Chapter XIV

by George Eliot

　　There was a pauper's burial that week in Raveloe, and up Kench Yardat Batherley it was known that the dark-haired woman with the fairchild, who had lately come to lodge there, was gone away again.That was all the express note taken that Molly had disappeared fromthe eyes of men. But the unwept death which, to the general lot,seemed as trivial as the summer-shed leaf, was charged with theforce of destiny to certain human lives that we know of, shapingtheir joys and sorrows even to the end.Silas Marner's determination to keep the "tramp's child" wasmatter of hardly less surprise and iterated talk in the village thanthe robbery of his money. That softening of feeling towards himwhich dated from his misfortune, that merging of suspicion anddislike in a rather contemptuous pity for him as lone and crazy, wasnow accompanied with a more active sympathy, especially amongst thewomen. Notable mothers, who knew what it was to keep children"whole and sweet"; lazy mothers, who knew what it was to beinterrupted in folding their arms and scratching their elbows by themischievous propensities of children just firm on their legs, wereequally interested in conjecturing how a lone man would manage witha two-year-old child on his hands, and were equally ready with theirsuggestions: the notable chiefly telling him what he had better do,and the lazy ones being emphatic in telling him what he would neverbe able to do.Among the notable mothers, Dolly Winthrop was the one whoseneighbourly offices were the most acceptable to Marner, for theywere rendered without any show of bustling instruction. Silas hadshown her the half-guinea given to him by Godfrey, and had asked herwhat he should do about getting some clothes for the child."Eh, Master Marner," said Dolly, "there's no call to buy, no morenor a pair o' shoes; for I've got the little petticoats as Aaronwore five years ago, and it's ill spending the money on thembaby-clothes, for the child 'ull grow like grass i' May, bless it--that it will."And the same day Dolly brought her bundle, and displayed to Marner,one by one, the tiny garments in their due order of succession, mostof them patched and darned, but clean and neat as fresh-sprungherbs. This was the introduction to a great ceremony with soap andwater, from which Baby came out in new beauty, and sat on Dolly'sknee, handling her toes and chuckling and patting her palms togetherwith an air of having made several discoveries about herself, whichshe communicated by alternate sounds of "gug-gug-gug", and"mammy". The "mammy" was not a cry of need or uneasiness: Babyhad been used to utter it without expecting either tender sound ortouch to follow."Anybody 'ud think the angils in heaven couldn't be prettier,"said Dolly, rubbing the golden curls and kissing them. "And tothink of its being covered wi' them dirty rags--and the poormother--froze to death; but there's Them as took care of it, andbrought it to your door, Master Marner. The door was open, and itwalked in over the snow, like as if it had been a little starvedrobin. Didn't you say the door was open?""Yes," said Silas, meditatively. "Yes--the door was open. Themoney's gone I don't know where, and this is come from I don't knowwhere."He had not mentioned to any one his unconsciousness of the child'sentrance, shrinking from questions which might lead to the fact hehimself suspected--namely, that he had been in one of his trances."Ah," said Dolly, with soothing gravity, "it's like the night andthe morning, and the sleeping and the waking, and the rain and theharvest--one goes and the other comes, and we know nothing how norwhere. We may strive and scrat and fend, but it's little we can doarter all--the big things come and go wi' no striving o' our'n--they do, that they do; and I think you're in the right on it to keepthe little un, Master Marner, seeing as it's been sent to you,though there's folks as thinks different. You'll happen be a bitmoithered with it while it's so little; but I'll come, and welcome,and see to it for you: I've a bit o' time to spare most days, forwhen one gets up betimes i' the morning, the clock seems to stan'still tow'rt ten, afore it's time to go about the victual. So, as Isay, I'll come and see to the child for you, and welcome.""Thank you... kindly," said Silas, hesitating a little. "I'll beglad if you'll tell me things. But," he added, uneasily, leaningforward to look at Baby with some jealousy, as she was resting herhead backward against Dolly's arm, and eyeing