The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
Mark Twain
Harper and Brothers
New York and London
1903

Author's National Edition: The Writings of Mark Twain, Vol. XII

Spell-check not performed due to presence of dialect.
Published: 1876
Englishfiction; proseYoung Readers

Revisions to the electronic version
September 1995 corrector Matthew G. Kirschenbaum, Electronic Text
Center, University ofVirginia Library
TEI.2-compatible header, and paragraph tags added
June 1995. corrector Virginia H. Cope, University of Virginia
Page breaks, italics and illustrations added.
etextcenter@virginia.edu. Commercial use prohibited; all usage governed
by our Conditions of Use:
[5]http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/conditions.html

-v-

[6][Twa2Tom01.gif]

[7][Twa2Tom02.gif]

[8][Twa2Tom1.gif]

Lemme see him, Huck.

Preface

MOST of the adventures recorded in this book really occurred; one or
two were experiences of my own, the rest those of boys who were
schoolmates of mine. Huck Finn is drawn from life; Tom Sawyer also, but
not from an individual -- he is a combination of the characteristics of
three boys whom I knew, and therefore belongs to the composite order of
architecture.

The odd superstitions touched upon were all prevalent among children
and slaves in the West at the period of this story -- that is to say,
thirty or forty years ago.

Although my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys
and girls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that
account, for

-vi-

part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what
they once were themselves, and of how they felt and thought and talked,
and what queer enterprises they sometimes engaged in.

THE AUTHOR.

HARTFORD, 1876.

-15-

Chapter I

"TOM!"

No answer.

"TOM!"

No answer.

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

No answer.

The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about
the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or
never looked through
them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state pair, the pride
of her heart, and were built for "style," not service -- she could have
seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked perplexed
for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for
the furniture to hear:

"Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll -- "

She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and
punching under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to
punctuate the punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.

"I never did see the beat of that boy!"

-16-

She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the
tomato vines and "jimpson" weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom.
So she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and
shouted:

"Y-o-u-u Tom!"

There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to
seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.

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

"Nothing."

"Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What is
that truck?"

"I
don't know, aunt."

"Well, I
know. It's jam -- that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you
didn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch."

The switch hovered in the air -- the peril was desperate --

"My! Look behind you, aunt!"

The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger.
The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and
disappeared over it.

His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a
gentle laugh.

"Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything? Ain't he played me
tricks enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time?
But old fools

-17-

is the biggest fools there is. Can't learn an old dog new tricks, as
the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days,
and how is a body to know what's coming? He 'pears to know just how
long he can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he
can make out to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down
again and I can't hit him a lick. I ain't doing my duty by that boy,
and that's the Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile
the child, as the Good Book says. I'm a laying up sin and suffering for
us both, I know. He's full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he's my
own dead sister's boy, poor thing, and I ain't got the heart to lash
him, somehow. Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so,
and every time I hit him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man
that is born of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the
Scripture says, and I reckon it's so. He'll play hookey this evening, *
and [* Southwestern for "afternoon"] I'll just be obleeged to make him
work, to-morrow, to punish him. It's mighty hard to make him work
Saturdays, when all the boys is having holiday, but he hates work more
than he hates anything else, and I've got to do some of my duty by him,
or I'll be the ruination of the child."

Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home
barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day's
wood

-18-

and split the kindlings before supper -- at least he was there in time
to tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work.
Tom's younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through
with his part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy,
and had no adventurous, troublesome ways.

While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity
offered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and
very deep -- for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like
many other simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she
was endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she
loved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low
cunning. Said she:

"Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn't it?"

"Yes'm."

"Powerful warm, warn't it?"

"Yes'm."

"Didn't you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?"

A bit of a scare shot through Tom -- a touch of uncomfortable
suspicion. He searched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. So
he said:

"No'm -- well, not very much."

The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said:

"But you ain't too warm now, though." And it flattered her to
reflect that she had discovered

-19-

that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing that that was what she
had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew where the wind lay, now.
So he forestalled what might be the next move:

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

Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of
circumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new
inspiration:

"Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to
pump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!"

The trouble vanished out of Tom's face. He opened his jacket. His
shirt collar was securely sewed.

"Bother! Well, go 'long with you. I'd made sure you'd played hookey
and been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you're a kind of a
singed cat, as the saying is -- better'n you look. This
time."

She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that
Tom had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.

But Sidney said:

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

"Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!"

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

"Siddy, I'll lick you for that."

-20-

In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust
into the lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them -- one
needle carried white thread and the other black. He said:

"She'd never noticed if it hadn't been for Sid. Confound it!
sometimes she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black.
I wish to geeminy she'd stick to one or t'other -- I can't keep the run
of 'em. But I bet you I'll lam Sid for that. I'll learn him!"

He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very
well though -- and loathed him.

Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles.
Not because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him
than a man's are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore
them down and drove them out of his mind for the time -- just as men's
misfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This
new interest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just
acquired from a negro, and he was suffering to practise it undisturbed.
It consisted in a peculiar bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble,
produced by touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short
intervals in the midst of the music -- the reader probably remembers
how to do it, if he has ever been a boy. Diligence and attention soon
gave him the knack of it, and he strode down the street with his mouth
full of harmony

-21-

and his soul full of gratitude. He felt much as an astronomer feels who
has discovered a new planet -- no doubt, as far as strong, deep,
unalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with the boy, not
the astronomer.

The summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom
checked his whistle. A stranger was before him -- a boy a shade larger
than himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive
curiosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy
was well dressed, too -- well dressed on a week-day. This was simply
astounding. His cap was a dainty thing, his close-buttoned blue cloth
roundabout was new and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes
on -- and it was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of
ribbon. He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom's vitals. The
more Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his
nose at his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed
to him to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other moved -- but
only sidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all
the time. Finally Tom said:

"I can lick you!"

"I'd like to see you try it."

"Well, I can do it."

"No you can't, either."

"Yes I can."

"No you can't."

-22-

"I can."

"You can't."

"Can!"

"Can't!"

An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:

"What's your name?"

"'Tisn't any of your business, maybe."

"Well I 'low I'll make
it my business."

"Well why don't you?"

"If you say much, I will."

"Much -- much -- much
. There now."

"Oh, you think you're mighty smart, don't
you? I could lick you with one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to."

"Well why don't you do
it? You say you can do it."

"Well I will
, if you fool with me."

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

"Smarty! You think you're some
, now, don't you? Oh, what a hat!"

"You can lump that hat if you don't like it. I dare you to knock it
off -- and anybody that'll take a dare will suck eggs."

"You're a liar!"

"You're another."

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

"Aw -- take a walk!"

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

-23-

"Oh, of course
you will."

"Well I will
."

"Well why don't you do
it then? What do you keep saying you will for? Why don't you do it?
It's because you're afraid."

"I ain't
afraid."

"You are."

"I ain't."

"You are."

Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other.
Presently they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:

"Get away from here!"

"Go away yourself!"

"I won't."

"I won't either."

So they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and
both shoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with
hate. But neither could get an advantage. After struggling till both
were hot and flushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution,
and Tom said:

"You're a coward and a pup. I'll tell my big brother on you, and he
can thrash you with his little finger, and I'll make him do it, too."

"What do I care for your big brother? I've got a brother that's
bigger than he is -- and what's more, he can throw him over that fence,
too." [Both brothers were imaginary.]

"That's a lie."

-24-

"Your
saying so don't make it so."

Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:

"I dare you to step over that, and I'll lick you till you can't
stand up. Anybody that'll take a dare will steal sheep."

The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:

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

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

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

"By jingo! for two cents I will
do it."

The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them
out with derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both
boys were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats;
and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair
and clothes, punched and scratched each other's nose, and covered
themselves with dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and
through the fog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and
pounding him with his fists. "Holler 'nuff!" said he.

The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying -- mainly from
rage.

"Holler 'nuff!" -- and the pounding went on.

At last the stranger got out a smothered "'Nuff!" and Tom let him up
and said:

-25-

"Now that'll learn you. Better look out who you're fooling with next
time."

The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing,
snuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and
threatening what he would do to Tom the "next time he caught him out."
To which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and
as soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw
it and hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like
an antelope. Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he
lived. He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the
enemy to come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the
window and declined. At last the enemy's mother appeared, and called
Tom a bad, vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went
away; but he said he "'lowed" to "lay" for that boy.

He got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously
in at the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt;
and when she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn
his Saturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in
its firmness.

-26-

Chapter II

SATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and
fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if
the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in
every face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom
and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond
the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far
enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.

Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a
long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him
and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of
board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence
but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the
topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the
insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of
unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came
skipping out at the gate with

-27-

a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from the town pump
had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but now it did not
strike him so. He remembered that there was company at the pump. White,
mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their
turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking.
And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty
yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour --
and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:

"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some."

Jim shook his head and said:

"Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis
water an' not stop foolin' roun' wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars
Tom gwine to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long an' 'tend
to my own business -- she 'lowed she'd
'tend to de whitewashin'."

"Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's the way she always
talks. Gimme the bucket -- I won't be gone only a a minute. She
won't ever know."

"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n
me. 'Deed she would."

" She!
She never licks anybody -- whacks 'em over the head with her thimble --
and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but talk

-28-

don'thurt -- anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give you a
marvel. I'll give you a white alley!"

Jim began to waver.

"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw."

"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I
tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful 'fraid ole missis -- "

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

Jim was only human -- this attraction was too much for him. He put
down his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with
absorbing interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another
moment he was flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear,
Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the
field with a slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye. But Tom's
energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had planned for
this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come
tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would
make a world of fun of him for having to work -- the very thought of it
burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and examined it --
bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange of work
, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour of pure
freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and gave up
the idea of trying

-29-

to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst
upon him! Nothing less than a great, magnificent inspiration.

He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in
sight presently -- the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had
been dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump -- proof enough
that his heart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an
apple, and giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a
deep-toned ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a
steamboat. As he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the
street, leaned far over to star-board and rounded to ponderously and
with laborious pomp and circumstance -- for he was personating the Big
Missouri, and considered himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He
was boat and captain and engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine
himself standing on his own hurricane-deck giving the orders and
executing them:

"Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!" The headway ran almost out, and
he drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.

"Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!" His arms straightened and
stiffened down his sides.

"Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow!
Chow!" His right hand, meantime, describing stately circles -- for it
was representing a forty-foot wheel.

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

-30-

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

"Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead
on the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow!
Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! Lively
now! Come -- out with your spring-line -- what're you about there! Take
a turn round that stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now
-- let her go! Done with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! Sh't!
s'h't! sh't!" (trying the gauge-cocks).

Tom went on whitewashing -- paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben
stared a moment and then said: "Hi- yi
! You're up a stump, ain't you!"

No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist,
then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as
before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the
apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:

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

Tom wheeled suddenly and said:

"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing."

"Say -- I'm
going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of course
you'd druther work -- wouldn't you? Course you would!"

Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:

"What do you call work?"

"Why, ain't that
work?"

-31-

Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:

"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom
Sawyer."

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

The brush continued to move.

"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy
get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?"

That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple.
Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth -- stepped back to note the
effect -- added a touch here and there -- criticised the effect again
-- Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more
and more absorbed. Presently he said:

"Say, Tom, let me
whitewash a little."

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

"No -- no -- I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt
Polly's awful particular about this fence -- right here on the street,
you know -- but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and she
wouldn't. Yes, she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be
done very careful; I reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe
two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done."

"No -- is that so? Oh come, now -- lemme

-32-

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

"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly -- well, Jim wanted
to do it, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she
wouldn't let Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle
this fence and anything was to happen to it -- "

"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say -- I'll
give you the core of my apple."

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

"I'll give you all
of it!"

Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in
his heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated
in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by,
dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more
innocents. There was no lack of material; boys happened along every
little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time
Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for
a kite, in good repair; and when he
played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a string to
swing it with -- and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when the
middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy in
the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the
things before mentioned, twelve marbles,

-33-

[9][Twa2Tom32.gif]

"Tom Gave Up theBrush"

part of a jews-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a
spool cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk,
a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six
fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass door-knob, a
dog-collar -- but no dog -- the handle of a knife, four pieces of
orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.

He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while -- plenty of
company -- and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he
hadn't run out of whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the
village.

Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all.
He had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it --
namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only
necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great
and wise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have
comprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is obliged
to do, and that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.
And this would help him to understand why constructing artificial
flowers or performing on a tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins
or climbing Mont Blanc is only amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen
in England who drive four-horse passenger-coaches twenty or thirty
miles on a daily line, in the summer, because the privilege costs them
considerable money; but if they were

-34-

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

The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken
place in his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters
to report.

-35-

Chapter III

TOM presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an open
window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom,
breakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined. The balmy summer
air, the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing
murmur of the bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her
knitting -- for she had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in
her lap. Her spectacles were propped up on her gray head for safety.
She had thought that of course Tom had deserted long ago, and she
wondered at seeing him place himself in her power again in this
intrepid way. He said: "Mayn't I go and play now, aunt?"

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

"It's all done, aunt."

"Tom, don't lie to me -- I can't bear it."

"I ain't, aunt; it is
all done."

Aunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence. She went out to see
for herself; and she would have been content to find twenty per cent.
of Tom's statement true. When she found the entire fence whitewashed,
and not only white-

-36-

washed but elaborately coated and recoated, and even a streak added to
the ground, her astonishment was almost unspeakable. She said:

"Well, I never! There's no getting round it, you can
work when you're a mind to, Tom." And then she diluted the compliment
by adding, "But it's powerful seldom you're a mind to, I'm bound to
say. Well, go 'long and play; but mind you get back some time in a
week, or I'll tan you."

She was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took
him into the closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to
him, along with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor a
treat took to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort.
And while she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he "hooked" a
doughnut.

Then he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside
stairway that led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were
handy and the air was full of them in a twinkling. They raged around
Sid like a hail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her
surprised faculties and sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had
taken personal effect, and Tom was over the fence and gone. There was a
gate, but as a general thing he was too crowded for time to make use of
it. His soul was at peace, now that he had settled with Sid for calling
attention to his black thread and getting him into trouble.

-37-

Tom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by
the back of his aunt's cow-stable. He presently got safely beyond the
reach of capture and punishment, and hastened toward the public square
of the village, where two "military" companies of boys had met for
conflict, according to previous appointment. Tom was General of one of
these armies, Joe Harper (a bosom friend) General of the other. These
two great commanders did not condescend to fight in person -- that
being better suited to the still smaller fry -- but sat together on an
eminence and conducted the field operations by orders delivered through
aides-de-camp. Tom's army won a great victory, after a long and
hard-fought battle. Then the dead were counted, prisoners exchanged,
the terms of the next disagreement agreed upon, and the day for the
necessary battle appointed; after which the armies fell into line and
marched away, and Tom turned homeward alone.

As he was passing by the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a
new girl in the garden -- a lovely little blue-eyed creature with
yellow hair plaited into two long-tails, white summer frock and
embroidered pantalettes. The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a
shot. A certain Amy Lawrence vanished out of his heart and left not
even a memory of herself behind. He had thought he loved her to
distraction; he had regarded his passion as adoration; and behold it
was only a poor little evanescent partiality. He had been months
winning her; she

-38-

had confessed hardly a week ago; he had been the happiest and the
proudest boy in the world only seven short days, and here in one
instant of time she had gone out of his heart like a casual stranger
whose visit is done.

He worshipped this new angel with furtive eye, till he saw that she
had discovered him; then he pretended he did not know she was present,
and began to "show off" in all sorts of absurd boyish ways, in order to
win her admiration. He kept up this grotesque foolishness for some
time; but by-and-by, while he was in the midst of some dangerous
gymnastic performances, he glanced aside and saw that the little girl
was wending her way toward the house. Tom came up to the fence and
leaned on it, grieving, and hoping she would tarry yet awhile longer.
She halted a moment on the steps and then moved toward the door. Tom
heaved a great sigh as she put her foot on the threshold. But his face
lit up, right away, for she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment
before she disappeared.

The boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower,
and then shaded his eyes with his hand and began to look down street as
if he had discovered something of interest going on in that direction.
Presently he picked up a straw and began trying to balance it on his
nose, with his head tilted far back; and as he moved from side to side,
in his efforts, he edged nearer and nearer toward the pansy; finally
his bare foot rested upon it, his pliant

-39-

toes closed upon it, and he hopped away with the treasure and
disappeared round the corner. But only for a minute -- only while he
could button the flower inside his jacket, next his heart -- or next
his stomach, possibly, for he was not much posted in anatomy, and not
hypercritical, anyway.

He returned, now, and hung about the fence till nightfall, "showing
off," as before; but the girl never exhibited herself again, though Tom
comforted himself a little with the hope that she had been near some
window, meantime, and been aware of his attentions. Finally he strode
home reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.

All through supper his spirits were so high that his aunt wondered
"what had got into the child." He took a good scolding about clodding
Sid, and did not seem to mind it in the least. He tried to steal sugar
under his aunt's very nose, and got his knuckles rapped for it. He
said:

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

"Well, Sid don't torment a body the way you do. You'd be always into
that sugar if I warn't watching you."

Presently she stepped into the kitchen, and Sid, happy in his
immunity, reached for the sugar-bowl -- a sort of glorying over Tom
which was wellnigh unbearable. But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl
dropped and broke. Tom was in ecstasies. In such ecstasies that he even
controlled his tongue and was silent. He said to himself that he would

-40-

not speak a word, even when his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly
still till she asked who did the mischief; and then he would tell, and
there would be nothing so good in the world as to see that pet model
"catch it." He was so brimful of exultation that he could hardly hold
himself when the old lady came back and stood above the wreck
discharging lightnings of wrath from over her spectacles. He said to
himself, "Now it's coming!" And the next instant he was sprawling on
the floor! The potent palm was uplifted to strike again when Tom cried
out:

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

Aunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity. But
when she got her tongue again, she only said:

"Umf! Well, you didn't get a lick amiss, I reckon. You been into
some other audacious mischief when I wasn't around, like enough."

Then her conscience reproached her, and she yearned to say something
kind and loving; but she judged that this would be construed into a
confession that she had been in the wrong, and discipline forbade that.
So she kept silence, and went about her affairs with a troubled heart.
Tom sulked in a corner and exalted his woes. He knew that in her heart
his aunt was on her knees to him, and he was morosely gratified by the
consciousness of it. He would hang out no signals, he would take notice

-41-

of none. He knew that a yearning glance fell upon him, now and then,
through a film of tears, but he refused recognition of it. He pictured
himself lying sick unto death and his aunt bending over him beseeching
one little forgiving word, but he would turn his face to the wall, and
die with that word unsaid. Ah, how would she feel then? And he pictured
himself brought home from the river, dead, with his curls all wet, and
his sore heart at rest. How she would throw herself upon him, and how
her tears would fall like rain, and her lips pray God to give her back
her boy and she would never, never abuse him any more! But he would lie
there cold and white and make no sign -- a poor little sufferer, whose
griefs were at an end. He so worked upon his feelings with the pathos
of these dreams, that he had to keep swallowing, he was so like to
choke; and his eyes swam in a blur of water, which overflowed when he
winked, and ran down and trickled from the end of his nose. And such a
luxury to him was this petting of his sorrows, that he could not bear
to have any worldly cheeriness or any grating delight intrude upon it;
it was too sacred for such contact; and so, presently, when his cousin
Mary danced in, all alive with the joy of seeing home again after an
age-long visit of one week to the country, he got up and moved in
clouds and darkness out at one door as she brought song and sunshine in
at the other.

He wandered far from the accustomed haunts of

-42-

boys, and sought desolate places that were in harmony with his spirit.
A log raft in the river invited him, and he seated himself on its outer
edge and contemplated the dreary vastness of the stream, wishing, the
while, that he could only be drowned, all at once and unconsciously,
without undergoing the uncomfortable routine devised by nature. Then he
thought of his flower. He got it out, rumpled and wilted, and it
mightily increased his dismal felicity. He wondered if she would pity
him if she knew? Would she cry, and wish that she had a right to put
her arms around his neck and comfort him? Or would she turn coldly away
like all the hollow world? This picture brought such an agony of
pleasurable suffering that he worked it over and over again in his mind
and set it up in new and varied lights, till he wore it threadbare. At
last he rose up sighing and departed in the darkness.

About half-past nine or ten o'clock he came along the deserted
street to where the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; no sound
fell upon his listening ear; a candle was casting a dull glow upon the
curtain of a second-story window. Was the sacred presence there? He
climbed the fence, threaded his stealthy way through the plants, till
he stood under that window; he looked up at it long, and with emotion;
then he laid him down on the ground under it, disposing himself upon
his back, with his hands clasped upon his breast and holding his poor
wilted flower. And thus he would

-43-

die -- out in the cold world, with no shelter over his homeless head,
no friendly hand to wipe the death-damps from his brow, no loving face
to bend pityingly over him when the great agony came. And thus she
would see him when she looked out upon the glad morning, and oh! would
she drop one little tear upon his poor, lifeless form, would she heave
one little sigh to see a bright young life so rudely blighted, so
untimely cut down?

The window went up, a maid-servant's discordant voice profaned the
holy calm, and a deluge of water drenched the prone martyr's remains!

The strangling hero sprang up with a relieving snort. There was a
whiz as of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, a
sound as of shivering glass followed, and a small, vague form went over
the fence and shot away in the gloom.

Not long after, as Tom, all undressed for bed, was surveying his
drenched garments by the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up; but if he
had any dim idea of making any "references to allusions," he thought
better of it and held his peace, for there was danger in Tom's eye.

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

-44-

Chapter IV

THE sun rose upon a tranquil world, and beamed down upon the
peaceful village like a benediction. Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had
family worship: it began with a prayer built from the ground up of
solid courses of Scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin
mortar of originality; and from the summit of this she delivered a grim
chapter of the Mosaic Law, as from Sinai.

Then Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and went to work to "get
his verses." Sid had learned his lesson days before. Tom bent all his
energies to the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the
Sermon on the Mount, because he could find no verses that were shorter.
At the end of half an hour Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson,
but no more, for his mind was traversing the whole field of human
thought, and his hands were busy with distracting recreations. Mary
took his book to hear him recite, and he tried to find his way through
the fog:

"Blessed are the -- a -- a -- "

"Poor" --

-45-

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

"In spirit -- "

"In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they -- they -- "

"Theirs
-- "

"For theirs
. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they that mourn, for they -- they -- "

"Sh -- "

"For they -- a -- "

"S, H, A -- "

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

"Shall
!"

"Oh, shall!
for they shall -- for they shall -- a -- a -- shall mourn -- a -- a --
blessed are they that shall -- they that -- a -- they that shall mourn,
for they shall -- a -- shall what? Why don't you tell me, Mary? -- what
do you want to be so mean for?"

"Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not teasing you. I
wouldn't do that. You must go and learn it again. Don't you be
discouraged, Tom, you'll manage it -- and if you do, I'll give you
something ever so nice. There, now, that's a good boy."

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

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

"You bet you that's so, Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again."

And he did "tackle it again" -- and under the

-46-

double pressure of curiosity and prospective gain he did it with such
spirit that he accomplished a shining success. Mary gave him a
brand-new "Barlow" knife worth twelve and a half cents; and the
convulsion of delight that swept his system shook him to his
foundations. True, the knife would not cut anything, but it was a
"sure-enough" Barlow, and there was inconceivable grandeur in that --
though where the Western boys ever got the idea that such a weapon
could possibly be counterfeited to its injury is an imposing mystery
and will always remain so, perhaps. Tom contrived to scarify the
cupboard with it, and was arranging to begin on the bureau, when he was
called off to dress for Sunday-school.

Mary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went
outside the door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he
dipped the soap in the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves;
poured out the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the
kitchen and began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the
door. But Mary removed the towel and said:

"Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be so bad. Water won't hurt
you."

Tom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time
he stood over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big
breath and began. When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes
shut and groping for the towel with

-47-

his hands, an honorable testimony of suds and water was dripping from
his face. But when he emerged from the towel, he was not yet
satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped short at his chin and his
jaws, like a mask; below and beyond this line there was a dark expanse
of unirrigated soil that spread downward in front and backward around
his neck. Mary took him in hand, and when she was done with him he was
a man and a brother, without distinction of color, and his saturated
hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls wrought into a dainty and
symmetrical general effect. [He privately smoothed out the curls, with
labor and difficulty, and plastered his hair close down to his head;
for he held curls to be effeminate, and his own filled his life with
bitterness.] Then Mary got out a suit of his clothing that had been
used only on Sundays during two years -- they were simply called his
"other clothes" -- and so by that we know the size of his wardrobe. The
girl "put him to rights" after he had dressed himself; she buttoned his
neat roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt collar down over
his shoulders, brushed him off and crowned him with his speckled straw
hat. He now looked exceedingly improved and uncomfortable. He was fully
as uncomfortable as he looked; for there was a restraint about whole
clothes and cleanliness that galled him. He hoped that Mary would
forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted; she coated them thoroughly
with tallow, as was the

-48-

custom, and brought them out. He lost his temper and said he was always
being made to do everything he didn't want to do. But Mary said,
persuasively:

"Please, Tom -- that's a good boy."

So he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the
three children set out for Sunday-school -- a place that Tom hated with
his whole heart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.

Sabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past ten; and then
church service. Two of the children always remained for the sermon
voluntarily, and the other always remained too -- for stronger reasons.
The church's high-backed, uncushioned pews would seat about three
hundred persons; the edifice was but a small, plain affair, with a sort
of pine board tree-box on top of it for a steeple. At the door Tom
dropped back a step and accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:

"Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?"

"Yes."

"What'll you take for her?"

"What'll you give?"

"Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook."

"Less see 'em."

Tom exhibited. They were satisfactory, and the property changed
hands. Then Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets,
and some small trifle or other for a couple of blue ones. He waylaid
other boys as they came, and went on buying tickets of various colors
ten or fifteen minutes

-49-

longer. He entered the church, now, with a swarm of clean and noisy
boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started a quarrel with the
first boy that came handy. The teacher, a grave, elderly man,
interfered; then turned his back a moment and Tom pulled a boy's hair
in the next bench, and was absorbed in his book when the boy turned
around; stuck a pin in another boy, presently, in order to hear him say
"Ouch!" and got a new reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole class
were of a pattern -- restless, noisy, and troublesome. When they came
to recite their lessons, not one of them knew his verses perfectly, but
had to be prompted all along. However, they worried through, and each
got his reward -- in small blue tickets, each with a passage of
Scripture on it; each blue ticket was pay for two verses of the
recitation. Ten blue tickets equalled a red one, and could be exchanged
for it; ten red tickets equalled a yellow one; for ten yellow tickets
the superintendent gave a very plainly bound Bible (worth forty cents
in those easy times) to the pupil. How many of my readers would have
the industry and application to memorize two thousand verses, even for
a Dore Bible? And yet Mary had acquired two Bibles in this way -- it
was the patient work of two years -- and a boy of German parentage had
won four or five. He once recited three thousand verses without
stopping; but the strain upon his mental faculties was too great, and
he was little better than an idiot from that day

-50-

forth -- a grievous misfortune for the school, for on great occasions,
before company, the superintendent (as Tom expressed it) had always
made this boy come out and "spread himself." Only the older pupils
managed to keep their tickets and stick to their tedious work long
enough to get a Bible, and so the delivery of one of these prizes was a
rare and noteworthy circumstance; the successful pupil was so great and
conspicuous for that day that on the spot every scholar's heart was
fired with a fresh ambition that often lasted a couple of weeks. It is
possible that Tom's mental stomach had never really hungered for one of
those prizes, but unquestionably his entire being had for many a day
longed for the glory and the eclat that came with it.

In due course the superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit,
with a closed hymn-book in his hand and his forefinger inserted between
its leaves, and commanded attention. When a Sunday-school
superintendent makes his customary little speech, a hymn-book in the
hand is as necessary as is the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of
a singer who stands forward on the platform and sings a solo at a
concert -- though why, is a mystery: for neither the hymn-book nor the
sheet of music is ever referred to by the sufferer. This superintendent
was a slim creature of thirty-five, with a sandy goatee and short sandy
hair; he wore a stiff standing-collar whose upper edge almost reached
his ears and whose sharp points curved forward abreast the

-51-

corners of his mouth -- a fence that compelled a straight lookout
ahead, and a turning of the whole body when a side view was required;
his chin was propped on a spreading cravat which was as broad and as
long as a bank-note, and had fringed ends; his boot toes were turned
sharply up, in the fashion of the day, like sleigh-runners -- an effect
patiently and laboriously produced by the young men by sitting with
their toes pressed against a wall for hours together. Mr. Walters was
very earnest of mien, and very sincere and honest at heart; and he held
sacred things and places in such reverence, and so separated them from
worldly matters, that unconsciously to himself his Sunday-school voice
had acquired a peculiar intonation which was wholly absent on
week-days. He began after this fashion:

"Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty
as you can and give me all your attention for a minute or two. There --
that is it. That is the way good little boys and girls should do. I see
one little girl who is looking out of the window -- I am afraid she
thinks I am out there somewhere -- perhaps up in one of the trees
making a speech to the little birds. [Applausive titter.] I want to
tell you how good it makes me feel to see so many bright, clean little
faces assembled in a place like this, learning to do right and be
good." And so forth and so on. It is not necessary to set down the rest
of the oration. It was of a pattern which does not vary, and so it is
familiar to us all.

-52-

The latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of
fights and other recreations among certain of the bad boys, and by
fidgetings and whisperings that extended far and wide, washing even to
the bases of isolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary. But
now every sound ceased suddenly, with the subsidence of Mr. Walters'
voice, and the conclusion of the speech was received with a burst of
silent gratitude.

A good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which
was more or less rare -- the entrance of visitors: lawyer Thatcher,
accompanied by a very feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged
gentleman with iron-gray hair; and a dignified lady who was doubtless
the latter's wife. The lady was leading a child. Tom had been restless
and full of chafings and repinings; conscience-smitten, too -- he could
not meet Amy Lawrence's eye, he could not brook her loving gaze. But
when he saw this small new-comer his soul was all ablaze with bliss in
a moment. The next moment he was "showing off" with all his might --
cuffing boys, pulling hair, making faces -- in a word, using every art
that seemed likely to fascinate a girl and win her applause. His
exaltation had but one alloy -- the memory of his humiliation in this
angel's garden -- and that record in sand was fast washing out, under
the waves of happiness that were sweeping over it now.

The visitors were given the highest seat of honor,

-53-

and as soon as Mr. Walters' speech was finished, he introduced them to
the school. The middle-aged man turned out to be a prodigious personage
-- no less a one than the county judge -- altogether the most august
creation these children had ever looked upon -- and they wondered what
kind of material he was made of -- and they half wanted to hear him
roar, and were half afraid he might, too. He was from Constantinople,
twelve miles away -- so he had travelled, and seen the world -- these
very eyes had looked upon the county court-house -- which was said to
have a tin roof. The awe which these reflections inspired was attested
by the impressive silence and the ranks of staring eyes. This was the
great Judge Thatcher, brother of their own lawyer. Jeff Thatcher
immediately went forward, to be familiar with the great man and be
envied by the school. It would have been music to his soul to hear the
whisperings:

"Look at him, Jim! He's a going up there. Say -- look! he's a going
to shake hands with him -- he is
shaking hands with him! By jings, don't you wish you was Jeff?"

