Glegg, whose good feeling led him to enter into Tom’s wish, but who could not at once shake off his habitual abhorrence of such recklessness as destroying securities, or alienating anything important enough to make an appreciable difference in a man’s property, “we should have to make away wi’ the note, you know, if we’re to guard against what may happen, supposing your father’s made bankrupt——”
“Mr. Glegg,” interrupted his wife, severely, “mind what you’re saying. You’re putting yourself very forrard in other folks’s business. If you speak rash, don’t say it was my fault.”
“That’s such a thing as I never heared of before,” said uncle Pullet, who had been making haste with his lozenge in order to express his amazement,—“making away with a note! I should think anybody could set the constable on you for it.”
“Well, but,” said Mrs. Tulliver, “if the note’s worth all that money, why can’t we pay it away, and save my things from going away? We’ve no call to meddle with your uncle and aunt Moss, Tom, if you think your father ’ud be angry when he gets well.”
Mrs.