him contentedly from adistance--"But I want to do things for it myself, else it may getfond o' somebody else, and not fond o' me. I've been used tofending for myself in the house--I can learn, I can learn.""Eh, to be sure," said Dolly, gently. "I've seen men as arewonderful handy wi' children. The men are awk'ard and contrairymostly, God help 'em--but when the drink's out of 'em, they aren'tunsensible, though they're bad for leeching and bandaging--sofiery and unpatient. You see this goes first, next the skin,"proceeded Dolly, taking up the little shirt, and putting it on."Yes," said Marner, docilely, bringing his eyes very close, thatthey might be initiated in the mysteries; whereupon Baby seized hishead with both her small arms, and put her lips against his facewith purring noises."See there," said Dolly, with a woman's tender tact, "she'sfondest o' you. She wants to go o' your lap, I'll be bound. Go,then: take her, Master Marner; you can put the things on, and thenyou can say as you've done for her from the first of her coming toyou."Marner took her on his lap, trembling with an emotion mysterious tohimself, at something unknown dawning on his life. Thought andfeeling were so confused within him, that if he had tried to givethem utterance, he could only have said that the child was comeinstead of the gold--that the gold had turned into the child. Hetook the garments from Dolly, and put them on under her teaching;interrupted, of course, by Baby's gymnastics."There, then! why, you take to it quite easy, Master Marner,"said Dolly; "but what shall you do when you're forced to sit inyour loom? For she'll get busier and mischievouser every day--shewill, bless her. It's lucky as you've got that high hearth i'steadof a grate, for that keeps the fire more out of her reach: but ifyou've got anything as can be spilt or broke, or as is fit to cuther fingers off, she'll be at it--and it is but right you shouldknow."Silas meditated a little while in some perplexity. "I'll tie herto the leg o' the loom," he said at last--"tie her with a goodlong strip o' something.""Well, mayhap that'll do, as it's a little gell, for they're easierpersuaded to sit i' one place nor the lads. I know what the ladsare; for I've had four--four I've had, God knows--and if you wasto take and tie 'em up, they'd make a fighting and a crying as ifyou was ringing the pigs. But I'll bring you my little chair, andsome bits o' red rag and things for her to play wi'; an' she'll sitand chatter to 'em as if they was alive. Eh, if it wasn't a sin tothe lads to wish 'em made different, bless 'em, I should ha' beenglad for one of 'em to be a little gell; and to think as I could ha'taught her to scour, and mend, and the knitting, and everything.But I can teach 'em this little un, Master Marner, when she gets oldenough.""But she'll be my little un," said Marner, rather hastily."She'll be nobody else's.""No, to be sure; you'll have a right to her, if you're a father toher, and bring her up according. But," added Dolly, coming to apoint which she had determined beforehand to touch upon, "you mustbring her up like christened folks's children, and take her tochurch, and let her learn her catechise, as my little Aaron can sayoff--the "I believe", and everything, and "hurt nobody by word ordeed",--as well as if he was the clerk. That's what you must do,Master Marner, if you'd do the right thing by the orphin child."Marner's pale face flushed suddenly under a new anxiety. His mindwas too busy trying to give some definite bearing to Dolly's wordsfor him to think of answering her."And it's my belief," she went on, "as the poor little creaturhas never been christened, and it's nothing but right as the parsonshould be spoke to; and if you was noways unwilling, I'd talk toMr. Macey about it this very day. For if the child ever wentanyways wrong, and you hadn't done your part by it, Master Marner--'noculation, and everything to save it from harm--it 'ud be athorn i' your bed for ever o' this side the grave; and I can't thinkas it 'ud be easy lying down for anybody when they'd got to anotherworld, if they hadn't done their part by the helpless children ascome wi'out their own asking."Dolly herself was disposed to be silent for some time now, for shehad spoken from the depths of her own simple belief, and was muchconcerned to know whether her words would produce the desired effecton Silas. He was puzzled and anxious, for Dolly's word"christened" conveyed no distinct meaning to him. He had onlyheard of baptism, and had