"THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER\n\nBy Mark Twain\n\n(Samuel Langhorne Clemens)\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAPTER I. Y-o-u-u Tom-Aunt Polly Decides Upon her Duty--Tom Practices\nMusic--The Challenge--A Private Entrance\n\nCHAPTER II. Strong Temptations--Strategic Movements--The Innocents\nBeguiled\n\nCHAPTER III. Tom as a General--Triumph and Reward--Dismal\nFelicity--Commission and Omission\n\nCHAPTER IV. Mental Acrobatics--Attending Sunday--School--The\nSuperintendent--\"Showing off\"--Tom Lionized\n\nCHAPTER V. A Useful Minister--In Church--The Climax\n\nCHAPTER VI. Self-Examination--Dentistry--The Midnight Charm--Witches and\nDevils--Cautious Approaches--Happy Hours\n\nCHAPTER VII. A Treaty Entered Into--Early Lessons--A Mistake Made\n\nCHAPTER VIII. Tom Decides on his Course--Old Scenes Re-enacted\n\nCHAPTER IX. A Solemn Situation--Grave Subjects Introduced--Injun Joe\nExplains\n\nCHAPTER X. The Solemn Oath--Terror Brings Repentance--Mental Punishment\n\nCHAPTER XI. Muff Potter Comes Himself--Tom's Conscience at Work\n\nCHAPTER XII. Tom Shows his Generosity--Aunt Polly Weakens\n\nCHAPTER XIII. The Young Pirates--Going to the Rendezvous--The Camp--Fire\nTalk\n\nCHAPTER XIV. Camp-Life--A Sensation--Tom Steals Away from Camp\n\nCHAPTER XV. Tom Reconnoiters--Learns the Situation--Reports at Camp\n\nCHAPTER XVI. A Day's Amusements--Tom Reveals a Secret--The Pirates take a\nLesson--A Night Surprise--An Indian War\n\nCHAPTER XVII. Memories of the Lost Heroes--The Point in Tom's Secret\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. Tom's Feelings Investigated--Wonderful Dream--Becky\nThatcher Overshadowed--Tom Becomes Jealous--Black Revenge\n\nCHAPTER XIX. Tom Tells the Truth\n\nCHAPTER XX. Becky in a Dilemma--Tom's Nobility Asserts Itself\n\nCHAPTER XXI. Youthful Eloquence--Compositions by the Young Ladies--A\nLengthy Vision--The Boy's Vengeance Satisfied\n\nCHAPTER XXII. Tom's Confidence Betrayed--Expects Signal Punishment\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. Old Muff's Friends--Muff Potter in Court--Muff Potter\nSaved\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. Tom as the Village Hero--Days of Splendor and Nights of\nHorror--Pursuit of Injun Joe\n\nCHAPTER XXV. About Kings and Diamonds--Search for the Treasure--Dead\nPeople and Ghosts\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. The Haunted House--Sleepy Ghosts--A Box of Gold--Bitter Luck\n\nCHAPTER XXVII. Doubts to be Settled--The Young Detectives\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII. An Attempt at No. Two--Huck Mounts Guard\n\nCHAPTER XXIX. The Pic-nic--Huck on Injun Joe's Track--The \"Revenge\"\nJob--Aid for the Widow\n\nCHAPTER XXX. The Welchman Reports--Huck Under Fire--The Story Circulated\n--A New Sensation--Hope Giving Way to Despair\n\nCHAPTER XXXI. An Exploring Expedition--Trouble Commences--Lost in the\nCave--Total Darkness--Found but not Saved\n\nCHAPTER XXXII. Tom tells the Story of their Escape--Tom's Enemy in Safe\nQuarters\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII. The Fate of Injun Joe--Huck and Tom Compare Notes\n--An Expedition to the Cave--Protection Against Ghosts--\"An Awful Snug\nPlace\"--A Reception at the Widow Douglas's\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV. Springing a Secret--Mr. Jones' Surprise a Failure\n\nCHAPTER XXXV. A New Order of Things--Poor Huck--New Adventures Planned\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\nTom Sawyer\n\nTom at Home\n\nAunt Polly Beguiled\n\nA Good Opportunity\n\nWho's Afraid\n\nLate Home\n\nJim\n\n'Tendin' to Business\n\nAin't that Work?\n\nCat and Toys\n\nAmusement\n\nBecky Thatcher\n\nPaying Off\n\nAfter the Battle\n\n\"Showing Off\"\n\nNot Amiss\n\nMary\n\nTom Contemplating\n\nDampened Ardor\n\nYouth\n\nBoyhood\n\nUsing the \"Barlow\"\n\nThe Church\n\nNecessities\n\nTom as a Sunday-School Hero    \n\nThe Prize\n\nAt Church\n\nThe Model Boy\n\nThe Church Choir\n\nA Side Show\n\nResult of Playing in Church\n\nThe Pinch-Bug\n\nSid\n\nDentistry\n\nHuckleberry Finn\n\nMother Hopkins\n\nResult of Tom's Truthfulness\n\nTom as an Artist\n\nInterrupted Courtship\n\nThe Master\n\nVain Pleading\n\nTail Piece\n\nThe Grave in the Woods\n\nTom Meditates\n\nRobin Hood and his Foe\n\nDeath of Robin Hood\n\nMidnight\n\nTom's Mode of Egress\n\nTom's Effort at Prayer\n\nMuff Potter Outwitted\n\nThe Graveyard\n\nForewarnings\n\nDisturbing Muff's Sleep\n\nTom's Talk with his Aunt\n\nMuff Potter\n\nA Suspicious Incident\n\nInjun Joe's two Victims\n\nIn the Coils\n\nPeter\n\nAunt Polly seeks Information\n\nA General Good Time\n\nDemoralized\n\nJoe Harper\n\nOn Board Their First Prize\n\nThe Pirates Ashore\n\nWild Life\n\nThe Pirate's Bath\n\nThe Pleasant Stroll\n\nThe Search for the Drowned\n\nThe Mysterious Writing\n\nRiver View\n\nWhat Tom Saw\n\nTom Swims the River\n\nTaking Lessons\n\nThe Pirates' Egg Market\n\nTom Looking for Joe's Knife    \n\nThe Thunder Storm\n\nTerrible Slaughter\n\nThe Mourner\n\nTom's Proudest Moment\n\nAmy Lawrence\n\nTom tries to Remember\n\nThe Hero\n\nA Flirtation\n\nBecky Retaliates\n\nA Sudden Frost\n\nCounter-irritation\n\nAunt Polly\n\nTom justified\n\nThe Discovery\n\nCaught in the Act\n\nTom Astonishes the School\n\nLiterature\n\nTom Declaims\n\nExamination Evening\n\nOn Exhibition\n\nPrize Authors\n\nThe Master's Dilemma\n\nThe School House\n\nThe Cadet\n\nHappy for Two Days\n\nEnjoying the Vacation\n\nThe Stolen Melons\n\nThe Judge\n\nVisiting the Prisoner\n\nTom Swears\n\nThe Court Room\n\nThe Detective\n\nTom Dreams\n\nThe Treasure\n\nThe Private Conference\n\nA King; Poor Fellow!\n\nBusiness\n\nThe Ha'nted House\n\nInjun Joe\n\nThe Greatest and Best\n\nHidden Treasures Unearthed\n\nThe Boy's Salvation\n\nRoom No. 2\n\nThe Next Day's Conference\n\nTreasures\n\nUncle Jake\n\nBuck at Home\n\nThe Haunted Room\n\n\"Run for Your Life\"\n\nMcDougal's Cave\n\nInside the Cave\n\nHuck on Duty\n\nA Rousing Act\n\nTail Piece\n\nThe Welchman\n\nResult of a Sneeze\n\nCornered\n\nAlarming Discoveries\n\nTom and Becky stir up the Town\n\nTom's Marks\n\nHuck Questions the Widow\n\nVampires\n\nWonders of the Cave\n\nAttacked by Natives\n\nDespair\n\nThe Wedding Cake\n\nA New Terror\n\nDaylight\n\n\"Turn Out\" to Receive Tom and Becky\n\nThe Escape from the Cave\n\nFate of the Ragged Man\n\nThe Treasures Found\n\nCaught at Last\n\nDrop after Drop\n\nHaving a Good Time\n\nA Business Trip\n\n\"Got it at Last!\"\n\nTail Piece\n\nWidow Douglas\n\nTom Backs his Statement\n\nTail Piece\n\nHuck Transformed\n\nComfortable Once More\n\nHigh up in Society\n\nContentment\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nMost of the adventures recorded in this book really occurred; one or two\nwere experiences of my own, the rest those of boys who were schoolmates\nof mine. Huck Finn is drawn from life; Tom Sawyer also, but not from an\nindividual--he is a combination of the characteristics of three boys whom\nI knew, and therefore belongs to the composite order of architecture.\n\nThe odd superstitions touched upon were all prevalent among children and\nslaves in the West at the period of this story--that is to say, thirty or\nforty years ago.\n\nAlthough my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and\ngirls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account,\nfor part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what\nthey once were themselves, and of how they felt and thought and talked,\nand what queer enterprises they sometimes engaged in.\n\nTHE AUTHOR.\n\nHARTFORD, 1876.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\"TOM!\"\n\nNo answer.\n\n\"TOM!\"\n\nNo answer.\n\n\"What's gone with that boy,  I wonder? You TOM!\"\n\nNo answer.\n\nThe old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the\nroom; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or\nnever looked _through_ them for so small a thing as a boy; they were\nher state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for \"style,\" not\nservice--she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well.\nShe looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but\nstill loud enough for the furniture to hear:\n\n\"Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll--\"\n\nShe did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching\nunder the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the\npunches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.\n\n\"I never did see the beat of that boy!\"\n\nShe went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the\ntomato vines and \"jimpson\" weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So\nshe lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:\n\n\"Y-o-u-u TOM!\"\n\nThere was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize\na small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.\n\n\"There! I might 'a' thought of that closet. What you been doing in\nthere?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What _is_ that\ntruck?\"\n\n\"I don't know, aunt.\"\n\n\"Well, I know. It's jam--that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you\ndidn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch.\"\n\nThe switch hovered in the air--the peril was desperate--\n\n\"My! Look behind you, aunt!\"\n\nThe old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger.\nThe lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and\ndisappeared over it.\n\nHis aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle\nlaugh.\n\n\"Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything? Ain't he played me tricks\nenough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time? But old\nfools is the biggest fools there is. Can't learn an old dog new tricks,\nas the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days,\nand how is a body to know what's coming? He 'pears to know just how long\nhe can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make\nout to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down again and\nI can't hit him a lick. I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and that's\nthe Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child,\nas the Good Book says. I'm a laying up sin and suffering for us both,\nI know. He's full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he's my own\ndead sister's boy, poor thing, and I ain't got the heart to lash him,\nsomehow. Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and\nevery time I hit him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is\nborn of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture\nsays, and I reckon it's so. He'll play hookey this evening, * and [*\nSouthwestern for \"afternoon\"] I'll just be obleeged to make him work,\ntomorrow, to punish him. It's mighty hard to make him work Saturdays,\nwhen all the boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he\nhates anything else, and I've _got_ to do some of my duty by him, or\nI'll be the ruination of the child.\"\n\nTom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home\nbarely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day's wood\nand split the kindlings before supper--at least he was there in time\nto tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work.\nTom's younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through\nwith his part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy,\nand had no adventurous, trouble-some ways.\n\nWhile Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity\noffered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and\nvery deep--for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like\nmany other simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she\nwas endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she\nloved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low\ncunning. Said she:\n\n\"Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\n\"Powerful warm, warn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\n\"Didn't you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?\"\n\nA bit of a scare shot through Tom--a touch of uncomfortable suspicion. He\nsearched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. So he said:\n\n\"No'm--well, not very much.\"\n\nThe old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said:\n\n\"But you ain't too warm now, though.\" And it flattered her to reflect\nthat she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing\nthat that was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew\nwhere the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:\n\n\"Some of us pumped on our heads--mine's damp yet. See?\"\n\nAunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of\ncircumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new\ninspiration:\n\n\"Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to\npump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!\"\n\nThe trouble vanished out of Tom's face. He opened his jacket. His shirt\ncollar was securely sewed.\n\n\"Bother! Well, go 'long with you. I'd made sure you'd played hookey\nand been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you're a kind of a\nsinged cat, as the saying is--better'n you look. _This_ time.\"\n\nShe was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom\nhad stumbled into obedient conduct for once.\n\nBut Sidney said:\n\n\"Well, now, if I didn't think you sewed his collar with white thread,\nbut it's black.\"\n\n\"Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!\"\n\nBut Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:\n\n\"Siddy, I'll lick you for that.\"\n\nIn a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into\nthe lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them--one needle\ncarried white thread and the other black. He said:\n\n\"She'd never noticed if it hadn't been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes\nshe sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to\ngee-miny she'd stick to one or t'other--I can't keep the run of 'em. But\nI bet you I'll lam Sid for that. I'll learn him!\"\n\nHe was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well\nthough--and loathed him.\n\nWithin two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles. Not\nbecause his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a\nman's are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore\nthem down and drove them out of his mind for the time--just as men's\nmisfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new\ninterest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired\nfrom a negro, and he was suffering to practise it un-disturbed. It\nconsisted in a peculiar bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble,\nproduced by touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short\nintervals in the midst of the music--the reader probably remembers how to\ndo it, if he has ever been a boy. Diligence and attention soon gave him\nthe knack of it, and he strode down the street with his mouth full of\nharmony and his soul full of gratitude. He felt much as an astronomer\nfeels who has discovered a new planet--no doubt, as far as strong, deep,\nunalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with the boy, not the\nastronomer.\n\nThe summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom\nchecked his whistle. A stranger was before him--a boy a shade larger\nthan himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an im-pressive\ncuriosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy\nwas well dressed, too--well dressed on a week-day. This was simply as\nastounding. His cap was a dainty thing, his close-buttoned blue cloth\nroundabout was new and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes\non--and it was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of\nribbon. He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom's vitals. The\nmore Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose\nat his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to\nhim to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other moved--but only\nsidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all the\ntime. Finally Tom said:\n\n\"I can lick you!\"\n\n\"I'd like to see you try it.\"\n\n\"Well, I can do it.\"\n\n\"No you can't, either.\"\n\n\"Yes I can.\"\n\n\"No you can't.\"\n\n\"I can.\"\n\n\"You can't.\"\n\n\"Can!\"\n\n\"Can't!\"\n\nAn uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:\n\n\"What's your name?\"\n\n\"'Tisn't any of your business, maybe.\"\n\n\"Well I 'low I'll _make_ it my business.\"\n\n\"Well why don't you?\"\n\n\"If you say much, I will.\"\n\n\"Much--much--_much_. There now.\"\n\n\"Oh, you think you're mighty smart, _don't_ you? I could lick you with\none hand tied behind me, if I wanted to.\"\n\n\"Well why don't you _do_ it? You _say_ you can do it.\"\n\n\"Well I _will_, if you fool with me.\"\n\n\"Oh yes--I've seen whole families in the same fix.\"\n\n\"Smarty! You think you're _some_, now, _don't_ you? Oh, what a hat!\"\n\n\"You can lump that hat if you don't like it. I dare you to knock it\noff--and anybody that'll take a dare will suck eggs.\"\n\n\"You're a liar!\"\n\n\"You're another.\"\n\n\"You're a fighting liar and dasn't take it up.\"\n\n\"Aw--take a walk!\"\n\n\"Say--if you give me much more of your sass I'll take and bounce a rock\noff'n your head.\"\n\n\"Oh, of _course_ you will.\"\n\n\"Well I _will_.\"\n\n\"Well why don't you _do_ it then? What do you keep _saying_ you will\nfor? Why don't you _do_ it? It's because you're afraid.\"\n\n\"I _ain't_ afraid.\"\n\n\"You are.\"\n\n\"I ain't.\"\n\n\"You are.\"\n\nAnother pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently\nthey were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:\n\n\"Get away from here!\"\n\n\"Go away yourself!\"\n\n\"I won't.\"\n\n\"I won't either.\"\n\nSo they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and both\nshoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with hate. But\nneither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and\nflushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:\n\n\"You're a coward and a pup. I'll tell my big brother on you, and he can\nthrash you with his little finger, and I'll make him do it, too.\"\n\n\"What do I care for your big brother? I've got a brother that's bigger\nthan he is--and what's more, he can throw him over that fence, too.\"\n[Both brothers were imaginary.]\n\n\"That's a lie.\"\n\n\"_Your_ saying so don't make it so.\"\n\nTom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:\n\n\"I dare you to step over that, and I'll lick you till you can't stand\nup. Anybody that'll take a dare will steal sheep.\"\n\nThe new boy stepped over promptly, and said:\n\n\"Now you said you'd do it, now let's see you do it.\"\n\n\"Don't you crowd me now; you better look out.\"\n\n\"Well, you _said_ you'd do it--why don't you do it?\"\n\n\"By jingo! for two cents I _will_ do it.\"\n\nThe new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out\nwith derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys\nwere rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and\nfor the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair and\nclothes, punched and scratched each other's nose, and covered themselves\nwith dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the\nfog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him\nwith his fists. \"Holler 'nuff!\" said he.\n\nThe boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying--mainly from rage.\n\n\"Holler 'nuff!\"--and the pounding went on.\n\nAt last the stranger got out a smothered \"'Nuff!\" and Tom let him up and\nsaid:\n\n\"Now that'll learn you. Better look out who you're fooling with next\ntime.\"\n\nThe new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing,\nsnuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and\nthreatening what he would do to Tom the \"next time he caught him out.\"\nTo which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and\nas soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it\nand hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like\nan antelope. Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he\nlived. He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the\nenemy to come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the\nwindow and declined. At last the enemy's mother appeared, and called Tom\na bad, vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went away; but\nhe said he \"'lowed\" to \"lay\" for that boy.\n\nHe got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in\nat the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and\nwhen she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn his\nSaturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its\nfirmness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nSATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and\nfresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if\nthe heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in\nevery face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom\nand the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond\nthe village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far\nenough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.\n\nTom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a\nlong-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and\na deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board\nfence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a\nburden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost\nplank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant\nwhitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed\nfence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at\nthe gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from\nthe town pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but\nnow it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at\nthe pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there\nwaiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting,\nskylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred\nand fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an\nhour--and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:\n\n\"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some.\"\n\nJim shook his head and said:\n\n\"Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis water\nan' not stop foolin' roun' wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars Tom gwine\nto ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long an' 'tend to my own\nbusiness--she 'lowed _she'd_ 'tend to de whitewashin'.\"\n\n\"Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's the way she always talks.\nGimme the bucket--I won't be gone only a a minute. _She_ won't ever\nknow.\"\n\n\"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n me.\n'Deed she would.\"\n\n\"_She_! She never licks anybody--whacks 'em over the head with her\nthimble--and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but\ntalk don't hurt--anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give you a\nmarvel. I'll give you a white alley!\"\n\nJim began to waver.\n\n\"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw.\"\n\n\"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful\n'fraid ole missis--\"\n\n\"And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe.\"\n\nJim was only human--this attraction was too much for him. He put down\nhis pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing\ninterest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he\nwas flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was\nwhitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with\na slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye.\n\nBut Tom's energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had\nplanned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys\nwould come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and\nthey would make a world of fun of him for having to work--the very\nthought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and\nexamined it--bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange\nof _work_, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour\nof pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and\ngave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless\nmoment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great,\nmagnificent inspiration.\n\nHe took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in\nsight presently--the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been\ndreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump--proof enough that his\nheart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and\ngiving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned\nding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As\nhe drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned\nfar over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp\nand circumstance--for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered\nhimself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and\nengine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own\nhurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them:\n\n\"Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!\" The headway ran almost out, and he\ndrew up slowly toward the sidewalk.\n\n\"Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!\" His arms straightened and stiffened\ndown his sides.\n\n\"Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow!\nChow!\" His right hand, mean-time, describing stately circles--for it was\nrepresenting a forty-foot wheel.\n\n\"Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!\"\nThe left hand began to describe circles.\n\n\"Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on\nthe stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling!\nChow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! _lively_ now! Come--out with\nyour spring-line--what're you about there! Take a turn round that stump\nwith the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now--let her go! Done with\nthe engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T! SH'T!\" (trying the\ngauge-cocks).\n\nTom went on whitewashing--paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared\na moment and then said: \"_Hi-Yi! You're_ up a stump, ain't you!\"\n\nNo answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then\nhe gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as\nbefore. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the\napple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:\n\n\"Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?\"\n\nTom wheeled suddenly and said:\n\n\"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing.\"\n\n\"Say--I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of\ncourse you'd druther _work_--wouldn't you? Course you would!\"\n\nTom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:\n\n\"What do you call work?\"\n\n\"Why, ain't _that_ work?\"\n\nTom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:\n\n\"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom\nSawyer.\"\n\n\"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you _like_ it?\"\n\nThe brush continued to move.\n\n\"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a\nchance to whitewash a fence every day?\"\n\nThat put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple.\nTom swept his brush daintily back and forth--stepped back to note the\neffect--added a touch here and there--criticised the effect again--Ben\nwatching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more\nabsorbed. Presently he said:\n\n\"Say, Tom, let _me_ whitewash a little.\"\n\nTom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:\n\n\"No--no--I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful\nparticular about this fence--right here on the street, you know--but if it\nwas the back fence I wouldn't mind and _she_ wouldn't. Yes, she's awful\nparticular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon\nthere ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it\nthe way it's got to be done.\"\n\n\"No--is that so? Oh come, now--lemme just try. Only just a little--I'd let\n_you_, if you was me, Tom.\"\n\n\"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly--well, Jim wanted to do\nit, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let\nSid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence\nand anything was to happen to it--\"\n\n\"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say--I'll give you\nthe core of my apple.\"\n\n\"Well, here--No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard--\"\n\n\"I'll give you _all_ of it!\"\n\nTom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his\nheart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the\nsun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by,\ndangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more\ninnocents. There was no lack of material; boys happened along every\nlittle while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time\nBen was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for\na kite, in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in\nfor a dead rat and a string to swing it with--and so on, and so on, hour\nafter hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a\npoor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in\nwealth. He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part\nof a jews-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool\ncannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a\nglass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles,\nsix fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass door-knob, a\ndog-collar--but no dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange-peel,\nand a dilapidated old window sash.\n\nHe had had a nice, good, idle time all the while--plenty of company--and\nthe fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of\nwhitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.\n\nTom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He\nhad discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it--namely,\nthat in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary\nto make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great and\nwise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have\ncomprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is _obliged_ to do,\nand that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And\nthis would help him to understand why constructing artificial flowers or\nperforming on a tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing\nMont Blanc is only amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England\nwho drive four-horse passenger-coaches twenty or thirty miles on a\ndaily line, in the summer, because the privilege costs them considerable\nmoney; but if they were offered wages for the service, that would turn\nit into work and then they would resign.\n\nThe boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place\nin his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to\nreport.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTOM presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an\nopen window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom,\nbreakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined. The balmy summer\nair, the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing\nmurmur of the bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her\nknitting--for she had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in her\nlap. Her spectacles were propped up on her gray head for safety. She had\nthought that of course Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered at\nseeing him place himself in her power again in this intrepid way. He\nsaid: \"Mayn't I go and play now, aunt?\"\n\n\"What, a'ready? How much have you done?\"\n\n\"It's all done, aunt.\"\n\n\"Tom, don't lie to me--I can't bear it.\"\n\n\"I ain't, aunt; it _is_ all done.\"\n\nAunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence. She went out to see for\nherself; and she would have been content to find twenty per cent. of\nTom's statement true. When she found the entire fence white-washed, and\nnot only whitewashed but elaborately coated and recoated, and even a\nstreak added to the ground, her astonishment was almost unspeakable. She\nsaid:\n\n\"Well, I never! There's no getting round it, you can work when you're a\nmind to, Tom.\" And then she diluted the compliment by adding, \"But it's\npowerful seldom you're a mind to, I'm bound to say. Well, go 'long and\nplay; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I'll tan you.\"\n\nShe was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took\nhim into the closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to him,\nalong with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor a treat\ntook to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort.\nAnd while she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he \"hooked\" a\ndoughnut.\n\nThen he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway\nthat led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were handy and\nthe air was full of them in a twinkling. They raged around Sid like a\nhail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her surprised faculties\nand sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken personal effect,\nand Tom was over the fence and gone. There was a gate, but as a general\nthing he was too crowded for time to make use of it. His soul was at\npeace, now that he had settled with Sid for calling attention to his\nblack thread and getting him into trouble.\n\nTom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by the\nback of his aunt's cow-stable. He presently got safely beyond the reach\nof capture and punishment, and hastened toward the public square of the\nvillage, where two \"military\" companies of boys had met for conflict,\naccording to previous appointment. Tom was General of one of these\narmies, Joe Harper (a bosom friend) General of the other. These two\ngreat commanders did not condescend to fight in person--that being better\nsuited to the still smaller fry--but sat together on an eminence\nand conducted the field operations by orders delivered through\naides-de-camp. Tom's army won a great victory, after a long and\nhard-fought battle. Then the dead were counted, prisoners exchanged,\nthe terms of the next disagreement agreed upon, and the day for the\nnecessary battle appointed; after which the armies fell into line and\nmarched away, and Tom turned homeward alone.\n\nAs he was passing by the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a new\ngirl in the garden--a lovely little blue-eyed creature with yellow\nhair plaited into two long-tails, white summer frock and embroidered\npan-talettes. The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a shot. A\ncertain Amy Lawrence vanished out of his heart and left not even a\nmemory of herself behind. He had thought he loved her to distraction;\nhe had regarded his passion as adoration; and behold it was only a poor\nlittle evanescent partiality. He had been months winning her; she had\nconfessed hardly a week ago; he had been the happiest and the proudest\nboy in the world only seven short days, and here in one instant of time\nshe had gone out of his heart like a casual stranger whose visit is\ndone.\n\nHe worshipped this new angel with furtive eye, till he saw that she had\ndiscovered him; then he pretended he did not know she was present, and\nbegan to \"show off\" in all sorts of absurd boyish ways, in order to win\nher admiration. He kept up this grotesque foolishness for some time;\nbut by-and-by, while he was in the midst of some dangerous gymnastic\nperformances, he glanced aside and saw that the little girl was wending\nher way toward the house. Tom came up to the fence and leaned on it,\ngrieving, and hoping she would tarry yet awhile longer. She halted a\nmoment on the steps and then moved toward the door. Tom heaved a great\nsigh as she put her foot on the threshold. But his face lit up,\nright away, for she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment before she\ndisappeared.\n\nThe boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower, and\nthen shaded his eyes with his hand and began to look down street as\nif he had discovered something of interest going on in that direction.\nPresently he picked up a straw and began trying to balance it on his\nnose, with his head tilted far back; and as he moved from side to side,\nin his efforts, he edged nearer and nearer toward the pansy; finally his\nbare foot rested upon it, his pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped\naway with the treasure and disappeared round the corner. But only for a\nminute--only while he could button the flower inside his jacket, next\nhis heart--or next his stomach, possibly, for he was not much posted in\nanatomy, and not hypercritical, anyway.\n\nHe returned, now, and hung about the fence till nightfall, \"showing\noff,\" as before; but the girl never exhibited herself again, though Tom\ncomforted himself a little with the hope that she had been near some\nwindow, meantime, and been aware of his attentions. Finally he strode\nhome reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.\n\nAll through supper his spirits were so high that his aunt wondered \"what\nhad got into the child.\" He took a good scolding about clodding Sid, and\ndid not seem to mind it in the least. He tried to steal sugar under his\naunt's very nose, and got his knuckles rapped for it. He said:\n\n\"Aunt, you don't whack Sid when he takes it.\"\n\n\"Well, Sid don't torment a body the way you do. You'd be always into\nthat sugar if I warn't watching you.\"\n\nPresently she stepped into the kitchen, and Sid, happy in his immunity,\nreached for the sugar-bowl--a sort of glorying over Tom which was\nwellnigh unbearable. But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl dropped and\nbroke. Tom was in ecstasies. In such ecstasies that he even controlled\nhis tongue and was silent. He said to himself that he would not speak a\nword, even when his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly still till she\nasked who did the mischief; and then he would tell, and there would be\nnothing so good in the world as to see that pet model \"catch it.\" He was\nso brimful of exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old\nlady came back and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath\nfrom over her spectacles. He said to himself, \"Now it's coming!\" And the\nnext instant he was sprawling on the floor! The potent palm was uplifted\nto strike again when Tom cried out:\n\n\"Hold on, now, what 'er you belting _me_ for?--Sid broke it!\"\n\nAunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity. But when\nshe got her tongue again, she only said:\n\n\"Umf! Well, you didn't get a lick amiss, I reckon. You been into some\nother audacious mischief when I wasn't around, like enough.\"\n\nThen her conscience reproached her, and she yearned to say something\nkind and loving; but she judged that this would be construed into a\nconfession that she had been in the wrong, and discipline forbade that.\nSo she kept silence, and went about her affairs with a troubled heart.\nTom sulked in a corner and exalted his woes. He knew that in her heart\nhis aunt was on her knees to him, and he was morosely gratified by the\nconsciousness of it. He would hang out no signals, he would take notice\nof none. He knew that a yearning glance fell upon him, now and then,\nthrough a film of tears, but he refused recognition of it. He pictured\nhimself lying sick unto death and his aunt bending over him beseeching\none little forgiving word, but he would turn his face to the wall, and\ndie with that word unsaid. Ah, how would she feel then? And he pictured\nhimself brought home from the river, dead, with his curls all wet, and\nhis sore heart at rest. How she would throw herself upon him, and how\nher tears would fall like rain, and her lips pray God to give her back\nher boy and she would never, never abuse him any more! But he would\nlie there cold and white and make no sign--a poor little sufferer, whose\ngriefs were at an end. He so worked upon his feelings with the pathos of\nthese dreams, that he had to keep swallowing, he was so like to choke;\nand his eyes swam in a blur of water, which overflowed when he winked,\nand ran down and trickled from the end of his nose. And such a luxury to\nhim was this petting of his sorrows, that he could not bear to have any\nworldly cheeriness or any grating delight intrude upon it; it was too\nsacred for such contact; and so, presently, when his cousin Mary danced\nin, all alive with the joy of seeing home again after an age-long visit\nof one week to the country, he got up and moved in clouds and darkness\nout at one door as she brought song and sunshine in at the other.\n\nHe wandered far from the accustomed haunts of boys, and sought desolate\nplaces that were in harmony with his spirit. A log raft in the river\ninvited him, and he seated himself on its outer edge and contemplated\nthe dreary vastness of the stream, wishing, the while, that he could\nonly be drowned, all at once and unconsciously, without undergoing the\nuncomfortable routine devised by nature. Then he thought of his flower.\nHe got it out, rumpled and wilted, and it mightily increased his dismal\nfelicity. He wondered if she would pity him if she knew? Would she\ncry, and wish that she had a right to put her arms around his neck and\ncomfort him? Or would she turn coldly away like all the hollow world?\nThis picture brought such an agony of pleasurable suffering that he\nworked it over and over again in his mind and set it up in new and\nvaried lights, till he wore it threadbare. At last he rose up sighing\nand departed in the darkness.\n\nAbout half-past nine or ten o'clock he came along the deserted street to\nwhere the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; no sound fell upon\nhis listening ear; a candle was casting a dull glow upon the curtain\nof a second-story window. Was the sacred presence there? He climbed the\nfence, threaded his stealthy way through the plants, till he stood under\nthat window; he looked up at it long, and with emotion; then he laid him\ndown on the ground under it, disposing himself upon his back, with his\nhands clasped upon his breast and holding his poor wilted flower.\nAnd thus he would die--out in the cold world, with no shelter over his\nhomeless head, no friendly hand to wipe the death-damps from his brow,\nno loving face to bend pityingly over him when the great agony came. And\nthus _she_ would see him when she looked out upon the glad morning, and\noh! would she drop one little tear upon his poor, lifeless form, would\nshe heave one little sigh to see a bright young life so rudely blighted,\nso untimely cut down?\n\nThe window went up, a maid-servant's discordant voice profaned the holy\ncalm, and a deluge of water drenched the prone martyr's remains!\n\nThe strangling hero sprang up with a relieving snort. There was a whiz\nas of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, a sound\nas of shivering glass followed, and a small, vague form went over the\nfence and shot away in the gloom.\n\nNot long after, as Tom, all undressed for bed, was surveying his\ndrenched garments by the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up; but if he\nhad any dim idea of making any \"references to allusions,\" he thought\nbetter of it and held his peace, for there was danger in Tom's eye.\n\nTom turned in without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid made mental\nnote of the omission.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE sun rose upon a tranquil world, and beamed down upon the peaceful\nvillage like a benediction. Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had family\nworship: it began with a prayer built from the ground up of solid\ncourses of Scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin mortar of\noriginality; and from the summit of this she delivered a grim chapter of\nthe Mosaic Law, as from Sinai.\n\nThen Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and went to work to \"get\nhis verses.\" Sid had learned his lesson days before. Tom bent all his\nenergies to the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the\nSermon on the Mount, because he could find no verses that were shorter.\nAt the end of half an hour Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson,\nbut no more, for his mind was traversing the whole field of human\nthought, and his hands were busy with distracting recreations. Mary took\nhis book to hear him recite, and he tried to find his way through the\nfog:\n\n\"Blessed are the--a--a--\"\n\n\"Poor\"--\n\n\"Yes--poor; blessed are the poor--a--a--\"\n\n\"In spirit--\"\n\n\"In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they--they--\"\n\n\"_Theirs_--\"\n\n\"For _theirs_. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom\nof heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they--they--\"\n\n\"Sh--\"\n\n\"For they--a--\"\n\n\"S, H, A--\"\n\n\"For they S, H--Oh, I don't know what it is!\"\n\n\"_Shall_!\"\n\n\"Oh, _shall_! for they shall--for they shall--a--a--shall mourn--a--a--blessed\nare they that shall--they that--a--they that shall mourn, for they\nshall--a--shall _what_? Why don't you tell me, Mary?--what do you want to\nbe so mean for?\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not teasing you. I wouldn't\ndo that. You must go and learn it again. Don't you be discouraged, Tom,\nyou'll manage it--and if you do, I'll give you something ever so nice.\nThere, now, that's a good boy.\"\n\n\"All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is.\"\n\n\"Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it's nice, it is nice.\"\n\n\"You bet you that's so, Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again.\"\n\nAnd he did \"tackle it again\"--and under the double pressure of curiosity\nand prospective gain he did it with such spirit that he accomplished a\nshining success. Mary gave him a brand-new \"Barlow\" knife worth twelve\nand a half cents; and the convulsion of delight that swept his system\nshook him to his foundations. True, the knife would not cut anything,\nbut it was a \"sure-enough\" Barlow, and there was inconceivable grandeur\nin that--though where the Western boys ever got the idea that such a\nweapon could possibly be counterfeited to its injury is an imposing\nmystery and will always remain so, perhaps. Tom contrived to scarify the\ncupboard with it, and was arranging to begin on the bureau, when he was\ncalled off to dress for Sunday-school.\n\nMary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went\noutside the door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he\ndipped the soap in the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves;\npoured out the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the kitchen\nand began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the door. But\nMary removed the towel and said:\n\n\"Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be so bad. Water won't hurt\nyou.\"\n\nTom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time he\nstood over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big breath\nand began. When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes shut\nand groping for the towel with his hands, an honorable testimony of\nsuds and water was dripping from his face. But when he emerged from\nthe towel, he was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped\nshort at his chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and beyond this line\nthere was a dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread downward in\nfront and backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand, and when she\nwas done with him he was a man and a brother, without distinction of\ncolor, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls\nwrought into a dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He privately\nsmoothed out the curls, with labor and difficulty, and plastered his\nhair close down to his head; for he held curls to be effeminate, and his\nown filled his life with bitterness.] Then Mary got out a suit of his\nclothing that had been used only on Sundays during two years--they were\nsimply called his \"other clothes\"--and so by that we know the size of his\nwardrobe. The girl \"put him to rights\" after he had dressed himself;\nshe buttoned his neat roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt\ncollar down over his shoulders, brushed him off and crowned him with\nhis speckled straw hat. He now looked exceedingly improved and\nuncomfortable. He was fully as uncomfortable as he looked; for there\nwas a restraint about whole clothes and cleanliness that galled him. He\nhoped that Mary would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted; she\ncoated them thoroughly with tallow, as was the custom, and brought\nthem out. He lost his temper and said he was always being made to do\neverything he didn't want to do. But Mary said, persuasively:\n\n\"Please, Tom--that's a good boy.\"\n\nSo he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three\nchildren set out for Sunday-school--a place that Tom hated with his whole\nheart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.\n\nSabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past ten; and then church\nservice. Two of the children always remained for the sermon voluntarily,\nand the other always remained too--for stronger reasons. The church's\nhigh-backed, uncushioned pews would seat about three hundred persons;\nthe edifice was but a small, plain affair, with a sort of pine board\ntree-box on top of it for a steeple. At the door Tom dropped back a step\nand accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:\n\n\"Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What'll you take for her?\"\n\n\"What'll you give?\"\n\n\"Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook.\"\n\n\"Less see 'em.\"\n\nTom exhibited. They were satisfactory, and the property changed hands.\nThen Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets, and some\nsmall trifle or other for a couple of blue ones. He waylaid other\nboys as they came, and went on buying tickets of various colors ten\nor fifteen minutes longer. He entered the church, now, with a swarm\nof clean and noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started\na quarrel with the first boy that came handy. The teacher, a grave,\nelderly man, interfered; then turned his back a moment and Tom pulled a\nboy's hair in the next bench, and was absorbed in his book when the boy\nturned around; stuck a pin in another boy, presently, in order to hear\nhim say \"Ouch!