Placeholder Image

字幕列表 影片播放

  • THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER BY MARK TWAIN (Samuel Langhorne Clemens)

  • P R E F A C E MOST of the adventures recorded in this

  • book really occurred; one or two were experiences of my own, the rest those of

  • boys who were schoolmates of mine.

  • Huck Finn is drawn from life; Tom Sawyer also, but not from an individual--he is a

  • combination of the characteristics of three boys whom I knew, and therefore

  • belongs to the composite order of architecture.

  • The odd superstitions touched upon were all prevalent among children and slaves in

  • the West at the period of this story--that is to say, thirty or forty years ago.

  • Although my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and girls, I

  • hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account, for part of my plan

  • has been to try to pleasantly remind

  • adults of what they once were themselves, and of how they felt and thought and

  • talked, and what queer enterprises they sometimes engaged in.

  • THE AUTHOR.

  • HARTFORD, 1876. T O M S A W Y E R

  • >

  • Chapter I "TOM!"

  • No answer. "TOM!"

  • No answer.

  • "What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!"

  • No answer.

  • The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then

  • she put them up and looked out under them.

  • She seldom or never looked THROUGH them for so small a thing as a boy; they were

  • her state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for "style," not service--

  • she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well.

  • She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud

  • enough for the furniture to hear:

  • "Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll--" She did not finish, for by this time she

  • was bending down and punching under the bed with the broom, and so she needed

  • breath to punctuate the punches with.

  • She resurrected nothing but the cat. "I never did see the beat of that boy!"

  • She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato vines and

  • "jimpson" weeds that constituted the garden.

  • No Tom.

  • So she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:

  • "Y-o-u-u TOM!"

  • There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize a small

  • boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.

  • "There!

  • I might 'a' thought of that closet. What you been doing in there?"

  • "Nothing." "Nothing!

  • Look at your hands.

  • And look at your mouth. What IS that truck?"

  • "I don't know, aunt." "Well, I know.

  • It's jam--that's what it is.

  • Forty times I've said if you didn't let that jam alone I'd skin you.

  • Hand me that switch." The switch hovered in the air--the peril

  • was desperate--

  • "My! Look behind you, aunt!"

  • The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger.

  • The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and disappeared over

  • it. His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment,

  • and then broke into a gentle laugh.

  • "Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything?

  • Ain't he played me tricks enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this

  • time?

  • But old fools is the biggest fools there is.

  • Can't learn an old dog new tricks, as the saying is.

  • But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days, and how is a body to know

  • what's coming?

  • He 'pears to know just how long he can torment me before I get my dander up, and

  • he knows if he can make out to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all

  • down again and I can't hit him a lick.

  • I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and that's the Lord's truth, goodness knows.

  • Spare the rod and spile the child, as the Good Book says.

  • I'm a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know.

  • He's full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a- me!

  • he's my own dead sister's boy, poor thing, and I ain't got the heart to lash him,

  • somehow.

  • Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and every time I hit him

  • my old heart most breaks.

  • Well-a-well, man that is born of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the

  • Scripture says, and I reckon it's so.

  • He'll play hookey this evening, * and [* Southwestern for "afternoon"] I'll just be

  • obleeged to make him work, to-morrow, to punish him.

  • It's mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having

  • holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else, and I've GOT to do

  • some of my duty by him, or I'll be the ruination of the child."

  • Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time.

  • He got back home barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day's

  • wood and split the kindlings before supper--at least he was there in time to

  • tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work.

  • Tom's younger brother (or rather half- brother) Sid was already through with his

  • part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy, and had no

  • adventurous, troublesome ways.

  • While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity offered,

  • Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and very deep--for she

  • wanted to trap him into damaging revealments.

  • Like many other simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she was

  • endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she loved to

  • contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low cunning.

  • Said she: "Tom, it was middling warm in school,

  • warn't it?"

  • "Yes'm." "Powerful warm, warn't it?"

  • "Yes'm." "Didn't you want to go in a-swimming,

  • Tom?"

  • A bit of a scare shot through Tom--a touch of uncomfortable suspicion.

  • He searched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing.

  • So he said:

  • "No'm--well, not very much." The old lady reached out her hand and felt

  • Tom's shirt, and said: "But you ain't too warm now, though."

  • And it flattered her to reflect that she had discovered that the shirt was dry

  • without anybody knowing that that was what she had in her mind.

  • But in spite of her, Tom knew where the wind lay, now.

  • So he forestalled what might be the next move:

  • "Some of us pumped on our heads--mine's damp yet.

  • See?"

  • Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of circumstantial

  • evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new inspiration:

  • "Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to pump on your

  • head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!"

  • The trouble vanished out of Tom's face.

  • He opened his jacket. His shirt collar was securely sewed.

  • "Bother! Well, go 'long with you.

  • I'd made sure you'd played hookey and been a-swimming.

  • But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you're a kind of a singed cat, as

  • the saying is--better'n you look.

  • THIS time." She was half sorry her sagacity had

  • miscarried, and half glad that Tom had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.

  • But Sidney said:

  • "Well, now, if I didn't think you sewed his collar with white thread, but it's

  • black." "Why, I did sew it with white!

  • Tom!"

  • But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:

  • "Siddy, I'll lick you for that."

  • In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into the lapels

  • of his jacket, and had thread bound about them--one needle carried white thread and

  • the other black.

  • He said: "She'd never noticed if it hadn't been for

  • Sid. Confound it!

  • sometimes she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black.

  • I wish to geeminy she'd stick to one or t'other--I can't keep the run of 'em.

  • But I bet you I'll lam Sid for that.

  • I'll learn him!" He was not the Model Boy of the village.

  • He knew the model boy very well though-- and loathed him.

  • Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles.

  • Not because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a man's

  • are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore them down and drove

  • them out of his mind for the time--just as

  • men's misfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises.

  • This new interest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired from

  • a negro, and he was suffering to practise it undisturbed.

  • It consisted in a peculiar bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble, produced by

  • touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short intervals in the midst of

  • the music--the reader probably remembers how to do it, if he has ever been a boy.

  • Diligence and attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he strode down the street

  • with his mouth full of harmony and his soul full of gratitude.

  • He felt much as an astronomer feels who has discovered a new planet--no doubt, as

  • far as strong, deep, unalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with the boy,

  • not the astronomer.

  • The summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet.

  • Presently Tom checked his whistle. A stranger was before him--a boy a shade

  • larger than himself.

  • A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive curiosity in the poor little

  • shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy was well dressed, too--well

  • dressed on a week-day.

  • This was simply astounding. His cap was a dainty thing, his close-

  • buttoned blue cloth roundabout was new and natty, and so were his pantaloons.

  • He had shoes on--and it was only Friday.

  • He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon.

  • He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom's vitals.

  • The more Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose

  • at his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to him to

  • grow.

  • Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other moved--but only

  • sidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all the time.

  • Finally Tom said:

  • "I can lick you!" "I'd like to see you try it."

  • "Well, I can do it." "No you can't, either."

  • "Yes I can."

  • "No you can't." "I can."

  • "You can't." "Can!"

  • "Can't!"

  • An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:

  • "What's your name?" "'Tisn't any of your business, maybe."

  • "Well I 'low I'll MAKE it my business."

  • "Well why don't you?" "If you say much, I will."

  • "Much--much--MUCH. There now."

  • "Oh, you think you're mighty smart, DON'T you?

  • I could lick you with one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to."

  • "Well why don't you DO it?

  • You SAY you can do it." "Well I WILL, if you fool with me."

  • "Oh yes--I've seen whole families in the same fix."

  • "Smarty!

  • You think you're SOME, now, DON'T you? Oh, what a hat!"

  • "You can lump that hat if you don't like it.

  • I dare you to knock it off--and anybody that'll take a dare will suck eggs."

  • "You're a liar!" "You're another."

  • "You're a fighting liar and dasn't take it up."

  • "Aw--take a walk!"

  • "Say--if you give me much more of your sass I'll take and bounce a rock off'n

  • your head." "Oh, of COURSE you will."

  • "Well I WILL."

  • "Well why don't you DO it then? What do you keep SAYING you will for?

  • Why don't you DO it? It's because you're afraid."

  • "I AIN'T afraid."

  • "You are." "I ain't."

  • "You are." Another pause, and more eying and sidling

  • around each other.

  • Presently they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:

  • "Get away from here!" "Go away yourself!"

  • "I won't."

  • "I won't either." So they stood, each with a foot placed at

  • an angle as a brace, and both shoving with might and main, and glowering at each

  • other with hate.

  • But neither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and

  • flushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:

  • "You're a coward and a pup.

  • I'll tell my big brother on you, and he can thrash you with his little finger, and

  • I'll make him do it, too." "What do I care for your big brother?

  • I've got a brother that's bigger than he is--and what's more, he can throw him over

  • that fence, too." [Both brothers were imaginary.]

  • "That's a lie."

  • "YOUR saying so don't make it so." Tom drew a line in the dust with his big

  • toe, and said: "I dare you to step over that, and I'll

  • lick you till you can't stand up.

  • Anybody that'll take a dare will steal sheep."

  • The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:

  • "Now you said you'd do it, now let's see you do it."

  • "Don't you crowd me now; you better look out."

  • "Well, you SAID you'd do it--why don't you do it?"

  • "By jingo! for two cents I WILL do it."

  • The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out with

  • derision. Tom struck them to the ground.

  • In an instant both boys were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together

  • like cats; and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair

  • and clothes, punched and scratched each

  • other's nose, and covered themselves with dust and glory.

  • Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Tom appeared,

  • seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his fists.

  • "Holler 'nuff!"

  • said he. The boy only struggled to free himself.

  • He was crying--mainly from rage. "Holler 'nuff!"--and the pounding went on.

  • At last the stranger got out a smothered "'Nuff!"

  • and Tom let him up and said: "Now that'll learn you.

  • Better look out who you're fooling with next time."

  • The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing, snuffling, and

  • occasionally looking back and shaking his head and threatening what he would do to

  • Tom the "next time he caught him out."

  • To which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and as soon

  • as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it and hit him

  • between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like an antelope.

  • Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he lived.

  • He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the enemy to come

  • outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the window and declined.

  • At last the enemy's mother appeared, and called Tom a bad, vicious, vulgar child,

  • and ordered him away. So he went away; but he said he "'lowed"

  • to "lay" for that boy.

  • He got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in at the

  • window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and when she saw the

  • state his clothes were in her resolution

  • to turn his Saturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine

  • in its firmness.

  • >

  • Chapter II SATURDAY morning was come, and all the

  • summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life.

  • There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at

  • the lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring

  • in every step.

  • The locust-trees were in bloom and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air.

  • Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay

  • just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.

  • Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush.

  • He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled

  • down upon his spirit.

  • Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high.

  • Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden.

  • Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the

  • operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the

  • far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed

  • fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged.

  • Jim came skipping out at the gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals.

  • Bringing water from the town pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes,

  • before, but now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at

  • the pump.

  • White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their turns,

  • resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking.

  • And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards off,

  • Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour--and even then somebody

  • generally had to go after him.

  • Tom said: "Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll

  • whitewash some." Jim shook his head and said:

  • "Can't, Mars Tom.

  • Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis water an' not stop foolin' roun'

  • wid anybody.

  • She say she spec' Mars Tom gwine to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long

  • an' 'tend to my own business--she 'lowed SHE'D 'tend to de whitewashin'."

  • "Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim.

  • That's the way she always talks. Gimme the bucket--I won't be gone only a a

  • minute. SHE won't ever know."

  • "Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom.

  • Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n me.

  • 'Deed she would." "SHE!

  • She never licks anybody--whacks 'em over the head with her thimble--and who cares

  • for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but talk don't hurt--

  • anyways it don't if she don't cry.

  • Jim, I'll give you a marvel. I'll give you a white alley!"

  • Jim began to waver. "White alley, Jim!

  • And it's a bully taw."

  • "My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you!

  • But Mars Tom I's powerful 'fraid ole missis--"

  • "And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe."

  • Jim was only human--this attraction was too much for him.

  • He put down his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with

  • absorbing interest while the bandage was being unwound.

  • In another moment he was flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear,

  • Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with a

  • slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye.

  • But Tom's energy did not last.

  • He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows

  • multiplied.

  • Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious

  • expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for having to work--the very

  • thought of it burnt him like fire.

  • He got out his worldly wealth and examined it--bits of toys, marbles, and trash;

  • enough to buy an exchange of WORK, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half

  • an hour of pure freedom.

  • So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to

  • buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an

  • inspiration burst upon him!

  • Nothing less than a great, magnificent inspiration.

  • He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work.

  • Ben Rogers hove in sight presently--the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he

  • had been dreading.

  • Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump-- proof enough that his heart was light and

  • his anticipations high.

  • He was eating an apple, and giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by

  • a deep-toned ding-dong-dong, ding-dong- dong, for he was personating a steamboat.

  • As he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far over

  • to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and circumstance--

  • for he was personating the Big Missouri,

  • and considered himself to be drawing nine feet of water.

  • He was boat and captain and engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself

  • standing on his own hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them:

  • "Stop her, sir!

  • Ting-a-ling-ling!" The headway ran almost out, and he drew up

  • slowly toward the sidewalk. "Ship up to back!

  • Ting-a-ling-ling!"

  • His arms straightened and stiffened down his sides.

  • "Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling!

  • Chow!

  • ch-chow-wow! Chow!"

  • His right hand, meantime, describing stately circles--for it was representing a

  • forty-foot wheel.

  • "Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-lingling!

  • Chow-ch-chow-chow!" The left hand began to describe circles.

  • "Stop the stabboard!

  • Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard!

  • Come ahead on the stabboard! Stop her!

  • Let your outside turn over slow!

  • Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow!

  • Get out that head-line! LIVELY now!

  • Come--out with your spring-line--what're you about there!

  • Take a turn round that stump with the bight of it!

  • Stand by that stage, now--let her go!

  • Done with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!

  • SH'T! S'H'T!

  • SH'T!"

  • (trying the gauge-cocks). Tom went on whitewashing--paid no

  • attention to the steamboat. Ben stared a moment and then said: "Hi-YI!