only seen the baptism of grown-up men andwomen."What is it as you mean by "christened"?" he said at last,timidly. "Won't folks be good to her without it?""Dear, dear! Master Marner," said Dolly, with gentle distress andcompassion. "Had you never no father nor mother as taught you tosay your prayers, and as there's good words and good things to keepus from harm?""Yes," said Silas, in a low voice; "I know a deal about that--used to, used to. But your ways are different: my country was agood way off." He paused a few moments, and then added, moredecidedly, "But I want to do everything as can be done for thechild. And whatever's right for it i' this country, and you think'ull do it good, I'll act according, if you'll tell me.""Well, then, Master Marner," said Dolly, inwardly rejoiced, "I'llask Mr. Macey to speak to the parson about it; and you must fix on aname for it, because it must have a name giv' it when it'schristened.""My mother's name was Hephzibah," said Silas, "and my littlesister was named after her.""Eh, that's a hard name," said Dolly. "I partly think it isn't achristened name.""It's a Bible name," said Silas, old ideas recurring."Then I've no call to speak again' it," said Dolly, ratherstartled by Silas's knowledge on this head; "but you see I'm noscholard, and I'm slow at catching the words. My husband says I'mallays like as if I was putting the haft for the handle--that'swhat he says--for he's very sharp, God help him. But it wasawk'ard calling your little sister by such a hard name, when you'dgot nothing big to say, like--wasn't it, Master Marner?""We called her Eppie," said Silas."Well, if it was noways wrong to shorten the name, it 'ud be a dealhandier. And so I'll go now, Master Marner, and I'll speak aboutthe christening afore dark; and I wish you the best o' luck, andit's my belief as it'll come to you, if you do what's right by theorphin child;--and there's the 'noculation to be seen to; and asto washing its bits o' things, you need look to nobody but me, for Ican do 'em wi' one hand when I've got my suds about. Eh, theblessed angil! You'll let me bring my Aaron one o' these days, andhe'll show her his little cart as his father's made for him, and theblack-and-white pup as he's got a-rearing."Baby was christened, the rector deciding that a double baptism wasthe lesser risk to incur; and on this occasion Silas, making himselfas clean and tidy as he could, appeared for the first time withinthe church, and shared in the observances held sacred by hisneighbours. He was quite unable, by means of anything he heard orsaw, to identify the Raveloe religion with his old faith; if hecould at any time in his previous life have done so, it must havebeen by the aid of a strong feeling ready to vibrate with sympathy,rather than by a comparison of phrases and ideas: and now for longyears that feeling had been dormant. He had no distinct idea aboutthe baptism and the church-going, except that Dolly had said it wasfor the good of the child; and in this way, as the weeks grew tomonths, the child created fresh and fresh links between his life andthe lives from which he had hitherto shrunk continually intonarrower isolation. Unlike the gold which needed nothing, and mustbe worshipped in close-locked solitude--which was hidden away fromthe daylight, was deaf to the song of birds, and started to no humantones--Eppie was a creature of endless claims and ever-growingdesires, seeking and loving sunshine, and living sounds, and livingmovements; making trial of everything, with trust in new joy, andstirring the human kindness in all eyes that looked on her. Thegold had kept his thoughts in an ever-repeated circle, leading tonothing beyond itself; but Eppie was an object compacted of changesand hopes that forced his thoughts onward, and carried them far awayfrom their old eager pacing towards the same blank limit--carriedthem away to the new things that would come with the coming years,when Eppie would have learned to understand how her father Silascared for her; and made him look for images of that time in the tiesand charities that bound together the families of his neighbours.The gold had asked that he should sit weaving longer and longer,deafened and blinded more and more to all things except the monotonyof his loom and the repetition of his web; but Eppie called him awayfrom his weaving, and made him think all its pauses a holiday,reawakening his senses with her fresh life, even to the oldwinter-flies that came crawling forth in the early spring sunshine,and