The Mill on the Floss.

George Eliot.

Characters:

Maggie. I’ll help you now, Tom. I’ve come to the school to stay ever so long. I’ve brought my box and my pinafores—haven’t I, father?

Tom. You help me, you silly little thing! I should like to see you doing one of my lessons. Why, I learn Latin, too. Girls never learn such things. They’re too silly.

M. I know what Latin is very well. Latin’s a language. There are Latin words in the dictionary. There’s bonus, a gift.

T. Now you’re just wrong there, Miss Maggie. You think you’re very wise. But “bonus” means “good,” as it happens—bonus, bona, bonum.

M. Well, that’s no reason why it shouldn’t mean “gift.” It may mean several things—almost every word does. There’s “lawn”—it means the grass-plot as well as the stuff pocket-handkerchiefs are made of.

T. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie.

M. Oh, what books! How I should like to have as many books as that!

T. Why, you couldn’t read one of ’em. They’re all Latin.

M. No, they aren’t. I can read the back of this, “History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.”

T. Well, what does that mean? You don’t know.

M. But I could soon find out. I should look inside and see what it was about.

T. Oh, I say, Maggie, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything, we’ll have to cry peccavi.

M. What’s that?

T. It’s the Latin for a good scolding.

M. Is your Mrs. Stelling a cross woman, Tom?

T. I believe you!

M. I think all women are crosser than men. Aunt Glegg’s a great deal crosser than Uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does.

T. Well, you’ll be a woman some day, so you needn’t talk.

M. But I shall be a clever woman, Tom.

T. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody’ll hate you.

M. But you oughtn’t to hate me, Tom. It will be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister.

T. Oh, bother! Come, it’s time for me to learn my lessons. Just see what I’ve got to do!

Characters:

Mrs. P. My new bonnet has come home, Bessy.

Mrs. T. Has it, sister? And how do you like it?

Mrs. P. It’s apt to make a mess with clothes, taking them out and putting them in again. But it would be a pity for you to go away without seeing it. There’s no knowing what may happen.

Mrs. T. I’m afraid it’ll be troublesome to you getting it out, sister; but I should like to see what kind of a crown she’s made you.

Mrs. P. You’d like to see it on, sister? I’ll open the shutter a bit farther.

Mrs. T. Well, if you don’t mind taking off your cap, sister.

Mrs. P. I’ve sometimes thought there’s a loop too much of ribbon on the left side, sister. What do you think?

Mrs. T. Well, I think it’s best as it is. If you meddled with it, sister, you might repent. How much might she charge you for that bonnet, sister?

Mrs. P. Pullet pays for it. He said I was to have the best bonnet at Garum Church, let the next best be whose it would. I may never wear it twice, sister; who knows?

Mrs. T. Don’t talk of that, sister. I hope you’ll keep your health this summer.

Mrs. P. But there may come a death in the family, as there did soon after I had my green satin bonnet.

Mrs. T. That would be unlucky. There’s never so much pleasure in wearing a bonnet a second year, especially when the crowns are so chancy—never two summers alike.

Mrs. P. Ah, it’s the way of the world! Sister, if you should never see that bonnet again till I’m dead and gone, you’ll remember I showed it to you this very day.