\" and got a new reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole\nclass were of a pattern--restless, noisy, and troublesome. When they came\nto recite their lessons, not one of them knew his verses perfectly, but\nhad to be prompted all along. However, they worried through, and each\ngot his reward--in small blue tickets, each with a passage of Scripture\non it; each blue ticket was pay for two verses of the recitation. Ten\nblue tickets equalled a red one, and could be exchanged for it; ten red\ntickets equalled a yellow one; for ten yellow tickets the superintendent\ngave a very plainly bound Bible (worth forty cents in those easy\ntimes) to the pupil. How many of my readers would have the industry and\napplication to memorize two thousand verses, even for a Dore Bible? And\nyet Mary had acquired two Bibles in this way--it was the patient work of\ntwo years--and a boy of German parentage had won four or five. He once\nrecited three thousand verses without stopping; but the strain upon his\nmental faculties was too great, and he was little better than an idiot\nfrom that day forth--a grievous misfortune for the school, for on great\noccasions, before company, the superintendent (as Tom expressed it)\nhad always made this boy come out and \"spread himself.\" Only the older\npupils managed to keep their tickets and stick to their tedious work\nlong enough to get a Bible, and so the delivery of one of these prizes\nwas a rare and noteworthy circumstance; the successful pupil was so\ngreat and conspicuous for that day that on the spot every scholar's\nheart was fired with a fresh ambition that often lasted a couple\nof weeks. It is possible that Tom's mental stomach had never really\nhungered for one of those prizes, but unquestionably his entire being\nhad for many a day longed for the glory and the eclat that came with it.\n\nIn due course the superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit, with\na closed hymn-book in his hand and his forefinger inserted between its\nleaves, and commanded attention. When a Sunday-school superintendent\nmakes his customary little speech, a hymn-book in the hand is as\nnecessary as is the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of a singer\nwho stands forward on the platform and sings a solo at a concert--though\nwhy, is a mystery: for neither the hymn-book nor the sheet of music\nis ever referred to by the sufferer. This superintendent was a slim\ncreature of thirty-five, with a sandy goatee and short sandy hair; he\nwore a stiff standing-collar whose upper edge almost reached his ears\nand whose sharp points curved forward abreast the corners of his mouth--a\nfence that compelled a straight lookout ahead, and a turning of the\nwhole body when a side view was required; his chin was propped on a\nspreading cravat which was as broad and as long as a bank-note, and had\nfringed ends; his boot toes were turned sharply up, in the fashion\nof the day, like sleigh-runners--an effect patiently and laboriously\nproduced by the young men by sitting with their toes pressed against a\nwall for hours together. Mr. Walters was very earnest of mien, and very\nsincere and honest at heart; and he held sacred things and places\nin such reverence, and so separated them from worldly matters, that\nunconsciously to himself his Sunday-school voice had acquired a peculiar\nintonation which was wholly absent on week-days. He began after this\nfashion:\n\n\"Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty as\nyou can and give me all your attention for a minute or two. There--that\nis it. That is the way good little boys and girls should do. I see one\nlittle girl who is looking out of the window--I am afraid she thinks I\nam out there somewhere--perhaps up in one of the trees making a speech\nto the little birds. [Applausive titter.] I want to tell you how good it\nmakes me feel to see so many bright, clean little faces assembled in a\nplace like this, learning to do right and be good.\" And so forth and so\non. It is not necessary to set down the rest of the oration. It was of a\npattern which does not vary, and so it is familiar to us all.\n\nThe latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of fights\nand other recreations among certain of the bad boys, and by fidgetings\nand whisperings that extended far and wide, washing even to the bases of\nisolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary. But now every sound\nceased suddenly, with the subsidence of Mr. Walters' voice, and the\nconclusion of the speech was received with a burst of silent gratitude.\n\nA good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which was\nmore or less rare--the entrance of visitors: lawyer Thatcher, accompanied\nby a very feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged gentleman\nwith iron-gray hair; and a dignified lady who was doubtless the latter's\nwife. The lady was leading a child. Tom had been restless and full of\nchafings and repinings; conscience-smitten, too--he could not meet Amy\nLawrence's eye, he could not brook her loving gaze. But when he saw this\nsmall newcomer his soul was all ablaze with bliss in a moment. The next\nmoment he was \"showing off\" with all his might--cuffing boys, pulling\nhair, making faces--in a word, using every art that seemed likely to\nfascinate a girl and win her applause. His exaltation had but one\nalloy--the memory of his humiliation in this angel's garden--and that\nrecord in sand was fast washing out, under the waves of happiness that\nwere sweeping over it now.\n\nThe visitors were given the highest seat of honor, and as soon as Mr.\nWalters' speech was finished, he introduced them to the school. The\nmiddle-aged man turned out to be a prodigious personage--no less a one\nthan the county judge--altogether the most august creation these children\nhad ever looked upon--and they wondered what kind of material he was made\nof--and they half wanted to hear him roar, and were half afraid he might,\ntoo. He was from Constantinople, twelve miles away--so he had travelled,\nand seen the world--these very eyes had looked upon the county\ncourt-house--which was said to have a tin roof. The awe which these\nreflections inspired was attested by the impressive silence and the\nranks of staring eyes. This was the great Judge Thatcher, brother of\ntheir own lawyer. Jeff Thatcher immediately went forward, to be familiar\nwith the great man and be envied by the school. It would have been music\nto his soul to hear the whisperings:\n\n\"Look at him, Jim! He's a going up there. Say--look! he's a going to\nshake hands with him--he _is_ shaking hands with him! By jings, don't you\nwish you was Jeff?\"\n\nMr. Walters fell to \"showing off,\" with all sorts of official bustlings\nand activities, giving orders, delivering judgments, discharging\ndirections here, there, everywhere that he could find a target. The\nlibrarian \"showed off\"--running hither and thither with his arms full of\nbooks and making a deal of the splutter and fuss that insect authority\ndelights in. The young lady teachers \"showed off\"--bending sweetly over\npupils that were lately being boxed, lifting pretty warning fingers\nat bad little boys and patting good ones lovingly. The young gentlemen\nteachers \"showed off\" with small scoldings and other little displays of\nauthority and fine attention to discipline--and most of the teachers, of\nboth sexes, found business up at the library, by the pulpit; and it was\nbusiness that frequently had to be done over again two or three times\n(with much seeming vexation). The little girls \"showed off\" in various\nways, and the little boys \"showed off\" with such diligence that the air\nwas thick with paper wads and the murmur of scufflings. And above it\nall the great man sat and beamed a majestic judicial smile upon all\nthe house, and warmed himself in the sun of his own grandeur--for he was\n\"showing off,\" too.\n\nThere was only one thing wanting to make Mr. Walters' ecstasy complete,\nand that was a chance to deliver a Bible-prize and exhibit a prodigy.\nSeveral pupils had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough--he had been\naround among the star pupils inquiring. He would have given worlds, now,\nto have that German lad back again with a sound mind.\n\nAnd now at this moment, when hope was dead, Tom Sawyer came forward with\nnine yellow tickets, nine red tickets, and ten blue ones, and demanded\na Bible. This was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. Walters was not\nexpecting an application from this source for the next ten years. But\nthere was no getting around it--here were the certified checks, and they\nwere good for their face. Tom was therefore elevated to a place with\nthe Judge and the other elect, and the great news was announced from\nheadquarters. It was the most stunning surprise of the decade, and\nso profound was the sensation that it lifted the new hero up to the\njudicial one's altitude, and the school had two marvels to gaze upon\nin place of one. The boys were all eaten up with envy--but those that\nsuffered the bitterest pangs were those who perceived too late that they\nthemselves had contributed to this hated splendor by trading tickets to\nTom for the wealth he had amassed in selling whitewashing privileges.\nThese despised themselves, as being the dupes of a wily fraud, a\nguileful snake in the grass.\n\nThe prize was delivered to Tom with as much effusion as the\nsuperintendent could pump up under the circumstances; but it lacked\nsomewhat of the true gush, for the poor fellow's instinct taught him\nthat there was a mystery here that could not well bear the light,\nperhaps; it was simply preposterous that this boy had warehoused two\nthousand sheaves of Scriptural wisdom on his premises--a dozen would\nstrain his capacity, without a doubt.\n\nAmy Lawrence was proud and glad, and she tried to make Tom see it in\nher face--but he wouldn't look. She wondered; then she was just a grain\ntroubled; next a dim suspicion came and went--came again; she watched;\na furtive glance told her worlds--and then her heart broke, and she was\njealous, and angry, and the tears came and she hated everybody. Tom most\nof all (she thought).\n\nTom was introduced to the Judge; but his tongue was tied, his breath\nwould hardly come, his heart quaked--partly because of the awful\ngreatness of the man, but mainly because he was her parent. He would\nhave liked to fall down and worship him, if it were in the dark. The\nJudge put his hand on Tom's head and called him a fine little man, and\nasked him what his name was. The boy stammered, gasped, and got it out:\n\n\"Tom.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, not Tom--it is--\"\n\n\"Thomas.\"\n\n\"Ah, that's it. I thought there was more to it, maybe. That's very well.\nBut you've another one I daresay, and you'll tell it to me, won't you?\"\n\n\"Tell the gentleman your other name, Thomas,\" said Walters, \"and say\nsir. You mustn't forget your manners.\"\n\n\"Thomas Sawyer--sir.\"\n\n\"That's it! That's a good boy. Fine boy. Fine, manly little fellow. Two\nthousand verses is a great many--very, very great many. And you never can\nbe sorry for the trouble you took to learn them; for knowledge is worth\nmore than anything there is in the world; it's what makes great men\nand good men; you'll be a great man and a good man yourself, some\nday, Thomas, and then you'll look back and say, It's all owing to the\nprecious Sunday-school privileges of my boyhood--it's all owing to\nmy dear teachers that taught me to learn--it's all owing to the good\nsuperintendent, who encouraged me, and watched over me, and gave me a\nbeautiful Bible--a splendid elegant Bible--to keep and have it all for my\nown, always--it's all owing to right bringing up! That is what you will\nsay, Thomas--and you wouldn't take any money for those two thousand\nverses--no indeed you wouldn't. And now you wouldn't mind telling me and\nthis lady some of the things you've learned--no, I know you wouldn't--for\nwe are proud of little boys that learn. Now, no doubt you know the names\nof all the twelve disciples. Won't you tell us the names of the first\ntwo that were appointed?\"\n\nTom was tugging at a button-hole and looking sheepish. He blushed,\nnow, and his eyes fell. Mr. Walters' heart sank within him. He said\nto himself, it is not possible that the boy can answer the simplest\nquestion--why _did_ the Judge ask him? Yet he felt obliged to speak up\nand say:\n\n\"Answer the gentleman, Thomas--don't be afraid.\"\n\nTom still hung fire.\n\n\"Now I know you'll tell me,\" said the lady. \"The names of the first two\ndisciples were--\"\n\n\"_David And Goliah!_\"\n\nLet us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nABOUT half-past ten the cracked bell of the small church began to ring,\nand presently the people began to gather for the morning sermon. The\nSunday-school children distributed themselves about the house and\noccupied pews with their parents, so as to be under supervision. Aunt\nPolly came, and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her--Tom being placed next\nthe aisle, in order that he might be as far away from the open window\nand the seductive outside summer scenes as possible. The crowd filed up\nthe aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who had seen better days;\nthe mayor and his wife--for they had a mayor there, among other\nunnecessaries; the justice of the peace; the widow Douglass, fair,\nsmart, and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and well-to-do, her hill\nmansion the only palace in the town, and the most hospitable and much\nthe most lavish in the matter of festivities that St. Petersburg could\nboast; the bent and venerable Major and Mrs. Ward; lawyer Riverson, the\nnew notable from a distance; next the belle of the village, followed by\na troop of lawn-clad and ribbon-decked young heart-breakers; then all\nthe young clerks in town in a body--for they had stood in the vestibule\nsucking their cane-heads, a circling wall of oiled and simpering\nadmirers, till the last girl had run their gantlet; and last of all came\nthe Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful care of his mother as\nif she were cut glass. He always brought his mother to church, and was\nthe pride of all the matrons. The boys all hated him, he was so\ngood. And besides, he had been \"thrown up to them\" so much. His\nwhite handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket behind, as usual on\nSundays--accidentally. Tom had no handkerchief, and he looked upon boys\nwho had as snobs.\n\nThe congregation being fully assembled, now, the bell rang once more,\nto warn laggards and stragglers, and then a solemn hush fell upon the\nchurch which was only broken by the tittering and whispering of the\nchoir in the gallery. The choir always tittered and whispered all\nthrough service. There was once a church choir that was not ill-bred,\nbut I have forgotten where it was, now. It was a great many years ago,\nand I can scarcely remember anything about it, but I think it was in\nsome foreign country.\n\nThe minister gave out the hymn, and read it through with a relish, in a\npeculiar style which was much admired in that part of the country. His\nvoice began on a medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached a\ncertain point, where it bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost word\nand then plunged down as if from a spring-board:\n\nShall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow'ry _beds_ of ease,\n\nWhilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' _blood_-y seas?\n\nHe was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church \"sociables\" he was\nalways called upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies\nwould lift up their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps,\nand \"wall\" their eyes, and shake their heads, as much as to say, \"Words\ncannot express it; it is too beautiful, TOO beautiful for this mortal\nearth.\"\n\nAfter the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into\na bulletin-board, and read off \"notices\" of meetings and societies and\nthings till it seemed that the list would stretch out to the crack of\ndoom--a queer custom which is still kept up in America, even in cities,\naway here in this age of abundant newspapers. Often, the less there is\nto justify a traditional custom, the harder it is to get rid of it.\n\nAnd now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went\ninto details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the\nchurch; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself;\nfor the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United\nStates; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the\nPresident; for the officers of the Government; for poor sailors, tossed\nby stormy seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under the heel of\nEuropean monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the light\nand the good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to hear\nwithal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with\na supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace\nand favor, and be as seed sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a\ngrateful harvest of good. Amen.\n\nThere was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat down.\nThe boy whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer, he\nonly endured it--if he even did that much. He was restive all through it;\nhe kept tally of the details of the prayer, unconsciously--for he was not\nlistening, but he knew the ground of old, and the clergyman's regular\nroute over it--and when a little trifle of new matter was interlarded,\nhis ear detected it and his whole nature resented it; he considered\nadditions unfair, and scoundrelly. In the midst of the prayer a fly had\nlit on the back of the pew in front of him and tortured his spirit by\ncalmly rubbing its hands together, embracing its head with its arms, and\npolishing it so vigorously that it seemed to almost part company with\nthe body, and the slender thread of a neck was exposed to view; scraping\nits wings with its hind legs and smoothing them to its body as if they\nhad been coat-tails; going through its whole toilet as tranquilly as if\nit knew it was perfectly safe. As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's\nhands itched to grab for it they did not dare--he believed his soul would\nbe instantly destroyed if he did such a thing while the prayer was going\non. But with the closing sentence his hand began to curve and steal\nforward; and the instant the \"Amen\" was out the fly was a prisoner of\nwar. His aunt detected the act and made him let it go.\n\nThe minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through an\nargument that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod--and\nyet it was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and brimstone and\nthinned the predestined elect down to a company so small as to be hardly\nworth the saving. Tom counted the pages of the sermon; after church he\nalways knew how many pages there had been, but he seldom knew anything\nelse about the discourse. However, this time he was really interested\nfor a little while. The minister made a grand and moving picture of the\nassembling together of the world's hosts at the millennium when the lion\nand the lamb should lie down together and a little child should lead\nthem. But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of the great spectacle\nwere lost upon the boy; he only thought of the conspicuousness of the\nprincipal character before the on-looking nations; his face lit with the\nthought, and he said to himself that he wished he could be that child,\nif it was a tame lion.\n\nNow he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed.\nPresently he bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out. It was\na large black beetle with formidable jaws--a \"pinchbug,\" he called it. It\nwas in a percussion-cap box. The first thing the beetle did was to\ntake him by the finger. A natural fillip followed, the beetle went\nfloundering into the aisle and lit on its back, and the hurt finger went\ninto the boy's mouth. The beetle lay there working its helpless legs,\nunable to turn over. Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out\nof his reach. Other people uninterested in the sermon found relief in\nthe beetle, and they eyed it too. Presently a vagrant poodle dog came\nidling along, sad at heart, lazy with the summer softness and the\nquiet, weary of captivity, sighing for change. He spied the beetle; the\ndrooping tail lifted and wagged. He surveyed the prize; walked around\nit; smelt at it from a safe distance; walked around it again; grew\nbolder, and took a closer smell; then lifted his lip and made a gingerly\nsnatch at it, just missing it; made another, and another; began to enjoy\nthe diversion; subsided to his stomach with the beetle between his paws,\nand continued his experiments; grew weary at last, and then indifferent\nand absent-minded. His head nodded, and little by little his chin\ndescended and touched the enemy, who seized it. There was a sharp yelp,\na flirt of the poodle's head, and the beetle fell a couple of yards\naway, and lit on its back once more. The neighboring spectators\nshook with a gentle inward joy, several faces went behind fans and\nhand-kerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy. The dog looked foolish,\nand probably felt so; but there was resentment in his heart, too, and a\ncraving for revenge. So he went to the beetle and began a wary attack on\nit again; jumping at it from every point of a circle, lighting with his\nfore-paws within an inch of the creature, making even closer snatches at\nit with his teeth, and jerking his head till his ears flapped again. But\nhe grew tired once more, after a while; tried to amuse himself with a\nfly but found no relief; followed an ant around, with his nose close\nto the floor, and quickly wearied of that; yawned, sighed, forgot the\nbeetle entirely, and sat down on it. Then there was a wild yelp of agony\nand the poodle went sailing up the aisle; the yelps continued, and so\ndid the dog; he crossed the house in front of the altar; he flew\ndown the other aisle; he crossed before the doors; he clamored up the\nhome-stretch; his anguish grew with his progress, till presently he was\nbut a woolly comet moving in its orbit with the gleam and the speed of\nlight. At last the frantic sufferer sheered from its course, and sprang\ninto its master's lap; he flung it out of the window, and the voice of\ndistress quickly thinned away and died in the distance.\n\nBy this time the whole church was red-faced and suffocating with\nsuppressed laughter, and the sermon had come to a dead standstill.\nThe discourse was resumed presently, but it went lame and halting, all\npossibility of impressiveness being at an end; for even the gravest\nsentiments were constantly being received with a smothered burst of\nunholy mirth, under cover of some remote pew-back, as if the poor parson\nhad said a rarely facetious thing. It was a genuine relief to the whole\ncongregation when the ordeal was over and the benediction pronounced.\n\nTom Sawyer went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that there was\nsome satisfaction about divine service when there was a bit of variety\nin it. He had but one marring thought; he was willing that the dog\nshould play with his pinchbug, but he did not think it was upright in\nhim to carry it off.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nMONDAY morning found Tom Sawyer miserable. Monday morning always found\nhim so--because it began another week's slow suffering in school. He\ngenerally began that day with wishing he had had no intervening holiday,\nit made the going into captivity and fetters again so much more odious.\n\nTom lay thinking. Presently it occurred to him that he wished he was\nsick; then he could stay home from school. Here was a vague possibility.\nHe canvassed his system. No ailment was found, and he investigated\nagain. This time he thought he could detect colicky symptoms, and he\nbegan to encourage them with considerable hope. But they soon grew\nfeeble, and presently died wholly away. He reflected further. Suddenly\nhe discovered something. One of his upper front teeth was loose. This\nwas lucky; he was about to begin to groan, as a \"starter,\" as he\ncalled it, when it occurred to him that if he came into court with that\nargument, his aunt would pull it out, and that would hurt. So he thought\nhe would hold the tooth in reserve for the present, and seek further.\nNothing offered for some little time, and then he remembered hearing\nthe doctor tell about a certain thing that laid up a patient for two or\nthree weeks and threatened to make him lose a finger. So the boy eagerly\ndrew his sore toe from under the sheet and held it up for inspection.\nBut now he did not know the necessary symptoms. However, it seemed\nwell worth while to chance it, so he fell to groaning with considerable\nspirit.\n\nBut Sid slept on unconscious.\n\nTom groaned louder, and fancied that he began to feel pain in the toe.\n\nNo result from Sid.\n\nTom was panting with his exertions by this time. He took a rest and then\nswelled himself up and fetched a succession of admirable groans.\n\nSid snored on.\n\nTom was aggravated. He said, \"Sid, Sid!\" and shook him. This course\nworked well, and Tom began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then\nbrought himself up on his elbow with a snort, and began to stare at Tom.\nTom went on groaning. Sid said:\n\n\"Tom! Say, Tom!\" [No response.] \"Here, Tom! TOM! What is the matter,\nTom?\" And he shook him and looked in his face anxiously.\n\nTom moaned out:\n\n\"Oh, don't, Sid. Don't joggle me.\"\n\n\"Why, what's the matter, Tom? I must call auntie.\"\n\n\"No--never mind. It'll be over by and by, maybe. Don't call anybody.\"\n\n\"But I must! _Don't_ groan so, Tom, it's awful. How long you been this\nway?\"\n\n\"Hours. Ouch! Oh, don't stir so, Sid, you'll kill me.\"\n\n\"Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner? Oh, Tom, _don't!_ It makes my flesh\ncrawl to hear you. Tom, what is the matter?\"\n\n\"I forgive you everything, Sid. [Groan.] Everything you've ever done to\nme. When I'm gone--\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, you ain't dying, are you? Don't, Tom--oh, don't. Maybe--\"\n\n\"I forgive everybody, Sid. [Groan.] Tell 'em so, Sid. And Sid, you give\nmy window-sash and my cat with one eye to that new girl that's come to\ntown, and tell her--\"\n\nBut Sid had snatched his clothes and gone. Tom was suffering in reality,\nnow, so handsomely was his imagination working, and so his groans had\ngathered quite a genuine tone.\n\nSid flew downstairs and said:\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Polly, come! Tom's dying!\"\n\n\"Dying!\"\n\n\"Yes'm. Don't wait--come quick!\"\n\n\"Rubbage! I don't believe it!\"\n\nBut she fled upstairs, nevertheless, with Sid and Mary at her heels.\nAnd her face grew white, too, and her lip trembled. When she reached the\nbedside she gasped out:\n\n\"You, Tom! Tom, what's the matter with you?\"\n\n\"Oh, auntie, I'm--\"\n\n\"What's the matter with you--what is the matter with you, child?\"\n\n\"Oh, auntie, my sore toe's mortified!\"\n\nThe old lady sank down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried a\nlittle, then did both together. This restored her and she said:\n\n\"Tom, what a turn you did give me. Now you shut up that nonsense and\nclimb out of this.\"\n\nThe groans ceased and the pain vanished from the toe. The boy felt a\nlittle foolish, and he said:\n\n\"Aunt Polly, it _seemed_ mortified, and it hurt so I never minded my\ntooth at all.\"\n\n\"Your tooth, indeed! What's the matter with your tooth?\"\n\n\"One of them's loose, and it aches perfectly awful.\"\n\n\"There, there, now, don't begin that groaning again. Open your mouth.\nWell--your tooth _is_ loose, but you're not going to die about that.\nMary, get me a silk thread, and a chunk of fire out of the kitchen.\"\n\nTom said:\n\n\"Oh, please, auntie, don't pull it out. It don't hurt any more. I wish\nI may never stir if it does. Please don't, auntie. I don't want to stay\nhome from school.\"\n\n\"Oh, you don't, don't you? So all this row was because you thought you'd\nget to stay home from school and go a-fishing? Tom, Tom, I love you so,\nand you seem to try every way you can to break my old heart with your\noutrageousness.\" By this time the dental instruments were ready. The old\nlady made one end of the silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a loop\nand tied the other to the bedpost. Then she seized the chunk of fire and\nsuddenly thrust it almost into the boy's face. The tooth hung dangling\nby the bedpost, now.\n\nBut all trials bring their compensations. As Tom wended to school after\nbreakfast, he was the envy of every boy he met because the gap in his\nupper row of teeth enabled him to expectorate in a new and admirable\nway. He gathered quite a following of lads interested in the exhibition;\nand one that had cut his finger and had been a centre of fascination and\nhomage up to this time, now found himself suddenly without an adherent,\nand shorn of his glory. His heart was heavy, and he said with a disdain\nwhich he did not feel that it wasn't anything to spit like Tom Sawyer;\nbut another boy said, \"Sour grapes!\" and he wandered away a dismantled\nhero.\n\nShortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village, Huckleberry\nFinn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was cordially hated and\ndreaded by all the mothers of the town, because he was idle and lawless\nand vulgar and bad--and because all their children admired him so, and\ndelighted in his forbidden society, and wished they dared to be like\nhim. Tom was like the rest of the respectable boys, in that he envied\nHuckleberry his gaudy outcast condition, and was under strict orders\nnot to play with him. So he played with him every time he got a chance.\nHuckleberry was always dressed in the cast-off clothes of full-grown\nmen, and they were in perennial bloom and fluttering with rags. His hat\nwas a vast ruin with a wide crescent lopped out of its brim; his coat,\nwhen he wore one, hung nearly to his heels and had the rearward buttons\nfar down the back; but one suspender supported his trousers; the seat of\nthe trousers bagged low and contained nothing, the fringed legs dragged\nin the dirt when not rolled up.\n\nHuckleberry came and went, at his own free will. He slept on doorsteps\nin fine weather and in empty hogsheads in wet; he did not have to go to\nschool or to church, or call any being master or obey anybody; he could\ngo fishing or swimming when and where he chose, and stay as long as it\nsuited him; nobody forbade him to fight; he could sit up as late as he\npleased; he was always the first boy that went barefoot in the spring\nand the last to resume leather in the fall; he never had to wash, nor\nput on clean clothes; he could swear wonderfully. In a word, everything\nthat goes to make life precious that boy had. So thought every harassed,\nhampered, respectable boy in St. Petersburg.\n\nTom hailed the romantic outcast:\n\n\"Hello, Huckleberry!\"\n\n\"Hello yourself, and see how you like it.\"\n\n\"What's that you got?\"\n\n\"Dead cat.\"\n\n\"Lemme see him, Huck. My, he's pretty stiff. Where'd you get him?\"\n\n\"Bought him off'n a boy.\"\n\n\"What did you give?\"\n\n\"I give a blue ticket and a bladder that I got at the slaughter-house.\"\n\n\"Where'd you get the blue ticket?\"\n\n\"Bought it off'n Ben Rogers two weeks ago for a hoop-stick.\"\n\n\"Say--what is dead cats good for, Huck?\"\n\n\"Good for? Cure warts with.\"\n\n\"No! Is that so? I know something that's better.\"\n\n\"I bet you don't. What is it?\"\n\n\"Why, spunk-water.\"\n\n\"Spunk-water! I wouldn't give a dern for spunk-water.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't, wouldn't you? D'you ever try it?\"\n\n\"No, I hain't. But Bob Tanner did.\"\n\n\"Who told you so!\"\n\n\"Why, he told Jeff Thatcher, and Jeff told Johnny Baker, and Johnny\ntold Jim Hollis, and Jim told Ben Rogers, and Ben told a nigger, and the\nnigger told me. There now!\"\n\n\"Well, what of it? They'll all lie. Leastways all but the nigger. I\ndon't know _him_. But I never see a nigger that _wouldn't_ lie. Shucks!\nNow you tell me how Bob Tanner done it, Huck.\"\n\n\"Why, he took and dipped his hand in a rotten stump where the rain-water\nwas.\"\n\n\"In the daytime?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"With his face to the stump?\"\n\n\"Yes. Least I reckon so.\"\n\n\"Did he say anything?\"\n\n\"I don't reckon he did. I don't know.\"\n\n\"Aha! Talk about trying to cure warts with spunk-water such a blame fool\nway as that! Why, that ain't a-going to do any good. You got to go all\nby yourself, to the middle of the woods, where you know there's a\nspunk-water stump, and just as it's midnight you back up against the stump\nand jam your hand in and say:\n\n'Barley-corn, barley-corn, injun-meal shorts, Spunk-water, spunk-water,\nswaller these warts,'\n\nand then walk away quick, eleven steps, with your eyes shut, and then\nturn around three times and walk home without speaking to anybody.\nBecause if you speak the charm's busted.\"\n\n\"Well, that sounds like a good way; but that ain't the way Bob Tanner\ndone.\"\n\n\"No, sir, you can bet he didn't, becuz he's the wartiest boy in this\ntown; and he wouldn't have a wart on him if he'd knowed how to work\nspunk-water. I've took off thousands of warts off of my hands that way,\nHuck. I play with frogs so much that I've always got considerable many\nwarts. Sometimes I take 'em off with a bean.\"\n\n\"Yes, bean's good. I've done that.\"\n\n\"Have you? What's your way?\"\n\n\"You take and split the bean, and cut the wart so as to get some blood,\nand then you put the blood on one piece of the bean and take and dig\na hole and bury it 'bout midnight at the crossroads in the dark of the\nmoon, and then you burn up the rest of the bean. You see that piece\nthat's got the blood on it will keep drawing and drawing, trying to\nfetch the other piece to it, and so that helps the blood to draw the\nwart, and pretty soon off she comes.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's it, Huck--that's it; though when you're burying it if you\nsay 'Down bean; off wart; come no more to bother me!' it's better.\nThat's the way Joe Harper does, and he's been nearly to Coonville and\nmost everywheres. But say--how do you cure 'em with dead cats?\"\n\n\"Why, you take your cat and go and get in the grave-yard 'long about\nmidnight when somebody that was wicked has been buried; and when it's\nmidnight a devil will come, or maybe two or three, but you can't see\n'em, you can only hear something like the wind, or maybe hear 'em talk;\nand when they're taking that feller away, you heave your cat after 'em\nand say, 'Devil follow corpse, cat follow devil, warts follow cat, I'm\ndone with ye!' That'll fetch _any_ wart.\"\n\n\"Sounds right. D'you ever try it, Huck?\"\n\n\"No, but old Mother Hopkins told me.\"\n\n\"Well, I reckon it's so, then. Becuz they say she's a witch.\"\n\n\"Say! Why, Tom, I _know_ she is. She witched pap. Pap says so his own\nself. He come along one day, and he see she was a-witching him, so he\ntook up a rock, and if she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her. Well, that\nvery night he rolled off'n a shed wher' he was a layin drunk, and broke\nhis arm.\"\n\n\"Why, that's awful. How did he know she was a-witching him?\"\n\n\"Lord, pap can tell, easy. Pap says when they keep looking at you right\nstiddy, they're a-witching you. Specially if they mumble. Becuz when\nthey mumble they're saying the Lord's Prayer backards.\"\n\n\"Say, Hucky, when you going to try the cat?\"\n\n\"To-night. I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to-night.\"\n\n\"But they buried him Saturday. Didn't they get him Saturday night?\"\n\n\"Why, how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight?--and\n_then_ it's Sunday. Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I don't\nreckon.\"\n\n\"I never thought of that. That's so. Lemme go with you?\"\n\n\"Of course--if you ain't afeard.\"\n\n\"Afeard! 'Tain't likely. Will you meow?\"\n\n\"Yes--and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kep' me\na-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says\n'Dern that cat!' and so I hove a brick through his window--but don't you\ntell.\"\n\n\"I won't. I couldn't meow that night, becuz auntie was watching me, but\nI'll meow this time. Say--what's that?\"\n\n\"Nothing but a tick.\"\n\n\"Where'd you get him?\"\n\n\"Out in the woods.\"\n\n\"What'll you take for him?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I don't want to sell him.\"\n\n\"All right. It's a mighty small tick, anyway.\"\n\n\"Oh, anybody can run a tick down that don't belong to them. I'm\nsatisfied with it. It's a good enough tick for me.\"\n\n\"Sho, there's ticks a plenty. I could have a thousand of 'em if I wanted\nto.\"\n\n\"Well, why don't you? Becuz you know mighty well you can't. This is a\npretty early tick, I reckon. It's the first one I've seen this year.\"\n\n\"Say, Huck--I'll give you my tooth for him.\"\n\n\"Less see it.\"\n\nTom got out a bit of paper and carefully unrolled it. Huckleberry viewed\nit wistfully. The temptation was very strong. At last he said:\n\n\"Is it genuwyne?\"\n\nTom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.\n\n\"Well, all right,\" said Huckleberry, \"it's a trade.\"\n\nTom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been the\npinchbug's prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier than\nbefore.\n\nWhen Tom reached the little isolated frame school-house, he strode in\nbriskly, with the manner of one who had come with all honest speed. He\nhung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with business-like\nalacrity. The master, throned on high in his great splint-bottom\narm-chair, was dozing, lulled by the drowsy hum of study. The\ninterruption roused him.\n\n\"Thomas Sawyer!\"\n\nTom knew that when his name was pronounced in full, it meant trouble.\n\n\"Sir!\"\n\n\"Come up here. Now, sir, why are you late again, as usual?\"\n\nTom was about to take refuge in a lie, when he saw two long tails of\nyellow hair hanging down a back that he recognized by the electric\nsympathy of love; and by that form was _the only vacant place_ on the\ngirls' side of the school-house. He instantly said:\n\n\"_I stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn!_\"\n\nThe master's pulse stood still, and he stared helplessly. The buzz of\nstudy ceased. The pupils wondered if this foolhardy boy had lost his\nmind. The master said:\n\n\"You--you did what?\"\n\n\"Stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn.\"\n\nThere was no mistaking the words.\n\n\"Thomas Sawyer, this is the most astounding confession I have ever\nlistened to. No mere ferule will answer for this offence. Take off your\njacket.\"\n\nThe master's arm performed until it was tired and the stock of switches\nnotably diminished. Then the order followed:\n\n\"Now, sir, go and sit with the girls! And let this be a warning to you.\"\n\nThe titter that rippled around the room appeared to abash the boy, but\nin reality that result was caused rather more by his worshipful awe\nof his unknown idol and the dread pleasure that lay in his high good\nfortune. He sat down upon the end of the pine bench and the girl hitched\nherself away from him with a toss of her head. Nudges and winks and\nwhispers traversed the room, but Tom sat still, with his arms upon the\nlong, low desk before him, and seemed to study his book.\n\nBy and by attention ceased from him, and the accustomed school murmur\nrose upon the dull air once more. Presently the boy began to steal\nfurtive glances at the girl. She observed it, \"made a mouth\" at him\nand gave him the back of her head for the space of a minute. When she\ncautiously faced around again, a peach lay before her. She thrust it\naway. Tom gently put it back. She thrust it away again, but with less\nanimosity. Tom patiently returned it to its place. Then she let it\nremain. Tom scrawled on his slate, \"Please take it--I got more.\" The\ngirl glanced at the words, but made no sign. Now the boy began to draw\nsomething on the slate, hiding his work with his left hand. For a time\nthe girl refused to notice; but her human curiosity presently began\nto manifest itself by hardly perceptible signs. The boy worked on,\napparently unconscious. The girl made a sort of non-committal attempt\nto see, but the boy did not betray that he was aware of it. At last she\ngave in and hesitatingly whispered:\n\n\"Let me see it.\"\n\nTom partly uncovered a dismal caricature of a house with two gable ends\nto it and a corkscrew of smoke issuing from the chimney. Then the girl's\ninterest began to fasten itself upon the work and she forgot everything\nelse. When it was finished, she gazed a moment, then whispered:\n\n\"It's nice--make a man.\"\n\nThe artist erected a man in the front yard, that resembled a derrick. He\ncould have stepped over the house; but the girl was not hypercritical;\nshe was satisfied with the monster, and whispered:\n\n\"It's a beautiful man--now make me coming along.\"\n\nTom drew an hour-glass with a full moon and straw limbs to it and armed\nthe spreading fingers with a portentous fan. The girl said:\n\n\"It's ever so nice--I wish I could draw.\"\n\n\"It's easy,\" whispered Tom, \"I'll learn you.\"\n\n\"Oh, will you? When?\"\n\n\"At noon. Do you go home to dinner?\"\n\n\"I'll stay if you will.\"\n\n\"Good--that's a whack. What's your name?\"\n\n\"Becky Thatcher. What's yours? Oh, I know. It's Thomas Sawyer.\"\n\n\"That's the name they lick me by. I'm Tom when I'm good. You call me\nTom, will you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nNow Tom began to scrawl something on the slate, hiding the words from\nthe girl. But she was not backward this time. She begged to see. Tom\nsaid:\n\n\"Oh, it ain't anything.\"\n\n\"Yes it is.\"\n\n\"No it ain't. You don't want to see.\"\n\n\"Yes I do, indeed I do. Please let me.\"\n\n\"You'll tell.\"\n\n\"No I won't--deed and deed and double deed won't.\"\n\n\"You won't tell anybody at all? Ever, as long as you live?\"\n\n\"No, I won't ever tell _any_body. Now let me.\"\n\n\"Oh, _you_ don't want to see!\"\n\n\"Now that you treat me so, I _will_ see.\" And she put her small hand\nupon his and a little scuffle ensued, Tom pretending to resist in\nearnest but letting his hand slip by degrees till these words were\nrevealed: \"_I love you_.\"\n\n\"Oh, you bad thing!\" And she hit his hand a smart rap, but reddened and\nlooked pleased, nevertheless.\n\nJust at this juncture the boy felt a slow, fateful grip closing on his\near, and a steady lifting impulse. In that wise he was borne across the\nhouse and deposited in his own seat, under a peppering fire of giggles\nfrom the whole school. Then the master stood over him during a few awful\nmoments, and finally moved away to his throne without saying a word. But\nalthough Tom's ear tingled, his heart was jubilant.\n\nAs the school quieted down Tom made an honest effort to study, but\nthe turmoil within him was too great. In turn he took his place in the\nreading class and made a botch of it; then in the geography class and\nturned lakes into mountains, mountains into rivers, and rivers into\ncontinents, till chaos was come again; then in the spelling class, and\ngot \"turned down,\" by a succession of mere baby words, till he brought\nup at the foot and yielded up the pewter medal which he had worn with\nostentation for months.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE harder Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book, the more his ideas\nwandered. So at last, with a sigh and a yawn, he gave it up. It seemed\nto him that the noon recess would never come. The air was utterly dead.\nThere was not a breath stirring. It was the sleepiest of sleepy days.\nThe drowsing murmur of the five and twenty studying scholars soothed\nthe soul like the spell that is in the murmur of bees. Away off in the\nflaming sunshine, Cardiff Hill lifted its soft green sides through a\nshimmering veil of heat, tinted with the purple of distance; a few birds\nfloated on lazy wing high in the air; no other living thing was visible\nbut some cows, and they were asleep. Tom's heart ached to be free, or\nelse to have something of interest to do to pass the dreary time.\nHis hand wandered into his pocket and his face lit up with a glow of\ngratitude that was prayer, though he did not know it. Then furtively\nthe percussion-cap box came out. He released the tick and put him on\nthe long flat desk. The creature probably glowed with a gratitude that\namounted to prayer, too, at this moment, but it was premature: for when\nhe started thankfully to travel off, Tom turned him aside with a pin and\nmade him take a new direction.\n\nTom's bosom friend sat next him, suffering just as Tom had been, and\nnow he was deeply and gratefully interested in this entertainment in\nan instant. This bosom friend was Joe Harper. The two boys were sworn\nfriends all the week, and embattled enemies on Saturdays. Joe took a\npin out of his lapel and began to assist in exercising the prisoner.\nThe sport grew in interest momently. Soon Tom said that they were\ninterfering with each other, and neither getting the fullest benefit\nof the tick. So he put Joe's slate on the desk and drew a line down the\nmiddle of it from top to bottom.\n\n\"Now,\" said he, \"as long as he is on your side you can stir him up and\nI'll let him alone; but if you let him get away and get on my side,\nyou're to leave him alone as long as I can keep him from crossing over.\"\n\n\"All right, go ahead; start him up.\"\n\nThe tick escaped from Tom, presently, and crossed the equator. Joe\nharassed him awhile, and then he got away and crossed back again. This\nchange of base occurred often. While one boy was worrying the tick with\nabsorbing interest, the other would look on with interest as strong, the\ntwo heads bowed together over the slate, and the two souls dead to all\nthings else. At last luck seemed to settle and abide with Joe. The\ntick tried this, that, and the other course, and got as excited and as\nanxious as the boys themselves, but time and again just as he would\nhave victory in his very grasp, so to speak, and Tom's fingers would\nbe twitching to begin, Joe's pin would deftly head him off, and keep\npossession. At last Tom could stand it no longer. The temptation was too\nstrong. So he reached out and lent a hand with his pin. Joe was angry in\na moment. Said he:\n\n\"Tom, you let him alone.\"\n\n\"I only just want to stir him up a little, Joe.\"\n\n\"No, sir, it ain't fair; you just let him alone.\"\n\n\"Blame it, I ain't going to stir him much.\"\n\n\"Let him alone, I tell you.\"\n\n\"I won't!\"\n\n\"You shall--he's on my side of the line.\"\n\n\"Look here, Joe Harper, whose is that tick?\"\n\n\"I don't care whose tick he is--he's on my side of the line, and you\nsha'n't touch him.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll just bet I will, though. He's my tick and I'll do what I\nblame please with him, or die!\"\n\nA tremendous whack came down on Tom's shoulders, and its duplicate on\nJoe's; and for the space of two minutes the dust continued to fly from\nthe two jackets and the whole school to enjoy it. The boys had been\ntoo absorbed to notice the hush that had stolen upon the school awhile\nbefore when the master came tiptoeing down the room and stood over them.\nHe had contemplated a good part of the performance before he contributed\nhis bit of variety to it.\n\nWhen school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky Thatcher, and whispered\nin her ear:\n\n\"Put on your bonnet and let on you're going home; and when you get to\nthe corner, give the rest of 'em the slip, and turn down through the\nlane and come back. I'll go the other way and come it over 'em the same\nway.\"\n\nSo the one went off with one group of scholars, and the other with\nanother. In a little while the two met at the bottom of the lane, and\nwhen they reached the school they had it all to themselves. Then they\nsat together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the pencil\nand held her hand in his, guiding it, and so created another surprising\nhouse. When the interest in art began to wane, the two fell to talking.\nTom was swimming in bliss. He said:\n\n\"Do you love rats?\"\n\n\"No! I hate them!\"\n\n\"Well, I do, too--_live_ ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round your\nhead with a string.\"\n\n\"No, I don't care for rats much, anyway. What I like is chewing-gum.\"\n\n\"Oh, I should say so! I wish I had some now.\"\n\n\"Do you? I've got some. I'll let you chew it awhile, but you must give\nit back to me.\"\n\nThat was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled their legs\nagainst the bench in excess of contentment.\n\n\"Was you ever at a circus?\" said Tom.\n\n\"Yes, and my pa's going to take me again some time, if I'm good.\"\n\n\"I been to the circus three or four times--lots of times. Church ain't\nshucks to a circus. There's things going on at a circus all the time.\nI'm going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up.\"\n\n\"Oh, are you! That will be nice. They're so lovely, all spotted up.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's so. And they get slathers of money--most a dollar a day, Ben\nRogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Why, engaged to be married.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Would you like to?\"\n\n\"I reckon so. I don't know. What is it like?\"\n\n\"Like? Why it ain't like anything. You only just tell a boy you won't\never have anybody but him, ever ever ever, and then you kiss and that's\nall. Anybody can do it.\"\n\n\"Kiss? What do you kiss for?\"\n\n\"Why, that, you know, is to--well, they always do that.\"\n\n\"Everybody?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, everybody that's in love with each other. Do you remember\nwhat I wrote on the slate?\"\n\n\"Ye--yes.\"\n\n\"What was it?\"\n\n\"I sha'n't tell you.\"\n\n\"Shall I tell _you_?\"\n\n\"Ye--yes--but some other time.\"\n\n\"No, now.\"\n\n\"No, not now--to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, _now_. Please, Becky--I'll whisper it, I'll whisper it ever so\neasy.