  • YOU'RE up a stump, ain't you!"

  • No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye

  • of an artist, then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the

  • result, as before.

  • Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple, but he

  • stuck to his work. Ben said:

  • "Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?"

  • Tom wheeled suddenly and said: "Why, it's you, Ben!

  • I warn't noticing." "Say--I'm going in a-swimming, I am.

  • Don't you wish you could?

  • But of course you'd druther WORK--wouldn't you?

  • Course you would!" Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:

  • "What do you call work?"

  • "Why, ain't THAT work?" Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered

  • carelessly: "Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't.

  • All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer."

  • "Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you LIKE it?"

  • The brush continued to move. "Like it?

  • Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it.

  • Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?"

  • That put the thing in a new light.

  • Ben stopped nibbling his apple.

  • Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth--stepped back to note the effect--

  • added a touch here and there--criticised the effect again--Ben watching every move

  • and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed.

  • Presently he said: "Say, Tom, let ME whitewash a little."

  • Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:

  • "No--no--I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben.

  • You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about this fence--right here on the

  • street, you know --but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and SHE wouldn't.

  • Yes, she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I

  • reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way

  • it's got to be done."

  • "No--is that so? Oh come, now--lemme just try.

  • Only just a little--I'd let YOU, if you was me, Tom."

  • "Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly--well, Jim wanted to do it, but she

  • wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let Sid.

  • Now don't you see how I'm fixed?

  • If you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen to it--"

  • "Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try.

  • Say--I'll give you the core of my apple."

  • "Well, here--No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard--"

  • "I'll give you ALL of it!" Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in

  • his face, but alacrity in his heart.

  • And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the sun, the retired

  • artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his apple,

  • and planned the slaughter of more innocents.

  • There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while; they

  • came to jeer, but remained to whitewash.

  • By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for

  • a kite, in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead

  • rat and a string to swing it with--and so on, and so on, hour after hour.

  • And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy in

  • the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth.

  • He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-

  • harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key that

  • wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of

  • chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six

  • fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass doorknob, a dog-collar--but no

  • dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces of

  • orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.

  • He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while--plenty of company --and the fence

  • had three coats of whitewash on it!

  • If he hadn't run out of whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.

  • Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all.

  • He had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it--namely, that

  • in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the

  • thing difficult to attain.

  • If he had been a great and wise philosopher, like the writer of this book,

  • he would now have comprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to

  • do, and that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.

  • And this would help him to understand why constructing artificial flowers or

  • performing on a tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing Mont Blanc is

  • only amusement.

  • There are wealthy gentlemen in England who drive four-horse passenger-coaches twenty

  • or thirty miles on a daily line, in the summer, because the privilege costs them

  • considerable money; but if they were

  • offered wages for the service, that would turn it into work and then they would

  • resign.

  • The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place in his

  • worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to report.

  • >

  • Chapter III

  • TOM presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an open window in a

  • pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom, breakfast-room, dining-room, and

  • library, combined.

  • The balmy summer air, the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing

  • murmur of the bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her knitting --

  • for she had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in her lap.

  • Her spectacles were propped up on her gray head for safety.

  • She had thought that of course Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered at

  • seeing him place himself in her power again in this intrepid way.

  • He said: "Mayn't I go and play now, aunt?"

  • "What, a'ready? How much have you done?"

  • "It's all done, aunt." "Tom, don't lie to me--I can't bear it."

  • "I ain't, aunt; it IS all done."

  • Aunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence.

  • She went out to see for herself; and she would have been content to find twenty per

  • cent.

  • of Tom's statement true.

  • When she found the entire fence whitewashed, and not only whitewashed but

  • elaborately coated and recoated, and even a streak added to the ground, her

  • astonishment was almost unspeakable.

  • She said: "Well, I never!

  • There's no getting round it, you can work when you're a mind to, Tom."

  • And then she diluted the compliment by adding, "But it's powerful seldom you're a

  • mind to, I'm bound to say.

  • Well, go 'long and play; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I'll tan

  • you."

  • She was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took him into the

  • closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to him, along with an

  • improving lecture upon the added value and

  • flavor a treat took to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort.

  • And while she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he "hooked" a

  • doughnut.

  • Then he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway that led

  • to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were handy and the air was full of

  • them in a twinkling.

  • They raged around Sid like a hail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her

  • surprised faculties and sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken

  • personal effect, and Tom was over the fence and gone.

  • There was a gate, but as a general thing he was too crowded for time to make use of

  • it.

  • His soul was at peace, now that he had settled with Sid for calling attention to

  • his black thread and getting him into trouble.

  • Tom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by the back of his

  • aunt's cow-stable.

  • He presently got safely beyond the reach of capture and punishment, and hastened

  • toward the public square of the village, where two "military" companies of boys had

  • met for conflict, according to previous appointment.

  • Tom was General of one of these armies, Joe Harper (a bosom friend) General of the

  • other.

  • These two great commanders did not condescend to fight in person--that being

  • better suited to the still smaller fry-- but sat together on an eminence and

  • conducted the field operations by orders delivered through aides-de-camp.

  • Tom's army won a great victory, after a long and hard-fought battle.

  • Then the dead were counted, prisoners exchanged, the terms of the next

  • disagreement agreed upon, and the day for the necessary battle appointed; after

  • which the armies fell into line and

  • marched away, and Tom turned homeward alone.

  • As he was passing by the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a new girl in the

  • garden--a lovely little blue-eyed creature with yellow hair plaited into two long-

  • tails, white summer frock and embroidered pantalettes.

  • The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a shot.

  • A certain Amy Lawrence vanished out of his heart and left not even a memory of

  • herself behind.

  • He had thought he loved her to distraction; he had regarded his passion

  • as adoration; and behold it was only a poor little evanescent partiality.

  • He had been months winning her; she had confessed hardly a week ago; he had been

  • the happiest and the proudest boy in the world only seven short days, and here in

  • one instant of time she had gone out of

  • his heart like a casual stranger whose visit is done.

  • He worshipped this new angel with furtive eye, till he saw that she had discovered

  • him; then he pretended he did not know she was present, and began to "show off" in

  • all sorts of absurd boyish ways, in order to win her admiration.

  • He kept up this grotesque foolishness for some time; but by-and-by, while he was in

  • the midst of some dangerous gymnastic performances, he glanced aside and saw

  • that the little girl was wending her way toward the house.

  • Tom came up to the fence and leaned on it, grieving, and hoping she would tarry yet

  • awhile longer.

  • She halted a moment on the steps and then moved toward the door.

  • Tom heaved a great sigh as she put her foot on the threshold.

  • But his face lit up, right away, for she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment

  • before she disappeared.

  • The boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower, and then shaded

  • his eyes with his hand and began to look down street as if he had discovered

  • something of interest going on in that direction.

  • Presently he picked up a straw and began trying to balance it on his nose, with his

  • head tilted far back; and as he moved from side to side, in his efforts, he edged

  • nearer and nearer toward the pansy;

  • finally his bare foot rested upon it, his pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped

  • away with the treasure and disappeared round the corner.

  • But only for a minute--only while he could button the flower inside his jacket, next

  • his heart--or next his stomach, possibly, for he was not much posted in anatomy, and

  • not hypercritical, anyway.

  • He returned, now, and hung about the fence till nightfall, "showing off," as before;

  • but the girl never exhibited herself again, though Tom comforted himself a

  • little with the hope that she had been

  • near some window, meantime, and been aware of his attentions.

  • Finally he strode home reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.

  • All through supper his spirits were so high that his aunt wondered "what had got

  • into the child."

  • He took a good scolding about clodding Sid, and did not seem to mind it in the

  • least.

  • He tried to steal sugar under his aunt's very nose, and got his knuckles rapped for

  • it. He said:

  • "Aunt, you don't whack Sid when he takes it."

  • "Well, Sid don't torment a body the way you do.

  • You'd be always into that sugar if I warn't watching you."

  • Presently she stepped into the kitchen, and Sid, happy in his immunity, reached

  • for the sugar-bowl--a sort of glorying over Tom which was wellnigh unbearable.

  • But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl dropped and broke.

  • Tom was in ecstasies. In such ecstasies that he even controlled

  • his tongue and was silent.

  • He said to himself that he would not speak a word, even when his aunt came in, but

  • would sit perfectly still till she asked who did the mischief; and then he would

  • tell, and there would be nothing so good

  • in the world as to see that pet model "catch it."

  • He was so brimful of exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old

  • lady came back and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath from over

  • her spectacles.

  • He said to himself, "Now it's coming!" And the next instant he was sprawling on

  • the floor! The potent palm was uplifted to strike

  • again when Tom cried out:

  • "Hold on, now, what 'er you belting ME for?--Sid broke it!"

  • Aunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity.

  • But when she got her tongue again, she only said:

  • "Umf! Well, you didn't get a lick amiss, I

  • reckon.

  • You been into some other audacious mischief when I wasn't around, like

  • enough."

  • Then her conscience reproached her, and she yearned to say something kind and

  • loving; but she judged that this would be construed into a confession that she had

  • been in the wrong, and discipline forbade that.

  • So she kept silence, and went about her affairs with a troubled heart.

  • Tom sulked in a corner and exalted his woes.

  • He knew that in her heart his aunt was on her knees to him, and he was morosely

  • gratified by the consciousness of it.

  • He would hang out no signals, he would take notice of none.

  • He knew that a yearning glance fell upon him, now and then, through a film of

  • tears, but he refused recognition of it.

  • He pictured himself lying sick unto death and his aunt bending over him beseeching

  • one little forgiving word, but he would turn his face to the wall, and die with

  • that word unsaid.

  • Ah, how would she feel then? And he pictured himself brought home from

  • the river, dead, with his curls all wet, and his sore heart at rest.

  • How she would throw herself upon him, and how her tears would fall like rain, and

  • her lips pray God to give her back her boy and she would never, never abuse him any

  • more!

  • But he would lie there cold and white and make no sign--a poor little sufferer,

  • whose griefs were at an end.

  • He so worked upon his feelings with the pathos of these dreams, that he had to

  • keep swallowing, he was so like to choke; and his eyes swam in a blur of water,

  • which overflowed when he winked, and ran

  • down and trickled from the end of his nose.

  • And such a luxury to him was this petting of his sorrows, that he could not bear to

  • have any worldly cheeriness or any grating delight intrude upon it; it was too sacred

  • for such contact; and so, presently, when

  • his cousin Mary danced in, all alive with the joy of seeing home again after an age-

  • long visit of one week to the country, he got up and moved in clouds and darkness

  • out at one door as she brought song and sunshine in at the other.

  • He wandered far from the accustomed haunts of boys, and sought desolate places that

  • were in harmony with his spirit.

  • A log raft in the river invited him, and he seated himself on its outer edge and

  • contemplated the dreary vastness of the stream, wishing, the while, that he could

  • only be drowned, all at once and

  • unconsciously, without undergoing the uncomfortable routine devised by nature.

  • Then he thought of his flower. He got it out, rumpled and wilted, and it

  • mightily increased his dismal felicity.

  • He wondered if she would pity him if she knew?

  • Would she cry, and wish that she had a right to put her arms around his neck and

  • comfort him?

  • Or would she turn coldly away like all the hollow world?

  • This picture brought such an agony of pleasurable suffering that he worked it

  • over and over again in his mind and set it up in new and varied lights, till he wore

  • it threadbare.

  • At last he rose up sighing and departed in the darkness.

  • About half-past nine or ten o'clock he came along the deserted street to where

  • the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; no sound fell upon his listening

  • ear; a candle was casting a dull glow upon the curtain of a second-story window.

  • Was the sacred presence there?

  • He climbed the fence, threaded his stealthy way through the plants, till he

  • stood under that window; he looked up at it long, and with emotion; then he laid

  • him down on the ground under it, disposing

  • himself upon his back, with his hands clasped upon his breast and holding his

  • poor wilted flower.

  • And thus he would die--out in the cold world, with no shelter over his homeless

  • head, no friendly hand to wipe the death- damps from his brow, no loving face to

  • bend pityingly over him when the great agony came.

  • And thus SHE would see him when she looked out upon the glad morning, and oh!

  • would she drop one little tear upon his poor, lifeless form, would she heave one

  • little sigh to see a bright young life so rudely blighted, so untimely cut down?

  • The window went up, a maid-servant's discordant voice profaned the holy calm,

  • and a deluge of water drenched the prone martyr's remains!

  • The strangling hero sprang up with a relieving snort.

  • There was a whiz as of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, a

  • sound as of shivering glass followed, and a small, vague form went over the fence

  • and shot away in the gloom.

  • Not long after, as Tom, all undressed for bed, was surveying his drenched garments

  • by the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up; but if he had any dim idea of making any

  • "references to allusions," he thought

  • better of it and held his peace, for there was danger in Tom's eye.

  • Tom turned in without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid made mental note of

  • the omission.

  • >

  • Chapter IV THE sun rose upon a tranquil world, and

  • beamed down upon the peaceful village like a benediction.

  • Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had family worship: it began with a prayer built from

  • the ground up of solid courses of Scriptural quotations, welded together

  • with a thin mortar of originality; and

  • from the summit of this she delivered a grim chapter of the Mosaic Law, as from

  • Sinai. Then Tom girded up his loins, so to speak,

  • and went to work to "get his verses."

  • Sid had learned his lesson days before. Tom bent all his energies to the

  • memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the Sermon on the Mount, because

  • he could find no verses that were shorter.

  • At the end of half an hour Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson, but no more,

  • for his mind was traversing the whole field of human thought, and his hands were

  • busy with distracting recreations.

  • Mary took his book to hear him recite, and he tried to find his way through the fog:

  • "Blessed are the--a--a--" "Poor"--

  • "Yes--poor; blessed are the poor--a--a--"

  • "In spirit--" "In spirit; blessed are the poor in

  • spirit, for they--they--" "THEIRS--"

  • "For THEIRS.

  • Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

  • Blessed are they that mourn, for they-- they--"

  • "Sh--"

  • "For they--a--" "S, H, A--"

  • "For they S, H--Oh, I don't know what it is!"

  • "SHALL!"