Mr. Walters fell to "showing off," with all sorts of official
bustlings and activities, giving orders, delivering judgments,
discharging directions here, there, everywhere that he could find a
target. The librarian "showed off" -- running hither and thither with
his arms full of books and making a deal of the splutter and fuss that
insect authority delights in.

-54-

The young lady teachers "showed off" -- bending sweetly over pupils
that were lately being boxed, lifting pretty warning fingers at bad
little boys and patting good ones lovingly. The young gentlemen
teachers "showed off" with small scoldings and other little displays of
authority and fine attention to discipline -- and most of the teachers,
of both sexes, found business up at the library, by the pulpit; and it
was business that frequently had to be done over again two or three
times (with much seeming vexation). The little girls "showed off" in
various ways, and the little boys "showed off" with such diligence that
the air was thick with paper wads and the murmur of scufflings. And
above it all the great man sat and beamed a majestic judicial smile
upon all the house, and warmed himself in the sun of his own grandeur
-- for he was "showing off," too.

There was only one thing wanting to make Mr. Walters' ecstasy
complete, and that was a chance to deliver a Bible-prize and exhibit a
prodigy. Several pupils had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough
-- he had been around among the star pupils inquiring. He would have
given worlds, now, to have that German lad back again with a sound
mind.

And now at this moment, when hope was dead, Tom Sawyer came forward
with nine yellow tickets, nine red tickets, and ten blue ones, and
demanded a Bible. This was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. Walters
was not expecting an application from this source for the next ten
years. But there was no

-55-

getting around it -- here were the certified checks, and they were good
for their face. Tom was therefore elevated to a place with the Judge
and the other elect, and the great news was announced from
head-quarters. It was the most stunning surprise of the decade, and so
profound was the sensation that it lifted the new hero up to the
judicial one's altitude, and the school had two marvels to gaze upon in
place of one. The boys were all eaten up with envy -- but those that
suffered the bitterest pangs were those who perceived too late that
they themselves had contributed to this hated splendor by trading
tickets to Tom for the wealth he had amassed in selling whitewashing
privileges. These despised themselves, as being the dupes of a wily
fraud, a guileful snake in the grass.

The prize was delivered to Tom with as much effusion as the
superintendent could pump up under the circumstances; but it lacked
somewhat of the true gush, for the poor fellow's instinct taught him
that there was a mystery here that could not well bear the light,
perhaps; it was simply preposterous that this
boy had warehoused two thousand sheaves of Scriptural wisdom on his
premises -- a dozen would strain his capacity, without a doubt.

Amy Lawrence was proud and glad, and she tried to make Tom see it in
her face -- but he wouldn't look. She wondered; then she was just a
grain troubled; next a dim suspicion came and went -- came again; she
watched; a furtive glance told her

-56-

worlds -- and then her heart broke, and she was jealous, and angry, and
the tears came and she hated everybody. Tom most of all (she thought).

Tom was introduced to the Judge; but his tongue was tied, his breath
would hardly come, his heart quaked -- partly because of the awful
greatness of the man, but mainly because he was her
parent. He would have liked to fall down and worship him, if it were in
the dark. The Judge put his hand on Tom's head and called him a fine
little man, and asked him what his name was. The boy stammered, gasped,
and got it out:

"Tom."

"Oh, no, not Tom -- it is -- "

"Thomas."

"Ah, that's it. I thought there was more to it, maybe. That's very
well. But you've another one I daresay, and you'll tell it to me, won't
you?"

"Tell the gentleman your other name, Thomas," said Walters, "and say
sir
. You mustn't forget your manners."

"Thomas Sawyer -- sir."

"That's it! That's a good boy. Fine boy. Fine, manly little fellow.
Two thousand verses is a great many -- very, very great many. And you
never can be sorry for the trouble you took to learn them; for
knowledge is worth more than anything there is in the world; it's what
makes great men and good men; you'll

-57-

be a great man and a good man yourself, some day, Thomas, and then
you'll look back and say, It's all owing to the precious Sunday-school
privileges of my boyhood -- it's all owing to my dear teachers that
taught me to learn -- it's all owing to the good superintendent, who
encouraged me, and watched over me, and gave me a beautiful Bible -- a
splendid elegant Bible -- to keep and have it all for my own, always --
it's all owing to right bringing up! That is what you will say, Thomas
-- and you wouldn't take any money for those two thousand verses -- no
indeed you wouldn't. And now you wouldn't mind telling me and this lady
some of the things you've learned -- no, I know you wouldn't -- for we
are proud of little boys that learn. Now, no doubt you know the names
of all the twelve disciples. Won't you tell us the names of the first
two that were appointed?"

Tom was tugging at a button-hole and looking sheepish. He blushed,
now, and his eyes fell. Mr. Walters' heart sank within him. He said to
himself, it is not possible that the boy can answer the simplest
question -- why did
the Judge ask him? Yet he felt obliged to speak up and say:

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

Tom still hung fire.

"Now I know you'll tell me," said the lady. "The names of the first
two disciples were -- "

"DAVID AND GOLIAH!"

Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.

-58-

Chapter V

ABOUT half-past ten the cracked bell of the small church began to
ring, and presently the people began to gather for the morning sermon.
The Sunday-school children distributed themselves about the house and
occupied pews with their parents, so as to be under supervision. Aunt
Polly came, and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her -- Tom being placed
next the aisle, in order that he might be as far away from the open
window and the seductive outside summer scenes as possible. The crowd
filed up the aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who had seen better
days; the mayor and his wife -- for they had a mayor there, among other
unnecessaries; the justice of the peace; the widow Douglass, fair,
smart, and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and well-to-do, her
hill mansion the only palace in the town, and the most hospitable and
much the most lavish in the matter of festivities that St. Petersburg
could boast; the bent and venerable Major and Mrs. Ward; lawyer
Riverson, the new notable from a distance; next the belle of the
village, followed by a troop of lawn-clad and ribbon-decked young
heart-breakers; then all the young clerks in town in a

-59-

body -- for they had stood in the vestibule sucking their cane-heads, a
circling wall of oiled and simpering admirers, till the last girl had
run their gantlet; and last of all came the Model Boy, Willie
Mufferson, taking as heedful care of his mother as if she were cut
glass. He always brought his mother to church, and was the pride of all
the matrons. The boys all hated him, he was so good. And besides, he
had been "thrown up to them" so much. His white handkerchief was
hanging out of his pocket behind, as usual on Sundays -- accidentally.
Tom had no handkerchief, and he looked upon boys who had as snobs.

The congregation being fully assembled, now, the bell rang once
more, to warn laggards and stragglers, and then a solemn hush fell upon
the church which was only broken by the tittering and whispering of the
choir in the gallery. The choir always tittered and whispered all
through service. There was once a church choir that was not ill-bred,
but I have forgotten where it was, now. It was a great many years ago,
and I can scarcely remember anything about it, but I think it was in
some foreign country.

The minister gave out the hymn, and read it through with a relish,
in a peculiar style which was much admired in that part of the country.
His voice began on a medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached
a certain point, where it bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost
word and then plunged down as if from a spring-board:

-60-

[10][Twa2Tom60.gif]

Shall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow'ry beds of ease,
Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' bloody seas?

He was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church "sociables" he was
always called upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies
would lift up their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps,
and "wall" their eyes, and shake their heads, as much as to say, "Words
cannot express it; it is too beautiful, too
beautiful for this mortal earth."

After the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself
into a bulletin-board, and read off "notices" of meetings and societies
and things till it seemed that the list would stretch out to the crack
of doom -- a queer custom which is still kept up in America, even in
cities, away here in this age of abundant newspapers. Often, the less
there is to justify a traditional custom, the harder it is to get rid
of it.

And now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and
went into details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children
of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the village
itself; for the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the
United States; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for
the President; for the officers of the Government; for poor sailors,
tossed by stormy seas; for the oppressed millions

-61-

groaning under the heel of European monarchies and Oriental despotisms;
for such as have the light and the good tidings, and yet have not eyes
to see nor ears to hear withal; for the heathen in the far islands of
the sea; and closed with a supplication that the words he was about to
speak might find grace and favor, and be as seed sown in fertile
ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of good. Amen.

There was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat
down. The boy whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer,
he only endured it -- if he even did that much. He was restive all
through it; he kept tally of the details of the prayer, unconsciously
-- for he was not listening, but he knew the ground of old, and the
clergyman's regular route over it -- and when a little trifle of new
matter was interlarded, his ear detected it and his whole nature
resented it; he considered additions unfair, and scoundrelly. In the
midst of the prayer a fly had lit on the back of the pew in front of
him and tortured his spirit by calmly rubbing its hands together,
embracing its head with its arms, and polishing it so vigorously that
it seemed to almost part company with the body, and the slender thread
of a neck was exposed to view; scraping its wings with its hind legs
and smoothing them to its body as if they had been coat-tails; going
through its whole toilet as tranquilly as if it knew it was perfectly
safe. As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's hands

-62-

itched to grab for it they did not dare -- he believed his soul would
be instantly destroyed if he did such a thing while the prayer was
going on. But with the closing sentence his hand began to curve and
steal forward; and the instant the "Amen" was out the fly was a
prisoner of war. His aunt detected the act and made him let it go.

The minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through
an argument that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod
-- and yet it was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and
brimstone and thinned the predestined elect down to a company so small
as to be hardly worth the saving. Tom counted the pages of the sermon;
after church he always knew how many pages there had been, but he
seldom knew anything else about the discourse. However, this time he
was really interested for a little while. The minister made a grand and
moving picture of the assembling together of the world's hosts at the
millennium when the lion and the lamb should lie down together and a
little child should lead them. But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of
the great spectacle were lost upon the boy; he only thought of the
conspicuousness of the principal character before the on-looking
nations; his face lit with the thought, and he said to himself that he
wished he could be that child, if it was a tame lion.

Now he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed.
Presently he bethought

-63-

him of a treasure he had and got it out. It was a large black beetle
with formidable jaws -- a "pinchbug," he called it. It was in a
percussion-cap box. The first thing the beetle did was to take him by
the finger. A natural fillip followed, the beetle went floundering into
the aisle and lit on its back, and the hurt finger went into the boy's
mouth. The beetle lay there working its helpless legs, unable to turn
over. Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out of his reach.
Other people uninterested in the sermon found relief in the beetle, and
they eyed it too. Presently a vagrant poodle dog came idling along, sad
at heart, lazy with the summer softness and the quiet, weary of
captivity, sighing for change. He spied the beetle; the drooping tail
lifted and wagged. He surveyed the prize; walked around it; smelt at it
from a safe distance; walked around it again; grew bolder, and took a
closer smell; then lifted his lip and made a gingerly snatch at it,
just missing it; made another, and another; began to enjoy the
diversion; subsided to his stomach with the beetle between his paws,
and continued his experiments; grew weary at last, and then indifferent
and absent-minded. His head nodded, and little by little his chin
descended and touched the enemy, who seized it. There was a sharp yelp,
a flirt of the poodle's head, and the beetle fell a couple of yards
away, and lit on its back once more. The neighboring spectators shook
with a gentle inward joy, several faces went behind

-64-

fans and handkerchiefs, and Tomwas entirely happy. The dog looked
foolish, and probably felt so; but there was resentment in his heart,
too, and a craving for revenge. So he went to the beetle and began a
wary attack on it again; jumping at it from every point of a circle,
lighting with his fore-paws within an inch of the creature, making even
closer snatches at it with his teeth, and jerking his head till his
ears flapped again. But he grew tired once more, after a while; tried
to amuse himself with a fly but found no relief; followed an ant
around, with his nose close to the floor, and quickly wearied of that;
yawned, sighed, forgot the beetle entirely, and sat down on it. Then
there was a wild yelp of agony and the poodle went sailing up the
aisle; the yelps continued, and so did the dog; he crossed the house in
front of the altar; he flew down the other aisle; he crossed before the
doors; he clamored up the home-stretch; his anguish grew with his
progress, till presently he was but a woolly comet moving in its orbit
with the gleam and the speed of light. At last the frantic sufferer
sheered from its course, and sprang into its master's lap; he flung it
out of the window, and the voice of distress quickly thinned away and
died in the distance.

By this time the whole church was red-faced and suffocating with
suppressed laughter, and the sermon had come to a dead standstill. The
discourse was resumed presently, but it went lame and halting, all
possibility of impressiveness being at an end; for even

-65-

the gravest sentiments were constantly being received with a smothered
burst of unholy mirth, under cover of some remote pew-back, as if the
poor parson had said a rarely facetious thing. It was a genuine relief
to the whole congregation when the ordeal was over and the benediction
pronounced.

Tom Sawyer went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that there
was some satisfaction about divine service when there was a bit of
variety in it. He had but one marring thought; he was willing that the
dog should play with his pinchbug, but he did not think it was upright
in him to carry it off.

-66-

Chapter VI

MONDAY morning found Tom Sawyer miserable. Monday morning always
found him so -- because it began another week's slow suffering in
school. He generally began that day with wishing he had had no
intervening holiday, it made the going into captivity and fetters again
so much more odious.

Tom lay thinking. Presently it occurred to him that he wished he was
sick; then he could stay home from school. Here was a vague
possibility. He canvassed his system. No ailment was found, and he
investigated again. This time he thought he could detect colicky
symptoms, and he began to encourage them with considerable hope. But
they soon grew feeble, and presently died wholly away. He reflected
further. Suddenly he discovered something. One of his upper front teeth
was loose. This was lucky; he was about to begin to groan, as a
"starter," as he called it, when it occurred to him that if he came
into court with that argument, his aunt would pull it out, and that
would hurt. So he thought he would hold the tooth in reserve for the
present, and seek further. Nothing offered for some little time, and
then he remembered hearing the

-67-

doctor tell about a certain thing that laid up a patient for two or
three weeks and threatened to make him lose a finger. So the boy
eagerly drew his sore toe from under the sheet and held it up for
inspection. But now he did not know the necessary symptoms. However, it
seemed well worth while to chance it, so he fell to groaning with
considerable spirit.

But Sid slept on unconscious.

Tom groaned louder, and fancied that he began to feel pain in the
toe.

No result from Sid.

Tom was panting with his exertions by this time. He took a rest and
then swelled himself up and fetched a succession of admirable groans.

Sid snored on.

Tom was aggravated. He said, "Sid, Sid!" and shook him. This course
worked well, and Tom began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then
brought himself up on his elbow with a snort, and began to stare at
Tom. Tom went on groaning. Sid said:

"Tom! Say, Tom!" [No response.] "Here, Tom! Tom!
What is the matter, Tom?" And he shook him and looked in his face
anxiously.

Tom moaned out:

"Oh, don't, Sid. Don't joggle me."

"Why, what's the matter, Tom? I must call auntie."

"No -- never mind. It'll be over by and by, maybe. Don't call
anybody."

-68-

"But I must! Don't
groan so, Tom, it's awful. How long you been this way?"

"Hours. Ouch! Oh, don't stir so, Sid, you'll kill me."

"Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner ? Oh, Tom, don't
! It makes my flesh crawl to hear you. Tom, what is the matter?"

"I forgive you everything, Sid. [Groan.] Everything you've ever done
to me. When I'm gone -- "

"Oh, Tom, you ain't dying, are you? Don't, Tom -- oh, don't. Maybe
-- "

"I forgive everybody, Sid. [Groan.] Tell 'em so, Sid. And Sid, you
give my window-sash and my cat with one eye to that new girl that's
come to town, and tell her -- "

But Sid had snatched his clothes and gone. Tom was suffering in
reality, now, so handsomely was his imagination working, and so his
groans had gathered quite a genuine tone.

Sid flew down-stairs and said:

"Oh, Aunt Polly, come! Tom's dying!"

"Dying!"

"Yes'm. Don't wait -- come quick!"

"Rubbage! I don't believe it!"

But she fled up-stairs, nevertheless, with Sid and Mary at her
heels. And her face grew white, too, and her lip trembled. When she
reached the bed-side she gasped out:

"You, Tom! Tom, what's the matter with you?"

-69-

"Oh, auntie, I'm -- "

"What's the matter with you -- what is
the matter with you, child?"

"Oh, auntie, my sore toe's mortified!"

The old lady sank down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried
a little, then did both together. This restored her and she said:

"Tom, what a turn you did give me. Now you shut up that nonsense and
climb out of this."

The groans ceased and the pain vanished from the toe. The boy felt a
little foolish, and he said:

"Aunt Polly, it seemed
mortified, and it hurt so I never minded my tooth at all."

"Your tooth, indeed! What's the matter with your tooth?"

"One of them's loose, and it aches perfectly awful."

"There, there, now, don't begin that groaning again. Open your
mouth. Well -- your tooth IS loose, but you're not going to die about
that. Mary, get me a silk thread, and a chunk of fire out of the
kitchen."

Tom said:

"Oh, please, auntie, don't pull it out. It don't hurt any more. I
wish I may never stir if it does. Please don't, auntie. I
don't want to stay home from school."

"Oh, you don't, don't you? So all this row was because you thought
you'd get to stay home from school and go a-fishing? Tom, Tom, I love
you

-70-

so, and you seem to try every way you can to break my old heart with
your outrageousness." By this time the dental instruments were ready.
The old lady made one end of the silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a
loop and tied the other to the bedpost. Then she seized the chunk of
fire and suddenly thrust it almost into the boy's face. The tooth hung
dangling by the bedpost, now.

But all trials bring their compensations. As Tom wended to school
after breakfast, he was the envy of every boy he met because the gap in
his upper row of teeth enabled him to expectorate in a new and
admirable way. He gathered quite a following of lads interested in the
exhibition; and one that had cut his finger and had been a centre of
fascination and homage up to this time, now found himself suddenly
without an adherent, and shorn of his glory. His heart was heavy, and
he said with a disdain which he did not feel that it wasn't anything to
spit like Tom Sawyer; but another boy said, "Sour grapes!" and he
wandered away a dismantled hero.

Shortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village,
Huckleberry Finn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was cordially
hated and dreaded by all the mothers of the town, because he was idle
and lawless and vulgar and bad -- and because all their children
admired him so, and delighted in his forbidden society, and wished they
dared to be like him. Tom was like the rest of the respectable boys, in
that he envied Huckleberry his

-71-

gaudy outcast condition, and was under strict orders not to play with
him. So he played with him every time he got a chance. Huckleberry was
always dressed in the cast-off clothes of full-grown men, and they were
in perennial bloom and fluttering with rags. His hat was a vast ruin
with a wide crescent lopped out of its brim; his coat, when he wore
one, hung nearly to his heels and had the rearward buttons far down the
back; but one suspender supported his trousers; the seat of the
trousers bagged low and contained nothing, the fringed legs dragged in
the dirt when not rolled up.

Huckleberry came and went, at his own free will. He slept on
doorsteps in fine weather and in empty hogsheads in wet; he did not
have to go to school or to church, or call any being master or obey
anybody; he could go fishing or swimming when and where he chose, and
stay as long as it suited him; nobody forbade him to fight; he could
sit up as late as he pleased; he was always the first boy that went
barefoot in the spring and the last to resume leather in the fall; he
never had to wash, nor put on clean clothes; he could swear
wonderfully. In a word, everything that goes to make life precious that
boy had. So thought every harassed, hampered, respectable boy in St.
Petersburg.

Tom hailed the romantic outcast:

"Hello, Huckleberry!"

"Hello yourself, and see how you like it."

"What's that you got?"

-72-

"Dead cat."

"Lemme see him, Huck. My, he's pretty stiff. Where'd you get him ?"

"Bought him off'n a boy."

"What did you give?"

"I give a blue ticket and a bladder that I got at the
slaughter-house."

"Where'd you get the blue ticket?"

"Bought it off'n Ben Rogers two weeks ago for a hoop-stick."

"Say -- what is dead cats good for, Huck?"

"Good for? Cure warts with."

"No! Is that so? I know something that's better."

"I bet you don't. What is it?"

"Why, spunk-water."

"Spunk-water! I wouldn't give a dern for spunk-water."

"You wouldn't, wouldn't you? D'you ever try it?"

"No, I hain't. But Bob Tanner did."

"Who told you so!"

"Why, he told Jeff Thatcher, and Jeff told Johnny Baker, and Johnny
told Jim Hollis, and Jim told Ben Rogers, and Ben told a nigger, and
the nigger told me. There now!"

"Well, what of it? They'll all lie. Leastways all but the nigger. I
don't know him
. But I never see a nigger that wouldn't lie. Shucks! Now you tell me
how Bob Tanner done it, Huck."

-73-

"Why, he took and dipped his hand in a rotten stump where the
rain-water was."

"In the daytime?"

"Certainly."

"With his face to the stump?"

"Yes. Least I reckon so."

"Did he say anything?"

"I don't reckon he did. I don't know."

"Aha! Talk about trying to cure warts with spunk-water such a blame
fool way as that! Why, that ain't a-going to do any good. You got to go
all by yourself, to the middle of the woods, where you know there's a
spunk-water stump, and just as it's midnight you back up against the
stump and jam your hand in and say:

'Barley-corn, barley-corn, injun-meal shorts,
Spunk-water, spunk-water, swaller these warts,'

and then walk away quick, eleven steps, with your eyes shut, and then
turn around three times and walk home without speaking to anybody.
Because if you speak the charm's busted."

"Well, that sounds like a good way; but that ain't the way Bob
Tanner done."

"No, sir, you can bet he didn't, becuz he's the wartiest boy in this
town; and he wouldn't have a wart on him if he'd knowed how to work
spunk-water. I've took off thousands of warts off of my hands that way,
Huck. I play with frogs so much that I've always got considerable many
warts. Sometimes I take 'em off with a bean."

-74-

"Yes, bean's good. I've done that."

"Have you? What's your way?"

"You take and split the bean, and cut the wart so as to get some
blood, and then you put the blood on one piece of the bean and take and
dig a hole and bury it 'bout midnight at the crossroads in the dark of
the moon, and then you burn up the rest of the bean. You see that piece
that's got the blood on it will keep drawing and drawing, trying to
fetch the other piece to it, and so that helps the blood to draw the
wart, and pretty soon off she comes."

"Yes, that's it, Huck -- that's it; though when you're burying it if
you say 'Down bean; off wart; come no more to bother me!' it's better.
That's the way Joe Harper does, and he's been nearly to Coonville and
most everywheres. But say -- how do you cure 'em with dead cats?"

"Why, you take your cat and go and get in the graveyard 'long about
midnight when somebody that was wicked has been buried; and when it's
midnight a devil will come, or maybe two or three, but you can't see
'em, you can only hear something like the wind, or maybe hear 'em talk;
and when they're taking that feller away, you heave your cat after 'em
and say, 'Devil follow corpse, cat follow devil, warts follow cat, I'm
done with ye!' That'll fetch ANY wart."

"Sounds right. D'you ever try it, Huck?"

"No, but old Mother Hopkins told me."

-75-

"Well, I reckon it's so, then. Becuz they say she's a witch."

"Say! Why, Tom, I know
she is. She witched pap. Pap says so his own self. He come along one
day, and he see she was a-witching him, so he took up a rock, and if
she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her. Well, that very night he rolled
off'n a shed wher' he was a layin drunk, and broke his arm."

"Why, that's awful. How did he know she was a-witching him?"

"Lord, pap can tell, easy. Pap says when they keep looking at you
right stiddy, they're a-witching you. Specially if they mumble. Becuz
when they mumble they're saying the Lord's Prayer backards."

"Say, Hucky, when you going to try the cat?"

"To-night. I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to-night."

"But they buried him Saturday. Didn't they get him Saturday night?"

"Why, how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight? --
and then
it's Sunday. Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I don't
reckon."

"I never thought of that. That's so. Lemme go with you?"

"Of course -- if you ain't afeard."

"Afeard! 'Tain't likely. Will you meow?"

"Yes -- and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kep'
me a-meowing around till old

-76-

Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says 'Dern that cat!' and so I
hove a brick through his window -- but don't you tell."

"I won't. I couldn't meow that night, becuz auntie was watching me,
but I'll meow this time. Say -- what's that?"

"Nothing but a tick."

"Where'd you get him?"

"Out in the woods."

"What'll you take for him?"

"I don't know. I don't want to sell him."

"All right. It's a mighty small tick, anyway."

"Oh, anybody can run a tick down that don't belong to them. I'm
satisfied with it. It's a good enough tick for me."

"Sho, there's ticks a plenty. I could have a thousand of 'em if I
wanted to."

"Well, why don't you? Becuz you know mighty well you can't. This is
a pretty early tick, I reckon. It's the first one I've seen this year."

"Say, Huck -- I'll give you my tooth for him."

"Less see it."

Tom got out a bit of paper and carefully unrolled it. Huckleberry
viewed it wistfully. The temptation was very strong. At last he said:

"Is it genuwyne?"

Tom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.

"Well, all right," said Huckleberry, "it's a trade."

Tom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box

-77-

that had lately been the pinchbug's prison, and the boys separated,
each feeling wealthier than before.

When Tom reached the little isolated frame school-house, he strode
in briskly, with the manner of one who had come with all honest speed.
He hung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with
business-like alacrity. The master, throned on high in his great
splint-bottom arm-chair, was dozing, lulled by the drowsy hum of study.
The interruption roused him.

"Thomas Sawyer!"

Tom knew that when his name was pronounced in full, it meant
trouble.

"Sir!"

"Come up here. Now, sir, why are you late again, as usual?"

Tom was about to take refuge in a lie, when he saw two long tails of
yellow hair hanging down a back that he recognized by the electric
sympathy of love; and by that form was the only vacant place
on the girls' side of the school-house. He instantly said:

"I STOPPED TO TALK WITH HUCKLEBERRY FINN!"

The master's pulse stood still, and he stared helplessly. The buzz
of study ceased. The pupils wondered if this foolhardy boy had lost his
mind. The master said:

"You -- you did what?"

"Stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn."

-78-

There was no mistaking the words.

"Thomas Sawyer, this is the most astounding confession I have ever
listened to. No mere ferule will answer for this offence. Take off your
jacket."

The master's arm performed until it was tired and the stock of
switches notably diminished. Then the order followed:

"Now, sir, go and sit with the girls!
And let this be a warning to you."

The titter that rippled around the room appeared to abash the boy,
but in reality that result was caused rather more by his worshipful awe
of his unknown idol and the dread pleasure that lay in his high good
fortune. He sat down upon the end of the pine bench and the girl
hitched herself away from him with a toss of her head. Nudges and winks
and whispers traversed the room, but Tom sat still, with his arms upon
the long, low desk before him, and seemed to study his book.

By and by attention ceased from him, and the accustomed school
murmur rose upon the dull air once more. Presently the boy began to
steal furtive glances at the girl. She observed it, "made a mouth" at
him and gave him the back of her head for the space of a minute. When
she cautiously faced around again, a peach lay before her. She thrust
it away. Tom gently put it back. She thrust it away again, but with
less animosity. Tom patiently returned it to its place. Then she let it
remain. Tom scrawled on his slate, "Please take

-79-

it -- I got more." The girl glanced at the words, but made no sign. Now
the boy began to draw something on the slate, hiding his work with his
left hand. For a time the girl refused to notice; but her human
curiosity presently began to manifest itself by hardly perceptible
signs. The boy worked on, apparently unconscious. The girl made a sort
of non-committal attempt to see, but the boy did not betray that he was
aware of it. At last she gave in and hesitatingly whispered:

"Let me see it."

Tom partly uncovered a dismal caricature of a house with two gable
ends to it and a corkscrew of smoke issuing from the chimney. Then the
girl's interest began to fasten itself upon the work and she forgot
everything else. When it was finished, she gazed a moment, then
whispered:

"It's nice -- make a man."

The artist erected a man in the front yard, that resembled a
derrick. He could have stepped over the house; but the girl was not
hypercritical; she was satisfied with the monster, and whispered:

"It's a beautiful man -- now make me coming along."

Tom drew an hour-glass with a full moon and straw limbs to it and
armed the spreading fingers with a portentous fan. The girl said:

"It's ever so nice -- I wish I could draw."

"It's easy," whispered Tom, "I'll learn you."

"Oh, will you? When"

-80-

"At noon. Do you go home to dinner?"

"I'll stay if you will."

"Good -- that's a whack. What's your name?"

"Becky Thatcher. What's yours? Oh, I know. It's Thomas Sawyer."

"That's the name they lick me by. I'm Tom when I'm good. You call me
Tom, will you?"

"Yes."

Now Tom began to scrawl something on the slate, hiding the words
from the girl. But she was not backward this time. She begged to see.
Tom said:

"Oh, it ain't anything."

"Yes it is."

"No it ain't. You don't want to see."

"Yes I do, indeed I do. Please let me."

"You'll tell."

"No I won't -- deed and deed and double deed won't."

"You won't tell anybody at all? Ever, as long as you live?"

"No, I won't ever tell any
body. Now let me."

"Oh, you
don't want to see!"

"Now that you treat me so, I will
see." And she put her small hand upon his and a little scuffle ensued,
Tom pretending to resist in earnest but letting his hand slip by
degrees till these words were revealed: "I LOVE YOU."

"Oh, you bad thing!" And she hit his hand a smart rap, but reddened
and looked pleased, nevertheless.

-81-

Just at this juncture the boy felt a slow, fateful grip closing on
his ear, and a steady lifting impulse. In that vise he was borne across
the house and deposited in his own seat, under a peppering fire of
giggles from the whole school. Then the master stood over him during a
few awful moments, and finally moved away to his throne without saying
a word. But although Tom's ear tingled, his heart was jubilant.

As the school quieted down Tom made an honest effort to study, but
the turmoil within him was too great. In turn he took his place in the
reading class and made a botch of it; then in the geography class and
turned lakes into mountains, mountains into rivers, and rivers into
continents, till chaos was come again; then in the spelling class, and
got "turned down," by a succession of mere baby words, till he brought
up at the foot and yielded up the pewter medal which he had worn with
ostentation for months.

-82-

Chapter VII

THE harder Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book, the more his
ideas wandered. So at last, with a sigh and a yawn, he gave it up. It
seemed to him that the noon recess would never come. The air was
utterly dead. There was not a breath stirring. It was the sleepiest of
sleepy days. The drowsing murmur of the five and twenty studying
scholars soothed the soul like the spell that is in the murmur of bees.
Away off in the flaming sunshine, Cardiff Hill lifted its soft green
sides through a shimmering veil of heat, tinted with the purple of
distance; a few birds floated on lazy wing high in the air; no other
living thing was visible but some cows, and they were asleep. Tom's
heart ached to be free, or else to have something of interest to do to
pass the dreary time. His hand wandered into his pocket and his face
lit up with a glow of gratitude that was prayer, though he did not know
it. Then furtively the percussion-cap box came out. He released the
tick and put him on the long flat desk. The creature probably glowed
with a gratitude that amounted to prayer, too, at this moment, but it
was premature: for when he started

-83-

thankfully to travel off, Tom turned him aside with a pin and made him
take a new direction.

Tom's bosom friend sat next him, suffering just as Tom had been, and
now he was deeply and gratefully interested in this entertainment in an
instant. This bosom friend was Joe Harper. The two boys were sworn
friends all the week, and embattled enemies on Saturdays. Joe took a
pin out of his lapel and began to assist in exercising the prisoner.
The sport grew in interest momently. Soon Tom said that they were
interfering with each other, and neither getting the fullest benefit of
the tick. So he put Joe's slate on the desk and drew a line down the
middle of it from top to bottom.

"Now," said he, "as long as he is on your side you can stir him up
and I'll let him alone; but if you let him get away and get on my side,
you're to leave him alone as long as I can keep him from crossing
over."

"All right, go ahead; start him up."