\"\n\nBecky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm about\nher waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth close to\nher ear. And then he added:\n\n\"Now you whisper it to me--just the same.\"\n\nShe resisted, for a while, and then said:\n\n\"You turn your face away so you can't see, and then I will. But you\nmustn't ever tell anybody--_will_ you, Tom? Now you won't, _will_ you?\"\n\n\"No, indeed, indeed I won't. Now, Becky.\"\n\nHe turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breath stirred\nhis curls and whispered, \"I--love--you!\"\n\nThen she sprang away and ran around and around the desks and benches,\nwith Tom after her, and took refuge in a corner at last, with her little\nwhite apron to her face. Tom clasped her about her neck and pleaded:\n\n\"Now, Becky, it's all done--all over but the kiss. Don't you be afraid\nof that--it ain't anything at all. Please, Becky.\" And he tugged at her\napron and the hands.\n\nBy and by she gave up, and let her hands drop; her face, all glowing\nwith the struggle, came up and submitted. Tom kissed the red lips and\nsaid:\n\n\"Now it's all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you ain't\never to love anybody but me, and you ain't ever to marry anybody but me,\never never and forever. Will you?\"\n\n\"No, I'll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I'll never marry anybody\nbut you--and you ain't to ever marry anybody but me, either.\"\n\n\"Certainly. Of course. That's _part_ of it. And always coming to school\nor when we're going home, you're to walk with me, when there ain't\nanybody looking--and you choose me and I choose you at parties, because\nthat's the way you do when you're engaged.\"\n\n\"It's so nice. I never heard of it before.\"\n\n\"Oh, it's ever so gay! Why, me and Amy Lawrence--\"\n\nThe big eyes told Tom his blunder and he stopped, confused.\n\n\"Oh, Tom! Then I ain't the first you've ever been engaged to!\"\n\nThe child began to cry. Tom said:\n\n\"Oh, don't cry, Becky, I don't care for her any more.\"\n\n\"Yes, you do, Tom--you know you do.\"\n\nTom tried to put his arm about her neck, but she pushed him away and\nturned her face to the wall, and went on crying. Tom tried again, with\nsoothing words in his mouth, and was repulsed again. Then his pride was\nup, and he strode away and went outside. He stood about, restless and\nuneasy, for a while, glancing at the door, every now and then, hoping\nshe would repent and come to find him. But she did not. Then he began\nto feel badly and fear that he was in the wrong. It was a hard struggle\nwith him to make new advances, now, but he nerved himself to it and\nentered. She was still standing back there in the corner, sobbing, with\nher face to the wall. Tom's heart smote him. He went to her and stood a\nmoment, not knowing exactly how to proceed. Then he said hesitatingly:\n\n\"Becky, I--I don't care for anybody but you.\"\n\nNo reply--but sobs.\n\n\"Becky\"--pleadingly. \"Becky, won't you say something?\"\n\nMore sobs.\n\nTom got out his chiefest jewel, a brass knob from the top of an andiron,\nand passed it around her so that she could see it, and said:\n\n\"Please, Becky, won't you take it?\"\n\nShe struck it to the floor. Then Tom marched out of the house and over\nthe hills and far away, to return to school no more that day. Presently\nBecky began to suspect. She ran to the door; he was not in sight; she\nflew around to the play-yard; he was not there. Then she called:\n\n\"Tom! Come back, Tom!\"\n\nShe listened intently, but there was no answer. She had no companions\nbut silence and loneliness. So she sat down to cry again and upbraid\nherself; and by this time the scholars began to gather again, and she\nhad to hide her griefs and still her broken heart and take up the cross\nof a long, dreary, aching afternoon, with none among the strangers about\nher to exchange sorrows with.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTOM dodged hither and thither through lanes until he was well out of the\ntrack of returning scholars, and then fell into a moody jog. He crossed\na small \"branch\" two or three times, because of a prevailing juvenile\nsuperstition that to cross water baffled pursuit. Half an hour later\nhe was disappearing behind the Douglas mansion on the summit of Cardiff\nHill, and the school-house was hardly distinguishable away off in the\nvalley behind him. He entered a dense wood, picked his pathless way to\nthe centre of it, and sat down on a mossy spot under a spreading oak.\nThere was not even a zephyr stirring; the dead noonday heat had even\nstilled the songs of the birds; nature lay in a trance that was broken\nby no sound but the occasional far-off hammering of a wood-pecker, and\nthis seemed to render the pervading silence and sense of loneliness the\nmore profound. The boy's soul was steeped in melancholy; his feelings\nwere in happy accord with his surroundings. He sat long with his elbows\non his knees and his chin in his hands, meditating. It seemed to him\nthat life was but a trouble, at best, and he more than half envied Jimmy\nHodges, so lately released; it must be very peaceful, he thought, to lie\nand slumber and dream forever and ever, with the wind whispering through\nthe trees and caressing the grass and the flowers over the grave, and\nnothing to bother and grieve about, ever any more. If he only had a\nclean Sunday-school record he could be willing to go, and be done with\nit all. Now as to this girl. What had he done? Nothing. He had meant\nthe best in the world, and been treated like a dog--like a very dog. She\nwould be sorry some day--maybe when it was too late. Ah, if he could only\ndie _temporarily_!\n\nBut the elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into one constrained\nshape long at a time. Tom presently began to drift insensibly back into\nthe concerns of this life again. What if he turned his back, now, and\ndisappeared mysteriously? What if he went away--ever so far away, into\nunknown countries beyond the seas--and never came back any more! How\nwould she feel then! The idea of being a clown recurred to him now, only\nto fill him with disgust. For frivolity and jokes and spotted tights\nwere an offense, when they intruded themselves upon a spirit that was\nexalted into the vague august realm of the romantic. No, he would be\na soldier, and return after long years, all war-worn and illustrious.\nNo--better still, he would join the Indians, and hunt buffaloes and go on\nthe warpath in the mountain ranges and the trackless great plains of the\nFar West, and away in the future come back a great chief, bristling with\nfeathers, hideous with paint, and prance into Sunday-school, some drowsy\nsummer morning, with a blood-curdling war-whoop, and sear the eyeballs\nof all his companions with unappeasable envy. But no, there was\nsomething gaudier even than this. He would be a pirate! That was it!\n_now_ his future lay plain before him, and glowing with unimaginable\nsplendor. How his name would fill the world, and make people shudder!\nHow gloriously he would go plowing the dancing seas, in his long, low,\nblack-hulled racer, the Spirit of the Storm, with his grisly flag flying\nat the fore! And at the zenith of his fame, how he would suddenly appear\nat the old village and stalk into church, brown and weather-beaten, in\nhis black velvet doublet and trunks, his great jack-boots, his crimson\nsash, his belt bristling with horse-pistols, his crime-rusted cutlass\nat his side, his slouch hat with waving plumes, his black flag unfurled,\nwith the skull and crossbones on it, and hear with swelling ecstasy\nthe whisperings, \"It's Tom Sawyer the Pirate!--the Black Avenger of the\nSpanish Main!\"\n\nYes, it was settled; his career was determined. He would run away from\nhome and enter upon it. He would start the very next morning. Therefore\nhe must now begin to get ready. He would collect his resources together.\nHe went to a rotten log near at hand and began to dig under one end of\nit with his Barlow knife. He soon struck wood that sounded hollow. He\nput his hand there and uttered this incantation impressively:\n\n\"What hasn't come here, come! What's here, stay here!\"\n\nThen he scraped away the dirt, and exposed a pine shingle. He took it\nup and disclosed a shapely little treasure-house whose bottom and sides\nwere of shingles. In it lay a marble. Tom's astonishment was bound-less!\nHe scratched his head with a perplexed air, and said:\n\n\"Well, that beats anything!\"\n\nThen he tossed the marble away pettishly, and stood cogitating. The\ntruth was, that a superstition of his had failed, here, which he and\nall his comrades had always looked upon as infallible. If you buried\na marble with certain necessary incantations, and left it alone a\nfortnight, and then opened the place with the incantation he had just\nused, you would find that all the marbles you had ever lost had gathered\nthemselves together there, meantime, no matter how widely they had been\nseparated. But now, this thing had actually and unquestionably failed.\nTom's whole structure of faith was shaken to its foundations. He had\nmany a time heard of this thing succeeding but never of its failing\nbefore. It did not occur to him that he had tried it several times\nbefore, himself, but could never find the hiding-places afterward. He\npuzzled over the matter some time, and finally decided that some witch\nhad interfered and broken the charm. He thought he would satisfy himself\non that point; so he searched around till he found a small sandy spot\nwith a little funnel-shaped depression in it. He laid himself down and\nput his mouth close to this depression and called--\n\n\"Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know! Doodle-bug,\ndoodle-bug, tell me what I want to know!\"\n\nThe sand began to work, and presently a small black bug appeared for a\nsecond and then darted under again in a fright.\n\n\"He dasn't tell! So it _was_ a witch that done it. I just knowed it.\"\n\nHe well knew the futility of trying to contend against witches, so he\ngave up discouraged. But it occurred to him that he might as well have\nthe marble he had just thrown away, and therefore he went and made a\npatient search for it. But he could not find it. Now he went back to his\ntreasure-house and carefully placed himself just as he had been standing\nwhen he tossed the marble away; then he took another marble from his\npocket and tossed it in the same way, saying:\n\n\"Brother, go find your brother!\"\n\nHe watched where it stopped, and went there and looked. But it must\nhave fallen short or gone too far; so he tried twice more. The last\nrepetition was successful. The two marbles lay within a foot of each\nother.\n\nJust here the blast of a toy tin trumpet came faintly down the green\naisles of the forest. Tom flung off his jacket and trousers, turned\na suspender into a belt, raked away some brush behind the rotten log,\ndisclosing a rude bow and arrow, a lath sword and a tin trumpet, and\nin a moment had seized these things and bounded away, barelegged,\nwith fluttering shirt. He presently halted under a great elm, blew an\nanswering blast, and then began to tiptoe and look warily out, this way\nand that. He said cautiously--to an imaginary company:\n\n\"Hold, my merry men! Keep hid till I blow.\"\n\nNow appeared Joe Harper, as airily clad and elaborately armed as Tom.\nTom called:\n\n\"Hold! Who comes here into Sherwood Forest without my pass?\"\n\n\"Guy of Guisborne wants no man's pass. Who art thou that--that--\"\n\n\"Dares to hold such language,\" said Tom, prompting--for they talked \"by\nthe book,\" from memory.\n\n\"Who art thou that dares to hold such language?\"\n\n\"I, indeed! I am Robin Hood, as thy caitiff carcase soon shall know.\"\n\n\"Then art thou indeed that famous outlaw? Right gladly will I dispute\nwith thee the passes of the merry wood. Have at thee!\"\n\nThey took their lath swords, dumped their other traps on the ground,\nstruck a fencing attitude, foot to foot, and began a grave, careful\ncombat, \"two up and two down.\" Presently Tom said:\n\n\"Now, if you've got the hang, go it lively!\"\n\nSo they \"went it lively,\" panting and perspiring with the work. By and\nby Tom shouted:\n\n\"Fall! fall! Why don't you fall?\"\n\n\"I sha'n't! Why don't you fall yourself? You're getting the worst of\nit.\"\n\n\"Why, that ain't anything. I can't fall; that ain't the way it is in the\nbook. The book says, 'Then with one back-handed stroke he slew poor Guy\nof Guisborne.' You're to turn around and let me hit you in the back.\"\n\nThere was no getting around the authorities, so Joe turned, received the\nwhack and fell.\n\n\"Now,\" said Joe, getting up, \"you got to let me kill _you_. That's\nfair.\"\n\n\"Why, I can't do that, it ain't in the book.\"\n\n\"Well, it's blamed mean--that's all.\"\n\n\"Well, say, Joe, you can be Friar Tuck or Much the miller's son, and lam\nme with a quarter-staff; or I'll be the Sheriff of Nottingham and you be\nRobin Hood a little while and kill me.\"\n\nThis was satisfactory, and so these adventures were carried out. Then\nTom became Robin Hood again, and was allowed by the treacherous nun to\nbleed his strength away through his neglected wound. And at last Joe,\nrepresenting a whole tribe of weeping outlaws, dragged him sadly forth,\ngave his bow into his feeble hands, and Tom said, \"Where this arrow\nfalls, there bury poor Robin Hood under the greenwood tree.\" Then he\nshot the arrow and fell back and would have died, but he lit on a nettle\nand sprang up too gaily for a corpse.\n\nThe boys dressed themselves, hid their accoutrements, and went off\ngrieving that there were no outlaws any more, and wondering what modern\ncivilization could claim to have done to compensate for their loss.\nThey said they would rather be outlaws a year in Sherwood Forest than\nPresident of the United States forever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nAT half-past nine, that night, Tom and Sid were sent to bed, as usual.\nThey said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay awake and\nwaited, in restless impatience. When it seemed to him that it must be\nnearly daylight, he heard the clock strike ten! This was despair. He\nwould have tossed and fidgeted, as his nerves demanded, but he was\nafraid he might wake Sid. So he lay still, and stared up into the dark.\nEverything was dismally still. By and by, out of the stillness, little,\nscarcely perceptible noises began to emphasize themselves. The ticking\nof the clock began to bring itself into notice. Old beams began to crack\nmysteriously. The stairs creaked faintly. Evidently spirits were abroad.\nA measured, muffled snore issued from Aunt Polly's chamber. And now the\ntiresome chirping of a cricket that no human ingenuity could locate,\nbegan. Next the ghastly ticking of a death-watch in the wall at the\nbed's head made Tom shudder--it meant that somebody's days were numbered.\nThen the howl of a far-off dog rose on the night air, and was answered\nby a fainter howl from a remoter distance. Tom was in an agony. At last\nhe was satisfied that time had ceased and eternity begun; he began to\ndoze, in spite of himself; the clock chimed eleven, but he did not hear\nit. And then there came, mingling with his half-formed dreams, a most\nmelancholy caterwauling. The raising of a neighboring window disturbed\nhim. A cry of \"Scat! you devil!\" and the crash of an empty bottle\nagainst the back of his aunt's woodshed brought him wide awake, and a\nsingle minute later he was dressed and out of the window and creeping\nalong the roof of the \"ell\" on all fours. He \"meow'd\" with caution once\nor twice, as he went; then jumped to the roof of the woodshed and thence\nto the ground. Huckleberry Finn was there, with his dead cat. The boys\nmoved off and disappeared in the gloom. At the end of half an hour they\nwere wading through the tall grass of the graveyard.\n\nIt was a graveyard of the old-fashioned Western kind. It was on a hill,\nabout a mile and a half from the village. It had a crazy board fence\naround it, which leaned inward in places, and outward the rest of the\ntime, but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over the\nwhole cemetery. All the old graves were sunken in, there was not a\ntombstone on the place; round-topped, worm-eaten boards staggered over\nthe graves, leaning for support and finding none. \"Sacred to the memory\nof\" So-and-So had been painted on them once, but it could no longer have\nbeen read, on the most of them, now, even if there had been light.\n\nA faint wind moaned through the trees, and Tom feared it might be the\nspirits of the dead, complaining at being disturbed. The boys talked\nlittle, and only under their breath, for the time and the place and the\npervading solemnity and silence oppressed their spirits. They found the\nsharp new heap they were seeking, and ensconced themselves within the\nprotection of three great elms that grew in a bunch within a few feet of\nthe grave.\n\nThen they waited in silence for what seemed a long time. The hooting of\na distant owl was all the sound that troubled the dead stillness. Tom's\nreflections grew oppressive. He must force some talk. So he said in a\nwhisper:\n\n\"Hucky, do you believe the dead people like it for us to be here?\"\n\nHuckleberry whispered:\n\n\"I wisht I knowed. It's awful solemn like, _ain't_ it?\"\n\n\"I bet it is.\"\n\nThere was a considerable pause, while the boys canvassed this matter\ninwardly. Then Tom whispered:\n\n\"Say, Hucky--do you reckon Hoss Williams hears us talking?\"\n\n\"O' course he does. Least his sperrit does.\"\n\nTom, after a pause:\n\n\"I wish I'd said Mister Williams. But I never meant any harm. Everybody\ncalls him Hoss.\"\n\n\"A body can't be too partic'lar how they talk 'bout these-yer dead\npeople, Tom.\"\n\nThis was a damper, and conversation died again.\n\nPresently Tom seized his comrade's arm and said:\n\n\"Sh!\"\n\n\"What is it, Tom?\" And the two clung together with beating hearts.\n\n\"Sh! There 'tis again! Didn't you hear it?\"\n\n\"I--\"\n\n\"There! Now you hear it.\"\n\n\"Lord, Tom, they're coming! They're coming, sure. What'll we do?\"\n\n\"I dono. Think they'll see us?\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, they can see in the dark, same as cats. I wisht I hadn't\ncome.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't be afeard. I don't believe they'll bother us. We ain't doing\nany harm. If we keep perfectly still, maybe they won't notice us at\nall.\"\n\n\"I'll try to, Tom, but, Lord, I'm all of a shiver.\"\n\n\"Listen!\"\n\nThe boys bent their heads together and scarcely breathed. A muffled\nsound of voices floated up from the far end of the graveyard.\n\n\"Look! See there!\" whispered Tom. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"It's devil-fire. Oh, Tom, this is awful.\"\n\nSome vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging an\nold-fashioned tin lantern that freckled the ground with innumerable\nlittle spangles of light. Presently Huckleberry whispered with a\nshudder:\n\n\"It's the devils sure enough. Three of 'em! Lordy, Tom, we're goners!\nCan you pray?\"\n\n\"I'll try, but don't you be afeard. They ain't going to hurt us. 'Now I\nlay me down to sleep, I--'\"\n\n\"Sh!\"\n\n\"What is it, Huck?\"\n\n\"They're _humans_! One of 'em is, anyway. One of 'em's old Muff Potter's\nvoice.\"\n\n\"No--'tain't so, is it?\"\n\n\"I bet I know it. Don't you stir nor budge. He ain't sharp enough to\nnotice us. Drunk, the same as usual, likely--blamed old rip!\"\n\n\"All right, I'll keep still. Now they're stuck. Can't find it. Here they\ncome again. Now they're hot. Cold again. Hot again. Red hot! They're\np'inted right, this time. Say, Huck, I know another o' them voices; it's\nInjun Joe.\"\n\n\"That's so--that murderin' half-breed! I'd druther they was devils a dern\nsight. What kin they be up to?\"\n\nThe whisper died wholly out, now, for the three men had reached the\ngrave and stood within a few feet of the boys' hiding-place.\n\n\"Here it is,\" said the third voice; and the owner of it held the lantern\nup and revealed the face of young Doctor Robinson.\n\nPotter and Injun Joe were carrying a handbarrow with a rope and a couple\nof shovels on it. They cast down their load and began to open the grave.\nThe doctor put the lantern at the head of the grave and came and sat\ndown with his back against one of the elm trees. He was so close the\nboys could have touched him.\n\n\"Hurry, men!\" he said, in a low voice; \"the moon might come out at any\nmoment.\"\n\nThey growled a response and went on digging. For some time there was no\nnoise but the grating sound of the spades discharging their freight of\nmould and gravel. It was very monotonous. Finally a spade struck upon\nthe coffin with a dull woody accent, and within another minute or two\nthe men had hoisted it out on the ground. They pried off the lid with\ntheir shovels, got out the body and dumped it rudely on the ground. The\nmoon drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the pallid face.\nThe barrow was got ready and the corpse placed on it, covered with a\nblanket, and bound to its place with the rope. Potter took out a large\nspring-knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and then said:\n\n\"Now the cussed thing's ready, Sawbones, and you'll just out with\nanother five, or here she stays.\"\n\n\"That's the talk!\" said Injun Joe.\n\n\"Look here, what does this mean?\" said the doctor. \"You required your\npay in advance, and I've paid you.\"\n\n\"Yes, and you done more than that,\" said Injun Joe, approaching the\ndoctor, who was now standing. \"Five years ago you drove me away from\nyour father's kitchen one night, when I come to ask for something to\neat, and you said I warn't there for any good; and when I swore I'd get\neven with you if it took a hundred years, your father had me jailed for\na vagrant. Did you think I'd forget? The Injun blood ain't in me for\nnothing. And now I've _got_ you, and you got to _settle_, you know!\"\n\nHe was threatening the doctor, with his fist in his face, by this time.\nThe doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian on the ground.\nPotter dropped his knife, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Here, now, don't you hit my pard!\" and the next moment he had grappled\nwith the doctor and the two were struggling with might and main,\ntrampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels. Injun Joe\nsprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion, snatched up Potter's\nknife, and went creeping, catlike and stooping, round and round about\nthe combatants, seeking an opportunity. All at once the doctor flung\nhimself free, seized the heavy headboard of Williams' grave and felled\nPotter to the earth with it--and in the same instant the half-breed saw\nhis chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the young man's breast. He\nreeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him with his blood, and in\nthe same moment the clouds blotted out the dreadful spectacle and the\ntwo frightened boys went speeding away in the dark.\n\nPresently, when the moon emerged again, Injun Joe was standing over the\ntwo forms, contemplating them. The doctor murmured inarticulately, gave\na long gasp or two and was still. The half-breed muttered:\n\n\"_That_ score is settled--damn you.\"\n\nThen he robbed the body. After which he put the fatal knife in Potter's\nopen right hand, and sat down on the dismantled coffin. Three--four--five\nminutes passed, and then Potter began to stir and moan. His hand closed\nupon the knife; he raised it, glanced at it, and let it fall, with a\nshudder. Then he sat up, pushing the body from him, and gazed at it, and\nthen around him, confusedly. His eyes met Joe's.\n\n\"Lord, how is this, Joe?\" he said.\n\n\"It's a dirty business,\" said Joe, without moving.\n\n\"What did you do it for?\"\n\n\"I! I never done it!\"\n\n\"Look here! That kind of talk won't wash.\"\n\nPotter trembled and grew white.\n\n\"I thought I'd got sober. I'd no business to drink to-night. But it's\nin my head yet--worse'n when we started here. I'm all in a muddle;\ncan't recollect anything of it, hardly. Tell me, Joe--_honest_, now,\nold feller--did I do it? Joe, I never meant to--'pon my soul and honor, I\nnever meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. Oh, it's awful--and him so\nyoung and promising.\"\n\n\"Why, you two was scuffling, and he fetched you one with the headboard\nand you fell flat; and then up you come, all reeling and staggering\nlike, and snatched the knife and jammed it into him, just as he fetched\nyou another awful clip--and here you've laid, as dead as a wedge til\nnow.\"\n\n\"Oh, I didn't know what I was a-doing. I wish I may die this minute if I\ndid. It was all on account of the whiskey and the excitement, I reckon.\nI never used a weepon in my life before, Joe. I've fought, but never\nwith weepons. They'll all say that. Joe, don't tell! Say you won't tell,\nJoe--that's a good feller. I always liked you, Joe, and stood up for you,\ntoo. Don't you remember? You _won't_ tell, _will_ you, Joe?\" And the\npoor creature dropped on his knees before the stolid murderer, and\nclasped his appealing hands.\n\n\"No, you've always been fair and square with me, Muff Potter, and I\nwon't go back on you. There, now, that's as fair as a man can say.\"\n\n\"Oh, Joe, you're an angel. I'll bless you for this the longest day I\nlive.\" And Potter began to cry.\n\n\"Come, now, that's enough of that. This ain't any time for blubbering.\nYou be off yonder way and I'll go this. Move, now, and don't leave any\ntracks behind you.\"\n\nPotter started on a trot that quickly increased to a run. The half-breed\nstood looking after him. He muttered:\n\n\"If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as he\nhad the look of being, he won't think of the knife till he's gone so\nfar he'll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by\nhimself--chicken-heart!\"\n\nTwo or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the\nlidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the\nmoon's. The stillness was complete again, too.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE two boys flew on and on, toward the village, speechless with\nhorror. They glanced backward over their shoulders from time to time,\napprehensively, as if they feared they might be followed. Every stump\nthat started up in their path seemed a man and an enemy, and made them\ncatch their breath; and as they sped by some outlying cottages that lay\nnear the village, the barking of the aroused watch-dogs seemed to give\nwings to their feet.\n\n\"If we can only get to the old tannery before we break down!\" whispered\nTom, in short catches between breaths. \"I can't stand it much longer.\"\n\nHuckleberry's hard pantings were his only reply, and the boys fixed\ntheir eyes on the goal of their hopes and bent to their work to win it.\nThey gained steadily on it, and at last, breast to breast, they burst\nthrough the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in the sheltering\nshadows beyond. By and by their pulses slowed down, and Tom whispered:\n\n\"Huckleberry, what do you reckon'll come of this?\"\n\n\"If Doctor Robinson dies, I reckon hanging'll come of it.\"\n\n\"Do you though?\"\n\n\"Why, I _know_ it, Tom.\"\n\nTom thought a while, then he said:\n\n\"Who'll tell? We?\"\n\n\"What are you talking about? S'pose something happened and Injun Joe\n_didn't_ hang? Why, he'd kill us some time or other, just as dead sure\nas we're a laying here.\"\n\n\"That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck.\"\n\n\"If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it, if he's fool enough. He's\ngenerally drunk enough.\"\n\nTom said nothing--went on thinking. Presently he whispered:\n\n\"Huck, Muff Potter don't know it. How can he tell?\"\n\n\"What's the reason he don't know it?\"\n\n\"Because he'd just got that whack when Injun Joe done it. D'you reckon\nhe could see anything? D'you reckon he knowed anything?\"\n\n\"By hokey, that's so, Tom!\"\n\n\"And besides, look-a-here--maybe that whack done for _him_!\"\n\n\"No, 'taint likely, Tom. He had liquor in him; I could see that; and\nbesides, he always has. Well, when pap's full, you might take and belt\nhim over the head with a church and you couldn't phase him. He says so,\nhis own self. So it's the same with Muff Potter, of course. But if a man\nwas dead sober, I reckon maybe that whack might fetch him; I dono.\"\n\nAfter another reflective silence, Tom said:\n\n\"Hucky, you sure you can keep mum?\"\n\n\"Tom, we _got_ to keep mum. You know that. That Injun devil wouldn't\nmake any more of drownding us than a couple of cats, if we was to squeak\n'bout this and they didn't hang him. Now, look-a-here, Tom, less take\nand swear to one another--that's what we got to do--swear to keep mum.\"\n\n\"I'm agreed. It's the best thing. Would you just hold hands and swear\nthat we--\"\n\n\"Oh no, that wouldn't do for this. That's good enough for little\nrubbishy common things--specially with gals, cuz _they_ go back on you\nanyway, and blab if they get in a huff--but there orter be writing 'bout\na big thing like this. And blood.\"\n\nTom's whole being applauded this idea. It was deep, and dark, and awful;\nthe hour, the circumstances, the surroundings, were in keeping with it.\nHe picked up a clean pine shingle that lay in the moon-light, took a\nlittle fragment of \"red keel\" out of his pocket, got the moon on\nhis work, and painfully scrawled these lines, emphasizing each slow\ndown-stroke by clamping his tongue between his teeth, and letting up the\npressure on the up-strokes. [See next page.]\n\n\"Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer swears they will keep mum about This and They\nwish They may Drop down dead in Their Tracks if They ever Tell and Rot.\"\n\nHuckleberry was filled with admiration of Tom's facility in writing, and\nthe sublimity of his language. He at once took a pin from his lapel and\nwas going to prick his flesh, but Tom said:\n\n\"Hold on! Don't do that. A pin's brass. It might have verdigrease on\nit.\"\n\n\"What's verdigrease?\"\n\n\"It's p'ison. That's what it is. You just swaller some of it once--you'll\nsee.\"\n\nSo Tom unwound the thread from one of his needles, and each boy pricked\nthe ball of his thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. In time, after\nmany squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials, using the ball of his\nlittle finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry how to make an H and\nan F, and the oath was complete. They buried the shingle close to the\nwall, with some dismal ceremonies and incantations, and the fetters\nthat bound their tongues were considered to be locked and the key thrown\naway.\n\nA figure crept stealthily through a break in the other end of the ruined\nbuilding, now, but they did not notice it.\n\n\"Tom,\" whispered Huckleberry, \"does this keep us from _ever_\ntelling--_always_?\"\n\n\"Of course it does. It don't make any difference _what_ happens, we got\nto keep mum. We'd drop down dead--don't _you_ know that?\"\n\n\"Yes, I reckon that's so.\"\n\nThey continued to whisper for some little time. Presently a dog set up\na long, lugubrious howl just outside--within ten feet of them. The boys\nclasped each other suddenly, in an agony of fright.\n\n\"Which of us does he mean?\" gasped Huckleberry.\n\n\"I dono--peep through the crack. Quick!\"\n\n\"No, _you_, Tom!\"\n\n\"I can't--I can't _do_ it, Huck!\"\n\n\"Please, Tom. There 'tis again!\"\n\n\"Oh, lordy, I'm thankful!\" whispered Tom. \"I know his voice. It's Bull\nHarbison.\" *\n\n[* If Mr. Harbison owned a slave named Bull, Tom would have spoken of\nhim as \"Harbison's Bull,\" but a son or a dog of that name was \"Bull\nHarbison.\"]\n\n\"Oh, that's good--I tell you, Tom, I was most scared to death; I'd a bet\nanything it was a _stray_ dog.\"\n\nThe dog howled again. The boys' hearts sank once more.\n\n\"Oh, my! that ain't no Bull Harbison!\" whispered Huckleberry. \"_Do_,\nTom!\"\n\nTom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put his eye to the crack. His\nwhisper was hardly audible when he said:\n\n\"Oh, Huck, _its a stray dog_!\"\n\n\"Quick, Tom, quick! Who does he mean?\"\n\n\"Huck, he must mean us both--we're right together.\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, I reckon we're goners. I reckon there ain't no mistake 'bout\nwhere _I'll_ go to. I been so wicked.\"\n\n\"Dad fetch it! This comes of playing hookey and doing everything a\nfeller's told _not_ to do. I might a been good, like Sid, if I'd a\ntried--but no, I wouldn't, of course. But if ever I get off this time,\nI lay I'll just _waller_ in Sunday-schools!\" And Tom began to snuffle a\nlittle.\n\n\"_You_ bad!\" and Huckleberry began to snuffle too. \"Consound it, Tom\nSawyer, you're just old pie, 'long-side o' what I am. Oh, _lordy_,\nlordy, lordy, I wisht I only had half your chance.\"\n\nTom choked off and whispered:\n\n\"Look, Hucky, look! He's got his _back_ to us!\"\n\nHucky looked, with joy in his heart.\n\n\"Well, he has, by jingoes! Did he before?\"\n\n\"Yes, he did. But I, like a fool, never thought. Oh, this is bully, you\nknow. _Now_ who can he mean?\"\n\nThe howling stopped. Tom pricked up his ears.\n\n\"Sh! What's that?\" he whispered.\n\n\"Sounds like--like hogs grunting. No--it's somebody snoring, Tom.\"\n\n\"That _is_ it! Where 'bouts is it, Huck?\"\n\n\"I bleeve it's down at 'tother end. Sounds so, anyway. Pap used to sleep\nthere, sometimes, 'long with the hogs, but laws bless you, he just lifts\nthings when _he_ snores. Besides, I reckon he ain't ever coming back to\nthis town any more.\"\n\nThe spirit of adventure rose in the boys' souls once more.\n\n\"Hucky, do you das't to go if I lead?\"\n\n\"I don't like to, much. Tom, s'pose it's Injun Joe!\"\n\nTom quailed. But presently the temptation rose up strong again and the\nboys agreed to try, with the understanding that they would take to their\nheels if the snoring stopped. So they went tiptoeing stealthily down,\nthe one behind the other. When they had got to within five steps of the\nsnorer, Tom stepped on a stick, and it broke with a sharp snap. The man\nmoaned, writhed a little, and his face came into the moonlight. It was\nMuff Potter. The boys' hearts had stood still, and their hopes too,\nwhen the man moved, but their fears passed away now. They tip-toed out,\nthrough the broken weather-boarding, and stopped at a little distance\nto exchange a parting word. That long, lugubrious howl rose on the night\nair again! They turned and saw the strange dog standing within a few\nfeet of where Potter was lying, and _facing_ Potter, with his nose\npointing heavenward.\n\n\"Oh, geeminy, it's _him_!\" exclaimed both boys, in a breath.\n\n\"Say, Tom--they say a stray dog come howling around Johnny Miller's\nhouse, 'bout midnight, as much as two weeks ago; and a whippoorwill come\nin and lit on the banisters and sung, the very same evening; and there\nain't anybody dead there yet.\"\n\n\"Well, I know that. And suppose there ain't. Didn't Gracie Miller fall\nin the kitchen fire and burn herself terrible the very next Saturday?\"\n\n\"Yes, but she ain't _dead_. And what's more, she's getting better, too.\"\n\n\"All right, you wait and see. She's a goner, just as dead sure as Muff\nPotter's a goner. That's what the niggers say, and they know all about\nthese kind of things, Huck.\"\n\nThen they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept in at his bedroom window\nthe night was almost spent. He undressed with excessive caution, and\nfell asleep congratulating himself that nobody knew of his escapade. He\nwas not aware that the gently-snoring Sid was awake, and had been so for\nan hour.\n\nWhen Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone. There was a late look in the\nlight, a late sense in the atmosphere. He was startled. Why had he not\nbeen called--persecuted till he was up, as usual? The thought filled\nhim with bodings. Within five minutes he was dressed and down-stairs,\nfeeling sore and drowsy. The family were still at table, but they had\nfinished breakfast. There was no voice of rebuke; but there were averted\neyes; there was a silence and an air of solemnity that struck a chill\nto the culprit's heart. He sat down and tried to seem gay, but it\nwas up-hill work; it roused no smile, no response, and he lapsed into\nsilence and let his heart sink down to the depths.\n\nAfter breakfast his aunt took him aside, and Tom almost brightened in\nthe hope that he was going to be flogged; but it was not so. His aunt\nwept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old heart so;\nand finally told him to go on, and ruin himself and bring her gray hairs\nwith sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try any more.\nThis was worse than a thousand whippings, and Tom's heart was sorer now\nthan his body. He cried, he pleaded for forgiveness, promised to reform\nover and over again, and then received his dismissal, feeling that\nhe had won but an imperfect forgiveness and established but a feeble\nconfidence.\n\nHe left the presence too miserable to even feel revengeful toward\nSid; and so the latter's prompt retreat through the back gate was\nunnecessary. He moped to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging,\nalong with Joe Harper, for playing hookey the day before, with the\nair of one whose heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead to\ntrifles. Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on his\ndesk and his jaws in his hands, and stared at the wall with the stony\nstare of suffering that has reached the limit and can no further go.\nHis elbow was pressing against some hard substance. After a long time\nhe slowly and sadly changed his position, and took up this object with\na sigh. It was in a paper. He unrolled it. A long, lingering, colossal\nsigh followed, and his heart broke. It was his brass andiron knob!\n\nThis final feather broke the camel's back.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nCLOSE upon the hour of noon the whole village was suddenly electrified\nwith the ghastly news. No need of the as yet un-dreamed-of telegraph;\nthe tale flew from man to man, from group to group, from house to house,\nwith little less than telegraphic speed. Of course the schoolmaster gave\nholi-day for that afternoon; the town would have thought strangely of\nhim if he had not.\n\nA gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had been\nrecognized by somebody as belonging to Muff Potter--so the story ran. And\nit was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter washing himself\nin the \"branch\" about one or two o'clock in the morning, and that Potter\nhad at once sneaked off--suspicious circumstances, especially the washing\nwhich was not a habit with Potter. It was also said that the town had\nbeen ransacked for this \"murderer\" (the public are not slow in the\nmatter of sifting evidence and arriving at a verdict), but that he\ncould not be found. Horsemen had departed down all the roads in every\ndirection, and the Sheriff \"was confident\" that he would be captured\nbefore night.\n\nAll the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heartbreak\nvanished and he joined the procession, not because he would not\na thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful,\nunaccountable fascination drew him on. Arrived at the dreadful place, he\nwormed his small body through the crowd and saw the dismal spectacle.\nIt seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody pinched\nhis arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's. Then both looked\nelsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed anything in their\nmutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent upon the grisly\nspectacle before them.\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" \"Poor young fellow!\" \"This ought to be a lesson to grave\nrobbers!\" \"Muff Potter'll hang for this if they catch him!\" This was the\ndrift of remark; and the minister said, \"It was a judgment; His hand is\nhere.\"\n\nNow Tom shivered from head to heel; for his eye fell upon the stolid\nface of Injun Joe. At this moment the crowd began to sway and struggle,\nand voices shouted, \"It's him! it's him! he's coming himself!\"\n\n\"Who? Who?\" from twenty voices.\n\n\"Muff Potter!\"\n\n\"Hallo, he's stopped!--Look out, he's turning! Don't let him get away!\"\n\nPeople in the branches of the trees over Tom's head said he wasn't\ntrying to get away--he only looked doubtful and perplexed.\n\n\"Infernal impudence!\" said a bystander; \"wanted to come and take a quiet\nlook at his work, I reckon--didn't expect any company.\"\n\nThe crowd fell apart, now, and the Sheriff came through, ostentatiously\nleading Potter by the arm. The poor fellow's face was haggard, and\nhis eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stood before the\nmurdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his face in his hands\nand burst into tears.\n\n\"I didn't do it, friends,\" he sobbed; \"'pon my word and honor I never\ndone it.\"\n\n\"Who's accused you?\" shouted a voice.\n\nThis shot seemed to carry home. Potter lifted his face and looked around\nhim with a pathetic hopelessness in his eyes. He saw Injun Joe, and\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Oh, Injun Joe, you promised me you'd never--\"\n\n\"Is that your knife?\" and it was thrust before him by the Sheriff.\n\nPotter would have fallen if they had not caught him and eased him to the\nground. Then he said:\n\n\"Something told me 't if I didn't come back and get--\" He shuddered; then\nwaved his nerveless hand with a vanquished gesture and said, \"Tell 'em,\nJoe, tell 'em--it ain't any use any more.\"\n\nThen Huckleberry and Tom stood dumb and staring, and heard the\nstony-hearted liar reel off his serene statement, they expecting every\nmoment that the clear sky would deliver God's lightnings upon his head,\nand wondering to see how long the stroke was delayed. And when he had\nfinished and still stood alive and whole, their wavering impulse to\nbreak their oath and save the poor betrayed prisoner's life faded and\nvanished away, for plainly this miscreant had sold himself to Satan and\nit would be fatal to meddle with the property of such a power as that.\n\n\"Why didn't you leave? What did you want to come here for?\" somebody\nsaid.\n\n\"I couldn't help it--I couldn't help it,\" Potter moaned. \"I wanted to\nrun away, but I couldn't seem to come anywhere but here.\" And he fell to\nsobbing again.\n\nInjun Joe repeated his statement, just as calmly, a few minutes\nafterward on the inquest, under oath; and the boys, seeing that the\nlightnings were still withheld, were confirmed in their belief that\nJoe had sold himself to the devil. He was now become, to them, the most\nbalefully interesting object they had ever looked upon, and they could\nnot take their fascinated eyes from his face.\n\nThey inwardly resolved to watch him nights, when opportunity should\noffer, in the hope of getting a glimpse of his dread master.\n\nInjun Joe helped to raise the body of the murdered man and put it in\na wagon for removal; and it was whispered through the shuddering\ncrowd that the wound bled a little! The boys thought that this happy\ncircumstance would turn suspicion in the right direction; but they were\ndisappointed, for more than one villager remarked:\n\n\"It was within three feet of Muff Potter when it done it.\"\n\nTom's fearful secret and gnawing conscience disturbed his sleep for as\nmuch as a week after this; and at breakfast one morning Sid said:\n\n\"Tom, you pitch around and talk in your sleep so much that you keep me\nawake half the time.\"\n\nTom blanched and dropped his eyes.\n\n\"It's a bad sign,\" said Aunt Polly, gravely. \"What you got on your mind,\nTom?\"\n\n\"Nothing. Nothing 't I know of.\" But the boy's hand shook so that he\nspilled his coffee.\n\n\"And you do talk such stuff,\" Sid said. \"Last night you said, 'It's\nblood, it's blood, that's what it is!' You said that over and over.\nAnd you said, 'Don't torment me so--I'll tell!' Tell _what_? What is it\nyou'll tell?\"\n\nEverything was swimming before Tom. There is no telling what might have\nhappened, now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt Polly's face\nand she came to Tom's relief without knowing it. She said:\n\n\"Sho! It's that dreadful murder. I dream about it most every night\nmyself. Sometimes I dream it's me that done it.\"\n\nMary said she had been affected much the same way. Sid seemed satisfied.\nTom got out of the presence as quick as he plausibly could, and after\nthat he complained of toothache for a week, and tied up his jaws every\nnight. He never knew that Sid lay nightly watching, and frequently\nslipped the bandage free and then leaned on his elbow listening a good\nwhile at a time, and afterward slipped the bandage back to its place\nagain. Tom's distress of mind wore off gradually and the toothache grew\nirksome and was discarded. If Sid really managed to make anything out of\nTom's disjointed mutterings, he kept it to himself.\n\nIt seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holding\ninquests on dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble present to his mind.\nSid noticed that Tom never was coroner at one of these inquiries,\nthough it had been his habit to take the lead in all new enterprises;\nhe noticed, too, that Tom never acted as a witness--and that was strange;\nand Sid did not overlook the fact that Tom even showed a marked aversion\nto these inquests, and always avoided them when he could. Sid marvelled,\nbut said nothing. However, even inquests went out of vogue at last, and\nceased to torture Tom's conscience.\n\nEvery day or two, during this time of sorrow, Tom watched his\nopportunity and went to the little grated jail-window and smuggled such\nsmall comforts through to the \"murderer\" as he could get hold of. The\njail was a trifling little brick den that stood in a marsh at the edge\nof the village, and no guards were afforded for it; indeed, it\nwas seldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease Tom's\nconscience.\n\nThe villagers had a strong desire to tar-and-feather Injun Joe and ride\nhim on a rail, for body-snatching, but so formidable was his character\nthat nobody could be found who was willing to take the lead in the\nmatter, so it was dropped. He had been careful to begin both of his\ninquest-statements with the fight, without confessing the grave-robbery\nthat preceded it; therefore it was deemed wisest not to try the case in\nthe courts at present.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nONE of the reasons why Tom's mind had drifted away from its secret\ntroubles was, that it had found a new and weighty matter to interest\nitself about. Becky Thatcher had stopped coming to school. Tom had\nstruggled with his pride a few days, and tried to \"whistle her down the\nwind,\" but failed. He began to find himself hanging around her father's\nhouse, nights, and feeling very miserable. She was ill. What if she\nshould die! There was distraction in the thought. He no longer took an\ninterest in war, nor even in piracy. The charm of life was gone; there\nwas nothing but dreariness left. He put his hoop away, and his bat;\nthere was no joy in them any more. His aunt was concerned. She began to\ntry all manner of remedies on him. She was one of those people who\nare infatuated with patent medicines and all new-fangled methods of\nproducing health or mending it. She was an inveterate experimenter in\nthese things. When something fresh in this line came out she was in a\nfever, right away, to try it; not on herself, for she was never ailing,\nbut on anybody else that came handy. She was a subscriber for all the\n\"Health\" periodicals and phrenological frauds; and the solemn ignorance\nthey were inflated with was breath to her nostrils. All the \"rot\" they\ncontained about ventilation, and how to go to bed, and how to get up,\nand what to eat, and what to drink, and how much exercise to take, and\nwhat frame of mind to keep one's self in, and what sort of clothing\nto wear, was all gospel to her, and she never observed that her\nhealth-journals of the current month customarily upset everything they\nhad recommended the month before. She was as simple-hearted and honest\nas the day was long, and so she was an easy victim. She gathered\ntogether her quack periodicals and her quack medicines, and thus armed\nwith death, went about on her pale horse, metaphorically speaking, with\n\"hell following after.\" But she never suspected that she was not an\nangel of healing and the balm of Gilead in disguise, to the suffering\nneighbors.\n\nThe water treatment was new, now, and Tom's low condition was a windfall\nto her. She had him out at daylight every morning, stood him up in the\nwood-shed and drowned him with a deluge of cold water; then she scrubbed\nhim down with a towel like a file, and so brought him to; then she\nrolled him up in a wet sheet and put him away under blankets till she\nsweated his soul clean and \"the yellow stains of it came through his\npores\"--as Tom said.\n\nYet notwithstanding all this, the boy grew more and more melancholy and\npale and dejected. She added hot baths, sitz baths, shower baths, and\nplunges. The boy remained as dismal as a hearse. She began to assist the\nwater with a slim oatmeal diet and blister-plasters. She calculated his\ncapacity as she would a jug's, and filled him up every day with quack\ncure-alls.\n\nTom had become indifferent to persecution by this time. This phase\nfilled the old lady's heart with consternation. This indifference must\nbe broken up at any cost. Now she heard of Pain-killer for the first\ntime. She ordered a lot at once. She tasted it and was filled with\ngratitude. It was simply fire in a liquid form. She dropped the water\ntreatment and everything else, and pinned her faith to Pain-killer.\nShe gave Tom a teaspoonful and watched with the deepest anxiety for the\nresult. Her troubles were instantly at rest, her soul at peace again;\nfor the \"indifference\" was broken up. The boy could not have shown a\nwilder, heartier interest, if she had built a fire under him.\n\nTom felt that it was time to wake up; this sort of life might be\nromantic enough, in his blighted condition, but it was getting to have\ntoo little sentiment and too much distracting variety about it. So he\nthought over various plans for relief, and finally hit upon that of\nprofessing to be fond of Pain-killer. He asked for it so often that he\nbecame a nuisance, and his aunt ended by telling him to help himself and\nquit bothering her. If it had been Sid, she would have had no misgivings\nto alloy her delight; but since it was Tom, she watched the bottle\nclandestinely. She found that the medicine did really diminish, but it\ndid not occur to her that the boy was mending the health of a crack in\nthe sitting-room floor with it.