Notwithstanding the
difficulty of carrying her and his yarn or linen at the same time, Silas took
her with him in most of his journeys to the farmhouses…and little curly-headed
Eppie, the weaver's child, became an object of interest at several outlying
homesteads, as well as in the village. Hitherto he had been treated very much
as if he had been a useful gnome or brownie—a queer and unaccountable creature,
who must necessarily be looked at with wondering curiosity and repulsion, and
with whom one would be glad to make all greetings and bargains as brief as
possible... But now Silas met with open smiling faces and cheerful questioning,
as a person whose satisfactions and difficulties could be understood.
Everywhere he must sit a little and talk about the child, and words of interest
were always ready for him…
Elderly masters and mistresses, seated observantly
in large kitchen arm-chairs, shook their heads over the difficulties attendant
on rearing children, felt Eppie's round arms and legs, and pronounced them
remarkably firm, 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 a steady lass
to do for him when he got helpless. Servant maidens were fond of carrying her
out to look at the hens and chickens, or to see if any cherries could be shaken
down in the orchard; and the small boys and girls approached her slowly, with
cautious movement and steady gaze, like little dogs face to face with one of
their own kind, till attraction had reached the point at which the soft lips
were put out for a kiss. No child was afraid of approaching Silas when Eppie
was near him: there was no repulsion around him now, either for young or old;
for the little child had come to link him once more with the whole world. There
was love between him and the child that blent them into one, and there was love
between the child and 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 to Eppie: she must have everything that
was a good in Raveloe… The disposition to hoard had been utterly crushed at
the very first by the loss of his long-stored gold: the coins he earned
afterwards seemed as irrelevant as stones brought to complete a house suddenly
buried by an earthquake; the sense of bereavement was too heavy upon him for
the old thrill of satisfaction to arise again at the touch of the newly-earned
coin. And now something had come to replace his hoard which gave a growing
purpose to the earnings, drawing his hope and joy continually onward beyond the
money.
In old days there were angels who came and took men by the
hand and led them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged
angels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is
put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and bright land,
so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child's.
George Eliot, Silas Marner, 1861
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| Rothko, Orange and Yellow |