  • "Oh, SHALL! for they shall--for they shall--a--a--

  • shall mourn--a--a-- blessed are they that shall--they that--a--they that shall

  • mourn, for they shall--a--shall WHAT?

  • Why don't you tell me, Mary?--what do you want to be so mean for?"

  • "Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not teasing you.

  • I wouldn't do that.

  • You must go and learn it again. Don't you be discouraged, Tom, you'll

  • manage it--and if you do, I'll give you something ever so nice.

  • There, now, that's a good boy."

  • "All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is."

  • "Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it's nice, it is nice."

  • "You bet you that's so, Mary.

  • All right, I'll tackle it again."

  • And he did "tackle it again"--and under the double pressure of curiosity and

  • prospective gain he did it with such spirit that he accomplished a shining

  • success.

  • Mary gave him a brand-new "Barlow" knife worth twelve and a half cents; and the

  • convulsion of delight that swept his system shook him to his foundations.

  • True, the knife would not cut anything, but it was a "sure-enough" Barlow, and

  • there was inconceivable grandeur in that-- though where the Western boys ever got the

  • idea that such a weapon could possibly be

  • counterfeited to its injury is an imposing mystery and will always remain so,

  • perhaps.

  • Tom contrived to scarify the cupboard with it, and was arranging to begin on the

  • bureau, when he was called off to dress for Sunday-school.

  • Mary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went outside the

  • door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he dipped the soap in the

  • water and laid it down; turned up his

  • sleeves; poured out the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the

  • kitchen and began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the door.

  • But Mary removed the towel and said:

  • "Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be so bad.

  • Water won't hurt you." Tom was a trifle disconcerted.

  • The basin was refilled, and this time he stood over it a little while, gathering

  • resolution; took in a big breath and began.

  • When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes shut and groping for the

  • towel with his hands, an honorable testimony of suds and water was dripping

  • from his face.

  • But when he emerged from the towel, he was not yet satisfactory, for the clean

  • territory stopped short at his chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and beyond

  • this line there was a dark expanse of

  • unirrigated soil that spread downward in front and backward around his neck.

  • Mary took him in hand, and when she was done with him he was a man and a brother,

  • without distinction of color, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its

  • short curls wrought into a dainty and symmetrical general effect.

  • [He privately smoothed out the curls, with labor and difficulty, and plastered his

  • hair close down to his head; for he held curls to be effeminate, and his own filled

  • his life with bitterness.] Then Mary got

  • out a suit of his clothing that had been used only on Sundays during two years--

  • they were simply called his "other clothes"--and so by that we know the size

  • of his wardrobe.

  • The girl "put him to rights" after he had dressed himself; she buttoned his neat

  • roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt collar down over his shoulders,

  • brushed him off and crowned him with his speckled straw hat.

  • He now looked exceedingly improved and uncomfortable.

  • He was fully as uncomfortable as he looked; for there was a restraint about

  • whole clothes and cleanliness that galled him.

  • He hoped that Mary would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted; she coated them

  • thoroughly with tallow, as was the custom, and brought them out.

  • He lost his temper and said he was always being made to do everything he didn't want

  • to do. But Mary said, persuasively:

  • "Please, Tom--that's a good boy."

  • So he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three

  • children set out for Sunday-school--a place that Tom hated with his whole heart;

  • but Sid and Mary were fond of it.

  • Sabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past ten; and then church service.

  • Two of the children always remained for the sermon voluntarily, and the other

  • always remained too--for stronger reasons.

  • The church's high-backed, uncushioned pews would seat about three hundred persons;

  • the edifice was but a small, plain affair, with a sort of pine board tree-box on top

  • of it for a steeple.

  • At the door Tom dropped back a step and accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:

  • "Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?" "Yes."

  • "What'll you take for her?"

  • "What'll you give?" "Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook."

  • "Less see 'em." Tom exhibited.

  • They were satisfactory, and the property changed hands.

  • Then Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets, and some small

  • trifle or other for a couple of blue ones.

  • He waylaid other boys as they came, and went on buying tickets of various colors

  • ten or fifteen minutes longer.

  • He entered the church, now, with a swarm of clean and noisy boys and girls,

  • proceeded to his seat and started a quarrel with the first boy that came

  • handy.

  • The teacher, a grave, elderly man, interfered; then turned his back a moment

  • and Tom pulled a boy's hair in the next bench, and was absorbed in his book when

  • the boy turned around; stuck a pin in

  • another boy, presently, in order to hear him say "Ouch!"

  • and got a new reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole class were of a pattern--

  • restless, noisy, and troublesome.

  • When they came to recite their lessons, not one of them knew his verses perfectly,

  • but had to be prompted all along.

  • However, they worried through, and each got his reward--in small blue tickets,

  • each with a passage of Scripture on it; each blue ticket was pay for two verses of

  • the recitation.

  • Ten blue tickets equalled a red one, and could be exchanged for it; ten red tickets

  • equalled a yellow one; for ten yellow tickets the superintendent gave a very

  • plainly bound Bible (worth forty cents in those easy times) to the pupil.

  • How many of my readers would have the industry and application to memorize two

  • thousand verses, even for a Dore Bible?

  • And yet Mary had acquired two Bibles in this way--it was the patient work of two

  • years--and a boy of German parentage had won four or five.

  • He once recited three thousand verses without stopping; but the strain upon his

  • mental faculties was too great, and he was little better than an idiot from that day

  • forth--a grievous misfortune for the

  • school, for on great occasions, before company, the superintendent (as Tom

  • expressed it) had always made this boy come out and "spread himself."

  • Only the older pupils managed to keep their tickets and stick to their tedious

  • work long enough to get a Bible, and so the delivery of one of these prizes was a

  • rare and noteworthy circumstance; the

  • successful pupil was so great and conspicuous for that day that on the spot

  • every scholar's heart was fired with a fresh ambition that often lasted a couple

  • of weeks.

  • It is possible that Tom's mental stomach had never really hungered for one of those

  • prizes, but unquestionably his entire being had for many a day longed for the

  • glory and the eclat that came with it.

  • In due course the superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit, with a closed

  • hymn-book in his hand and his forefinger inserted between its leaves, and commanded

  • attention.

  • When a Sunday-school superintendent makes his customary little speech, a hymn-book

  • in the hand is as necessary as is the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of a

  • singer who stands forward on the platform

  • and sings a solo at a concert --though why, is a mystery: for neither the hymn-

  • book nor the sheet of music is ever referred to by the sufferer.

  • This superintendent was a slim creature of thirty-five, with a sandy goatee and short

  • sandy hair; he wore a stiff standing- collar whose upper edge almost reached his

  • ears and whose sharp points curved forward

  • abreast the corners of his mouth--a fence that compelled a straight lookout ahead,

  • and a turning of the whole body when a side view was required; his chin was

  • propped on a spreading cravat which was as

  • broad and as long as a bank-note, and had fringed ends; his boot toes were turned

  • sharply up, in the fashion of the day, like sleigh-runners--an effect patiently

  • and laboriously produced by the young men

  • by sitting with their toes pressed against a wall for hours together.

  • Mr. Walters was very earnest of mien, and very sincere and honest at heart; and he

  • held sacred things and places in such reverence, and so separated them from

  • worldly matters, that unconsciously to

  • himself his Sunday-school voice had acquired a peculiar intonation which was

  • wholly absent on week-days. He began after this fashion:

  • "Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty as you can and

  • give me all your attention for a minute or two.

  • There --that is it.

  • That is the way good little boys and girls should do.

  • I see one little girl who is looking out of the window--I am afraid she thinks I am

  • out there somewhere--perhaps up in one of the trees making a speech to the little

  • birds.

  • [Applausive titter.] I want to tell you how good it makes me feel to see so many

  • bright, clean little faces assembled in a place like this, learning to do right and

  • be good."

  • And so forth and so on. It is not necessary to set down the rest

  • of the oration. It was of a pattern which does not vary,

  • and so it is familiar to us all.

  • The latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of fights and other

  • recreations among certain of the bad boys, and by fidgetings and whisperings that

  • extended far and wide, washing even to the

  • bases of isolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary.

  • But now every sound ceased suddenly, with the subsidence of Mr. Walters' voice, and

  • the conclusion of the speech was received with a burst of silent gratitude.

  • A good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which was more or

  • less rare--the entrance of visitors: lawyer Thatcher, accompanied by a very

  • feeble and aged man; a fine, portly,

  • middle-aged gentleman with iron-gray hair; and a dignified lady who was doubtless the

  • latter's wife. The lady was leading a child.

  • Tom had been restless and full of chafings and repinings; conscience-smitten, too--he

  • could not meet Amy Lawrence's eye, he could not brook her loving gaze.

  • But when he saw this small new-comer his soul was all ablaze with bliss in a

  • moment.

  • The next moment he was "showing off" with all his might --cuffing boys, pulling

  • hair, making faces--in a word, using every art that seemed likely to fascinate a girl

  • and win her applause.

  • His exaltation had but one alloy--the memory of his humiliation in this angel's

  • garden--and that record in sand was fast washing out, under the waves of happiness

  • that were sweeping over it now.

  • The visitors were given the highest seat of honor, and as soon as Mr. Walters'

  • speech was finished, he introduced them to the school.

  • The middle-aged man turned out to be a prodigious personage--no less a one than

  • the county judge--altogether the most august creation these children had ever

  • looked upon--and they wondered what kind

  • of material he was made of--and they half wanted to hear him roar, and were half

  • afraid he might, too.

  • He was from Constantinople, twelve miles away--so he had travelled, and seen the

  • world--these very eyes had looked upon the county court-house--which was said to have

  • a tin roof.

  • The awe which these reflections inspired was attested by the impressive silence and

  • the ranks of staring eyes. This was the great Judge Thatcher, brother

  • of their own lawyer.

  • Jeff Thatcher immediately went forward, to be familiar with the great man and be

  • envied by the school. It would have been music to his soul to

  • hear the whisperings:

  • "Look at him, Jim! He's a going up there.

  • Say--look! he's a going to shake hands with him--he

  • IS shaking hands with him!

  • By jings, don't you wish you was Jeff?"

  • Mr. Walters fell to "showing off," with all sorts of official bustlings and

  • activities, giving orders, delivering judgments, discharging directions here,

  • there, everywhere that he could find a target.

  • The librarian "showed off"--running hither and thither with his arms full of books

  • and making a deal of the splutter and fuss that insect authority delights in.

  • The young lady teachers "showed off" -- bending sweetly over pupils that were

  • lately being boxed, lifting pretty warning fingers at bad little boys and patting

  • good ones lovingly.

  • The young gentlemen teachers "showed off" with small scoldings and other little

  • displays of authority and fine attention to discipline--and most of the teachers,

  • of both sexes, found business up at the

  • library, by the pulpit; and it was business that frequently had to be done

  • over again two or three times (with much seeming vexation).

  • The little girls "showed off" in various ways, and the little boys "showed off"

  • with such diligence that the air was thick with paper wads and the murmur of

  • scufflings.

  • And above it all the great man sat and beamed a majestic judicial smile upon all

  • the house, and warmed himself in the sun of his own grandeur--for he was "showing

  • off," too.

  • There was only one thing wanting to make Mr. Walters' ecstasy complete, and that

  • was a chance to deliver a Bible-prize and exhibit a prodigy.

  • Several pupils had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough --he had been around

  • among the star pupils inquiring.

  • He would have given worlds, now, to have that German lad back again with a sound

  • mind.

  • And now at this moment, when hope was dead, Tom Sawyer came forward with nine

  • yellow tickets, nine red tickets, and ten blue ones, and demanded a Bible.

  • This was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.

  • Walters was not expecting an application from this source for the next ten years.

  • But there was no getting around it--here were the certified checks, and they were

  • good for their face.

  • Tom was therefore elevated to a place with the Judge and the other elect, and the

  • great news was announced from headquarters.

  • It was the most stunning surprise of the decade, and so profound was the sensation

  • that it lifted the new hero up to the judicial one's altitude, and the school

  • had two marvels to gaze upon in place of one.

  • The boys were all eaten up with envy--but those that suffered the bitterest pangs

  • were those who perceived too late that they themselves had contributed to this

  • hated splendor by trading tickets to Tom

  • for the wealth he had amassed in selling whitewashing privileges.

  • These despised themselves, as being the dupes of a wily fraud, a guileful snake in

  • the grass.

  • The prize was delivered to Tom with as much effusion as the superintendent could

  • pump up under the circumstances; but it lacked somewhat of the true gush, for the

  • poor fellow's instinct taught him that

  • there was a mystery here that could not well bear the light, perhaps; it was

  • simply preposterous that this boy had warehoused two thousand sheaves of

  • Scriptural wisdom on his premises--a dozen

  • would strain his capacity, without a doubt.

  • Amy Lawrence was proud and glad, and she tried to make Tom see it in her face--but

  • he wouldn't look.

  • She wondered; then she was just a grain troubled; next a dim suspicion came and

  • went--came again; she watched; a furtive glance told her worlds--and then her heart

  • broke, and she was jealous, and angry, and the tears came and she hated everybody.

  • Tom most of all (she thought).

  • Tom was introduced to the Judge; but his tongue was tied, his breath would hardly

  • come, his heart quaked--partly because of the awful greatness of the man, but mainly

  • because he was her parent.

  • He would have liked to fall down and worship him, if it were in the dark.

  • The Judge put his hand on Tom's head and called him a fine little man, and asked

  • him what his name was.

  • The boy stammered, gasped, and got it out: "Tom."

  • "Oh, no, not Tom--it is--" "Thomas."

  • "Ah, that's it.

  • I thought there was more to it, maybe. That's very well.

  • But you've another one I daresay, and you'll tell it to me, won't you?"

  • "Tell the gentleman your other name, Thomas," said Walters, "and say sir.

  • You mustn't forget your manners." "Thomas Sawyer--sir."

  • "That's it!

  • That's a good boy. Fine boy.

  • Fine, manly little fellow. Two thousand verses is a great many--very,

  • very great many.