warming him into joy because she had joy.And when the sunshine grew strong and lasting, so that thebuttercups were thick in the meadows, Silas might be seen in thesunny midday, or in the late afternoon when the shadows werelengthening under the hedgerows, strolling out with uncovered headto carry Eppie beyond the Stone-pits to where the flowers grew, tillthey reached some favourite bank where he could sit down, whileEppie toddled to pluck the flowers, and make remarks to the wingedthings that murmured happily above the bright petals, calling"Dad-dad's" attention continually by bringing him the flowers.Then she would turn her ear to some sudden bird-note, and Silaslearned to please her by making signs of hushed stillness, that theymight listen for the note to come again: so that when it came, sheset up her small back and laughed with gurgling triumph. Sitting onthe banks in this way, Silas began to look for the once familiarherbs again; and as the leaves, with their unchanged outline andmarkings, lay on his palm, there was a sense of crowdingremembrances from which he turned away timidly, taking refuge inEppie's little world, that lay lightly on his enfeebled spirit.As the child's mind was growing into knowledge, his mind was growinginto memory: as her life unfolded, his soul, long stupefied in acold narrow prison, was unfolding too, and trembling gradually intofull consciousness.It was an influence which must gather force with every new year: thetones that stirred Silas's heart grew articulate, and called formore distinct answers; shapes and sounds grew clearer for Eppie'seyes and ears, and there was more that "Dad-dad" was imperativelyrequired to notice and account for. Also, by the time Eppie wasthree years old, she developed a fine capacity for mischief, and fordevising ingenious ways of being troublesome, which found muchexercise, not only for Silas's patience, but for his watchfulnessand penetration. Sorely was poor Silas puzzled on such occasions bythe incompatible demands of love. Dolly Winthrop told him thatpunishment was good for Eppie, and that, as for rearing a childwithout making it tingle a little in soft and safe places now andthen, it was not to be done."To be sure, there's another thing you might do, Master Marner,"added Dolly, meditatively: "you might shut her up once i' thecoal-hole. That was what I did wi' Aaron; for I was that silly wi'the youngest lad, as I could never bear to smack him. Not as Icould find i' my heart to let him stay i' the coal-hole more nor aminute, but it was enough to colly him all over, so as he must benew washed and dressed, and it was as good as a rod to him--thatwas. But I put it upo' your conscience, Master Marner, as there'sone of 'em you must choose--ayther smacking or the coal-hole--else she'll get so masterful, there'll be no holding her."Silas was impressed with the melancholy truth of this last remark;but his force of mind failed before the only two penal methods opento him, not only because it was painful to him to hurt Eppie, butbecause he trembled at a moment's contention with her, lest sheshould love him the less for it. Let even an affectionate Goliathget himself tied to a small tender thing, dreading to hurt it bypulling, and dreading still more to snap the cord, and which of thetwo, pray, will be master? It was clear that Eppie, with her shorttoddling steps, must lead father Silas a pretty dance on any finemorning when circumstances favoured mischief.For example. He had wisely chosen a broad strip of linen as a meansof fastening her to his loom when he was busy: it made a broad beltround her waist, and was long enough to allow of her reaching thetruckle-bed and sitting down on it, but not long enough for her toattempt any dangerous climbing. One bright summer's morning Silashad been more engrossed than usual in "setting up" a new piece ofwork, an occasion on which his scissors were in requisition. Thesescissors, owing to an especial warning of Dolly's, had been keptcarefully out of Eppie's reach; but the click of them had had apeculiar attraction for her ear, and watching the results of thatclick, she had derived the philosophic lesson that the same causewould produce the same effect. Silas had seated himself in hisloom, and the noise of weaving had begun; but he had left hisscissors on a ledge which Eppie's arm was long enough to reach; andnow, like a small mouse, watching her opportunity, she stole quietlyfrom her corner, secured the scissors, and toddled to the bed again,setting up her