\n\nOne day Tom was in the act of dosing the crack when his aunt's yellow\ncat came along, purring, eyeing the teaspoon avariciously, and begging\nfor a taste. Tom said:\n\n\"Don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter.\"\n\nBut Peter signified that he did want it.\n\n\"You better make sure.\"\n\nPeter was sure.\n\n\"Now you've asked for it, and I'll give it to you, because there ain't\nanything mean about me; but if you find you don't like it, you mustn't\nblame anybody but your own self.\"\n\nPeter was agreeable. So Tom pried his mouth open and poured down\nthe Pain-killer. Peter sprang a couple of yards in the air, and then\ndelivered a war-whoop and set off round and round the room, banging\nagainst furniture, upsetting flower-pots, and making general havoc. Next\nhe rose on his hind feet and pranced around, in a frenzy of enjoyment,\nwith his head over his shoulder and his voice proclaiming his\nunappeasable happiness. Then he went tearing around the house again\nspreading chaos and destruction in his path. Aunt Polly entered in time\nto see him throw a few double summersets, deliver a final mighty hurrah,\nand sail through the open window, carrying the rest of the flower-pots\nwith him. The old lady stood petrified with astonishment, peering over\nher glasses; Tom lay on the floor expiring with laughter.\n\n\"Tom, what on earth ails that cat?\"\n\n\"I don't know, aunt,\" gasped the boy.\n\n\"Why, I never see anything like it. What did make him act so?\"\n\n\"Deed I don't know, Aunt Polly; cats always act so when they're having a\ngood time.\"\n\n\"They do, do they?\" There was something in the tone that made Tom\napprehensive.\n\n\"Yes'm. That is, I believe they do.\"\n\n\"You _do_?\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\nThe old lady was bending down, Tom watching, with interest emphasized\nby anxiety. Too late he divined her \"drift.\" The handle of the telltale\ntea-spoon was visible under the bed-valance. Aunt Polly took it, held it\nup. Tom winced, and dropped his eyes. Aunt Polly raised him by the usual\nhandle--his ear--and cracked his head soundly with her thimble.\n\n\"Now, sir, what did you want to treat that poor dumb beast so, for?\"\n\n\"I done it out of pity for him--because he hadn't any aunt.\"\n\n\"Hadn't any aunt!--you numskull. What has that got to do with it?\"\n\n\"Heaps. Because if he'd had one she'd a burnt him out herself! She'd a\nroasted his bowels out of him 'thout any more feeling than if he was a\nhuman!\"\n\nAunt Polly felt a sudden pang of remorse. This was putting the thing in\na new light; what was cruelty to a cat _might_ be cruelty to a boy, too.\nShe began to soften; she felt sorry. Her eyes watered a little, and she\nput her hand on Tom's head and said gently:\n\n\"I was meaning for the best, Tom. And, Tom, it _did_ do you good.\"\n\nTom looked up in her face with just a perceptible twinkle peeping\nthrough his gravity.\n\n\"I know you was meaning for the best, aunty, and so was I with Peter. It\ndone _him_ good, too. I never see him get around so since--\"\n\n\"Oh, go 'long with you, Tom, before you aggravate me again. And you try\nand see if you can't be a good boy, for once, and you needn't take any\nmore medicine.\"\n\nTom reached school ahead of time. It was noticed that this strange thing\nhad been occurring every day latterly. And now, as usual of late,\nhe hung about the gate of the schoolyard instead of playing with his\ncomrades. He was sick, he said, and he looked it. He tried to seem to\nbe looking everywhere but whither he really was looking--down the road.\nPresently Jeff Thatcher hove in sight, and Tom's face lighted; he gazed\na moment, and then turned sorrowfully away. When Jeff arrived, Tom\naccosted him; and \"led up\" warily to opportunities for remark about\nBecky, but the giddy lad never could see the bait. Tom watched and\nwatched, hoping whenever a frisking frock came in sight, and hating the\nowner of it as soon as he saw she was not the right one. At last frocks\nceased to appear, and he dropped hopelessly into the dumps; he entered\nthe empty schoolhouse and sat down to suffer. Then one more frock passed\nin at the gate, and Tom's heart gave a great bound. The next instant he\nwas out, and \"going on\" like an Indian; yelling, laughing, chasing boys,\njumping over the fence at risk of life and limb, throwing handsprings,\nstanding on his head--doing all the heroic things he could conceive of,\nand keeping a furtive eye out, all the while, to see if Becky Thatcher\nwas noticing. But she seemed to be unconscious of it all; she never\nlooked. Could it be possible that she was not aware that he was there?\nHe carried his exploits to her immediate vicinity; came war-whooping\naround, snatched a boy's cap, hurled it to the roof of the schoolhouse,\nbroke through a group of boys, tumbling them in every direction, and\nfell sprawling, himself, under Becky's nose, almost upsetting her--and\nshe turned, with her nose in the air, and he heard her say: \"Mf! some\npeople think they're mighty smart--always showing off!\"\n\nTom's cheeks burned. He gathered himself up and sneaked off, crushed and\ncrestfallen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTOM'S mind was made up now. He was gloomy and desperate. He was a\nforsaken, friendless boy, he said; nobody loved him; when they found out\nwhat they had driven him to, perhaps they would be sorry; he had tried\nto do right and get along, but they would not let him; since nothing\nwould do them but to be rid of him, let it be so; and let them blame\n_him_ for the consequences--why shouldn't they? What right had the\nfriendless to complain? Yes, they had forced him to it at last: he would\nlead a life of crime. There was no choice.\n\nBy this time he was far down Meadow Lane, and the bell for school to\n\"take up\" tinkled faintly upon his ear. He sobbed, now, to think he\nshould never, never hear that old familiar sound any more--it was very\nhard, but it was forced on him; since he was driven out into the cold\nworld, he must submit--but he forgave them. Then the sobs came thick and\nfast.\n\nJust at this point he met his soul's sworn comrade, Joe\nHarper--hard-eyed, and with evidently a great and dismal purpose in his\nheart. Plainly here were \"two souls with but a single thought.\" Tom,\nwiping his eyes with his sleeve, began to blubber out something about\na resolution to escape from hard usage and lack of sympathy at home by\nroaming abroad into the great world never to return; and ended by hoping\nthat Joe would not forget him.\n\nBut it transpired that this was a request which Joe had just been going\nto make of Tom, and had come to hunt him up for that purpose. His mother\nhad whipped him for drinking some cream which he had never tasted and\nknew nothing about; it was plain that she was tired of him and wished\nhim to go; if she felt that way, there was nothing for him to do but\nsuccumb; he hoped she would be happy, and never regret having driven her\npoor boy out into the unfeeling world to suffer and die.\n\nAs the two boys walked sorrowing along, they made a new compact to stand\nby each other and be brothers and never separate till death relieved\nthem of their troubles. Then they began to lay their plans. Joe was for\nbeing a hermit, and living on crusts in a remote cave, and dying,\nsome time, of cold and want and grief; but after listening to Tom, he\nconceded that there were some conspicuous advantages about a life of\ncrime, and so he consented to be a pirate.\n\nThree miles below St. Petersburg, at a point where the Mississippi River\nwas a trifle over a mile wide, there was a long, narrow, wooded island,\nwith a shallow bar at the head of it, and this offered well as a\nrendezvous. It was not inhabited; it lay far over toward the further\nshore, abreast a dense and almost wholly unpeopled forest. So Jackson's\nIsland was chosen. Who were to be the subjects of their piracies was a\nmatter that did not occur to them. Then they hunted up Huckleberry Finn,\nand he joined them promptly, for all careers were one to him; he was\nindifferent. They presently separated to meet at a lonely spot on the\nriver-bank two miles above the village at the favorite hour--which was\nmidnight. There was a small log raft there which they meant to capture.\nEach would bring hooks and lines, and such provision as he could steal\nin the most dark and mysterious way--as became outlaws. And before the\nafternoon was done, they had all managed to enjoy the sweet glory of\nspreading the fact that pretty soon the town would \"hear something.\" All\nwho got this vague hint were cautioned to \"be mum and wait.\"\n\nAbout midnight Tom arrived with a boiled ham and a few trifles,\nand stopped in a dense undergrowth on a small bluff overlooking the\nmeeting-place. It was starlight, and very still. The mighty river lay\nlike an ocean at rest. Tom listened a moment, but no sound disturbed the\nquiet. Then he gave a low, distinct whistle. It was answered from under\nthe bluff. Tom whistled twice more; these signals were answered in the\nsame way. Then a guarded voice said:\n\n\"Who goes there?\"\n\n\"Tom Sawyer, the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main. Name your names.\"\n\n\"Huck Finn the Red-Handed, and Joe Harper the Terror of the Seas.\" Tom\nhad furnished these titles, from his favorite literature.\n\n\"'Tis well. Give the countersign.\"\n\nTwo hoarse whispers delivered the same awful word simultaneously to the\nbrooding night:\n\n\"_Blood_!\"\n\nThen Tom tumbled his ham over the bluff and let himself down after it,\ntearing both skin and clothes to some extent in the effort. There was\nan easy, comfortable path along the shore under the bluff, but it lacked\nthe advantages of difficulty and danger so valued by a pirate.\n\nThe Terror of the Seas had brought a side of bacon, and had about worn\nhimself out with getting it there. Finn the Red-Handed had stolen a\nskillet and a quantity of half-cured leaf tobacco, and had also brought\na few corn-cobs to make pipes with. But none of the pirates smoked or\n\"chewed\" but himself. The Black Avenger of the Spanish Main said it\nwould never do to start without some fire. That was a wise thought;\nmatches were hardly known there in that day. They saw a fire smouldering\nupon a great raft a hundred yards above, and they went stealthily\nthither and helped themselves to a chunk. They made an imposing\nadventure of it, saying, \"Hist!\" every now and then, and suddenly\nhalting with finger on lip; moving with hands on imaginary dagger-hilts;\nand giving orders in dismal whispers that if \"the foe\" stirred, to \"let\nhim have it to the hilt,\" because \"dead men tell no tales.\" They knew\nwell enough that the raftsmen were all down at the village laying\nin stores or having a spree, but still that was no excuse for their\nconducting this thing in an unpiratical way.\n\nThey shoved off, presently, Tom in command, Huck at the after oar and\nJoe at the forward. Tom stood amidships, gloomy-browed, and with folded\narms, and gave his orders in a low, stern whisper:\n\n\"Luff, and bring her to the wind!\"\n\n\"Aye-aye, sir!\"\n\n\"Steady, steady-y-y-y!\"\n\n\"Steady it is, sir!\"\n\n\"Let her go off a point!\"\n\n\"Point it is, sir!\"\n\nAs the boys steadily and monotonously drove the raft toward mid-stream\nit was no doubt understood that these orders were given only for\n\"style,\" and were not intended to mean anything in particular.\n\n\"What sail's she carrying?\"\n\n\"Courses, tops'ls, and flying-jib, sir.\"\n\n\"Send the r'yals up! Lay out aloft, there, half a dozen of\nye--foretopmaststuns'l! Lively, now!\"\n\n\"Aye-aye, sir!\"\n\n\"Shake out that maintogalans'l! Sheets and braces! _now_ my hearties!\"\n\n\"Aye-aye, sir!\"\n\n\"Hellum-a-lee--hard a port! Stand by to meet her when she comes! Port,\nport! _Now_, men! With a will! Stead-y-y-y!\"\n\n\"Steady it is, sir!\"\n\nThe raft drew beyond the middle of the river; the boys pointed her head\nright, and then lay on their oars. The river was not high, so there was\nnot more than a two or three mile current. Hardly a word was said during\nthe next three-quarters of an hour. Now the raft was passing before\nthe distant town. Two or three glimmering lights showed where it lay,\npeacefully sleeping, beyond the vague vast sweep of star-gemmed water,\nunconscious of the tremendous event that was happening. The Black\nAvenger stood still with folded arms, \"looking his last\" upon the scene\nof his former joys and his later sufferings, and wishing \"she\" could see\nhim now, abroad on the wild sea, facing peril and death with dauntless\nheart, going to his doom with a grim smile on his lips. It was but\na small strain on his imagination to remove Jackson's Island beyond\neye-shot of the village, and so he \"looked his last\" with a broken and\nsatisfied heart. The other pirates were looking their last, too; and\nthey all looked so long that they came near letting the current drift\nthem out of the range of the island. But they discovered the danger in\ntime, and made shift to avert it. About two o'clock in the morning the\nraft grounded on the bar two hundred yards above the head of the island,\nand they waded back and forth until they had landed their freight. Part\nof the little raft's belongings consisted of an old sail, and this they\nspread over a nook in the bushes for a tent to shelter their provisions;\nbut they themselves would sleep in the open air in good weather, as\nbecame outlaws.\n\nThey built a fire against the side of a great log twenty or thirty steps\nwithin the sombre depths of the forest, and then cooked some bacon in\nthe frying-pan for supper, and used up half of the corn \"pone\" stock\nthey had brought. It seemed glorious sport to be feasting in that wild,\nfree way in the virgin forest of an unexplored and uninhabited island,\nfar from the haunts of men, and they said they never would return to\ncivilization. The climbing fire lit up their faces and threw its ruddy\nglare upon the pillared tree-trunks of their forest temple, and upon the\nvarnished foliage and festooning vines.\n\nWhen the last crisp slice of bacon was gone, and the last allowance\nof corn pone devoured, the boys stretched themselves out on the grass,\nfilled with contentment. They could have found a cooler place, but\nthey would not deny themselves such a romantic feature as the roasting\ncampfire.\n\n\"_Ain't_ it gay?\" said Joe.\n\n\"It's _nuts_!\" said Tom. \"What would the boys say if they could see us?\"\n\n\"Say? Well, they'd just die to be here--hey, Hucky!\"\n\n\"I reckon so,\" said Huckleberry; \"anyways, I'm suited. I don't want\nnothing better'n this. I don't ever get enough to eat, gen'ally--and here\nthey can't come and pick at a feller and bullyrag him so.\"\n\n\"It's just the life for me,\" said Tom. \"You don't have to get up,\nmornings, and you don't have to go to school, and wash, and all that\nblame foolishness. You see a pirate don't have to do _anything_, Joe,\nwhen he's ashore, but a hermit _he_ has to be praying considerable, and\nthen he don't have any fun, anyway, all by himself that way.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, that's so,\" said Joe, \"but I hadn't thought much about it, you\nknow. I'd a good deal rather be a pirate, now that I've tried it.\"\n\n\"You see,\" said Tom, \"people don't go much on hermits, nowadays, like\nthey used to in old times, but a pirate's always respected. And\na hermit's got to sleep on the hardest place he can find, and put\nsackcloth and ashes on his head, and stand out in the rain, and--\"\n\n\"What does he put sackcloth and ashes on his head for?\" inquired Huck.\n\n\"I dono. But they've _got_ to do it. Hermits always do. You'd have to do\nthat if you was a hermit.\"\n\n\"Dern'd if I would,\" said Huck.\n\n\"Well, what would you do?\"\n\n\"I dono. But I wouldn't do that.\"\n\n\"Why, Huck, you'd _have_ to. How'd you get around it?\"\n\n\"Why, I just wouldn't stand it. I'd run away.\"\n\n\"Run away! Well, you _would_ be a nice old slouch of a hermit. You'd be\na disgrace.\"\n\nThe Red-Handed made no response, being better employed. He had finished\ngouging out a cob, and now he fitted a weed stem to it, loaded it with\ntobacco, and was pressing a coal to the charge and blowing a cloud of\nfragrant smoke--he was in the full bloom of luxurious contentment. The\nother pirates envied him this majestic vice, and secretly resolved to\nacquire it shortly. Presently Huck said:\n\n\"What does pirates have to do?\"\n\nTom said:\n\n\"Oh, they have just a bully time--take ships and burn them, and get the\nmoney and bury it in awful places in their island where there's ghosts\nand things to watch it, and kill everybody in the ships--make 'em walk a\nplank.\"\n\n\"And they carry the women to the island,\" said Joe; \"they don't kill the\nwomen.\"\n\n\"No,\" assented Tom, \"they don't kill the women--they're too noble. And\nthe women's always beautiful, too.\n\n\"And don't they wear the bulliest clothes! Oh no! All gold and silver\nand di'monds,\" said Joe, with enthusiasm.\n\n\"Who?\" said Huck.\n\n\"Why, the pirates.\"\n\nHuck scanned his own clothing forlornly.\n\n\"I reckon I ain't dressed fitten for a pirate,\" said he, with a\nregretful pathos in his voice; \"but I ain't got none but these.\"\n\nBut the other boys told him the fine clothes would come fast enough,\nafter they should have begun their adventures. They made him understand\nthat his poor rags would do to begin with, though it was customary for\nwealthy pirates to start with a proper wardrobe.\n\nGradually their talk died out and drowsiness began to steal upon the\neyelids of the little waifs. The pipe dropped from the fingers of the\nRed-Handed, and he slept the sleep of the conscience-free and the weary.\nThe Terror of the Seas and the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main had\nmore difficulty in getting to sleep. They said their prayers inwardly,\nand lying down, since there was nobody there with authority to make them\nkneel and recite aloud; in truth, they had a mind not to say them at\nall, but they were afraid to proceed to such lengths as that, lest they\nmight call down a sudden and special thunderbolt from heaven. Then at\nonce they reached and hovered upon the imminent verge of sleep--but an\nintruder came, now, that would not \"down.\" It was conscience. They began\nto feel a vague fear that they had been doing wrong to run away; and\nnext they thought of the stolen meat, and then the real torture came.\nThey tried to argue it away by reminding conscience that they had\npurloined sweetmeats and apples scores of times; but conscience was not\nto be appeased by such thin plausibilities; it seemed to them, in the\nend, that there was no getting around the stubborn fact that taking\nsweetmeats was only \"hooking,\" while taking bacon and hams and such\nvaluables was plain simple stealing--and there was a command against that\nin the Bible. So they inwardly resolved that so long as they remained in\nthe business, their piracies should not again be sullied with the\ncrime of stealing. Then conscience granted a truce, and these curiously\ninconsistent pirates fell peacefully to sleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nWHEN Tom awoke in the morning, he wondered where he was. He sat up and\nrubbed his eyes and looked around. Then he comprehended. It was the cool\ngray dawn, and there was a delicious sense of repose and peace in the\ndeep pervading calm and silence of the woods. Not a leaf stirred; not\na sound obtruded upon great Nature's meditation. Beaded dewdrops stood\nupon the leaves and grasses. A white layer of ashes covered the fire,\nand a thin blue breath of smoke rose straight into the air. Joe and Huck\nstill slept.\n\nNow, far away in the woods a bird called; another answered; presently\nthe hammering of a woodpecker was heard. Gradually the cool dim gray\nof the morning whitened, and as gradually sounds multiplied and life\nmanifested itself. The marvel of Nature shaking off sleep and going\nto work unfolded itself to the musing boy. A little green worm came\ncrawling over a dewy leaf, lifting two-thirds of his body into the air\nfrom time to time and \"sniffing around,\" then proceeding again--for he\nwas measuring, Tom said; and when the worm approached him, of its own\naccord, he sat as still as a stone, with his hopes rising and falling,\nby turns, as the creature still came toward him or seemed inclined to\ngo elsewhere; and when at last it considered a painful moment with its\ncurved body in the air and then came decisively down upon Tom's leg and\nbegan a journey over him, his whole heart was glad--for that meant that\nhe was going to have a new suit of clothes--without the shadow of a\ndoubt a gaudy piratical uniform. Now a procession of ants appeared,\nfrom nowhere in particular, and went about their labors; one struggled\nmanfully by with a dead spider five times as big as itself in its arms,\nand lugged it straight up a tree-trunk. A brown spotted lady-bug climbed\nthe dizzy height of a grass blade, and Tom bent down close to it and\nsaid, \"Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home, your house is on fire, your\nchildren's alone,\" and she took wing and went off to see about it--which\ndid not surprise the boy, for he knew of old that this insect was\ncredulous about conflagrations, and he had practised upon its simplicity\nmore than once. A tumblebug came next, heaving sturdily at its ball, and\nTom touched the creature, to see it shut its legs against its body\nand pretend to be dead. The birds were fairly rioting by this time. A\ncatbird, the Northern mocker, lit in a tree over Tom's head, and trilled\nout her imitations of her neighbors in a rapture of enjoyment; then\na shrill jay swept down, a flash of blue flame, and stopped on a twig\nalmost within the boy's reach, cocked his head to one side and eyed the\nstrangers with a consuming curiosity; a gray squirrel and a big fellow\nof the \"fox\" kind came skurrying along, sitting up at intervals to\ninspect and chatter at the boys, for the wild things had probably never\nseen a human being before and scarcely knew whether to be afraid or not.\nAll Nature was wide awake and stirring, now; long lances of sunlight\npierced down through the dense foliage far and near, and a few\nbutterflies came fluttering upon the scene.\n\nTom stirred up the other pirates and they all clattered away with\na shout, and in a minute or two were stripped and chasing after and\ntumbling over each other in the shallow limpid water of the white\nsandbar. They felt no longing for the little village sleeping in the\ndistance beyond the majestic waste of water. A vagrant current or a\nslight rise in the river had carried off their raft, but this only\ngratified them, since its going was something like burning the bridge\nbetween them and civilization.\n\nThey came back to camp wonderfully refreshed, glad-hearted, and\nravenous; and they soon had the camp-fire blazing up again. Huck found a\nspring of clear cold water close by, and the boys made cups of broad oak\nor hickory leaves, and felt that water, sweetened with such a wildwood\ncharm as that, would be a good enough substitute for coffee. While Joe\nwas slicing bacon for breakfast, Tom and Huck asked him to hold on a\nminute; they stepped to a promising nook in the river-bank and threw in\ntheir lines; almost immediately they had reward. Joe had not had time\nto get impatient before they were back again with some handsome bass,\na couple of sun-perch and a small catfish--provisions enough for quite a\nfamily. They fried the fish with the bacon, and were astonished; for\nno fish had ever seemed so delicious before. They did not know that the\nquicker a fresh-water fish is on the fire after he is caught the better\nhe is; and they reflected little upon what a sauce open-air sleeping,\nopen-air exercise, bathing, and a large ingredient of hunger make, too.\n\nThey lay around in the shade, after breakfast, while Huck had a smoke,\nand then went off through the woods on an exploring expedition. They\ntramped gayly along, over decaying logs, through tangled underbrush,\namong solemn monarchs of the forest, hung from their crowns to the\nground with a drooping regalia of grape-vines. Now and then they came\nupon snug nooks carpeted with grass and jeweled with flowers.\n\nThey found plenty of things to be delighted with, but nothing to be\nastonished at. They discovered that the island was about three miles\nlong and a quarter of a mile wide, and that the shore it lay closest to\nwas only separated from it by a narrow channel hardly two hundred yards\nwide. They took a swim about every hour, so it was close upon the middle\nof the afternoon when they got back to camp. They were too hungry to\nstop to fish, but they fared sumptuously upon cold ham, and then threw\nthemselves down in the shade to talk. But the talk soon began to drag,\nand then died. The stillness, the solemnity that brooded in the woods,\nand the sense of loneliness, began to tell upon the spirits of the boys.\nThey fell to thinking. A sort of undefined longing crept upon them. This\ntook dim shape, presently--it was budding homesickness. Even Finn the\nRed-Handed was dreaming of his doorsteps and empty hogsheads. But they\nwere all ashamed of their weakness, and none was brave enough to speak\nhis thought.\n\nFor some time, now, the boys had been dully conscious of a peculiar\nsound in the distance, just as one sometimes is of the ticking of a\nclock which he takes no distinct note of. But now this mysterious sound\nbecame more pronounced, and forced a recognition. The boys started,\nglanced at each other, and then each assumed a listening attitude. There\nwas a long silence, profound and unbroken; then a deep, sullen boom came\nfloating down out of the distance.\n\n\"What is it!\" exclaimed Joe, under his breath.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Tom in a whisper.\n\n\"'Tain't thunder,\" said Huckleberry, in an awed tone, \"becuz thunder--\"\n\n\"Hark!\" said Tom. \"Listen--don't talk.\"\n\nThey waited a time that seemed an age, and then the same muffled boom\ntroubled the solemn hush.\n\n\"Let's go and see.\"\n\nThey sprang to their feet and hurried to the shore toward the town. They\nparted the bushes on the bank and peered out over the water. The little\nsteam ferry-boat was about a mile below the village, drifting with the\ncurrent. Her broad deck seemed crowded with people. There were a great\nmany skiffs rowing about or floating with the stream in the neighborhood\nof the ferryboat, but the boys could not determine what the men in\nthem were doing. Presently a great jet of white smoke burst from the\nferryboat's side, and as it expanded and rose in a lazy cloud, that same\ndull throb of sound was borne to the listeners again.\n\n\"I know now!\" exclaimed Tom; \"somebody's drownded!\"\n\n\"That's it!\" said Huck; \"they done that last summer, when Bill Turner\ngot drownded; they shoot a cannon over the water, and that makes\nhim come up to the top. Yes, and they take loaves of bread and put\nquicksilver in 'em and set 'em afloat, and wherever there's anybody\nthat's drownded, they'll float right there and stop.\"\n\n\"Yes, I've heard about that,\" said Joe. \"I wonder what makes the bread\ndo that.\"\n\n\"Oh, it ain't the bread, so much,\" said Tom; \"I reckon it's mostly what\nthey _say_ over it before they start it out.\"\n\n\"But they don't say anything over it,\" said Huck. \"I've seen 'em and\nthey don't.\"\n\n\"Well, that's funny,\" said Tom. \"But maybe they say it to themselves. Of\n_course_ they do. Anybody might know that.\"\n\nThe other boys agreed that there was reason in what Tom said, because\nan ignorant lump of bread, uninstructed by an incantation, could not\nbe expected to act very intelligently when set upon an errand of such\ngravity.\n\n\"By jings, I wish I was over there, now,\" said Joe.\n\n\"I do too\" said Huck \"I'd give heaps to know who it is.\"\n\nThe boys still listened and watched. Presently a revealing thought\nflashed through Tom's mind, and he exclaimed:\n\n\"Boys, I know who's drownded--it's us!\"\n\nThey felt like heroes in an instant. Here was a gorgeous triumph; they\nwere missed; they were mourned; hearts were breaking on their account;\ntears were being shed; accusing memories of unkindness to these poor\nlost lads were rising up, and unavailing regrets and remorse were being\nindulged; and best of all, the departed were the talk of the whole town,\nand the envy of all the boys, as far as this dazzling notoriety was\nconcerned. This was fine. It was worth while to be a pirate, after all.\n\nAs twilight drew on, the ferryboat went back to her accustomed business\nand the skiffs disappeared. The pirates returned to camp. They were\njubilant with vanity over their new grandeur and the illustrious trouble\nthey were making. They caught fish, cooked supper and ate it, and then\nfell to guessing at what the village was thinking and saying about them;\nand the pictures they drew of the public distress on their account were\ngratifying to look upon--from their point of view. But when the shadows\nof night closed them in, they gradually ceased to talk, and sat gazing\ninto the fire, with their minds evidently wandering elsewhere. The\nexcitement was gone, now, and Tom and Joe could not keep back thoughts\nof certain persons at home who were not enjoying this fine frolic as\nmuch as they were. Misgivings came; they grew troubled and unhappy; a\nsigh or two escaped, unawares. By and by Joe timidly ventured upon a\nroundabout \"feeler\" as to how the others might look upon a return to\ncivilization--not right now, but--\n\nTom withered him with derision! Huck, being uncommitted as yet, joined\nin with Tom, and the waverer quickly \"explained,\" and was glad to get\nout of the scrape with as little taint of chicken-hearted home-sickness\nclinging to his garments as he could. Mutiny was effectually laid to\nrest for the moment.\n\nAs the night deepened, Huck began to nod, and presently to snore.\nJoe followed next. Tom lay upon his elbow motionless, for some time,\nwatching the two intently. At last he got up cautiously, on his knees,\nand went searching among the grass and the flickering reflections flung\nby the campfire. He picked up and inspected several large semi-cylinders\nof the thin white bark of a sycamore, and finally chose two which seemed\nto suit him. Then he knelt by the fire and painfully wrote something\nupon each of these with his \"red keel\"; one he rolled up and put in his\njacket pocket, and the other he put in Joe's hat and removed it to a\nlittle distance from the owner. And he also put into the hat certain\nschoolboy treasures of almost inestimable value--among them a lump of\nchalk, an India-rubber ball, three fishhooks, and one of that kind\nof marbles known as a \"sure 'nough crystal.\" Then he tiptoed his way\ncautiously among the trees till he felt that he was out of hearing, and\nstraightway broke into a keen run in the direction of the sandbar.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nA few minutes later Tom was in the shoal water of the bar, wading toward\nthe Illinois shore. Before the depth reached his middle he was halfway\nover; the current would permit no more wading, now, so he struck out\nconfidently to swim the remaining hundred yards. He swam quartering\nupstream, but still was swept downward rather faster than he had\nexpected. However, he reached the shore finally, and drifted along till\nhe found a low place and drew himself out. He put his hand on his jacket\npocket, found his piece of bark safe, and then struck through the woods,\nfollowing the shore, with streaming garments. Shortly before ten\no'clock he came out into an open place opposite the village, and saw the\nferryboat lying in the shadow of the trees and the high bank. Everything\nwas quiet under the blinking stars. He crept down the bank, watching\nwith all his eyes, slipped into the water, swam three or four strokes\nand climbed into the skiff that did \"yawl\" duty at the boat's stern. He\nlaid himself down under the thwarts and waited, panting.\n\nPresently the cracked bell tapped and a voice gave the order to \"cast\noff.\" A minute or two later the skiff's head was standing high up,\nagainst the boat's swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy in\nhis success, for he knew it was the boat's last trip for the night. At\nthe end of a long twelve or fifteen minutes the wheels stopped, and\nTom slipped overboard and swam ashore in the dusk, landing fifty yards\ndownstream, out of danger of possible stragglers.\n\nHe flew along unfrequented alleys, and shortly found himself at his\naunt's back fence. He climbed over, approached the \"ell,\" and looked\nin at the sitting-room window, for a light was burning there. There\nsat Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother, grouped together,\ntalking. They were by the bed, and the bed was between them and the\ndoor. Tom went to the door and began to softly lift the latch; then\nhe pressed gently and the door yielded a crack; he continued pushing\ncautiously, and quaking every time it creaked, till he judged he might\nsqueeze through on his knees; so he put his head through and began,\nwarily.\n\n\"What makes the candle blow so?\" said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up. \"Why,\nthat door's open, I believe. Why, of course it is. No end of strange\nthings now. Go 'long and shut it, Sid.\"\n\nTom disappeared under the bed just in time. He lay and \"breathed\"\nhimself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch his\naunt's foot.\n\n\"But as I was saying,\" said Aunt Polly, \"he warn't _bad_, so to say--only\nmisch_ee_vous. Only just giddy, and harum-scarum, you know. He warn't\nany more responsible than a colt. _He_ never meant any harm, and he was\nthe best-hearted boy that ever was\"--and she began to cry.\n\n\"It was just so with my Joe--always full of his devilment, and up to\nevery kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he\ncould be--and laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for taking\nthat cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out myself because\nit was sour, and I never to see him again in this world, never, never,\nnever, poor abused boy!\" And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if her heart would\nbreak.\n\n\"I hope Tom's better off where he is,\" said Sid, \"but if he'd been\nbetter in some ways--\"\n\n\"_Sid!_\" Tom felt the glare of the old lady's eye, though he could not\nsee it. \"Not a word against my Tom, now that he's gone! God'll take care\nof _him_--never you trouble _your_self, sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don't\nknow how to give him up! I don't know how to give him up! He was such a\ncomfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me, 'most.\"\n\n\"The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away--Blessed be the name of\nthe Lord! But it's so hard--Oh, it's so hard! Only last Saturday my Joe\nbusted a firecracker right under my nose and I knocked him sprawling.\nLittle did I know then, how soon--Oh, if it was to do over again I'd hug\nhim and bless him for it.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just\nexactly how you feel. No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took\nand filled the cat full of Pain-killer, and I did think the cretur would\ntear the house down. And God forgive me, I cracked Tom's head with my\nthimble, poor boy, poor dead boy. But he's out of all his troubles now.\nAnd the last words I ever heard him say was to reproach--\"\n\nBut this memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke entirely\ndown. Tom was snuffling, now, himself--and more in pity of himself than\nanybody else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a kindly word\nfor him from time to time. He began to have a nobler opinion of himself\nthan ever before. Still, he was sufficiently touched by his aunt's grief\nto long to rush out from under the bed and overwhelm her with joy--and\nthe theatrical gorgeousness of the thing appealed strongly to his\nnature, too, but he resisted and lay still.\n\nHe went on listening, and gathered by odds and ends that it was\nconjectured at first that the boys had got drowned while taking a swim;\nthen the small raft had been missed; next, certain boys said the missing\nlads had promised that the village should \"hear something\" soon; the\nwise-heads had \"put this and that together\" and decided that the lads\nhad gone off on that raft and would turn up at the next town below,\npresently; but toward noon the raft had been found, lodged against the\nMissouri shore some five or six miles below the village--and then hope\nperished; they must be drowned, else hunger would have driven them home\nby nightfall if not sooner. It was believed that the search for the\nbodies had been a fruitless effort merely because the drowning must\nhave occurred in mid-channel, since the boys, being good swimmers, would\notherwise have escaped to shore. This was Wednesday night. If the bodies\ncontinued missing until Sunday, all hope would be given over, and the\nfunerals would be preached on that morning. Tom shuddered.\n\nMrs. Harper gave a sobbing goodnight and turned to go. Then with a\nmutual impulse the two bereaved women flung themselves into each other's\narms and had a good, consoling cry, and then parted. Aunt Polly was\ntender far beyond her wont, in her goodnight to Sid and Mary. Sid\nsnuffled a bit and Mary went off crying with all her heart.\n\nAunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so appealingly,\nand with such measureless love in her words and her old trembling voice,\nthat he was weltering in tears again, long before she was through.\n\nHe had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making\nbroken-hearted ejaculations from time to time, tossing unrestfully, and\nturning over. But at last she was still, only moaning a little in her\nsleep. Now the boy stole out, rose gradually by the bedside, shaded the\ncandle-light with his hand, and stood regarding her. His heart was full\nof pity for her. He took out his sycamore scroll and placed it by the\ncandle. But something occurred to him, and he lingered considering.\nHis face lighted with a happy solution of his thought; he put the bark\nhastily in his pocket. Then he bent over and kissed the faded lips, and\nstraightway made his stealthy exit, latching the door behind him.\n\nHe threaded his way back to the ferry landing, found nobody at large\nthere, and walked boldly on board the boat, for he knew she was\ntenantless except that there was a watchman, who always turned in and\nslept like a graven image. He untied the skiff at the stern, slipped\ninto it, and was soon rowing cautiously upstream. When he had pulled a\nmile above the village, he started quartering across and bent himself\nstoutly to his work. He hit the landing on the other side neatly, for\nthis was a familiar bit of work to him. He was moved to capture\nthe skiff, arguing that it might be considered a ship and therefore\nlegitimate prey for a pirate, but he knew a thorough search would be\nmade for it and that might end in revelations. So he stepped ashore and\nentered the woods.\n\nHe sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meanwhile to keep\nawake, and then started warily down the home-stretch. The night was far\nspent. It was broad daylight before he found himself fairly abreast the\nisland bar. He rested again until the sun was well up and gilding the\ngreat river with its splendor, and then he plunged into the stream. A\nlittle later he paused, dripping, upon the threshold of the camp, and\nheard Joe say:\n\n\"No, Tom's true-blue, Huck, and he'll come back. He won't desert. He\nknows that would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for that\nsort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?\"\n\n\"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?\"\n\n\"Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he ain't\nback here to breakfast.\"\n\n\"Which he is!\" exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic effect, stepping\ngrandly into camp.\n\nA sumptuous breakfast of bacon and fish was shortly provided, and as the\nboys set to work upon it, Tom recounted (and adorned) his adventures.\nThey were a vain and boastful company of heroes when the tale was done.\nThen Tom hid himself away in a shady nook to sleep till noon, and the\nother pirates got ready to fish and explore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nAFTER dinner all the gang turned out to hunt for turtle eggs on the bar.\nThey went about poking sticks into the sand, and when they found a soft\nplace they went down on their knees and dug with their hands. Sometimes\nthey would take fifty or sixty eggs out of one hole. They were perfectly\nround white things a trifle smaller than an English walnut. They had a\nfamous fried-egg feast that night, and another on Friday morning.\n\nAfter breakfast they went whooping and prancing out on the bar, and\nchased each other round and round, shedding clothes as they went, until\nthey were naked, and then continued the frolic far away up the shoal\nwater of the bar, against the stiff current, which latter tripped their\nlegs from under them from time to time and greatly increased the fun.\nAnd now and then they stooped in a group and splashed water in each\nother's faces with their palms, gradually approaching each other, with\naverted faces to avoid the strangling sprays, and finally gripping and\nstruggling till the best man ducked his neighbor, and then they all\nwent under in a tangle of white legs and arms and came up blowing,\nsputtering, laughing, and gasping for breath at one and the same time.\n\nWhen they were well exhausted, they would run out and sprawl on the dry,\nhot sand, and lie there and cover themselves up with it, and by and by\nbreak for the water again and go through the original performance once\nmore. Finally it occurred to them that their naked skin represented\nflesh-colored \"tights\" very fairly; so they drew a ring in the sand and\nhad a circus--with three clowns in it, for none would yield this proudest\npost to his neighbor.\n\nNext they got their marbles and played \"knucks\" and \"ringtaw\" and\n\"keeps\" till that amusement grew stale. Then Joe and Huck had another\nswim, but Tom would not venture, because he found that in kicking off\nhis trousers he had kicked his string of rattlesnake rattles off his\nankle, and he wondered how he had escaped cramp so long without the\nprotection of this mysterious charm. He did not venture again until he\nhad found it, and by that time the other boys were tired and ready to\nrest. They gradually wandered apart, dropped into the \"dumps,\" and\nfell to gazing longingly across the wide river to where the village lay\ndrowsing in the sun. Tom found himself writing \"BECKY\" in the sand with\nhis big toe; he scratched it out, and was angry with himself for his\nweakness. But he wrote it again, nevertheless; he could not help it. He\nerased it once more and then took himself out of temptation by driving\nthe other boys together and joining them.\n\nBut Joe's spirits had gone down almost beyond resurrection. He was so\nhomesick that he could hardly endure the misery of it. The tears lay\nvery near the surface. Huck was melancholy, too. Tom was downhearted,\nbut tried hard not to show it. He had a secret which he was not ready\nto tell, yet, but if this mutinous depression was not broken up soon, he\nwould have to bring it out. He said, with a great show of cheerfulness:\n\n\"I bet there's been pirates on this island before, boys. We'll explore\nit again. They've hid treasures here somewhere. How'd you feel to light\non a rotten chest full of gold and silver--hey?\"\n\nBut it roused only faint enthusiasm, which faded out, with no reply.\nTom tried one or two other seductions; but they failed, too. It was\ndiscouraging work. Joe sat poking up the sand with a stick and looking\nvery gloomy. Finally he said:\n\n\"Oh, boys, let's give it up. I want to go home. It's so lonesome.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Joe, you'll feel better by and by,\" said Tom. \"Just think of the\nfishing that's here.\"\n\n\"I don't care for fishing. I want to go home.\"\n\n\"But, Joe, there ain't such another swimming-place anywhere.\"\n\n\"Swimming's no good. I don't seem to care for it, somehow, when there\nain't anybody to say I sha'n't go in. I mean to go home.\"\n\n\"Oh, shucks! Baby! You want to see your mother, I reckon.\"\n\n\"Yes, I _do_ want to see my mother--and you would, too, if you had one. I\nain't any more baby than you are.\" And Joe snuffled a little.\n\n\"Well, we'll let the crybaby go home to his mother, won't we, Huck? Poor\nthing--does it want to see its mother? And so it shall. You like it here,\ndon't you, Huck? We'll stay, won't we?\"\n\nHuck said, \"Y-e-s\"--without any heart in it.\n\n\"I'll never speak to you again as long as I live,\" said Joe, rising.\n\"There now!\" And he moved moodily away and began to dress himself.\n\n\"Who cares!\" said Tom. \"Nobody wants you to. Go 'long home and get\nlaughed at. Oh, you're a nice pirate. Huck and me ain't crybabies. We'll\nstay, won't we, Huck? Let him go if he wants to. I reckon we can get\nalong without him, per'aps.\"\n\nBut Tom was uneasy, nevertheless, and was alarmed to see Joe go sullenly\non with his dressing. And then it was discomforting to see Huck eying\nJoe's preparations so wistfully, and keeping up such an ominous silence.\nPresently, without a parting word, Joe began to wade off toward the\nIllinois shore. Tom's heart began to sink. He glanced at Huck. Huck\ncould not bear the look, and dropped his eyes. Then he said:\n\n\"I want to go, too, Tom. It was getting so lonesome anyway, and now\nit'll be worse. Let's us go, too, Tom.\"\n\n\"I won't! You can all go, if you want to. I mean to stay.\"\n\n\"Tom, I better go.\"\n\n\"Well, go 'long--who's hendering you.\"\n\nHuck began to pick up his scattered clothes. He said:\n\n\"Tom, I wisht you'd come, too. Now you think it over. We'll wait for you\nwhen we get to shore.\"\n\n\"Well, you'll wait a blame long time, that's all.\"\n\nHuck started sorrowfully away, and Tom stood looking after him, with a\nstrong desire tugging at his heart to yield his pride and go along\ntoo. He hoped the boys would stop, but they still waded slowly on. It\nsuddenly dawned on Tom that it was become very lonely and still. He made\none final struggle with his pride, and then darted after his comrades,\nyelling:\n\n\"Wait! Wait! I want to tell you something!\"\n\nThey presently stopped and turned around. When he got to where they\nwere, he began unfolding his secret, and they listened moodily till\nat last they saw the \"point\" he was driving at, and then they set up a\nwarwhoop of applause and said it was \"splendid!\" and said if he had\ntold them at first, they wouldn't have started away. He made a plausible\nexcuse; but his real reason had been the fear that not even the secret\nwould keep them with him any very great length of time, and so he had\nmeant to hold it in reserve as a last seduction.\n\nThe lads came gayly back and went at their sports again with a will,\nchattering all the time about Tom's stupendous plan and admiring the\ngenius of it. After a dainty egg and fish dinner, Tom said he wanted to\nlearn to smoke, now. Joe caught at the idea and said he would like to\ntry, too. So Huck made pipes and filled them. These novices had never\nsmoked anything before but cigars made of grapevine, and they \"bit\" the\ntongue, and were not considered manly anyway.\n\nNow they stretched themselves out on their elbows and began to puff,\ncharily, and with slender confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant taste,\nand they gagged a little, but Tom said:\n\n\"Why, it's just as easy! If I'd a knowed this was all, I'd a learnt long\nago.\"\n\n\"So would I,\" said Joe. \"It's just nothing.\"\n\n\"Why, many a time I've looked at people smoking, and thought well I wish\nI could do that; but I never thought I could,\" said Tom.\n\n\"That's just the way with me, hain't it, Huck? You've heard me talk just\nthat way--haven't you, Huck? I'll leave it to Huck if I haven't.\"\n\n\"Yes--heaps of times,\" said Huck.\n\n\"Well, I have too,\" said Tom; \"oh, hundreds of times. Once down by the\nslaughter-house. Don't you remember, Huck? Bob Tanner was there, and\nJohnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher, when I said it. Don't you remember,\nHuck, 'bout me saying that?\"\n\n\"Yes, that's so,\" said Huck. \"That was the day after I lost a white\nalley. No, 'twas the day before.\"\n\n\"There--I told you so,\" said Tom. \"Huck recollects it.\"\n\n\"I bleeve I could smoke this pipe all day,\" said Joe. \"I don't feel\nsick.\"\n\n\"Neither do I,\" said Tom. \"I could smoke it all day. But I bet you Jeff\nThatcher couldn't.\"\n\n\"Jeff Thatcher! Why, he'd keel over just with two draws. Just let him\ntry it once. _He'd_ see!\"\n\n\"I bet he would. And Johnny Miller--I wish could see Johnny Miller tackle\nit once.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't I!\" said Joe. \"Why, I bet you Johnny Miller couldn't any more\ndo this than nothing. Just one little snifter would fetch _him_.\"\n\n\"'Deed it would, Joe. Say--I wish the boys could see us now.\"\n\n\"So do I.\"\n\n\"Say--boys, don't say anything about it, and some time when they're\naround, I'll come up to you and say, 'Joe, got a pipe? I want a smoke.'\nAnd you'll say, kind of careless like, as if it warn't anything, you'll\nsay, 'Yes, I got my _old_ pipe, and another one, but my tobacker ain't\nvery good.' And I'll say, 'Oh, that's all right, if it's _strong_\nenough.' And then you'll out with the pipes, and we'll light up just as\nca'm, and then just see 'em look!\"\n\n\"By jings, that'll be gay, Tom! I wish it was _now_!\"\n\n\"So do I! And when we tell 'em we learned when we was off pirating,\nwon't they wish they'd been along?\"\n\n\"Oh, I reckon not! I'll just _bet_ they will!\"\n\nSo the talk ran on. But presently it began to flag a trifle, and\ngrow disjointed. The silences widened; the expectoration marvellously\nincreased. Every pore inside the boys' cheeks became a spouting\nfountain; they could scarcely bail out the cellars under their tongues\nfast enough to prevent an inundation; little overflowings down their\nthroats occurred in spite of all they could do, and sudden retchings\nfollowed every time. Both boys were looking very pale and miserable,\nnow. Joe's pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Tom's followed. Both\nfountains were going furiously and both pumps bailing with might and\nmain. Joe said feebly:\n\n\"I've lost my knife. I reckon I better go and find it.