  • And you never can be sorry for the trouble you took to learn them; for knowledge is

  • worth more than anything there is in the world; it's what makes great men and good

  • men; you'll be a great man and a good man

  • yourself, some day, Thomas, and then you'll look back and say, It's all owing

  • to the precious Sunday-school privileges of my boyhood--it's all owing to my dear

  • teachers that taught me to learn--it's all

  • owing to the good superintendent, who encouraged me, and watched over me, and

  • gave me a beautiful Bible--a splendid elegant Bible--to keep and have it all for

  • my own, always--it's all owing to right bringing up!

  • That is what you will say, Thomas--and you wouldn't take any money for those two

  • thousand verses--no indeed you wouldn't.

  • And now you wouldn't mind telling me and this lady some of the things you've

  • learned--no, I know you wouldn't--for we are proud of little boys that learn.

  • Now, no doubt you know the names of all the twelve disciples.

  • Won't you tell us the names of the first two that were appointed?"

  • Tom was tugging at a button-hole and looking sheepish.

  • He blushed, now, and his eyes fell. Mr. Walters' heart sank within him.

  • He said to himself, it is not possible that the boy can answer the simplest

  • question--why DID the Judge ask him? Yet he felt obliged to speak up and say:

  • "Answer the gentleman, Thomas--don't be afraid."

  • Tom still hung fire. "Now I know you'll tell me," said the

  • lady.

  • "The names of the first two disciples were--"

  • "DAVID AND GOLIAH!" Let us draw the curtain of charity over

  • the rest of the scene.

  • >

  • Chapter V ABOUT half-past ten the cracked bell of

  • the small church began to ring, and presently the people began to gather for

  • the morning sermon.

  • The Sunday-school children distributed themselves about the house and occupied

  • pews with their parents, so as to be under supervision.

  • Aunt Polly came, and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her--Tom being placed next the

  • aisle, in order that he might be as far away from the open window and the

  • seductive outside summer scenes as possible.

  • The crowd filed up the aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who had seen better

  • days; the mayor and his wife--for they had a mayor there, among other unnecessaries;

  • the justice of the peace; the widow

  • Douglass, fair, smart, and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and well-to-

  • do, her hill mansion the only palace in the town, and the most hospitable and much

  • the most lavish in the matter of

  • festivities that St. Petersburg could boast; the bent and venerable Major and

  • Mrs. Ward; lawyer Riverson, the new notable from a distance; next the belle of

  • the village, followed by a troop of lawn-

  • clad and ribbon-decked young heart- breakers; then all the young clerks in

  • town in a body--for they had stood in the vestibule sucking their cane-heads, a

  • circling wall of oiled and simpering

  • admirers, till the last girl had run their gantlet; and last of all came the Model

  • Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful care of his mother as if she were cut

  • glass.

  • He always brought his mother to church, and was the pride of all the matrons.

  • The boys all hated him, he was so good. And besides, he had been "thrown up to

  • them" so much.

  • His white handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket behind, as usual on Sundays--

  • accidentally. Tom had no handkerchief, and he looked

  • upon boys who had as snobs.

  • The congregation being fully assembled, now, the bell rang once more, to warn

  • laggards and stragglers, and then a solemn hush fell upon the church which was only

  • broken by the tittering and whispering of the choir in the gallery.

  • The choir always tittered and whispered all through service.

  • There was once a church choir that was not ill-bred, but I have forgotten where it

  • was, now.

  • It was a great many years ago, and I can scarcely remember anything about it, but I

  • think it was in some foreign country.

  • The minister gave out the hymn, and read it through with a relish, in a peculiar

  • style which was much admired in that part of the country.

  • His voice began on a medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached a

  • certain point, where it bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost word and then

  • plunged down as if from a spring-board:

  • Shall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow'ry BEDS of ease,

  • Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' BLOODY seas?

  • He was regarded as a wonderful reader.

  • At church "sociables" he was always called upon to read poetry; and when he was

  • through, the ladies would lift up their hands and let them fall helplessly in

  • their laps, and "wall" their eyes, and

  • shake their heads, as much as to say, "Words cannot express it; it is too

  • beautiful, TOO beautiful for this mortal earth."

  • After the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into a

  • bulletin-board, and read off "notices" of meetings and societies and things till it

  • seemed that the list would stretch out to

  • the crack of doom--a queer custom which is still kept up in America, even in cities,

  • away here in this age of abundant newspapers.

  • Often, the less there is to justify a traditional custom, the harder it is to

  • get rid of it. And now the minister prayed.

  • A good, generous prayer it was, and went into details: it pleaded for the church,

  • and the little children of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the

  • village itself; for the county; for the

  • State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of the

  • United States; for Congress; for the President; for the officers of the

  • Government; for poor sailors, tossed by

  • stormy seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under the heel of European

  • monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the light and the good

  • tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor

  • ears to hear withal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed

  • with a supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace and favor,

  • and be as seed sown in fertile ground,

  • yielding in time a grateful harvest of good.

  • Amen. There was a rustling of dresses, and the

  • standing congregation sat down.

  • The boy whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer, he only endured

  • it--if he even did that much.

  • He was restive all through it; he kept tally of the details of the prayer,

  • unconsciously --for he was not listening, but he knew the ground of old, and the

  • clergyman's regular route over it--and

  • when a little trifle of new matter was interlarded, his ear detected it and his

  • whole nature resented it; he considered additions unfair, and scoundrelly.

  • In the midst of the prayer a fly had lit on the back of the pew in front of him and

  • tortured his spirit by calmly rubbing its hands together, embracing its head with

  • its arms, and polishing it so vigorously

  • that it seemed to almost part company with the body, and the slender thread of a neck

  • was exposed to view; scraping its wings with its hind legs and smoothing them to

  • its body as if they had been coat-tails;

  • going through its whole toilet as tranquilly as if it knew it was perfectly

  • safe.

  • As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's hands itched to grab for it they did not

  • dare--he believed his soul would be instantly destroyed if he did such a thing

  • while the prayer was going on.

  • But with the closing sentence his hand began to curve and steal forward; and the

  • instant the "Amen" was out the fly was a prisoner of war.

  • His aunt detected the act and made him let it go.

  • The minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through an argument

  • that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod --and yet it was an

  • argument that dealt in limitless fire and

  • brimstone and thinned the predestined elect down to a company so small as to be

  • hardly worth the saving.

  • Tom counted the pages of the sermon; after church he always knew how many pages there

  • had been, but he seldom knew anything else about the discourse.

  • However, this time he was really interested for a little while.

  • The minister made a grand and moving picture of the assembling together of the

  • world's hosts at the millennium when the lion and the lamb should lie down together

  • and a little child should lead them.

  • But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of the great spectacle were lost upon the

  • boy; he only thought of the conspicuousness of the principal character

  • before the on-looking nations; his face

  • lit with the thought, and he said to himself that he wished he could be that

  • child, if it was a tame lion. Now he lapsed into suffering again, as the

  • dry argument was resumed.

  • Presently he bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out.

  • It was a large black beetle with formidable jaws--a "pinchbug," he called

  • it.

  • It was in a percussion-cap box. The first thing the beetle did was to take

  • him by the finger.

  • A natural fillip followed, the beetle went floundering into the aisle and lit on its

  • back, and the hurt finger went into the boy's mouth.

  • The beetle lay there working its helpless legs, unable to turn over.

  • Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out of his reach.

  • Other people uninterested in the sermon found relief in the beetle, and they eyed

  • it too.

  • Presently a vagrant poodle dog came idling along, sad at heart, lazy with the summer

  • softness and the quiet, weary of captivity, sighing for change.

  • He spied the beetle; the drooping tail lifted and wagged.

  • He surveyed the prize; walked around it; smelt at it from a safe distance; walked

  • around it again; grew bolder, and took a closer smell; then lifted his lip and made

  • a gingerly snatch at it, just missing it;

  • made another, and another; began to enjoy the diversion; subsided to his stomach

  • with the beetle between his paws, and continued his experiments; grew weary at

  • last, and then indifferent and absent- minded.

  • His head nodded, and little by little his chin descended and touched the enemy, who

  • seized it.

  • There was a sharp yelp, a flirt of the poodle's head, and the beetle fell a

  • couple of yards away, and lit on its back once more.

  • The neighboring spectators shook with a gentle inward joy, several faces went

  • behind fans and handkerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy.

  • The dog looked foolish, and probably felt so; but there was resentment in his heart,

  • too, and a craving for revenge.

  • So he went to the beetle and began a wary attack on it again; jumping at it from

  • every point of a circle, lighting with his fore-paws within an inch of the creature,

  • making even closer snatches at it with his

  • teeth, and jerking his head till his ears flapped again.

  • But he grew tired once more, after a while; tried to amuse himself with a fly

  • but found no relief; followed an ant around, with his nose close to the floor,

  • and quickly wearied of that; yawned,

  • sighed, forgot the beetle entirely, and sat down on it.

  • Then there was a wild yelp of agony and the poodle went sailing up the aisle; the

  • yelps continued, and so did the dog; he crossed the house in front of the altar;

  • he flew down the other aisle; he crossed

  • before the doors; he clamored up the home- stretch; his anguish grew with his

  • progress, till presently he was but a woolly comet moving in its orbit with the

  • gleam and the speed of light.

  • At last the frantic sufferer sheered from its course, and sprang into its master's

  • lap; he flung it out of the window, and the voice of distress quickly thinned away

  • and died in the distance.

  • By this time the whole church was red- faced and suffocating with suppressed

  • laughter, and the sermon had come to a dead standstill.

  • The discourse was resumed presently, but it went lame and halting, all possibility

  • of impressiveness being at an end; for even the gravest sentiments were

  • constantly being received with a smothered

  • burst of unholy mirth, under cover of some remote pew-back, as if the poor parson had

  • said a rarely facetious thing.

  • It was a genuine relief to the whole congregation when the ordeal was over and

  • the benediction pronounced.

  • Tom Sawyer went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that there was some

  • satisfaction about divine service when there was a bit of variety in it.

  • He had but one marring thought; he was willing that the dog should play with his

  • pinchbug, but he did not think it was upright in him to carry it off.

  • >

  • Chapter VI MONDAY morning found Tom Sawyer miserable.

  • Monday morning always found him so-- because it began another week's slow

  • suffering in school.

  • He generally began that day with wishing he had had no intervening holiday, it made

  • the going into captivity and fetters again so much more odious.

  • Tom lay thinking.

  • Presently it occurred to him that he wished he was sick; then he could stay

  • home from school. Here was a vague possibility.

  • He canvassed his system.

  • No ailment was found, and he investigated again.

  • This time he thought he could detect colicky symptoms, and he began to

  • encourage them with considerable hope.

  • But they soon grew feeble, and presently died wholly away.

  • He reflected further. Suddenly he discovered something.

  • One of his upper front teeth was loose.

  • This was lucky; he was about to begin to groan, as a "starter," as he called it,

  • when it occurred to him that if he came into court with that argument, his aunt

  • would pull it out, and that would hurt.

  • So he thought he would hold the tooth in reserve for the present, and seek further.

  • Nothing offered for some little time, and then he remembered hearing the doctor tell

  • about a certain thing that laid up a patient for two or three weeks and

  • threatened to make him lose a finger.

  • So the boy eagerly drew his sore toe from under the sheet and held it up for

  • inspection. But now he did not know the necessary

  • symptoms.

  • However, it seemed well worth while to chance it, so he fell to groaning with

  • considerable spirit. But Sid slept on unconscious.

  • Tom groaned louder, and fancied that he began to feel pain in the toe.

  • No result from Sid. Tom was panting with his exertions by this

  • time.

  • He took a rest and then swelled himself up and fetched a succession of admirable

  • groans. Sid snored on.

  • Tom was aggravated.

  • He said, "Sid, Sid!" and shook him.

  • This course worked well, and Tom began to groan again.

  • Sid yawned, stretched, then brought himself up on his elbow with a snort, and

  • began to stare at Tom. Tom went on groaning.

  • Sid said:

  • "Tom! Say, Tom!"

  • [No response.] "Here, Tom! TOM!

  • What is the matter, Tom?"

  • And he shook him and looked in his face anxiously.

  • Tom moaned out: "Oh, don't, Sid.

  • Don't joggle me."

  • "Why, what's the matter, Tom? I must call auntie."

  • "No--never mind. It'll be over by and by, maybe.

  • Don't call anybody."

  • "But I must! DON'T groan so, Tom, it's awful.

  • How long you been this way?" "Hours.

  • Ouch!

  • Oh, don't stir so, Sid, you'll kill me." "Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner?

  • Oh, Tom, DON'T! It makes my flesh crawl to hear you.

  • Tom, what is the matter?"

  • "I forgive you everything, Sid. [Groan.] Everything you've ever done to

  • me. When I'm gone--"

  • "Oh, Tom, you ain't dying, are you?

  • Don't, Tom--oh, don't. Maybe--"

  • "I forgive everybody, Sid. [Groan.] Tell 'em so, Sid.

  • And Sid, you give my window-sash and my cat with one eye to that new girl that's

  • come to town, and tell her--" But Sid had snatched his clothes and gone.

  • Tom was suffering in reality, now, so handsomely was his imagination working,

  • and so his groans had gathered quite a genuine tone.

  • Sid flew down-stairs and said:

  • "Oh, Aunt Polly, come! Tom's dying!"

  • "Dying!" "Yes'm.

  • Don't wait--come quick!"

  • "Rubbage! I don't believe it!"

  • But she fled up-stairs, nevertheless, with Sid and Mary at her heels.

  • And her face grew white, too, and her lip trembled.

  • When she reached the bedside she gasped out:

  • "You, Tom!

  • Tom, what's the matter with you?" "Oh, auntie, I'm--"

  • "What's the matter with you--what is the matter with you, child?"

  • "Oh, auntie, my sore toe's mortified!"

  • The old lady sank down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried a little,

  • then did both together. This restored her and she said:

  • "Tom, what a turn you did give me.

  • Now you shut up that nonsense and climb out of this."

  • The groans ceased and the pain vanished from the toe.

  • The boy felt a little foolish, and he said:

  • "Aunt Polly, it SEEMED mortified, and it hurt so I never minded my tooth at all."

  • "Your tooth, indeed!

  • What's the matter with your tooth?" "One of them's loose, and it aches

  • perfectly awful." "There, there, now, don't begin that

  • groaning again.