back as a mode of concealing the fact. She had adistinct intention as to the use of the scissors; and having cut thelinen strip in a jagged but effectual manner, in two moments she hadrun out at the open door where the sunshine was inviting her, whilepoor Silas believed her to be a better child than usual. It was notuntil he happened to need his scissors that the terrible fact burstupon him: Eppie had run out by herself--had perhaps fallen intothe Stone-pit. Silas, shaken by the worst fear that could havebefallen him, rushed out, calling "Eppie!" and ran eagerly aboutthe unenclosed space, exploring the dry cavities into which shemight have fallen, and then gazing with questioning dread at thesmooth red surface of the water. The cold drops stood on his brow.How long had she been out? There was one hope--that she had creptthrough the stile and got into the fields, where he habitually tookher to stroll. But the grass was high in the meadow, and there wasno descrying her, if she were there, except by a close search thatwould be a trespass on Mr. Osgood's crop. Still, that misdemeanourmust be committed; and poor Silas, after peering all round thehedgerows, traversed the grass, beginning with perturbed vision tosee Eppie behind every group of red sorrel, and to see her movingalways farther off as he approached. The meadow was searched invain; and he got over the stile into the next field, looking withdying hope towards a small pond which was now reduced to its summershallowness, so as to leave a wide margin of good adhesive mud.Here, however, sat Eppie, discoursing cheerfully to her own smallboot, which she was using as a bucket to convey the water into adeep hoof-mark, while her little naked foot was planted comfortablyon a cushion of olive-green mud. A red-headed calf was observingher with alarmed doubt through the opposite hedge.Here was clearly a case of aberration in a christened child whichdemanded severe treatment; but Silas, overcome with convulsive joyat finding his treasure again, could do nothing but snatch her up,and cover her with half-sobbing kisses. It was not until he hadcarried her home, and had begun to think of the necessary washing,that he recollected the need that he should punish Eppie, and "makeher remember". The idea that she might run away again and come toharm, gave him unusual resolution, and for the first time hedetermined to try the coal-hole--a small closet near the hearth."Naughty, naughty Eppie," he suddenly began, holding her on hisknee, and pointing to her muddy feet and clothes--"naughty to cutwith the scissors and run away. Eppie must go into the coal-holefor being naughty. Daddy must put her in the coal-hole."He half-expected that this would be shock enough, and that Eppiewould begin to cry. But instead of that, she began to shake herselfon his knee, as if the proposition opened a pleasing novelty.Seeing that he must proceed to extremities, he put her into thecoal-hole, and held the door closed, with a trembling sense that hewas using a strong measure. For a moment there was silence, butthen came a little cry, "Opy, opy!" and Silas let her out again,saying, "Now Eppie 'ull never be naughty again, else she must go inthe coal-hole--a black naughty place."The weaving must stand still a long while this morning, for nowEppie must be washed, and have clean clothes on; but it was to behoped that this punishment would have a lasting effect, and savetime in future--though, perhaps, it would have been better ifEppie had cried more.In half an hour she was clean again, and Silas having turned hisback to see what he could do with the linen band, threw it downagain, with the reflection that Eppie would be good withoutfastening for the rest of the morning. He turned round again, andwas going to place her in her little chair near the loom, when shepeeped out at him with black face and hands again, and said, "Eppiein de toal-hole!"This total failure of the coal-hole discipline shook Silas's beliefin the efficacy of punishment. "She'd take it all for fun," heobserved to Dolly, "if I didn't hurt her, and that I can't do,Mrs. Winthrop. If she makes me a bit o' trouble, I can bear it.And she's got no tricks but what she'll grow out of.""Well, that's partly true, Master Marner," said Dolly,sympathetically; "and if you can't bring your mind to frighten heroff touching things, you must do what you can to keep 'em out of herway. That's what I do wi' the pups as the lads are allaysa-rearing. They will worry and gnaw--worry and gnaw they will,if it