The tick escaped from Tom, presently, and crossed the equator. Joe
harassed him awhile, and then he got away and crossed back again. This
change of base occurred often. While one boy was worrying the tick with
absorbing interest, the other would look on with interest as strong,
the two heads bowed together over the slate, and the two souls dead to
all things else. At last luck seemed to settle and abide with Joe. The
tick tried this, that, and the other course, and got as excited and as

-84-

anxious as the boys themselves, but time and again just as he would
have victory in his very grasp, so to speak, and Tom's fingers would be
twitching to begin, Joe's pin would deftly head him off, and keep
possession. At last Tom could stand it no longer. The temptation was
too strong. So he reached out and lent a hand with his pin. Joe was
angry in a moment. Said he:

"Tom, you let him alone."

"I only just want to stir him up a little, Joe."

"No, sir, it ain't fair; you just let him alone."

"Blame it, I ain't going to stir him much."

"Let him alone, I tell you."

"I won't!"

"You shall -- he's on my side of the line."

"Look here, Joe Harper, whose is that tick?"

" I
don't care whose tick he is -- he's on my side of the line, and you
sha'n't touch him."

"Well, I'll just bet I will, though. He's my tick and I'll do what I
blame please with him, or die!"

A tremendous whack came down on Tom's shoulders, and its duplicate
on Joe's; and for the space of two minutes the dust continued to fly
from the two jackets and the whole school to enjoy it. The boys had
been too absorbed to notice the hush that had stolen upon the school
awhile before when the master came tiptoeing down the room and stood
over them. He had contemplated a good part of the performance before he
contributed his bit of variety to it.

-85-

When school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky Thatcher, and
whispered in her ear:

"Put on your bonnet and let on you're going home; and when you get
to the corner, give the rest of 'em the slip, and turn down through the
lane and come back. I'll go the other way and come it over 'em the same
way."

So the one went off with one group of scholars, and the other with
another. In a little while the two met at the bottom of the lane, and
when they reached the school they had it all to themselves. Then they
sat together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the pencil
and held her hand in his, guiding it, and so created another surprising
house. When the interest in art began to wane, the two fell to talking.
Tom was swimming in bliss. He said:

"Do you love rats?"

"No! I hate them!"

"Well, I do, too -- live
ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round your head with a string."

"No, I don't care for rats much, anyway. What I
like is chewing-gum."

"Oh, I should say so! I wish I had some now."

"Do you? I've got some. I'll let you chew it awhile, but you must
give it back to me."

That was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled their
legs against the bench in excess of contentment.

"Was you ever at a circus?" said Tom.

-86-

"Yes, and my pa's going to take me again some time, if I'm good."

"I been to the circus three or four times -- lots of times. Church
ain't shucks to a circus. There's things going on at a circus all the
time. I'm going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up."

"Oh, are you! That will be nice. They're so lovely, all spotted up."

"Yes, that's so. And they get slathers of money -- most a dollar a
day, Ben Rogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?"

"What's that?"

"Why, engaged to be married."

"No."

"Would you like to?"

"I reckon so. I don't know. What is it like?"

"Like? Why it ain't like anything. You only just tell a boy you
won't ever have anybody but him, ever ever ever
, and then you kiss and that's all. Anybody can do it."

"Kiss? What do you kiss for?"

"Why, that, you know, is to -- well, they always do that."

"Everybody?"

"Why, yes, everybody that's in love with each other. Do you remember
what I wrote on the slate?"

"Ye -- yes."

"What was it?"

-87-

[11][Twa2Tom87.gif]

"I-LOVE-YOU"

"I sha'n't tell you."

"Shall I tell you?"

"Ye -- yes -- but some other time."

"No, now."

"No, not now -- to-morrow."

"Oh, no, now
. Please, Becky -- I'll whisper it, I'll whisper it ever so easy."

Becky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm
about her waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth
close to her ear. And then he added:

"Now you whisper it to me -- just the same."

She resisted, for a while, and then said:

"You turn your face away so you can't see, and then I will. But you
mustn't ever tell anybody -- will
you, Tom? Now you won't, will you?"

"No, indeed, indeed I won't. Now, Becky."

He turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breath
stirred his curls and whispered, "I -- love -- you!"

Then she sprang away and ran around and around the desks and
benches, with Tom after her, and took refuge in a corner at last, with
her little white apron to her face. Tom clasped her about her neck and
pleaded:

"Now, Becky, it's all done -- all over but the kiss. Don't you be
afraid of that -- it ain't anything at all. Please, Becky." And he
tugged at her apron and the hands.

By and by she gave up, and let her hands drop;

-88-

her face, all glowing with the struggle, came up and submitted. Tom
kissed the red lips and said:

"Now it's all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you
ain't ever to love anybody but me, and you ain't ever to marry anybody
but me, ever never and forever. Will you?"

"No, I'll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I'll never marry
anybody but you -- and you ain't to ever marry anybody but me, either."

"Certainly. Of course. That's part
of it. And always coming to school or when we're going home, you're to
walk with me, when there ain't anybody looking -- and you choose me and
I choose you at parties, because that's the way you do when you're
engaged."

"It's so nice. I never heard of it before."

"Oh, it's ever so gay! Why, me and Amy Lawrence -- "

The big eyes told Tom his blunder and he stopped, confused.

"Oh, Tom! Then I ain't the first you've ever been engaged to!"

The child began to cry. Tom said:

"Oh, don't cry, Becky, I don't care for her any more."

"Yes, you do, Tom -- you know you do."

Tom tried to put his arm about her neck, but she pushed him away and
turned her face to the wall, and went on crying. Tom tried again, with
soothing words in his mouth, and was repulsed again.

-89-

Then his pride was up, and he strode away and went outside. He stood
about, restless and uneasy, for a while, glancing at the door, every
now and then, hoping she would repent and come to find him. But she did
not. Then he began to feel badly and fear that he was in the wrong. It
was a hard struggle with him to make new advances, now, but he nerved
himself to it and entered. She was still standing back there in the
corner, sobbing, with her face to the wall. Tom's heart smote him. He
went to her and stood a moment, not knowing exactly how to proceed.
Then he said hesitatingly:

"Becky, I -- I don't care for anybody but you."

No reply -- but sobs.

"Becky" -- pleadingly. "Becky, won't you say something?"

More sobs.

Tom got out his chiefest jewel, a brass knob from the top of an
andiron, and passed it around her so that she could see it, and said:

"Please, Becky, won't you take it?"

She struck it to the floor. Then Tom marched out of the house and
over the hills and far away, to return to school no more that day.
Presently Becky began to suspect. She ran to the door; he was not in
sight; she flew around to the play-yard; he was not there. Then she
called:

"Tom! Come back, Tom!"

She listened intently, but there was no answer. She had no
companions but silence and loneliness.

-90-

So she sat down to cry again and upbraid herself; and by this time the
scholars began to gather again, and she had to hide her griefs and
still her broken heart and take up the cross of a long, dreary, aching
afternoon, with none among the strangers about her to exchange sorrows
with.

-91-

Chapter VIII

TOM dodged hither and thither through lanes until he was well out of
the track of returning scholars, and then fell into a moody jog. He
crossed a small "branch" two or three times, because of a prevailing
juvenile superstition that to cross water baffled pursuit. Half an hour
later he was disappearing behind the Douglas mansion on the summit of
Cardiff Hill, and the school-house was hardly distinguishable away off
in the valley behind him. He entered a dense wood, picked his pathless
way to the centre of it, and sat down on a mossy spot under a spreading
oak. There was not even a zephyr stirring; the dead noonday heat had
even stilled the songs of the birds; nature lay in a trance that was
broken by no sound but the occasional far-off hammering of a
wood-pecker, and this seemed to render the pervading silence and sense
of loneliness the more profound. The boy's soul was steeped in
melancholy; his feelings were in happy accord with his surroundings. He
sat long with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands,
meditating. It seemed to him that life was but a trouble, at best,

-92-

and he more than half envied Jimmy Hodges, so lately released; it must
be very peaceful, he thought, to lie and slumber and dream forever and
ever, with the wind whispering through the trees and caressing the
grass and the flowers over the grave, and nothing to bother and grieve
about, ever any more. If he only had a clean Sunday-school record he
could be willing to go, and be done with it all. Now as to this girl.
What had he done? Nothing. He had meant the best in the world, and been
treated like a dog -- like a very dog. She would be sorry some day --
maybe when it was too late. Ah, if he could only die temporarily!

But the elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into one
constrained shape long at a time. Tom presently began to drift
insensibly back into the concerns of this life again. What if he turned
his back, now, and disappeared mysteriously? What if he went away --
ever so far away, into unknown countries beyond the seas -- and never
came back any more! How would she feel then! The idea of being a clown
recurred to him now, only to fill him with disgust. For frivolity and
jokes and spotted tights were an offense, when they intruded themselves
upon a spirit that was exalted into the vague august realm of the
romantic. No, he would be a soldier, and return after long years, all
war-worn and illustrious. No -- better still, he would join the
Indians, and hunt buffaloes and go on the warpath in the mountain
ranges and the trackless great plains of

-93-

the Far West, and away in the future come back a great chief, bristling
with feathers, hideous with paint, and prance into Sunday-school, some
drowsy summer morning, with a blood-curdling war-whoop, and sear the
eyeballs of all his companions with unappeasable envy. But no, there
was something gaudier even than this. He would be a pirate! That was
it! Now his future lay plain before him, and glowing with unimaginable
splendor. How his name would fill the world, and make people shudder!
How gloriously he would go plowing the dancing seas, in his long, low,
black-hulled racer, the Spirit of the Storm, with his grisly flag
flying at the fore! And at the zenith of his fame, how he would
suddenly appear at the old village and stalk into church, brown and
weather-beaten, in his black velvet doublet and trunks, his great
jack-boots, his crimson sash, his belt bristling with horse-pistols,
his crime-rusted cutlass at his side, his slouch hat with waving
plumes, his black flag unfurled, with the skull and crossbones on it,
and hear with swelling ecstasy the whisperings, "It's Tom Sawyer the
Pirate! -- the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main!"

Yes, it was settled; his career was determined. He would run away
from home and enter upon it. He would start the very next morning.
Therefore he must now begin to get ready. He would collect his
resources together. He went to a rotten log near at hand and began to
dig under one end of it with his Barlow knife. He soon struck wood that

-94-

sounded hollow. He put his hand there and uttered this incantation
impressively:

"What hasn't come here, come!
What's here, stay here!"

Then he scraped away the dirt, and exposed a pine shingle. He took
it up and disclosed a shapely little treasure-house whose bottom and
sides were of shingles. In it lay a marble. Tom's astonishment was
boundless! He scratched his head with a perplexed air, and said:

"Well, that beats anything!"

Then he tossed the marble away pettishly, and stood cogitating. The
truth was, that a superstition of his had failed, here, which he and
all his comrades had always looked upon as infallible. If you buried a
marble with certain necessary incantations, and left it alone a
fortnight, and then opened the place with the incantation he had just
used, you would find that all the marbles you had ever lost had
gathered themselves together there, meantime, no matter how widely they
had been separated. But now, this thing had actually and unquestionably
failed. Tom's whole structure of faith was shaken to its foundations.
He had many a time heard of this thing succeeding but never of its
failing before. It did not occur to him that he had tried it several
times before, himself, but could never find the hiding-places
afterward. He puzzled over the matter some time, and finally decided
that some witch had interfered and broken the charm. He thought he
would satisfy

-95-

himself on that point; so he searched around till he found a small
sandy spot with a little funnel-shaped depression in it. He laid
himself down and put his mouth close to this depression and called --

"Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know! Doodle-bug,
doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know!"

The sand began to work, and presently a small black bug appeared for
a second and then darted under again in a fright.

"He dasn't tell! So it was
a witch that done it. I just knowed it."

He well knew the futility of trying to contend against witches, so
he gave up discouraged. But it occurred to him that he might as well
have the marble he had just thrown away, and therefore he went and made
a patient search for it. But he could not find it. Now he went back to
his treasure-house and carefully placed himself just as he had been
standing when he tossed the marble away; then he took another marble
from his pocket and tossed it in the same way, saying:

"Brother, go find your brother!"

He watched where it stopped, and went there and looked. But it must
have fallen short or gone too far; so he tried twice more. The last
repetition was successful. The two marbles lay within a foot of each
other.

Just here the blast of a toy tin trumpet came faintly down the green
aisles of the forest. Tom

-96-

flung off his jacket and trousers, turned a suspender into a belt,
raked away some brush behind the rotten log, disclosing a rude bow and
arrow, a lath sword and a tin trumpet, and in a moment had seized these
things and bounded away, barelegged, with fluttering shirt. He
presently halted under a great elm, blew an answering blast, and then
began to tiptoe and look warily out, this way and that. He said
cautiously -- to an imaginary company:

"Hold, my merry men! Keep hid till I blow."

Now appeared Joe Harper, as airily clad and elaborately armed as
Tom. Tom called:

"Hold! Who comes here into Sherwood Forest without my pass?"

"Guy of Guisborne wants no man's pass. Who art thou that -- that --
"

"Dares to hold such language," said Tom, prompting -- for they
talked "by the book," from memory.

"Who art thou that dares to hold such language?"

"I, indeed! I am Robin Hood, as thy caitiff carcase soon shall
know."

"Then art thou indeed that famous outlaw? Right gladly will I
dispute with thee the passes of the merry wood. Have at thee!"

They took their lath swords, dumped their other traps on the ground,
struck a fencing attitude, foot to foot, and began a grave, careful
combat, "two up and two down." Presently Tom said:

"Now, if you've got the hang, go it lively!"

-97-

So they "went it lively," panting and perspiring with the work. By
and by Tom shouted:

"Fall! fall! Why don't you fall?"

"I sha'n't! Why don't you fall yourself? You're getting the worst of
it."

"Why, that ain't anything. I can't fall; that ain't the way it is in
the book. The book says, 'Then with one back-handed stroke he slew poor
Guy of Guisborne.' You're to turn around and let me hit you in the
back."

There was no getting around the authorities, so Joe turned, received
the whack and fell.

"Now," said Joe, getting up, "you got to let me kill you
. That's fair."

"Why, I can't do that, it ain't in the book."

"Well, it's blamed mean -- that's all."

"Well, say, Joe, you can be Friar Tuck or Much the miller's son, and
lam me with a quarter-staff; or I'll be the Sheriff of Nottingham and
you be Robin Hood a little while and kill me."

This was satisfactory, and so these adventures were carried out.
Then Tom became Robin Hood again, and was allowed by the treacherous
nun to bleed his strength away through his neglected wound. And at last
Joe, representing a whole tribe of weeping outlaws, dragged him sadly
forth, gave his bow into his feeble hands, and Tom said, "Where this
arrow falls, there bury poor Robin Hood under the greenwood tree." Then
he shot the arrow and fell back and would have died, but he

-98-

lit on a nettle and sprang up too gaily for a corpse.

The boys dressed themselves, hid their accoutrements, and went off
grieving that there were no outlaws any more, and wondering what modern
civilization could claim to have done to compensate for their loss.
They said they would rather be outlaws a year in Sherwood Forest than
President of the United States forever.

-99-

Chapter IX

AT half-past nine, that night, Tom and Sid were sent to bed, as
usual. They said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay awake
and waited, in restless impatience. When it seemed to him that it must
be nearly daylight, he heard the clock strike ten! This was despair. He
would have tossed and fidgeted, as his nerves demanded, but he was
afraid he might wake Sid. So he lay still, and stared up into the dark.
Everything was dismally still. By and by, out of the stillness, little,
scarcely preceptible noises began to emphasize themselves. The ticking
of the clock began to bring itself into notice. Old beams began to
crack mysteriously. The stairs creaked faintly. Evidently spirits were
abroad. A measured, muffled snore issued from Aunt Polly's chamber. And
now the tiresome chirping of a cricket that no human ingenuity could
locate, began. Next the ghastly ticking of a death-watch in the wall at
the bed's head made Tom shudder -- it meant that somebody's days were
numbered. Then the howl of a far-off dog rose on the

-100-

night air, and was answered by a fainter howl from a remoter distance.
Tom was in an agony. At last he was satisfied that time had ceased and
eternity begun; he began to doze, in spite of himself; the clock chimed
eleven, but he did not hear it. And then there came, mingling with his
half-formed dreams, a most melancholy caterwauling. The raising of a
neighboring window disturbed him. A cry of "Scat! you devil!" and the
crash of an empty bottle against the back of his aunt's woodshed
brought him wide awake, and a single minute later he was dressed and
out of the window and creeping along the roof of the "ell" on all
fours. He "meow'd" with caution once or twice, as he went; then jumped
to the roof of the woodshed and thence to the ground. Huckleberry Finn
was there, with his dead cat. The boys moved off and disappeared in the
gloom. At the end of half an hour they were wading through the tall
grass of the graveyard.

It was a graveyard of the old-fashioned Western kind. It was on a
hill, about a mile and a half from the village. It had a crazy board
fence around it, which leaned inward in places, and outward the rest of
the time, but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over the
whole cemetery. All the old graves were sunken in, there was not a
tombstone on the place; round-topped, worm-eaten boards staggered over
the graves, leaning for support and finding none. "Sacred to the memory
of" So-

-101-

and-So had been painted on them once, but it could no longer have been
read, on the most of them, now, even if there had been light.

A faint wind moaned through the trees, and Tom feared it might be
the spirits of the dead, complaining at being disturbed. The boys
talked little, and only under their breath, for the time and the place
and the pervading solemnity and silence oppressed their spirits. They
found the sharp new heap they were seeking, and ensconced themselves
within the protection of three great elms that grew in a bunch within a
few feet of the grave.

Then they waited in silence for what seemed a long time. The hooting
of a distant owl was all the sound that troubled the dead stillness.
Tom's reflections grew oppressive. He must force some talk. So he said
in a whisper:

"Hucky, do you believe the dead people like it for us to be here?"

Huckleberry whispered:

"I wisht I knowed. It's awful solemn like, ain't
it?"

"I bet it is."

There was a considerable pause, while the boys canvassed this matter
inwardly. Then Tom whispered:

"Say, Hucky -- do you reckon Hoss Williams hears us talking?"

"O' course he does. Least his sperrit does."

Tom, after a pause:

-102-

"I wish I'd said Mister
Williams. But I never meant any harm. Everybody calls him Hoss."

"A body can't be too partic'lar how they talk 'bout these-yer dead
people, Tom."

This was a damper, and conversation died again.

Presently Tom seized his comrade's arm and said:

"Sh!"

"What is it, Tom?" And the two clung together with beating hearts.

"Sh! There 'tis again! Didn't you hear it?"

"I -- "

"There! Now you hear it."

"Lord, Tom, they're coming! They're coming, sure. What'll we do?"

"I dono. Think they'll see us?"

"Oh, Tom, they can see in the dark, same as cats. I wisht I hadn't
come."

"Oh, don't be afeard. I
don't believe they'll bother us. We ain't doing any harm. If we keep
perfectly still, maybe they won't notice us at all."

"I'll try to, Tom, but, Lord, I'm all of a shiver."

"Listen!"

The boys bent their heads together and scarcely breathed. A muffled
sound of voices floated up from the far end of the graveyard.

"Look! See there!" whispered Tom. "What is it?"

"It's devil-fire. Oh, Tom, this is awful."

Some vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging an
old-fashioned tin lantern that freckled

-103-

the ground with innumerable little spangles of light. Presently
Huckleberry whispered with a shudder:

"It's the devils sure enough. Three of 'em! Lordy, Tom, we're
goners! Can you pray?"

"I'll try, but don't you be afeard. They ain't going to hurt us.
'Now I lay me down to sleep, I -- '"

"Sh!"

"What is it, Huck?"

"They're humans!
One of 'em is, anyway. One of 'em's old Muff Potter's voice."

"No -- 'tain't so, is it?"

"I bet I know it. Don't you stir nor budge. He
ain't sharp enough to notice us. Drunk, the same as usual, likely --
blamed old rip!"

"All right, I'll keep still. Now they're stuck. Can't find it. Here
they come again. Now they're hot. Cold again. Hot again. Red hot!
They're p'inted right, this time. Say, Huck, I know another o' them
voices; it's Injun Joe."

"That's so -- that murderin' half-breed! I'd druther they was devils
a dern sight. What kin they be up to?"

The whisper died wholly out, now, for the three men had reached the
grave and stood within a few feet of the boys' hiding-place.

"Here it is," said the third voice; and the owner of it held the
lantern up and revealed the face of young Doctor Robinson.

Potter and Injun Joe were carrying a handbarrow

-104-

with a rope and a couple of shovels on it. They cast down their load
and began to open the grave. The doctor put the lantern at the head of
the grave and came and sat down with his back against one of the elm
trees. He was so close the boys could have touched him.

"Hurry, men!" he said, in a low voice; "the moon might come out at
any moment."

They growled a response and went on digging. For some time there was
no noise but the grating sound of the spades discharging their freight
of mould and gravel. It was very monotonous. Finally a spade struck
upon the coffin with a dull woody accent, and within another minute or
two the men had hoisted it out on the ground. They pried off the lid
with their shovels, got out the body and dumped it rudely on the
ground. The moon drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the pallid
face. The barrow was got ready and the corpse placed on it, covered
with a blanket, and bound to its place with the rope. Potter took out a
large spring-knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and then
said:

"Now the cussed thing's ready, Sawbones, and you'll just out with
another five, or here she stays."

"That's the talk!" said Injun Joe.

"Look here, what does this mean?" said the doctor. "You required
your pay in advance, and I've paid you."

"Yes, and you done more than that," said Injun

-105-

Joe, approaching the doctor, who was now standing. "Five years ago you
drove me away from your father's kitchen one night, when I come to ask
for something to eat, and you said I warn't there for any good; and
when I swore I'd get even with you if it took a hundred years, your
father had me jailed for a vagrant. Did you think I'd forget? The Injun
blood ain't in me for nothing. And now I've got you, and you got to
settle, you know!"

He was threatening the doctor, with his fist in his face, by this
time. The doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian on the
ground. Potter dropped his knife, and exclaimed:

"Here, now, don't you hit my pard!" and the next moment he had
grappled with the doctor and the two were struggling with might and
main, trampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels.
Injun Joe sprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion, snatched
up Potter's knife, and went creeping, catlike and stooping, round and
round about the combatants, seeking an opportunity. All at once the
doctor flung himself free, seized the heavy headboard of Williams'
grave and felled Potter to the earth with it -- and in the same instant
the half-breed saw his chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the
young man's breast. He reeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him
with his blood, and in the same moment the clouds blotted out the
dreadful spectacle and the two frightened boys went speeding away in
the dark.

-106-

Presently, when the moon emerged again, Injun Joe was standing over
the two forms, contemplating them. The doctor murmured inarticulately,
gave a long gasp or two and was still. The half-breed muttered:

"That
score is settled -- damn you."

Then he robbed the body. After which he put the fatal knife in
Potter's open right hand, and sat down on the dismantled coffin. Three
-- four -- five minutes passed, and then Potter began to stir and moan.
His hand closed upon the knife; he raised it, glanced at it, and let it
fall, with a shudder. Then he sat up, pushing the body from him, and
gazed at it, and then around him, confusedly. His eyes met Joe's.

"Lord, how is this, Joe?" he said.

"It's a dirty business," said Joe, without moving.

"What did you do it for?"

"I! I never done it!"

"Look here! That kind of talk won't wash."

Potter trembled and grew white.

"I thought I'd got sober. I'd no business to drink to-night. But
it's in my head yet -- worse'n when we started here. I'm all in a
muddle; can't recollect anything of it, hardly. Tell me, Joe -- honest
, now, old feller -- did I do it? Joe, I never meant to -- 'pon my soul
and honor, I never meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. Oh, it's
awful -- and him so young and promising."

"Why, you two was scuffling, and he fetched you

-107-

one with the headboard and you fell flat; and then up you come, all
reeling and staggering like, and snatched the knife and jammed it into
him, just as he fetched you another awful clip -- and here you've laid,
as dead as a wedge til now."

"Oh, I didn't know what I was a-doing. I wish I may die this minute
if I did. It was all on account of the whiskey and the excitement, I
reckon. I never used a weepon in my life before, Joe. I've fought, but
never with weepons. They'll all say that. Joe, don't tell! Say you
won't tell, Joe -- that's a good feller. I always liked you, Joe, and
stood up for you, too. Don't you remember? You won't
tell, will you, Joe?" And the poor creature dropped on his knees before
the stolid murderer, and clasped his appealing hands.

"No, you've always been fair and square with me, Muff Potter, and I
won't go back on you. There, now, that's as fair as a man can say."

"Oh, Joe, you're an angel. I'll bless you for this the longest day I
live." And Potter began to cry.

"Come, now, that's enough of that. This ain't any time for
blubbering. You be off yonder way and I'll go this. Move, now, and
don't leave any tracks behind you."

Potter started on a trot that quickly increased to a run. The
half-breed stood looking after him. He muttered:

"If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as
he had the look of being, he

-108-

won't think of the knife till he's gone so far he'll be afraid to come
back after it to such a place by himself -- chicken-heart!"

Two or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse,
the lidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the
moon's. The stillness was complete again, too.

-109-

Chapter X

THE two boys flew on and on, toward the village, speechless with
horror. They glanced backward over their shoulders from time to time,
apprehensively, as if they feared they might be followed. Every stump
that started up in their path seemed a man and an enemy, and made them
catch their breath; and as they sped by some outlying cottages that lay
near the village, the barking of the aroused watch-dogs seemed to give
wings to their feet.

"If we can only get to the old tannery before we break down!"
whispered Tom, in short catches between breaths. "I can't stand it much
longer."

Huckleberry's hard pantings were his only reply, and the boys fixed
their eyes on the goal of their hopes and bent to their work to win it.
They gained steadily on it, and at last, breast to breast, they burst
through the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in the sheltering
shadows beyond. By and by their pulses slowed down, and Tom whispered:

"Huckleberry, what do you reckon'll come of this?"

"If Doctor Robinson dies, I reckon hanging'll come of it."

"Do you though?"

"Why, I know
it, Tom."

Tom thought a while, then he said:

"Who'll tell? We?"

"What are you talking about? S'pose something happened and Injun Joe
didn't
hang? Why, he'd kill us some time or other, just as dead sure as we're
a laying here."

"That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck."

"If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it, if he's fool enough. He's
generally drunk enough."

Tom said nothing -- went on thinking. Presently he whispered:

"Huck, Muff Potter don't know
it. How can he tell?"

"What's the reason he don't know it?"

"Because he'd just got that whack when Injun Joe done it. D'you
reckon he could see anything? D'you reckon he knowed anything?"

"By hokey, that's so, Tom!"

"And besides, look-a-here -- maybe that whack done for him
!"

"No, 'taint likely, Tom. He had liquor in him; I could see that; and
besides, he always has. Well, when pap's full, you might take and belt
him over the head with a church and you couldn't phase him. He says so,
his own self. So it's the same with

-111-

Muff Potter, of course. But if a man was dead sober, I reckon maybe
that whack might fetch him; I dono."

After another reflective silence, Tom said:

"Hucky, you sure you can keep mum?"

"Tom, we got
to keep mum. You know that. That Injun devil wouldn't make any more of
drownding us than a couple of cats, if we was to squeak 'bout this and
they didn't hang him. Now, look-a-here, Tom, less take and swear to one
another -- that's what we got to do -- swear to keep mum."

"I'm agreed. It's the best thing. Would you just hold hands and
swear that we -- "

"Oh no, that wouldn't do for this. That's good enough for little
rubbishy common things -- specially with gals, cuz they
go back on you anyway, and blab if they get in a huff -- but there
orter be writing 'bout a big thing like this. And blood."

Tom's whole being applauded this idea. It was deep, and dark, and
awful; the hour, the circumstances, the surroundings, were in keeping
with it. He picked up a clean pine shingle that lay in the moon-light,
took a little fragment of "red keel" out of his pocket, got the moon on
his work, and painfully scrawled these lines, emphasizing each slow
down-stroke by clamping his tongue between his teeth, and letting up
the pressure on the up-strokes. [See next page.]

Huckleberry was filled with admiration of Tom's facility in writing,
and the sublimity of his language.

-112-

[12][Twa2t112.gif]

He at once took a pin from his lapel and was going to prick his flesh,
but Tom said:

"Hold on! Don't do that. A pin's brass. It might have verdigrease on
it."

"What's verdigrease?"

"It's p'ison. That's what it is. You just swaller some of it once --
you'll see."

So Tom unwound the thread from one of his needles, and each boy
pricked the ball of his thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. In
time, after many squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials, using

-113-

the ball of his little finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry how
to make an H and an F, and the oath was complete. They buried the
shingle close to the wall, with some dismal ceremonies and
incantations, and the fetters that bound their tongues were considered
to be locked and the key thrown away.

A figure crept stealthily through a break in the other end of the
ruined building, now, but they did not notice it.

"Tom," whispered Huckleberry, "does this keep us from ever
telling -- always?"

"Of course it does. It don't make any difference what
happens, we got to keep mum. We'd drop down dead -- don't you know
that?"

"Yes, I reckon that's so."

They continued to whisper for some little time. Presently a dog set
up a long, lugubrious howl just outside -- within ten feet of them. The
boys clasped each other suddenly, in an agony of fright.

"Which of us does he mean?" gasped Huckleberry.

"I dono -- peep through the crack. Quick!"

"No, you
, Tom!"

"I can't -- I can't do
it, Huck!"

"Please, Tom. There 'tis again!"

"Oh, lordy, I'm thankful!" whispered Tom. "I know his voice. It's
Bull Harbison." *


Note: * If Mr. Harbison had owned a slave named Bull, Tom would have
spoken of him as "Harbison's Bull," but a son or a dog of that name was
"Bull Harbison."

-114-

"Oh, that's good -- I tell you, Tom, I was most scared to death; I'd
a bet anything it was a stray
dog."

The dog howled again. The boys' hearts sank once more.

"Oh, my! that ain't no Bull Harbison!" whispered Huckleberry. " Do
, Tom!"

Tom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put his eye to the crack. His
whisper was hardly audible when he said:

"Oh, Huck, IT'S A STRAY DOG!"

"Quick, Tom, quick! Who does he mean?"

"Huck, he must mean us both -- we're right together."

"Oh, Tom, I reckon we're goners. I reckon there ain't no mistake
'bout where I'll
go to. I been so wicked."

"Dad fetch it! This comes of playing hookey and doing everything a
feller's told not
to do. I might a been good, like Sid, if I'd a tried -- but no, I
wouldn't, of course. But if ever I get off this time, I lay I'll just
waller in Sunday-schools!" And Tom began to snuffle a little.

" You
bad!" and Huckleberry began to snuffle too. "Consound it, Tom Sawyer,
you're just old pie, 'longside o' what I am. Oh, lordy , lordy, lordy,
I wisht I only had half your chance."

Tom choked off and whispered:

"Look, Hucky, look! He's got his BACK to us!"

Hucky looked, with joy in his heart.

-115-

"Well, he has, by jingoes! Did he before?"

"Yes, he did. But I, like a fool, never thought. Oh, this is bully,
you know. Now
who can he mean?"

The howling stopped. Tom pricked up his ears.

"Sh! What's that?" he whispered.

"Sounds like -- like hogs grunting. No -- it's somebody snoring,
Tom."

"That is
it! Where 'bouts is it, Huck?"

"I bleeve it's down at 'tother end. Sounds so, anyway. Pap used to
sleep there, sometimes, 'long with the hogs, but laws bless you, he
just lifts things when he
snores. Besides, I reckon he ain't ever coming back to this town any
more."

