"No, you silly, that 'll be good the day after. It's the pudden. I know what the pudden 's to be apricot roll up - O my buttons!" With this interjection the knife descended on the puff and it was in two, but the result was not satisfactory to Tom, for he still eyed the halves doubtfully. At last he said, "Shut your eyes, Maggie." "What for?" "You never mind what for. Shut 'em when I tell you." Maggie obeyed. "Now, which 'll you have, Maggie- right hand or left?" "I'll have that with the jam run out," said Maggie, keeping her eyes shut to please Tom. "Why, you don't like that, you silly. You may have it if it comes to you fair, but I shan't give it you without. Right or left you choose, now. Ha-a-a!" said Tom, in a tone of exasperation, as Maggie peeped. "You keep your eyes shut, now, else you shan't have any." Maggie's power of sacrifice did not extend so far; indeed I fear she cared less that Tom should enjoy the utmost possible amount of puff than that he should be pleased with her for giving him the best bit. So she shut her eyes quite close till Tom told her to "say which," and then she said, "Left hand." "You've got it," said Tom, in rather a bitter tone. “What? the bit with the jam run out?" "No; here, take it," said Tom, firmly, handing decidedly the best piece to Maggie. "Oh, please Tom, have it; I don't mind I like the other; please take this." "No, I shan't," said Tom, almost crossly, beginning on his own inferior piece. Maggie, thinking it was no use to contend further, began too, and ate her half puff with considerable relish as well as rapidity. But Tom had finished first, and had to look on while Maggie ate her last morsel or two, feeling in himself a capacity for more. Maggie did n't know Tom was looking at her; she was seesawing on the elder bough, lost to almost everything but a vague sense of jam and idleness. 66 Oh, you greedy thing!" said Tom, when she had swallowed the last morsel. He was conscious of having acted very fairly, and thought she ought to have considered this, and made up to him for it. He would have refused a bit of hers beforehand, but one is naturally at a different point of view before and after one's share of puff is swallowed. Maggie turned quite pale. "Oh, Tom, why didn't you ask me?" "I was n't going to ask you for a bit, you greedy. You might have thought of it without, when you knew gave you the best bit." I "But I wanted you to have it - you know I did,” said Maggie, in an injured tone. "Yes, but I was n't going to do what was n't fair, like Spouncer. He always takes the best bit, if you don't punch him for it; and if you choose the best with your eyes shut, he changes his hands. But if I go halves, I'll go 'em fair-only I would n't be a greedy." With this cutting innuendo Tom jumped down from his bough, and threw a stone with a "hoigh!" as a friendly attention to Yap, who had also been looking while the eatables vanished, with an agitation of his ears and feelings which could hardly have been without bitterness. Yet the excellent dog accepted Tom's attention with as much alacrity as if he had been treated quite generously. But Maggie, gifted with that superior power of misery which distinguishes the human being, sat still on her bough, and gave herself up to the keen sense of unmerited reproach. She would have given the world not to have eaten all her puff, and to have saved some of it for Tom. Not but that the puff was very nice, for Maggie's palate was not at all obtuse, but she would have gone without it many times over, sooner than Tom should call her greedy and be cross with her. GEORGE ELIOT in The Mill on the Floss ROBERT OF LINCOLN Merrily swinging on briar and weed, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: Spink, spank, spink; Snug and safe is that nest of ours Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright black wedding coat; White are his shoulders and white his crest. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she; One weak chirp is her only note. Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Never was I afraid of man, Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! Chee, chee, chee. Six white eggs on a bed of hay, There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: Spink, spank, spink; Nice, good wife that never goes out, Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood: |