  • Open your mouth. Well--your tooth IS loose, but you're not

  • going to die about that. Mary, get me a silk thread, and a chunk of

  • fire out of the kitchen."

  • Tom said: "Oh, please, auntie, don't pull it out.

  • It don't hurt any more. I wish I may never stir if it does.

  • Please don't, auntie.

  • I don't want to stay home from school." "Oh, you don't, don't you?

  • So all this row was because you thought you'd get to stay home from school and go

  • a-fishing?

  • Tom, Tom, I love you so, and you seem to try every way you can to break my old

  • heart with your outrageousness." By this time the dental instruments were

  • ready.

  • The old lady made one end of the silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a loop and

  • tied the other to the bedpost.

  • Then she seized the chunk of fire and suddenly thrust it almost into the boy's

  • face. The tooth hung dangling by the bedpost,

  • now.

  • But all trials bring their compensations.

  • As Tom wended to school after breakfast, he was the envy of every boy he met

  • because the gap in his upper row of teeth enabled him to expectorate in a new and

  • admirable way.

  • He gathered quite a following of lads interested in the exhibition; and one that

  • had cut his finger and had been a centre of fascination and homage up to this time,

  • now found himself suddenly without an adherent, and shorn of his glory.

  • His heart was heavy, and he said with a disdain which he did not feel that it

  • wasn't anything to spit like Tom Sawyer; but another boy said, "Sour grapes!"

  • and he wandered away a dismantled hero.

  • Shortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village, Huckleberry Finn, son of

  • the town drunkard.

  • Huckleberry was cordially hated and dreaded by all the mothers of the town,

  • because he was idle and lawless and vulgar and bad--and because all their children

  • admired him so, and delighted in his

  • forbidden society, and wished they dared to be like him.

  • Tom was like the rest of the respectable boys, in that he envied Huckleberry his

  • gaudy outcast condition, and was under strict orders not to play with him.

  • So he played with him every time he got a chance.

  • Huckleberry was always dressed in the cast-off clothes of full-grown men, and

  • they were in perennial bloom and fluttering with rags.

  • His hat was a vast ruin with a wide crescent lopped out of its brim; his coat,

  • when he wore one, hung nearly to his heels and had the rearward buttons far down the

  • back; but one suspender supported his

  • trousers; the seat of the trousers bagged low and contained nothing, the fringed

  • legs dragged in the dirt when not rolled up.

  • Huckleberry came and went, at his own free will.

  • He slept on doorsteps in fine weather and in empty hogsheads in wet; he did not have

  • to go to school or to church, or call any being master or obey anybody; he could go

  • fishing or swimming when and where he

  • chose, and stay as long as it suited him; nobody forbade him to fight; he could sit

  • up as late as he pleased; he was always the first boy that went barefoot in the

  • spring and the last to resume leather in

  • the fall; he never had to wash, nor put on clean clothes; he could swear wonderfully.

  • In a word, everything that goes to make life precious that boy had.

  • So thought every harassed, hampered, respectable boy in St. Petersburg.

  • Tom hailed the romantic outcast: "Hello, Huckleberry!"

  • "Hello yourself, and see how you like it."

  • "What's that you got?" "Dead cat."

  • "Lemme see him, Huck. My, he's pretty stiff.

  • Where'd you get him?"

  • "Bought him off'n a boy." "What did you give?"

  • "I give a blue ticket and a bladder that I got at the slaughter-house."

  • "Where'd you get the blue ticket?"

  • "Bought it off'n Ben Rogers two weeks ago for a hoop-stick."

  • "Say--what is dead cats good for, Huck?" "Good for?

  • Cure warts with."

  • "No! Is that so?

  • I know something that's better." "I bet you don't.

  • What is it?"

  • "Why, spunk-water." "Spunk-water!

  • I wouldn't give a dern for spunk-water." "You wouldn't, wouldn't you?

  • D'you ever try it?"

  • "No, I hain't. But Bob Tanner did."

  • "Who told you so!"

  • "Why, he told Jeff Thatcher, and Jeff told Johnny Baker, and Johnny told Jim Hollis,

  • and Jim told Ben Rogers, and Ben told a nigger, and the nigger told me.

  • There now!"

  • "Well, what of it? They'll all lie.

  • Leastways all but the nigger. I don't know HIM.

  • But I never see a nigger that WOULDN'T lie.

  • Shucks! Now you tell me how Bob Tanner done it,

  • Huck."

  • "Why, he took and dipped his hand in a rotten stump where the rain-water was."

  • "In the daytime?" "Certainly."

  • "With his face to the stump?"

  • "Yes. Least I reckon so."

  • "Did he say anything?" "I don't reckon he did.

  • I don't know."

  • "Aha! Talk about trying to cure warts with

  • spunk-water such a blame fool way as that! Why, that ain't a-going to do any good.

  • You got to go all by yourself, to the middle of the woods, where you know

  • there's a spunk-water stump, and just as it's midnight you back up against the

  • stump and jam your hand in and say:

  • 'Barley-corn, barley-corn, injun-meal shorts, Spunk-water, spunk-water, swaller

  • these warts,'

  • and then walk away quick, eleven steps, with your eyes shut, and then turn around

  • three times and walk home without speaking to anybody.

  • Because if you speak the charm's busted."

  • "Well, that sounds like a good way; but that ain't the way Bob Tanner done."

  • "No, sir, you can bet he didn't, becuz he's the wartiest boy in this town; and he

  • wouldn't have a wart on him if he'd knowed how to work spunk-water.

  • I've took off thousands of warts off of my hands that way, Huck.

  • I play with frogs so much that I've always got considerable many warts.

  • Sometimes I take 'em off with a bean."

  • "Yes, bean's good. I've done that."

  • "Have you? What's your way?"

  • "You take and split the bean, and cut the wart so as to get some blood, and then you

  • put the blood on one piece of the bean and take and dig a hole and bury it 'bout

  • midnight at the crossroads in the dark of

  • the moon, and then you burn up the rest of the bean.

  • You see that piece that's got the blood on it will keep drawing and drawing, trying

  • to fetch the other piece to it, and so that helps the blood to draw the wart, and

  • pretty soon off she comes."

  • "Yes, that's it, Huck--that's it; though when you're burying it if you say 'Down

  • bean; off wart; come no more to bother me!' it's better.

  • That's the way Joe Harper does, and he's been nearly to Coonville and most

  • everywheres. But say--how do you cure 'em with dead

  • cats?"

  • "Why, you take your cat and go and get in the graveyard 'long about midnight when

  • somebody that was wicked has been buried; and when it's midnight a devil will come,

  • or maybe two or three, but you can't see

  • 'em, you can only hear something like the wind, or maybe hear 'em talk; and when

  • they're taking that feller away, you heave your cat after 'em and say, 'Devil follow

  • corpse, cat follow devil, warts follow

  • cat, I'm done with ye!' That'll fetch ANY wart."

  • "Sounds right. D'you ever try it, Huck?"

  • "No, but old Mother Hopkins told me."

  • "Well, I reckon it's so, then. Becuz they say she's a witch."

  • "Say! Why, Tom, I KNOW she is.

  • She witched pap.

  • Pap says so his own self. He come along one day, and he see she was

  • a-witching him, so he took up a rock, and if she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her.

  • Well, that very night he rolled off'n a shed wher' he was a layin drunk, and broke

  • his arm." "Why, that's awful.

  • How did he know she was a-witching him?"

  • "Lord, pap can tell, easy. Pap says when they keep looking at you

  • right stiddy, they're a-witching you. Specially if they mumble.

  • Becuz when they mumble they're saying the Lord's Prayer backards."

  • "Say, Hucky, when you going to try the cat?"

  • "To-night.

  • I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to-night."

  • "But they buried him Saturday. Didn't they get him Saturday night?"

  • "Why, how you talk!

  • How could their charms work till midnight?--and THEN it's Sunday.

  • Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I don't reckon."

  • "I never thought of that.

  • That's so. Lemme go with you?"

  • "Of course--if you ain't afeard." "Afeard!

  • 'Tain't likely.

  • Will you meow?" "Yes--and you meow back, if you get a

  • chance.

  • Last time, you kep' me a-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me

  • and says 'Dern that cat!' and so I hove a brick through his window--but don't you

  • tell."

  • "I won't. I couldn't meow that night, becuz auntie

  • was watching me, but I'll meow this time. Say--what's that?"

  • "Nothing but a tick."

  • "Where'd you get him?" "Out in the woods."

  • "What'll you take for him?" "I don't know.

  • I don't want to sell him."

  • "All right. It's a mighty small tick, anyway."

  • "Oh, anybody can run a tick down that don't belong to them.

  • I'm satisfied with it.

  • It's a good enough tick for me." "Sho, there's ticks a plenty.

  • I could have a thousand of 'em if I wanted to."

  • "Well, why don't you?

  • Becuz you know mighty well you can't. This is a pretty early tick, I reckon.

  • It's the first one I've seen this year." "Say, Huck--I'll give you my tooth for

  • him."

  • "Less see it." Tom got out a bit of paper and carefully

  • unrolled it. Huckleberry viewed it wistfully.

  • The temptation was very strong.

  • At last he said: "Is it genuwyne?"

  • Tom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy. "Well, all right," said Huckleberry, "it's

  • a trade."

  • Tom enclosed the tick in the percussion- cap box that had lately been the

  • pinchbug's prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier than before.

  • When Tom reached the little isolated frame schoolhouse, he strode in briskly, with

  • the manner of one who had come with all honest speed.

  • He hung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with business-like alacrity.

  • The master, throned on high in his great splint-bottom arm-chair, was dozing,

  • lulled by the drowsy hum of study.

  • The interruption roused him. "Thomas Sawyer!"

  • Tom knew that when his name was pronounced in full, it meant trouble.

  • "Sir!"

  • "Come up here. Now, sir, why are you late again, as

  • usual?"

  • Tom was about to take refuge in a lie, when he saw two long tails of yellow hair

  • hanging down a back that he recognized by the electric sympathy of love; and by that

  • form was THE ONLY VACANT PLACE on the girls' side of the schoolhouse.

  • He instantly said: "I STOPPED TO TALK WITH HUCKLEBERRY FINN!"

  • The master's pulse stood still, and he stared helplessly.

  • The buzz of study ceased. The pupils wondered if this foolhardy boy

  • had lost his mind.

  • The master said: "You--you did what?"

  • "Stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn." There was no mistaking the words.

  • "Thomas Sawyer, this is the most astounding confession I have ever listened

  • to. No mere ferule will answer for this

  • offence.

  • Take off your jacket." The master's arm performed until it was

  • tired and the stock of switches notably diminished.

  • Then the order followed:

  • "Now, sir, go and sit with the girls! And let this be a warning to you."

  • The titter that rippled around the room appeared to abash the boy, but in reality

  • that result was caused rather more by his worshipful awe of his unknown idol and the

  • dread pleasure that lay in his high good fortune.

  • He sat down upon the end of the pine bench and the girl hitched herself away from him

  • with a toss of her head.

  • Nudges and winks and whispers traversed the room, but Tom sat still, with his arms

  • upon the long, low desk before him, and seemed to study his book.

  • By and by attention ceased from him, and the accustomed school murmur rose upon the

  • dull air once more. Presently the boy began to steal furtive

  • glances at the girl.

  • She observed it, "made a mouth" at him and gave him the back of her head for the

  • space of a minute. When she cautiously faced around again, a

  • peach lay before her.

  • She thrust it away. Tom gently put it back.

  • She thrust it away again, but with less animosity.

  • Tom patiently returned it to its place.

  • Then she let it remain. Tom scrawled on his slate, "Please take

  • it--I got more." The girl glanced at the words, but made no

  • sign.

  • Now the boy began to draw something on the slate, hiding his work with his left hand.

  • For a time the girl refused to notice; but her human curiosity presently began to

  • manifest itself by hardly perceptible signs.

  • The boy worked on, apparently unconscious.

  • The girl made a sort of noncommittal attempt to see, but the boy did not betray

  • that he was aware of it. At last she gave in and hesitatingly

  • whispered:

  • "Let me see it." Tom partly uncovered a dismal caricature

  • of a house with two gable ends to it and a corkscrew of smoke issuing from the

  • chimney.

  • Then the girl's interest began to fasten itself upon the work and she forgot

  • everything else. When it was finished, she gazed a moment,

  • then whispered:

  • "It's nice--make a man." The artist erected a man in the front

  • yard, that resembled a derrick.

  • He could have stepped over the house; but the girl was not hypercritical; she was

  • satisfied with the monster, and whispered: "It's a beautiful man--now make me coming

  • along."

  • Tom drew an hour-glass with a full moon and straw limbs to it and armed the

  • spreading fingers with a portentous fan. The girl said:

  • "It's ever so nice--I wish I could draw."

  • "It's easy," whispered Tom, "I'll learn you."

  • "Oh, will you? When?"

  • "At noon.

  • Do you go home to dinner?" "I'll stay if you will."

  • "Good--that's a whack. What's your name?"

  • "Becky Thatcher.

  • What's yours? Oh, I know.

  • It's Thomas Sawyer." "That's the name they lick me by.

  • I'm Tom when I'm good.

  • You call me Tom, will you?" "Yes."

  • Now Tom began to scrawl something on the slate, hiding the words from the girl.

  • But she was not backward this time.

  • She begged to see. Tom said:

  • "Oh, it ain't anything." "Yes it is."

  • "No it ain't.

  • You don't want to see." "Yes I do, indeed I do.

  • Please let me." "You'll tell."

  • "No I won't--deed and deed and double deed won't."

  • "You won't tell anybody at all? Ever, as long as you live?"

  • "No, I won't ever tell ANYbody.

  • Now let me." "Oh, YOU don't want to see!"

  • "Now that you treat me so, I WILL see."

  • And she put her small hand upon his and a little scuffle ensued, Tom pretending to

  • resist in earnest but letting his hand slip by degrees till these words were

  • revealed: "I LOVE YOU."

  • "Oh, you bad thing!" And she hit his hand a smart rap, but

  • reddened and looked pleased, nevertheless.