was one's Sunday cap as hung anywhere so as they could dragit. They know no difference, God help 'em: it's the pushing o' theteeth as sets 'em on, that's what it is."So Eppie was reared without punishment, the burden of her misdeedsbeing borne vicariously by father Silas. The stone hut was made asoft nest for her, lined with downy patience: and also in the worldthat lay beyond the stone hut she knew nothing of frowns anddenials.Notwithstanding the difficulty of carrying her and his yarn or linenat the same time, Silas took her with him in most of his journeys tothe farmhouses, unwilling to leave her behind at Dolly Winthrop's,who was always ready to take care of her; and little curly-headedEppie, the weaver's child, became an object of interest at severaloutlying homesteads, as well as in the village. Hitherto he hadbeen treated very much as if he had been a useful gnome or brownie--a queer and unaccountable creature, who must necessarily belooked at with wondering curiosity and repulsion, and with whom onewould be glad to make all greetings and bargains as brief aspossible, but who must be dealt with in a propitiatory way, andoccasionally have a present of pork or garden stuff to carry homewith him, seeing that without him there was no getting the yarnwoven. But now Silas met with open smiling faces and cheerfulquestioning, as a person whose satisfactions and difficulties couldbe understood. Everywhere he must sit a little and talk about thechild, and words of interest were always ready for him: "Ah, MasterMarner, you'll be lucky if she takes the measles soon and easy!"--or, "Why, there isn't many lone men 'ud ha' been wishing to takeup with a little un like that: but I reckon the weaving makes youhandier than men as do out-door work--you're partly as handy as awoman, for weaving comes next to spinning." Elderly masters andmistresses, seated observantly in large kitchen arm-chairs, shooktheir heads over the difficulties attendant on rearing children,felt Eppie's round arms and legs, and pronounced them remarkablyfirm, and told Silas that, if she turned out well (which, however,there was no telling), it would be a fine thing for him to have asteady lass to do for him when he got helpless. Servant maidenswere fond of carrying her out to look at the hens and chickens, orto see if any cherries could be shaken down in the orchard; and thesmall boys and girls approached her slowly, with cautious movementand steady gaze, like little dogs face to face with one of their ownkind, till attraction had reached the point at which the soft lipswere put out for a kiss. No child was afraid of approaching Silaswhen Eppie was near him: there was no repulsion around him now,either for young or old; for the little child had come to link himonce more with the whole world. There was love between him and thechild that blent them into one, and there was love between the childand the world--from men and women with parental looks and tones,to the red lady-birds and the round pebbles.Silas began now to think of Raveloe life entirely in relation toEppie: she must have everything that was a good in Raveloe; and helistened docilely, that he might come to understand better what thislife was, from which, for fifteen years, he had stood aloof as froma strange thing, with which he could have no communion: as some manwho has a precious plant to which he would give a nurturing home ina new soil, thinks of the rain, and the sunshine, and allinfluences, in relation to his nursling, and asks industriously forall knowledge that will help him to satisfy the wants of thesearching roots, or to guard leaf and bud from invading harm. Thedisposition to hoard had been utterly crushed at the very first bythe loss of his long-stored gold: the coins he earned afterwardsseemed as irrelevant as stones brought to complete a house suddenlyburied by an earthquake; the sense of bereavement was too heavy uponhim for the old thrill of satisfaction to arise again at the touchof the newly-earned coin. And now something had come to replace hishoard which gave a growing purpose to the earnings, drawing his hopeand joy continually onward beyond the money.In old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand andled them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-wingedangels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction:a hand is put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards acalm and bright land, so that they look no more backward; and thehand may be a little child's.