`"The History of the Devil," by Daniel Defoe; not quite the right book for a little girl,' said Mr Riley. `How came it among your books, Tulliver?'

Maggie looked hurt and discouraged, while her father said,

`Why, it's one o' the books I bought at Partridge's sale. They was all bound alike - it's a good binding, you see - an' I thought they'd be all good books. There's Jeremy Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying" among 'em; I read in it often of a Sunday' (Mr Tulliver felt somehow a familiarity with that great writer because his name was Jeremy), `and there's a lot more of 'em, sermons mostly, I think; but they've all got the same covers, and I thought they were all o' one sample, as you may say. But it seems one mustn't judge by th' outside. This is a puzzlin' world.'

`Well,' said Mr Riley, in an admonitory patronising tone, as he patted Maggie on the head, `I advise you to put by the `History of the Devil,' and read some prettier book. Have you no prettier books?'

`O yes,' said Maggie, reviving a little in the desire to vindicate the variety of her reading, `I know the reading in this book isn't pretty - but I like the pictures, and I make stories to the pictures out of my own head, you know. But I've got "æsop's Fables" and a book about kangaroos and things, and the "Pilgrim's Progress... "'

`Ah, a beautiful book,' said Mr Riley. `You can't read a better.'

`Well, but there's a great deal about the devil in that,' said Maggie, triumphantly, `and I'll show you the picture of him in his true shape, as he fought with Christian.'

Maggie ran in an instant to the corner of the room, jumped on a chair, and reached down from the small book-case 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 coloured 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, towards which she had an occasional fit of fondness in Tom's absence, neglecting its toilette, 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 a bit weak, like; for I wasn't a-goin' to be told the rights o' things by my own fireside. But, you see, when a man's got brains himself, there's no knowing where they'll run to; an' a pleasant sort o' soft woman may go on breeding you stupid lads and 'cute wenches, till it's like as if the world was turned topsy-turvy. It's an uncommon puzzlin' thing.'

Mr Riley's gravity gave way, and he shook a little under the application of his pinch of snuff, before he said,