  • Just at this juncture the boy felt a slow, fateful grip closing on his ear, and a

  • steady lifting impulse.

  • In that wise he was borne across the house and deposited in his own seat, under a

  • peppering fire of giggles from the whole school.

  • Then the master stood over him during a few awful moments, and finally moved away

  • to his throne without saying a word. But although Tom's ear tingled, his heart

  • was jubilant.

  • As the school quieted down Tom made an honest effort to study, but the turmoil

  • within him was too great.

  • In turn he took his place in the reading class and made a botch of it; then in the

  • geography class and turned lakes into mountains, mountains into rivers, and

  • rivers into continents, till chaos was

  • come again; then in the spelling class, and got "turned down," by a succession of

  • mere baby words, till he brought up at the foot and yielded up the pewter medal which

  • he had worn with ostentation for months.

  • >

  • Chapter VII THE harder Tom tried to fasten his mind on

  • his book, the more his ideas wandered. So at last, with a sigh and a yawn, he

  • gave it up.

  • It seemed to him that the noon recess would never come.

  • The air was utterly dead. There was not a breath stirring.

  • It was the sleepiest of sleepy days.

  • The drowsing murmur of the five and twenty studying scholars soothed the soul like

  • the spell that is in the murmur of bees.

  • Away off in the flaming sunshine, Cardiff Hill lifted its soft green sides through a

  • shimmering veil of heat, tinted with the purple of distance; a few birds floated on

  • lazy wing high in the air; no other living

  • thing was visible but some cows, and they were asleep.

  • Tom's heart ached to be free, or else to have something of interest to do to pass

  • the dreary time.

  • His hand wandered into his pocket and his face lit up with a glow of gratitude that

  • was prayer, though he did not know it. Then furtively the percussion-cap box came

  • out.

  • He released the tick and put him on the long flat desk.

  • The creature probably glowed with a gratitude that amounted to prayer, too, at

  • this moment, but it was premature: for when he started thankfully to travel off,

  • Tom turned him aside with a pin and made him take a new direction.

  • Tom's bosom friend sat next him, suffering just as Tom had been, and now he was

  • deeply and gratefully interested in this entertainment in an instant.

  • This bosom friend was Joe Harper.

  • The two boys were sworn friends all the week, and embattled enemies on Saturdays.

  • Joe took a pin out of his lapel and began to assist in exercising the prisoner.

  • The sport grew in interest momently.

  • Soon Tom said that they were interfering with each other, and neither getting the

  • fullest benefit of the tick.

  • So he put Joe's slate on the desk and drew a line down the middle of it from top to

  • bottom.

  • "Now," said he, "as long as he is on your side you can stir him up and I'll let him

  • alone; but if you let him get away and get on my side, you're to leave him alone as

  • long as I can keep him from crossing over."

  • "All right, go ahead; start him up." The tick escaped from Tom, presently, and

  • crossed the equator.

  • Joe harassed him awhile, and then he got away and crossed back again.

  • This change of base occurred often.

  • While one boy was worrying the tick with absorbing interest, the other would look

  • on with interest as strong, the two heads bowed together over the slate, and the two

  • souls dead to all things else.

  • At last luck seemed to settle and abide with Joe.

  • The tick tried this, that, and the other course, and got as excited and as anxious

  • as the boys themselves, but time and again just as he would have victory in his very

  • grasp, so to speak, and Tom's fingers

  • would be twitching to begin, Joe's pin would deftly head him off, and keep

  • possession. At last Tom could stand it no longer.

  • The temptation was too strong.

  • So he reached out and lent a hand with his pin.

  • Joe was angry in a moment. Said he:

  • "Tom, you let him alone."

  • "I only just want to stir him up a little, Joe."

  • "No, sir, it ain't fair; you just let him alone."

  • "Blame it, I ain't going to stir him much."

  • "Let him alone, I tell you." "I won't!"

  • "You shall--he's on my side of the line."

  • "Look here, Joe Harper, whose is that tick?"

  • "I don't care whose tick he is--he's on my side of the line, and you sha'n't touch

  • him."

  • "Well, I'll just bet I will, though. He's my tick and I'll do what I blame

  • please with him, or die!"

  • A tremendous whack came down on Tom's shoulders, and its duplicate on Joe's; and

  • for the space of two minutes the dust continued to fly from the two jackets and

  • the whole school to enjoy it.

  • The boys had been too absorbed to notice the hush that had stolen upon the school

  • awhile before when the master came tiptoeing down the room and stood over

  • them.

  • He had contemplated a good part of the performance before he contributed his bit

  • of variety to it. When school broke up at noon, Tom flew to

  • Becky Thatcher, and whispered in her ear:

  • "Put on your bonnet and let on you're going home; and when you get to the

  • corner, give the rest of 'em the slip, and turn down through the lane and come back.

  • I'll go the other way and come it over 'em the same way."

  • So the one went off with one group of scholars, and the other with another.

  • In a little while the two met at the bottom of the lane, and when they reached

  • the school they had it all to themselves.

  • Then they sat together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the pencil

  • and held her hand in his, guiding it, and so created another surprising house.

  • When the interest in art began to wane, the two fell to talking.

  • Tom was swimming in bliss. He said:

  • "Do you love rats?"

  • "No! I hate them!"

  • "Well, I do, too--LIVE ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round your

  • head with a string."

  • "No, I don't care for rats much, anyway. What I like is chewing-gum."

  • "Oh, I should say so! I wish I had some now."

  • "Do you?

  • I've got some. I'll let you chew it awhile, but you must

  • give it back to me."

  • That was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled their legs against the

  • bench in excess of contentment. "Was you ever at a circus?"

  • said Tom.

  • "Yes, and my pa's going to take me again some time, if I'm good."

  • "I been to the circus three or four times- -lots of times.

  • Church ain't shucks to a circus.

  • There's things going on at a circus all the time.

  • I'm going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up."

  • "Oh, are you!

  • That will be nice. They're so lovely, all spotted up."

  • "Yes, that's so. And they get slathers of money--most a

  • dollar a day, Ben Rogers says.

  • Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?" "What's that?"

  • "Why, engaged to be married." "No."

  • "Would you like to?"

  • "I reckon so. I don't know.

  • What is it like?" "Like?

  • Why it ain't like anything.

  • You only just tell a boy you won't ever have anybody but him, ever ever ever, and

  • then you kiss and that's all. Anybody can do it."

  • "Kiss?

  • What do you kiss for?" "Why, that, you know, is to--well, they

  • always do that." "Everybody?"

  • "Why, yes, everybody that's in love with each other.

  • Do you remember what I wrote on the slate?"

  • "Ye--yes."

  • "What was it?" "I sha'n't tell you."

  • "Shall I tell YOU?" "Ye--yes--but some other time."

  • "No, now."

  • "No, not now--to-morrow." "Oh, no, NOW.

  • Please, Becky--I'll whisper it, I'll whisper it ever so easy."

  • Becky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm about her

  • waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth close to her ear.

  • And then he added:

  • "Now you whisper it to me--just the same." She resisted, for a while, and then said:

  • "You turn your face away so you can't see, and then I will.

  • But you mustn't ever tell anybody--WILL you, Tom?

  • Now you won't, WILL you?" "No, indeed, indeed I won't.

  • Now, Becky."

  • He turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breath

  • stirred his curls and whispered, "I--love- -you!"

  • Then she sprang away and ran around and around the desks and benches, with Tom

  • after her, and took refuge in a corner at last, with her little white apron to her

  • face.

  • Tom clasped her about her neck and pleaded:

  • "Now, Becky, it's all done--all over but the kiss.

  • Don't you be afraid of that--it ain't anything at all.

  • Please, Becky." And he tugged at her apron and the hands.

  • By and by she gave up, and let her hands drop; her face, all glowing with the

  • struggle, came up and submitted. Tom kissed the red lips and said:

  • "Now it's all done, Becky.

  • And always after this, you know, you ain't ever to love anybody but me, and you ain't

  • ever to marry anybody but me, ever never and forever.

  • Will you?"

  • "No, I'll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I'll never marry anybody but you--and

  • you ain't to ever marry anybody but me, either."

  • "Certainly.

  • Of course. That's PART of it.

  • And always coming to school or when we're going home, you're to walk with me, when

  • there ain't anybody looking--and you choose me and I choose you at parties,

  • because that's the way you do when you're engaged."

  • "It's so nice. I never heard of it before."

  • "Oh, it's ever so gay!

  • Why, me and Amy Lawrence--" The big eyes told Tom his blunder and he

  • stopped, confused. "Oh, Tom!

  • Then I ain't the first you've ever been engaged to!"

  • The child began to cry. Tom said:

  • "Oh, don't cry, Becky, I don't care for her any more."

  • "Yes, you do, Tom--you know you do."

  • Tom tried to put his arm about her neck, but she pushed him away and turned her

  • face to the wall, and went on crying. Tom tried again, with soothing words in

  • his mouth, and was repulsed again.

  • Then his pride was up, and he strode away and went outside.

  • He stood about, restless and uneasy, for a while, glancing at the door, every now and

  • then, hoping she would repent and come to find him.

  • But she did not.

  • Then he began to feel badly and fear that he was in the wrong.

  • It was a hard struggle with him to make new advances, now, but he nerved himself

  • to it and entered.

  • She was still standing back there in the corner, sobbing, with her face to the

  • wall. Tom's heart smote him.

  • He went to her and stood a moment, not knowing exactly how to proceed.

  • Then he said hesitatingly: "Becky, I--I don't care for anybody but

  • you."

  • No reply--but sobs. "Becky"--pleadingly.

  • "Becky, won't you say something?" More sobs.

  • Tom got out his chiefest jewel, a brass knob from the top of an andiron, and

  • passed it around her so that she could see it, and said:

  • "Please, Becky, won't you take it?"

  • She struck it to the floor. Then Tom marched out of the house and over

  • the hills and far away, to return to school no more that day.

  • Presently Becky began to suspect.

  • She ran to the door; he was not in sight; she flew around to the play-yard; he was

  • not there. Then she called:

  • "Tom!

  • Come back, Tom!" She listened intently, but there was no

  • answer. She had no companions but silence and

  • loneliness.

  • So she sat down to cry again and upbraid herself; and by this time the scholars

  • began to gather again, and she had to hide her griefs and still her broken heart and

  • take up the cross of a long, dreary,

  • aching afternoon, with none among the strangers about her to exchange sorrows

  • with.

  • >

  • Chapter VIII TOM dodged hither and thither through

  • lanes until he was well out of the track of returning scholars, and then fell into

  • a moody jog.

  • He crossed a small "branch" two or three times, because of a prevailing juvenile

  • superstition that to cross water baffled pursuit.

  • Half an hour later he was disappearing behind the Douglas mansion on the summit

  • of Cardiff Hill, and the schoolhouse was hardly distinguishable away off in the

  • valley behind him.

  • He entered a dense wood, picked his pathless way to the centre of it, and sat

  • down on a mossy spot under a spreading oak.

  • There was not even a zephyr stirring; the dead noonday heat had even stilled the

  • songs of the birds; nature lay in a trance that was broken by no sound but the

  • occasional far-off hammering of a

  • woodpecker, and this seemed to render the pervading silence and sense of loneliness

  • the more profound.

  • The boy's soul was steeped in melancholy; his feelings were in happy accord with his

  • surroundings. He sat long with his elbows on his knees

  • and his chin in his hands, meditating.

  • It seemed to him that life was but a trouble, at best, and he more than half

  • envied Jimmy Hodges, so lately released; it must be very peaceful, he thought, to

  • lie and slumber and dream forever and

  • ever, with the wind whispering through the trees and caressing the grass and the

  • flowers over the grave, and nothing to bother and grieve about, ever any more.

  • If he only had a clean Sunday-school record he could be willing to go, and be

  • done with it all. Now as to this girl.

  • What had he done?

  • Nothing. He had meant the best in the world, and

  • been treated like a dog--like a very dog. She would be sorry some day--maybe when it

  • was too late.

  • Ah, if he could only die TEMPORARILY! But the elastic heart of youth cannot be

  • compressed into one constrained shape long at a time.

  • Tom presently began to drift insensibly back into the concerns of this life again.

  • What if he turned his back, now, and disappeared mysteriously?

  • What if he went away--ever so far away, into unknown countries beyond the seas--

  • and never came back any more! How would she feel then!

  • The idea of being a clown recurred to him now, only to fill him with disgust.

  • For frivolity and jokes and spotted tights were an offense, when they intruded

  • themselves upon a spirit that was exalted into the vague august realm of the

  • romantic.

  • No, he would be a soldier, and return after long years, all war-worn and

  • illustrious.

  • No--better still, he would join the Indians, and hunt buffaloes and go on the

  • warpath in the mountain ranges and the trackless great plains of the Far West,

  • and away in the future come back a great

  • chief, bristling with feathers, hideous with paint, and prance into Sunday-school,

  • some drowsy summer morning, with a bloodcurdling war-whoop, and sear the

  • eyeballs of all his companions with unappeasable envy.

  • But no, there was something gaudier even than this.

  • He would be a pirate!

  • That was it! NOW his future lay plain before him, and

  • glowing with unimaginable splendor. How his name would fill the world, and

  • make people shudder!

  • How gloriously he would go plowing the dancing seas, in his long, low, black-

  • hulled racer, the Spirit of the Storm, with his grisly flag flying at the fore!

  • And at the zenith of his fame, how he would suddenly appear at the old village

  • and stalk into church, brown and weather- beaten, in his black velvet doublet and

  • trunks, his great jack-boots, his crimson

  • sash, his belt bristling with horse- pistols, his crime-rusted cutlass at his

  • side, his slouch hat with waving plumes, his black flag unfurled, with the skull

  • and crossbones on it, and hear with

  • swelling ecstasy the whisperings, "It's Tom Sawyer the Pirate!--the Black Avenger

  • of the Spanish Main!" Yes, it was settled; his career was

  • determined.

  • He would run away from home and enter upon it.

  • He would start the very next morning. Therefore he must now begin to get ready.

  • He would collect his resources together.

  • He went to a rotten log near at hand and began to dig under one end of it with his

  • Barlow knife. He soon struck wood that sounded hollow.