\"\n\nTom said, with quivering lips and halting utterance:\n\n\"I'll help you. You go over that way and I'll hunt around by the spring.\nNo, you needn't come, Huck--we can find it.\"\n\nSo Huck sat down again, and waited an hour. Then he found it lonesome,\nand went to find his comrades. They were wide apart in the woods, both\nvery pale, both fast asleep. But something informed him that if they had\nhad any trouble they had got rid of it.\n\nThey were not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble look,\nand when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal and was going to prepare\ntheirs, they said no, they were not feeling very well--something they ate\nat dinner had disagreed with them.\n\nAbout midnight Joe awoke, and called the boys. There was a brooding\noppressiveness in the air that seemed to bode something. The boys\nhuddled themselves together and sought the friendly companionship of\nthe fire, though the dull dead heat of the breathless atmosphere was\nstifling. They sat still, intent and waiting. The solemn hush continued.\nBeyond the light of the fire everything was swallowed up in the\nblackness of darkness. Presently there came a quivering glow that\nvaguely revealed the foliage for a moment and then vanished. By and by\nanother came, a little stronger. Then another. Then a faint moan came\nsighing through the branches of the forest and the boys felt a fleeting\nbreath upon their cheeks, and shuddered with the fancy that the Spirit\nof the Night had gone by. There was a pause. Now a weird flash turned\nnight into day and showed every little grassblade, separate and\ndistinct, that grew about their feet. And it showed three white,\nstartled faces, too. A deep peal of thunder went rolling and tumbling\ndown the heavens and lost itself in sullen rumblings in the distance. A\nsweep of chilly air passed by, rustling all the leaves and snowing the\nflaky ashes broadcast about the fire. Another fierce glare lit up the\nforest and an instant crash followed that seemed to rend the treetops\nright over the boys' heads. They clung together in terror, in the thick\ngloom that followed. A few big raindrops fell pattering upon the leaves.\n\n\"Quick! boys, go for the tent!\" exclaimed Tom.\n\nThey sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the dark, no\ntwo plunging in the same direction. A furious blast roared through\nthe trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding flash after\nanother came, and peal on peal of deafening thunder. And now a drenching\nrain poured down and the rising hurricane drove it in sheets along the\nground. The boys cried out to each other, but the roaring wind and the\nbooming thunderblasts drowned their voices utterly. However, one by one\nthey straggled in at last and took shelter under the tent, cold, scared,\nand streaming with water; but to have company in misery seemed something\nto be grateful for. They could not talk, the old sail flapped so\nfuriously, even if the other noises would have allowed them. The tempest\nrose higher and higher, and presently the sail tore loose from its\nfastenings and went winging away on the blast. The boys seized each\nothers' hands and fled, with many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter\nof a great oak that stood upon the riverbank. Now the battle was at its\nhighest. Under the ceaseless conflagration of lightning that flamed\nin the skies, everything below stood out in cleancut and shadowless\ndistinctness: the bending trees, the billowy river, white with foam, the\ndriving spray of spumeflakes, the dim outlines of the high bluffs on\nthe other side, glimpsed through the drifting cloudrack and the slanting\nveil of rain. Every little while some giant tree yielded the fight\nand fell crashing through the younger growth; and the unflagging\nthunderpeals came now in ear-splitting explosive bursts, keen and sharp,\nand unspeakably appalling. The storm culminated in one matchless effort\nthat seemed likely to tear the island to pieces, burn it up, drown it to\nthe treetops, blow it away, and deafen every creature in it, all at one\nand the same moment. It was a wild night for homeless young heads to be\nout in.\n\nBut at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with weaker and\nweaker threatenings and grumblings, and peace resumed her sway. The\nboys went back to camp, a good deal awed; but they found there was still\nsomething to be thankful for, because the great sycamore, the shelter\nof their beds, was a ruin, now, blasted by the lightnings, and they were\nnot under it when the catastrophe happened.\n\nEverything in camp was drenched, the campfire as well; for they were but\nheedless lads, like their generation, and had made no provision against\nrain. Here was matter for dismay, for they were soaked through and\nchilled. They were eloquent in their distress; but they presently\ndiscovered that the fire had eaten so far up under the great log it had\nbeen built against (where it curved upward and separated itself from\nthe ground), that a handbreadth or so of it had escaped wetting; so they\npatiently wrought until, with shreds and bark gathered from the under\nsides of sheltered logs, they coaxed the fire to burn again. Then they\npiled on great dead boughs till they had a roaring furnace, and were\ngladhearted once more. They dried their boiled ham and had a feast,\nand after that they sat by the fire and expanded and glorified their\nmidnight adventure until morning, for there was not a dry spot to sleep\non, anywhere around.\n\nAs the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over\nthem, and they went out on the sandbar and lay down to sleep. They got\nscorched out by and by, and drearily set about getting breakfast. After\nthe meal they felt rusty, and stiff-jointed, and a little homesick once\nmore. Tom saw the signs, and fell to cheering up the pirates as well as\nhe could. But they cared nothing for marbles, or circus, or swimming, or\nanything. He reminded them of the imposing secret, and raised a ray of\ncheer. While it lasted, he got them interested in a new device. This was\nto knock off being pirates, for a while, and be Indians for a change.\nThey were attracted by this idea; so it was not long before they were\nstripped, and striped from head to heel with black mud, like so many\nzebras--all of them chiefs, of course--and then they went tearing through\nthe woods to attack an English settlement.\n\nBy and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and darted upon each\nother from ambush with dreadful warwhoops, and killed and scalped each\nother by thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently it was an extremely\nsatisfactory one.\n\nThey assembled in camp toward suppertime, hungry and happy; but now\na difficulty arose--hostile Indians could not break the bread of\nhospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple\nimpossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other\nprocess that ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost wished\nthey had remained pirates. However, there was no other way; so with such\nshow of cheerfulness as they could muster they called for the pipe and\ntook their whiff as it passed, in due form.\n\nAnd behold, they were glad they had gone into savagery, for they had\ngained something; they found that they could now smoke a little without\nhaving to go and hunt for a lost knife; they did not get sick enough to\nbe seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to fool away this high\npromise for lack of effort. No, they practised cautiously, after supper,\nwith right fair success, and so they spent a jubilant evening. They were\nprouder and happier in their new acquirement than they would have been\nin the scalping and skinning of the Six Nations. We will leave them to\nsmoke and chatter and brag, since we have no further use for them at\npresent.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nBUT there was no hilarity in the little town that same tranquil Saturday\nafternoon. The Harpers, and Aunt Polly's family, were being put into\nmourning, with great grief and many tears. An unusual quiet possessed\nthe village, although it was ordinarily quiet enough, in all conscience.\nThe villagers conducted their concerns with an absent air, and talked\nlittle; but they sighed often. The Saturday holiday seemed a burden to\nthe children. They had no heart in their sports, and gradually gave them\nup.\n\nIn the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the deserted\nschoolhouse yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found nothing\nthere to comfort her. She soliloquized:\n\n\"Oh, if I only had a brass andiron-knob again! But I haven't got\nanything now to remember him by.\" And she choked back a little sob.\n\nPresently she stopped, and said to herself:\n\n\"It was right here. Oh, if it was to do over again, I wouldn't say\nthat--I wouldn't say it for the whole world. But he's gone now; I'll\nnever, never, never see him any more.\"\n\nThis thought broke her down, and she wandered away, with tears rolling\ndown her cheeks. Then quite a group of boys and girls--playmates of Tom's\nand Joe's--came by, and stood looking over the paling fence and talking\nin reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so the last time they saw\nhim, and how Joe said this and that small trifle (pregnant with awful\nprophecy, as they could easily see now!)--and each speaker pointed out\nthe exact spot where the lost lads stood at the time, and then added\nsomething like \"and I was a-standing just so--just as I am now, and as if\nyou was him--I was as close as that--and he smiled, just this way--and then\nsomething seemed to go all over me, like--awful, you know--and I never\nthought what it meant, of course, but I can see now!\"\n\nThen there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, and\nmany claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more or\nless tampered with by the witness; and when it was ultimately decided\nwho _did_ see the departed last, and exchanged the last words with them,\nthe lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of sacred importance,\nand were gaped at and envied by all the rest. One poor chap, who had\nno other grandeur to offer, said with tolerably manifest pride in the\nremembrance:\n\n\"Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me once.\"\n\nBut that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say that,\nand so that cheapened the distinction too much. The group loitered away,\nstill recalling memories of the lost heroes, in awed voices.\n\nWhen the Sunday-school hour was finished, the next morning, the bell\nbegan to toll, instead of ringing in the usual way. It was a very still\nSabbath, and the mournful sound seemed in keeping with the musing hush\nthat lay upon nature. The villagers began to gather, loitering a moment\nin the vestibule to converse in whispers about the sad event. But there\nwas no whispering in the house; only the funereal rustling of dresses\nas the women gathered to their seats disturbed the silence there. None\ncould remember when the little church had been so full before. There\nwas finally a waiting pause, an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly\nentered, followed by Sid and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all in\ndeep black, and the whole congregation, the old minister as well, rose\nreverently and stood until the mourners were seated in the front pew.\nThere was another communing silence, broken at intervals by muffled\nsobs, and then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed. A moving\nhymn was sung, and the text followed: \"I am the Resurrection and the\nLife.\"\n\nAs the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the\ngraces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that\nevery soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang\nin remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always\nbefore, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor\nboys. The minister related many a touching incident in the lives of the\ndeparted, too, which illustrated their sweet, generous natures, and the\npeople could easily see, now, how noble and beautiful those episodes\nwere, and remembered with grief that at the time they occurred they had\nseemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the cowhide. The congregation\nbecame more and more moved, as the pathetic tale went on, till at last\nthe whole company broke down and joined the weeping mourners in a chorus\nof anguished sobs, the preacher himself giving way to his feelings, and\ncrying in the pulpit.\n\nThere was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment later\nthe church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming eyes above\nhis handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First one and then another pair\nof eyes followed the minister's, and then almost with one impulse the\ncongregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came marching up\nthe aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of drooping rags,\nsneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in the unused gallery\nlistening to their own funeral sermon!\n\nAunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw themselves upon their restored\nones, smothered them with kisses and poured out thanksgivings, while\npoor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not knowing exactly what\nto do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming eyes. He wavered, and\nstarted to slink away, but Tom seized him and said:\n\n\"Aunt Polly, it ain't fair. Somebody's got to be glad to see Huck.\"\n\n\"And so they shall. I'm glad to see him, poor motherless thing!\" And\nthe loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one thing\ncapable of making him more uncomfortable than he was before.\n\nSuddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice: \"Praise God from\nwhom all blessings flow--_sing_!--and put your hearts in it!\"\n\nAnd they did. Old Hundred swelled up with a triumphant burst, and\nwhile it shook the rafters Tom Sawyer the Pirate looked around upon the\nenvying juveniles about him and confessed in his heart that this was the\nproudest moment of his life.\n\nAs the \"sold\" congregation trooped out they said they would almost be\nwilling to be made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like that\nonce more.\n\nTom got more cuffs and kisses that day--according to Aunt Polly's varying\nmoods--than he had earned before in a year; and he hardly knew which\nexpressed the most gratefulness to God and affection for himself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHAT was Tom's great secret--the scheme to return home with his brother\npirates and attend their own funerals. They had paddled over to the\nMissouri shore on a log, at dusk on Saturday, landing five or six miles\nbelow the village; they had slept in the woods at the edge of the town\ntill nearly daylight, and had then crept through back lanes and alleys\nand finished their sleep in the gallery of the church among a chaos of\ninvalided benches.\n\nAt breakfast, Monday morning, Aunt Polly and Mary were very loving to\nTom, and very attentive to his wants. There was an unusual amount of\ntalk. In the course of it Aunt Polly said:\n\n\"Well, I don't say it wasn't a fine joke, Tom, to keep everybody\nsuffering 'most a week so you boys had a good time, but it is a pity you\ncould be so hard-hearted as to let me suffer so. If you could come over\non a log to go to your funeral, you could have come over and give me a\nhint some way that you warn't dead, but only run off.\"\n\n\"Yes, you could have done that, Tom,\" said Mary; \"and I believe you\nwould if you had thought of it.\"\n\n\"Would you, Tom?\" said Aunt Polly, her face lighting wistfully. \"Say,\nnow, would you, if you'd thought of it?\"\n\n\"I--well, I don't know. 'Twould 'a' spoiled everything.\"\n\n\"Tom, I hoped you loved me that much,\" said Aunt Polly, with a grieved\ntone that discomforted the boy. \"It would have been something if you'd\ncared enough to _think_ of it, even if you didn't _do_ it.\"\n\n\"Now, auntie, that ain't any harm,\" pleaded Mary; \"it's only Tom's giddy\nway--he is always in such a rush that he never thinks of anything.\"\n\n\"More's the pity. Sid would have thought. And Sid would have come and\n_done_ it, too. Tom, you'll look back, some day, when it's too late,\nand wish you'd cared a little more for me when it would have cost you so\nlittle.\"\n\n\"Now, auntie, you know I do care for you,\" said Tom.\n\n\"I'd know it better if you acted more like it.\"\n\n\"I wish now I'd thought,\" said Tom, with a repentant tone; \"but I dreamt\nabout you, anyway. That's something, ain't it?\"\n\n\"It ain't much--a cat does that much--but it's better than nothing. What\ndid you dream?\"\n\n\"Why, Wednesday night I dreamt that you was sitting over there by the\nbed, and Sid was sitting by the woodbox, and Mary next to him.\"\n\n\"Well, so we did. So we always do. I'm glad your dreams could take even\nthat much trouble about us.\"\n\n\"And I dreamt that Joe Harper's mother was here.\"\n\n\"Why, she was here! Did you dream any more?\"\n\n\"Oh, lots. But it's so dim, now.\"\n\n\"Well, try to recollect--can't you?\"\n\n\"Somehow it seems to me that the wind--the wind blowed the--the--\"\n\n\"Try harder, Tom! The wind did blow something. Come!\"\n\nTom pressed his fingers on his forehead an anxious minute, and then\nsaid:\n\n\"I've got it now! I've got it now! It blowed the candle!\"\n\n\"Mercy on us! Go on, Tom--go on!\"\n\n\"And it seems to me that you said, 'Why, I believe that that door--'\"\n\n\"Go _on_, Tom!\"\n\n\"Just let me study a moment--just a moment. Oh, yes--you said you believed\nthe door was open.\"\n\n\"As I'm sitting here, I did! Didn't I, Mary! Go on!\"\n\n\"And then--and then--well I won't be certain, but it seems like as if you\nmade Sid go and--and--\"\n\n\"Well? Well? What did I make him do, Tom? What did I make him do?\"\n\n\"You made him--you--Oh, you made him shut it.\"\n\n\"Well, for the land's sake! I never heard the beat of that in all my\ndays! Don't tell _me_ there ain't anything in dreams, any more. Sereny\nHarper shall know of this before I'm an hour older. I'd like to see her\nget around _this_ with her rubbage 'bout superstition. Go on, Tom!\"\n\n\"Oh, it's all getting just as bright as day, now. Next you said I warn't\n_bad_, only mischeevous and harum-scarum, and not any more responsible\nthan--than--I think it was a colt, or something.\"\n\n\"And so it was! Well, goodness gracious! Go on, Tom!\"\n\n\"And then you began to cry.\"\n\n\"So I did. So I did. Not the first time, neither. And then--\"\n\n\"Then Mrs. Harper she began to cry, and said Joe was just the same, and\nshe wished she hadn't whipped him for taking cream when she'd throwed it\nout her own self--\"\n\n\"Tom! The sperrit was upon you! You was a prophesying--that's what you\nwas doing! Land alive, go on, Tom!\"\n\n\"Then Sid he said--he said--\"\n\n\"I don't think I said anything,\" said Sid.\n\n\"Yes you did, Sid,\" said Mary.\n\n\"Shut your heads and let Tom go on! What did he say, Tom?\"\n\n\"He said--I _think_ he said he hoped I was better off where I was gone\nto, but if I'd been better sometimes--\"\n\n\"_There_, d'you hear that! It was his very words!\"\n\n\"And you shut him up sharp.\"\n\n\"I lay I did! There must 'a' been an angel there. There _was_ an angel\nthere, somewheres!\"\n\n\"And Mrs. Harper told about Joe scaring her with a firecracker, and you\ntold about Peter and the Pain-killer--\"\n\n\"Just as true as I live!\"\n\n\"And then there was a whole lot of talk 'bout dragging the river for us,\nand 'bout having the funeral Sunday, and then you and old Miss Harper\nhugged and cried, and she went.\"\n\n\"It happened just so! It happened just so, as sure as I'm a-sitting in\nthese very tracks. Tom, you couldn't told it more like if you'd 'a' seen\nit! And then what? Go on, Tom!\"\n\n\"Then I thought you prayed for me--and I could see you and hear every\nword you said. And you went to bed, and I was so sorry that I took and\nwrote on a piece of sycamore bark, 'We ain't dead--we are only off being\npirates,' and put it on the table by the candle; and then you looked\nso good, laying there asleep, that I thought I went and leaned over and\nkissed you on the lips.\"\n\n\"Did you, Tom, _did_ you! I just forgive you everything for that!\" And\nshe seized the boy in a crushing embrace that made him feel like the\nguiltiest of villains.\n\n\"It was very kind, even though it was only a--dream,\" Sid soliloquized\njust audibly.\n\n\"Shut up, Sid! A body does just the same in a dream as he'd do if he was\nawake. Here's a big Milum apple I've been saving for you, Tom, if you\nwas ever found again--now go 'long to school. I'm thankful to the good\nGod and Father of us all I've got you back, that's long-suffering and\nmerciful to them that believe on Him and keep His word, though goodness\nknows I'm unworthy of it, but if only the worthy ones got His blessings\nand had His hand to help them over the rough places, there's few enough\nwould smile here or ever enter into His rest when the long night comes.\nGo 'long Sid, Mary, Tom--take yourselves off--you've hendered me long\nenough.\"\n\nThe children left for school, and the old lady to call on Mrs. Harper\nand vanquish her realism with Tom's marvellous dream. Sid had better\njudgment than to utter the thought that was in his mind as he left the\nhouse. It was this: \"Pretty thin--as long a dream as that, without any\nmistakes in it!\"\n\nWhat a hero Tom was become, now! He did not go skipping and prancing,\nbut moved with a dignified swagger as became a pirate who felt that the\npublic eye was on him. And indeed it was; he tried not to seem to see\nthe looks or hear the remarks as he passed along, but they were food and\ndrink to him. Smaller boys than himself flocked at his heels, as proud\nto be seen with him, and tolerated by him, as if he had been the drummer\nat the head of a procession or the elephant leading a menagerie into\ntown. Boys of his own size pretended not to know he had been away at\nall; but they were consuming with envy, nevertheless. They would have\ngiven anything to have that swarthy sun-tanned skin of his, and his\nglittering notoriety; and Tom would not have parted with either for a\ncircus.\n\nAt school the children made so much of him and of Joe, and delivered\nsuch eloquent admiration from their eyes, that the two heroes were\nnot long in becoming insufferably \"stuck-up.\" They began to tell their\nadventures to hungry listeners--but they only began; it was not a\nthing likely to have an end, with imaginations like theirs to furnish\nmaterial. And finally, when they got out their pipes and went serenely\npuffing around, the very summit of glory was reached.\n\nTom decided that he could be independent of Becky Thatcher now. Glory\nwas sufficient. He would live for glory. Now that he was distinguished,\nmaybe she would be wanting to \"make up.\" Well, let her--she should see\nthat he could be as indifferent as some other people. Presently she\narrived. Tom pretended not to see her. He moved away and joined a group\nof boys and girls and began to talk. Soon he observed that she was\ntripping gayly back and forth with flushed face and dancing eyes,\npretending to be busy chasing schoolmates, and screaming with laughter\nwhen she made a capture; but he noticed that she always made her\ncaptures in his vicinity, and that she seemed to cast a conscious eye\nin his direction at such times, too. It gratified all the vicious vanity\nthat was in him; and so, instead of winning him, it only \"set him up\"\nthe more and made him the more diligent to avoid betraying that he\nknew she was about. Presently she gave over skylarking, and moved\nirresolutely about, sighing once or twice and glancing furtively and\nwistfully toward Tom. Then she observed that now Tom was talking more\nparticularly to Amy Lawrence than to any one else. She felt a sharp pang\nand grew disturbed and uneasy at once. She tried to go away, but her\nfeet were treacherous, and carried her to the group instead. She said to\na girl almost at Tom's elbow--with sham vivacity:\n\n\"Why, Mary Austin! you bad girl, why didn't you come to Sunday-school?\"\n\n\"I did come--didn't you see me?\"\n\n\"Why, no! Did you? Where did you sit?\"\n\n\"I was in Miss Peters' class, where I always go. I saw _you_.\"\n\n\"Did you? Why, it's funny I didn't see you. I wanted to tell you about\nthe picnic.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's jolly. Who's going to give it?\"\n\n\"My ma's going to let me have one.\"\n\n\"Oh, goody; I hope she'll let _me_ come.\"\n\n\"Well, she will. The picnic's for me. She'll let anybody come that I\nwant, and I want you.\"\n\n\"That's ever so nice. When is it going to be?\"\n\n\"By and by. Maybe about vacation.\"\n\n\"Oh, won't it be fun! You going to have all the girls and boys?\"\n\n\"Yes, every one that's friends to me--or wants to be\"; and she glanced\never so furtively at Tom, but he talked right along to Amy Lawrence\nabout the terrible storm on the island, and how the lightning tore the\ngreat sycamore tree \"all to flinders\" while he was \"standing within\nthree feet of it.\"\n\n\"Oh, may I come?\" said Grace Miller.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And me?\" said Sally Rogers.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And me, too?\" said Susy Harper. \"And Joe?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nAnd so on, with clapping of joyful hands till all the group had begged\nfor invitations but Tom and Amy. Then Tom turned coolly away, still\ntalking, and took Amy with him. Becky's lips trembled and the tears\ncame to her eyes; she hid these signs with a forced gayety and went on\nchattering, but the life had gone out of the picnic, now, and out of\neverything else; she got away as soon as she could and hid herself and\nhad what her sex call \"a good cry.\" Then she sat moody, with wounded\npride, till the bell rang. She roused up, now, with a vindictive cast\nin her eye, and gave her plaited tails a shake and said she knew what\n_she'd_ do.\n\nAt recess Tom continued his flirtation with Amy with jubilant\nself-satisfaction. And he kept drifting about to find Becky and lacerate\nher with the performance. At last he spied her, but there was a sudden\nfalling of his mercury. She was sitting cosily on a little bench behind\nthe schoolhouse looking at a picture-book with Alfred Temple--and so\nabsorbed were they, and their heads so close together over the book,\nthat they did not seem to be conscious of anything in the world besides.\nJealousy ran red-hot through Tom's veins. He began to hate himself for\nthrowing away the chance Becky had offered for a reconciliation. He\ncalled himself a fool, and all the hard names he could think of. He\nwanted to cry with vexation. Amy chatted happily along, as they walked,\nfor her heart was singing, but Tom's tongue had lost its function. He\ndid not hear what Amy was saying, and whenever she paused expectantly\nhe could only stammer an awkward assent, which was as often misplaced\nas otherwise. He kept drifting to the rear of the schoolhouse, again and\nagain, to sear his eyeballs with the hateful spectacle there. He could\nnot help it. And it maddened him to see, as he thought he saw, that\nBecky Thatcher never once suspected that he was even in the land of the\nliving. But she did see, nevertheless; and she knew she was winning her\nfight, too, and was glad to see him suffer as she had suffered.\n\nAmy's happy prattle became intolerable. Tom hinted at things he had\nto attend to; things that must be done; and time was fleeting. But in\nvain--the girl chirped on. Tom thought, \"Oh, hang her, ain't I ever going\nto get rid of her?\" At last he must be attending to those things--and she\nsaid artlessly that she would be \"around\" when school let out. And he\nhastened away, hating her for it.\n\n\"Any other boy!\" Tom thought, grating his teeth. \"Any boy in the whole\ntown but that Saint Louis smarty that thinks he dresses so fine and is\naristocracy! Oh, all right, I licked you the first day you ever saw this\ntown, mister, and I'll lick you again! You just wait till I catch you\nout! I'll just take and--\"\n\nAnd he went through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy--pummelling\nthe air, and kicking and gouging. \"Oh, you do, do you? You holler\n'nough, do you? Now, then, let that learn you!\" And so the imaginary\nflogging was finished to his satisfaction.\n\nTom fled home at noon. His conscience could not endure any more of Amy's\ngrateful happiness, and his jealousy could bear no more of the other\ndistress. Becky resumed her picture inspections with Alfred, but as the\nminutes dragged along and no Tom came to suffer, her triumph began to\ncloud and she lost interest; gravity and absentmindedness followed,\nand then melancholy; two or three times she pricked up her ear at\na footstep, but it was a false hope; no Tom came. At last she grew\nentirely miserable and wished she hadn't carried it so far. When\npoor Alfred, seeing that he was losing her, he did not know how, kept\nexclaiming: \"Oh, here's a jolly one! look at this!\" she lost patience at\nlast, and said, \"Oh, don't bother me! I don't care for them!\" and burst\ninto tears, and got up and walked away.\n\nAlfred dropped alongside and was going to try to comfort her, but she\nsaid:\n\n\"Go away and leave me alone, can't you! I hate you!\"\n\nSo the boy halted, wondering what he could have done--for she had said\nshe would look at pictures all through the nooning--and she walked on,\ncrying. Then Alfred went musing into the deserted schoolhouse. He was\nhumiliated and angry. He easily guessed his way to the truth--the girl\nhad simply made a convenience of him to vent her spite upon Tom Sawyer.\nHe was far from hating Tom the less when this thought occurred to him.\nHe wished there was some way to get that boy into trouble without much\nrisk to himself. Tom's spelling-book fell under his eye. Here was his\nopportunity. He gratefully opened to the lesson for the afternoon and\npoured ink upon the page.\n\nBecky, glancing in at a window behind him at the moment, saw the act,\nand moved on, without discovering herself. She started homeward, now,\nintending to find Tom and tell him; Tom would be thankful and their\ntroubles would be healed. Before she was half way home, however, she\nhad changed her mind. The thought of Tom's treatment of her when she was\ntalking about her picnic came scorching back and filled her with shame.\nShe resolved to let him get whipped on the damaged spelling-book's\naccount, and to hate him forever, into the bargain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTOM arrived at home in a dreary mood, and the first thing his aunt said\nto him showed him that he had brought his sorrows to an unpromising\nmarket:\n\n\"Tom, I've a notion to skin you alive!\"\n\n\"Auntie, what have I done?\"\n\n\"Well, you've done enough. Here I go over to Sereny Harper, like an old\nsofty, expecting I'm going to make her believe all that rubbage about\nthat dream, when lo and behold you she'd found out from Joe that you was\nover here and heard all the talk we had that night. Tom, I don't know\nwhat is to become of a boy that will act like that. It makes me feel so\nbad to think you could let me go to Sereny Harper and make such a fool\nof myself and never say a word.\"\n\nThis was a new aspect of the thing. His smartness of the morning had\nseemed to Tom a good joke before, and very ingenious. It merely looked\nmean and shabby now. He hung his head and could not think of anything to\nsay for a moment. Then he said:\n\n\"Auntie, I wish I hadn't done it--but I didn't think.\"\n\n\"Oh, child, you never think. You never think of anything but your\nown selfishness. You could think to come all the way over here from\nJackson's Island in the night to laugh at our troubles, and you could\nthink to fool me with a lie about a dream; but you couldn't ever think\nto pity us and save us from sorrow.\"\n\n\"Auntie, I know now it was mean, but I didn't mean to be mean. I didn't,\nhonest. And besides, I didn't come over here to laugh at you that\nnight.\"\n\n\"What did you come for, then?\"\n\n\"It was to tell you not to be uneasy about us, because we hadn't got\ndrownded.\"\n\n\"Tom, Tom, I would be the thankfullest soul in this world if I could\nbelieve you ever had as good a thought as that, but you know you never\ndid--and I know it, Tom.\"\n\n\"Indeed and 'deed I did, auntie--I wish I may never stir if I didn't.\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, don't lie--don't do it. It only makes things a hundred times\nworse.\"\n\n\"It ain't a lie, auntie; it's the truth. I wanted to keep you from\ngrieving--that was all that made me come.\"\n\n\"I'd give the whole world to believe that--it would cover up a power\nof sins, Tom. I'd 'most be glad you'd run off and acted so bad. But it\nain't reasonable; because, why didn't you tell me, child?\"\n\n\"Why, you see, when you got to talking about the funeral, I just got all\nfull of the idea of our coming and hiding in the church, and I couldn't\nsomehow bear to spoil it. So I just put the bark back in my pocket and\nkept mum.\"\n\n\"What bark?\"\n\n\"The bark I had wrote on to tell you we'd gone pirating. I wish, now,\nyou'd waked up when I kissed you--I do, honest.\"\n\nThe hard lines in his aunt's face relaxed and a sudden tenderness dawned\nin her eyes.\n\n\"_Did_ you kiss me, Tom?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I did.\"\n\n\"Are you sure you did, Tom?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I did, auntie--certain sure.\"\n\n\"What did you kiss me for, Tom?\"\n\n\"Because I loved you so, and you laid there moaning and I was so sorry.\"\n\nThe words sounded like truth. The old lady could not hide a tremor in\nher voice when she said:\n\n\"Kiss me again, Tom!--and be off with you to school, now, and don't\nbother me any more.\"\n\nThe moment he was gone, she ran to a closet and got out the ruin of a\njacket which Tom had gone pirating in. Then she stopped, with it in her\nhand, and said to herself:\n\n\"No, I don't dare. Poor boy, I reckon he's lied about it--but it's a\nblessed, blessed lie, there's such a comfort come from it. I hope\nthe Lord--I _know_ the Lord will forgive him, because it was such\ngood-heartedness in him to tell it. But I don't want to find out it's a\nlie. I won't look.\"\n\nShe put the jacket away, and stood by musing a minute. Twice she put out\nher hand to take the garment again, and twice she refrained. Once more\nshe ventured, and this time she fortified herself with the thought:\n\"It's a good lie--it's a good lie--I won't let it grieve me.\" So she\nsought the jacket pocket. A moment later she was reading Tom's piece of\nbark through flowing tears and saying: \"I could forgive the boy, now, if\nhe'd committed a million sins!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nTHERE was something about Aunt Polly's manner, when she kissed Tom, that\nswept away his low spirits and made him lighthearted and happy again. He\nstarted to school and had the luck of coming upon Becky Thatcher at the\nhead of Meadow Lane. His mood always determined his manner. Without a\nmoment's hesitation he ran to her and said:\n\n\"I acted mighty mean today, Becky, and I'm so sorry. I won't ever, ever\ndo that way again, as long as ever I live--please make up, won't you?\"\n\nThe girl stopped and looked him scornfully in the face:\n\n\"I'll thank you to keep yourself _to_ yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer. I'll\nnever speak to you again.\"\n\nShe tossed her head and passed on. Tom was so stunned that he had not\neven presence of mind enough to say \"Who cares, Miss Smarty?\" until the\nright time to say it had gone by. So he said nothing. But he was in a\nfine rage, nevertheless. He moped into the schoolyard wishing she were\na boy, and imagining how he would trounce her if she were. He presently\nencountered her and delivered a stinging remark as he passed. She hurled\none in return, and the angry breach was complete. It seemed to Becky, in\nher hot resentment, that she could hardly wait for school to \"take in,\"\nshe was so impatient to see Tom flogged for the injured spelling-book.\nIf she had had any lingering notion of exposing Alfred Temple, Tom's\noffensive fling had driven it entirely away.\n\nPoor girl, she did not know how fast she was nearing trouble herself.\nThe master, Mr. Dobbins, had reached middle age with an unsatisfied\nambition. The darling of his desires was, to be a doctor, but\npoverty had decreed that he should be nothing higher than a village\nschoolmaster. Every day he took a mysterious book out of his desk and\nabsorbed himself in it at times when no classes were reciting. He kept\nthat book under lock and key. There was not an urchin in school but was\nperishing to have a glimpse of it, but the chance never came. Every boy\nand girl had a theory about the nature of that book; but no two theories\nwere alike, and there was no way of getting at the facts in the case.\nNow, as Becky was passing by the desk, which stood near the door, she\nnoticed that the key was in the lock! It was a precious moment. She\nglanced around; found herself alone, and the next instant she had the\nbook in her hands. The titlepage--Professor Somebody's _Anatomy_--carried\nno information to her mind; so she began to turn the leaves. She came at\nonce upon a handsomely engraved and colored frontispiece--a human figure,\nstark naked. At that moment a shadow fell on the page and Tom Sawyer\nstepped in at the door and caught a glimpse of the picture. Becky\nsnatched at the book to close it, and had the hard luck to tear the\npictured page half down the middle. She thrust the volume into the desk,\nturned the key, and burst out crying with shame and vexation.\n\n\"Tom Sawyer, you are just as mean as you can be, to sneak up on a person\nand look at what they're looking at.\"\n\n\"How could I know you was looking at anything?\"\n\n\"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom Sawyer; you know you're\ngoing to tell on me, and oh, what shall I do, what shall I do! I'll be\nwhipped, and I never was whipped in school.\"\n\nThen she stamped her little foot and said:\n\n\"_Be_ so mean if you want to! I know something that's going to happen.\nYou just wait and you'll see! Hateful, hateful, hateful!\"--and she flung\nout of the house with a new explosion of crying.\n\nTom stood still, rather flustered by this onslaught. Presently he said\nto himself:\n\n\"What a curious kind of a fool a girl is! Never been licked in\nschool! Shucks! What's a licking! That's just like a girl--they're so\nthin-skinned and chicken-hearted. Well, of course I ain't going to tell\nold Dobbins on this little fool, because there's other ways of getting\neven on her, that ain't so mean; but what of it? Old Dobbins will ask\nwho it was tore his book. Nobody'll answer. Then he'll do just the way\nhe always does--ask first one and then t'other, and when he comes to the\nright girl he'll know it, without any telling. Girls' faces always tell\non them. They ain't got any backbone. She'll get licked. Well, it's a\nkind of a tight place for Becky Thatcher, because there ain't any way\nout of it.\" Tom conned the thing a moment longer, and then added: \"All\nright, though; she'd like to see me in just such a fix--let her sweat it\nout!\"\n\nTom joined the mob of skylarking scholars outside. In a few moments the\nmaster arrived and school \"took in.\" Tom did not feel a strong interest\nin his studies. Every time he stole a glance at the girls' side of the\nroom Becky's face troubled him. Considering all things, he did not want\nto pity her, and yet it was all he could do to help it. He could get\nup no exultation that was really worthy the name. Presently the\nspelling-book discovery was made, and Tom's mind was entirely full\nof his own matters for a while after that. Becky roused up from her\nlethargy of distress and showed good interest in the proceedings. She\ndid not expect that Tom could get out of his trouble by denying that he\nspilt the ink on the book himself; and she was right. The denial only\nseemed to make the thing worse for Tom. Becky supposed she would be glad\nof that, and she tried to believe she was glad of it, but she found she\nwas not certain. When the worst came to the worst, she had an impulse\nto get up and tell on Alfred Temple, but she made an effort and forced\nherself to keep still--because, said she to herself, \"he'll tell about me\ntearing the picture sure. I wouldn't say a word, not to save his life!\"\n\nTom took his whipping and went back to his seat not at all\nbroken-hearted, for he thought it was possible that he had unknowingly\nupset the ink on the spelling-book himself, in some skylarking bout--he\nhad denied it for form's sake and because it was custom, and had stuck\nto the denial from principle.\n\nA whole hour drifted by, the master sat nodding in his throne, the air\nwas drowsy with the hum of study. By and by, Mr. Dobbins straightened\nhimself up, yawned, then unlocked his desk, and reached for his book,\nbut seemed undecided whether to take it out or leave it. Most of the\npupils glanced up languidly, but there were two among them that watched\nhis movements with intent eyes. Mr. Dobbins fingered his book absently\nfor a while, then took it out and settled himself in his chair to read!\nTom shot a glance at Becky. He had seen a hunted and helpless rabbit\nlook as she did, with a gun levelled at its head. Instantly he forgot\nhis quarrel with her. Quick--something must be done! done in a flash,\ntoo! But the very imminence of the emergency paralyzed his invention.\nGood!--he had an inspiration! He would run and snatch the book, spring\nthrough the door and fly. But his resolution shook for one little\ninstant, and the chance was lost--the master opened the volume. If Tom\nonly had the wasted opportunity back again! Too late. There was no help\nfor Becky now, he said. The next moment the master faced the school.\nEvery eye sank under his gaze. There was that in it which smote even\nthe innocent with fear. There was silence while one might count ten--the\nmaster was gathering his wrath. Then he spoke: \"Who tore this book?\"\n\nThere was not a sound. One could have heard a pin drop. The stillness\ncontinued; the master searched face after face for signs of guilt.\n\n\"Benjamin Rogers, did you tear this book?\"\n\nA denial. Another pause.\n\n\"Joseph Harper, did you?\"\n\nAnother denial. Tom's uneasiness grew more and more intense under the\nslow torture of these proceedings. The master scanned the ranks of\nboys--considered a while, then turned to the girls:\n\n\"Amy Lawrence?\"\n\nA shake of the head.\n\n\"Gracie Miller?\"\n\nThe same sign.\n\n\"Susan Harper, did you do this?\"\n\nAnother negative. The next girl was Becky Thatcher. Tom was trembling\nfrom head to foot with excitement and a sense of the hopelessness of the\nsituation.\n\n\"Rebecca Thatcher\" [Tom glanced at her face--it was white with\nterror]--\"did you tear--no, look me in the face\" [her hands rose in\nappeal]--\"did you tear this book?\"\n\nA thought shot like lightning through Tom's brain. He sprang to his feet\nand shouted--\"I done it!\"\n\nThe school stared in perplexity at this incredible folly. Tom stood a\nmoment, to gather his dismembered faculties; and when he stepped forward\nto go to his punishment the surprise, the gratitude, the adoration that\nshone upon him out of poor Becky's eyes seemed pay enough for a hundred\nfloggings. Inspired by the splendor of his own act, he took without\nan outcry the most merciless flaying that even Mr. Dobbins had ever\nadministered; and also received with indifference the added cruelty of a\ncommand to remain two hours after school should be dismissed--for he\nknew who would wait for him outside till his captivity was done, and not\ncount the tedious time as loss, either.\n\nTom went to bed that night planning vengeance against Alfred Temple; for\nwith shame and repentance Becky had told him all, not forgetting her own\ntreachery; but even the longing for vengeance had to give way, soon, to\npleasanter musings, and he fell asleep at last with Becky's latest words\nlingering dreamily in his ear--\n\n\"Tom, how _could_ you be so noble!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nVACATION was approaching. The schoolmaster, always severe, grew severer\nand more exacting than ever, for he wanted the school to make a good\nshowing on \"Examination\" day. His rod and his ferule were seldom idle\nnow--at least among the smaller pupils. Only the biggest boys, and young\nladies of eighteen and twenty, escaped lashing. Mr. Dobbins' lashings\nwere very vigorous ones, too; for although he carried, under his wig, a\nperfectly bald and shiny head, he had only reached middle age, and there\nwas no sign of feebleness in his muscle. As the great day approached,\nall the tyranny that was in him came to the surface; he seemed to take a\nvindictive pleasure in punishing the least shortcomings. The consequence\nwas, that the smaller boys spent their days in terror and suffering and\ntheir nights in plotting revenge. They threw away no opportunity to do\nthe master a mischief. But he kept ahead all the time. The retribution\nthat followed every vengeful success was so sweeping and majestic that\nthe boys always retired from the field badly worsted. At last they\nconspired together and hit upon a plan that promised a dazzling victory.\nThey swore in the signpainter's boy, told him the scheme, and asked his\nhelp. He had his own reasons for being delighted, for the master boarded\nin his father's family and had given the boy ample cause to hate him.\nThe master's wife would go on a visit to the country in a few days, and\nthere would be nothing to interfere with the plan; the master always\nprepared himself for great occasions by getting pretty well fuddled, and\nthe signpainter's boy said that when the dominie had reached the proper\ncondition on Examination Evening he would \"manage the thing\" while he\nnapped in his chair; then he would have him awakened at the right time\nand hurried away to school.\n\nIn the fulness of time the interesting occasion arrived. At eight in\nthe evening the schoolhouse was brilliantly lighted, and adorned with\nwreaths and festoons of foliage and flowers. The master sat throned in\nhis great chair upon a raised platform, with his blackboard behind him.\nHe was looking tolerably mellow. Three rows of benches on each side and\nsix rows in front of him were occupied by the dignitaries of the town\nand by the parents of the pupils. To his left, back of the rows of\ncitizens, was a spacious temporary platform upon which were seated the\nscholars who were to take part in the exercises of the evening; rows of\nsmall boys, washed and dressed to an intolerable state of discomfort;\nrows of gawky big boys; snowbanks of girls and young ladies clad in\nlawn and muslin and conspicuously conscious of their bare arms, their\ngrandmothers' ancient trinkets, their bits of pink and blue ribbon and\nthe flowers in their hair. All the rest of the house was filled with\nnon-participating scholars.\n\nThe exercises began. A very little boy stood up and sheepishly recited,\n\"You'd scarce expect one of my age to speak in public on the stage,\"\netc.--accompanying himself with the painfully exact and spasmodic\ngestures which a machine might have used--supposing the machine to be a\ntrifle out of order. But he got through safely, though cruelly scared,\nand got a fine round of applause when he made his manufactured bow and\nretired.\n\nA little shamefaced girl lisped, \"Mary had a little lamb,\" etc.,\nperformed a compassion-inspiring curtsy, got her meed of applause, and\nsat down flushed and happy.\n\nTom Sawyer stepped forward with conceited confidence and soared into\nthe unquenchable and indestructible \"Give me liberty or give me death\"\nspeech, with fine fury and frantic gesticulation, and broke down in the\nmiddle of it. A ghastly stage-fright seized him, his legs quaked under\nhim and he was like to choke. True, he had the manifest sympathy of the\nhouse but he had the house's silence, too, which was even worse than\nits sympathy. The master frowned, and this completed the disaster. Tom\nstruggled awhile and then retired, utterly defeated. There was a weak\nattempt at applause, but it died early.\n\n\"The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck\" followed; also \"The Assyrian Came\nDown,\" and other declamatory gems. Then there were reading exercises,\nand a spelling fight. The meagre Latin class recited with honor. The\nprime feature of the evening was in order, now--original \"compositions\"\nby the young ladies. Each in her turn stepped forward to the edge of the\nplatform, cleared her throat, held up her manuscript (tied with dainty\nribbon), and proceeded to read, with labored attention to \"expression\"\nand punctuation. The themes were the same that had been illuminated upon\nsimilar occasions by their mothers before them, their grandmothers,\nand doubtless all their ancestors in the female line clear back to the\nCrusades. \"Friendship\" was one; \"Memories of Other Days\"; \"Religion in\nHistory\"; \"Dream Land\"; \"The Advantages of Culture\"; \"Forms of Political\nGovernment Compared and Contrasted\"; \"Melancholy\"; \"Filial Love\"; \"Heart\nLongings,\" etc., etc.\n\nA prevalent feature in these compositions was a nursed and petted\nmelancholy; another was a wasteful and opulent gush of \"fine language\";\nanother was a tendency to lug in by the ears particularly prized words\nand phrases until they were worn entirely out; and a peculiarity that\nconspicuously marked and marred them was the inveterate and intolerable\nsermon that wagged its crippled tail at the end of each and every one\nof them. No matter what the subject might be, a brainracking effort was\nmade to squirm it into some aspect or other that the moral and religious\nmind could contemplate with edification. The glaring insincerity of\nthese sermons was not sufficient to compass the banishment of the\nfashion from the schools, and it is not sufficient today; it never will\nbe sufficient while the world stands, perhaps. There is no school in\nall our land where the young ladies do not feel obliged to close their\ncompositions with a sermon; and you will find that the sermon of the\nmost frivolous and the least religious girl in the school is always\nthe longest and the most relentlessly pious. But enough of this. Homely\ntruth is unpalatable.