The spirit of adventure rose in the boys' souls once more.

"Hucky, do you das't to go if I lead?"

"I don't like to, much. Tom, s'pose it's Injun Joe!"

Tom quailed. But presently the temptation rose up strong again and
the boys agreed to try, with the understanding that they would take to
their heels if the snoring stopped. So they went tiptoeing stealthily
down, the one behind the other. When they had got to within five steps
of the snorer, Tom stepped on a stick, and it broke with a sharp snap.
The man moaned, writhed a little, and his face came into the moonlight.
It was Muff Potter. The boys' hearts had stood still, and their hopes
too, when the man moved, but their fears passed away now. They

-116-

tiptoed out, through the broken weather-boarding, and stopped at a
little distance to exchange a parting word. That long, lugubrious howl
rose on the night air again! They turned and saw the strange dog
standing within a few feet of where Potter was lying, and facing
Potter, with his nose pointing heavenward.

"Oh, geeminy, it's him
!" exclaimed both boys, in a breath.

"Say, Tom -- they say a stray dog come howling around Johnny
Miller's house, 'bout midnight, as much as two weeks ago; and a
whippoorwill come in and lit on the banisters and sung, the very same
evening; and there ain't anybody dead there yet."

"Well, I know that. And suppose there ain't. Didn't Gracie Miller
fall in the kitchen fire and burn herself terrible the very next
Saturday?"

"Yes, but she ain't dead
. And what's more, she's getting better, too."

"All right, you wait and see. She's a goner, just as dead sure as
Muff Potter's a goner. That's what the niggers say, and they know all
about these kind of things, Huck."

Then they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept in at his bedroom
window the night was almost spent. He undressed with excessive caution,
and fell asleep congratulating himself that nobody knew of his
escapade. He was not aware that the gently-snoring Sid was awake, and
had been so for an hour.

When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone.

-117-

There was a late look in the light, a late sense in the atmosphere. He
was startled. Why had he not been called -- persecuted till he was up,
as usual? The thought filled him with bodings. Within five minutes he
was dressed and down-stairs, feeling sore and drowsy. The family were
still at table, but they had finished breakfast. There was no voice of
rebuke; but there were averted eyes; there was a silence and an air of
solemnity that struck a chill to the culprit's heart. He sat down and
tried to seem gay, but it was up-hill work; it roused no smile, no
response, and he lapsed into silence and let his heart sink down to the
depths.

After breakfast his aunt took him aside, and Tom almost brightened
in the hope that he was going to be flogged; but it was not so. His
aunt wept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old
heart so; and finally told him to go on, and ruin himself and bring her
gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try
any more. This was worse than a thousand whippings, and Tom's heart was
sorer now than his body. He cried, he pleaded for forgiveness, promised
to reform over and over again, and then received his dismissal, feeling
that he had won but an imperfect forgiveness and established but a
feeble confidence.

He left the presence too miserable to even feel revengeful toward
Sid; and so the latter's prompt retreat through the back gate was
unnecessary. He moped to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging,

-118-

along with Joe Harper, for playing hookey the day before, with the air
of one whose heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead to
trifles. Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on his
desk and his jaws in his hands, and stared at the wall with the stony
stare of suffering that has reached the limit and can no further go.
His elbow was pressing against some hard substance. After a long time
he slowly and sadly changed his position, and took up this object with
a sigh. It was in a paper. He unrolled it. A long, lingering, colossal
sigh followed, and his heart broke. It was his brass andiron knob!

This final feather broke the camel's back.

-119-

Chapter XI

CLOSE upon the hour of noon the whole village was suddenly
electrified with the ghastly news. No need of the as yet undreamed-of
telegraph; the tale flew from man to man, from group to group, from
house to house, with little less than telegraphic speed. Of course the
schoolmaster gave holiday for that afternoon; the town would have
thought strangely of him if he had not.

A gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had
been recognized by somebody as belonging to Muff Potter -- so the story
ran. And it was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter
washing himself in the "branch" about one or two o'clock in the
morning, and that Potter had at once sneaked off -- suspicious
circumstances, especially the washing which was not a habit with
Potter. It was also said that the town had been ransacked for this
"murderer" (the public are not slow in the matter of sifting evidence
and arriving at a verdict), but that he could not be found. Horsemen
had departed down all the roads in every direction, and the Sheriff
"was confident" that he would be captured before night.

-120-

All the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heartbreak
vanished and he joined the procession, not because he would not a
thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful,
unaccountable fascination drew him on. Arrived at the dreadful place,
he wormed his small body through the crowd and saw the dismal
spectacle. It seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody
pinched his arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's. Then both
looked elsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed anything
in their mutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent upon the
grisly spectacle before them.

"Poor fellow!" "Poor young fellow!" "This ought to be a lesson to
grave robbers!" "Muff Potter'll hang for this if they catch him!" This
was the drift of remark; and the minister said, "It was a judgment; His
hand is here."

Now Tom shivered from head to heel; for his eye fell upon the stolid
face of Injun Joe. At this moment the crowd began to sway and struggle,
and voices shouted, "It's him! it's him! he's coming himself!"

"Who? Who?" from twenty voices.

"Muff Potter!"

"Hallo, he's stopped! -- Look out, he's turning! Don't let him get
away!"

People in the branches of the trees over Tom's head said he wasn't
trying to get away -- he only looked doubtful and perplexed.

-121-

"Infernal impudence!" said a bystander; "wanted to come and take a
quiet look at his work, I reckon -- didn't expect any company."

The crowd fell apart, now, and the Sheriff came through,
ostentatiously leading Potter by the arm. The poor fellow's face was
haggard, and his eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stood
before the murdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his face
in his hands and burst into tears.

"I didn't do it, friends," he sobbed; "'pon my word and honor I
never done it."

"Who's accused you?" shouted a voice.

This shot seemed to carry home. Potter lifted his face and looked
around him with a pathetic hopelessness in his eyes. He saw Injun Joe,
and exclaimed:

"Oh, Injun Joe, you promised me you'd never -- "

"Is that your knife?" and it was thrust before him by the Sheriff.

Potter would have fallen if they had not caught him and eased him to
the ground. Then he said:

"Something told me 't if I didn't come back and get -- " He
shuddered; then waved his nerveless hand with a vanquished gesture and
said, "Tell 'em, Joe, tell 'em -- it ain't any use any more."

Then Huckleberry and Tom stood dumb and staring, and heard the
stony-hearted liar reel off his serene statement, they expecting every
moment that the clear sky would deliver God's lightnings upon his head,
and wondering to see how long the stroke

-122-

was delayed. And when he had finished and still stood alive and whole,
their wavering impulse to break their oath and save the poor betrayed
prisoner's life faded and vanished away, for plainly this miscreant had
sold himself to Satan and it would be fatal to meddle with the property
of such a power as that.

"Why didn't you leave? What did you want to come here for?" somebody
said.

"I couldn't help it -- I couldn't help it," Potter moaned. "I wanted
to run away, but I couldn't seem to come anywhere but here." And he
fell to sobbing again.

Injun Joe repeated his statement, just as calmly, a few minutes
afterward on the inquest, under oath; and the boys, seeing that the
lightnings were still withheld, were confirmed in their belief that Joe
had sold himself to the devil. He was now become, to them, the most
balefully interesting object they had ever looked upon, and they could
not take their fascinated eyes from his face.

They inwardly resolved to watch him nights, when opportunity should
offer, in the hope of getting a glimpse of his dread master.

Injun Joe helped to raise the body of the murdered man and put it in
a wagon for removal; and it was whispered through the shuddering crowd
that the wound bled a little! The boys thought that this happy
circumstance would turn suspicion in the right direction; but they were
disappointed, for more than one villager remarked:

-123-

"It was within three feet of Muff Potter when it done it."

Tom's fearful secret and gnawing conscience disturbed his sleep for
as much as a week after this; and at breakfast one morning Sid said:

"Tom, you pitch around and talk in your sleep so much that you keep
me awake half the time."

Tom blanched and dropped his eyes.

"It's a bad sign," said Aunt Polly, gravely. "What you got on your
mind, Tom?"

"Nothing. Nothing 't I know of." But the boy's hand shook so that he
spilled his coffee.

"And you do talk such stuff," Sid said. "Last night you said, 'It's
blood, it's blood, that's what it is!' You said that over and over. And
you said, 'Don't torment me so -- I'll tell!' Tell what
? What is it you'll tell?"

Everything was swimming before Tom. There is no telling what might
have happened, now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt Polly's
face and she came to Tom's relief without knowing it. She said:

"Sho! It's that dreadful murder. I dream about it most every night
myself. Sometimes I dream it's me that done it."

Mary said she had been affected much the same way. Sid seemed
satisfied. Tom got out of the presence as quick as he plausibly could,
and after that he complained of toothache for a week, and tied up his
jaws every night. He never knew that Sid lay

-124-

nightly watching, and frequently slipped the bandage free and then
leaned on his elbow listening a good while at a time, and afterward
slipped the bandage back to its place again. Tom's distress of mind
wore off gradually and the toothache grew irksome and was discarded. If
Sid really managed to make anything out of Tom's disjointed mutterings,
he kept it to himself.

It seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holding
inquests on dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble present to his
mind. Sid noticed that Tom never was coroner at one of these inquiries,
though it had been his habit to take the lead in all new enterprises;
he noticed, too, that Tom never acted as a witness -- and that was
strange; and Sid did not overlook the fact that Tom even showed a
marked aversion to these inquests, and always avoided them when he
could. Sid marvelled, but said nothing. However, even inquests went out
of vogue at last, and ceased to torture Tom's conscience.

Every day or two, during this time of sorrow, Tom watched his
opportunity and went to the little grated jail-window and smuggled such
small comforts through to the "murderer" as he could get hold of. The
jail was a trifling little brick den that stood in a marsh at the edge
of the village, and no guards were afforded for it; indeed, it was
seldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease Tom's
conscience.

The villagers had a strong desire to tar-and-feather

-125-

Injun Joe and ride him on a rail, for body-snatching, but so formidable
was his character that nobody could be found who was willing to take
the lead in the matter, so it was dropped. He had been careful to begin
both of his inquest-statements with the fight, without confessing the
grave-robbery that preceded it; therefore it was deemed wisest not to
try the case in the courts at present.

-126-

Chapter XII

ONE of the reasons why Tom's mind had drifted away from its secret
troubles was, that it had found a new and weighty matter to interest
itself about. Becky Thatcher had stopped coming to school. Tom had
struggled with his pride a few days, and tried to "whistle her down the
wind," but failed. He began to find himself hanging around her father's
house, nights, and feeling very miserable. She was ill. What if she
should die! There was distraction in the thought. He no longer took an
interest in war, nor even in piracy. The charm of life was gone; there
was nothing but dreariness left. He put his hoop away, and his bat;
there was no joy in them any more. His aunt was concerned. She began to
try all manner of remedies on him. She was one of those people who are
infatuated with patent medicines and all new-fangled methods of
producing health or mending it. She was an inveterate experimenter in
these things. When something fresh in this line came out she was in a
fever, right away, to try it; not on herself, for she was never ailing,
but on anybody else that came handy. She was

-127-

a subscriber for all the "Health" periodicals and phrenological frauds;
and the solemn ignorance they were inflated with was breath to her
nostrils. All the "rot" they contained about ventilation, and how to go
to bed, and how to get up, and what to eat, and what to drink, and how
much exercise to take, and what frame of mind to keep one's self in,
and what sort of clothing to wear, was all gospel to her, and she never
observed that her health-journals of the current month customarily
upset everything they had recommended the month before. She was as
simple-hearted and honest as the day was long, and so she was an easy
victim. She gathered together her quack periodicals and her quack
medicines, and thus armed with death, went about on her pale horse,
metaphorically speaking, with "hell following after." But she never
suspected that she was not an angel of healing and the balm of Gilead
in disguise, to the suffering neighbors.

The water treatment was new, now, and Tom's low condition was a
windfall to her. She had him out at daylight every morning, stood him
up in the wood-shed and drowned him with a deluge of cold water; then
she scrubbed him down with a towel like a file, and so brought him to;
then she rolled him up in a wet sheet and put him away under blankets
till she sweated his soul clean and "the yellow stains of it came
through his pores" -- as Tom said.

Yet notwithstanding all this, the boy grew more and more melancholy
and pale and dejected. She

-128-

added hot baths, sitz baths, shower baths, and plunges. The boy
remained as dismal as a hearse. She began to assist the water with a
slim oatmeal diet and blister-plasters. She calculated his capacity as
she would a jug's, and filled him up every day with quack cure-alls.

Tom had become indifferent to persecution by this time. This phase
filled the old lady's heart with consternation. This indifference must
be broken up at any cost. Now she heard of Pain-killer for the first
time. She ordered a lot at once. She tasted it and was filled with
gratitude. It was simply fire in a liquid form. She dropped the water
treatment and everything else, and pinned her faith to Pain-killer. She
gave Tom a teaspoonful and watched with the deepest anxiety for the
result. Her troubles were instantly at rest, her soul at peace again;
for the "indifference" was broken up. The boy could not have shown a
wilder, heartier interest, if she had built a fire under him.

Tom felt that it was time to wake up; this sort of life might be
romantic enough, in his blighted condition, but it was getting to have
too little sentiment and too much distracting variety about it. So he
thought over various plans for relief, and finally hit pon that of
professing to be fond of Pain-killer. He asked for it so often that he
became a nuisance, and his aunt ended by telling him to help himself
and quit bothering her. If it had been Sid, she would have had no
misgivings to alloy her delight;

-129-

but since it was Tom, she watched the bottle clandestinely. She found
that the medicine did really diminish, but it did not occur to her that
the boy was mending the health of a crack in the sitting-room floor
with it.

One day Tom was in the act of dosing the crack when his aunt's
yellow cat came along, purring, eying the teaspoon avariciously, and
begging for a taste. Tom said:

"Don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter."

But Peter signified that he did want it.

"You better make sure."

Peter was sure.

"Now you've asked for it, and I'll give it to you, because there
ain't anything mean about me; but if you find you don't like it, you
mustn't blame anybody but your own self."

Peter was agreeable. So Tom pried his mouth open and poured down the
Pain-killer. Peter sprang a couple of yards in the air, and then
delivered a war-whoop and set off round and round the room, banging
against furniture, upsetting flower-pots, and making general havoc.
Next he rose on his hind feet and pranced around, in a frenzy of
enjoyment, with his head over his shoulder and his voice proclaiming
his unappeasable happiness. Then he went tearing around the house again
spreading chaos and destruction in his path. Aunt Polly entered in time
to see him throw a few double summersets, deliver a final mighty
hurrah, and sail through the open

-130-

window, carrying the rest of the flower-pots with him. The old lady
stood petrified with astonishment, peering over her glasses; Tom lay on
the floor expiring with laughter.

"Tom, what on earth ails that cat?"

"I don't know, aunt," gasped the boy.

"Why, I never see anything like it. What did
make him act so?"

"Deed I don't know, Aunt Polly; cats always act so when they're
having a good time."

"They do, do they?" There was something in the tone that made Tom
apprehensive.

"Yes'm. That is, I believe they do."

"You do
?"

"Yes'm."

The old lady was bending down, Tom watching, with interest
emphasized by anxiety. Too late he divined her "drift." The handle of
the telltale teaspoon was visible under the bed-valance. Aunt Polly
took it, held it up. Tom winced, and dropped his eyes. Aunt Polly
raised him by the usual handle -- his ear -- and cracked his head
soundly with her thimble.

"Now, sir, what did you want to treat that poor dumb beast so, for?"

"I done it out of pity for him -- because he hadn't any aunt."

"Hadn't any aunt! -- you numskull. What has that got to do with it?"

"Heaps. Because if he'd had one she'd a burnt

-131-

him out herself! She'd a roasted his bowels out of him 'thout any more
feeling than if he was a human!"

Aunt Polly felt a sudden pang of remorse. This was putting the thing
in a new light; what was cruelty to a cat might
be cruelty to a boy, too. She began to soften; she felt sorry. Her eyes
watered a little, and she put her hand on Tom's head and said gently:

"I was meaning for the best, Tom. And, Tom, it did
do you good."

Tom looked up in her face with just a perceptible twinkle peeping
through his gravity.

"I know you was meaning for the best, aunty, and so was I with
Peter. It done him
good, too. I never see him get around so since -- "

"Oh, go 'long with you, Tom, before you aggravate me again. And you
try and see if you can't be a good boy, for once, and you needn't take
any more medicine."

Tom reached school ahead of time. It was noticed that this strange
thing had been occurring every day latterly. And now, as usual of late,
he hung about the gate of the schoolyard instead of playing with his
comrades. He was sick, he said, and he looked it. He tried to seem to
be looking everywhere but whither he really was looking -- down the
road. Presently Jeff Thatcher hove in sight, and Tom's face lighted; he
gazed a moment, and then turned sorrowfully away. When Jeff arrived,
Tom accosted him; and "led up" warily to opportunities for remark

-132-

about Becky, but the giddy lad never could see the bait. Tom watched
and watched, hoping whenever a frisking frock came in sight, and hating
the owner of it as soon as he saw she was not the right one. At last
frocks ceased to appear, and he dropped hopelessly into the dumps; he
entered the empty schoolhouse and sat down to suffer. Then one more
frock passed in at the gate, and Tom's heart gave a great bound. The
next instant he was out, and "going on" like an Indian; yelling,
laughing, chasing boys, jumping over the fence at risk of life and
limb, throwing handsprings, standing on his head -- doing all the
heroic things he could conceive of, and keeping a furtive eye out, all
the while, to see if Becky Thatcher was noticing. But she seemed to be
unconscious of it all; she never looked. Could it be possible that she
was not aware that he was there? He carried his exploits to her
immediate vicinity; came war-whooping around, snatched a boy's cap,
hurled it to the roof of the schoolhouse, broke through a group of
boys, tumbling them in every direction, and fell sprawling, himself,
under Becky's nose, almost upsetting her -- and she turned, with her
nose in the air, and he heard her say: "Mf! some people think they're
mighty smart -- always showing off!"

Tom's cheeks burned. He gathered himself up and sneaked off, crushed
and crestfallen.

-133-

Chapter XIII

TOM'S mind was made up now. He was gloomy and desperate. He was a
forsaken, friendless boy, he said; nobody loved him; when they found
out what they had driven him to, perhaps they would be sorry; he had
tried to do right and get along, but they would not let him; since
nothing would do them but to be rid of him, let it be so; and let them
blame him
for the consequences -- why shouldn't they? What right had the
friendless to complain? Yes, they had forced him to it at last: he
would lead a life of crime. There was no choice.

By this time he was far down Meadow Lane, and the bell for school to
"take up" tinkled faintly upon his ear. He sobbed, now, to think he
should never, never hear that old familiar sound any more -- it was
very hard, but it was forced on him; since he was driven out into the
cold world, he must submit -- but he forgave them. Then the sobs came
thick and fast.

Just at this point he met his soul's sworn comrade, Joe Harper --
hard-eyed, and with evidently a great and dismal purpose in his heart.
Plainly here were

-134-

"two souls with but a single thought." Tom, wiping his eyes with his
sleeve, began to blubber out something about a resolution to escape
from hard usage and lack of sympathy at home by roaming abroad into the
great world never to return; and ended by hoping that Joe would not
forget him.

But it transpired that this was a request which Joe had just been
going to make of Tom, and had come to hunt him up for that purpose. His
mother had whipped him for drinking some cream which he had never
tasted and knew nothing about; it was plain that she was tired of him
and wished him to go; if she felt that way, there was nothing for him
to do but succumb; he hoped she would be happy, and never regret having
driven her poor boy out into the unfeeling world to suffer and die.

As the two boys walked sorrowing along, they made a new compact to
stand by each other and be brothers and never separate till death
relieved them of their troubles. Then they began to lay their plans.
Joe was for being a hermit, and living on crusts in a remote cave, and
dying, some time, of cold and want and grief; but after listening to
Tom, he conceded that there were some conspicuous advantages about a
life of crime, and so he consented to be a pirate.

Three miles below St. Petersburg, at a point where the Mississippi
River was a trifle over a mile wide, there was a long, narrow, wooded
island, with a shallow bar at the head of it, and this offered well

-135-

as a rendezvous. It was not inhabited; it lay far over toward the
further shore, abreast a dense and almost wholly unpeopled forest. So
Jackson's Island was chosen. Who were to be the subjects of their
piracies was a matter that did not occur to them. Then they hunted up
Huckleberry Finn, and he joined them promptly, for all careers were one
to him; he was indifferent. They presently separated to meet at a
lonely spot on the river-bank two miles above the village at the
favorite hour -- which was midnight. There was a small log raft there
which they meant to capture. Each would bring hooks and lines, and such
provision as he could steal in the most dark and mysterious way -- as
became outlaws. And before the afternoon was done, they had all managed
to enjoy the sweet glory of spreading the fact that pretty soon the
town would "hear something." All who got this vague hint were cautioned
to "be mum and wait."

About midnight Tom arrived with a boiled ham and a few trifles, and
stopped in a dense undergrowth on a small bluff overlooking the
meeting-place. It was starlight, and very still. The mighty river lay
like an ocean at rest. Tom listened a moment, but no sound disturbed
the quiet. Then he gave a low, distinct whistle. It was answered from
under the bluff. Tom whistled twice more; these signals were answered
in the same way. Then a guarded voice said:

"Who goes there?"

-136-

"Tom Sawyer, the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main. Name your
names."

"Huck Finn the Red-Handed, and Joe Harper the Terror of the Seas."
Tom had furnished these titles, from his favorite literature.

"'Tis well. Give the countersign."

Two hoarse whispers delivered the same awful word simultaneously to
the brooding night:

"BLOOD!"

Then Tom tumbled his ham over the bluff and let himself down after
it, tearing both skin and clothes to some extent in the effort. There
was an easy, comfortable path along the shore under the bluff, but it
lacked the advantages of difficulty and danger so valued by a pirate.

The Terror of the Seas had brought a side of bacon, and had about
worn himself out with getting it there. Finn the Red-Handed had stolen
a skillet and a quantity of half-cured leaf tobacco, and had also
brought a few corn-cobs to make pipes with. But none of the pirates
smoked or "chewed" but himself. The Black Avenger of the Spanish Main
said it would never do to start without some fire. That was a wise
thought; matches were hardly known there in that day. They saw a fire
smouldering upon a great raft a hundred yards above, and they went
stealthily thither and helped themselves to a chunk. They made an
imposing adventure of it, saying, "Hist!" every now and then, and
suddenly halting with finger on lip; moving with hands on

-137-

imaginary dagger-hilts; and giving orders in dismal whispers that if
"the foe" stirred, to "let him have it to the hilt," because "dead men
tell no tales." They knew well enough that the raftsmen were all down
at the village laying in stores or having a spree, but still that was
no excuse for their conducting this thing in an unpiratical way.

They shoved off, presently, Tom in command, Huck at the after oar
and Joe at the forward. Tom stood amidships, gloomy-browed, and with
folded arms, and gave his orders in a low, stern whisper:

"Luff, and bring her to the wind!"

"Aye-aye, sir!"

"Steady, steady-y-y-y!"

"Steady it is, sir!"

"Let her go off a point!"

"Point it is, sir!"

As the boys steadily and monotonously drove the raft toward
mid-stream it was no doubt understood that these orders were given only
for "style," and were not intended to mean anything in particular.

"What sail's she carrying?"

"Courses, tops'ls, and flying-jib, sir."

"Send the r'yals up! Lay out aloft, there, half a dozen of ye --
foretopmaststuns'l! Lively, now!"

"Aye-aye, sir!"

"Shake out that maintogalans'l! Sheets and braces! Now
my hearties!"

"Aye-aye, sir!"

"Hellum-a-lee -- hard a port! Stand by to meet

-138-

her when she comes! Port, port! Now, men! With a will! Stead-y-y-y!"

"Steady it is, sir!"

The raft drew beyond the middle of the river; the boys pointed her
head right, and then lay on their oars. The river was not high, so
there was not more than a two or three mile current. Hardly a word was
said during the next three-quarters of an hour. Now the raft was
passing before the distant town. Two or three glimmering lights showed
where it lay, peacefully sleeping, beyond the vague vast sweep of
star-gemmed water, unconscious of the tremendous event that was
happening. The Black Avenger stood still with folded arms, "looking his
last" upon the scene of his former joys and his later sufferings, and
wishing "she" could see him now, abroad on the wild sea, facing peril
and death with dauntless heart, going to his doom with a grim smile on
his lips. It was but a small strain on his imagination to remove
Jackson's Island beyond eye-shot of the village, and so he "looked his
last" with a broken and satisfied heart. The other pirates were looking
their last, too; and they all looked so long that they came near
letting the current drift them out of the range of the island. But they
discovered the danger in time, and made shift to avert it. About two
o'clock in the morning the raft grounded on the bar two hundred yards
above the head of the island, and they waded back and forth until they
had landed their freight. Part of the little

-139-

raft's belongings consisted of an old sail, and this they spread over a
nook in the bushes for a tent to shelter their provisions; but they
themselves would sleep in the open air in good weather, as became
outlaws.

They built a fire against the side of a great log twenty or thirty
steps within the sombre depths of the forest, and then cooked some
bacon in the frying-pan for supper, and used up half of the corn "pone"
stock they had brought. It seemed glorious sport to be feasting in that
wild, free way in the virgin forest of an unexplored and uninhabited
island, far from the haunts of men, and they said they never would
return to civilization. The climbing fire lit up their faces and threw
its ruddy glare upon the pillared tree-trunks of their forest temple,
and upon the varnished foliage and festooning vines.

When the last crisp slice of bacon was gone, and the last allowance
of corn pone devoured, the boys stretched themselves out on the grass,
filled with contentment. They could have found a cooler place, but they
would not deny themselves such a romantic feature as the roasting
camp-fire.

"AIN'T it gay?" said Joe.

"It's NUTS!" said Tom. "What would the boys say if they could see
us?"

"Say? Well, they'd just die to be here -- hey, Hucky!"

"I reckon so," said Huckleberry; "anyways

-140-

,I'm suited. I don't want nothing better'n this. I don't ever get
enough to eat, gen'ally -- and here they can't come and pick at a
feller and bullyrag him so."

"It's just the life for me," said Tom. "You don't have to get up,
mornings, and you don't have to go to school, and wash, and all that
blame foolishness. You see a pirate don't have to do anything
, Joe, when he's ashore, but a hermit he has to be praying
considerable, and then he don't have any fun, anyway, all by himself
that way."

"Oh yes, that's so," said Joe, "but I hadn't thought much about it,
you know. I'd a good deal rather be a pirate, now that I've tried it."

"You see," said Tom, "people don't go much on hermits, nowadays,
like they used to in old times, but a pirate's always respected. And a
hermit's got to sleep on the hardest place he can find, and put
sackcloth and ashes on his head, and stand out in the rain, and -- "

"What does he put sackcloth and ashes on his head for?" inquired
Huck.

" I
dono. But they've got to do it. Hermits always do. You'd have to do
that if you was a hermit."

"Dern'd if I would," said Huck.

"Well, what would you do?"

"I dono. But I wouldn't do that."

"Why, Huck, you'd have
to. How'd you get around it?"

-141-

"Why, I just wouldn't stand it. I'd run away."

"Run away! Well, you would
be a nice old slouch of a hermit. You'd be a disgrace."

The Red-Handed made no response, being better employed. He had
finished gouging out a cob, and now he fitted a weed stem to it, loaded
it with tobacco, and was pressing a coal to the charge and blowing a
cloud of fragrant smoke -- he was in the full bloom of luxurious
contentment. The other pirates envied him this majestic vice, and
secretly resolved to acquire it shortly. Presently Huck said:

"What does pirates have to do?"

Tom said:

"Oh, they have just a bully time -- take ships and burn them, and
get the money and bury it in awful places in their island where there's
ghosts and things to watch it, and kill everybody in the ships -- make
'em walk a plank."

"And they carry the women to the island," said Joe; "they don't kill
the women."

"No," assented Tom, "they don't kill the women -- they're too noble.
And the women's always beautiful, too.

"And don't they wear the bulliest clothes! Oh no! All gold and
silver and di'monds," said Joe, with enthusiasm.

"Who?" said Huck.

"Why, the pirates."

Huck scanned his own clothing forlornly.

"I reckon I ain't dressed fitten for a pirate," said

-142-

he, with a regretful pathos in his voice; "but I ain't got none but
these."

But the other boys told him the fine clothes would come fast enough,
after they should have begun their adventures. They made him understand
that his poor rags would do to begin with, though it was customary for
wealthy pirates to start with a proper wardrobe.

Gradually their talk died out and drowsiness began to steal upon the
eyelids of the little waifs. The pipe dropped from the fingers of the
Red-Handed, and he slept the sleep of the conscience-free and the
weary. The Terror of the Seas and the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main
had more difficulty in getting to sleep. They said their prayers
inwardly, and lying down, since there was nobody there with authority
to make them kneel and recite aloud; in truth, they had a mind not to
say them at all, but they were afraid to proceed to such lengths as
that, lest they might call down a sudden and special thunderbolt from
heaven. Then at once they reached and hovered upon the imminent verge
of sleep -- but an intruder came, now, that would not "down." It was
conscience. They began to feel a vague fear that they had been doing
wrong to run away; and next they thought of the stolen meat, and then
the real torture came. They tried to argue it away by reminding
conscience that they had purloined sweetmeats and apples scores of
times; but conscience was not to be appeased by such thin

-143-

plausibilities; it seemed to them, in the end, that there was no
getting around the stubborn fact that taking sweetmeats was only
"hooking," while taking bacon and hams and such valuables was plain
simple stealing -- and there was a command against that in the Bible.
So they inwardly resolved that so long as they remained in the
business, their piracies should not again be sullied with the crime of
stealing. Then conscience granted a truce, and these curiously
inconsistent pirates fell peacefully to sleep.

-144-

Chapter XIV

WHEN Tom awoke in the morning, he wondered where he was. He sat up
and rubbed his eyes and looked around. Then he comprehended. It was the
cool gray dawn, and there was a delicious sense of repose and peace in
the deep pervading calm and silence of the woods. Not a leaf stirred;
not a sound obtruded upon great Nature's meditation. Beaded dewdrops
stood upon the leaves and grasses. A white layer of ashes covered the
fire, and a thin blue breath of smoke rose straight into the air. Joe
and Huck still slept.