  • He put his hand there and uttered this incantation impressively:

  • "What hasn't come here, come! What's here, stay here!"

  • Then he scraped away the dirt, and exposed a pine shingle.

  • He took it up and disclosed a shapely little treasure-house whose bottom and

  • sides were of shingles.

  • In it lay a marble. Tom's astonishment was boundless!

  • He scratched his head with a perplexed air, and said:

  • "Well, that beats anything!"

  • Then he tossed the marble away pettishly, and stood cogitating.

  • The truth was, that a superstition of his had failed, here, which he and all his

  • comrades had always looked upon as infallible.

  • If you buried a marble with certain necessary incantations, and left it alone

  • a fortnight, and then opened the place with the incantation he had just used, you

  • would find that all the marbles you had

  • ever lost had gathered themselves together there, meantime, no matter how widely they

  • had been separated. But now, this thing had actually and

  • unquestionably failed.

  • Tom's whole structure of faith was shaken to its foundations.

  • He had many a time heard of this thing succeeding but never of its failing

  • before.

  • It did not occur to him that he had tried it several times before, himself, but

  • could never find the hiding-places afterward.

  • He puzzled over the matter some time, and finally decided that some witch had

  • interfered and broken the charm.

  • He thought he would satisfy himself on that point; so he searched around till he

  • found a small sandy spot with a little funnel-shaped depression in it.

  • He laid himself down and put his mouth close to this depression and called--

  • "Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know!

  • Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know!"

  • The sand began to work, and presently a small black bug appeared for a second and

  • then darted under again in a fright.

  • "He dasn't tell! So it WAS a witch that done it.

  • I just knowed it."

  • He well knew the futility of trying to contend against witches, so he gave up

  • discouraged.

  • But it occurred to him that he might as well have the marble he had just thrown

  • away, and therefore he went and made a patient search for it.

  • But he could not find it.

  • Now he went back to his treasure-house and carefully placed himself just as he had

  • been standing when he tossed the marble away; then he took another marble from his

  • pocket and tossed it in the same way, saying:

  • "Brother, go find your brother!" He watched where it stopped, and went

  • there and looked.

  • But it must have fallen short or gone too far; so he tried twice more.

  • The last repetition was successful. The two marbles lay within a foot of each

  • other.

  • Just here the blast of a toy tin trumpet came faintly down the green aisles of the

  • forest.

  • Tom flung off his jacket and trousers, turned a suspender into a belt, raked away

  • some brush behind the rotten log, disclosing a rude bow and arrow, a lath

  • sword and a tin trumpet, and in a moment

  • had seized these things and bounded away, barelegged, with fluttering shirt.

  • He presently halted under a great elm, blew an answering blast, and then began to

  • tiptoe and look warily out, this way and that.

  • He said cautiously--to an imaginary company:

  • "Hold, my merry men! Keep hid till I blow."

  • Now appeared Joe Harper, as airily clad and elaborately armed as Tom.

  • Tom called: "Hold!

  • Who comes here into Sherwood Forest without my pass?"

  • "Guy of Guisborne wants no man's pass. Who art thou that--that--"

  • "Dares to hold such language," said Tom, prompting--for they talked "by the book,"

  • from memory. "Who art thou that dares to hold such

  • language?"

  • "I, indeed! I am Robin Hood, as thy caitiff carcase

  • soon shall know." "Then art thou indeed that famous outlaw?

  • Right gladly will I dispute with thee the passes of the merry wood.

  • Have at thee!"

  • They took their lath swords, dumped their other traps on the ground, struck a

  • fencing attitude, foot to foot, and began a grave, careful combat, "two up and two

  • down."

  • Presently Tom said: "Now, if you've got the hang, go it

  • lively!" So they "went it lively," panting and

  • perspiring with the work.

  • By and by Tom shouted: "Fall!

  • fall! Why don't you fall?"

  • "I sha'n't!

  • Why don't you fall yourself? You're getting the worst of it."

  • "Why, that ain't anything. I can't fall; that ain't the way it is in

  • the book.

  • The book says, 'Then with one back-handed stroke he slew poor Guy of Guisborne.'

  • You're to turn around and let me hit you in the back."

  • There was no getting around the authorities, so Joe turned, received the

  • whack and fell. "Now," said Joe, getting up, "you got to

  • let me kill YOU.

  • That's fair." "Why, I can't do that, it ain't in the

  • book." "Well, it's blamed mean--that's all."

  • "Well, say, Joe, you can be Friar Tuck or Much the miller's son, and lam me with a

  • quarter-staff; or I'll be the Sheriff of Nottingham and you be Robin Hood a little

  • while and kill me."

  • This was satisfactory, and so these adventures were carried out.

  • Then Tom became Robin Hood again, and was allowed by the treacherous nun to bleed

  • his strength away through his neglected wound.

  • And at last Joe, representing a whole tribe of weeping outlaws, dragged him

  • sadly forth, gave his bow into his feeble hands, and Tom said, "Where this arrow

  • falls, there bury poor Robin Hood under the greenwood tree."

  • Then he shot the arrow and fell back and would have died, but he lit on a nettle

  • and sprang up too gaily for a corpse.

  • The boys dressed themselves, hid their accoutrements, and went off grieving that

  • there were no outlaws any more, and wondering what modern civilization could

  • claim to have done to compensate for their loss.

  • They said they would rather be outlaws a year in Sherwood Forest than President of

  • the United States forever.

  • >

  • Chapter IX AT half-past nine, that night, Tom and Sid

  • were sent to bed, as usual. They said their prayers, and Sid was soon

  • asleep.

  • Tom lay awake and waited, in restless impatience.

  • When it seemed to him that it must be nearly daylight, he heard the clock strike

  • ten!

  • This was despair. He would have tossed and fidgeted, as his

  • nerves demanded, but he was afraid he might wake Sid.

  • So he lay still, and stared up into the dark.

  • Everything was dismally still.

  • By and by, out of the stillness, little, scarcely perceptible noises began to

  • emphasize themselves. The ticking of the clock began to bring

  • itself into notice.

  • Old beams began to crack mysteriously. The stairs creaked faintly.

  • Evidently spirits were abroad. A measured, muffled snore issued from Aunt

  • Polly's chamber.

  • And now the tiresome chirping of a cricket that no human ingenuity could locate,

  • began.

  • Next the ghastly ticking of a deathwatch in the wall at the bed's head made Tom

  • shudder--it meant that somebody's days were numbered.

  • Then the howl of a far-off dog rose on the night air, and was answered by a fainter

  • howl from a remoter distance. Tom was in an agony.

  • At last he was satisfied that time had ceased and eternity begun; he began to

  • doze, in spite of himself; the clock chimed eleven, but he did not hear it.

  • And then there came, mingling with his half-formed dreams, a most melancholy

  • caterwauling. The raising of a neighboring window

  • disturbed him.

  • A cry of "Scat! you devil!"

  • and the crash of an empty bottle against the back of his aunt's woodshed brought

  • him wide awake, and a single minute later he was dressed and out of the window and

  • creeping along the roof of the "ell" on all fours.

  • He "meow'd" with caution once or twice, as he went; then jumped to the roof of the

  • woodshed and thence to the ground.

  • Huckleberry Finn was there, with his dead cat.

  • The boys moved off and disappeared in the gloom.

  • At the end of half an hour they were wading through the tall grass of the

  • graveyard. It was a graveyard of the old-fashioned

  • Western kind.

  • It was on a hill, about a mile and a half from the village.

  • It had a crazy board fence around it, which leaned inward in places, and outward

  • the rest of the time, but stood upright nowhere.

  • Grass and weeds grew rank over the whole cemetery.

  • All the old graves were sunken in, there was not a tombstone on the place; round-

  • topped, worm-eaten boards staggered over the graves, leaning for support and

  • finding none.

  • "Sacred to the memory of" So-and-So had been painted on them once, but it could no

  • longer have been read, on the most of them, now, even if there had been light.

  • A faint wind moaned through the trees, and Tom feared it might be the spirits of the

  • dead, complaining at being disturbed.

  • The boys talked little, and only under their breath, for the time and the place

  • and the pervading solemnity and silence oppressed their spirits.

  • They found the sharp new heap they were seeking, and ensconced themselves within

  • the protection of three great elms that grew in a bunch within a few feet of the

  • grave.

  • Then they waited in silence for what seemed a long time.

  • The hooting of a distant owl was all the sound that troubled the dead stillness.

  • Tom's reflections grew oppressive.

  • He must force some talk. So he said in a whisper:

  • "Hucky, do you believe the dead people like it for us to be here?"

  • Huckleberry whispered:

  • "I wisht I knowed. It's awful solemn like, AIN'T it?"

  • "I bet it is." There was a considerable pause, while the

  • boys canvassed this matter inwardly.

  • Then Tom whispered: "Say, Hucky--do you reckon Hoss Williams

  • hears us talking?" "O' course he does.

  • Least his sperrit does."

  • Tom, after a pause: "I wish I'd said Mister Williams.

  • But I never meant any harm. Everybody calls him Hoss."

  • "A body can't be too partic'lar how they talk 'bout these-yer dead people, Tom."

  • This was a damper, and conversation died again.

  • Presently Tom seized his comrade's arm and said:

  • "Sh!" "What is it, Tom?"

  • And the two clung together with beating hearts.

  • "Sh! There 'tis again!

  • Didn't you hear it?"

  • "I--" "There!

  • Now you hear it." "Lord, Tom, they're coming!

  • They're coming, sure.

  • What'll we do?" "I dono.

  • Think they'll see us?" "Oh, Tom, they can see in the dark, same

  • as cats.

  • I wisht I hadn't come." "Oh, don't be afeard.

  • I don't believe they'll bother us. We ain't doing any harm.

  • If we keep perfectly still, maybe they won't notice us at all."

  • "I'll try to, Tom, but, Lord, I'm all of a shiver."

  • "Listen!"

  • The boys bent their heads together and scarcely breathed.

  • A muffled sound of voices floated up from the far end of the graveyard.

  • "Look!

  • See there!" whispered Tom.

  • "What is it?" "It's devil-fire.

  • Oh, Tom, this is awful."

  • Some vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging an old-fashioned tin

  • lantern that freckled the ground with innumerable little spangles of light.

  • Presently Huckleberry whispered with a shudder:

  • "It's the devils sure enough. Three of 'em!

  • Lordy, Tom, we're goners!

  • Can you pray?" "I'll try, but don't you be afeard.

  • They ain't going to hurt us. 'Now I lay me down to sleep, I--'"

  • "Sh!"

  • "What is it, Huck?" "They're HUMANS!

  • One of 'em is, anyway. One of 'em's old Muff Potter's voice."

  • "No--'tain't so, is it?"

  • "I bet I know it. Don't you stir nor budge.

  • He ain't sharp enough to notice us. Drunk, the same as usual, likely--blamed

  • old rip!"

  • "All right, I'll keep still. Now they're stuck.

  • Can't find it. Here they come again.

  • Now they're hot.

  • Cold again. Hot again.

  • Red hot! They're p'inted right, this time.

  • Say, Huck, I know another o' them voices; it's Injun Joe."

  • "That's so--that murderin' half-breed! I'd druther they was devils a dern sight.

  • What kin they be up to?"

  • The whisper died wholly out, now, for the three men had reached the grave and stood

  • within a few feet of the boys' hiding- place.

  • "Here it is," said the third voice; and the owner of it held the lantern up and

  • revealed the face of young Doctor Robinson.

  • Potter and Injun Joe were carrying a handbarrow with a rope and a couple of

  • shovels on it. They cast down their load and began to

  • open the grave.

  • The doctor put the lantern at the head of the grave and came and sat down with his

  • back against one of the elm trees. He was so close the boys could have

  • touched him.

  • "Hurry, men!" he said, in a low voice; "the moon might

  • come out at any moment." They growled a response and went on

  • digging.

  • For some time there was no noise but the grating sound of the spades discharging

  • their freight of mould and gravel. It was very monotonous.

  • Finally a spade struck upon the coffin with a dull woody accent, and within

  • another minute or two the men had hoisted it out on the ground.

  • They pried off the lid with their shovels, got out the body and dumped it rudely on

  • the ground. The moon drifted from behind the clouds

  • and exposed the pallid face.

  • The barrow was got ready and the corpse placed on it, covered with a blanket, and

  • bound to its place with the rope.

  • Potter took out a large spring-knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and

  • then said:

  • "Now the cussed thing's ready, Sawbones, and you'll just out with another five, or

  • here she stays." "That's the talk!"

  • said Injun Joe.

  • "Look here, what does this mean?" said the doctor.

  • "You required your pay in advance, and I've paid you."

  • "Yes, and you done more than that," said Injun Joe, approaching the doctor, who was

  • now standing.

  • "Five years ago you drove me away from your father's kitchen one night, when I

  • come to ask for something to eat, and you said I warn't there for any good; and when

  • I swore I'd get even with you if it took a

  • hundred years, your father had me jailed for a vagrant.

  • Did you think I'd forget? The Injun blood ain't in me for nothing.

  • And now I've GOT you, and you got to SETTLE, you know!"

  • He was threatening the doctor, with his fist in his face, by this time.

  • The doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian on the ground.

  • Potter dropped his knife, and exclaimed: "Here, now, don't you hit my pard!"

  • and the next moment he had grappled with the doctor and the two were struggling

  • with might and main, trampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels.

  • Injun Joe sprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion, snatched up Potter's

  • knife, and went creeping, catlike and stooping, round and round about the

  • combatants, seeking an opportunity.

  • All at once the doctor flung himself free, seized the heavy headboard of Williams'

  • grave and felled Potter to the earth with it--and in the same instant the half-breed

  • saw his chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the young man's breast.

  • He reeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him with his blood, and in the

  • same moment the clouds blotted out the dreadful spectacle and the two frightened

  • boys went speeding away in the dark.

  • Presently, when the moon emerged again, Injun Joe was standing over the two forms,

  • contemplating them. The doctor murmured inarticulately, gave a

  • long gasp or two and was still.

  • The half-breed muttered: "THAT score is settled--damn you."

  • Then he robbed the body.