\n\nLet us return to the \"Examination.\" The first composition that was read\nwas one entitled \"Is this, then, Life?\" Perhaps the reader can endure an\nextract from it:\n\n\"In the common walks of life, with what delightful emotions does the\nyouthful mind look forward to some anticipated scene of festivity!\nImagination is busy sketching rose-tinted pictures of joy. In fancy, the\nvoluptuous votary of fashion sees herself amid the festive throng, 'the\nobserved of all observers.' Her graceful form, arrayed in snowy robes,\nis whirling through the mazes of the joyous dance; her eye is brightest,\nher step is lightest in the gay assembly.\n\n\"In such delicious fancies time quickly glides by, and the welcome hour\narrives for her entrance into the Elysian world, of which she has\nhad such bright dreams. How fairy-like does everything appear to her\nenchanted vision! Each new scene is more charming than the last. But\nafter a while she finds that beneath this goodly exterior, all is\nvanity, the flattery which once charmed her soul, now grates harshly\nupon her ear; the ballroom has lost its charms; and with wasted health\nand imbittered heart, she turns away with the conviction that earthly\npleasures cannot satisfy the longings of the soul!\"\n\nAnd so forth and so on. There was a buzz of gratification from time to\ntime during the reading, accompanied by whispered ejaculations of \"How\nsweet!\" \"How eloquent!\" \"So true!\" etc., and after the thing had closed\nwith a peculiarly afflicting sermon the applause was enthusiastic.\n\nThen arose a slim, melancholy girl, whose face had the \"interesting\"\npaleness that comes of pills and indigestion, and read a \"poem.\" Two\nstanzas of it will do:\n\n\"A MISSOURI MAIDEN'S FAREWELL TO ALABAMA\n\n\"Alabama, goodbye! I love thee well! But yet for a while do I leave thee\nnow! Sad, yes, sad thoughts of thee my heart doth swell, And burning\nrecollections throng my brow! For I have wandered through thy flowery\nwoods; Have roamed and read near Tallapoosa's stream; Have listened to\nTallassee's warring floods, And wooed on Coosa's side Aurora's beam.\n\n\"Yet shame I not to bear an o'erfull heart, Nor blush to turn behind\nmy tearful eyes; 'Tis from no stranger land I now must part, 'Tis to no\nstrangers left I yield these sighs. Welcome and home were mine within\nthis State, Whose vales I leave--whose spires fade fast from me And cold\nmust be mine eyes, and heart, and tete, When, dear Alabama! they turn\ncold on thee!\" There were very few there who knew what \"tete\" meant, but\nthe poem was very satisfactory, nevertheless.\n\nNext appeared a dark-complexioned, black-eyed, black-haired young lady,\nwho paused an impressive moment, assumed a tragic expression, and began\nto read in a measured, solemn tone:\n\n\"A VISION\n\n\"Dark and tempestuous was night. Around the throne on high not a single\nstar quivered; but the deep intonations of the heavy thunder constantly\nvibrated upon the ear; whilst the terrific lightning revelled in angry\nmood through the cloudy chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn the power\nexerted over its terror by the illustrious Franklin! Even the boisterous\nwinds unanimously came forth from their mystic homes, and blustered\nabout as if to enhance by their aid the wildness of the scene.\n\n\"At such a time, so dark, so dreary, for human sympathy my very spirit\nsighed; but instead thereof,\n\n\"'My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide--My joy in\ngrief, my second bliss in joy,' came to my side. She moved like one of\nthose bright beings pictured in the sunny walks of fancy's Eden by\nthe romantic and young, a queen of beauty unadorned save by her own\ntranscendent loveliness. So soft was her step, it failed to make even a\nsound, and but for the magical thrill imparted by her genial touch,\nas other unobtrusive beauties, she would have glided away\nunperceived--unsought. A strange sadness rested upon her features, like\nicy tears upon the robe of December, as she pointed to the contending\nelements without, and bade me contemplate the two beings presented.\"\n\nThis nightmare occupied some ten pages of manuscript and wound up with a\nsermon so destructive of all hope to non-Presbyterians that it took\nthe first prize. This composition was considered to be the very finest\neffort of the evening. The mayor of the village, in delivering the prize\nto the author of it, made a warm speech in which he said that it was by\nfar the most \"eloquent\" thing he had ever listened to, and that Daniel\nWebster himself might well be proud of it.\n\nIt may be remarked, in passing, that the number of compositions in which\nthe word \"beauteous\" was over-fondled, and human experience referred to\nas \"life's page,\" was up to the usual average.\n\nNow the master, mellow almost to the verge of geniality, put his chair\naside, turned his back to the audience, and began to draw a map of\nAmerica on the blackboard, to exercise the geography class upon. But he\nmade a sad business of it with his unsteady hand, and a smothered titter\nrippled over the house. He knew what the matter was, and set himself to\nright it. He sponged out lines and remade them; but he only distorted\nthem more than ever, and the tittering was more pronounced. He threw his\nentire attention upon his work, now, as if determined not to be put down\nby the mirth. He felt that all eyes were fastened upon him; he imagined\nhe was succeeding, and yet the tittering continued; it even manifestly\nincreased. And well it might. There was a garret above, pierced with\na scuttle over his head; and down through this scuttle came a cat,\nsuspended around the haunches by a string; she had a rag tied about\nher head and jaws to keep her from mewing; as she slowly descended she\ncurved upward and clawed at the string, she swung downward and clawed\nat the intangible air. The tittering rose higher and higher--the cat was\nwithin six inches of the absorbed teacher's head--down, down, a little\nlower, and she grabbed his wig with her desperate claws, clung to it,\nand was snatched up into the garret in an instant with her trophy still\nin her possession! And how the light did blaze abroad from the master's\nbald pate--for the signpainter's boy had _gilded_ it!\n\nThat broke up the meeting. The boys were avenged. Vacation had come.\n\nNOTE:--The pretended \"compositions\" quoted in this chapter are taken\nwithout alteration from a volume entitled \"Prose and Poetry, by a\nWestern Lady\"--but they are exactly and precisely after the schoolgirl\npattern, and hence are much happier than any mere imitations could be.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTOM joined the new order of Cadets of Temperance, being attracted by the\nshowy character of their \"regalia.\" He promised to abstain from smoking,\nchewing, and profanity as long as he remained a member. Now he found out\na new thing--namely, that to promise not to do a thing is the surest way\nin the world to make a body want to go and do that very thing. Tom soon\nfound himself tormented with a desire to drink and swear; the desire\ngrew to be so intense that nothing but the hope of a chance to display\nhimself in his red sash kept him from withdrawing from the order. Fourth\nof July was coming; but he soon gave that up--gave it up before he had\nworn his shackles over forty-eight hours--and fixed his hopes upon old\nJudge Frazer, justice of the peace, who was apparently on his deathbed\nand would have a big public funeral, since he was so high an official.\nDuring three days Tom was deeply concerned about the Judge's condition\nand hungry for news of it. Sometimes his hopes ran high--so high that\nhe would venture to get out his regalia and practise before the\nlooking-glass. But the Judge had a most discouraging way of fluctuating.\nAt last he was pronounced upon the mend--and then convalescent. Tom was\ndisgusted; and felt a sense of injury, too. He handed in his resignation\nat once--and that night the Judge suffered a relapse and died. Tom\nresolved that he would never trust a man like that again.\n\nThe funeral was a fine thing. The Cadets paraded in a style calculated\nto kill the late member with envy. Tom was a free boy again,\nhowever--there was something in that. He could drink and swear, now--but\nfound to his surprise that he did not want to. The simple fact that he\ncould, took the desire away, and the charm of it.\n\nTom presently wondered to find that his coveted vacation was beginning\nto hang a little heavily on his hands.\n\nHe attempted a diary--but nothing happened during three days, and so he\nabandoned it.\n\nThe first of all the negro minstrel shows came to town, and made a\nsensation. Tom and Joe Harper got up a band of performers and were happy\nfor two days.\n\nEven the Glorious Fourth was in some sense a failure, for it rained\nhard, there was no procession in consequence, and the greatest man\nin the world (as Tom supposed), Mr. Benton, an actual United States\nSenator, proved an overwhelming disappointment--for he was not\ntwenty-five feet high, nor even anywhere in the neighborhood of it.\n\nA circus came. The boys played circus for three days afterward in tents\nmade of rag carpeting--admission, three pins for boys, two for girls--and\nthen circusing was abandoned.\n\nA phrenologist and a mesmerizer came--and went again and left the village\nduller and drearier than ever.\n\nThere were some boys-and-girls' parties, but they were so few and so\ndelightful that they only made the aching voids between ache the harder.\n\nBecky Thatcher was gone to her Constantinople home to stay with her\nparents during vacation--so there was no bright side to life anywhere.\n\nThe dreadful secret of the murder was a chronic misery. It was a very\ncancer for permanency and pain.\n\nThen came the measles.\n\nDuring two long weeks Tom lay a prisoner, dead to the world and its\nhappenings. He was very ill, he was interested in nothing. When he got\nupon his feet at last and moved feebly downtown, a melancholy change had\ncome over everything and every creature. There had been a \"revival,\" and\neverybody had \"got religion,\" not only the adults, but even the boys and\ngirls. Tom went about, hoping against hope for the sight of one blessed\nsinful face, but disappointment crossed him everywhere. He found Joe\nHarper studying a Testament, and turned sadly away from the depressing\nspectacle. He sought Ben Rogers, and found him visiting the poor with a\nbasket of tracts. He hunted up Jim Hollis, who called his attention to\nthe precious blessing of his late measles as a warning. Every boy\nhe encountered added another ton to his depression; and when, in\ndesperation, he flew for refuge at last to the bosom of Huckleberry Finn\nand was received with a Scriptural quotation, his heart broke and he\ncrept home and to bed realizing that he alone of all the town was lost,\nforever and forever.\n\nAnd that night there came on a terrific storm, with driving rain, awful\nclaps of thunder and blinding sheets of lightning. He covered his head\nwith the bedclothes and waited in a horror of suspense for his doom; for\nhe had not the shadow of a doubt that all this hubbub was about him.\nHe believed he had taxed the forbearance of the powers above to the\nextremity of endurance and that this was the result. It might have\nseemed to him a waste of pomp and ammunition to kill a bug with a\nbattery of artillery, but there seemed nothing incongruous about the\ngetting up such an expensive thunderstorm as this to knock the turf from\nunder an insect like himself.\n\nBy and by the tempest spent itself and died without accomplishing its\nobject. The boy's first impulse was to be grateful, and reform. His\nsecond was to wait--for there might not be any more storms.\n\nThe next day the doctors were back; Tom had relapsed. The three weeks he\nspent on his back this time seemed an entire age. When he got abroad\nat last he was hardly grateful that he had been spared, remembering how\nlonely was his estate, how companionless and forlorn he was. He drifted\nlistlessly down the street and found Jim Hollis acting as judge in a\njuvenile court that was trying a cat for murder, in the presence of her\nvictim, a bird. He found Joe Harper and Huck Finn up an alley eating a\nstolen melon. Poor lads! they--like Tom--had suffered a relapse.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nAT last the sleepy atmosphere was stirred--and vigorously: the murder\ntrial came on in the court. It became the absorbing topic of village\ntalk immediately. Tom could not get away from it. Every reference to\nthe murder sent a shudder to his heart, for his troubled conscience\nand fears almost persuaded him that these remarks were put forth in\nhis hearing as \"feelers\"; he did not see how he could be suspected of\nknowing anything about the murder, but still he could not be comfortable\nin the midst of this gossip. It kept him in a cold shiver all the time.\nHe took Huck to a lonely place to have a talk with him. It would be some\nrelief to unseal his tongue for a little while; to divide his burden of\ndistress with another sufferer. Moreover, he wanted to assure himself\nthat Huck had remained discreet.\n\n\"Huck, have you ever told anybody about--that?\"\n\n\"'Bout what?\"\n\n\"You know what.\"\n\n\"Oh--'course I haven't.\"\n\n\"Never a word?\"\n\n\"Never a solitary word, so help me. What makes you ask?\"\n\n\"Well, I was afeard.\"\n\n\"Why, Tom Sawyer, we wouldn't be alive two days if that got found out.\n_You_ know that.\"\n\nTom felt more comfortable. After a pause:\n\n\"Huck, they couldn't anybody get you to tell, could they?\"\n\n\"Get me to tell? Why, if I wanted that halfbreed devil to drownd me they\ncould get me to tell. They ain't no different way.\"\n\n\"Well, that's all right, then. I reckon we're safe as long as we keep\nmum. But let's swear again, anyway. It's more surer.\"\n\n\"I'm agreed.\"\n\nSo they swore again with dread solemnities.\n\n\"What is the talk around, Huck? I've heard a power of it.\"\n\n\"Talk? Well, it's just Muff Potter, Muff Potter, Muff Potter all the\ntime. It keeps me in a sweat, constant, so's I want to hide som'ers.\"\n\n\"That's just the same way they go on round me. I reckon he's a goner.\nDon't you feel sorry for him, sometimes?\"\n\n\"Most always--most always. He ain't no account; but then he hain't ever\ndone anything to hurt anybody. Just fishes a little, to get money to\nget drunk on--and loafs around considerable; but lord, we all do\nthat--leastways most of us--preachers and such like. But he's kind of\ngood--he give me half a fish, once, when there warn't enough for two; and\nlots of times he's kind of stood by me when I was out of luck.\"\n\n\"Well, he's mended kites for me, Huck, and knitted hooks on to my line.\nI wish we could get him out of there.\"\n\n\"My! we couldn't get him out, Tom. And besides, 'twouldn't do any good;\nthey'd ketch him again.\"\n\n\"Yes--so they would. But I hate to hear 'em abuse him so like the dickens\nwhen he never done--that.\"\n\n\"I do too, Tom. Lord, I hear 'em say he's the bloodiest looking villain\nin this country, and they wonder he wasn't ever hung before.\"\n\n\"Yes, they talk like that, all the time. I've heard 'em say that if he\nwas to get free they'd lynch him.\"\n\n\"And they'd do it, too.\"\n\nThe boys had a long talk, but it brought them little comfort. As the\ntwilight drew on, they found themselves hanging about the neighborhood\nof the little isolated jail, perhaps with an undefined hope that\nsomething would happen that might clear away their difficulties. But\nnothing happened; there seemed to be no angels or fairies interested in\nthis luckless captive.\n\nThe boys did as they had often done before--went to the cell grating and\ngave Potter some tobacco and matches. He was on the ground floor and\nthere were no guards.\n\nHis gratitude for their gifts had always smote their consciences\nbefore--it cut deeper than ever, this time. They felt cowardly and\ntreacherous to the last degree when Potter said:\n\n\"You've been mighty good to me, boys--better'n anybody else in this town.\nAnd I don't forget it, I don't. Often I says to myself, says I, 'I used\nto mend all the boys' kites and things, and show 'em where the good\nfishin' places was, and befriend 'em what I could, and now they've\nall forgot old Muff when he's in trouble; but Tom don't, and Huck\ndon't--_they_ don't forget him, says I, 'and I don't forget them.' Well,\nboys, I done an awful thing--drunk and crazy at the time--that's the only\nway I account for it--and now I got to swing for it, and it's right.\nRight, and _best_, too, I reckon--hope so, anyway. Well, we won't talk\nabout that. I don't want to make _you_ feel bad; you've befriended me.\nBut what I want to say, is, don't _you_ ever get drunk--then you won't\never get here. Stand a litter furder west--so--that's it; it's a prime\ncomfort to see faces that's friendly when a body's in such a muck\nof trouble, and there don't none come here but yourn. Good friendly\nfaces--good friendly faces. Git up on one another's backs and let me\ntouch 'em. That's it. Shake hands--yourn'll come through the bars, but\nmine's too big. Little hands, and weak--but they've helped Muff Potter a\npower, and they'd help him more if they could.\"\n\nTom went home miserable, and his dreams that night were full of horrors.\nThe next day and the day after, he hung about the courtroom, drawn by an\nalmost irresistible impulse to go in, but forcing himself to stay out.\nHuck was having the same experience. They studiously avoided each other.\nEach wandered away, from time to time, but the same dismal fascination\nalways brought them back presently. Tom kept his ears open when idlers\nsauntered out of the courtroom, but invariably heard distressing\nnews--the toils were closing more and more relentlessly around poor\nPotter. At the end of the second day the village talk was to the effect\nthat Injun Joe's evidence stood firm and unshaken, and that there was\nnot the slightest question as to what the jury's verdict would be.\n\nTom was out late, that night, and came to bed through the window. He\nwas in a tremendous state of excitement. It was hours before he got to\nsleep. All the village flocked to the courthouse the next morning, for\nthis was to be the great day. Both sexes were about equally represented\nin the packed audience. After a long wait the jury filed in and took\ntheir places; shortly afterward, Potter, pale and haggard, timid and\nhopeless, was brought in, with chains upon him, and seated where all\nthe curious eyes could stare at him; no less conspicuous was Injun Joe,\nstolid as ever. There was another pause, and then the judge arrived and\nthe sheriff proclaimed the opening of the court. The usual whisperings\namong the lawyers and gathering together of papers followed. These\ndetails and accompanying delays worked up an atmosphere of preparation\nthat was as impressive as it was fascinating.\n\nNow a witness was called who testified that he found Muff Potter washing\nin the brook, at an early hour of the morning that the murder was\ndiscovered, and that he immediately sneaked away. After some further\nquestioning, counsel for the prosecution said:\n\n\"Take the witness.\"\n\nThe prisoner raised his eyes for a moment, but dropped them again when\nhis own counsel said:\n\n\"I have no questions to ask him.\"\n\nThe next witness proved the finding of the knife near the corpse.\nCounsel for the prosecution said:\n\n\"Take the witness.\"\n\n\"I have no questions to ask him,\" Potter's lawyer replied.\n\nA third witness swore he had often seen the knife in Potter's\npossession.\n\n\"Take the witness.\"\n\nCounsel for Potter declined to question him. The faces of the audience\nbegan to betray annoyance. Did this attorney mean to throw away his\nclient's life without an effort?\n\nSeveral witnesses deposed concerning Potter's guilty behavior when\nbrought to the scene of the murder. They were allowed to leave the stand\nwithout being cross-questioned.\n\nEvery detail of the damaging circumstances that occurred in the\ngraveyard upon that morning which all present remembered so well was\nbrought out by credible witnesses, but none of them were cross-examined\nby Potter's lawyer. The perplexity and dissatisfaction of the house\nexpressed itself in murmurs and provoked a reproof from the bench.\nCounsel for the prosecution now said:\n\n\"By the oaths of citizens whose simple word is above suspicion, we have\nfastened this awful crime, beyond all possibility of question, upon the\nunhappy prisoner at the bar. We rest our case here.\"\n\nA groan escaped from poor Potter, and he put his face in his hands and\nrocked his body softly to and fro, while a painful silence reigned\nin the courtroom. Many men were moved, and many women's compassion\ntestified itself in tears. Counsel for the defence rose and said:\n\n\"Your honor, in our remarks at the opening of this trial, we\nforeshadowed our purpose to prove that our client did this fearful deed\nwhile under the influence of a blind and irresponsible delirium produced\nby drink. We have changed our mind. We shall not offer that plea.\" [Then\nto the clerk:] \"Call Thomas Sawyer!\"\n\nA puzzled amazement awoke in every face in the house, not even excepting\nPotter's. Every eye fastened itself with wondering interest upon Tom as\nhe rose and took his place upon the stand. The boy looked wild enough,\nfor he was badly scared. The oath was administered.\n\n\"Thomas Sawyer, where were you on the seventeenth of June, about the\nhour of midnight?\"\n\nTom glanced at Injun Joe's iron face and his tongue failed him. The\naudience listened breathless, but the words refused to come. After a few\nmoments, however, the boy got a little of his strength back, and managed\nto put enough of it into his voice to make part of the house hear:\n\n\"In the graveyard!\"\n\n\"A little bit louder, please. Don't be afraid. You were--\"\n\n\"In the graveyard.\"\n\nA contemptuous smile flitted across Injun Joe's face.\n\n\"Were you anywhere near Horse Williams' grave?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Speak up--just a trifle louder. How near were you?\"\n\n\"Near as I am to you.\"\n\n\"Were you hidden, or not?\"\n\n\"I was hid.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Behind the elms that's on the edge of the grave.\"\n\nInjun Joe gave a barely perceptible start.\n\n\"Any one with you?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I went there with--\"\n\n\"Wait--wait a moment. Never mind mentioning your companion's name. We\nwill produce him at the proper time. Did you carry anything there with\nyou.\"\n\nTom hesitated and looked confused.\n\n\"Speak out, my boy--don't be diffident. The truth is always respectable.\nWhat did you take there?\"\n\n\"Only a--a--dead cat.\"\n\nThere was a ripple of mirth, which the court checked.\n\n\"We will produce the skeleton of that cat. Now, my boy, tell us\neverything that occurred--tell it in your own way--don't skip anything,\nand don't be afraid.\"\n\nTom began--hesitatingly at first, but as he warmed to his subject his\nwords flowed more and more easily; in a little while every sound ceased\nbut his own voice; every eye fixed itself upon him; with parted lips and\nbated breath the audience hung upon his words, taking no note of time,\nrapt in the ghastly fascinations of the tale. The strain upon pent\nemotion reached its climax when the boy said:\n\n\"--and as the doctor fetched the board around and Muff Potter fell, Injun\nJoe jumped with the knife and--\"\n\nCrash! Quick as lightning the halfbreed sprang for a window, tore his\nway through all opposers, and was gone!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nTOM was a glittering hero once more--the pet of the old, the envy of the\nyoung. His name even went into immortal print, for the village paper\nmagnified him. There were some that believed he would be President, yet,\nif he escaped hanging.\n\nAs usual, the fickle, unreasoning world took Muff Potter to its bosom\nand fondled him as lavishly as it had abused him before. But that sort\nof conduct is to the world's credit; therefore it is not well to find\nfault with it.\n\nTom's days were days of splendor and exultation to him, but his nights\nwere seasons of horror. Injun Joe infested all his dreams, and always\nwith doom in his eye. Hardly any temptation could persuade the boy\nto stir abroad after nightfall. Poor Huck was in the same state of\nwretchedness and terror, for Tom had told the whole story to the lawyer\nthe night before the great day of the trial, and Huck was sore afraid\nthat his share in the business might leak out, yet, notwithstanding\nInjun Joe's flight had saved him the suffering of testifying in court.\nThe poor fellow had got the attorney to promise secrecy, but what of\nthat? Since Tom's harassed conscience had managed to drive him to the\nlawyer's house by night and wring a dread tale from lips that had\nbeen sealed with the dismalest and most formidable of oaths, Huck's\nconfidence in the human race was wellnigh obliterated.\n\nDaily Muff Potter's gratitude made Tom glad he had spoken; but nightly\nhe wished he had sealed up his tongue.\n\nHalf the time Tom was afraid Injun Joe would never be captured; the\nother half he was afraid he would be. He felt sure he never could draw a\nsafe breath again until that man was dead and he had seen the corpse.\n\nRewards had been offered, the country had been scoured, but no Injun\nJoe was found. One of those omniscient and aweinspiring marvels, a\ndetective, came up from St. Louis, moused around, shook his head, looked\nwise, and made that sort of astounding success which members of that\ncraft usually achieve. That is to say, he \"found a clew.\" But you can't\nhang a \"clew\" for murder, and so after that detective had got through\nand gone home, Tom felt just as insecure as he was before.\n\nThe slow days drifted on, and each left behind it a slightly lightened\nweight of apprehension.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nTHERE comes a time in every rightly-constructed boy's life when he has\na raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure. This desire\nsuddenly came upon Tom one day. He sallied out to find Joe Harper,\nbut failed of success. Next he sought Ben Rogers; he had gone fishing.\nPresently he stumbled upon Huck Finn the Red-Handed. Huck would\nanswer. Tom took him to a private place and opened the matter to him\nconfidentially. Huck was willing. Huck was always willing to take a hand\nin any enterprise that offered entertainment and required no capital,\nfor he had a troublesome superabundance of that sort of time which is\nnot money. \"Where'll we dig?\" said Huck.\n\n\"Oh, most anywhere.\"\n\n\"Why, is it hid all around?\"\n\n\"No, indeed it ain't. It's hid in mighty particular places,\nHuck--sometimes on islands, sometimes in rotten chests under the end of\na limb of an old dead tree, just where the shadow falls at midnight; but\nmostly under the floor in ha'nted houses.\"\n\n\"Who hides it?\"\n\n\"Why, robbers, of course--who'd you reckon? Sunday-school\nsup'rintendents?\"\n\n\"I don't know. If 'twas mine I wouldn't hide it; I'd spend it and have a\ngood time.\"\n\n\"So would I. But robbers don't do that way. They always hide it and\nleave it there.\"\n\n\"Don't they come after it any more?\"\n\n\"No, they think they will, but they generally forget the marks, or else\nthey die. Anyway, it lays there a long time and gets rusty; and by and\nby somebody finds an old yellow paper that tells how to find the marks--a\npaper that's got to be ciphered over about a week because it's mostly\nsigns and hy'roglyphics.\"\n\n\"Hyro--which?\"\n\n\"Hy'roglyphics--pictures and things, you know, that don't seem to mean\nanything.\"\n\n\"Have you got one of them papers, Tom?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well then, how you going to find the marks?\"\n\n\"I don't want any marks. They always bury it under a ha'nted house or on\nan island, or under a dead tree that's got one limb sticking out. Well,\nwe've tried Jackson's Island a little, and we can try it again some\ntime; and there's the old ha'nted house up the Still-House branch, and\nthere's lots of dead-limb trees--dead loads of 'em.\"\n\n\"Is it under all of them?\"\n\n\"How you talk! No!\"\n\n\"Then how you going to know which one to go for?\"\n\n\"Go for all of 'em!\"\n\n\"Why, Tom, it'll take all summer.\"\n\n\"Well, what of that? Suppose you find a brass pot with a hundred dollars\nin it, all rusty and gray, or rotten chest full of di'monds. How's\nthat?\"\n\nHuck's eyes glowed.\n\n\"That's bully. Plenty bully enough for me. Just you gimme the hundred\ndollars and I don't want no di'monds.\"\n\n\"All right. But I bet you I ain't going to throw off on di'monds. Some\nof 'em's worth twenty dollars apiece--there ain't any, hardly, but's\nworth six bits or a dollar.\"\n\n\"No! Is that so?\"\n\n\"Cert'nly--anybody'll tell you so. Hain't you ever seen one, Huck?\"\n\n\"Not as I remember.\"\n\n\"Oh, kings have slathers of them.\"\n\n\"Well, I don' know no kings, Tom.\"\n\n\"I reckon you don't. But if you was to go to Europe you'd see a raft of\n'em hopping around.\"\n\n\"Do they hop?\"\n\n\"Hop?--your granny! No!\"\n\n\"Well, what did you say they did, for?\"\n\n\"Shucks, I only meant you'd _see_ 'em--not hopping, of course--what do\nthey want to hop for?--but I mean you'd just see 'em--scattered around,\nyou know, in a kind of a general way. Like that old humpbacked Richard.\"\n\n\"Richard? What's his other name?\"\n\n\"He didn't have any other name. Kings don't have any but a given name.\"\n\n\"No?\"\n\n\"But they don't.\"\n\n\"Well, if they like it, Tom, all right; but I don't want to be a king\nand have only just a given name, like a nigger. But say--where you going\nto dig first?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know. S'pose we tackle that old dead-limb tree on the\nhill t'other side of Still-House branch?\"\n\n\"I'm agreed.\"\n\nSo they got a crippled pick and a shovel, and set out on their\nthree-mile tramp. They arrived hot and panting, and threw themselves\ndown in the shade of a neighboring elm to rest and have a smoke.\n\n\"I like this,\" said Tom.\n\n\"So do I.\"\n\n\"Say, Huck, if we find a treasure here, what you going to do with your\nshare?\"\n\n\"Well, I'll have pie and a glass of soda every day, and I'll go to every\ncircus that comes along. I bet I'll have a gay time.\"\n\n\"Well, ain't you going to save any of it?\"\n\n\"Save it? What for?\"\n\n\"Why, so as to have something to live on, by and by.\"\n\n\"Oh, that ain't any use. Pap would come back to thish-yer town some day\nand get his claws on it if I didn't hurry up, and I tell you he'd clean\nit out pretty quick. What you going to do with yourn, Tom?\"\n\n\"I'm going to buy a new drum, and a sure'nough sword, and a red necktie\nand a bull pup, and get married.\"\n\n\"Married!\"\n\n\"That's it.\"\n\n\"Tom, you--why, you ain't in your right mind.\"\n\n\"Wait--you'll see.\"\n\n\"Well, that's the foolishest thing you could do. Look at pap and my\nmother. Fight! Why, they used to fight all the time. I remember, mighty\nwell.\"\n\n\"That ain't anything. The girl I'm going to marry won't fight.\"\n\n\"Tom, I reckon they're all alike. They'll all comb a body. Now you\nbetter think 'bout this awhile. I tell you you better. What's the name\nof the gal?\"\n\n\"It ain't a gal at all--it's a girl.\"\n\n\"It's all the same, I reckon; some says gal, some says girl--both's\nright, like enough. Anyway, what's her name, Tom?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you some time--not now.\"\n\n\"All right--that'll do. Only if you get married I'll be more lonesomer\nthan ever.\"\n\n\"No you won't. You'll come and live with me. Now stir out of this and\nwe'll go to digging.\"\n\nThey worked and sweated for half an hour. No result. They toiled another\nhalfhour. Still no result. Huck said:\n\n\"Do they always bury it as deep as this?\"\n\n\"Sometimes--not always. Not generally. I reckon we haven't got the right\nplace.\"\n\nSo they chose a new spot and began again. The labor dragged a little,\nbut still they made progress. They pegged away in silence for some time.\nFinally Huck leaned on his shovel, swabbed the beaded drops from his\nbrow with his sleeve, and said:\n\n\"Where you going to dig next, after we get this one?\"\n\n\"I reckon maybe we'll tackle the old tree that's over yonder on Cardiff\nHill back of the widow's.\"\n\n\"I reckon that'll be a good one. But won't the widow take it away from\nus, Tom? It's on her land.\"\n\n\"_She_ take it away! Maybe she'd like to try it once. Whoever finds one\nof these hid treasures, it belongs to him. It don't make any difference\nwhose land it's on.\"\n\nThat was satisfactory. The work went on. By and by Huck said:\n\n\"Blame it, we must be in the wrong place again. What do you think?\"\n\n\"It is mighty curious, Huck. I don't understand it. Sometimes witches\ninterfere. I reckon maybe that's what's the trouble now.\"\n\n\"Shucks! Witches ain't got no power in the daytime.\"\n\n\"Well, that's so. I didn't think of that. Oh, I know what the matter is!\nWhat a blamed lot of fools we are! You got to find out where the shadow\nof the limb falls at midnight, and that's where you dig!\"\n\n\"Then consound it, we've fooled away all this work for nothing. Now hang\nit all, we got to come back in the night. It's an awful long way. Can\nyou get out?\"\n\n\"I bet I will. We've got to do it tonight, too, because if somebody sees\nthese holes they'll know in a minute what's here and they'll go for it.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll come around and maow tonight.\"\n\n\"All right. Let's hide the tools in the bushes.\"\n\nThe boys were there that night, about the appointed time. They sat in\nthe shadow waiting. It was a lonely place, and an hour made solemn by\nold traditions. Spirits whispered in the rustling leaves, ghosts lurked\nin the murky nooks, the deep baying of a hound floated up out of the\ndistance, an owl answered with his sepulchral note. The boys were\nsubdued by these solemnities, and talked little. By and by they judged\nthat twelve had come; they marked where the shadow fell, and began to\ndig. Their hopes commenced to rise. Their interest grew stronger, and\ntheir industry kept pace with it. The hole deepened and still deepened,\nbut every time their hearts jumped to hear the pick strike upon\nsomething, they only suffered a new disappointment. It was only a stone\nor a chunk. At last Tom said:\n\n\"It ain't any use, Huck, we're wrong again.\"\n\n\"Well, but we _can't_ be wrong. We spotted the shadder to a dot.\"\n\n\"I know it, but then there's another thing.\"\n\n\"What's that?\".\n\n\"Why, we only guessed at the time. Like enough it was too late or too\nearly.\"\n\nHuck dropped his shovel.\n\n\"That's it,\" said he. \"That's the very trouble. We got to give this one\nup. We can't ever tell the right time, and besides this kind of thing's\ntoo awful, here this time of night with witches and ghosts a-fluttering\naround so. I feel as if something's behind me all the time;  and I'm\nafeard to turn around, becuz maybe there's others in front a-waiting for\na chance. I been creeping all over, ever since I got here.\"\n\n\"Well, I've been pretty much so, too, Huck. They most always put in a\ndead man when they bury a treasure under a tree, to look out for it.\"\n\n\"Lordy!\"\n\n\"Yes, they do. I've always heard that.\"\n\n\"Tom, I don't like to fool around much where there's dead people. A\nbody's bound to get into trouble with 'em, sure.\"\n\n\"I don't like to stir 'em up, either. S'pose this one here was to stick\nhis skull out and say something!\"\n\n\"Don't Tom! It's awful.\"\n\n\"Well, it just is. Huck, I don't feel comfortable a bit.\"\n\n\"Say, Tom, let's give this place up, and try somewheres else.\"\n\n\"All right, I reckon we better.\"\n\n\"What'll it be?\"\n\nTom considered awhile; and then said:\n\n\"The ha'nted house. That's it!\"\n\n\"Blame it, I don't like ha'nted houses, Tom. Why, they're a dern sight\nworse'n dead people. Dead people might talk, maybe, but they don't come\nsliding around in a shroud, when you ain't noticing, and peep over your\nshoulder all of a sudden and grit their teeth, the way a ghost does. I\ncouldn't stand such a thing as that, Tom--nobody could.\"\n\n\"Yes, but, Huck, ghosts don't travel around only at night. They won't\nhender us from digging there in the daytime.\"\n\n\"Well, that's so. But you know mighty well people don't go about that\nha'nted house in the day nor the night.\"\n\n\"Well, that's mostly because they don't like to go where a man's been\nmurdered, anyway--but nothing's ever been seen around that house except\nin the night--just some blue lights slipping by the windows--no regular\nghosts.\"\n\n\"Well, where you see one of them blue lights flickering around, Tom,\nyou can bet there's a ghost mighty close behind it. It stands to reason.\nBecuz you know that they don't anybody but ghosts use 'em.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's so. But anyway they don't come around in the daytime, so\nwhat's the use of our being afeard?\"\n\n\"Well, all right. We'll tackle the ha'nted house if you say so--but I\nreckon it's taking chances.\"\n\nThey had started down the hill by this time. There in the middle of the\nmoonlit valley below them stood the \"ha'nted\" house, utterly isolated,\nits fences gone long ago, rank weeds smothering the very doorsteps, the\nchimney crumbled to ruin, the window-sashes vacant, a corner of the roof\ncaved in. The boys gazed awhile, half expecting to see a blue light flit\npast a window; then talking in a low tone, as befitted the time and the\ncircumstances, they struck far off to the right, to give the haunted\nhouse a wide berth, and took their way homeward through the woods that\nadorned the rearward side of Cardiff Hill.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nABOUT noon the next day the boys arrived at the dead tree; they had come\nfor their tools. Tom was impatient to go to the haunted house; Huck was\nmeasurably so, also--but suddenly said:\n\n\"Lookyhere, Tom, do you know what day it is?\"\n\nTom mentally ran over the days of the week, and then quickly lifted his\neyes with a startled look in them--\n\n\"My! I never once thought of it, Huck!\"\n\n\"Well, I didn't neither, but all at once it popped onto me that it was\nFriday.\"\n\n\"Blame it, a body can't be too careful, Huck. We might 'a' got into an\nawful scrape, tackling such a thing on a Friday.\"\n\n\"_Might_! Better say we _would_! There's some lucky days, maybe, but\nFriday ain't.\"\n\n\"Any fool knows that. I don't reckon _you_ was the first that found it\nout, Huck.\"\n\n\"Well, I never said I was, did I? And Friday ain't all, neither. I had a\nrotten bad dream last night--dreampt about rats.\"\n\n\"No! Sure sign of trouble. Did they fight?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, that's good, Huck. When they don't fight it's only a sign that\nthere's trouble around, you know. All we got to do is to look mighty\nsharp and keep out of it. We'll drop this thing for today, and play. Do\nyou know Robin Hood, Huck?\"\n\n\"No. Who's Robin Hood?\"\n\n\"Why, he was one of the greatest men that was ever in England--and the\nbest. He was a robber.\"\n\n\"Cracky, I wisht I was. Who did he rob?\"\n\n\"Only sheriffs and bishops and rich people and kings, and such like. But\nhe never bothered the poor. He loved 'em. He always divided up with 'em\nperfectly square.\"\n\n\"Well, he must 'a' been a brick.\"\n\n\"I bet you he was, Huck. Oh, he was the noblest man that ever was.\nThey ain't any such men now, I can tell you. He could lick any man in\nEngland, with one hand tied behind him; and he could take his yew bow\nand plug a ten-cent piece every time, a mile and a half.\"\n\n\"What's a _yew_ bow?\"\n\n\"I don't know. It's some kind of a bow, of course. And if he hit that\ndime only on the edge he would set down and cry--and curse. But we'll\nplay Robin Hood--it's nobby fun. I'll learn you.\"\n\n\"I'm agreed.\"\n\nSo they played Robin Hood all the afternoon, now and then casting a\nyearning eye down upon the haunted house and passing a remark about the\nmorrow's prospects and possibilities there. As the sun began to sink\ninto the west they took their way homeward athwart the long shadows\nof the trees and soon were buried from sight in the forests of Cardiff\nHill.\n\nOn Saturday, shortly after noon, the boys were at the dead tree again.\nThey had a smoke and a chat in the shade, and then dug a little in their\nlast hole, not with great hope, but merely because Tom said there were\nso many cases where people had given up a treasure after getting down\nwithin six inches of it, and then somebody else had come along and\nturned it up with a single thrust of a shovel. The thing failed this\ntime, however, so the boys shouldered their tools and went away feeling\nthat they had not trifled with fortune, but had fulfilled all the\nrequirements that belong to the business of treasure-hunting.\n\nWhen they reached the haunted house there was something so weird and\ngrisly about the dead silence that reigned there under the baking sun,\nand something so depressing about the loneliness and desolation of the\nplace, that they were afraid, for a moment, to venture in. Then they\ncrept to the door and took a trembling peep. They saw a weedgrown,\nfloorless room, unplastered, an ancient fireplace, vacant windows,\na ruinous staircase; and here, there, and everywhere hung ragged and\nabandoned cobwebs. They presently entered, softly, with quickened\npulses, talking in whispers, ears alert to catch the slightest sound,\nand muscles tense and ready for instant retreat.\n\nIn a little while familiarity modified their fears and they gave the\nplace a critical and interested examination, rather admiring their own\nboldness, and wondering at it, too. Next they wanted to look upstairs.\nThis was something like cutting off retreat, but they got to daring\neach other, and of course there could be but one result--they threw their\ntools into a corner and made the ascent. Up there were the same signs of\ndecay. In one corner they found a closet that promised mystery, but the\npromise was a fraud--there was nothing in it. Their courage was up now\nand well in hand. They were about to go down and begin work when--\n\n\"Sh!\" said Tom.\n\n\"What is it?\" whispered Huck, blanching with fright.\n\n\"Sh!... There!... Hear it?\"\n\n\"Yes!... Oh, my! Let's run!\"\n\n\"Keep still! Don't you budge! They're coming right toward the door.\"\n\nThe boys stretched themselves upon the floor with their eyes to\nknotholes in the planking, and lay waiting, in a misery of fear.\n\n\"They've stopped.... No--coming.... Here they are. Don't whisper another\nword, Huck. My goodness, I wish I was out of this!\"\n\nTwo men entered. Each boy said to himself: \"There's the old deaf and\ndumb Spaniard that's been about town once or twice lately--never saw\nt'other man before.\"\n\n\"T'other\" was a ragged, unkempt creature, with nothing very pleasant\nin his face. The Spaniard was wrapped in a serape; he had bushy white\nwhiskers; long white hair flowed from under his sombrero, and he wore\ngreen goggles. When they came in, \"t'other\" was talking in a low voice;\nthey sat down on the ground, facing the door, with their backs to the\nwall, and the speaker continued his remarks. His manner became less\nguarded and his words more distinct as he proceeded:\n\n\"No,\" said he, \"I've thought it all over, and I don't like it. It's\ndangerous.\"\n\n\"Dangerous!\" grunted the \"deaf and dumb\" Spaniard--to the vast surprise\nof the boys. \"Milksop!\"\n\nThis voice made the boys gasp and quake. It was Injun Joe's! There was\nsilence for some time. Then Joe said:\n\n\"What's any more dangerous than that job up yonder--but nothing's come of\nit.\"\n\n\"That's different. Away up the river so, and not another house about.\n'Twon't ever be known that we tried, anyway, long as we didn't succeed.\"\n\n\"Well, what's more dangerous than coming here in the daytime!--anybody\nwould suspicion us that saw us.\"\n\n\"I know that. But there warn't any other place as handy after that fool\nof a job. I want to quit this shanty. I wanted to yesterday, only it\nwarn't any use trying to stir out of here, with those infernal boys\nplaying over there on the hill right in full view.\"\n\n\"Those infernal boys\" quaked again under the inspiration of this remark,\nand thought how lucky it was that they had remembered it was Friday and\nconcluded to wait a day. They wished in their hearts they had waited a\nyear.\n\nThe two men got out some food and made a luncheon. After a long and\nthoughtful silence, Injun Joe said:\n\n\"Look here, lad--you go back up the river where you belong. Wait there\ntill you hear from me. I'll take the chances on dropping into this town\njust once more, for a look. We'll do that 'dangerous' job after I've\nspied around a little and think things look well for it. Then for Texas!\nWe'll leg it together!\"\n\nThis was satisfactory. Both men presently fell to yawning, and Injun Joe\nsaid:\n\n\"I'm dead for sleep! It's your turn to watch.\"\n\nHe curled down in the weeds and soon began to snore. His comrade stirred\nhim once or twice and he became quiet. Presently the watcher began to\nnod; his head drooped lower and lower, both men began to snore now.\n\nThe boys drew a long, grateful breath. Tom whispered:\n\n\"Now's our chance--come!\"\n\nHuck said:\n\n\"I can't--I'd die if they was to wake.\"\n\nTom urged--Huck held back. At last Tom rose slowly and softly, and\nstarted alone. But the first step he made wrung such a hideous creak\nfrom the crazy floor that he sank down almost dead with fright. He never\nmade a second attempt. The boys lay there counting the dragging moments\ntill it seemed to them that time must be done and eternity growing gray;\nand then they were grateful to note that at last the sun was setting.\n\nNow one snore ceased. Injun Joe sat up, stared around--smiled grimly upon\nhis comrade, whose head was drooping upon his knees--stirred him up with\nhis foot and said:\n\n\"Here! _You're_ a watchman, ain't you! All right, though--nothing's\nhappened.\"\n\n\"My! have I been asleep?\"\n\n\"Oh, partly, partly. Nearly time for us to be moving, pard. What'll we\ndo with what little swag we've got left?\"\n\n\"I don't know--leave it here as we've always done, I reckon. No use to\ntake it away till we start south. Six hundred and fifty in silver's\nsomething to carry.\"\n\n\"Well--all right--it won't matter to come here once more.\"\n\n\"No--but I'd say come in the night as we used to do--it's better.\"\n\n\"Yes: but look here; it may be a good while before I get the right\nchance at that job; accidents might happen; 'tain't in such a very good\nplace; we'll just regularly bury it--and bury it deep.\"\n\n\"Good idea,\" said the comrade, who walked across the room, knelt down,\nraised one of the rearward hearth-stones and took out a bag that jingled\npleasantly. He subtracted from it twenty or thirty dollars for himself\nand as much for Injun Joe, and passed the bag to the latter, who was on\nhis knees in the corner, now, digging with his bowie-knife.\n\nThe boys forgot all their fears, all their miseries in an instant. With\ngloating eyes they watched every movement. Luck!--the splendor of it was\nbeyond all imagination! Six hundred dollars was money enough to make\nhalf a dozen boys rich! Here was treasure-hunting under the happiest\nauspices--there would not be any bothersome uncertainty as to where to\ndig. They nudged each other every moment--eloquent nudges and easily\nunderstood, for they simply meant--\"Oh, but ain't you glad _now_ we're\nhere!\"\n\nJoe's knife struck upon something.\n\n\"Hello!\" said he.\n\n\"What is it?\" said his comrade.\n\n\"Half-rotten plank--no, it's a box, I believe. Here--bear a hand and we'll\nsee what it's here for. Never mind, I've broke a hole.\"\n\nHe reached his hand in and drew it out--\n\n\"Man, it's money!\"\n\nThe two men examined the handful of coins. They were gold. The boys\nabove were as excited as themselves, and as delighted.\n\nJoe's comrade said:\n\n\"We'll make quick work of this. There's an old rusty pick over amongst\nthe weeds in the corner the other side of the fireplace--I saw it a\nminute ago.\"\n\nHe ran and brought the boys' pick and shovel. Injun Joe took the\npick, looked it over critically, shook his head, muttered something to\nhimself, and then began to use it. The box was soon unearthed. It was\nnot very large; it was iron bound and had been very strong before the\nslow years had injured it. The men contemplated the treasure awhile in\nblissful silence.\n\n\"Pard, there's thousands of dollars here,\" said Injun Joe.\n\n\"'Twas always said that Murrel's gang used to be around here one\nsummer,\" the stranger observed.\n\n\"I know it,\" said Injun Joe; \"and this looks like it, I should say.\"\n\n\"Now you won't need to do that job.\"\n\nThe halfbreed frowned. Said he:\n\n\"You don't know me. Least you don't know all about that thing. 'Tain't\nrobbery altogether--it's _revenge_!\" and a wicked light flamed in his\neyes. \"I'll need your help in it. When it's finished--then Texas. Go home\nto your Nance and your kids, and stand by till you hear from me.\"\n\n\"Well--if you say so; what'll we do with this--bury it again?\"\n\n\"Yes. [Ravishing delight overhead.] _No_! by the great Sachem, no!\n[Profound distress overhead.] I'd nearly forgot. That pick had fresh\nearth on it! [The boys were sick with terror in a moment.] What business\nhas a pick and a shovel here? What business with fresh earth on\nthem? Who brought them here--and where are they gone? Have you heard\nanybody?--seen anybody? What! bury it again and leave them to come and\nsee the ground disturbed? Not exactly--not exactly. We'll take it to my\nden.\"\n\n\"Why, of course! Might have thought of that before. You mean Number\nOne?\"\n\n\"No--Number Two--under the cross. The other place is bad--too common.\"\n\n\"All right. It's nearly dark enough to start.\"\n\nInjun Joe got up and went about from window to window cautiously peeping\nout. Presently he said:\n\n\"Who could have brought those tools here? Do you reckon they can be\nupstairs?