Now, far away in the woods a bird called; another answered;
presently the hammering of a woodpecker was heard. Gradually the cool
dim gray of the morning whitened, and as gradually sounds multiplied
and life manifested itself. The marvel of Nature shaking off sleep and
going to work unfolded itself to the musing boy. A little green worm
came crawling over a dewy leaf, lifting two-thirds of his body into the
air from time to time and "sniffing around," then proceeding again --
for he was measuring, Tom said; and when the worm approached

-145-

him, of its own accord, he sat as still as a stone, with his hopes
rising and falling, by turns, as the creature still came toward him or
seemed inclined to go elsewhere; and when at last it considered a
painful moment with its curved body in the air and then came decisively
down upon Tom's leg and began a journey over him, his whole heart was
glad -- for that meant that he was going to have a new suit of clothes
-- without the shadow of a doubt a gaudy piratical uniform. Now a
procession of ants appeared, from nowhere in particular, and went about
their labors; one struggled manfully by with a dead spider five times
as big as itself in its arms, and lugged it straight up a tree-trunk. A
brown spotted lady-bug climbed the dizzy height of a grass blade, and
Tom bent down close to it and said, "Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home,
your house is on fire, your children's alone," and she took wing and
went off to see about it -- which did not surprise the boy, for he knew
of old that this insect was credulous about conflagrations, and he had
practised upon its simplicity more than once. A tumblebug came next,
heaving sturdily at its ball, and Tom touched the creature, to see it
shut its legs against its body and pretend to be dead. The birds were
fairly rioting by this time. A catbird, the Northern mocker, lit in a
tree over Tom's head, and trilled out her imitations of her neighbors
in a rapture of enjoyment; then a shrill jay swept down, a flash of
blue flame, and stopped on a twig almost within the boy's

-146-

reach, cocked his head to one side and eyed the strangers with a
consuming curiosity; a gray squirrel and a big fellow of the "fox" kind
came skurrying along, sitting up at intervals to inspect and chatter at
the boys, for the wild things had probably never seen a human being
before and scarcely knew whether to be afraid or not. All Nature was
wide awake and stirring, now; long lances of sunlight pierced down
through the dense foliage far and near, and a few butterflies came
fluttering upon the scene.

Tom stirred up the other pirates and they all clattered away with a
shout, and in a minute or two were stripped and chasing after and
tumbling over each other in the shallow limpid water of the white
sandbar. They felt no longing for the little village sleeping in the
distance beyond the majestic waste of water. A vagrant current or a
slight rise in the river had carried off their raft, but this only
gratified them, since its going was something like burning the bridge
between them and civilization.

They came back to camp wonderfully refreshed, glad-hearted, and
ravenous; and they soon had the camp-fire blazing up again. Huck found
a spring of clear cold water close by, and the boys made cups of broad
oak or hickory leaves, and felt that water, sweetened with such a
wildwood charm as that, would be a good enough substitute for coffee.
While Joe was slicing bacon for breakfast, Tom and Huck asked him to
hold on a minute; they stepped to a promising nook in the river-bank
and threw in their

-147-

lines; almost immediately they had reward. Joe had not had time to get
impatient before they were back again with some handsome bass, a couple
of sun-perch and a small catfish -- provisions enough for quite a
family. They fried the fish with the bacon, and were astonished; for no
fish had ever seemed so delicious before. They did not know that the
quicker a fresh-water fish is on the fire after he is caught the better
he is; and they reflected little upon what a sauce open-air sleeping,
open-air exercise, bathing, and a large ingredient of hunger make, too.

They lay around in the shade, after breakfast, while Huck had a
smoke, and then went off through the woods on an exploring expedition.
They tramped gayly along, over decaying logs, through tangled
underbrush, among solemn monarchs of the forest, hung from their crowns
to the ground with a drooping regalia of grape-vines. Now and then they
came upon snug nooks carpeted with grass and jeweled with flowers.

They found plenty of things to be delighted with, but nothing to be
astonished at. They discovered that the island was about three miles
long and a quarter of a mile wide, and that the shore it lay closest to
was only separated from it by a narrow channel hardly two hundred yards
wide. They took a swim about every hour, so it was close upon the
middle of the afternoon when they got back to camp. They were too
hungry to stop to fish, but

-148-

they fared sumptuously upon cold ham, and then threw themselves down in
the shade to talk. But the talk soon began to drag, and then died. The
stillness, the solemnity that brooded in the woods, and the sense of
loneliness, began to tell upon the spirits of the boys. They fell to
thinking. A sort of undefined longing crept upon them. This took dim
shape, presently -- it was budding homesickness. Even Finn the
Red-Handed was dreaming of his doorsteps and empty hogsheads. But they
were all ashamed of their weakness, and none was brave enough to speak
his thought.

For some time, now, the boys had been dully conscious of a peculiar
sound in the distance, just as one sometimes is of the ticking of a
clock which he takes no distinct note of. But now this mysterious sound
became more pronounced, and forced a recognition. The boys started,
glanced at each other, and then each assumed a listening attitude.
There was a long silence, profound and unbroken; then a deep, sullen
boom came floating down out of the distance.

"What is it!" exclaimed Joe, under his breath.

"I wonder," said Tom in a whisper.

"'Tain't thunder," said Huckleberry, in an awed tone, "becuz thunder
-- "

"Hark!" said Tom. "Listen -- don't talk."

They waited a time that seemed an age, and then the same muffled
boom troubled the solemn hush.

"Let's go and see."

-149-

They sprang to their feet and hurried to the shore toward the town.
They parted the bushes on the bank and peered out over the water. The
little steam ferry-boat was about a mile below the village, drifting
with the current. Her broad deck seemed crowded with people. There were
a great many skiffs rowing about or floating with the stream in the
neighborhood of the ferryboat, but the boys could not determine what
the men in them were doing. Presently a great jet of white smoke burst
from the ferryboat's side, and as it expanded and rose in a lazy cloud,
that same dull throb of sound was borne to the listeners again.

"I know now!" exclaimed Tom; "somebody's drownded!"

"That's it!" said Huck; "they done that last summer, when Bill
Turner got drownded; they shoot a cannon over the water, and that makes
him come up to the top. Yes, and they take loaves of bread and put
quicksilver in 'em and set 'em afloat, and wherever there's anybody
that's drownded, they'll float right there and stop."

"Yes, I've heard about that," said Joe. "I wonder what makes the
bread do that."

"Oh, it ain't the bread, so much," said Tom; "I reckon it's mostly
what they SAY over it before they start it out."

"But they don't say anything over it," said Huck. "I've seen 'em and
they don't."

"Well, that's funny," said Tom. "But maybe

-150-

they say it to themselves. Of course they do. Anybody might know that."

The other boys agreed that there was reason in what Tom said,
because an ignorant lump of bread, uninstructed by an incantation,
could not be expected to act very intelligently when set upon an errand
of such gravity.

"By jings, I wish I was over there, now," said Joe.

"I do too" said Huck "I'd give heaps to know who it is."

The boys still listened and watched. Presently a revealing thought
flashed through Tom's mind, and he exclaimed:

"Boys, I know who's drownded -- it's us!"

They felt like heroes in an instant. Here was a gorgeous triumph;
they were missed; they were mourned; hearts were breaking on their
account; tears were being shed; accusing memories of unkindness to
these poor lost lads were rising up, and unavailing regrets and remorse
were being indulged; and best of all, the departed were the talk of the
whole town, and the envy of all the boys, as far as this dazzling
notoriety was concerned. This was fine. It was worth while to be a
pirate, after all.

As twilight drew on, the ferryboat went back to her accustomed
business and the skiffs disappeared. The pirates returned to camp. They
were jubilant with vanity over their new grandeur and the illustrious
trouble they were making. They caught fish,

-151-

cooked supper and ate it, and then fell to guessing at what the village
was thinking and saying about them; and the pictures they drew of the
public distress on their account were gratifying to look upon -- from
their point of view. But when the shadows of night closed them in, they
gradually ceased to talk, and sat gazing into the fire, with their
minds evidently wandering elsewhere. The excitement was gone, now, and
Tom and Joe could not keep back thoughts of certain persons at home who
were not enjoying this fine frolic as much as they were. Misgivings
came; they grew troubled and unhappy; a sigh or two escaped, unawares.
By and by Joe timidly ventured upon a roundabout "feeler" as to how the
others might look upon a return to civilization -- not right now, but
--

Tom withered him with derision! Huck, being uncommitted as yet,
joined in with Tom, and the waverer quickly "explained," and was glad
to get out of the scrape with as little taint of chicken-hearted
home-sickness clinging to his garments as he could. Mutiny was
effectually laid to rest for the moment.

As the night deepened, Huck began to nod, and presently to snore.
Joe followed next. Tom lay upon his elbow motionless, for some time,
watching the two intently. At last he got up cautiously, on his knees,
and went searching among the grass and the flickering reflections flung
by the camp-fire. He picked up and inspected several large
semi-cylinders

-152-

of the thin white bark of a sycamore, and finally chose two which
seemed to suit him. Then he knelt by the fire and painfully wrote
something upon each of these with his "red keel"; one he rolled up and
put in his jacket pocket, and the other he put in Joe's hat and removed
it to a little distance from the owner. And he also put into the hat
certain schoolboy treasures of almost inestimable value -- among them a
lump of chalk, an India-rubber ball, three fishhooks, and one of that
kind of marbles known as a "sure 'nough crystal." Then he tiptoed his
way cautiously among the trees till he felt that he was out of hearing,
and straightway broke into a keen run in the direction of the sandbar.

-153-

Chapter XV

A FEW minutes later Tom was in the shoal water of the bar, wading
toward the Illinois shore. Before the depth reached his middle he was
half-way over; the current would permit no more wading, now, so he
struck out confidently to swim the remaining hundred yards. He swam
quartering upstream, but still was swept downward rather faster than he
had expected. However, he reached the shore finally, and drifted along
till he found a low place and drew himself out. He put his hand on his
jacket pocket, found his piece of bark safe, and then struck through
the woods, following the shore, with streaming garments. Shortly before
ten o'clock he came out into an open place opposite the village, and
saw the ferryboat lying in the shadow of the trees and the high bank.
Everything was quiet under the blinking stars. He crept down the bank,
watching with all his eyes, slipped into the water, swam three or four
strokes and climbed into the skiff that did "yawl" duty at the boat's
stern. He laid himself down under the thwarts and waited, panting

-154-

.

Presently the cracked bell tapped and a voice gave the order to
"cast off." A minute or two later the skiff's head was standing high
up, against the boat's swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy
in his success, for he knew it was the boat's last trip for the night.
At the end of a long twelve or fifteen minutes the wheels stopped, and
Tom slipped overboard and swam ashore in the dusk, landing fifty yards
downstream, out of danger of possible stragglers.

He flew along unfrequented alleys, and shortly found himself at his
aunt's back fence. He climbed over, approached the "ell," and looked in
at the sitting-room window, for a light was burning there. There sat
Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother, grouped together,
talking. They were by the bed, and the bed was between them and the
door. Tom went to the door and began to softly lift the latch; then he
pressed gently and the door yielded a crack; he continued pushing
cautiously, and quaking every time it creaked, till he judged he might
squeeze through on his knees; so he put his head through and began,
warily.

"What makes the candle blow so?" said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up.
"Why, that door's open, I believe. Why, of course it is. No end of
strange things now. Go 'long and shut it, Sid."

Tom disappeared under the bed just in time. He lay and "breathed"
himself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch his
aunt's foot.

-155-

"But as I was saying," said Aunt Polly, "he warn't bad
, so to say -- only mischeevous. Only just giddy, and harum-scarum, you
know. He warn't any more responsible than a colt. He never meant any
harm, and he was the best-hearted boy that ever was" -- and she began
to cry.

"It was just so with my Joe -- always full of his devilment, and up
to every kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he
could be -- and laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for
taking that cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out myself
because it was sour, and I never to see him again in this world, never,
never, never, poor abused boy!" And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if her heart
would break.

"I hope Tom's better off where he is," said Sid, "but if he'd been
better in some ways -- "

"Sid
!" Tom felt the glare of the old lady's eye, though he could not see
it. "Not a word against my Tom, now that he's gone! God'll take care of
him -- never you trouble yourself, sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don't know
how to give him up! I don't know how to give him up! He was such a
comfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me, 'most."

"The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away -- Blessed be the name
of the Lord! But it's so
hard -- Oh, it's so hard! Only last Saturday my Joe busted a
firecracker right under my nose and I knocked him sprawling. Little did
I know then,

-156-

how soon -- Oh, if it was to do over again I'd hug him and bless him
for it."

"Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just
exactly how you feel. No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took
and filled the cat full of Pain-killer, and I did think the cretur
would tear the house down. And God forgive me, I cracked Tom's head
with my thimble, poor boy, poor dead boy. But he's out of all his
troubles now. And the last words I ever heard him say was to reproach
-- "

But this memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke
entirely down. Tom was snuffling, now, himself -- and more in pity of
himself than anybody else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a
kindly word for him from time to time. He began to have a nobler
opinion of himself than ever before. Still, he was sufficiently touched
by his aunt's grief to long to rush out from under the bed and
overwhelm her with joy -- and the theatrical gorgeousness of the thing
appealed strongly to his nature, too, but he resisted and lay still.

He went on listening, and gathered by odds and ends that it was
conjectured at first that the boys had got drowned while taking a swim;
then the small raft had been missed; next, certain boys said the
missing lads had promised that the village should "hear something"
soon; the wise-heads had "put this and that together" and decided that
the lads had gone off on that raft and would turn up at the

-157-

next town below, presently; but toward noon the raft had been found,
lodged against the Missouri shore some five or six miles below the
village -- and then hope perished; they must be drowned, else hunger
would have driven them home by nightfall if not sooner. It was believed
that the search for the bodies had been a fruitless effort merely
because the drowning must have occurred in mid-channel, since the boys,
being good swimmers, would otherwise have escaped to shore. This was
Wednesday night. If the bodies continued missing until Sunday, all hope
would be given over, and the funerals would be preached on that
morning. Tom shuddered.

Mrs. Harper gave a sobbing good-night and turned to go. Then with a
mutual impulse the two bereaved women flung themselves into each
other's arms and had a good, consoling cry, and then parted. Aunt Polly
was tender far beyond her wont, in her good-night to Sid and Mary. Sid
snuffled a bit and Mary went off crying with all her heart.

Aunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so
appealingly, and with such measureless love in her words and her old
trembling voice, that he was weltering in tears again, long before she
was through.

He had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making
broken-hearted ejaculations from time to time, tossing unrestfully, and
turning over. But at last she was still, only moaning a

-158-

little in her sleep. Now the boy stole out, rose gradually by the
bedside, shaded the candle-light with his hand, and stood regarding
her. His heart was full of pity for her. He took out his sycamore
scroll and placed it by the candle. But something occurred to him, and
he lingered considering. His face lighted with a happy solution of his
thought; he put the bark hastily in his pocket. Then he bent over and
kissed the faded lips, and straightway made his stealthy exit, latching
the door behind him.

He threaded his way back to the ferry landing, found nobody at large
there, and walked boldly on board the boat, for he knew she was
tenantless except that there was a watchman, who always turned in and
slept like a graven image. He untied the skiff at the stern, slipped
into it, and was soon rowing cautiously upstream. When he had pulled a
mile above the village, he started quartering across and bent himself
stoutly to his work. He hit the landing on the other side neatly, for
this was a familiar bit of work to him. He was moved to capture the
skiff, arguing that it might be considered a ship and therefore
legitimate prey for a pirate, but he knew a thorough search would be
made for it and that might end in revelations. So he stepped ashore and
entered the woods.

He sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meanwhile to
keep awake, and then started warily down the home-stretch. The night
was far spent. It was broad daylight before he found himself fairly

-159-

abreast the island bar. He rested again until the sun was well up and
gilding the great river with its splendor, and then he plunged into the
stream. A little later he paused, dripping, upon the threshold of the
camp, and heard Joe say:

"No, Tom's true-blue, Huck, and he'll come back. He won't desert. He
knows that would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for
that sort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?"

"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?"

"Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he
ain't back here to breakfast."

"Which he is!" exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic effect, stepping
grandly into camp.

A sumptuous breakfast of bacon and fish was shortly provided, and as
the boys set to work upon it, Tom recounted (and adorned) his
adventures. They were a vain and boastful company of heroes when the
tale was done. Then Tom hid himself away in a shady nook to sleep till
noon, and the other pirates got ready to fish and explore.

-160-

Chapter XVI

AFTER dinner all the gang turned out to hunt for turtle eggs on the
bar. They went about poking sticks into the sand, and when they found a
soft place they went down on their knees and dug with their hands.
Sometimes they would take fifty or sixty eggs out of one hole. They
were perfectly round white things a trifle smaller than an English
walnut. They had a famous fried-egg feast that night, and another on
Friday morning.

After breakfast they went whooping and prancing out on the bar, and
chased each other round and round, shedding clothes as they went, until
they were naked, and then continued the frolic far away up the shoal
water of the bar, against the stiff current, which latter tripped their
legs from under them from time to time and greatly increased the fun.
And now and then they stooped in a group and splashed water in each
other's faces with their palms, gradually approaching each other, with
averted faces to avoid the strangling sprays, and finally gripping and
struggling till the best man ducked his neighbor, and then they all
went under

-161-

in a tangle of white legs and arms and came up blowing, sputtering,
laughing, and gasping for breath at one and the same time.

When they were well exhausted, they would run out and sprawl on the
dry, hot sand, and lie there and cover themselves up with it, and by
and by break for the water again and go through the original
performance once more. Finally it occurred to them that their naked
skin represented flesh-colored "tights" very fairly; so they drew a
ring in the sand and had a circus -- with three clowns in it, for none
would yield this proudest post to his neighbor.

Next they got their marbles and played "knucks" and "ring-taw" and
"keeps" till that amusement grew stale. Then Joe and Huck had another
swim, but Tom would not venture, because he found that in kicking off
his trousers he had kicked his string of rattlesnake rattles off his
ankle, and he wondered how he had escaped cramp so long without the
protection of this mysterious charm. He did not venture again until he
had found it, and by that time the other boys were tired and ready to
rest. They gradually wandered apart, dropped into the "dumps," and fell
to gazing longingly across the wide river to where the village lay
drowsing in the sun. Tom found himself writing "BECKY" in the sand with
his big toe; he scratched it out, and was angry with himself for his
weakness. But he wrote it again, nevertheless; he could not help it. He
erased it once more and then took himself out of

-162-

temptation by driving the other boys together and joining them.

But Joe's spirits had gone down almost beyond resurrection. He was
so homesick that he could hardly endure the misery of it. The tears lay
very near the surface. Huck was melancholy, too. Tom was down-hearted,
but tried hard not to show it. He had a secret which he was not ready
to tell, yet, but if this mutinous depression was not broken up soon,
he would have to bring it out. He said, with a great show of
cheerfulness:

"I bet there's been pirates on this island before, boys. We'll
explore it again. They've hid treasures here somewhere. How'd you feel
to light on a rotten chest full of gold and silver -- hey?"

But it roused only faint enthusiasm, which faded out, with no reply.
Tom tried one or two other seductions; but they failed, too. It was
discouraging work. Joe sat poking up the sand with a stick and looking
very gloomy. Finally he said:

"Oh, boys, let's give it up. I want to go home. It's so lonesome."

"Oh no, Joe, you'll feel better by and by," said Tom. "Just think of
the fishing that's here."

"I don't care for fishing. I want to go home."

"But, Joe, there ain't such another swimming-place anywhere."

"Swimming's no good. I don't seem to care for it, somehow, when
there ain't anybody to say I sha'n't go in. I mean to go home."

-163-

"Oh, shucks! Baby! You want to see your mother, I reckon."

"Yes, I do
want to see my mother -- and you would, too, if you had one. I ain't
any more baby than you are." And Joe snuffled a little.

"Well, we'll let the cry-baby go home to his mother, won't
we, Huck? Poor thing -- does it want to see its mother? And so it
shall. You like it here, don't you, Huck? We'll stay, won't we?"

Huck said, "Y-e-s" -- without any heart in it.

"I'll never speak to you again as long as I live," said Joe, rising.
"There now!" And he moved moodily away and began to dress himself.

"Who cares!" said Tom. "Nobody wants you to. Go 'long home and get
laughed at. Oh, you're a nice pirate. Huck and me ain't cry-babies.
We'll stay, won't we, Huck? Let him go if he wants to. I reckon we can
get along without him, per'aps."

But Tom was uneasy, nevertheless, and was alarmed to see Joe go
sullenly on with his dressing. And then it was discomforting to see
Huck eying Joe's preparations so wistfully, and keeping up such an
ominous silence. Presently, without a parting word, Joe began to wade
off toward the Illinois shore. Tom's heart began to sink. He glanced at
Huck. Huck could not bear the look, and dropped his eyes. Then he said:

"I want to go, too, Tom. It was getting so lonesome anyway, and now
it'll be worse. Let's us go, too, Tom."

-164-

"I won't! You can all go, if you want to. I mean to stay."

"Tom, I better go."

"Well, go 'long -- who's hendering you."

Huck began to pick up his scattered clothes. He said:

"Tom, I wisht you'd come, too. Now you think it over. We'll wait for
you when we get to shore."

"Well, you'll wait a blame long time, that's all."

Huck started sorrowfully away, and Tom stood looking after him, with
a strong desire tugging at his heart to yield his pride and go along
too. He hoped the boys would stop, but they still waded slowly on. It
suddenly dawned on Tom that it was become very lonely and still. He
made one final struggle with his pride, and then darted after his
comrades, yelling:

"Wait! Wait! I want to tell you something!"

They presently stopped and turned around. When he got to where they
were, he began unfolding his secret, and they listened moodily till at
last they saw the "point" he was driving at, and then they set up a
war-whoop of applause and said it was "splendid!" and said if he had
told them at first, they wouldn't have started away. He made a
plausible excuse; but his real reason had been the fear that not even
the secret would keep them with him any very great length of time, and
so he had meant to hold it in reserve as a last seduction.

The lads came gayly back and went at their sports

-165-

again with a will, chattering all the time about Tom's stupendous plan
and admiring the genius of it. After a dainty egg and fish dinner, Tom
said he wanted to learn to smoke, now. Joe caught at the idea and said
he would like to try, too. So Huck made pipes and filled them. These
novices had never smoked anything before but cigars made of grape-vine,
and they "bit" the tongue, and were not considered manly anyway.

Now they stretched themselves out on their elbows and began to puff,
charily, and with slender confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant
taste, and they gagged a little, but Tom said:

"Why, it's just as easy! If I'd a knowed this
was all, I'd a learnt long ago."

"So would I," said Joe. "It's just nothing."

"Why, many a time I've looked at people smoking, and thought well I
wish I could do that; but I never thought I could," said Tom.

"That's just the way with me, hain't it, Huck? You've heard me talk
just that way -- haven't you, Huck? I'll leave it to Huck if I
haven't."

"Yes -- heaps of times," said Huck.

"Well, I have too," said Tom; "oh, hundreds of times. Once down by
the slaughter-house. Don't you remember, Huck? Bob Tanner was there,
and Johnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher, when I said it. Don't you
remember, Huck, 'bout me saying that?"

"Yes, that's so," said Huck. "That was the

-166-

day after I lost a white alley. No, 'twas the day before."

"There -- I told you so," said Tom. "Huck recollects it."

"I bleeve I could smoke this pipe all day," said Joe. "I don't feel
sick."

"Neither do I," said Tom. " I
could smoke it all day. But I bet you Jeff Thatcher couldn't."

"Jeff Thatcher! Why, he'd keel over just with two draws. Just let
him try it once. He'd
see!"

"I bet he would. And Johnny Miller -- I wish could see Johnny Miller
tackle it once."

"Oh, don't I!"
said Joe. "Why, I bet you Johnny Miller couldn't any more do this than
nothing. Just one little snifter would fetch him ."

"'Deed it would, Joe. Say -- I wish the boys could see us now."

"So do I."

"Say -- boys, don't say anything about it, and some time when
they're around, I'll come up to you and say, 'Joe, got a pipe? I want a
smoke.' And you'll say, kind of careless like, as if it warn't
anything, you'll say, 'Yes, I got my old
pipe, and another one, but my tobacker ain't very good.' And I'll say,
'Oh, that's all right, if it's strong enough.' And then you'll out with
the pipes, and we'll light up just as ca'm, and then just see 'em
look!"

"By jings, that'll be gay, Tom! I wish it was
now!"

-167-

"So do I! And when we tell 'em we learned when we was off pirating,
won't they wish they'd been along?"

"Oh, I reckon not! I'll just bet
they will!"

So the talk ran on. But presently it began to flag a trifle, and
grow disjointed. The silences widened; the expectoration marvellously
increased. Every pore inside the boys' cheeks became a spouting
fountain; they could scarcely bail out the cellars under their tongues
fast enough to prevent an inundation; little overflowings down their
throats occurred in spite of all they could do, and sudden retchings
followed every time. Both boys were looking very pale and miserable,
now. Joe's pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Tom's followed.
Both fountains were going furiously and both pumps bailing with might
and main. Joe said feebly:

"I've lost my knife. I reckon I better go and find it."

Tom said, with quivering lips and halting utterance:

"I'll help you. You go over that way and I'll hunt around by the
spring. No, you needn't come, Huck -- we can find it."

So Huck sat down again, and waited an hour. Then he found it
lonesome, and went to find his comrades. They were wide apart in the
woods, both very pale, both fast asleep. But something informed him
that if they had had any trouble they had got rid of it.

They were not talkative at supper that night.

-168-

They had a humble look, and when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal
and was going to prepare theirs, they said no, they were not feeling
very well -- something they ate at dinner had disagreed with them.

About midnight Joe awoke, and called the boys. There was a brooding
oppressiveness in the air that seemed to bode something. The boys
huddled themselves together and sought the friendly companionship of
the fire, though the dull dead heat of the breathless atmosphere was
stifling. They sat still, intent and waiting. The solemn hush
continued. Beyond the light of the fire everything was swallowed up in
the blackness of darkness. Presently there came a quivering glow that
vaguely revealed the foliage for a moment and then vanished. By and by
another came, a little stronger. Then another. Then a faint moan came
sighing through the branches of the forest and the boys felt a fleeting
breath upon their cheeks, and shuddered with the fancy that the Spirit
of the Night had gone by. There was a pause. Now a weird flash turned
night into day and showed every little grass-blade, separate and
distinct, that grew about their feet. And it showed three white,
startled faces, too. A deep peal of thunder went rolling and tumbling
down the heavens and lost itself in sullen rumblings in the distance. A
sweep of chilly air passed by, rustling all the leaves and snowing the
flaky ashes broadcast about the fire. Another fierce glare lit up the
forest and an instant crash followed that seemed to rend

-169-

the tree-tops right over the boys' heads. They clung together in
terror, in the thick gloom that followed. A few big rain-drops fell
pattering upon the leaves.

"Quick! boys, go for the tent!" exclaimed Tom.

They sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the dark,
no two plunging in the same direction. A furious blast roared through
the trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding flash after
another came, and peal on peal of deafening thunder. And now a
drenching rain poured down and the rising hurricane drove it in sheets
along the ground. The boys cried out to each other, but the roaring
wind and the booming thunder-blasts drowned their voices utterly.
However, one by one they straggled in at last and took shelter under
the tent, cold, scared, and streaming with water; but to have company
in misery seemed something to be grateful for. They could not talk, the
old sail flapped so furiously, even if the other noises would have
allowed them. The tempest rose higher and higher, and presently the
sail tore loose from its fastenings and went winging away on the blast.
The boys seized each others' hands and fled, with many tumblings and
bruises, to the shelter of a great oak that stood upon the river-bank.
Now the battle was at its highest. Under the ceaseless conflagration of
lightning that flamed in the skies, everything below stood out in
clean-cut and shadowless distinctness: the bending trees, the billowy

-170-

river, white with foam, the driving spray of spume-flakes, the dim
outlines of the high bluffs on the other side, glimpsed through the
drifting cloud-rack and the slanting veil of rain. Every little while
some giant tree yielded the fight and fell crashing through the younger
growth; and the unflagging thunder-peals came now in ear-splitting
explosive bursts, keen and sharp, and unspeakably appalling. The storm
culminated in one matchless effort that seemed likely to tear the
island to pieces, burn it up, drown it to the tree-tops, blow it away,
and deafen every creature in it, all at one and the same moment. It was
a wild night for homeless young heads to be out in.

But at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with weaker
and weaker threatenings and grumblings, and peace resumed her sway. The
boys went back to camp, a good deal awed; but they found there was
still something to be thankful for, because the great sycamore, the
shelter of their beds, was a ruin, now, blasted by the lightnings, and
they were not under it when the catastrophe happened.

Everything in camp was drenched, the camp-fire as well; for they
were but heedless lads, like their generation, and had made no
provision against rain. Here was matter for dismay, for they were
soaked through and chilled. They were eloquent in their distress; but
they presently discovered that the fire had eaten so far up under the
great log it had been

-171-

built against (where it curved upward and separated itself from the
ground), that a handbreadth or so of it had escaped wetting; so they
patiently wrought until, with shreds and bark gathered from the under
sides of sheltered logs, they coaxed the fire to burn again. Then they
piled on great dead boughs till they had a roaring furnace, and were
glad-hearted once more. They dried their boiled ham and had a feast,
and after that they sat by the fire and expanded and glorified their
midnight adventure until morning, for there was not a dry spot to sleep
on, anywhere around.

As the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over
them, and they went out on the sandbar and lay down to sleep. They got
scorched out by and by, and drearily set about getting breakfast. After
the meal they felt rusty, and stiff-jointed, and a little home-sick
once more. Tom saw the signs, and fell to cheering up the pirates as
well as he could. But they cared nothing for marbles, or circus, or
swimming, or anything. He reminded them of the imposing secret, and
raised a ray of cheer. While it lasted, he got them interested in a new
device. This was to knock off being pirates, for a while, and be
Indians for a change. They were attracted by this idea; so it was not
long before they were stripped, and striped from head to heel with
black mud, like so many zebras -- all of them chiefs, of course -- and
then they went tearing through the woods to attack an English
settlement.

-172-

By and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and darted upon
each other from ambush with dreadful war-whoops, and killed and scalped
each other by thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently it was an
extremely satisfactory one.

They assembled in camp toward supper-time, hungry and happy; but now
a difficulty arose -- hostile Indians could not break the bread of
hospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple
impossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other
process that ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost wished
they had remained pirates. However, there was no other way; so with
such show of cheerfulness as they could muster they called for the pipe
and took their whiff as it passed, in due form.

And behold, they were glad they had gone into savagery, for they had
gained something; they found that they could now smoke a little without
having to go and hunt for a lost knife; they did not get sick enough to
be seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to fool away this high
promise for lack of effort. No, they practised cautiously, after
supper, with right fair success, and so they spent a jubilant evening.
They were prouder and happier in their new acquirement than they would
have been in the scalping and skinning of the Six Nations. We will
leave them to smoke and chatter and brag, since we have no further use
for them at present.

-173-

Chapter XVII

BUT there was no hilarity in the little town that same tranquil
Saturday afternoon. The Harpers, and Aunt Polly's family, were being
put into mourning, with great grief and many tears. An unusual quiet
possessed the village, although it was ordinarily quiet enough, in all
conscience. The villagers conducted their concerns with an absent air,
and talked little; but they sighed often. The Saturday holiday seemed a
burden to the children. They had no heart in their sports, and
gradually gave them up.

In the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the
deserted schoolhouse yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found
nothing there to comfort her. She soliloquized:

"Oh, if I only had a brass andiron-knob again! But I haven't got
anything now to remember him by." And she choked back a little sob.

Presently she stopped, and said to herself:

"It was right here. Oh, if it was to do over again, I wouldn't say
that -- I wouldn't say it for the whole world. But he's gone now; I'll
never, never, never see him any more."

-174-

This thought broke her down, and she wandered away, with tears
rolling down her cheeks. Then quite a group of boys and girls --
playmates of Tom's and Joe's -- came by, and stood looking over the
paling fence and talking in reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so the
last time they saw him, and how Joe said this and that small trifle
(pregnant with awful prophecy, as they could easily see now!) -- and
each speaker pointed out the exact spot where the lost lads stood at
the time, and then added something like "and I was a-standing just so
-- just as I am now, and as if you was him -- I was as close as that --
and he smiled, just this way -- and then something seemed to go all
over me, like -- awful, you know -- and I never thought what it meant,
of course, but I can see now!"

Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life,
and many claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more
or less tampered with by the witness; and when it was ultimately
decided who DID see the departed last, and exchanged the last words
with them, the lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of sacred
importance, and were gaped at and envied by all the rest. One poor
chap, who had no other grandeur to offer, said with tolerably manifest
pride in the remembrance:

"Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me once."

But that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say
that, and so that cheapened the

-175-

distinction too much. The group loitered away, still recalling memories
of the lost heroes, in awed voices.

When the Sunday-school hour was finished, the next morning, the bell
began to toll, instead of ringing in the usual way. It was a very still
Sabbath, and the mournful sound seemed in keeping with the musing hush
that lay upon nature. The villagers began to gather, loitering a moment
in the vestibule to converse in whispers about the sad event. But there
was no whispering in the house; only the funereal rustling of dresses
as the women gathered to their seats disturbed the silence there. None
could remember when the little church had been so full before. There
was finally a waiting pause, an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly
entered, followed by Sid and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all
in deep black, and the whole congregation, the old minister as well,
rose reverently and stood until the mourners were seated in the front
pew. There was another communing silence, broken at intervals by
muffled sobs, and then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed.
A moving hymn was sung, and the text followed: "I am the Resurrection
and the Life."

As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the
graces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that
every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang in
remembering that he had persistently blinded

-176-

himself to them always before, and had as persistently seen only faults
and flaws in the poor boys. The minister related many a touching
incident in the lives of the departed, too, which illustrated their
sweet, generous natures, and the people could easily see, now, how
noble and beautiful those episodes were, and remembered with grief that
at the time they occurred they had seemed rank rascalities, well
deserving of the cowhide. The congregation became more and more moved,
as the pathetic tale went on, till at last the whole company broke down
and joined the weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the
preacher himself giving way to his feelings, and crying in the pulpit.

There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment
later the church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming eyes
above his handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First one and then
another pair of eyes followed the minister's, and then almost with one
impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came
marching up the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of
drooping rags, sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in
the unused gallery listening to their own funeral sermon!

Aunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw themselves upon their
restored ones, smothered them with kisses and poured out thanksgivings,
while poor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not knowing exactly
what to do or where to hide from so many

-177-

unwelcoming eyes. He wavered, and started to slink away, but Tom seized
him and said:

"Aunt Polly, it ain't fair. Somebody's got to be glad to see Huck."

"And so they shall. I'm glad to see him, poor motherless thing!" And
the loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one thing
capable of making him more uncomfortable than he was before.

Suddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice: "Praise God
from whom all blessings flow -- SING! -- and put your hearts in it!"

And they did. Old Hundred swelled up with a triumphant burst, and
while it shook the rafters Tom Sawyer the Pirate looked around upon the
envying juveniles about him and confessed in his heart that this was
the proudest moment of his life.

As the "sold" congregation trooped out they said they would almost
be willing to be made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like
that once more.

Tom got more cuffs and kisses that day -- according to Aunt Polly's
varying moods -- than he had earned before in a year; and he hardly
knew which expressed the most gratefulness to God and affection for
himself.

-178-

Chapter XVIII

THAT was Tom's great secret -- the scheme to return home with his
brother pirates and attend their own funerals. They had paddled over to
the Missouri shore on a log, at dusk on Saturday, landing five or six
miles below the village; they had slept in the woods at the edge of the
town till nearly daylight, and had then crept through back lanes and
alleys and finished their sleep in the gallery of the church among a
chaos of invalided benches.

At breakfast, Monday morning, Aunt Polly and Mary were very loving
to Tom, and very attentive to his wants. There was an unusual amount of
talk. In the course of it Aunt Polly said:

"Well, I don't say it wasn't a fine joke, Tom, to keep everybody
suffering 'most a week so you boys had a good time, but it is a pity
you could be so hard-hearted as to let me
suffer so. If you could come over on a log to go to your funeral, you
could have come over and give me a hint some way that you warn't dead,
but only run off."

"Yes, you could have done that, Tom," said Mary; "and I believe you
would if you had thought of it."

-179-

"Would you, Tom?" said Aunt Polly, her face lightingwistfully. "Say,
now, would you, if you'd thought of it?"

"I -- well, I don't know. 'Twould 'a' spoiled everything."

"Tom, I hoped you loved me that much," said Aunt Polly, with a
grieved tone that discomforted the boy. "It would have been something
if you'd cared enough to think
of it, even if you didn't do it."

"Now, auntie, that ain't any harm," pleaded Mary; "it's only Tom's
giddy way -- he is always in such a rush that he never thinks of
anything."

"More's the pity. Sid would have thought. And Sid would have come
and done
it, too. Tom, you'll look back, some day, when it's too late, and wish
you'd cared a little more for me when it would have cost you so
little."

"Now, auntie, you know I do care for you," said Tom.

"I'd know it better if you acted more like it."

"I wish now I'd thought," said Tom, with a repentant tone; "but I
dreamt about you, anyway. That's something, ain't it?"

"It ain't much -- a cat does that much -- but it's better than
nothing. What did you dream?"

"Why, Wednesday night I dreamt that you was sitting over there by
the bed, and Sid was sitting by the woodbox, and Mary next to him."

"Well, so we did. So we always do. I'm glad

-180-

your dreams could take even that much trouble about us."

"And I dreamt that Joe Harper's mother was here."

"Why, she was
here! Did you dream any more?"

"Oh, lots. But it's so dim, now."

"Well, try
to recollect -- can't you?"

"Somehow it seems to me that the wind -- the wind blowed the -- the
-- "

"Try harder, Tom! The wind did blow something. Come!"

Tom pressed his fingers on his forehead an anxious minute, and then
said:

"I've got it now! I've got it now! It blowed the candle!"

"Mercy on us! Go on, Tom -- go on!"

"And it seems to me that you said, 'Why, I believe that that door --
'"

"Go on
, Tom!"

"Just let me study a moment -- just a moment. Oh, yes -- you said
you believed the door was open."

"As I'm sitting here, I did! Didn't I, Mary! Go on!"

"And then -- and then -- well I won't be certain, but it seems like
as if you made Sid go and -- and -- "

"Well? Well? What did I make him do, Tom? What did I make him do?"

-181-

"You made him -- you -- Oh, you made him shut it."

"Well, for the land's sake! I never heard the beat of that in all my
days! Don't tell me
there ain't anything in dreams, any more. Sereny Harper shall know of
this before I'm an hour older. I'd like to see her get around this with
her rubbage 'bout superstition. Go on, Tom!"

"Oh, it's all getting just as bright as day, now. Next you said I
warn't bad
, only mischeevous and harum-scarum, and not any more responsible than
-- than -- I think it was a colt, or something."

"And so it was! Well, goodness gracious! Go on, Tom!"

"And then you began to cry."

"So I did. So I did. Not the first time, neither. And then -- "

"Then Mrs. Harper she began to cry, and said Joe was just the same,
and she wished she hadn't whipped him for taking cream when she'd
throwed it out her own self -- "

"Tom! The sperrit was upon you! You was a prophesying -- that's what
you was doing! Land alive, go on, Tom!"

"Then Sid he said -- he said -- "

"I don't think I said anything," said Sid.

"Yes you did, Sid," said Mary.

"Shut your heads and let Tom go on! What did he say, Tom?"

"He said -- I think
he said he hoped I was better off where I was gone to, but if I'd been
better sometimes -- "

"There
, d'you hear that! It was his very words!"

"And you shut him up sharp."

"I lay I did! There must 'a' been an angel there. There was
an angel there, somewheres!"

"And Mrs. Harper told about Joe scaring her with a firecracker, and
you told about Peter and the Painkiller -- "

"Just as true as I live!"

"And then there was a whole lot of talk 'bout dragging the river for
us, and 'bout having the funeral Sunday, and then you and old Miss
Harper hugged and cried, and she went."

"It happened just so! It happened just so, as sure as I'm a-sitting
in these very tracks. Tom, you couldn't told it more like if you'd 'a'
seen it! And then
what? Go on, Tom!"

"Then I thought you prayed for me -- and I could see you and hear
every word you said. And you went to bed, and I was so sorry that I
took and wrote on a piece of sycamore bark, 'We ain't dead -- we are
only off being pirates,'
and put it on the table by the candle; and then you looked so good,
laying there asleep, that I thought I went and leaned over and kissed
you on the lips."

"Did you, Tom, did
you! I just forgive you everything for that!" And she seized the boy in
a crushing embrace that made him feel like the guiltiest of villains.

-183-

"It was very kind, even though it was only a -- dream," Sid
soliloquized just audibly.

"Shut up, Sid! A body does just the same in a dream as he'd do if he
was awake. Here's a big Milum apple I've been saving for you, Tom, if
you was ever found again -- now go 'long to school. I'm thankful to the
good God and Father of us all I've got you back, that's long-suffering
and merciful to them that believe on Him and keep His word, though
goodness knows I'm unworthy of it, but if only the worthy ones got His
blessings and had His hand to help them over the rough places, there's
few enough would smile here or ever enter into His rest when the long
night comes. Go 'long Sid, Mary, Tom -- take yourselves off -- you've
hendered me long enough."

The children left for school, and the old lady to call on Mrs.
Harper and vanquish her realism with Tom's marvellous dream. Sid had
better judgment than to utter the thought that was in his mind as he
left the house. It was this: "Pretty thin -- as long a dream as that,
without any mistakes in it!"

What a hero Tom was become, now! He did not go skipping and
prancing, but moved with a dignified swagger as became a pirate who
felt that the public eye was on him. And indeed it was; he tried not to
seem to see the looks or hear the remarks as he passed along, but they
were food and drink to him. Smaller boys than himself flocked at his
heels, as proud to be seen with him, and tolerated by him, as

-184-

if he had been the drummer at the head of a procession or the elephant
leading a menagerie into town. Boys of his own size pretended not to
know he had been away at all; but they were consuming with envy,
nevertheless. They would have given anything to have that swarthy
suntanned skin of his, and his glittering notoriety; and Tom would not
have parted with either for a circus.

At school the children made so much of him and of Joe, and delivered
such eloquent admiration from their eyes, that the two heroes were not
long in becoming insufferably "stuck-up." They began to tell their
adventures to hungry listeners -- but they only began; it was not a
thing likely to have an end, with imaginations like theirs to furnish
material. And finally, when they got out their pipes and went serenely
puffing around, the very summit of glory was reached.

Tom decided that he could be independent of Becky Thatcher now.
Glory was sufficient. He would live for glory. Now that he was
distinguished, maybe she would be wanting to "make up." Well, let her
-- she should see that he could be as indifferent as some other people.
Presently she arrived. Tom pretended not to see her. He moved away and
joined a group of boys and girls and began to talk. Soon he observed
that she was tripping gayly back and forth with flushed face and
dancing eyes, pretending to be busy chasing schoolmates, and screaming
with laughter when she made a capture;

-185-

but he noticed that she always made her captures in his vicinity, and
that she seemed to cast a conscious eye in his direction at such times,
too. It gratified all the vicious vanity that was in him; and so,
instead of winning him, it only "set him up" the more and made him the
more diligent to avoid betraying that he knew she was about. Presently
she gave over skylarking, and moved irresolutely about, sighing once or
twice and glancing furtively and wistfully toward Tom. Then she
observed that now Tom was talking more particularly to Amy Lawrence
than to any one else. She felt a sharp pang and grew disturbed and
uneasy at once. She tried to go away, but her feet were treacherous,
and carried her to the group instead. She said to a girl almost at
Tom's elbow -- with sham vivacity:

"Why, Mary Austin! you bad girl, why didn't you come to
Sunday-school?"

"I did come -- didn't you see me?"

"Why, no! Did you? Where did you sit?"

"I was in Miss Peters' class, where I always go. I saw you
."

"Did you? Why, it's funny I didn't see you. I wanted to tell you
about the picnic."

"Oh, that's jolly. Who's going to give it?"

"My ma's going to let me have one."

"Oh, goody; I hope she'll let me
come."

"Well, she will. The picnic's for me. She'll let anybody come that I
want, and I want you."

"That's ever so nice. When is it going to be?"

-186-

"By and by. Maybe about vacation."

"Oh, won't it be fun! You going to have all the girls and boys?"

"Yes, every one that's friends to me -- or wants to be"; and she
glanced ever so furtively at Tom, but he talked right along to Amy
Lawrence about the terrible storm on the island, and how the lightning
tore the great sycamore tree "all to flinders" while he was "standing
within three feet of it."

"Oh, may I come?" said Grace Miller.

"Yes."

"And me?" said Sally Rogers.

"Yes."

"And me, too?" said Susy Harper. "And Joe?"

"Yes."

And so on, with clapping of joyful hands till all the group had
begged for invitations but Tom and Amy. Then Tom turned coolly away,
still talking, and took Amy with him. Becky's lips trembled and the
tears came to her eyes; she hid these signs with a forced gayety and
went on chattering, but the life had gone out of the picnic, now, and
out of everything else; she got away as soon as she could and hid
herself and had what her sex call "a good cry." Then she sat moody,
with wounded pride, till the bell rang. She roused up, now, with a
vindictive cast in her eye, and gave her plaited tails a shake and said
she knew what she'd
do.

At recess Tom continued his flirtation with Amy with jubilant
self-satisfaction. And he kept drifting

-187-

about to find Becky and lacerate her with the performance. At last
hespied her, but there was a sudden falling of his mercury. She was
sitting cosily on a little bench behind the schoolhouse looking at a
picture-book with Alfred Temple -- and so absorbed were they, and their
heads so close together over the book, that they did not seem to be
conscious of anything in the world besides. Jealousy ran red-hot
through Tom's veins. He began to hate himself for throwing away the
chance Becky had offered for a reconciliation. He called himself a
fool, and all the hard names he could think of. He wanted to cry with
vexation. Amy chatted happily along, as they walked, for her heart was
singing, but Tom's tongue had lost its function. He did not hear what
Amy was saying, and whenever she paused expectantly he could only
stammer an awkward assent, which was as often misplaced as otherwise.
He kept drifting to the rear of the school-house, again and again, to
sear his eyeballs with the hateful spectacle there. He could not help
it. And it maddened him to see, as he thought he saw, that Becky
Thatcher never once suspected that he was even in the land of the
living. But she did see, nevertheless; and she knew she was winning her
fight, too, and was glad to see him suffer as she had suffered.

Amy's happy prattle became intolerable. Tom hinted at things he had
to attend to; things that must be done; and time was fleeting. But in
vain

-188-

-- the girl chirped on. Tom thought, "Oh, hang her, ain't I ever going
to get rid of her?" At last he must be attending to those things -- and
she said artlessly that she would be "around" when school let out. And
he hastened away, hating her for it.

"Any other boy!" Tom thought, grating his teeth. "Any boy in the
whole town but that Saint Louis smarty that thinks he dresses so fine
and is aristocracy! Oh, all right, I licked you the first day you ever
saw this town, mister, and I'll lick you again! You just wait till I
catch you out! I'll just take and -- "

And he went through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy --
pummelling the air, and kicking and gouging. "Oh, you do, do you? You
holler 'nough, do you? Now, then, let that learn you!" And so the
imaginary flogging was finished to his satisfaction.

Tom fled home at noon. His conscience could not endure any more of
Amy's grateful happiness, and his jealousy could bear no more of the
other distress. Becky resumed her picture inspections with Alfred, but
as the minutes dragged along and no Tom came to suffer, her triumph
began to cloud and she lost interest; gravity and absent-mindedness
followed, and then melancholy; two or three times she pricked up her
ear at a footstep, but it was a false hope; no Tom came. At last she
grew entirely miserable and wished she hadn't carried it so far. When
poor Alfred, seeing that he was losing her,

-189-

he did not know how, kept exclaiming: "Oh,here's a jolly one! look at
this!" she lost patience at last, and said, "Oh, don't bother me! I
don't care for them!" and burst into tears, and got up and walked away.

Alfred dropped alongside and was going to try to comfort her, but
she said:

"Go away and leave me alone, can't you! I hate you!"

So the boy halted, wondering what he could have done -- for she had
said she would look at pictures all through the nooning -- and she
walked on, crying. Then Alfred went musing into the deserted
school-house. He was humiliated and angry. He easily guessed his way to
the truth -- the girl had simply made a convenience of him to vent her
spite upon Tom Sawyer. He was far from hating Tom the less when this
thought occurred to him. He wished there was some way to get that boy
into trouble without much risk to himself. Tom's spelling-book fell
under his eye. Here was his opportunity. He gratefully opened to the
lesson for the afternoon and poured ink upon the page.

Becky, glancing in at a window behind him at the moment, saw the
act, and moved on, without discovering herself. She started homeward,
now, intending to find Tom and tell him; Tom would be thankful and
their troubles would be healed. Before she was half way home, however,
she had changed her mind. The thought of Tom's treatment of her

-190-

when she was talking about her picnic came scorching back and filled
her with shame. She resolved to let him get whipped on the damaged
spelling-book's account, and to hate him forever, into the bargain.

-191-

Chapter XIX

TOM arrived at home in a dreary mood, and the first thing his aunt
said to him showed him that he had brought his sorrows to an
unpromising market:

"Tom, I've a notion to skin you alive!"

"Auntie, what have I done?"

"Well, you've done enough. Here I go over to Sereny Harper, like an
old softy, expecting I'm going to make her believe all that rubbage
about that dream, when lo and behold you she'd found out from Joe that
you was over here and heard all the talk we had that night. Tom, I
don't know what is to become of a boy that will act like that. It makes
me feel so bad to think you could let me go to Sereny Harper and make
such a fool of myself and never say a word."

This was a new aspect of the thing. His smartness of the morning had
seemed to Tom a good joke before, and very ingenious. It merely looked
mean and shabby now. He hung his head and could not think of anything
to say for a moment. Then he said:

-192-

"Auntie, I wish I hadn't done it -- but I didn't think."

"Oh, child, you never think. You never think of anything but your
own selfishness. You could think to come all the way over here from
Jackson's Island in the night to laugh at our troubles, and you could
think to fool me with a lie about a dream; but you couldn't ever think
to pity us and save us from sorrow."

"Auntie, I know now it was mean, but I didn't mean to be mean. I
didn't, honest. And besides, I didn't come over here to laugh at you
that night."

"What did you come for, then?"

"It was to tell you not to be uneasy about us, because we hadn't got
drownded."

"Tom, Tom, I would be the thankfullest soul in this world if I could
believe you ever had as good a thought as that, but you know you never
did -- and I
know it, Tom."

"Indeed and 'deed I did, auntie -- I wish I may never stir if I
didn't."

"Oh, Tom, don't lie -- don't do it. It only makes things a hundred
times worse."

"It ain't a lie, auntie; it's the truth. I wanted to keep you from
grieving -- that was all that made me come."

"I'd give the whole world to believe that -- it would cover up a
power of sins, Tom. I'd 'most be glad you'd run off and acted so bad.
But it ain't reasonable; because, why didn't you tell me, child?"

-193-

"Why, you see, when you got to talking about the funeral, I just got
all full of the idea of our coming and hiding in the church, and I
couldn't somehow bear to spoil it. So I just put the bark back in my
pocket and kept mum."

"What bark?"

"The bark I had wrote on to tell you we'd gone pirating. I wish,
now, you'd waked up when I kissed you -- I do, honest."

The hard lines in his aunt's face relaxed and a sudden tenderness
dawned in her eyes.

" Did
you kiss me, Tom?"

"Why, yes, I did."

"Are you sure you did, Tom?"

"Why, yes, I did, auntie -- certain sure."

"What did you kiss me for, Tom?"

"Because I loved you so, and you laid there moaning and I was so
sorry."

The words sounded like truth. The old lady could not hide a tremor
in her voice when she said:

"Kiss me again, Tom! -- and be off with you to school, now, and
don't bother me any more."

The moment he was gone, she ran to a closet and got out the ruin of
a jacket which Tom had gone pirating in. Then she stopped, with it in
her hand, and said to herself:

"No, I don't dare. Poor boy, I reckon he's lied about it -- but it's
a blessed, blessed lie, there's such a comfort come from it. I hope the
Lord -- I know
the Lord will forgive him, because it was such

-194-

goodheartedness in him to tell it. But I don't want to find out it's a
lie. I won't look."

She put the jacket away, and stood by musing a minute. Twice she put
out her hand to take the garment again, and twice she refrained. Once
more she ventured, and this time she fortified herself with the
thought: "It's a good lie -- it's a good lie -- I won't let it grieve
me." So she sought the jacket pocket. A moment later she was reading
Tom's piece of bark through flowing tears and saying: "I could forgive
the boy, now, if he'd committed a million sins!"

-195-

Chapter XX

THERE was something about Aunt Polly's manner, when she kissed Tom,
that swept away his low spirits and made him light-hearted and happy
again. He started to school and had the luck of coming upon Becky
Thatcher at the head of Meadow Lane. His mood always determined his
manner. Without a moment's hesitation he ran to her and said:

"I acted mighty mean to-day, Becky, and I'm so sorry. I won't ever,
ever do that way again, as long as ever I live -- please make up, won't
you?"

The girl stopped and looked him scornfully in the face:

"I'll thank you to keep yourself to
yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer. I'll never speak to you again."

She tossed her head and passed on. Tom was so stunned that he had
not even presence of mind enough to say "Who cares, Miss Smarty?" until
the right time to say it had gone by. So he said nothing. But he was in
a fine rage, nevertheless. He moped into the schoolyard wishing she
were a boy, and imagining how he would trounce her if she

-196-

were. He presently encountered her and delivered a stinging remark as
he passed. She hurled one in return, and the angry breach was complete.
It seemed to Becky, in her hot resentment, that she could hardly wait
for school to "take in," she was so impatient to see Tom flogged for
the injured spelling-book. If she had had any lingering notion of
exposing Alfred Temple, Tom's offensive fling had driven it entirely
away.

Poor girl, she did not know how fast she was nearing trouble
herself. The master, Mr. Dobbins, had reached middle age with an
unsatisfied ambition. The darling of his desires was, to be a doctor,
but poverty had decreed that he should be nothing higher than a village
schoolmaster. Every day he took a mysterious book out of his desk and
absorbed himself in it at times when no classes were reciting. He kept
that book under lock and key. There was not an urchin in school but was
perishing to have a glimpse of it, but the chance never came. Every boy
and girl had a theory about the nature of that book; but no two
theories were alike, and there was no way of getting at the facts in
the case. Now, as Becky was passing by the desk, which stood near the
door, she noticed that the key was in the lock! It was a precious
moment. She glanced around; found herself alone, and the next instant
she had the book in her hands. The title-page -- Professor Somebody's
ANATOMY -- carried no information to her mind; so she began to turn the
leaves. She

-197-

came at once upon a handsomely engraved and colored frontispiece -- a
human figure, stark naked. At that moment a shadow fell on the page and
Tom Sawyer stepped in at the door and caught a glimpse of the picture.
Becky snatched at the book to close it, and had the hard luck to tear
the pictured page half down the middle. She thrust the volume into the
desk, turned the key, and burst out crying with shame and vexation.

"Tom Sawyer, you are just as mean as you can be, to sneak up on a
person and look at what they're looking at."

"How could I
know you was looking at anything?"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom Sawyer; you know you're
going to tell on me, and oh, what shall I do, what shall I do! I'll be
whipped, and I never was whipped in school."

Then she stamped her little foot and said:

" Be
so mean if you want to! I know something that's going to happen. You
just wait and you'll see! Hateful, hateful, hateful!" -- and she flung
out of the house with a new explosion of crying.

Tom stood still, rather flustered by this onslaught. Presently he
said to himself:

"What a curious kind of a fool a girl is! Never been licked in
school! Shucks! What's a licking! That's just like a girl -- they're so
thin-skinned and chicken-hearted. Well, of course I ain't going to tell
old Dobbins on this little fool, because there's

-198-

other ways of getting even on her, that ain't so mean; but what of it?
Old Dobbins will ask who it was tore his book. Nobody'll answer. Then
he'll do just the way he always does -- ask first one and then t'other,
and when he comes to the right girl he'll know it, without any telling.
Girls' faces always tell on them. They ain't got any backbone. She'll
get licked. Well, it's a kind of a tight place for Becky Thatcher,
because there ain't any way out of it." Tom conned the thing a moment
longer, and then added: "All right, though; she'd like to see me in
just such a fix -- let her sweat it out!"

Tom joined the mob of skylarking scholars outside. In a few moments
the master arrived and school "took in." Tom did not feel a strong
interest in his studies. Every time he stole a glance at the girls'
side of the room Becky's face troubled him. Considering all things, he
did not want to pity her, and yet it was all he could do to help it. He
could get up no exultation that was really worthy the name. Presently
the spelling-book discovery was made, and Tom's mind was entirely full
of his own matters for a while after that. Becky roused up from her
lethargy of distress and showed good interest in the proceedings. She
did not expect that Tom could get out of his trouble by denying that he
spilt the ink on the book himself; and she was right. The denial only
seemed to make the thing worse for Tom. Becky supposed she would be
glad of that, and she tried to believe she was glad

-199-

of it, but she found she was not certain. When the worst came to the
worst, she had an impulse to get up and tell on Alfred Temple, but she
made an effort and forced herself to keep still -- because, said she to
herself, "he'll tell about me tearing the picture sure. I wouldn't say
a word, not to save his life!"

Tom took his whipping and went back to his seat not at all
broken-hearted, for he thought it was possible that he had unknowingly
upset the ink on the spelling-book himself, in some skylarking bout --
he had denied it for form's sake and because it was custom, and had
stuck to the denial from principle.

A whole hour drifted by, the master sat nodding in his throne, the
air was drowsy with the hum of study. By and by, Mr. Dobbins
straightened himself up, yawned, then unlocked his desk, and reached
for his book, but seemed undecided whether to take it out or leave it.
Most of the pupils glanced up languidly, but there were two among them
that watched his movements with intent eyes. Mr. Dobbins fingered his
book absently for a while, then took it out and settled himself in his
chair to read! Tom shot a glance at Becky. He had seen a hunted and
helpless rabbit look as she did, with a gun levelled at its head.
Instantly he forgot his quarrel with her. Quick -- something must be
done! done in a flash, too! But the very imminence of the emergency
paralyzed his invention. Good! -- he had an inspiration! He would run
and snatch the

-200-

book, spring through the door and fly. But his resolution shook for one
little instant, and the chance was lost -- the master opened the
volume. If Tom only had the wasted opportunity back again! Too late.
There was no help for Becky now, he said. The next moment the master
faced the school. Every eye sank under his gaze. There was that in it
which smote even the innocent with fear. There was silence while one
might count ten -- the master was gathering his wrath. Then he spoke:
"Who tore this book?"

There was not a sound. One could have heard a pin drop. The
stillness continued; the master searched face after face for signs of
guilt.

"Benjamin Rogers, did you tear this book?"

A denial. Another pause.

"Joseph Harper, did you?"

Another denial. Tom's uneasiness grew more and more intense under
the slow torture of these proceedings. The master scanned the ranks of
boys -- considered a while, then turned to the girls:

"Amy Lawrence?"

A shake of the head.

"Gracie Miller?"

The same sign.

"Susan Harper, did you do this?"

Another negative. The next girl was Becky Thatcher. Tom was
trembling from head to foot with excitement and a sense of the
hopelessness of the situation.

-201-

"Rebecca Thatcher" [Tom glanced at her face -- it was white with
terror] -- "did you tear -- no, look me in the face" [her hands rose in
appeal] -- "did you tear this book?"

A thought shot like lightning through Tom's brain. He sprang to his
feet and shouted -- " I
done it!"

The school stared in perplexity at this incredible folly. Tom stood
a moment, to gather his dismembered faculties; and when he stepped
forward to go to his punishment the surprise, the gratitude, the
adoration that shone upon him out of poor Becky's eyes seemed pay
enough for a hundred floggings. Inspired by the splendor of his own
act, he took without an outcry the most merciless flaying that even Mr.
Dobbins had ever administered; and also received with indifference the
added cruelty of a command to remain two hours after school should be
dismissed -- for he knew who would wait for him outside till his
captivity was done, and not count the tedious time as loss, either.

Tom went to bed that night planning vengeance against Alfred Temple;
for with shame and repentance Becky had told him all, not forgetting
her own treachery; but even the longing for vengeance had to give way,
soon, to pleasanter musings, and he fell asleep at last with Becky's
latest words lingering dreamily in his ear --

"Tom, how could
you be so noble!"

-202-

Chapter XXI

VACATION was approaching. The school-master, always severe, grew
severer and more exacting than ever, for he wanted the school to make a
good showing on "Examination" day. His rod and his ferule were seldom
idle now -- at least among the smaller pupils. Only the biggest boys,
and young ladies of eighteen and twenty, escaped lashing. Mr. Dobbins'
lashings were very vigorous ones, too; for although he carried, under
his wig, a perfectly bald and shiny head, he had only reached middle
age, and there was no sign of feebleness in his muscle. As the great
day approached, all the tyranny that was in him came to the surface; he
seemed to take a vindictive pleasure in punishing the least
shortcomings. The consequence was, that the smaller boys spent their
days in terror and suffering and their nights in plotting revenge. They
threw away no opportunity to do the master a mischief. But he kept
ahead all the time. The retribution that followed every vengeful
success was so sweeping and majestic that the boys always retired from
the field badly worsted. At last they conspired together

-203-

and hit upon a plan that promised a dazzling victory. They swore in the
sign-painter's boy, told him the scheme, and asked his help. He had his
own reasons for being delighted, for the master boarded in his father's
family and had given the boy ample cause to hate him. The master's wife
would go on a visit to the country in a few days, and there would be
nothing to interfere with the plan; the master always prepared himself
for great occasions by getting pretty well fuddled, and the
sign-painter's boy said that when the dominie had reached the proper
condition on Examination Evening he would "manage the thing" while he
napped in his chair; then he would have him awakened at the right time
and hurried away to school.

In the fulness of time the interesting occasion arrived. At eight in
the evening the schoolhouse was brilliantly lighted, and adorned with
wreaths and festoons of foliage and flowers. The master sat throned in
his great chair upon a raised platform, with his blackboard behind him.
He was looking tolerably mellow. Three rows of benches on each side and
six rows in front of him were occupied by the dignitaries of the town
and by the parents of the pupils. To his left, back of the rows of
citizens, was a spacious temporary platform upon which were seated the
scholars who were to take part in the exercises of the evening; rows of
small boys, washed and dressed to an intolerable state of discomfort;
rows of gawky big boys; snowbanks of

-204-

girls and young ladies clad in lawn and muslin and conspicuously
conscious of their bare arms, their grandmothers' ancient trinkets,
their bits of pink and blue ribbon and the flowers in their hair. All
the rest of the house was filled with non-participating scholars.

The exercises began. A very little boy stood up and sheepishly
recited, "You'd scarce expect one of my age to speak in public on the
stage," etc. -- accompanying himself with the painfully exact and
spasmodic gestures which a machine might have used -- supposing the
machine to be a trifle out of order. But he got through safely, though
cruelly scared, and got a fine round of applause when he made his
manufactured bow and retired.

A little shamefaced girl lisped, "Mary had a little lamb," etc.,
performed a compassion-inspiring curtsy, got her meed of applause, and
sat down flushed and happy.

