Maggie ran in an instant to the corner of the room, jumped on a chair,
and reached down from the small bookcase a shabby old copy of Bunyan,
which opened at once, without the least trouble of search, at the
picture she wanted.

"Here he is," she said, running back to Mr. Riley, "and Tom colored
him for me with his paints when he was at home last holidays,--the
body all black, you know, and the eyes red, like fire, because he's
all fire inside, and it shines out at his eyes."

"Go, go!" said Mr. Tulliver, peremptorily, beginning to feel rather
uncomfortable at these free remarks on the personal appearance of a
being powerful enough to create lawyers; "shut up the book, and let's
hear no more o' such talk. It is as I thought--the child 'ull learn
more mischief nor good wi' the books. Go, go and see after your
mother."

Maggie shut up the book at once, with a sense of disgrace, but not
being inclined to see after her mother, she compromised the matter by
going into a dark corner behind her father's chair, and nursing her
doll, toward which she had an occasional fit of fondness in Tom's
absence, neglecting its toilet, but lavishing so many warm kisses on
it that the waxen cheeks had a wasted, unhealthy appearance.

"Did you ever hear the like on't?" said Mr. Tulliver, as Maggie
retired. "It's a pity but what she'd been the lad,--she'd ha' been a
match for the lawyers, _she_ would. It's the wonderful'st thing"--here
he lowered his voice--"as I picked the mother because she wasn't o'er
'cute--bein' a good-looking woman too, an' come of a rare family for
managing; but I picked her from her sisters o' purpose, 'cause she was