  • After which he put the fatal knife in Potter's open right hand, and sat down on

  • the dismantled coffin. Three --four--five minutes passed, and

  • then Potter began to stir and moan.

  • His hand closed upon the knife; he raised it, glanced at it, and let it fall, with a

  • shudder.

  • Then he sat up, pushing the body from him, and gazed at it, and then around him,

  • confusedly. His eyes met Joe's.

  • "Lord, how is this, Joe?"

  • he said. "It's a dirty business," said Joe, without

  • moving. "What did you do it for?"

  • "I!

  • I never done it!" "Look here!

  • That kind of talk won't wash." Potter trembled and grew white.

  • "I thought I'd got sober.

  • I'd no business to drink to-night. But it's in my head yet--worse'n when we

  • started here. I'm all in a muddle; can't recollect

  • anything of it, hardly.

  • Tell me, Joe--HONEST, now, old feller--did I do it?

  • Joe, I never meant to--'pon my soul and honor, I never meant to, Joe.

  • Tell me how it was, Joe.

  • Oh, it's awful--and him so young and promising."

  • "Why, you two was scuffling, and he fetched you one with the headboard and you

  • fell flat; and then up you come, all reeling and staggering like, and snatched

  • the knife and jammed it into him, just as

  • he fetched you another awful clip--and here you've laid, as dead as a wedge til

  • now." "Oh, I didn't know what I was a-doing.

  • I wish I may die this minute if I did.

  • It was all on account of the whiskey and the excitement, I reckon.

  • I never used a weepon in my life before, Joe.

  • I've fought, but never with weepons.

  • They'll all say that. Joe, don't tell!

  • Say you won't tell, Joe--that's a good feller.

  • I always liked you, Joe, and stood up for you, too.

  • Don't you remember? You WON'T tell, WILL you, Joe?"

  • And the poor creature dropped on his knees before the stolid murderer, and clasped

  • his appealing hands.

  • "No, you've always been fair and square with me, Muff Potter, and I won't go back

  • on you. There, now, that's as fair as a man can

  • say."

  • "Oh, Joe, you're an angel. I'll bless you for this the longest day I

  • live." And Potter began to cry.

  • "Come, now, that's enough of that.

  • This ain't any time for blubbering. You be off yonder way and I'll go this.

  • Move, now, and don't leave any tracks behind you."

  • Potter started on a trot that quickly increased to a run.

  • The half-breed stood looking after him. He muttered:

  • "If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as he had the look of

  • being, he won't think of the knife till he's gone so far he'll be afraid to come

  • back after it to such a place by himself - -chicken-heart!"

  • Two or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the lidless

  • coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the moon's.

  • The stillness was complete again, too.

  • >

  • Chapter X THE two boys flew on and on, toward the

  • village, speechless with horror.

  • They glanced backward over their shoulders from time to time, apprehensively, as if

  • they feared they might be followed.

  • Every stump that started up in their path seemed a man and an enemy, and made them

  • catch their breath; and as they sped by some outlying cottages that lay near the

  • village, the barking of the aroused watch- dogs seemed to give wings to their feet.

  • "If we can only get to the old tannery before we break down!"

  • whispered Tom, in short catches between breaths.

  • "I can't stand it much longer."

  • Huckleberry's hard pantings were his only reply, and the boys fixed their eyes on

  • the goal of their hopes and bent to their work to win it.

  • They gained steadily on it, and at last, breast to breast, they burst through the

  • open door and fell grateful and exhausted in the sheltering shadows beyond.

  • By and by their pulses slowed down, and Tom whispered:

  • "Huckleberry, what do you reckon'll come of this?"

  • "If Doctor Robinson dies, I reckon hanging'll come of it."

  • "Do you though?" "Why, I KNOW it, Tom."

  • Tom thought a while, then he said:

  • "Who'll tell? We?"

  • "What are you talking about? S'pose something happened and Injun Joe

  • DIDN'T hang?

  • Why, he'd kill us some time or other, just as dead sure as we're a laying here."

  • "That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck."

  • "If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it, if he's fool enough.

  • He's generally drunk enough." Tom said nothing--went on thinking.

  • Presently he whispered:

  • "Huck, Muff Potter don't know it. How can he tell?"

  • "What's the reason he don't know it?" "Because he'd just got that whack when

  • Injun Joe done it.

  • D'you reckon he could see anything? D'you reckon he knowed anything?"

  • "By hokey, that's so, Tom!" "And besides, look-a-here--maybe that

  • whack done for HIM!"

  • "No, 'taint likely, Tom. He had liquor in him; I could see that;

  • and besides, he always has.

  • Well, when pap's full, you might take and belt him over the head with a church and

  • you couldn't phase him. He says so, his own self.

  • So it's the same with Muff Potter, of course.

  • But if a man was dead sober, I reckon maybe that whack might fetch him; I dono."

  • After another reflective silence, Tom said:

  • "Hucky, you sure you can keep mum?" "Tom, we GOT to keep mum.

  • You know that.

  • That Injun devil wouldn't make any more of drownding us than a couple of cats, if we

  • was to squeak 'bout this and they didn't hang him.

  • Now, look-a-here, Tom, less take and swear to one another--that's what we got to do--

  • swear to keep mum." "I'm agreed.

  • It's the best thing.

  • Would you just hold hands and swear that we--"

  • "Oh no, that wouldn't do for this.

  • That's good enough for little rubbishy common things--specially with gals, cuz

  • THEY go back on you anyway, and blab if they get in a huff--but there orter be

  • writing 'bout a big thing like this.

  • And blood." Tom's whole being applauded this idea.

  • It was deep, and dark, and awful; the hour, the circumstances, the surroundings,

  • were in keeping with it.

  • He picked up a clean pine shingle that lay in the moonlight, took a little fragment

  • of "red keel" out of his pocket, got the moon on his work, and painfully scrawled

  • these lines, emphasizing each slow down-

  • stroke by clamping his tongue between his teeth, and letting up the pressure on the

  • up-strokes. [See next page.]

  • "Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer swears they will keep mum about This and They wish They may

  • Drop down dead in Their Tracks if They ever Tell and Rot."

  • Huckleberry was filled with admiration of Tom's facility in writing, and the

  • sublimity of his language.

  • He at once took a pin from his lapel and was going to prick his flesh, but Tom

  • said: "Hold on!

  • Don't do that.

  • A pin's brass. It might have verdigrease on it."

  • "What's verdigrease?" "It's p'ison.

  • That's what it is.

  • You just swaller some of it once --you'll see."

  • So Tom unwound the thread from one of his needles, and each boy pricked the ball of

  • his thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood.

  • In time, after many squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials, using the ball of

  • his little finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry how to make an

  • H and an F, and the oath was complete.

  • They buried the shingle close to the wall, with some dismal ceremonies and

  • incantations, and the fetters that bound their tongues were considered to be locked

  • and the key thrown away.

  • A figure crept stealthily through a break in the other end of the ruined building,

  • now, but they did not notice it. "Tom," whispered Huckleberry, "does this

  • keep us from EVER telling --ALWAYS?"

  • "Of course it does. It don't make any difference WHAT happens,

  • we got to keep mum. We'd drop down dead--don't YOU know that?"

  • "Yes, I reckon that's so."

  • They continued to whisper for some little time.

  • Presently a dog set up a long, lugubrious howl just outside--within ten feet of

  • them.

  • The boys clasped each other suddenly, in an agony of fright.

  • "Which of us does he mean?" gasped Huckleberry.

  • "I dono--peep through the crack.

  • Quick!" "No, YOU, Tom!"

  • "I can't--I can't DO it, Huck!" "Please, Tom.

  • There 'tis again!"

  • "Oh, lordy, I'm thankful!" whispered Tom.

  • "I know his voice. It's Bull Harbison."

  • *

  • [* If Mr. Harbison owned a slave named Bull, Tom would have spoken of him as

  • "Harbison's Bull," but a son or a dog of that name was "Bull Harbison."]

  • "Oh, that's good--I tell you, Tom, I was most scared to death; I'd a bet anything

  • it was a STRAY dog." The dog howled again.

  • The boys' hearts sank once more.

  • "Oh, my! that ain't no Bull Harbison!"

  • whispered Huckleberry. "DO, Tom!"

  • Tom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put his eye to the crack.

  • His whisper was hardly audible when he said:

  • "Oh, Huck, IT S A STRAY DOG!"

  • "Quick, Tom, quick! Who does he mean?"

  • "Huck, he must mean us both--we're right together."

  • "Oh, Tom, I reckon we're goners.

  • I reckon there ain't no mistake 'bout where I'LL go to.

  • I been so wicked." "Dad fetch it!

  • This comes of playing hookey and doing everything a feller's told NOT to do.

  • I might a been good, like Sid, if I'd a tried --but no, I wouldn't, of course.

  • But if ever I get off this time, I lay I'll just WALLER in Sunday-schools!"

  • And Tom began to snuffle a little. "YOU bad!"

  • and Huckleberry began to snuffle too.

  • "Consound it, Tom Sawyer, you're just old pie, 'longside o' what I am.

  • Oh, LORDY, lordy, lordy, I wisht I only had half your chance."

  • Tom choked off and whispered:

  • "Look, Hucky, look! He's got his BACK to us!"

  • Hucky looked, with joy in his heart. "Well, he has, by jingoes!

  • Did he before?"

  • "Yes, he did. But I, like a fool, never thought.

  • Oh, this is bully, you know. NOW who can he mean?"

  • The howling stopped.

  • Tom pricked up his ears. "Sh!

  • What's that?" he whispered.

  • "Sounds like--like hogs grunting.

  • No--it's somebody snoring, Tom." "That IS it!

  • Where 'bouts is it, Huck?" "I bleeve it's down at 'tother end.

  • Sounds so, anyway.

  • Pap used to sleep there, sometimes, 'long with the hogs, but laws bless you, he just

  • lifts things when HE snores. Besides, I reckon he ain't ever coming

  • back to this town any more."

  • The spirit of adventure rose in the boys' souls once more.

  • "Hucky, do you das't to go if I lead?" "I don't like to, much.

  • Tom, s'pose it's Injun Joe!"

  • Tom quailed.

  • But presently the temptation rose up strong again and the boys agreed to try,

  • with the understanding that they would take to their heels if the snoring

  • stopped.

  • So they went tiptoeing stealthily down, the one behind the other.

  • When they had got to within five steps of the snorer, Tom stepped on a stick, and it

  • broke with a sharp snap.

  • The man moaned, writhed a little, and his face came into the moonlight.

  • It was Muff Potter.

  • The boys' hearts had stood still, and their hopes too, when the man moved, but

  • their fears passed away now.

  • They tiptoed out, through the broken weather-boarding, and stopped at a little

  • distance to exchange a parting word. That long, lugubrious howl rose on the

  • night air again!

  • They turned and saw the strange dog standing within a few feet of where Potter

  • was lying, and FACING Potter, with his nose pointing heavenward.

  • "Oh, geeminy, it's HIM!"

  • exclaimed both boys, in a breath.

  • "Say, Tom--they say a stray dog come howling around Johnny Miller's house,

  • 'bout midnight, as much as two weeks ago; and a whippoorwill come in and lit on the

  • banisters and sung, the very same evening; and there ain't anybody dead there yet."

  • "Well, I know that. And suppose there ain't.

  • Didn't Gracie Miller fall in the kitchen fire and burn herself terrible the very

  • next Saturday?" "Yes, but she ain't DEAD.

  • And what's more, she's getting better, too."

  • "All right, you wait and see. She's a goner, just as dead sure as Muff

  • Potter's a goner.

  • That's what the niggers say, and they know all about these kind of things, Huck."

  • Then they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept in at his bedroom window

  • the night was almost spent.

  • He undressed with excessive caution, and fell asleep congratulating himself that

  • nobody knew of his escapade.

  • He was not aware that the gently-snoring Sid was awake, and had been so for an

  • hour. When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone.

  • There was a late look in the light, a late sense in the atmosphere.

  • He was startled. Why had he not been called--persecuted

  • till he was up, as usual?

  • The thought filled him with bodings. Within five minutes he was dressed and

  • down-stairs, feeling sore and drowsy. The family were still at table, but they

  • had finished breakfast.

  • There was no voice of rebuke; but there were averted eyes; there was a silence and

  • an air of solemnity that struck a chill to the culprit's heart.

  • He sat down and tried to seem gay, but it was up-hill work; it roused no smile, no

  • response, and he lapsed into silence and let his heart sink down to the depths.

  • After breakfast his aunt took him aside, and Tom almost brightened in the hope that

  • he was going to be flogged; but it was not so.

  • His aunt wept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old heart so;

  • and finally told him to go on, and ruin himself and bring her gray hairs with

  • sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try any more.

  • This was worse than a thousand whippings, and Tom's heart was sorer now than his

  • body.

  • He cried, he pleaded for forgiveness, promised to reform over and over again,

  • and then received his dismissal, feeling that he had won but an imperfect

  • forgiveness and established but a feeble confidence.

  • He left the presence too miserable to even feel revengeful toward Sid; and so the

  • latter's prompt retreat through the back gate was unnecessary.

  • He moped to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging, along with Joe Harper,

  • for playing hookey the day before, with the air of one whose heart was busy with

  • heavier woes and wholly dead to trifles.

  • Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on his desk and his jaws in his

  • hands, and stared at the wall with the stony stare of suffering that has reached

  • the limit and can no further go.

  • His elbow was pressing against some hard substance.

  • After a long time he slowly and sadly changed his position, and took up this

  • object with a sigh.

  • It was in a paper. He unrolled it.

  • A long, lingering, colossal sigh followed, and his heart broke.

  • It was his brass andiron knob!

  • This final feather broke the camel's back.

  • >

THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER BY MARK TWAIN (Samuel Langhorne Clemens)

字幕與單字

單字即點即查 點擊單字可以查詢單字解釋

B1 中級 美國腔

第1部--《湯姆-索亞歷險記》有聲讀物，馬克-吐溫著（第01-10章）。 (Part 1 - The Adventures of Tom Sawyer Audiobook by Mark Twain (Chs 01-10))

  • 640 49
    Wanda Wang 發佈於 2021 年 01 月 14 日
影片單字