Tom Sawyer stepped forward with conceited confidence and soared into
the unquenchable and indestructible "Give me liberty or give me death"
speech, with fine fury and frantic gesticulation, and broke down in the
middle of it. A ghastly stage-fright seized him, his legs quaked under
him and he was like to choke. True, he had the manifest sympathy of the
house but he had the house's silence, too, which was even worse than
its sympathy. The master frowned, and this completed the disaster. Tom
struggled awhile and then retired, utterly

-205-

defeated. There was a weak attempt at applause, but it died early.

"The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck" followed; also "The Assyrian
Came Down," and other declamatory gems. Then there were reading
exercises, and a spelling fight. The meagre Latin class recited with
honor. The prime feature of the evening was in order, now -- original
"compositions" by the young ladies. Each in her turn stepped forward to
the edge of the platform, cleared her throat, held up her manuscript
(tied with dainty ribbon), and proceeded to read, with labored
attention to "expression" and punctuation. The themes were the same
that had been illuminated upon similar occasions by their mothers
before them, their grandmothers, and doubtless all their ancestors in
the female line clear back to the Crusades. "Friendship" was one;
"Memories of Other Days"; "Religion in History"; "Dream Land"; "The
Advantages of Culture"; "Forms of Political Government Compared and
Contrasted"; "Melancholy"; "Filial Love"; "Heart Longings," etc., etc.

A prevalent feature in these compositions was a nursed and petted
melancholy; another was a wasteful and opulent gush of "fine language";
another was a tendency to lug in by the ears particularly prized words
and phrases until they were worn entirely out; and a peculiarity that
conspicuously marked and marred them was the inveterate

-206-

and intolerable sermon that wagged its crippled tail at the end of each
and every one of them. No matter what the subject might be, a
brain-racking effort was made to squirm it into some aspect or other
that the moral and religious mind could contemplate with edification.
The glaring insincerity of these sermons was not sufficient to compass
the banishment of the fashion from the schools, and it is not
sufficient to-day; it never will be sufficient while the world stands,
perhaps. There is no school in all our land where the young ladies do
not feel obliged to close their compositions with a sermon; and you
will find that the sermon of the most frivolous and the least religious
girl in the school is always the longest and the most relentlessly
pious. But enough of this. Homely truth is unpalatable.

Let us return to the "Examination." The first composition that was
read was one entitled "Is this, then, Life?" Perhaps the reader can
endure an extract from it:


"In the common walks of life, with what delightful emotions does the
youthful mind look forward to some anticipated scene of festivity!
Imagination is busy sketching rose-tinted pictures of joy. In fancy,
the voluptuous votary of fashion sees herself amid the festive
throng, 'the observed of all observers.' Her graceful form, arrayed
in snowy robes, is whirling through the mazes of the joyous dance;
her eye is brightest, her step is lightest in the gay assembly.


"In such delicious fancies time quickly glides by, and the welcome
hour arrives for her entrance into the Elysian world, of which she
has had such bright dreams. How fairy-like does everything appear to
her enchanted vision! Each new scene is more charming than the last.
But after a while she finds that beneath this goodly exterior, all
is vanity:

-207-

the flattery which once charmed her soul, now grates harshly upon
her ear; the ball-room has lost its charms; and with wasted health
and imbittered heart, she turns away with the conviction that
earthly pleasures cannot satisfy the longings of the soul!"

And so forth and so on. There was a buzz of gratification from time
to time during the reading, accompanied by whispered ejaculations of
"How sweet!" "How eloquent!" "So true!" etc., and after the thing had
closed with a peculiarly afflicting sermon the applause was
enthusiastic.

Then arose a slim, melancholy girl, whose face had the "interesting"
paleness that comes of pills and indigestion, and read a "poem." Two
stanzas of it will do:


A MISSOURI MAIDEN'S FAREWELL TO ALABAMA

"Alabama, good-bye! I love thee well!
But yet for a while do I leave thee now!
Sad, yes, sad thoughts of thee my heart doth swell,
And burning recollections throng my brow!
For I have wandered through thy flowery woods;
Have roamed and read near Tallapoosa's stream;
Have listened to Tallassee's warring floods,
And wooed on Coosa's side Aurora's beam.
"Yet shame I not to bear an o'er-full heart,
Nor blush to turn behind my tearful eyes;
'Tis from no stranger land I now must part,
'Tis to no strangers left I yield these sighs.
Welcome and home were mine within this State,
Whose vales I leave -- whose spires fade fast from me
And cold must be mine eyes, and heart, and tete,
When, dear Alabama! they turn cold on thee!"

There were very few there who knew what "tete"

-208-

meant, but the poem was very satisfactory, nevertheless.

Next appeared a dark-complexioned, black-eyed, black-haired young
lady, who paused an impressive moment, assumed a tragic expression, and
began to read in a measured, solemn tone:


A VISION

Dark and tempestuous was night. Around the throne on high not a
single star quivered; but the deep intonations of the heavy thunder
constantly vibrated upon the ear; whilst the terrific lightning
revelled in angry mood through the cloudy chambers of heaven,
seeming to scorn the power exerted over its terror by the
illustrious Franklin! Even the boisterous winds unanimously came
forth from their mystic homes, and blustered about as if to enhance
by their aid the wildness of the scene.


At such a time, so dark, so dreary, for human sympathy my very
spirit sighed; but instead thereof,

"My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide --

My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy,' came to my side. She moved
like one of those bright beings pictured in the sunny walks of fancy's
Eden by the romantic and young, a queen of beauty unadorned save by her
own transcendent loveliness. So soft was her step, it failed to make
even a sound, and but for the magical thrill imparted by her genial
touch, as other unobtrusive beauties, she would have glided away
un-perceived -- unsought. A strange sadness rested upon her features,
like icy tears upon the robe of December, as she pointed to the
contending elements without, and bade me contemplate the two beings
presented."

This nightmare occupied some ten pages of manuscript and wound up
with a sermon so destructive of all hope to non-Presbyterians that it
took the first prize. This composition was considered to be the very
finest effort of the evening. The mayor of the village, in delivering
the prize to the author of it,

-209-

made a warm speech in which he said that it was by far the most
"eloquent" thing he had ever listened to, and that Daniel Webster
himself might well be proud of it.

It may be remarked, in passing, that the number of compositions in
which the word "beauteous" was over-fondled, and human experience
referred to as "life's page," was up to the usual average.

Now the master, mellow almost to the verge of geniality, put his
chair aside, turned his back to the audience, and began to draw a map
of America on the blackboard, to exercise the geography class upon. But
he made a sad business of it with his unsteady hand, and a smothered
titter rippled over the house. He knew what the matter was, and set
himself to right it. He sponged out lines and remade them; but he only
distorted them more than ever, and the tittering was more pronounced.
He threw his entire attention upon his work, now, as if determined not
to be put down by the mirth. He felt that all eyes were fastened upon
him; he imagined he was succeeding, and yet the tittering continued; it
even manifestly increased. And well it might. There was a garret above,
pierced with a scuttle over his head; and down through this scuttle
came a cat, suspended around the haunches by a string; she had a rag
tied about her head and jaws to keep her from mewing; as she slowly
descended she curved upward and clawed at the string, she swung
downward and clawed at the intangible air.

-210-

The tittering rose higher and higher -- the cat was within six inches
of the absorbed teacher's head -- down, down, a little lower, and she
grabbed his wig with her desperate claws, clung to it, and was snatched
up into the garret in an instant with her trophy still in her
possession! And how the light did blaze abroad from the master's bald
pate -- for the sign-painter's boy had gilded it!

That broke up the meeting. The boys were avenged. Vacation had come.
Note: NOTE. -- The pretended "compositions" quoted in this chapter are
taken without alteration from a volume entitled "Prose and Poetry, by a
Western Lady" -- but they are exactly and precisely after the
schoolgirl pattern, and hence are much happier than any mere imitations
could be.

-211-

Chapter XXII

TOM joined the new order of Cadets of Temperance, being attracted by
the showy character of their "regalia." He promised to abstain from
smoking, chewing, and profanity as long as he remained a member. Now he
found out a new thing -- namely, that to promise not to do a thing is
the surest way in the world to make a body want to go and do that very
thing. Tom soon found himself tormented with a desire to drink and
swear; the desire grew to be so intense that nothing but the hope of a
chance to display himself in his red sash kept him from withdrawing
from the order. Fourth of July was coming; but he soon gave that up --
gave it up before he had worn his shackles over forty-eight hours --
and fixed his hopes upon old Judge Frazer, justice of the peace, who
was apparently on his deathbed and would have a big public funeral,
since he was so high an official. During three days Tom was deeply
concerned about the Judge's condition and hungry for news of it.
Sometimes his hopes ran high -- so high that he would venture to get
out his regalia and practise before the looking-glass. But the Judge
had a most

-212-

discouraging way of fluctuating. At last he was pronounced upon the
mend -- and then convalescent. Tom was disgusted; and felt a sense of
injury, too. He handed in his resignation at once -- and that night the
Judge suffered a relapse and died. Tom resolved that he would never
trust a man like that again.

The funeral was a fine thing. The Cadets paraded in a style
calculated to kill the late member with envy. Tom was a free boy again,
however -- there was something in that. He could drink and swear, now
-- but found to his surprise that he did not want to. The simple fact
that he could, took the desire away, and the charm of it.

Tom presently wondered to find that his coveted vacation was
beginning to hang a little heavily on his hands.

He attempted a diary -- but nothing happened during three days, and
so he abandoned it.

The first of all the negro minstrel shows came to town, and made a
sensation. Tom and Joe Harper got up a band of performers and were
happy for two days.

Even the Glorious Fourth was in some sense a failure, for it rained
hard, there was no procession in consequence, and the greatest man in
the world (as Tom supposed), Mr. Benton, an actual United States
Senator, proved an overwhelming disappointment -- for he was not
twenty-five feet high, nor even anywhere in the neighborhood of it.

-213-

A circus came. The boys played circus for three days afterward in
tents made of rag carpeting -- admission, three pins for boys, two for
girls -- and then circusing was abandoned.

A phrenologist and a mesmerizer came -- and went again and left the
village duller and drearier than ever.

There were some boys-and-girls' parties, but they were so few and so
delightful that they only made the aching voids between ache the
harder.

Becky Thatcher was gone to her Constantinople home to stay with her
parents during vacation -- so there was no bright side to life
anywhere.

The dreadful secret of the murder was a chronic misery. It was a
very cancer for permanency and pain.

Then came the measles.

During two long weeks Tom lay a prisoner, dead to the world and its
happenings. He was very ill, he was interested in nothing. When he got
upon his feet at last and moved feebly down-town, a melancholy change
had come over everything and every creature. There had been a
"revival," and everybody had "got religion," not only the adults, but
even the boys and girls. Tom went about, hoping against hope for the
sight of one blessed sinful face, but disappointment crossed him
everywhere. He found Joe Harper studying a Testament, and turned sadly
away from the depressing spectacle. He sought Ben Rogers, and found him
visiting the

-214-

poor with a basket of tracts. He hunted up Jim Hollis, who called his
attention to the precious blessing of his late measles as a warning.
Every boy he encountered added another ton to his depression; and when,
in desperation, he flew for refuge at last to the bosom of Huckleberry
Finn and was received with a Scriptural quotation, his heart broke and
he crept home and to bed realizing that he alone of all the town was
lost, forever and forever.

And that night there came on a terrific storm, with driving rain,
awful claps of thunder and blinding sheets of lightning. He covered his
head with the bedclothes and waited in a horror of suspense for his
doom; for he had not the shadow of a doubt that all this hubbub was
about him. He believed he had taxed the forbearance of the powers above
to the extremity of endurance and that this was the result. It might
have seemed to him a waste of pomp and ammunition to kill a bug with a
battery of artillery, but there seemed nothing incongruous about the
getting up such an expensive thunder-storm as this to knock the turf
from under an insect like himself.

By and by the tempest spent itself and died without accomplishing
its object. The boy's first impulse was to be grateful, and reform. His
second was to wait -- for there might not be any more storms.

The next day the doctors were back; Tom had relapsed. The three
weeks he spent on his back

-215-

this time seemed an entire age. When he got abroad at last he was
hardly grateful that he had been spared, remembering how lonely was his
estate, how companionless and forlorn he was. He drifted listlessly
down the street and found Jim Hollis acting as judge in a juvenile
court that was trying a cat for murder, in the presence of her victim,
a bird. He found Joe Harper and Huck Finn up an alley eating a stolen
melon. Poor lads! they -- like Tom -- had suffered a relapse.

-216-

Chapter XXIII

AT last the sleepy atmosphere was stirred -- and vigorously: the
murder trial came on in the court. It became the absorbing topic of
village talk immediately. Tom could not get away from it. Every
reference to the murder sent a shudder to his heart, for his troubled
conscience and fears almost persuaded him that these remarks were put
forth in his hearing as "feelers"; he did not see how he could be
suspected of knowing anything about the murder, but still he could not
be comfortable in the midst of this gossip. It kept him in a cold
shiver all the time. He took Huck to a lonely place to have a talk with
him. It would be some relief to unseal his tongue for a little while;
to divide his burden of distress with another sufferer. Moreover, he
wanted to assure himself that Huck had remained discreet.

"Huck, have you ever told anybody about -- that?"

"'Bout what?"

"You know what."

"Oh -- 'course I haven't."

-217-

"Never a word?"

"Never a solitary word, so help me. What makes you ask?"

"Well, I was afeard."

"Why, Tom Sawyer, we wouldn't be alive two days if that got found
out. You
know that."

Tom felt more comfortable. After a pause:

"Huck, they couldn't anybody get you to tell, could they?"

"Get me to tell? Why, if I wanted that half-breed devil to drownd me
they could get me to tell. They ain't no different way."

"Well, that's all right, then. I reckon we're safe as long as we
keep mum. But let's swear again, anyway. It's more surer."

"I'm agreed."

So they swore again with dread solemnities.

"What is the talk around, Huck? I've heard a power of it."

"Talk? Well, it's just Muff Potter, Muff Potter, Muff Potter all the
time. It keeps me in a sweat, constant, so's I want to hide som'ers."

"That's just the same way they go on round me. I reckon he's a
goner. Don't you feel sorry for him, sometimes?"

"Most always -- most always. He ain't no account; but then he hain't
ever done anything to hurt anybody. Just fishes a little, to get money
to get drunk on -- and loafs around considerable; but lord, we all do
that -- leastways most of us --

-218-

preachers and such like. But he's kind of good -- he give me half a
fish, once, when there warn't enough for two; and lots of times he's
kind of stood by me when I was out of luck."

"Well, he's mended kites for me, Huck, and knitted hooks on to my
line. I wish we could get him out of there."

"My! we couldn't get him out, Tom. And besides, 'twouldn't do any
good; they'd ketch him again."

"Yes -- so they would. But I hate to hear 'em abuse him so like the
dickens when he never done -- that."

"I do too, Tom. Lord, I hear 'em say he's the bloodiest looking
villain in this country, and they wonder he wasn't ever hung before."

"Yes, they talk like that, all the time. I've heard 'em say that if
he was to get free they'd lynch him."

"And they'd do it, too."

The boys had a long talk, but it brought them little comfort. As the
twilight drew on, they found themselves hanging about the neighborhood
of the little isolated jail, perhaps with an undefined hope that
something would happen that might clear away their difficulties. But
nothing happened; there seemed to be no angels or fairies interested in
this luckless captive.

The boys did as they had often done before -- went to the cell
grating and gave Potter some tobacco

-219-

and matches. He was on the ground floor and there were no guards.

His gratitude for their gifts had always smote their consciences
before -- it cut deeper than ever, this time. They felt cowardly and
treacherous to the last degree when Potter said:

"You've been mighty good to me, boys -- better'n anybody else in
this town. And I don't forget it, I don't. Often I says to myself, says
I, 'I used to mend all the boys' kites and things, and show 'em where
the good fishin' places was, and befriend 'em what I could, and now
they've all forgot old Muff when he's in trouble; but Tom don't, and
Huck don't -- they
don't forget him, says I, 'and I don't forget them.' Well, boys, I done
an awful thing -- drunk and crazy at the time -- that's the only way I
account for it -- and now I got to swing for it, and it's right. Right,
and best, too, I reckon -- hope so, anyway. Well, we won't talk about
that. I don't want to make you feel bad; you've befriended me. But what
I want to say, is, don't you ever get drunk -- then you won't ever get
here. Stand a litter furder west -- so -- that's it; it's a prime
comfort to see faces that's friendly when a body's in such a muck of
trouble, and there don't none come here but yourn. Good friendly faces
-- good friendly faces. Git up on one another's backs and let me touch
'em. That's it. Shake hands -- yourn'll come through the bars, but
mine's too big. Little hands, and weak -- but they've helped Muff

-220-

Potter a power, and they'd help him more if they could."

Tom went home miserable, and his dreams that night were full of
horrors. The next day and the day after, he hung about the court-room,
drawn by an almost irresistible impulse to go in, but forcing himself
to stay out. Huck was having the same experience. They studiously
avoided each other. Each wandered away, from time to time, but the same
dismal fascination always brought them back presently. Tom kept his
ears open when idlers sauntered out of the court-room, but invariably
heard distressing news -- the toils were closing more and more
relentlessly around poor Potter. At the end of the second day the
village talk was to the effect that Injun Joe's evidence stood firm and
unshaken, and that there was not the slightest question as to what the
jury's verdict would be.

Tom was out late, that night, and came to bed through the window. He
was in a tremendous state of excitement. It was hours before he got to
sleep. All the village flocked to the court-house the next morning, for
this was to be the great day. Both sexes were about equally represented
in the packed audience. After a long wait the jury filed in and took
their places; shortly afterward, Potter, pale and haggard, timid and
hopeless, was brought in, with chains upon him, and seated where all
the curious eyes could stare at him; no less conspicuous was Injun Joe,
stolid as ever. There was another

-221-

pause, and then the judge arrived andthe sheriff proclaimed the opening
of the court. The usual whisperings among the lawyers and gathering
together of papers followed. These details and accompanying delays
worked up an atmosphere of preparation that was as impressive as it was
fascinating.

Now a witness was called who testified that he found Muff Potter
washing in the brook, at an early hour of the morning that the murder
was discovered, and that he immediately sneaked away. After some
further questioning, counsel for the prosecution said:

"Take the witness."

The prisoner raised his eyes for a moment, but dropped them again
when his own counsel said:

"I have no questions to ask him."

The next witness proved the finding of the knife near the corpse.
Counsel for the prosecution said:

"Take the witness."

"I have no questions to ask him," Potter's lawyer replied.

A third witness swore he had often seen the knife in Potter's
possession.

"Take the witness."

Counsel for Potter declined to question him. The faces of the
audience began to betray annoyance. Did this attorney mean to throw
away his client's life without an effort?

Several witnesses deposed concerning Potter's guilty behavior when
brought to the scene of the

-222-

murder. They were allowed to leave the stand without being
cross-questioned.

Every detail of the damaging circumstances that occurred in the
graveyard upon that morning which all present remembered so well was
brought out by credible witnesses, but none of them were cross-examined
by Potter's lawyer. The perplexity and dissatisfaction of the house
expressed itself in murmurs and provoked a reproof from the bench.
Counsel for the prosecution now said:

"By the oaths of citizens whose simple word is above suspicion, we
have fastened this awful crime, beyond all possibility of question,
upon the unhappy prisoner at the bar. We rest our case here."

A groan escaped from poor Potter, and he put his face in his hands
and rocked his body softly to and fro, while a painful silence reigned
in the court-room. Many men were moved, and many women's compassion
testified itself in tears. Counsel for the defence rose and said:

"Your honor, in our remarks at the opening of this trial, we
foreshadowed our purpose to prove that our client did this fearful deed
while under the influence of a blind and irresponsible delirium
produced by drink. We have changed our mind. We shall not offer that
plea." [Then to the clerk:] "Call Thomas Sawyer!"

A puzzled amazement awoke in every face in the house, not even
excepting Potter's. Every eye fastened itself with wondering interest
upon Tom as he

-223-

rose and took his place upon the stand. The boy looked wild enough, for
he was badly scared. The oath was administered.

"Thomas Sawyer, where were you on the seventeenth of June, about the
hour of midnight?"

Tom glanced at Injun Joe's iron face and his tongue failed him. The
audience listened breathless, but the words refused to come. After a
few moments, however, the boy got a little of his strength back, and
managed to put enough of it into his voice to make part of the house
hear:

"In the graveyard!"

"A little bit louder, please. Don't be afraid. You were -- "

"In the graveyard."

A contemptuous smile flitted across Injun Joe's face.

"Were you anywhere near Horse Williams' grave?"

"Yes, sir."

"Speak up -- just a trifle louder. How near were you?"

"Near as I am to you."

"Were you hidden, or not?"

"I was hid."

"Where?"

"Behind the elms that's on the edge of the grave."

Injun Joe gave a barely perceptible start.

"Any one with you?"

-224-

"Yes, sir. I went there with -- "

"Wait -- wait a moment. Never mind mentioning your companion's name.
We will produce him at the proper time. Did you carry anything there
with you."

Tom hesitated and looked confused.

"Speak out, my boy -- don't be diffident. The truth is always
respectable. What did you take there?"

"Only a -- a -- dead cat."

There was a ripple of mirth, which the court checked.

"We will produce the skeleton of that cat. Now, my boy, tell us
everything that occurred -- tell it in your own way -- don't skip
anything, and don't be afraid."

Tom began -- hesitatingly at first, but as he warmed to his subject
his words flowed more and more easily; in a little while every sound
ceased but his own voice; every eye fixed itself upon him; with parted
lips and bated breath the audience hung upon his words, taking no note
of time, rapt in the ghastly fascinations of the tale. The strain upon
pent emotion reached its climax when the boy said:

" -- and as the doctor fetched the board around and Muff Potter
fell, Injun Joe jumped with the knife and -- "

Crash! Quick as lightning the half-breed sprang for a window, tore
his way through all opposers, and was gone!

-225-

Chapter XXIV

TOM was a glittering hero once more -- the pet of the old, the envy
of the young. His name even went into immortal print, for the village
paper magnified him. There were some that believed he would be
President, yet, if he escaped hanging.

As usual, the fickle, unreasoning world took Muff Potter to its
bosom and fondled him as lavishly as it had abused him before. But that
sort of conduct is to the world's credit; therefore it is not well to
find fault with it.

Tom's days were days of splendor and exultation to him, but his
nights were seasons of horror. Injun Joe infested all his dreams, and
always with doom in his eye. Hardly any temptation could persuade the
boy to stir abroad after nightfall. Poor Huck was in the same state of
wretchedness and terror, for Tom had told the whole story to the lawyer
the night before the great day of the trial, and Huck was sore afraid
that his share in the business might leak out, yet, notwithstanding
Injun Joe's flight had saved him the suffering of testifying in court.
The poor fellow had got the attorney to promise secrecy, but

-226-

what of that? Since Tom's harassed conscience had managed to drive him
to the lawyer's house by night and wring a dread tale from lips that
had been sealed with the dismalest and most formidable of oaths, Huck's
confidence in the human race was well-nigh obliterated.

Daily Muff Potter's gratitude made Tom glad he had spoken; but
nightly he wished he had sealed up his tongue.

Half the time Tom was afraid Injun Joe would never be captured; the
other half he was afraid he would be. He felt sure he never could draw
a safe breath again until that man was dead and he had seen the corpse.

Rewards had been offered, the country had been scoured, but no Injun
Joe was found. One of those omniscient and awe-inspiring marvels, a
detective, came up from St. Louis, moused around, shook his head,
looked wise, and made that sort of astounding success which members of
that craft usually achieve. That is to say, he "found a clew." But you
can't hang a "clew" for murder, and so after that detective had got
through and gone home, Tom felt just as insecure as he was before.

The slow days drifted on, and each left behind it a slightly
lightened weight of apprehension.

-227-

Chapter XXV

THERE comes a time in every rightly-constructed boy's life when he
has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure. This
desire suddenly came upon Tom one day. He sallied out to find Joe
Harper, but failed of success. Next he sought Ben Rogers; he had gone
fishing. Presently he stumbled upon Huck Finn the Red-Handed. Huck
would answer. Tom took him to a private place and opened the matter to
him confidentially. Huck was willing. Huck was always willing to take a
hand in any enterprise that offered entertainment and required no
capital, for he had a troublesome superabundance of that sort of time
which is not money. "Where'll we dig?" said Huck.

"Oh, most anywhere."

"Why, is it hid all around?"

"No, indeed it ain't. It's hid in mighty particular places, Huck --
sometimes on islands, sometimes in rotten chests under the end of a
limb of an old dead tree, just where the shadow falls at midnight; but
mostly under the floor in ha'nted houses."

"Who hides it?"

-228-

"Why, robbers, of course -- who'd you reckon? Sunday-school
sup'rintendents?"

"I don't know. If 'twas mine I wouldn't hide it; I'd spend it and
have a good time."

"So would I. But robbers don't do that way. They always hide it and
leave it there."

"Don't they come after it any more?"

"No, they think they will, but they generally forget the marks, or
else they die. Anyway, it lays there a long time and gets rusty; and by
and by somebody finds an old yellow paper that tells how to find the
marks -- a paper that's got to be ciphered over about a week because
it's mostly signs and hy'roglyphics."

"HyroQwhich?"

"Hy'roglyphics -- pictures and things, you know, that don't seem to
mean anything."

"Have you got one of them papers, Tom?"

"No."

"Well then, how you going to find the marks?"

"I don't want any marks. They always bury it under a ha'nted house
or on an island, or under a dead tree that's got one limb sticking out.
Well, we've tried Jackson's Island a little, and we can try it again
some time; and there's the old ha'nted house up the Still-House branch,
and there's lots of deadlimb trees -- dead loads of 'em."

"Is it under all of them?"

"How you talk! No!"

"Then how you going to know which one to go for?"

-229-

"Go for all of 'em!"

"Why, Tom, it'll take all summer."

"Well, what of that? Suppose you find a brass pot with a hundred
dollars in it, all rusty and gray, or rotten chest full of di'monds.
How's that?"

Huck's eyes glowed.

"That's bully. Plenty bully enough for me. Just you gimme the
hundred dollars and I don't want no di'monds."

"All right. But I bet you I
ain't going to throw off on di'monds. Some of 'em's worth twenty
dollars apiece -- there ain't any, hardly, but's worth six bits or a
dollar."

"No! Is that so?"

"Cert'nly -- anybody'll tell you so. Hain't you ever seen one,
Huck?"

"Not as I remember."

"Oh, kings have slathers of them."

"Well, I don' know no kings, Tom."

"I reckon you don't. But if you was to go to Europe you'd see a raft
of 'em hopping around."

"Do they hop?"

"Hop? -- your granny! No!"

"Well, what did you say they did, for?"

"Shucks, I only meant you'd see
'em -- not hopping, of course -- what do they want to hop for? -- but I
mean you'd just see 'em -- scattered around, you know, in a kind of a
general way. Like that old humpbacked Richard."

"Richard? What's his other name?"

-230-

"He didn't have any other name. Kings don't have any but a given
name."

"No?"

"But they don't."

"Well, if they like it, Tom, all right; but I don't want to be a
king and have only just a given name, like a nigger. But say -- where
you going to dig first?"

"Well, I don't know. S'pose we tackle that old dead-limb tree on the
hill t'other side of Still-House branch?"

"I'm agreed."

So they got a crippled pick and a shovel, and set out on their
three-mile tramp. They arrived hot and panting, and threw themselves
down in the shade of a neighboring elm to rest and have a smoke.

"I like this," said Tom.

"So do I."

"Say, Huck, if we find a treasure here, what you going to do with
your share?"

"Well, I'll have pie and a glass of soda every day, and I'll go to
every circus that comes along. I bet I'll have a gay time."

"Well, ain't you going to save any of it?"

"Save it? What for?"

"Why, so as to have something to live on, by and by."

"Oh, that ain't any use. Pap would come back to thish-yer town some
day and get his claws on it

-231-

if I didn't hurry up, and I tell you he'd clean it out pretty quick.
What you going to do with yourn, Tom?"

"I'm going to buy a new drum, and a sure-'nough sword, and a red
necktie and a bull pup, and get married."

"Married!"

"That's it."

"Tom, you -- why, you ain't in your right mind."

"Wait -- you'll see."

"Well, that's the foolishest thing you could do. Look at pap and my
mother. Fight! Why, they used to fight all the time. I remember, mighty
well."

"That ain't anything. The girl I'm going to marry won't fight."

"Tom, I reckon they're all alike. They'll all comb a body. Now you
better think 'bout this awhile. I tell you you better. What's the name
of the gal?"

"It ain't a gal at all -- it's a girl."

"It's all the same, I reckon; some says gal, some says girl --
both's right, like enough. Anyway, what's her name, Tom?"

"I'll tell you some time -- not now."

"All right -- that'll do. Only if you get married I'll be more
lonesomer than ever."

"No you won't. You'll come and live with me. Now stir out of this
and we'll go to digging."

They worked and sweated for half an hour. No

-232-

result. They toiled another half-hour. Still no result. Huck said:

"Do they always bury it as deep as this?"

"Sometimes -- not always. Not generally. I reckon we haven't got the
right place."

So they chose a new spot and began again. The labor dragged a
little, but still they made progress. They pegged away in silence for
some time. Finally Huck leaned on his shovel, swabbed the beaded drops
from his brow with his sleeve, and said:

"Where you going to dig next, after we get this one?"

"I reckon maybe we'll tackle the old tree that's over yonder on
Cardiff Hill back of the widow's."

"I reckon that'll be a good one. But won't the widow take it away
from us, Tom? It's on her land."

"She
take it away! Maybe she'd like to try it once. Whoever finds one of
these hid treasures, it belongs to him. It don't make any difference
whose land it's on."

That was satisfactory. The work went on. By and by Huck said:

"Blame it, we must be in the wrong place again. What do you think?"

"It is
mighty curious, Huck. I don't understand it. Sometimes witches
interfere. I reckon maybe that's what's the trouble now."

"Shucks! Witches ain't got no power in the daytime."

-233-

"Well, that's so. I didn't think of that. Oh, I
know what the matter is! What a blamed lot of fools we are! You got to
find out where the shadow of the limb falls at midnight, and that's
where you dig!"

"Then consound it, we've fooled away all this work for nothing. Now
hang it all, we got to come back in the night. It's an awful long way.
Can you get out?"

"I bet I will. We've got to do it to-night, too, because if somebody
sees these holes they'll know in a minute what's here and they'll go
for it."

"Well, I'll come around and maow to-night."

"All right. Let's hide the tools in the bushes."

The boys were there that night, about the appointed time. They sat
in the shadow waiting. It was a lonely place, and an hour made solemn
by old traditions. Spirits whispered in the rustling leaves, ghosts
lurked in the murky nooks, the deep baying of a hound floated up out of
the distance, an owl answered with his sepulchral note. The boys were
subdued by these solemnities, and talked little. By and by they judged
that twelve had come; they marked where the shadow fell, and began to
dig. Their hopes commenced to rise. Their interest grew stronger, and
their industry kept pace with it. The hole deepened and still deepened,
but every time their hearts jumped to hear the pick strike upon
something, they only suffered a new disappointment. It was only a stone
or a chunk. At last Tom said:

-234-

"It ain't any use, Huck, we're wrong again."

"Well, but we can't
be wrong. We spotted the shadder to a dot."

"I know it, but then there's another thing."

"What's that?".

"Why, we only guessed at the time. Like enough it was too late or
too early."

Huck dropped his shovel.