\"\n\nThe boys' breath forsook them. Injun Joe put his hand on his knife,\nhalted a moment, undecided, and then turned toward the stairway. The\nboys thought of the closet, but their strength was gone. The steps came\ncreaking up the stairs--the intolerable distress of the situation woke\nthe stricken resolution of the lads--they were about to spring for the\ncloset, when there was a crash of rotten timbers and Injun Joe landed on\nthe ground amid the debris of the ruined stairway. He gathered himself\nup cursing, and his comrade said:\n\n\"Now what's the use of all that? If it's anybody, and they're up there,\nlet them _stay_ there--who cares? If they want to jump down, now, and get\ninto trouble, who objects? It will be dark in fifteen minutes--and then\nlet them follow us if they want to. I'm willing. In my opinion, whoever\nhove those things in here caught a sight of us and took us for ghosts or\ndevils or something. I'll bet they're running yet.\"\n\nJoe grumbled awhile; then he agreed with his friend that what daylight\nwas left ought to be economized in getting things ready for leaving.\nShortly afterward they slipped out of the house in the deepening\ntwilight, and moved toward the river with their precious box.\n\nTom and Huck rose up, weak but vastly relieved, and stared after them\nthrough the chinks between the logs of the house. Follow? Not they. They\nwere content to reach ground again without broken necks, and take the\ntownward track over the hill. They did not talk much. They were too much\nabsorbed in hating themselves--hating the ill luck that made them take\nthe spade and the pick there. But for that, Injun Joe never would have\nsuspected. He would have hidden the silver with the gold to wait\nthere till his \"revenge\" was satisfied, and then he would have had the\nmisfortune to find that money turn up missing. Bitter, bitter luck that\nthe tools were ever brought there!\n\nThey resolved to keep a lookout for that Spaniard when he should come to\ntown spying out for chances to do his revengeful job, and follow him to\n\"Number Two,\" wherever that might be. Then a ghastly thought occurred to\nTom.\n\n\"Revenge? What if he means _us_, Huck!\"\n\n\"Oh, don't!\" said Huck, nearly fainting.\n\nThey talked it all over, and as they entered town they agreed to believe\nthat he might possibly mean somebody else--at least that he might at\nleast mean nobody but Tom, since only Tom had testified.\n\nVery, very small comfort it was to Tom to be alone in danger! Company\nwould be a palpable improvement, he thought.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nTHE adventure of the day mightily tormented Tom's dreams that night.\nFour times he had his hands on that rich treasure and four times\nit wasted to nothingness in his fingers as sleep forsook him and\nwakefulness brought back the hard reality of his misfortune. As he lay\nin the early morning recalling the incidents of his great adventure, he\nnoticed that they seemed curiously subdued and far away--somewhat as if\nthey had happened in another world, or in a time long gone by. Then it\noccurred to him that the great adventure itself must be a dream! There\nwas one very strong argument in favor of this idea--namely, that the\nquantity of coin he had seen was too vast to be real. He had never seen\nas much as fifty dollars in one mass before, and he was like all boys of\nhis age and station in life, in that he imagined that all references to\n\"hundreds\" and \"thousands\" were mere fanciful forms of speech, and that\nno such sums really existed in the world. He never had supposed for\na moment that so large a sum as a hundred dollars was to be found in\nactual money in any one's possession. If his notions of hidden treasure\nhad been analyzed, they would have been found to consist of a handful of\nreal dimes and a bushel of vague, splendid, ungraspable dollars.\n\nBut the incidents of his adventure grew sensibly sharper and clearer\nunder the attrition of thinking them over, and so he presently found\nhimself leaning to the impression that the thing might not have been a\ndream, after all. This uncertainty must be swept away. He would snatch a\nhurried breakfast and go and find Huck. Huck was sitting on the gunwale\nof a flatboat, listlessly dangling his feet in the water and looking\nvery melancholy. Tom concluded to let Huck lead up to the subject. If\nhe did not do it, then the adventure would be proved to have been only a\ndream.\n\n\"Hello, Huck!\"\n\n\"Hello, yourself.\"\n\nSilence, for a minute.\n\n\"Tom, if we'd 'a' left the blame tools at the dead tree, we'd 'a' got\nthe money. Oh, ain't it awful!\"\n\n\"'Tain't a dream, then, 'tain't a dream! Somehow I most wish it was.\nDog'd if I don't, Huck.\"\n\n\"What ain't a dream?\"\n\n\"Oh, that thing yesterday. I been half thinking it was.\"\n\n\"Dream! If them stairs hadn't broke down you'd 'a' seen how much dream\nit was! I've had dreams enough all night--with that patch-eyed Spanish\ndevil going for me all through 'em--rot him!\"\n\n\"No, not rot him. _Find_ him! Track the money!\"\n\n\"Tom, we'll never find him. A feller don't have only one chance for such\na pile--and that one's lost. I'd feel mighty shaky if I was to see him,\nanyway.\"\n\n\"Well, so'd I; but I'd like to see him, anyway--and track him out--to his\nNumber Two.\"\n\n\"Number Two--yes, that's it. I been thinking 'bout that. But I can't make\nnothing out of it. What do you reckon it is?\"\n\n\"I dono. It's too deep. Say, Huck--maybe it's the number of a house!\"\n\n\"Goody!... No, Tom, that ain't it. If it is, it ain't in this one-horse\ntown. They ain't no numbers here.\"\n\n\"Well, that's so. Lemme think a minute. Here--it's the number of a\nroom--in a tavern, you know!\"\n\n\"Oh, that's the trick! They ain't only two taverns. We can find out\nquick.\"\n\n\"You stay here, Huck, till I come.\"\n\nTom was off at once. He did not care to have Huck's company in public\nplaces. He was gone half an hour. He found that in the best tavern, No.\n2 had long been occupied by a young lawyer, and was still so occupied.\nIn the less ostentatious house, No. 2 was a mystery. The tavern-keeper's\nyoung son said it was kept locked all the time, and he never saw anybody\ngo into it or come out of it except at night; he did not know any\nparticular reason for this state of things; had had some little\ncuriosity, but it was rather feeble; had made the most of the mystery\nby entertaining himself with the idea that that room was \"ha'nted\"; had\nnoticed that there was a light in there the night before.\n\n\"That's what I've found out, Huck. I reckon that's the very No. 2 we're\nafter.\"\n\n\"I reckon it is, Tom. Now what you going to do?\"\n\n\"Lemme think.\"\n\nTom thought a long time. Then he said:\n\n\"I'll tell you. The back door of that No. 2 is the door that comes out\ninto that little close alley between the tavern and the old rattle trap\nof a brick store. Now you get hold of all the doorkeys you can find, and\nI'll nip all of auntie's, and the first dark night we'll go there and\ntry 'em. And mind you, keep a lookout for Injun Joe, because he said he\nwas going to drop into town and spy around once more for a chance to get\nhis revenge. If you see him, you just follow him; and if he don't go to\nthat No. 2, that ain't the place.\"\n\n\"Lordy, I don't want to foller him by myself!\"\n\n\"Why, it'll be night, sure. He mightn't ever see you--and if he did,\nmaybe he'd never think anything.\"\n\n\"Well, if it's pretty dark I reckon I'll track him. I dono--I dono. I'll\ntry.\"\n\n\"You bet I'll follow him, if it's dark, Huck. Why, he might 'a' found\nout he couldn't get his revenge, and be going right after that money.\"\n\n\"It's so, Tom, it's so. I'll foller him; I will, by jingoes!\"\n\n\"Now you're _talking_! Don't you ever weaken, Huck, and I won't.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nTHAT night Tom and Huck were ready for their adventure. They hung about\nthe neighborhood of the tavern until after nine, one watching the alley\nat a distance and the other the tavern door. Nobody entered the alley or\nleft it; nobody resembling the Spaniard entered or left the tavern\ndoor. The night promised to be a fair one; so Tom went home with the\nunderstanding that if a considerable degree of darkness came on, Huck\nwas to come and \"maow,\" whereupon he would slip out and try the keys.\nBut the night remained clear, and Huck closed his watch and retired to\nbed in an empty sugar hogshead about twelve.\n\nTuesday the boys had the same ill luck. Also Wednesday. But Thursday\nnight promised better. Tom slipped out in good season with his aunt's\nold tin lantern, and a large towel to blindfold it with. He hid the\nlantern in Huck's sugar hogshead and the watch began. An hour before\nmidnight the tavern closed up and its lights (the only ones thereabouts)\nwere put out. No Spaniard had been seen. Nobody had entered or left the\nalley. Everything was auspicious. The blackness of darkness reigned,\nthe perfect stillness was interrupted only by occasional mutterings of\ndistant thunder.\n\nTom got his lantern, lit it in the hogshead, wrapped it closely in the\ntowel, and the two adventurers crept in the gloom toward the tavern.\nHuck stood sentry and Tom felt his way into the alley. Then there was\na season of waiting anxiety that weighed upon Huck's spirits like a\nmountain. He began to wish he could see a flash from the lantern--it\nwould frighten him, but it would at least tell him that Tom was alive\nyet. It seemed hours since Tom had disappeared. Surely he must have\nfainted; maybe he was dead; maybe his heart had burst under terror and\nexcitement. In his uneasiness Huck found himself drawing closer\nand closer to the alley; fearing all sorts of dreadful things, and\nmomentarily expecting some catastrophe to happen that would take away\nhis breath. There was not much to take away, for he seemed only able to\ninhale it by thimblefuls, and his heart would soon wear itself out, the\nway it was beating. Suddenly there was a flash of light and Tom came\ntearing by him: \"Run!\" said he; \"run, for your life!\"\n\nHe needn't have repeated it; once was enough; Huck was making thirty or\nforty miles an hour before the repetition was uttered. The boys never\nstopped till they reached the shed of a deserted slaughter-house at the\nlower end of the village. Just as they got within its shelter the storm\nburst and the rain poured down. As soon as Tom got his breath he said:\n\n\"Huck, it was awful! I tried two of the keys, just as soft as I could;\nbut they seemed to make such a power of racket that I couldn't hardly\nget my breath I was so scared. They wouldn't turn in the lock, either.\nWell, without noticing what I was doing, I took hold of the knob, and\nopen comes the door! It warn't locked! I hopped in, and shook off the\ntowel, and, _Great Caesar's Ghost!_\"\n\n\"What!--what'd you see, Tom?\"\n\n\"Huck, I most stepped onto Injun Joe's hand!\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Yes! He was lying there, sound asleep on the floor, with his old patch\non his eye and his arms spread out.\"\n\n\"Lordy, what did you do? Did he wake up?\"\n\n\"No, never budged. Drunk, I reckon. I just grabbed that towel and\nstarted!\"\n\n\"I'd never 'a' thought of the towel, I bet!\"\n\n\"Well, I would. My aunt would make me mighty sick if I lost it.\"\n\n\"Say, Tom, did you see that box?\"\n\n\"Huck, I didn't wait to look around. I didn't see the box, I didn't see\nthe cross. I didn't see anything but a bottle and a tin cup on the floor\nby Injun Joe; yes, I saw two barrels and lots more bottles in the room.\nDon't you see, now, what's the matter with that ha'nted room?\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Why, it's ha'nted with whiskey! Maybe _all_ the Temperance Taverns have\ngot a ha'nted room, hey, Huck?\"\n\n\"Well, I reckon maybe that's so. Who'd 'a' thought such a thing? But\nsay, Tom, now's a mighty good time to get that box, if Injun Joe's\ndrunk.\"\n\n\"It is, that! You try it!\"\n\nHuck shuddered.\n\n\"Well, no--I reckon not.\"\n\n\"And I reckon not, Huck. Only one bottle alongside of Injun Joe ain't\nenough. If there'd been three, he'd be drunk enough and I'd do it.\"\n\nThere was a long pause for reflection, and then Tom said:\n\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, less not try that thing any more till we know Injun\nJoe's not in there. It's too scary. Now, if we watch every night, we'll\nbe dead sure to see him go out, some time or other, and then we'll\nsnatch that box quicker'n lightning.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm agreed. I'll watch the whole night long, and I'll do it every\nnight, too, if you'll do the other part of the job.\"\n\n\"All right, I will. All you got to do is to trot up Hooper Street a\nblock and maow--and if I'm asleep, you throw some gravel at the window\nand that'll fetch me.\"\n\n\"Agreed, and good as wheat!\"\n\n\"Now, Huck, the storm's over, and I'll go home. It'll begin to be\ndaylight in a couple of hours. You go back and watch that long, will\nyou?\"\n\n\"I said I would, Tom, and I will. I'll ha'nt that tavern every night for\na year! I'll sleep all day and I'll stand watch all night.\"\n\n\"That's all right. Now, where you going to sleep?\"\n\n\"In Ben Rogers' hayloft. He lets me, and so does his pap's nigger man,\nUncle Jake. I tote water for Uncle Jake whenever he wants me to, and any\ntime I ask him he gives me a little something to eat if he can spare it.\nThat's a mighty good nigger, Tom. He likes me, becuz I don't ever act as\nif I was above him. Sometime I've set right down and eat _with_ him. But\nyou needn't tell that. A body's got to do things when he's awful hungry\nhe wouldn't want to do as a steady thing.\"\n\n\"Well, if I don't want you in the daytime, I'll let you sleep. I won't\ncome bothering around. Any time you see something's up, in the night,\njust skip right around and maow.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nTHE first thing Tom heard on Friday morning was a glad piece of\nnews--Judge Thatcher's family had come back to town the night before.\nBoth Injun Joe and the treasure sunk into secondary importance for a\nmoment, and Becky took the chief place in the boy's interest. He saw her\nand they had an exhausting good time playing \"hispy\" and \"gully-keeper\"\nwith a crowd of their schoolmates. The day was completed and crowned in\na peculiarly satisfactory way: Becky teased her mother to appoint\nthe next day for the long-promised and long-delayed picnic, and she\nconsented. The child's delight was boundless; and Tom's not more\nmoderate. The invitations were sent out before sunset, and straightway\nthe young folks of the village were thrown into a fever of preparation\nand pleasurable anticipation. Tom's excitement enabled him to keep\nawake until a pretty late hour, and he had good hopes of hearing Huck's\n\"maow,\" and of having his treasure to astonish Becky and the picnickers\nwith, next day; but he was disappointed. No signal came that night.\n\nMorning came, eventually, and by ten or eleven o'clock a giddy and\nrollicking company were gathered at Judge Thatcher's, and everything was\nready for a start. It was not the custom for elderly people to mar the\npicnics with their presence. The children were considered safe enough\nunder the wings of a few young ladies of eighteen and a few young\ngentlemen of twenty-three or thereabouts. The old steam ferry-boat was\nchartered for the occasion; presently the gay throng filed up the main\nstreet laden with provision-baskets. Sid was sick and had to miss\nthe fun; Mary remained at home to entertain him. The last thing Mrs.\nThatcher said to Becky, was:\n\n\"You'll not get back till late. Perhaps you'd better stay all night with\nsome of the girls that live near the ferry-landing, child.\"\n\n\"Then I'll stay with Susy Harper, mamma.\"\n\n\"Very well. And mind and behave yourself and don't be any trouble.\"\n\nPresently, as they tripped along, Tom said to Becky:\n\n\"Say--I'll tell you what we'll do. 'Stead of going to Joe Harper's we'll\nclimb right up the hill and stop at the Widow Douglas'. She'll have\nice-cream! She has it most every day--dead loads of it. And she'll be\nawful glad to have us.\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be fun!\"\n\nThen Becky reflected a moment and said:\n\n\"But what will mamma say?\"\n\n\"How'll she ever know?\"\n\nThe girl turned the idea over in her mind, and said reluctantly:\n\n\"I reckon it's wrong--but--\"\n\n\"But shucks! Your mother won't know, and so what's the harm? All she\nwants is that you'll be safe; and I bet you she'd 'a' said go there if\nshe'd 'a' thought of it. I know she would!\"\n\nThe Widow Douglas' splendid hospitality was a tempting bait. It and\nTom's persuasions presently carried the day. So it was decided to say\nnothing to anybody about the night's programme. Presently it occurred to\nTom that maybe Huck might come this very night and give the signal. The\nthought took a deal of the spirit out of his anticipations. Still he\ncould not bear to give up the fun at Widow Douglas'. And why should he\ngive it up, he reasoned--the signal did not come the night before, so\nwhy should it be any more likely to come tonight? The sure fun of the\nevening outweighed the uncertain treasure; and, boy-like, he determined\nto yield to the stronger inclination and not allow himself to think of\nthe box of money another time that day.\n\nThree miles below town the ferryboat stopped at the mouth of a woody\nhollow and tied up. The crowd swarmed ashore and soon the forest\ndistances and craggy heights echoed far and near with shoutings and\nlaughter. All the different ways of getting hot and tired were gone\nthrough with, and by-and-by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified\nwith responsible appetites, and then the destruction of the good things\nbegan. After the feast there was a refreshing season of rest and chat in\nthe shade of spreading oaks. By-and-by somebody shouted:\n\n\"Who's ready for the cave?\"\n\nEverybody was. Bundles of candles were procured, and straightway there\nwas a general scamper up the hill. The mouth of the cave was up the\nhillside--an opening shaped like a letter A. Its massive oaken door stood\nunbarred. Within was a small chamber, chilly as an icehouse, and walled\nby Nature with solid limestone that was dewy with a cold sweat. It was\nromantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep gloom and look out\nupon the green valley shining in the sun. But the impressiveness of the\nsituation quickly wore off, and the romping began again. The moment\na candle was lighted there was a general rush upon the owner of it; a\nstruggle and a gallant defence followed, but the candle was soon knocked\ndown or blown out, and then there was a glad clamor of laughter and a\nnew chase. But all things have an end. By-and-by the procession went\nfiling down the steep descent of the main avenue, the flickering rank of\nlights dimly revealing the lofty walls of rock almost to their point of\njunction sixty feet overhead. This main avenue was not more than\neight or ten feet wide. Every few steps other lofty and still narrower\ncrevices branched from it on either hand--for McDougal's cave was but a\nvast labyrinth of crooked aisles that ran into each other and out again\nand led nowhere. It was said that one might wander days and nights\ntogether through its intricate tangle of rifts and chasms, and never\nfind the end of the cave; and that he might go down, and down, and\nstill down, into the earth, and it was just the same--labyrinth under\nlabyrinth, and no end to any of them. No man \"knew\" the cave. That was\nan impossible thing. Most of the young men knew a portion of it, and it\nwas not customary to venture much beyond this known portion. Tom Sawyer\nknew as much of the cave as any one.\n\nThe procession moved along the main avenue some three-quarters of\na mile, and then groups and couples began to slip aside into branch\navenues, fly along the dismal corridors, and take each other by surprise\nat points where the corridors joined again. Parties were able to elude\neach other for the space of half an hour without going beyond the\n\"known\" ground.\n\nBy-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth\nof the cave, panting, hilarious, smeared from head to foot with tallow\ndrippings, daubed with clay, and entirely delighted with the success of\nthe day. Then they were astonished to find that they had been taking\nno note of time and that night was about at hand. The clanging bell had\nbeen calling for half an hour. However, this sort of close to the day's\nadventures was romantic and therefore satisfactory. When the ferryboat\nwith her wild freight pushed into the stream, nobody cared sixpence for\nthe wasted time but the captain of the craft.\n\nHuck was already upon his watch when the ferryboat's lights went\nglinting past the wharf. He heard no noise on board, for the young\npeople were as subdued and still as people usually are who are nearly\ntired to death. He wondered what boat it was, and why she did not\nstop at the wharf--and then he dropped her out of his mind and put his\nattention upon his business. The night was growing cloudy and dark. Ten\no'clock came, and the noise of vehicles ceased, scattered lights began\nto wink out, all straggling foot-passengers disappeared, the village\nbetook itself to its slumbers and left the small watcher alone with the\nsilence and the ghosts. Eleven o'clock came, and the tavern lights were\nput out; darkness everywhere, now. Huck waited what seemed a weary long\ntime, but nothing happened. His faith was weakening. Was there any use?\nWas there really any use? Why not give it up and turn in?\n\nA noise fell upon his ear. He was all attention in an instant. The alley\ndoor closed softly. He sprang to the corner of the brick store. The next\nmoment two men brushed by him, and one seemed to have something under\nhis arm. It must be that box! So they were going to remove the treasure.\nWhy call Tom now? It would be absurd--the men would get away with the box\nand never be found again. No, he would stick to their wake and follow\nthem; he would trust to the darkness for security from discovery. So\ncommuning with himself, Huck stepped out and glided along behind the\nmen, cat-like, with bare feet, allowing them to keep just far enough\nahead not to be invisible.\n\nThey moved up the river street three blocks, then turned to the left up\na crossstreet. They went straight ahead, then, until they came to the\npath that led up Cardiff Hill; this they took. They passed by the old\nWelshman's house, halfway up the hill, without hesitating, and still\nclimbed upward. Good, thought Huck, they will bury it in the old quarry.\nBut they never stopped at the quarry. They passed on, up the summit.\nThey plunged into the narrow path between the tall sumach bushes, and\nwere at once hidden in the gloom. Huck closed up and shortened his\ndistance, now, for they would never be able to see him. He trotted along\nawhile; then slackened his pace, fearing he was gaining too fast; moved\non a piece, then stopped altogether; listened; no sound; none, save that\nhe seemed to hear the beating of his own heart. The hooting of an\nowl came over the hill--ominous sound! But no footsteps. Heavens, was\neverything lost! He was about to spring with winged feet, when a man\ncleared his throat not four feet from him! Huck's heart shot into his\nthroat, but he swallowed it again; and then he stood there shaking as\nif a dozen agues had taken charge of him at once, and so weak that he\nthought he must surely fall to the ground. He knew where he was. He\nknew he was within five steps of the stile leading into Widow Douglas'\ngrounds. Very well, he thought, let them bury it there; it won't be hard\nto find.\n\nNow there was a voice--a very low voice--Injun Joe's:\n\n\"Damn her, maybe she's got company--there's lights, late as it is.\"\n\n\"I can't see any.\"\n\nThis was that stranger's voice--the stranger of the haunted house. A\ndeadly chill went to Huck's heart--this, then, was the \"revenge\" job! His\nthought was, to fly. Then he remembered that the Widow Douglas had been\nkind to him more than once, and maybe these men were going to murder\nher. He wished he dared venture to warn her; but he knew he didn't\ndare--they might come and catch him. He thought all this and more in\nthe moment that elapsed between the stranger's remark and Injun Joe's\nnext--which was--\n\n\"Because the bush is in your way. Now--this way--now you see, don't you?\"\n\n\"Yes. Well, there _is_ company there, I reckon. Better give it up.\"\n\n\"Give it up, and I just leaving this country forever! Give it up and\nmaybe never have another chance. I tell you again, as I've told you\nbefore, I don't care for her swag--you may have it. But her husband was\nrough on me--many times he was rough on me--and mainly he was the justice\nof the peace that jugged me for a vagrant. And that ain't all. It ain't\na millionth part of it! He had me _horsewhipped_!--horsewhipped in\nfront of the jail, like a nigger!--with all the town looking on!\n_Horsewhipped_!--do you understand? He took advantage of me and died. But\nI'll take it out of _her_.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't kill her! Don't do that!\"\n\n\"Kill? Who said anything about killing? I would kill _him_ if he was\nhere; but not her. When you want to get revenge on a woman you don't\nkill her--bosh! you go for her looks. You slit her nostrils--you notch her\nears like a sow!\"\n\n\"By God, that's--\"\n\n\"Keep your opinion to yourself! It will be safest for you. I'll tie her\nto the bed. If she bleeds to death, is that my fault? I'll not cry, if\nshe does. My friend, you'll help me in this thing--for _my_ sake--that's\nwhy you're here--I mightn't be able alone. If you flinch, I'll kill you.\nDo you understand that? And if I have to kill you, I'll kill her--and\nthen I reckon nobody'll ever know much about who done this business.\"\n\n\"Well, if it's got to be done, let's get at it. The quicker the\nbetter--I'm all in a shiver.\"\n\n\"Do it _now_? And company there? Look here--I'll get suspicious of you,\nfirst thing you know. No--we'll wait till the lights are out--there's no\nhurry.\"\n\nHuck felt that a silence was going to ensue--a thing still more awful\nthan any amount of murderous talk; so he held his breath and stepped\ngingerly back; planted his foot carefully and firmly, after balancing,\none-legged, in a precarious way and almost toppling over, first on one\nside and then on the other. He took another step back, with the same\nelaboration and the same risks; then another and another, and--a twig\nsnapped under his foot! His breath stopped and he listened. There was no\nsound--the stillness was perfect. His gratitude was measureless. Now he\nturned in his tracks, between the walls of sumach bushes--turned\nhimself as carefully as if he were a ship--and then stepped quickly but\ncautiously along. When he emerged at the quarry he felt secure, and\nso he picked up his nimble heels and flew. Down, down he sped, till he\nreached the Welshman's. He banged at the door, and presently the heads\nof the old man and his two stalwart sons were thrust from windows.\n\n\"What's the row there? Who's banging? What do you want?\"\n\n\"Let me in--quick! I'll tell everything.\"\n\n\"Why, who are you?\"\n\n\"Huckleberry Finn--quick, let me in!\"\n\n\"Huckleberry Finn, indeed! It ain't a name to open many doors, I judge!\nBut let him in, lads, and let's see what's the trouble.\"\n\n\"Please don't ever tell I told you,\" were Huck's first words when he got\nin. \"Please don't--I'd be killed, sure--but the widow's been good friends\nto me sometimes, and I want to tell--I _will_ tell if you'll promise you\nwon't ever say it was me.\"\n\n\"By George, he _has_ got something to tell, or he wouldn't act so!\"\nexclaimed the old man; \"out with it and nobody here'll ever tell, lad.\"\n\nThree minutes later the old man and his sons, well armed, were up the\nhill, and just entering the sumach path on tiptoe, their weapons in\ntheir hands. Huck accompanied them no further. He hid behind a great\nbowlder and fell to listening. There was a lagging, anxious silence, and\nthen all of a sudden there was an explosion of firearms and a cry.\n\nHuck waited for no particulars. He sprang away and sped down the hill as\nfast as his legs could carry him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nAS the earliest suspicion of dawn appeared on Sunday morning, Huck came\ngroping up the hill and rapped gently at the old Welshman's door. The\ninmates were asleep, but it was a sleep that was set on a hair-trigger,\non account of the exciting episode of the night. A call came from a\nwindow:\n\n\"Who's there!\"\n\nHuck's scared voice answered in a low tone:\n\n\"Please let me in! It's only Huck Finn!\"\n\n\"It's a name that can open this door night or day, lad!--and welcome!\"\n\nThese were strange words to the vagabond boy's ears, and the pleasantest\nhe had ever heard. He could not recollect that the closing word had ever\nbeen applied in his case before. The door was quickly unlocked, and he\nentered. Huck was given a seat and the old man and his brace of tall\nsons speedily dressed themselves.\n\n\"Now, my boy, I hope you're good and hungry, because breakfast will be\nready as soon as the sun's up, and we'll have a piping hot one, too--make\nyourself easy about that! I and the boys hoped you'd turn up and stop\nhere last night.\"\n\n\"I was awful scared,\" said Huck, \"and I run. I took out when the pistols\nwent off, and I didn't stop for three mile. I've come now becuz I wanted\nto know about it, you know; and I come before daylight becuz I didn't\nwant to run across them devils, even if they was dead.\"\n\n\"Well, poor chap, you do look as if you'd had a hard night of it--but\nthere's a bed here for you when you've had your breakfast. No, they\nain't dead, lad--we are sorry enough for that. You see we knew right\nwhere to put our hands on them, by your description; so we crept along\non tiptoe till we got within fifteen feet of them--dark as a cellar that\nsumach path was--and just then I found I was going to sneeze. It was the\nmeanest kind of luck! I tried to keep it back, but no use--'twas bound to\ncome, and it did come! I was in the lead with my pistol raised, and when\nthe sneeze started those scoundrels a-rustling to get out of the path,\nI sung out, 'Fire boys!' and blazed away at the place where the rustling\nwas. So did the boys. But they were off in a jiffy, those villains, and\nwe after them, down through the woods. I judge we never touched them.\nThey fired a shot apiece as they started, but their bullets whizzed by\nand didn't do us any harm. As soon as we lost the sound of their feet\nwe quit chasing, and went down and stirred up the constables. They got a\nposse together, and went off to guard the river bank, and as soon as it\nis light the sheriff and a gang are going to beat up the woods. My boys\nwill be with them presently. I wish we had some sort of description of\nthose rascals--'twould help a good deal. But you couldn't see what they\nwere like, in the dark, lad, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Oh yes; I saw them downtown and follered them.\"\n\n\"Splendid! Describe them--describe them, my boy!\"\n\n\"One's the old deaf and dumb Spaniard that's ben around here once or\ntwice, and t'other's a mean-looking, ragged--\"\n\n\"That's enough, lad, we know the men! Happened on them in the woods back\nof the widow's one day, and they slunk away. Off with you, boys, and\ntell the sheriff--get your breakfast tomorrow morning!\"\n\nThe Welshman's sons departed at once. As they were leaving the room Huck\nsprang up and exclaimed:\n\n\"Oh, please don't tell _any_body it was me that blowed on them! Oh,\nplease!\"\n\n\"All right if you say it, Huck, but you ought to have the credit of what\nyou did.\"\n\n\"Oh no, no! Please don't tell!\"\n\nWhen the young men were gone, the old Welshman said:\n\n\"They won't tell--and I won't. But why don't you want it known?\"\n\nHuck would not explain, further than to say that he already knew too\nmuch about one of those men and would not have the man know that he knew\nanything against him for the whole world--he would be killed for knowing\nit, sure.\n\nThe old man promised secrecy once more, and said:\n\n\"How did you come to follow these fellows, lad? Were they looking\nsuspicious?\"\n\nHuck was silent while he framed a duly cautious reply. Then he said:\n\n\"Well, you see, I'm a kind of a hard lot,--least everybody says so, and\nI don't see nothing agin it--and sometimes I can't sleep much, on account\nof thinking about it and sort of trying to strike out a new way of\ndoing. That was the way of it last night. I couldn't sleep, and so I\ncome along upstreet 'bout midnight, a-turning it all over, and when I\ngot to that old shackly brick store by the Temperance Tavern, I backed\nup agin the wall to have another think. Well, just then along comes\nthese two chaps slipping along close by me, with something under their\narm, and I reckoned they'd stole it. One was a-smoking, and t'other one\nwanted a light; so they stopped right before me and the cigars lit up\ntheir faces and I see that the big one was the deaf and dumb Spaniard,\nby his white whiskers and the patch on his eye, and t'other one was a\nrusty, ragged-looking devil.\"\n\n\"Could you see the rags by the light of the cigars?\"\n\nThis staggered Huck for a moment. Then he said:\n\n\"Well, I don't know--but somehow it seems as if I did.\"\n\n\"Then they went on, and you--\"\n\n\"Follered 'em--yes. That was it. I wanted to see what was up--they sneaked\nalong so. I dogged 'em to the widder's stile, and stood in the dark and\nheard the ragged one beg for the widder, and the Spaniard swear he'd\nspile her looks just as I told you and your two--\"\n\n\"What! The _deaf and dumb_ man said all that!\"\n\nHuck had made another terrible mistake! He was trying his best to keep\nthe old man from getting the faintest hint of who the Spaniard might be,\nand yet his tongue seemed determined to get him into trouble in spite of\nall he could do. He made several efforts to creep out of his scrape,\nbut the old man's eye was upon him and he made blunder after blunder.\nPresently the Welshman said:\n\n\"My boy, don't be afraid of me. I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head for\nall the world. No--I'd protect you--I'd protect you. This Spaniard is\nnot deaf and dumb; you've let that slip without intending it; you can't\ncover that up now. You know something about that Spaniard that you want\nto keep dark. Now trust me--tell me what it is, and trust me--I won't\nbetray you.\"\n\nHuck looked into the old man's honest eyes a moment, then bent over and\nwhispered in his ear:\n\n\"'Tain't a Spaniard--it's Injun Joe!\"\n\nThe Welshman almost jumped out of his chair. In a moment he said:\n\n\"It's all plain enough, now. When you talked about notching ears and\nslitting noses I judged that that was your own embellishment, because\nwhite men don't take that sort of revenge. But an Injun! That's a\ndifferent matter altogether.\"\n\nDuring breakfast the talk went on, and in the course of it the old man\nsaid that the last thing which he and his sons had done, before going\nto bed, was to get a lantern and examine the stile and its vicinity for\nmarks of blood. They found none, but captured a bulky bundle of--\n\n\"Of _what_?\"\n\nIf the words had been lightning they could not have leaped with a more\nstunning suddenness from Huck's blanched lips. His eyes were staring\nwide, now, and his breath suspended--waiting for the answer. The Welshman\nstarted--stared in return--three seconds--five seconds--ten--then replied:\n\n\"Of burglar's tools. Why, what's the _matter_ with you?\"\n\nHuck sank back, panting gently, but deeply, unutterably grateful. The\nWelshman eyed him gravely, curiously--and presently said:\n\n\"Yes, burglar's tools. That appears to relieve you a good deal. But what\ndid give you that turn? What were _you_ expecting we'd found?\"\n\nHuck was in a close place--the inquiring eye was upon him--he would have\ngiven anything for material for a plausible answer--nothing suggested\nitself--the inquiring eye was boring deeper and deeper--a senseless\nreply offered--there was no time to weigh it, so at a venture he uttered\nit--feebly:\n\n\"Sunday-school books, maybe.\"\n\nPoor Huck was too distressed to smile, but the old man laughed loud and\njoyously, shook up the details of his anatomy from head to foot, and\nended by saying that such a laugh was money in a-man's pocket, because\nit cut down the doctor's bill like everything. Then he added:\n\n\"Poor old chap, you're white and jaded--you ain't well a bit--no wonder\nyou're a little flighty and off your balance. But you'll come out of it.\nRest and sleep will fetch you out all right, I hope.\"\n\nHuck was irritated to think he had been such a goose and betrayed such\na suspicious excitement, for he had dropped the idea that the parcel\nbrought from the tavern was the treasure, as soon as he had heard the\ntalk at the widow's stile. He had only thought it was not the treasure,\nhowever--he had not known that it wasn't--and so the suggestion of a\ncaptured bundle was too much for his self-possession. But on the whole\nhe felt glad the little episode had happened, for now he knew beyond all\nquestion that that bundle was not _the_ bundle, and so his mind was\nat rest and exceedingly comfortable. In fact, everything seemed to be\ndrifting just in the right direction, now; the treasure must be still\nin No. 2, the men would be captured and jailed that day, and he and\nTom could seize the gold that night without any trouble or any fear of\ninterruption.\n\nJust as breakfast was completed there was a knock at the door. Huck\njumped for a hiding-place, for he had no mind to be connected even\nremotely with the late event. The Welshman admitted several ladies and\ngentlemen, among them the Widow Douglas, and noticed that groups of\ncitizens were climbing up the hill--to stare at the stile. So the news\nhad spread. The Welshman had to tell the story of the night to the\nvisitors. The widow's gratitude for her preservation was outspoken.\n\n\"Don't say a word about it, madam. There's another that you're more\nbeholden to than you are to me and my boys, maybe, but he don't allow me\nto tell his name. We wouldn't have been there but for him.\"\n\nOf course this excited a curiosity so vast that it almost belittled the\nmain matter--but the Welshman allowed it to eat into the vitals of his\nvisitors, and through them be transmitted to the whole town, for he\nrefused to part with his secret. When all else had been learned, the\nwidow said:\n\n\"I went to sleep reading in bed and slept straight through all that\nnoise. Why didn't you come and wake me?\"\n\n\"We judged it warn't worth while. Those fellows warn't likely to come\nagain--they hadn't any tools left to work with, and what was the use of\nwaking you up and scaring you to death? My three negro men stood guard\nat your house all the rest of the night. They've just come back.\"\n\nMore visitors came, and the story had to be told and retold for a couple\nof hours more.\n\nThere was no Sabbath-school during day-school vacation, but everybody\nwas early at church. The stirring event was well canvassed. News came\nthat not a sign of the two villains had been yet discovered. When the\nsermon was finished, Judge Thatcher's wife dropped alongside of Mrs.\nHarper as she moved down the aisle with the crowd and said:\n\n\"Is my Becky going to sleep all day? I just expected she would be tired\nto death.\"\n\n\"Your Becky?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" with a startled look--\"didn't she stay with you last night?\"\n\n\"Why, no.\"\n\nMrs. Thatcher turned pale, and sank into a pew, just as Aunt Polly,\ntalking briskly with a friend, passed by. Aunt Polly said:\n\n\"Goodmorning, Mrs. Thatcher. Goodmorning, Mrs. Harper. I've got a boy\nthat's turned up missing. I reckon my Tom stayed at your house last\nnight--one of you. And now he's afraid to come to church. I've got to\nsettle with him.\"\n\nMrs. Thatcher shook her head feebly and turned paler than ever.\n\n\"He didn't stay with us,\" said Mrs. Harper, beginning to look uneasy. A\nmarked anxiety came into Aunt Polly's face.\n\n\"Joe Harper, have you seen my Tom this morning?\"\n\n\"No'm.\"\n\n\"When did you see him last?\"\n\nJoe tried to remember, but was not sure he could say. The people had\nstopped moving out of church. Whispers passed along, and a boding\nuneasiness took possession of every countenance. Children were anxiously\nquestioned, and young teachers. They all said they had not noticed\nwhether Tom and Becky were on board the ferryboat on the homeward trip;\nit was dark; no one thought of inquiring if any one was missing. One\nyoung man finally blurted out his fear that they were still in the cave!\nMrs. Thatcher swooned away. Aunt Polly fell to crying and wringing her\nhands.\n\nThe alarm swept from lip to lip, from group to group, from street to\nstreet, and within five minutes the bells were wildly clanging and\nthe whole town was up! The Cardiff Hill episode sank into instant\ninsignificance, the burglars were forgotten, horses were saddled, skiffs\nwere manned, the ferryboat ordered out, and before the horror was half\nan hour old, two hundred men were pouring down highroad and river toward\nthe cave.\n\nAll the long afternoon the village seemed empty and dead. Many women\nvisited Aunt Polly and Mrs. Thatcher and tried to comfort them. They\ncried with them, too, and that was still better than words. All the\ntedious night the town waited for news; but when the morning dawned at\nlast, all the word that came was, \"Send more candles--and send food.\"\nMrs. Thatcher was almost crazed; and Aunt Polly, also. Judge Thatcher\nsent messages of hope and encouragement from the cave, but they conveyed\nno real cheer.\n\nThe old Welshman came home toward daylight, spattered with\ncandle-grease, smeared with clay, and almost worn out. He found Huck\nstill in the bed that had been provided for him, and delirious with\nfever. The physicians were all at the cave, so the Widow Douglas came\nand took charge of the patient. She said she would do her best by him,\nbecause, whether he was good, bad, or indifferent, he was the Lord's,\nand nothing that was the Lord's was a thing to be neglected. The\nWelshman said Huck had good spots in him, and the widow said:\n\n\"You can depend on it. That's the Lord's mark. He don't leave it off.\nHe never does. Puts it somewhere on every creature that comes from his\nhands.\"\n\nEarly in the forenoon parties of jaded men began to straggle into the\nvillage, but the strongest of the citizens continued searching. All the\nnews that could be gained was that remotenesses of the cavern were being\nransacked that had never been visited before; that every corner and\ncrevice was going to be thoroughly searched; that wherever one wandered\nthrough the maze of passages, lights were to be seen flitting hither\nand thither in the distance, and shoutings and pistol-shots sent their\nhollow reverberations to the ear down the sombre aisles. In one place,\nfar from the section usually traversed by tourists, the names \"BECKY &\nTOM\" had been found traced upon the rocky wall with candle-smoke, and\nnear at hand a grease-soiled bit of ribbon. Mrs. Thatcher recognized the\nribbon and cried over it. She said it was the last relic she should ever\nhave of her child; and that no other memorial of her could ever be so\nprecious, because this one parted latest from the living body before the\nawful death came. Some said that now and then, in the cave, a far-away\nspeck of light would glimmer, and then a glorious shout would burst\nforth and a score of men go trooping down the echoing aisle--and then a\nsickening disappointment always followed; the children were not there;\nit was only a searcher's light.\n\nThree dreadful days and nights dragged their tedious hours along, and\nthe village sank into a hopeless stupor. No one had heart for anything.\nThe accidental discovery, just made, that the proprietor of the\nTemperance Tavern kept liquor on his premises, scarcely fluttered the\npublic pulse, tremendous as the fact was. In a lucid interval, Huck\nfeebly led up to the subject of taverns, and finally asked--dimly\ndreading the worst--if anything had been discovered at the Temperance\nTavern since he had been ill.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the widow.\n\nHuck started up in bed, wildeyed:\n\n\"What? What was it?\"\n\n\"Liquor!--and the place has been shut up. Lie down, child--what a turn you\ndid give me!\"\n\n\"Only tell me just one thing--only just one--please! Was it Tom Sawyer\nthat found it?\"\n\nThe widow burst into tears. \"Hush, hush, child, hush! I've told you\nbefore, you must _not_ talk. You are very, very sick!\"\n\nThen nothing but liquor had been found; there would have been a great\npowwow if it had been the gold. So the treasure was gone forever--gone\nforever! But what could she be crying about? Curious that she should\ncry.\n\nThese thoughts worked their dim way through Huck's mind, and under the\nweariness they gave him he fell asleep. The widow said to herself:\n\n\"There--he's asleep, poor wreck. Tom Sawyer find it! Pity but somebody\ncould find Tom Sawyer! Ah, there ain't many left, now, that's got hope\nenough, or strength enough, either, to go on searching.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\nNOW to return to Tom and Becky's share in the picnic. They tripped along\nthe murky aisles with the rest of the company, visiting the familiar\nwonders of the cave--wonders dubbed with rather over-descriptive names,\nsuch as \"The Drawing-Room,\" \"The Cathedral,\" \"Aladdin's Palace,\" and\nso on. Presently the hide-and-seek frolicking began, and Tom and Becky\nengaged in it with zeal until the exertion began to grow a trifle\nwearisome; then they wandered down a sinuous avenue holding their\ncandles aloft and reading the tangled webwork of names, dates,\npostoffice addresses, and mottoes with which the rocky walls had been\nfrescoed (in candle-smoke). Still drifting along and talking, they\nscarcely noticed that they were now in a part of the cave whose walls\nwere not frescoed. They smoked their own names under an overhanging\nshelf and moved on. Presently they came to a place where a little stream\nof water, trickling over a ledge and carrying a limestone sediment with\nit, had, in the slow-dragging ages, formed a laced and ruffled Niagara\nin gleaming and imperishable stone. Tom squeezed his small body behind\nit in order to illuminate it for Becky's gratification. He found that\nit curtained a sort of steep natural stairway which was enclosed between\nnarrow walls, and at once the ambition to be a discoverer seized him.\n\nBecky responded to his call, and they made a smoke-mark for future\nguidance, and started upon their quest. They wound this way and that,\nfar down into the secret depths of the cave, made another mark, and\nbranched off in search of novelties to tell the upper world about. In\none place they found a spacious cavern, from whose ceiling depended a\nmultitude of shining stalactites of the length and circumference of\na man's leg; they walked all about it, wondering and admiring, and\npresently left it by one of the numerous passages that opened into\nit. This shortly brought them to a bewitching spring, whose basin was\nincrusted with a frostwork of glittering crystals; it was in the midst\nof a cavern whose walls were supported by many fantastic pillars which\nhad been formed by the joining of great stalactites and stalagmites\ntogether, the result of the ceaseless water-drip of centuries. Under the\nroof vast knots of bats had packed themselves together, thousands in a\nbunch; the lights disturbed the creatures and they came flocking down by\nhundreds, squeaking and darting furiously at the candles. Tom knew their\nways and the danger of this sort of conduct. He seized Becky's hand and\nhurried her into the first corridor that offered; and none too soon, for\na bat struck Becky's light out with its wing while she was passing out\nof the cavern. The bats chased the children a good distance; but the\nfugitives plunged into every new passage that offered, and at last got\nrid of the perilous things. Tom found a subterranean lake, shortly,\nwhich stretched its dim length away until its shape was lost in the\nshadows. He wanted to explore its borders, but concluded that it would\nbe best to sit down and rest awhile, first. Now, for the first time, the\ndeep stillness of the place laid a clammy hand upon the spirits of the\nchildren. Becky said:\n\n\"Why, I didn't notice, but it seems ever so long since I heard any of\nthe others.\"\n\n\"Come to think, Becky, we are away down below them--and I don't know how\nfar away north, or south, or east, or whichever it is. We couldn't hear\nthem here.\"\n\nBecky grew apprehensive.\n\n\"I wonder how long we've been down here, Tom? We better start back.\"\n\n\"Yes, I reckon we better. P'raps we better.\"\n\n\"Can you find the way, Tom? It's all a mixed-up crookedness to me.\"\n\n\"I reckon I could find it--but then the bats. If they put our candles\nout it will be an awful fix. Let's try some other way, so as not to go\nthrough there.\"\n\n\"Well. But I hope we won't get lost. It would be so awful!\" and the girl\nshuddered at the thought of the dreadful possibilities.\n\nThey started through a corridor, and traversed it in silence a long\nway, glancing at each new opening, to see if there was anything familiar\nabout the look of it; but they were all strange. Every time Tom made an\nexamination, Becky would watch his face for an encouraging sign, and he\nwould say cheerily:\n\n\"Oh, it's all right. This ain't the one, but we'll come to it right\naway!\"\n\nBut he felt less and less hopeful with each failure, and presently began\nto turn off into diverging avenues at sheer random, in desperate hope of\nfinding the one that was wanted. He still said it was \"all right,\" but\nthere was such a leaden dread at his heart that the words had lost their\nring and sounded just as if he had said, \"All is lost!\" Becky clung to\nhis side in an anguish of fear, and tried hard to keep back the tears,\nbut they would come. At last she said:\n\n\"Oh, Tom, never mind the bats, let's go back that way! We seem to get\nworse and worse off all the time.\"\n\n\"Listen!\" said he.\n\nProfound silence; silence so deep that even their breathings were\nconspicuous in the hush. Tom shouted. The call went echoing down\nthe empty aisles and died out in the distance in a faint sound that\nresembled a ripple of mocking laughter.\n\n\"Oh, don't do it again, Tom, it is too horrid,\" said Becky.\n\n\"It is horrid, but I better, Becky; they might hear us, you know,\" and\nhe shouted again.\n\nThe \"might\" was even a chillier horror than the ghostly laughter, it so\nconfessed a perishing hope. The children stood still and listened; but\nthere was no result. Tom turned upon the back track at once, and hurried\nhis steps. It was but a little while before a certain indecision in his\nmanner revealed another fearful fact to Becky--he could not find his way\nback!\n\n\"Oh, Tom, you didn't make any marks!\"\n\n\"Becky, I was such a fool! Such a fool! I never thought we might want to\ncome back! No--I can't find the way. It's all mixed up.\"\n\n\"Tom, Tom, we're lost! we're lost! We never can get out of this awful\nplace! Oh, why _did_ we ever leave the others!\"\n\nShe sank to the ground and burst into such a frenzy of crying that Tom\nwas appalled with the idea that she might die, or lose her reason. He\nsat down by her and put his arms around her; she buried her face in\nhis bosom, she clung to him, she poured out her terrors, her unavailing\nregrets, and the far echoes turned them all to jeering laughter. Tom\nbegged her to pluck up hope again, and she said she could not. He fell\nto blaming and abusing himself for getting her into this miserable\nsituation; this had a better effect. She said she would try to hope\nagain, she would get up and follow wherever he might lead if only he\nwould not talk like that any more. For he was no more to blame than she,\nshe said.\n\nSo they moved on again--aimlessly--simply at random--all they could do\nwas to move, keep moving. For a little while, hope made a show of\nreviving--not with any reason to back it, but only because it is its\nnature to revive when the spring has not been taken out of it by age and\nfamiliarity with failure.\n\nBy-and-by Tom took Becky's candle and blew it out. This economy meant so\nmuch! Words were not needed. Becky understood, and her hope died again.\nShe knew that Tom had a whole candle and three or four pieces in his\npockets--yet he must economize.\n\nBy-and-by, fatigue began to assert its claims; the children tried to pay\nattention, for it was dreadful to think of sitting down when time was\ngrown to be so precious, moving, in some direction, in any direction,\nwas at least progress and might bear fruit; but to sit down was to\ninvite death and shorten its pursuit.\n\nAt last Becky's frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat down.\nTom rested with her, and they talked of home, and the friends there,\nand the comfortable beds and, above all, the light! Becky cried, and Tom\ntried to think of some way of comforting her, but all his encouragements\nwere grown thread-bare with use, and sounded like sarcasms. Fatigue bore\nso heavily upon Becky that she drowsed off to sleep. Tom was grateful.\nHe sat looking into her drawn face and saw it grow smooth and natural\nunder the influence of pleasant dreams; and by-and-by a smile dawned and\nrested there. The peaceful face reflected somewhat of peace and healing\ninto his own spirit, and his thoughts wandered away to bygone times and\ndreamy memories. While he was deep in his musings, Becky woke up with a\nbreezy little laugh--but it was stricken dead upon her lips, and a groan\nfollowed it.\n\n\"Oh, how _could_ I sleep! I wish I never, never had waked! No! No, I\ndon't, Tom! Don't look so! I won't say it again.\"\n\n\"I'm glad you've slept, Becky; you'll feel rested, now, and we'll find\nthe way out.\"\n\n\"We can try, Tom; but I've seen such a beautiful country in my dream. I\nreckon we are going there.\"\n\n\"Maybe not, maybe not. Cheer up, Becky, and let's go on trying.\"\n\nThey rose up and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They tried\nto estimate how long they had been in the cave, but all they knew was\nthat it seemed days and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not\nbe, for their candles were not gone yet. A long time after this--they\ncould not tell how long--Tom said they must go softly and listen for\ndripping water--they must find a spring. They found one presently, and\nTom said it was time to rest again. Both were cruelly tired, yet Becky\nsaid she thought she could go a little farther. She was surprised to\nhear Tom dissent. She could not understand it. They sat down, and Tom\nfastened his candle to the wall in front of them with some clay. Thought\nwas soon busy; nothing was said for some time. Then Becky broke the\nsilence:\n\n\"Tom, I am so hungry!\"\n\nTom took something out of his pocket.\n\n\"Do you remember this?\" said he.\n\nBecky almost smiled.\n\n\"It's our wedding-cake, Tom.\"\n\n\"Yes--I wish it was as big as a barrel, for it's all we've got.\"\n\n\"I saved it from the picnic for us to dream on, Tom, the way grownup\npeople do with wedding-cake--but it'll be our--\"\n\nShe dropped the sentence where it was. Tom divided the cake and Becky\nate with good appetite, while Tom nibbled at his moiety. There was\nabundance of cold water to finish the feast with. By-and-by Becky\nsuggested that they move on again. Tom was silent a moment. Then he\nsaid:\n\n\"Becky, can you bear it if I tell you something?\"\n\nBecky's face paled, but she thought she could.\n\n\"Well, then, Becky, we must stay here, where there's water to drink.\nThat little piece is our last candle!\"\n\nBecky gave loose to tears and wailings. Tom did what he could to comfort\nher, but with little effect. At length Becky said:\n\n\"Tom!\"\n\n\"Well, Becky?\"\n\n\"They'll miss us and hunt for us!\"\n\n\"Yes, they will! Certainly they will!\"\n\n\"Maybe they're hunting for us now, Tom.\"\n\n\"Why, I reckon maybe they are. I hope they are.\"\n\n\"When would they miss us, Tom?\"\n\n\"When they get back to the boat, I reckon.\"\n\n\"Tom, it might be dark then--would they notice we hadn't come?\"\n\n\"I don't know. But anyway, your mother would miss you as soon as they\ngot home.\"\n\nA frightened look in Becky's face brought Tom to his senses and he saw\nthat he had made a blunder. Becky was not to have gone home that night!\nThe children became silent and thoughtful. In a moment a new burst of\ngrief from Becky showed Tom that the thing in his mind had struck hers\nalso--that the Sabbath morning might be half spent before Mrs. Thatcher\ndiscovered that Becky was not at Mrs. Harper's.\n\nThe children fastened their eyes upon their bit of candle and watched it\nmelt slowly and pitilessly away; saw the half inch of wick stand alone\nat last; saw the feeble flame rise and fall, climb the thin column of\nsmoke, linger at its top a moment, and then--the horror of utter darkness\nreigned!\n\nHow long afterward it was that Becky came to a slow consciousness that\nshe was crying in Tom's arms, neither could tell. All that they knew\nwas, that after what seemed a mighty stretch of time, both awoke out of\na dead stupor of sleep and resumed their miseries once more. Tom said\nit might be Sunday, now--maybe Monday. He tried to get Becky to talk, but\nher sorrows were too oppressive, all her hopes were gone. Tom said that\nthey must have been missed long ago, and no doubt the search was going\non. He would shout and maybe some one would come. He tried it; but in\nthe darkness the distant echoes sounded so hideously that he tried it no\nmore.\n\nThe hours wasted away, and hunger came to torment the captives again. A\nportion of Tom's half of the cake was left; they divided and ate it. But\nthey seemed hungrier than before. The poor morsel of food only whetted\ndesire.\n\nBy-and-by Tom said:\n\n\"SH! Did you hear that?\"\n\nBoth held their breath and listened. There was a sound like the\nfaintest, far-off shout. Instantly Tom answered it, and leading Becky by\nthe hand, started groping down the corridor in its direction. Presently\nhe listened again; again the sound was heard, and apparently a little\nnearer.\n\n\"It's them!\" said Tom; \"they're coming! Come along, Becky--we're all\nright now!\"\n\nThe joy of the prisoners was almost overwhelming. Their speed was slow,\nhowever, because pitfalls were somewhat common, and had to be guarded\nagainst. They shortly came to one and had to stop. It might be three\nfeet deep, it might be a hundred--there was no passing it at any rate.\nTom got down on his breast and reached as far down as he could. No\nbottom. They must stay there and wait until the searchers came. They\nlistened; evidently the distant shoutings were growing more distant!\na moment or two more and they had gone altogether. The heart-sinking\nmisery of it! Tom whooped until he was hoarse, but it was of no use. He\ntalked hopefully to Becky; but an age of anxious waiting passed and no\nsounds came again.\n\nThe children groped their way back to the spring. The weary time dragged\non; they slept again, and awoke famished and woe-stricken. Tom believed\nit must be Tuesday by this time.\n\nNow an idea struck him. There were some side passages near at hand. It\nwould be better to explore some of these than bear the weight of the\nheavy time in idleness. He took a kite-line from his pocket, tied it to\na projection, and he and Becky started, Tom in the lead, unwinding the\nline as he groped along. At the end of twenty steps the corridor ended\nin a \"jumping-off place.\" Tom got down on his knees and felt below,\nand then as far around the corner as he could reach with his hands\nconveniently; he made an effort to stretch yet a little farther to the\nright, and at that moment, not twenty yards away, a human hand, holding\na candle, appeared from behind a rock! Tom lifted up a glorious shout,\nand instantly that hand was followed by the body it belonged to--Injun\nJoe's! Tom was paralyzed; he could not move. He was vastly gratified the\nnext moment, to see the \"Spaniard\" take to his heels and get himself out\nof sight. Tom wondered that Joe had not recognized his voice and come\nover and killed him for testifying in court. But the echoes must have\ndisguised the voice. Without doubt, that was it, he reasoned. Tom's\nfright weakened every muscle in his body. He said to himself that if he\nhad strength enough to get back to the spring he would stay there, and\nnothing should tempt him to run the risk of meeting Injun Joe again. He\nwas careful to keep from Becky what it was he had seen. He told her he\nhad only shouted \"for luck.\"\n\nBut hunger and wretchedness rise superior to fears in the long run.\nAnother tedious wait at the spring and another long sleep brought\nchanges. The children awoke tortured with a raging hunger. Tom believed\nthat it must be Wednesday or Thursday or even Friday or Saturday, now,\nand that the search had been given over. He proposed to explore another\npassage. He felt willing to risk Injun Joe and all other terrors. But\nBecky was very weak. She had sunk into a dreary apathy and would not be\nroused. She said she would wait, now, where she was, and die--it would\nnot be long. She told Tom to go with the kite-line and explore if he\nchose; but she implored him to come back every little while and speak\nto her; and she made him promise that when the awful time came, he would\nstay by her and hold her hand until all was over.\n\nTom kissed her, with a choking sensation in his throat, and made a show\nof being confident of finding the searchers or an escape from the cave;\nthen he took the kite-line in his hand and went groping down one of the\npassages on his hands and knees, distressed with hunger and sick with\nbodings of coming doom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\nTUESDAY afternoon came, and waned to the twilight. The village of St.\nPetersburg still mourned. The lost children had not been found. Public\nprayers had been offered up for them, and many and many a private prayer\nthat had the petitioner's whole heart in it; but still no good news came\nfrom the cave. The majority of the searchers had given up the quest\nand gone back to their daily avocations, saying that it was plain the\nchildren could never be found. Mrs. Thatcher was very ill, and a great\npart of the time delirious. People said it was heartbreaking to hear her\ncall her child, and raise her head and listen a whole minute at a time,\nthen lay it wearily down again with a moan. Aunt Polly had drooped into\na settled melancholy, and her gray hair had grown almost white. The\nvillage went to its rest on Tuesday night, sad and forlorn.\n\nAway in the middle of the night a wild peal burst from the village\nbells, and in a moment the streets were swarming with frantic half-clad\npeople, who shouted, \"Turn out! turn out! they're found! they're found!\"\nTin pans and horns were added to the din, the population massed itself\nand moved toward the river, met the children coming in an open carriage\ndrawn by shouting citizens, thronged around it, joined its homeward\nmarch, and swept magnificently up the main street roaring huzzah after\nhuzzah!\n\nThe village was illuminated; nobody went to bed again; it was the\ngreatest night the little town had ever seen. During the first half-hour\na procession of villagers filed through Judge Thatcher's house, seized\nthe saved ones and kissed them, squeezed Mrs. Thatcher's hand, tried to\nspeak but couldn't--and drifted out raining tears all over the place.\n\nAunt Polly's happiness was complete, and Mrs. Thatcher's nearly so. It\nwould be complete, however, as soon as the messenger dispatched with the\ngreat news to the cave should get the word to her husband. Tom lay upon\na sofa with an eager auditory about him and told the history of the\nwonderful adventure, putting in many striking additions to adorn it\nwithal; and closed with a description of how he left Becky and went\non an exploring expedition; how he followed two avenues as far as his\nkite-line would reach; how he followed a third to the fullest stretch\nof the kite-line, and was about to turn back when he glimpsed a far-off\nspeck that looked like daylight; dropped the line and groped toward it,\npushed his head and shoulders through a small hole, and saw the broad\nMississippi rolling by!\n\nAnd if it had only happened to be night he would not have seen that\nspeck of daylight and would not have explored that passage any more! He\ntold how he went back for Becky and broke the good news and she told\nhim not to fret her with such stuff, for she was tired, and knew she was\ngoing to die, and wanted to. He described how he labored with her and\nconvinced her; and how she almost died for joy when she had groped to\nwhere she actually saw the blue speck of daylight; how he pushed his way\nout at the hole and then helped her out; how they sat there and cried\nfor gladness; how some men came along in a skiff and Tom hailed them\nand told them their situation and their famished condition; how the men\ndidn't believe the wild tale at first, \"because,\" said they, \"you are\nfive miles down the river below the valley the cave is in\"--then took\nthem aboard, rowed to a house, gave them supper, made them rest till two\nor three hours after dark and then brought them home.\n\nBefore day-dawn, Judge Thatcher and the handful of searchers with him\nwere tracked out, in the cave, by the twine clews they had strung behind\nthem, and informed of the great news.\n\nThree days and nights of toil and hunger in the cave were not to\nbe shaken off at once, as Tom and Becky soon discovered. They were\nbedridden all of Wednesday and Thursday, and seemed to grow more and\nmore tired and worn, all the time. Tom got about, a little, on Thursday,\nwas downtown Friday, and nearly as whole as ever Saturday; but Becky\ndid not leave her room until Sunday, and then she looked as if she had\npassed through a wasting illness.\n\nTom learned of Huck's sickness and went to see him on Friday, but could\nnot be admitted to the bedroom; neither could he on Saturday or Sunday.\nHe was admitted daily after that, but was warned to keep still about his\nadventure and introduce no exciting topic. The Widow Douglas stayed by\nto see that he obeyed. At home Tom learned of the Cardiff Hill event;\nalso that the \"ragged man's\" body had eventually been found in the river\nnear the ferry-landing; he had been drowned while trying to escape,\nperhaps.\n\nAbout a fortnight after Tom's rescue from the cave, he started off to\nvisit Huck, who had grown plenty strong enough, now, to hear exciting\ntalk, and Tom had some that would interest him, he thought. Judge\nThatcher's house was on Tom's way, and he stopped to see Becky. The\nJudge and some friends set Tom to talking, and some one asked him\nironically if he wouldn't like to go to the cave again. Tom said he\nthought he wouldn't mind it. The Judge said:\n\n\"Well, there are others just like you, Tom, I've not the least doubt.\nBut we have taken care of that. Nobody will get lost in that cave any\nmore.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because I had its big door sheathed with boiler iron two weeks ago, and\ntriple-locked--and I've got the keys.\"\n\nTom turned as white as a sheet.\n\n\"What's the matter, boy! Here, run, somebody! Fetch a glass of water!\"\n\nThe water was brought and thrown into Tom's face.\n\n\"Ah, now you're all right. What was the matter with you, Tom?\"\n\n\"Oh, Judge, Injun Joe's in the cave!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII\n\nWITHIN a few minutes the news had spread, and a dozen skiff-loads of\nmen were on their way to McDougal's cave, and the ferryboat, well filled\nwith passengers, soon followed. Tom Sawyer was in the skiff that bore\nJudge Thatcher.\n\nWhen the cave door was unlocked, a sorrowful sight presented itself in\nthe dim twilight of the place. Injun Joe lay stretched upon the ground,\ndead, with his face close to the crack of the door, as if his longing\neyes had been fixed, to the latest moment, upon the light and the cheer\nof the free world outside. Tom was touched, for he knew by his own\nexperience how this wretch had suffered. His pity was moved, but\nnevertheless he felt an abounding sense of relief and security, now,\nwhich revealed to him in a degree which he had not fully appreciated\nbefore how vast a weight of dread had been lying upon him since the day\nhe lifted his voice against this bloody-minded outcast.\n\nInjun Joe's bowie-knife lay close by, its blade broken in two. The great\nfoundation-beam of the door had been chipped and hacked through, with\ntedious labor; useless labor, too, it was, for the native rock formed a\nsill outside it, and upon that stubborn material the knife had wrought\nno effect; the only damage done was to the knife itself. But if there\nhad been no stony obstruction there the labor would have been useless\nstill, for if the beam had been wholly cut away Injun Joe could not have\nsqueezed his body under the door, and he knew it. So he had only hacked\nthat place in order to be doing something--in order to pass the weary\ntime--in order to employ his tortured faculties. Ordinarily one could\nfind half a dozen bits of candle stuck around in the crevices of this\nvestibule, left there by tourists; but there were none now. The prisoner\nhad searched them out and eaten them. He had also contrived to catch a\nfew bats, and these, also, he had eaten, leaving only their claws. The\npoor unfortunate had starved to death. In one place, near at hand, a\nstalagmite had been slowly growing up from the ground for ages, builded\nby the water-drip from a stalactite overhead. The captive had broken off\nthe stalagmite, and upon the stump had placed a stone, wherein he had\nscooped a shallow hollow to catch the precious drop that fell once\nin every three minutes with the dreary regularity of a clock-tick--a\ndessertspoonful once in four and twenty hours. That drop was falling\nwhen the Pyramids were new; when Troy fell; when the foundations of Rome\nwere laid; when Christ was crucified; when the Conqueror created the\nBritish empire; when Columbus sailed; when the massacre at Lexington was\n\"news.\"\n\nIt is falling now; it will still be falling when all these things shall\nhave sunk down the afternoon of history, and the twilight of tradition,\nand been swallowed up in the thick night of oblivion. Has everything a\npurpose and a mission? Did this drop fall patiently during five thousand\nyears to be ready for this flitting human insect's need? and has it\nanother important object to accomplish ten thousand years to come? No\nmatter. It is many and many a year since the hapless half-breed scooped\nout the stone to catch the priceless drops, but to this day the tourist\nstares longest at that pathetic stone and that slow-dropping water when\nhe comes to see the wonders of McDougal's cave. Injun Joe's cup stands\nfirst in the list of the cavern's marvels; even \"Aladdin's Palace\"\ncannot rival it.\n\nInjun Joe was buried near the mouth of the cave; and people flocked\nthere in boats and wagons from the towns and from all the farms and\nhamlets for seven miles around; they brought their children, and\nall sorts of provisions, and confessed that they had had almost as\nsatisfactory a time at the funeral as they could have had at the\nhanging.\n\nThis funeral stopped the further growth of one thing--the petition to the\ngovernor for Injun Joe's pardon. The petition had been largely signed;\nmany tearful and eloquent meetings had been held, and a committee of\nsappy women been appointed to go in deep mourning and wail around the\ngovernor, and implore him to be a merciful ass and trample his duty\nunder foot. Injun Joe was believed to have killed five citizens of the\nvillage, but what of that? If he had been Satan himself there would\nhave been plenty of weaklings ready to scribble their names to a\npardon-petition, and drip a tear on it from their permanently impaired\nand leaky water-works.\n\nThe morning after the funeral Tom took Huck to a private place to have\nan important talk. Huck had learned all about Tom's adventure from the\nWelshman and the Widow Douglas, by this time, but Tom said he reckoned\nthere was one thing they had not told him; that thing was what he wanted\nto talk about now. Huck's face saddened. He said:\n\n\"I know what it is. You got into No. 2 and never found anything but\nwhiskey. Nobody told me it was you; but I just knowed it must 'a' ben\nyou, soon as I heard 'bout that whiskey business; and I knowed you\nhadn't got the money becuz you'd 'a' got at me some way or other and\ntold me even if you was mum to everybody else. Tom, something's always\ntold me we'd never get holt of that swag.\"\n\n\"Why, Huck, I never told on that tavern-keeper. _You_ know his tavern\nwas all right the Saturday I went to the picnic. Don't you remember you\nwas to watch there that night?\"\n\n\"Oh yes! Why, it seems 'bout a year ago. It was that very night that I\nfollered Injun Joe to the widder's.\"\n\n\"_You_ followed him?\"\n\n\"Yes--but you keep mum. I reckon Injun Joe's left friends behind him, and\nI don't want 'em souring on me and doing me mean tricks. If it hadn't\nben for me he'd be down in Texas now, all right.\"\n\nThen Huck told his entire adventure in confidence to Tom, who had only\nheard of the Welshman's part of it before.\n\n\"Well,\" said Huck, presently, coming back to the main question, \"whoever\nnipped the whiskey in No. 2, nipped the money, too, I reckon--anyways\nit's a goner for us, Tom.\"\n\n\"Huck, that money wasn't ever in No. 2!\"\n\n\"What!\" Huck searched his comrade's face keenly. \"Tom, have you got on\nthe track of that money again?\"\n\n\"Huck, it's in the cave!\"\n\nHuck's eyes blazed.\n\n\"Say it again, Tom.\"\n\n\"The money's in the cave!\"\n\n\"Tom--honest injun, now--is it fun, or earnest?\"\n\n\"Earnest, Huck--just as earnest as ever I was in my life. Will you go in\nthere with me and help get it out?\"\n\n\"I bet I will! I will if it's where we can blaze our way to it and not\nget lost.\"\n\n\"Huck, we can do that without the least little bit of trouble in the\nworld.\"\n\n\"Good as wheat! What makes you think the money's--\"\n\n\"Huck, you just wait till we get in there. If we don't find it I'll\nagree to give you my drum and every thing I've got in the world. I will,\nby jings.\"\n\n\"All right--it's a whiz. When do you say?\"\n\n\"Right now, if you say it. Are you strong enough?\"\n\n\"Is it far in the cave? I ben on my pins a little, three or four days,\nnow, but I can't walk more'n a mile, Tom--least I don't think I could.\"\n\n\"It's about five mile into there the way anybody but me would go, Huck,\nbut there's a mighty short cut that they don't anybody but me know\nabout. Huck, I'll take you right to it in a skiff. I'll float the skiff\ndown there, and I'll pull it back again all by myself. You needn't ever\nturn your hand over.\"\n\n\"Less start right off, Tom.\"\n\n\"All right. We want some bread and meat, and our pipes, and a little\nbag or two, and two or three kite-strings, and some of these new-fangled\nthings they call lucifer matches. I tell you, many's the time I wished I\nhad some when I was in there before.\"\n\nA trifle after noon the boys borrowed a small skiff from a citizen who\nwas absent, and got under way at once. When they were several miles\nbelow \"Cave Hollow,\" Tom said:\n\n\"Now you see this bluff here looks all alike all the way down from the\ncave hollow--no houses, no wood-yards, bushes all alike. But do you see\nthat white place up yonder where there's been a landslide? Well, that's\none of my marks. We'll get ashore, now.\"\n\nThey landed.\n\n\"Now, Huck, where we're a-standing you could touch that hole I got out\nof with a fishing-pole. See if you can find it.\"\n\nHuck searched all the place about, and found nothing. Tom proudly\nmarched into a thick clump of sumach bushes and said:\n\n\"Here you are! Look at it, Huck; it's the snuggest hole in this country.\nYou just keep mum about it. All along I've been wanting to be a robber,\nbut I knew I'd got to have a thing like this, and where to run across\nit was the bother. We've got it now, and we'll keep it quiet, only we'll\nlet Joe Harper and Ben Rogers in--because of course there's got to be a\nGang, or else there wouldn't be any style about it. Tom Sawyer's Gang--it\nsounds splendid, don't it, Huck?\"\n\n\"Well, it just does, Tom. And who'll we rob?\"\n\n\"Oh, most anybody. Waylay people--that's mostly the way.\"\n\n\"And kill them?\"\n\n\"No, not always. Hive them in the cave till they raise a ransom.\"\n\n\"What's a ransom?\"\n\n\"Money. You make them raise all they can, off'n their friends; and after\nyou've kept them a year, if it ain't raised then you kill them. That's\nthe general way. Only you don't kill the women. You shut up the women,\nbut you don't kill them. They're always beautiful and rich, and awfully\nscared. You take their watches and things, but you always take your hat\noff and talk polite. They ain't anybody as polite as robbers--you'll see\nthat in any book. Well, the women get to loving you, and after they've\nbeen in the cave a week or two weeks they stop crying and after that\nyou couldn't get them to leave. If you drove them out they'd turn right\naround and come back. It's so in all the books.\"\n\n\"Why, it's real bully, Tom. I believe it's better'n to be a pirate.\"\n\n\"Yes, it's better in some ways, because it's close to home and circuses\nand all that.\"\n\nBy this time everything was ready and the boys entered the hole, Tom in\nthe lead. They toiled their way to the farther end of the tunnel, then\nmade their spliced kite-strings fast and moved on. A few steps brought\nthem to the spring, and Tom felt a shudder quiver all through him.\nHe showed Huck the fragment of candle-wick perched on a lump of clay\nagainst the wall, and described how he and Becky had watched the flame\nstruggle and expire.\n\nThe boys began to quiet down to whispers, now, for the stillness and\ngloom of the place oppressed their spirits. They went on, and presently\nentered and followed Tom's other corridor until they reached the\n\"jumping-off place.\" The candles revealed the fact that it was not\nreally a precipice, but only a steep clay hill twenty or thirty feet\nhigh. Tom whispered:\n\n\"Now I'll show you something, Huck.\"\n\nHe held his candle aloft and said:\n\n\"Look as far around the corner as you can. Do you see that? There--on the\nbig rock over yonder--done with candle-smoke.\"\n\n\"Tom, it's a _cross_!\"\n\n\"_Now_ where's your Number Two? '_under the cross_,' hey? Right yonder's\nwhere I saw Injun Joe poke up his candle, Huck!\"\n\nHuck stared at the mystic sign awhile, and then said with a shaky voice:\n\n\"Tom, less git out of here!\"\n\n\"What! and leave the treasure?\"\n\n\"Yes--leave it. Injun Joe's ghost is round about there, certain.\"\n\n\"No it ain't, Huck, no it ain't. It would ha'nt the place where he\ndied--away out at the mouth of the cave--five mile from here.\"\n\n\"No, Tom, it wouldn't. It would hang round the money. I know the ways of\nghosts, and so do you.\"\n\nTom began to fear that Huck was right. Mis-givings gathered in his mind.\nBut presently an idea occurred to him--\n\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, what fools we're making of ourselves! Injun Joe's\nghost ain't a going to come around where there's a cross!\"\n\nThe point was well taken. It had its effect.\n\n\"Tom, I didn't think of that. But that's so. It's luck for us, that\ncross is. I reckon we'll climb down there and have a hunt for that box.\"\n\nTom went first, cutting rude steps in the clay hill as he descended.\nHuck followed. Four avenues opened out of the small cavern which the\ngreat rock stood in. The boys examined three of them with no result.\nThey found a small recess in the one nearest the base of the rock, with\na pallet of blankets spread down in it; also an old suspender, some\nbacon rind, and the well-gnawed bones of two or three fowls. But there\nwas no moneybox. The lads searched and researched this place, but in\nvain. Tom said:\n\n\"He said _under_ the cross. Well, this comes nearest to being under the\ncross. It can't be under the rock itself, because that sets solid on the\nground.\"\n\nThey searched everywhere once more, and then sat down discouraged. Huck\ncould suggest nothing. By-and-by Tom said:\n\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, there's footprints and some candle-grease on the clay\nabout one side of this rock, but not on the other sides. Now, what's\nthat for? I bet you the money _is_ under the rock. I'm going to dig in\nthe clay.\"\n\n\"That ain't no bad notion, Tom!\" said Huck with animation.\n\nTom's \"real Barlow\" was out at once, and he had not dug four inches\nbefore he struck wood.\n\n\"Hey, Huck!--you hear that?\"\n\nHuck began to dig and scratch now. Some boards were soon uncovered and\nremoved. They had concealed a natural chasm which led under the rock.\nTom got into this and held his candle as far under the rock as he\ncould, but said he could not see to the end of the rift. He proposed\nto explore. He stooped and passed under; the narrow way descended\ngradually. He followed its winding course, first to the right, then to\nthe left, Huck at his heels. Tom turned a short curve, by-and-by, and\nexclaimed:\n\n\"My goodness, Huck, lookyhere!\"\n\nIt was the treasure-box, sure enough, occupying a snug little cavern,\nalong with an empty powder-keg, a couple of guns in leather cases, two\nor three pairs of old moccasins, a leather belt, and some other rubbish\nwell soaked with the water-drip.\n\n\"Got it at last!\" said Huck, ploughing among the tarnished coins with\nhis hand. \"My, but we're rich, Tom!\"\n\n\"Huck, I always reckoned we'd get it. It's just too good to believe, but\nwe _have_ got it, sure! Say--let's not fool around here. Let's snake it\nout. Lemme see if I can lift the box.\"\n\nIt weighed about fifty pounds. Tom could lift it, after an awkward\nfashion, but could not carry it conveniently.\n\n\"I thought so,\" he said; \"_They_ carried it like it was heavy, that day\nat the ha'nted house. I noticed that. I reckon I was right to think of\nfetching the little bags along.\"\n\nThe money was soon in the bags and the boys took it up to the cross\nrock.\n\n\"Now less fetch the guns and things,\" said Huck.\n\n\"No, Huck--leave them there. They're just the tricks to have when we\ngo to robbing. We'll keep them there all the time, and we'll hold our\norgies there, too. It's an awful snug place for orgies.\"\n\n\"What orgies?\"\n\n\"I dono. But robbers always have orgies, and of course we've got to\nhave them, too. Come along, Huck, we've been in here a long time. It's\ngetting late, I reckon. I'm hungry, too. We'll eat and smoke when we get\nto the skiff.\"\n\nThey presently emerged into the clump of sumach bushes, looked warily\nout, found the coast clear, and were soon lunching and smoking in the\nskiff. As the sun dipped toward the horizon they pushed out and got\nunder way. Tom skimmed up the shore through the long twilight, chatting\ncheerily with Huck, and landed shortly after dark.\n\n\"Now, Huck,\" said Tom, \"we'll hide the money in the loft of the widow's\nwoodshed, and I'll come up in the morning and we'll count it and divide,\nand then we'll hunt up a place out in the woods for it where it will be\nsafe. Just you lay quiet here and watch the stuff till I run and hook\nBenny Taylor's little wagon; I won't be gone a minute.\"\n\nHe disappeared, and presently returned with the wagon, put the two small\nsacks into it, threw some old rags on top of them, and started off,\ndragging his cargo behind him. When the boys reached the Welshman's\nhouse, they stopped to rest. Just as they were about to move on, the\nWelshman stepped out and said:\n\n\"Hallo, who's that?\"\n\n\"Huck and Tom Sawyer.\"\n\n\"Good! Come along with me, boys, you are keeping everybody waiting.\nHere--hurry up, trot ahead--I'll haul the wagon for you. Why, it's not as\nlight as it might be. Got bricks in it?--or old metal?\"\n\n\"Old metal,\" said Tom.\n\n\"I judged so; the boys in this town will take more trouble and fool away\nmore time hunting up six bits' worth of old iron to sell to the foundry\nthan they would to make twice the money at regular work. But that's\nhuman nature--hurry along, hurry along!\"\n\nThe boys wanted to know what the hurry was about.\n\n\"Never mind; you'll see, when we get to the Widow Douglas'.\"\n\nHuck said with some apprehension--for he was long used to being falsely\naccused:\n\n\"Mr. Jones, we haven't been doing nothing.\"\n\nThe Welshman laughed.\n\n\"Well, I don't know, Huck, my boy. I don't know about that. Ain't you\nand the widow good friends?\"\n\n\"Yes. Well, she's ben good friends to me, anyway.\"\n\n\"All right, then. What do you want to be afraid for?\"\n\nThis question was not entirely answered in Huck's slow mind before he\nfound himself pushed, along with Tom, into Mrs. Douglas' drawing-room.\nMr. Jones left the wagon near the door and followed.\n\nThe place was grandly lighted, and everybody that was of any consequence\nin the village was there. The Thatchers were there, the Harpers, the\nRogerses, Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, the minister, the editor, and a great\nmany more, and all dressed in their best. The widow received the boys\nas heartily as any one could well receive two such looking beings. They\nwere covered with clay and candle-grease. Aunt Polly blushed crimson\nwith humiliation, and frowned and shook her head at Tom. Nobody suffered\nhalf as much as the two boys did, however. Mr. Jones said:\n\n\"Tom wasn't at home, yet, so I gave him up; but I stumbled on him and\nHuck right at my door, and so I just brought them along in a hurry.\"\n\n\"And you did just right,\" said the widow. \"Come with me, boys.\"\n\nShe took them to a bedchamber and said:\n\n\"Now wash and dress yourselves. Here are two new suits of\nclothes--shirts, socks, everything complete. They're Huck's--no, no\nthanks, Huck--Mr. Jones bought one and I the other. But they'll fit both\nof you. Get into them. We'll wait--come down when you are slicked up\nenough.\"\n\nThen she left.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV\n\nHUCK said: \"Tom, we can slope, if we can find a rope. The window ain't\nhigh from the ground.\"\n\n\"Shucks! what do you want to slope for?\"\n\n\"Well, I ain't used to that kind of a crowd. I can't stand it. I ain't\ngoing down there, Tom.\"\n\n\"Oh, bother! It ain't anything. I don't mind it a bit. I'll take care of\nyou.\"\n\nSid appeared.\n\n\"Tom,\" said he, \"auntie has been waiting for you all the afternoon. Mary\ngot your Sunday clothes ready, and everybody's been fretting about you.\nSay--ain't this grease and clay, on your clothes?\"\n\n\"Now, Mr. Siddy, you jist 'tend to your own business. What's all this\nblowout about, anyway?\"\n\n\"It's one of the widow's parties that she's always having. This time\nit's for the Welshman and his sons, on account of that scrape they\nhelped her out of the other night. And say--I can tell you something, if\nyou want to know.\"\n\n\"Well, what?\"\n\n\"Why, old Mr. Jones is going to try to spring something on the people\nhere tonight, but I overheard him tell auntie today about it, as a\nsecret, but I reckon it's not much of a secret now. Everybody knows--the\nwidow, too, for all she tries to let on she don't. Mr. Jones was bound\nHuck should be here--couldn't get along with his grand secret without\nHuck, you know!\"\n\n\"Secret about what, Sid?\"\n\n\"About Huck tracking the robbers to the widow's. I reckon Mr. Jones was\ngoing to make a grand time over his surprise, but I bet you it will drop\npretty flat.\"\n\nSid chuckled in a very contented and satisfied way.\n\n\"Sid, was it you that told?\"\n\n\"Oh, never mind who it was. _Somebody_ told--that's enough.\"\n\n\"Sid, there's only one person in this town mean enough to do that, and\nthat's you. If you had been in Huck's place you'd 'a' sneaked down the\nhill and never told anybody on the robbers. You can't do any but mean\nthings, and you can't bear to see anybody praised for doing good ones.\nThere--no thanks, as the widow says\"--and Tom cuffed Sid's ears and helped\nhim to the door with several kicks. \"Now go and tell auntie if you\ndare--and tomorrow you'll catch it!\"\n\nSome minutes later the widow's guests were at the supper-table, and a\ndozen children were propped up at little side-tables in the same room,\nafter the fashion of that country and that day. At the proper time Mr.\nJones made his little speech, in which he thanked the widow for the\nhonor she was doing himself and his sons, but said that there was\nanother person whose modesty--\n\nAnd so forth and so on. He sprung his secret about Huck's share in\nthe adventure in the finest dramatic manner he was master of, but the\nsurprise it occasioned was largely counterfeit and not as clamorous and\neffusive as it might have been under happier circumstances. However,\nthe widow made a pretty fair show of astonishment, and heaped so many\ncompliments and so much gratitude upon Huck that he almost forgot\nthe nearly intolerable discomfort of his new clothes in the entirely\nintolerable discomfort of being set up as a target for everybody's gaze\nand everybody's laudations.\n\nThe widow said she meant to give Huck a home under her roof and have him\neducated; and that when she could spare the money she would start him in\nbusiness in a modest way. Tom's chance was come. He said:\n\n\"Huck don't need it. Huck's rich.\"\n\nNothing but a heavy strain upon the good manners of the company kept\nback the due and proper complimentary laugh at this pleasant joke. But\nthe silence was a little awkward. Tom broke it:\n\n\"Huck's got money. Maybe you don't believe it, but he's got lots of it.\nOh, you needn't smile--I reckon I can show you. You just wait a minute.\"\n\nTom ran out of doors. The company looked at each other with a perplexed\ninterest--and inquiringly at Huck, who was tongue-tied.\n\n\"Sid, what ails Tom?\" said Aunt Polly. \"He--well, there ain't ever any\nmaking of that boy out. I never--\"\n\nTom entered, struggling with the weight of his sacks, and Aunt Polly\ndid not finish her sentence. Tom poured the mass of yellow coin upon the\ntable and said:\n\n\"There--what did I tell you? Half of it's Huck's and half of it's mine!\"\n\nThe spectacle took the general breath away. All gazed, nobody spoke for\na moment. Then there was a unanimous call for an explanation. Tom said\nhe could furnish it, and he did. The tale was long, but brimful of\ninterest. There was scarcely an interruption from any one to break the\ncharm of its flow. When he had finished, Mr. Jones said:\n\n\"I thought I had fixed up a little surprise for this occasion, but it\ndon't amount to anything now. This one makes it sing mighty small, I'm\nwilling to allow.\"\n\nThe money was counted. The sum amounted to a little over twelve thousand\ndollars. It was more than any one present had ever seen at one time\nbefore, though several persons were there who were worth considerably\nmore than that in property.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV\n\nTHE reader may rest satisfied that Tom's and Huck's windfall made a\nmighty stir in the poor little village of St. Petersburg. So vast a\nsum, all in actual cash, seemed next to incredible. It was talked\nabout, gloated over, glorified, until the reason of many of the citizens\ntottered under the strain of the unhealthy excitement. Every \"haunted\"\nhouse in St. Petersburg and the neighboring villages was dissected,\nplank by plank, and its foundations dug up and ransacked for hidden\ntreasure--and not by boys, but men--pretty grave, unromantic men, too,\nsome of them. Wherever Tom and Huck appeared they were courted, admired,\nstared at. The boys were not able to remember that their remarks had\npossessed weight before; but now their sayings were treasured and\nrepeated; everything they did seemed somehow to be regarded as\nremarkable; they had evidently lost the power of doing and saying\ncommonplace things; moreover, their past history was raked up and\ndiscovered to bear marks of conspicuous originality. The village paper\npublished biographical sketches of the boys.\n\nThe Widow Douglas put Huck's money out at six per cent., and Judge\nThatcher did the same with Tom's at Aunt Polly's request. Each lad had\nan income, now, that was simply prodigious--a dollar for every weekday in\nthe year and half of the Sundays. It was just what the minister got--no,\nit was what he was promised--he generally couldn't collect it. A dollar\nand a quarter a week would board, lodge, and school a boy in those old\nsimple days--and clothe him and wash him, too, for that matter.\n\nJudge Thatcher had conceived a great opinion of Tom. He said that no\ncommonplace boy would ever have got his daughter out of the cave. When\nBecky told her father, in strict confidence, how Tom had taken her\nwhipping at school, the Judge was visibly moved; and when she pleaded\ngrace for the mighty lie which Tom had told in order to shift that\nwhipping from her shoulders to his own, the Judge said with a fine\noutburst that it was a noble, a generous, a magnanimous lie--a lie that\nwas worthy to hold up its head and march down through history breast to\nbreast with George Washington's lauded Truth about the hatchet! Becky\nthought her father had never looked so tall and so superb as when he\nwalked the floor and stamped his foot and said that. She went straight\noff and told Tom about it.\n\nJudge Thatcher hoped to see Tom a great lawyer or a great soldier some\nday. He said he meant to look to it that Tom should be admitted to the\nNational Military Academy and afterward trained in the best law school\nin the country, in order that he might be ready for either career or\nboth.\n\nHuck Finn's wealth and the fact that he was now under the Widow Douglas'\nprotection introduced him into society--no, dragged him into it, hurled\nhim into it--and his sufferings were almost more than he could bear. The\nwidow's servants kept him clean and neat, combed and brushed, and they\nbedded him nightly in unsympathetic sheets that had not one little spot\nor stain which he could press to his heart and know for a friend. He had\nto eat with a knife and fork; he had to use napkin, cup, and plate;\nhe had to learn his book, he had to go to church; he had to talk so\nproperly that speech was become insipid in his mouth; whithersoever he\nturned, the bars and shackles of civilization shut him in and bound him\nhand and foot.\n\nHe bravely bore his miseries three weeks, and then one day turned up\nmissing. For forty-eight hours the widow hunted for him everywhere in\ngreat distress. The public were profoundly concerned; they searched high\nand low, they dragged the river for his body. Early the third morning\nTom Sawyer wisely went poking among some old empty hogsheads down behind\nthe abandoned slaughter-house, and in one of them he found the refugee.\nHuck had slept there; he had just breakfasted upon some stolen odds and\nends of food, and was lying off, now, in comfort, with his pipe. He was\nunkempt, uncombed, and clad in the same old ruin of rags that had made\nhim picturesque in the days when he was free and happy. Tom routed him\nout, told him the trouble he had been causing, and urged him to go home.\nHuck's face lost its tranquil content, and took a melancholy cast. He\nsaid:\n\n\"Don't talk about it, Tom. I've tried it, and it don't work; it don't\nwork, Tom. It ain't for me; I ain't used to it. The widder's good to me,\nand friendly; but I can't stand them ways. She makes me get up just\nat the same time every morning; she makes me wash, they comb me all\nto thunder; she won't let me sleep in the woodshed; I got to wear them\nblamed clothes that just smothers me, Tom; they don't seem to any air\ngit through 'em, somehow; and they're so rotten nice that I can't\nset down, nor lay down, nor roll around anywher's; I hain't slid on a\ncellar-door for--well, it 'pears to be years; I got to go to church\nand sweat and sweat--I hate them ornery sermons! I can't ketch a fly in\nthere, I can't chaw. I got to wear shoes all Sunday. The widder eats by\na bell; she goes to bed by a bell; she gits up by a bell--everything's so\nawful reg'lar a body can't stand it.\"\n\n\"Well, everybody does that way, Huck.\"\n\n\"Tom, it don't make no difference. I ain't everybody, and I can't\n_stand_ it. It's awful to be tied up so. And grub comes too easy--I don't\ntake no interest in vittles, that way. I got to ask to go a-fishing;\nI got to ask to go in a-swimming--dern'd if I hain't got to ask to do\neverything. Well, I'd got to talk so nice it wasn't no comfort--I'd got\nto go up in the attic and rip out awhile, every day, to git a taste\nin my mouth, or I'd a died, Tom. The widder wouldn't let me smoke;\nshe wouldn't let me yell, she wouldn't let me gape, nor stretch, nor\nscratch, before folks--\" [Then with a spasm of special irritation and\ninjury]--\"And dad fetch it, she prayed all the time! I never see such a\nwoman! I _had_ to shove, Tom--I just had to. And besides, that school's\ngoing to open, and I'd a had to go to it--well, I wouldn't stand _that_,\nTom. Looky-here, Tom, being rich ain't what it's cracked up to be. It's\njust worry and worry, and sweat and sweat, and a-wishing you was dead\nall the time. Now these clothes suits me, and this bar'l suits me, and\nI ain't ever going to shake 'em any more. Tom, I wouldn't ever got into\nall this trouble if it hadn't 'a' ben for that money; now you just take\nmy sheer of it along with your'n, and gimme a ten-center sometimes--not\nmany times, becuz I don't give a dern for a thing 'thout it's tollable\nhard to git--and you go and beg off for me with the widder.\"\n\n\"Oh, Huck, you know I can't do that. 'Tain't fair; and besides if you'll\ntry this thing just a while longer you'll come to like it.\"\n\n\"Like it! Yes--the way I'd like a hot stove if I was to set on it long\nenough. No, Tom, I won't be rich, and I won't live in them cussed\nsmothery houses. I like the woods, and the river, and hogsheads, and\nI'll stick to 'em, too. Blame it all! just as we'd got guns, and a cave,\nand all just fixed to rob, here this dern foolishness has got to come up\nand spile it all!\"\n\nTom saw his opportunity--\n\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, being rich ain't going to keep me back from turning\nrobber.\"\n\n\"No! Oh, good-licks; are you in real dead-wood earnest, Tom?\"\n\n\"Just as dead earnest as I'm sitting here. But Huck, we can't let you\ninto the gang if you ain't respectable, you know.\"\n\nHuck's joy was quenched.\n\n\"Can't let me in, Tom? Didn't you let me go for a pirate?\"\n\n\"Yes, but that's different. A robber is more high-toned than what a\npirate is--as a general thing. In most countries they're awful high up in\nthe nobility--dukes and such.\"\n\n\"Now, Tom, hain't you always ben friendly to me? You wouldn't shet me\nout, would you, Tom? You wouldn't do that, now, _would_ you, Tom?\"\n\n\"Huck, I wouldn't want to, and I _don't_ want to--but what would people\nsay? Why, they'd say, 'Mph! Tom Sawyer's Gang! pretty low characters in\nit!' They'd mean you, Huck. You wouldn't like that, and I wouldn't.\"\n\nHuck was silent for some time, engaged in a mental struggle. Finally he\nsaid:\n\n\"Well, I'll go back to the widder for a month and tackle it and see if I\ncan come to stand it, if you'll let me b'long to the gang, Tom.\"\n\n\"All right, Huck, it's a whiz! Come along, old chap, and I'll ask the\nwidow to let up on you a little, Huck.\"\n\n\"Will you, Tom--now will you? That's good. If she'll let up on some of\nthe roughest things, I'll smoke private and cuss private, and crowd\nthrough or bust. When you going to start the gang and turn robbers?\"\n\n\"Oh, right off. We'll get the boys together and have the initiation\ntonight, maybe.\"\n\n\"Have the which?\"\n\n\"Have the initiation.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"It's to swear to stand by one another, and never tell the gang's\nsecrets, even if you're chopped all to flinders, and kill anybody and\nall his family that hurts one of the gang.\"\n\n\"That's gay--that's mighty gay, Tom, I tell you.\"\n\n\"Well, I bet it is. And all that swearing's got to be done at midnight,\nin the lonesomest, awfulest place you can find--a ha'nted house is the\nbest, but they're all ripped up now.\"\n\n\"Well, midnight's good, anyway, Tom.\"\n\n\"Yes, so it is. And you've got to swear on a coffin, and sign it with\nblood.\"\n\n\"Now, that's something _like_! Why, it's a million times bullier than\npirating. I'll stick to the widder till I rot, Tom; and if I git to be\na reg'lar ripper of a robber, and everybody talking 'bout it, I reckon\nshe'll be proud she snaked me in out of the wet.\"\n\nCONCLUSION\n\nSO endeth this chronicle. It being strictly a history of a _boy_, it\nmust stop here; the story could not go much further without becoming the\nhistory of a _man_. When one writes a novel about grown people, he knows\nexactly where to stop--that is, with a marriage; but when he writes of\njuveniles, he must stop where he best can.\n\nMost of the characters that perform in this book still live, and are\nprosperous and happy. Some day it may seem worth while to take up the\nstory of the younger ones again and see what sort of men and women they\nturned out to be; therefore it will be wisest not to reveal any of that\npart of their lives at present."