"That's it," said he. "That's the very trouble. We got to give this
one up. We can't ever tell the right time, and besides this kind of
thing's too awful, here this time of night with witches and ghosts
a-fluttering around so. I feel as if something's behind me all the
time; and I'm afeard to turn around, becuz maybe there's others in
front a-waiting for a chance. I been creeping all over, ever since I
got here."

"Well, I've been pretty much so, too, Huck. They most always put in
a dead man when they bury a treasure under a tree, to look out for it."

"Lordy!"

"Yes, they do. I've always heard that."

"Tom, I don't like to fool around much where there's dead people. A
body's bound to get into trouble with 'em, sure."

"I don't like to stir 'em up, either. S'pose this one here was to
stick his skull out and say something!"

"Don't Tom! It's awful."

"Well, it just is. Huck, I don't feel comfortable a bit."

-235-

"Say, Tom, let's give this place up, and try somewheres else."

"All right, I reckon we better."

"What'll it be?"

Tom considered awhile; and then said:

"The ha'nted house. That's it!"

"Blame it, I don't like ha'nted houses, Tom. Why, they're a dern
sight worse'n dead people. Dead people might talk, maybe, but they
don't come sliding around in a shroud, when you ain't noticing, and
peep over your shoulder all of a sudden and grit their teeth, the way a
ghost does. I couldn't stand such a thing as that, Tom -- nobody
could."

"Yes, but, Huck, ghosts don't travel around only at night. They
won't hender us from digging there in the daytime."

"Well, that's so. But you know mighty well people don't go about
that ha'nted house in the day nor the night."

"Well, that's mostly because they don't like to go where a man's
been murdered, anyway -- but nothing's ever been seen around that house
except in the night -- just some blue lights slipping by the windows --
no regular ghosts."

"Well, where you see one of them blue lights flickering around, Tom,
you can bet there's a ghost mighty close behind it. It stands to
reason. Becuz you
know that they don't anybody but ghosts use 'em."

-236-

"Yes, that's so. But anyway they don't come around in the daytime,
so what's the use of our being afeard?"

"Well, all right. We'll tackle the ha'nted house if you say so --
but I reckon it's taking chances."

They had started down the hill by this time. There in the middle of
the moonlit valley below them stood the "ha'nted" house, utterly
isolated, its fences gone long ago, rank weeds smothering the very
doorsteps, the chimney crumbled to ruin, the window-sashes vacant, a
corner of the roof caved in. The boys gazed awhile, half expecting to
see a blue light flit past a window; then talking in a low tone, as
befitted the time and the circumstances, they struck far off to the
right, to give the haunted house a wide berth, and took their way
homeward through the woods that adorned the rearward side of Cardiff
Hill.

-237-

Chapter XXVI

ABOUT noon the next day the boys arrived at the dead tree; they had
come for their tools. Tom was impatient to go to the haunted house;
Huck was measurably so, also -- but suddenly said:

"Lookyhere, Tom, do you know what day it is?"

Tom mentally ran over the days of the week, and then quickly lifted
his eyes with a startled look in them --

"My! I never once thought of it, Huck!"

"Well, I didn't neither, but all at once it popped onto me that it
was Friday."

"Blame it, a body can't be too careful, Huck. We might 'a' got into
an awful scrape, tackling such a thing on a Friday."

"Might
! Better say we would! There's some lucky days, maybe, but Friday
ain't."

"Any fool knows that. I don't reckon you
was the first that found it out, Huck."

"Well, I never said I was, did I? And Friday ain't all, neither. I
had a rotten bad dream last night -- dreampt about rats."

"No! Sure sign of trouble. Did they fight?"

"No."

-238-

"Well, that's good, Huck. When they don't fight it's only a sign
that there's trouble around, you know. All we got to do is to look
mighty sharp and keep out of it. We'll drop this thing for to-day, and
play. Do you know Robin Hood, Huck?"

"No. Who's Robin Hood?"

"Why, he was one of the greatest men that was ever in England -- and
the best. He was a robber."

"Cracky, I wisht I was. Who did he rob?"

"Only sheriffs and bishops and rich people and kings, and such like.
But he never bothered the poor. He loved 'em. He always divided up with
'em perfectly square."

"Well, he must 'a' been a brick."

"I bet you he was, Huck. Oh, he was the noblest man that ever was.
They ain't any such men now, I can tell you. He could lick any man in
England, with one hand tied behind him; and he could take his yew bow
and plug a ten-cent piece every time, a mile and a half."

"What's a yew
bow?"

"I don't know. It's some kind of a bow, of course. And if he hit
that dime only on the edge he would set down and cry -- and curse. But
we'll play Robin Hood -- it's nobby fun. I'll learn you."

"I'm agreed."

So they played Robin Hood all the afternoon, now and then casting a
yearning eye down upon the haunted house and passing a remark about the

-239-

morrow's prospects and possibilities there. As the sun began to sink
into the west they took their way homeward athwart the long shadows of
the trees and soon were buried from sight in the forests of Cardiff
Hill.

On Saturday, shortly after noon, the boys were at the dead tree
again. They had a smoke and a chat in the shade, and then dug a little
in their last hole, not with great hope, but merely because Tom said
there were so many cases where people had given up a treasure after
getting down within six inches of it, and then somebody else had come
along and turned it up with a single thrust of a shovel. The thing
failed this time, however, so the boys shouldered their tools and went
away feeling that they had not trifled with fortune, but had fulfilled
all the requirements that belong to the business of treasure-hunting.

When they reached the haunted house there was something so weird and
grisly about the dead silence that reigned there under the baking sun,
and something so depressing about the loneliness and desolation of the
place, that they were afraid, for a moment, to venture in. Then they
crept to the door and took a trembling peep. They saw a weed-grown,
floorless room, unplastered, an ancient fireplace, vacant windows, a
ruinous staircase; and here, there, and everywhere hung ragged and
abandoned cobwebs. They presently entered, softly, with quickened
pulses, talking in whispers, ears alert

-240-

to catch the slightest sound, and muscles tense and ready for instant
retreat.

In a little while familiarity modified their fears and they gave the
place a critical and interested examination, rather admiring their own
boldness, and wondering at it, too. Next they wanted to look up-stairs.
This was something like cutting off retreat, but they got to daring
each other, and of course there could be but one result -- they threw
their tools into a corner and made the ascent. Up there were the same
signs of decay. In one corner they found a closet that promised
mystery, but the promise was a fraud -- there was nothing in it. Their
courage was up now and well in hand. They were about to go down and
begin work when --

"Sh!" said Tom.

"What is it?" whispered Huck, blanching with fright.

"Sh! ... There! ... Hear it?"

"Yes! ... Oh, my! Let's run!"

"Keep still! Don't you budge! They're coming right toward the door."

The boys stretched themselves upon the floor with their eyes to
knot-holes in the planking, and lay waiting, in a misery of fear.

"They've stopped.... No -- coming.... Here they are. Don't whisper
another word, Huck. My goodness, I wish I was out of this!"

Two men entered. Each boy said to himself: "There's the old deaf and
dumb Spaniard that's

-241-

been about town once or twice lately -- never saw t'other man before."

"T'other" was a ragged, unkempt creature, with nothing very pleasant
in his face. The Spaniard was wrapped in a serape;
he had bushy white whiskers; long white hair flowed from under his
sombrero, and he wore green goggles. When they came in, "t'other" was
talking in a low voice; they sat down on the ground, facing the door,
with their backs to the wall, and the speaker continued his remarks.
His manner became less guarded and his words more distinct as he
proceeded:

"No," said he, "I've thought it all over, and I don't like it. It's
dangerous."

"Dangerous!" grunted the "deaf and dumb" Spaniard -- to the vast
surprise of the boys. "Milksop!"

This voice made the boys gasp and quake. It was Injun Joe's! There
was silence for some time. Then Joe said:

"What's any more dangerous than that job up yonder -- but nothing's
come of it."

"That's different. Away up the river so, and not another house
about. 'Twon't ever be known that we tried, anyway, long as we didn't
succeed."

"Well, what's more dangerous than coming here in the daytime! --
anybody would suspicion us that saw us."

"I know that. But there warn't any other place as handy after that
fool of a job. I want to quit

-242-

this shanty. I wanted to yesterday, only it warn't any use trying to
stir out of here, with those infernal boys playing over there on the
hill right in full view."

"Those infernal boys" quaked again under the inspiration of this
remark, and thought how lucky it was that they had remembered it was
Friday and concluded to wait a day. They wished in their hearts they
had waited a year.

The two men got out some food and made a luncheon. After a long and
thoughtful silence, Injun Joe said:

"Look here, lad -- you go back up the river where you belong. Wait
there till you hear from me. I'll take the chances on dropping into
this town just once more, for a look. We'll do that 'dangerous' job
after I've spied around a little and think things look well for it.
Then for Texas! We'll leg it together!"

This was satisfactory. Both men presently fell to yawning, and Injun
Joe said:

"I'm dead for sleep! It's your turn to watch."

He curled down in the weeds and soon began to snore. His comrade
stirred him once or twice and he became quiet. Presently the watcher
began to nod; his head drooped lower and lower, both men began to snore
now.

The boys drew a long, grateful breath. Tom whispered:

"Now's our chance -- come!"

-243-

Huck said:

"I can't -- I'd die if they was to wake."

Tom urged -- Huck held back. At last Tom rose slowly and softly, and
started alone. But the first step he made wrung such a hideous creak
from the crazy floor that he sank down almost dead with fright. He
never made a second attempt. The boys lay there counting the dragging
moments till it seemed to them that time must be done and eternity
growing gray; and then they were grateful to note that at last the sun
was setting.

Now one snore ceased. Injun Joe sat up, stared around -- smiled
grimly upon his comrade, whose head was drooping upon his knees --
stirred him up with his foot and said:

"Here! You're
a watchman, ain't you! All right, though -- nothing's happened."

"My! have I been asleep?"

"Oh, partly, partly. Nearly time for us to be moving, pard. What'll
we do with what little swag we've got left?"

"I don't know -- leave it here as we've always done, I reckon. No
use to take it away till we start south. Six hundred and fifty in
silver's something to carry."

"Well -- all right -- it won't matter to come here once more."

"No -- but I'd say come in the night as we used to do -- it's
better."

"Yes: but look here; it may be a good while

-244-

before I get the right chance at that job; accidents might happen;
'tain't in such a very good place; we'll just regularly bury it -- and
bury it deep."

"Good idea," said the comrade, who walked across the room, knelt
down, raised one of the rearward hearth-stones and took out a bag that
jingled pleasantly. He subtracted from it twenty or thirty dollars for
himself and as much for Injun Joe, and passed the bag to the latter,
who was on his knees in the corner, now, digging with his bowie-knife.

The boys forgot all their fears, all their miseries in an instant.
With gloating eyes they watched every movement. Luck! -- the splendor
of it was beyond all imagination! Six hundred dollars was money enough
to make half a dozen boys rich! Here was treasurehunting under the
happiest auspices -- there would not be any bothersome uncertainty as
to where to dig. They nudged each other every moment -- eloquent nudges
and easily understood, for they simply meant -- "Oh, but ain't you glad
now
we're here!"

Joe's knife struck upon something.

"Hello!" said he.

"What is it?" said his comrade.

"Half-rotten plank -- no, it's a box, I believe. Here -- bear a hand
and we'll see what it's here for. Never mind, I've broke a hole."

He reached his hand in and drew it out --

"Man, it's money!"

-245-

The two men examined the handful of coins. They were gold. The boys
above were as excited as themselves, and as delighted.

Joe's comrade said:

"We'll make quick work of this. There's an old rusty pick over
amongst the weeds in the corner the other side of the fireplace -- I
saw it a minute ago."

He ran and brought the boys' pick and shovel. Injun Joe took the
pick, looked it over critically, shook his head, muttered something to
himself, and then began to use it. The box was soon unearthed. It was
not very large; it was iron bound and had been very strong before the
slow years had injured it. The men contemplated the treasure awhile in
blissful silence.

"Pard, there's thousands of dollars here," said Injun Joe.

"'Twas always said that Murrel's gang used to be around here one
summer," the stranger observed.

"I know it," said Injun Joe; "and this looks like it, I should say."

"Now
you won't need to do that job."

The half-breed frowned. Said he:

"You don't know me. Least you don't know all about that thing.
'Tain't robbery altogether -- it's revenge!"
and a wicked light flamed in his eyes. "I'll need your help in it. When
it's finished -- then Texas. Go home to your Nance and your kids, and
stand by till you hear from me."

-246-

"Well -- if you say so; what'll we do with this -- bury it again?"

"Yes. [Ravishing delight overhead.] No
! by the great Sachem, no! [Profound distress overhead.] I'd nearly
forgot. That pick had fresh earth on it! [The boys were sick with
terror in a moment.] What business has a pick and a shovel here? What
business with fresh earth on them? Who brought them here -- and where
are they gone? Have you heard anybody? -- seen anybody? What! bury it
again and leave them to come and see the ground disturbed? Not exactly
-- not exactly. We'll take it to my den."

"Why, of course! Might have thought of that before. You mean Number
One?"

"No -- Number Two -- under the cross. The other place is bad -- too
common."

"All right. It's nearly dark enough to start."

Injun Joe got up and went about from window to window cautiously
peeping out. Presently he said:

"Who could have brought those tools here? Do you reckon they can be
up-stairs?"

The boys' breath forsook them. Injun Joe put his hand on his knife,
halted a moment, undecided, and then turned toward the stairway. The
boys thought of the closet, but their strength was gone. The steps came
creaking up the stairs -- the intolerable distress of the situation
woke the stricken resolution of the lads -- they were about to spring
for the closet, when there was a crash of rotten timbers

-247-

and Injun Joe landed on the ground amid the debris of the ruined
stairway. He gathered himself up cursing, and his comrade said:

"Now what's the use of all that? If it's anybody, and they're up
there, let them stay
there -- who cares? If they want to jump down, now, and get into
trouble, who objects? It will be dark in fifteen minutes -- and then
let them follow us if they want to. I'm willing. In my opinion, whoever
hove those things in here caught a sight of us and took us for ghosts
or devils or something. I'll bet they're running yet."

Joe grumbled awhile; then he agreed with his friend that what
daylight was left ought to be economized in getting things ready for
leaving. Shortly afterward they slipped out of the house in the
deepening twilight, and moved toward the river with their precious box.

Tom and Huck rose up, weak but vastly relieved, and stared after
them through the chinks between the logs of the house. Follow? Not
they. They were content to reach ground again without broken necks, and
take the townward track over the hill. They did not talk much. They
were too much absorbed in hating themselves -- hating the ill luck that
made them take the spade and the pick there. But for that, Injun Joe
never would have suspected. He would have hidden the silver with the
gold to wait there till his "revenge" was satisfied, and then he would
have had the misfortune to find that money turn up missing. Bitter,
bitter luck that the tools were ever brought there!

They resolved to keep a lookout for that Spaniard when he should
come to town spying out for chances to do his revengeful job, and
follow him to "Number Two," wherever that might be. Then a ghastly
thought occurred to Tom.

"Revenge? What if he means us
, Huck!"

"Oh, don't!" said Huck, nearly fainting.

They talked it all over, and as they entered town they agreed to
believe that he might possibly mean somebody else -- at least that he
might at least mean nobody but Tom, since only Tom had testified.

Very, very small comfort it was to Tom to be alone in danger!
Company would be a palpable improvement, he thought.

-249-

Chapter XXVII

THE adventure of the day mightily tormented Tom's dreams that night.
Four times he had his hands on that rich treasure and four times it
wasted to nothingness in his fingers as sleep forsook him and
wakefulness brought back the hard reality of his misfortune. As he lay
in the early morning recalling the incidents of his great adventure, he
noticed that they seemed curiously subdued and far away -- somewhat as
if they had happened in another world, or in a time long gone by. Then
it occurred to him that the great adventure itself must be a dream!
There was one very strong argument in favor of this idea -- namely,
that the quantity of coin he had seen was too vast to be real. He had
never seen as much as fifty dollars in one mass before, and he was like
all boys of his age and station in life, in that he imagined that all
references to "hundreds" and "thousands" were mere fanciful forms of
speech, and that no such sums really existed in the world. He never had
supposed for a moment that so large a sum as a hundred dollars was to
be found in actual money in any one's possession. If his notions of
hidden treasure had been

-250-

analyzed, they would have been found to consist of a handful of real
dimes and a bushel of vague, splendid, ungraspable dollars.

But the incidents of his adventure grew sensibly sharper and clearer
under the attrition of thinking them over, and so he presently found
himself leaning to the impression that the thing might not have been a
dream, after all. This uncertainty must be swept away. He would snatch
a hurried breakfast and go and find Huck. Huck was sitting on the
gunwale of a flatboat, listlessly dangling his feet in the water and
looking very melancholy. Tom concluded to let Huck lead up to the
subject. If he did not do it, then the adventure would be proved to
have been only a dream.

"Hello, Huck!"

"Hello, yourself."

Silence, for a minute.

"Tom, if we'd 'a' left the blame tools at the dead tree, we'd 'a'
got the money. Oh, ain't it awful!"

"'Tain't a dream, then, 'tain't a dream! Somehow I most wish it was.
Dog'd if I don't, Huck."

"What ain't a dream?"

"Oh, that thing yesterday. I been half thinking it was."

"Dream! If them stairs hadn't broke down you'd 'a' seen how much
dream it was! I've had dreams enough all night -- with that patch-eyed
Spanish devil going for me all through 'em -- rot him!"

-251-

"No, not rot him. Find
him! Track the money!"

"Tom, we'll never find him. A feller don't have only one chance for
such a pile -- and that one's lost. I'd feel mighty shaky if I was to
see him, anyway."

"Well, so'd I; but I'd like to see him, anyway -- and track him out
-- to his Number Two."

"Number Two -- yes, that's it. I been thinking 'bout that. But I
can't make nothing out of it. What do you reckon it is?"

"I dono. It's too deep. Say, Huck -- maybe it's the number of a
house!"

"Goody! ... No, Tom, that ain't it. If it is, it ain't in this
one-horse town. They ain't no numbers here."

"Well, that's so. Lemme think a minute. Here -- it's the number of a
room -- in a tavern, you know!"

"Oh, that's the trick! They ain't only two taverns. We can find out
quick."

"You stay here, Huck, till I come."

Tom was off at once. He did not care to have Huck's company in
public places. He was gone half an hour. He found that in the best
tavern, No. 2 had long been occupied by a young lawyer, and was still
so occupied. In the less ostentatious house, No. 2 was a mystery. The
tavern-keeper's young son said it was kept locked all the time, and he
never saw anybody go into it or come out of it

-252-

except at night; he did not know any particular reason for this state
of things; had had some little curiosity, but it was rather feeble; had
made the most of the mystery by entertaining himself with the idea that
that room was "ha'nted"; had noticed that there was a light in there
the night before.

"That's what I've found out, Huck. I reckon that's the very No. 2
we're after."

"I reckon it is, Tom. Now what you going to do?"

"Lemme think."

Tom thought a long time. Then he said:

"I'll tell you. The back door of that No. 2 is the door that comes
out into that little close alley between the tavern and the old rattle
trap of a brick store. Now you get hold of all the door-keys you can
find, and I'll nip all of auntie's, and the first dark night we'll go
there and try 'em. And mind you, keep a lookout for Injun Joe, because
he said he was going to drop into town and spy around once more for a
chance to get his revenge. If you see him, you just follow him; and if
he don't go to that No. 2, that ain't the place."

"Lordy, I don't want to foller him by myself!"

"Why, it'll be night, sure. He mightn't ever see you -- and if he
did, maybe he'd never think anything."

"Well, if it's pretty dark I reckon I'll track him. I dono -- I
dono. I'll try."

"You bet I'll follow him, if it's dark, Huck.

-253-

Why, he might 'a' found out he couldn't get his revenge, and be going
right after that money."

"It's so, Tom, it's so. I'll foller him; I will, by jingoes!"

"Now you're talking
! Don't you ever weaken, Huck, and I won't."

-254-

Chapter XXVIII

THAT night Tom and Huck were ready for their adventure. They hung
about the neighborhood of the tavern until after nine, one watching the
alley at a distance and the other the tavern door. Nobody entered the
alley or left it; nobody resembling the Spaniard entered or left the
tavern door. The night promised to be a fair one; so Tom went home with
the understanding that if a considerable degree of darkness came on,
Huck was to come and "maow," whereupon he would slip out and try the
keys. But the night remained clear, and Huck closed his watch and
retired to bed in an empty sugar hogshead about twelve.

Tuesday the boys had the same ill luck. Also Wednesday. But Thursday
night promised better. Tom slipped out in good season with his aunt's
old tin lantern, and a large towel to blindfold it with. He hid the
lantern in Huck's sugar hogshead and the watch began. An hour before
midnight the tavern closed up and its lights (the only ones
thereabouts) were put out. No Spaniard had been seen. Nobody had
entered or left the alley. Everything

-255-

was auspicious. The blackness of darkness reigned, the perfect
stillness was interrupted only by occasional mutterings of distant
thunder.

Tom got his lantern, lit it in the hogshead, wrapped it closely in
the towel, and the two adventurers crept in the gloom toward the
tavern. Huck stood sentry and Tom felt his way into the alley. Then
there was a season of waiting anxiety that weighed upon Huck's spirits
like a mountain. He began to wish he could see a flash from the lantern
-- it would frighten him, but it would at least tell him that Tom was
alive yet. It seemed hours since Tom had disappeared. Surely he must
have fainted; maybe he was dead; maybe his heart had burst under terror
and excitement. In his uneasiness Huck found himself drawing closer and
closer to the alley; fearing all sorts of dreadful things, and
momentarily expecting some catastrophe to happen that would take away
his breath. There was not much to take away, for he seemed only able to
inhale it by thimblefuls, and his heart would soon wear itself out, the
way it was beating. Suddenly there was a flash of light and Tom came
tearing by him: . "Run!" said he; "run, for your life!"

He needn't have repeated it; once was enough; Huck was making thirty
or forty miles an hour before the repetition was uttered. The boys
never stopped till they reached the shed of a deserted slaughter-house
at the lower end of the village. Just

-256-

as they got within its shelter the storm burst and the rain poured
down. As soon as Tom got his breath he said:

"Huck, it was awful! I tried two of the keys, just as soft as I
could; but they seemed to make such a power of racket that I couldn't
hardly get my breath I was so scared. They wouldn't turn in the lock,
either. Well, without noticing what I was doing, I took hold of the
knob, and open comes the door! It warn't locked! I hopped in, and shook
off the towel, and, great Caesar's ghost!"

"What! -- what'd you see, Tom?"

"Huck, I most stepped onto Injun Joe's hand!"

"No!"

"Yes! He was lying there, sound asleep on the floor, with his old
patch on his eye and his arms spread out."

"Lordy, what did you do? Did he wake up?"

"No, never budged. Drunk, I reckon. I just grabbed that towel and
started!"

"I'd never 'a' thought of the towel, I bet!"

"Well, I
would. My aunt would make me mighty sick if I lost it."

"Say, Tom, did you see that box?"

"Huck, I didn't wait to look around. I didn't see the box, I didn't
see the cross. I didn't see anything but a bottle and a tin cup on the
floor by Injun Joe; yes, I saw two barrels and lots more bottles in the
room. Don't you see, now, what's the matter with that ha'nted room?"

-257-

"How?"

"Why, it's ha'nted with whiskey! Maybe all
the Temperance Taverns have got a ha'nted room, hey, Huck?"

"Well, I reckon maybe that's so. Who'd 'a' thought such a thing? But
say, Tom, now's a mighty good time to get that box, if Injun Joe's
drunk."

"It is, that! You try it!"

Huck shuddered.

"Well, no -- I reckon not."

"And I
reckon not, Huck. Only one bottle along-side of Injun Joe ain't enough.
If there'd been three, he'd be drunk enough and I'd do it."

There was a long pause for reflection, and then Tom said:

"Lookyhere, Huck, less not try that thing any more till we know
Injun Joe's not in there. It's too scary. Now, if we watch every night,
we'll be dead sure to see him go out, some time or other, and then
we'll snatch that box quicker'n lightning."

"Well, I'm agreed. I'll watch the whole night long, and I'll do it
every night, too, if you'll do the other part of the job."

"All right, I will. All you got to do is to trot up Hooper Street a
block and maow -- and if I'm asleep, you throw some gravel at the
window and that'll fetch me."

"Agreed, and good as wheat!"

"Now, Huck, the storm's over, and I'll go

-258-

home. It'll begin to be daylight in a couple of hours. You go back and
watch that long, will you?"

"I said I would, Tom, and I will. I'll ha'nt that tavern every night
for a year! I'll sleep all day and I'll stand watch all night."

"That's all right. Now, where you going to sleep?"

"In Ben Rogers' hayloft. He lets me, and so does his pap's nigger
man, Uncle Jake. I tote water for Uncle Jake whenever he wants me to,
and any time I ask him he gives me a little something to eat if he can
spare it. That's a mighty good nigger, Tom. He likes me, becuz I don't
ever act as if I was above him. Sometime I've set right down and eat
with
him. But you needn't tell that. A body's got to do things when he's
awful hungry he wouldn't want to do as a steady thing."

"Well, if I don't want you in the daytime, I'll let you sleep. I
won't come bothering around. Any time you see something's up, in the
night, just skip right around and maow."

-259-

Chapter XXIX

THE first thing Tom heard on Friday morning was a glad piece of news
-- Judge Thatcher's family had come back to town the night before. Both
Injun Joe and the treasure sunk into secondary importance for a moment,
and Becky took the chief place in the boy's interest. He saw her and
they had an exhausting good time playing "hispy" and "gully-keeper"
with a crowd of their school-mates. The day was completed and crowned
in a peculiarly satisfactory way: Becky teased her mother to appoint
the next day for the long-promised and long-delayed picnic, and she
consented. The child's delight was boundless; and Tom's not more
moderate. The invitations were sent out before sunset, and straightway
the young folks of the village were thrown into a fever of preparation
and pleasurable anticipation. Tom's excitement enabled him to keep
awake until a pretty late hour, and he had good hopes of hearing Huck's
"maow," and of having his treasure to astonish Becky and the picnickers
with, next day; but he was disappointed. No signal came that night.

-260-

Morning came, eventually, and by ten or eleven o'clock a giddy and
rollicking company were gathered at Judge Thatcher's, and everything
was ready for a start. It was not the custom for elderly people to mar
the picnics with their presence. The children were considered safe
enough under the wings of a few young ladies of eighteen and a few
young gentlemen of twenty-three or thereabouts. The old steam
ferry-boat was chartered for the occasion; presently the gay throng
filed up the main street laden with provision-baskets. Sid was sick and
had to miss the fun; Mary remained at home to entertain him. The last
thing Mrs. Thatcher said to Becky, was:

"You'll not get back till late. Perhaps you'd better stay all night
with some of the girls that live near the ferry-landing, child."

"Then I'll stay with Susy Harper, mamma."

"Very well. And mind and behave yourself and don't be any trouble."

Presently, as they tripped along, Tom said to Becky:

"Say -- I'll tell you what we'll do. 'Stead of going to Joe Harper's
we'll climb right up the hill and stop at the Widow Douglas'. She'll
have ice-cream! She has it most every day -- dead loads of it. And
she'll be awful glad to have us."

"Oh, that will be fun!"

Then Becky reflected a moment and said:

"But what will mamma say?"

-261-

"How'll she ever know?"

The girl turned the idea over in her mind, and said reluctantly:

"I reckon it's wrong -- but -- "

"But shucks! Your mother won't know, and so what's the harm? All she
wants is that you'll be safe; and I bet you she'd 'a' said go there if
she'd 'a' thought of it. I know she would!"

The Widow Douglas' splendid hospitality was a tempting bait. It and
Tom's persuasions presently carried the day. So it was decided to say
nothing anybody about the night's programme. Presently it occurred to
Tom that maybe Huck might come this very night and give the signal. The
thought took a deal of the spirit out of his anticipations. Still he
could not bear to give up the fun at Widow Douglas'. And why should he
give it up, he reasoned -- the signal did not come the night before, so
why should it be any more likely to come to-night? The sure fun of the
evening outweighed the uncertain treasure; and, boy-like, he determined
to yield to the stronger inclination and not allow himself to think of
the box of money another time that day.

Three miles below town the ferryboat stopped at the mouth of a woody
hollow and tied up. The crowd swarmed ashore and soon the forest
distances and craggy heights echoed far and near with shoutings and
laughter. All the different ways of getting hot and tired were gone
through with, and by and

-262-

by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified with responsible
appetites, and then the destruction of the good things began. After the
feast there was a refreshing season of rest and chat in the shade of
spreading oaks. By-and-by somebody shouted:

"Who's ready for the cave?"

Everybody was. Bundles of candles were procured, and straightway
there was a general scamper up the hill. The mouth of the cave was up
the hillside -- an opening shaped like a letter A. Its massive oaken
door stood unbarred. Within was a small chamber, chilly as an
ice-house, and walled by Nature with solid limestone that was dewy with
a cold sweat. It was romantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep
gloom and look out upon the green valley shining in the sun. But the
impressiveness of the situation quickly wore off, and the romping began
again. The moment a candle was lighted there was a general rush upon
the owner of it; a struggle and a gallant defence followed, but the
candle was soon knocked down or blown out, and then there was a glad
clamor of laughter and a new chase. But all things have an end.
By-and-by the procession went filing down the steep descent of the main
avenue, the flickering rank of lights dimly revealing the lofty walls
of rock almost to their point of junction sixty feet overhead. This
main avenue was not more than eight or ten feet wide. Every few steps
other lofty and still narrower crevices branched from it on either hand
-- for Mc-

-263-

Dougal's cave was but a vast labyrinth of crooked aisles that ran into
each other and out again and led nowhere. It was said that one might
wander days and nights together through its intricate tangle of rifts
and chasms, and never find the end of the cave; and that he might go
down, and down, and still down, into the earth, and it was just the
same -- labyrinth under labyrinth, and no end to any of them. No man
"knew" the cave. That was an impossible thing. Most of the young men
knew a portion of it, and it was not customary to venture much beyond
this known portion. Tom Sawyer knew as much of the cave as any one.

The procession moved along the main avenue some three-quarters of a
mile, and then groups and couples began to slip aside into branch
avenues, fly along the dismal corridors, and take each other by
surprise at points where the corridors joined again. Parties were able
to elude each other for the space of half an hour without going beyond
the "known" ground.

By-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth
of the cave, panting, hilarious, smeared from head to foot with tallow
drippings, daubed with clay, and entirely delighted with the success of
the day. Then they were astonished to find that they had been taking no
note of time and that night was about at hand. The clanging bell had
been calling for half an hour. However, this sort of close to the day's
adventures was

-264-

romantic and therefore satisfactory.When the ferryboat with her wild
freight pushed into the stream, nobody cared sixpence for the wasted
time but the captain of the craft.

Huck was already upon his watch when the ferry-boat's lights went
glinting past the wharf. He heard no noise on board, for the young
people were as subdued and still as people usually are who are nearly
tired to death. He wondered what boat it was, and why she did not stop
at the wharf -- and then he dropped her out of his mind and put his
attention upon his business. The night was growing cloudy and dark. Ten
o'clock came, and the noise of vehicles ceased, scattered lights began
to wink out, all straggling foot-passengers disappeared, the village
betook itself to its slumbers and left the small watcher alone with the
silence and the ghosts. Eleven o'clock came, and the tavern lights were
put out; darkness everywhere, now. Huck waited what seemed a weary long
time, but nothing happened. His faith was weakening. Was there any use?
Was there really any use? Why not give it up and turn in?

A noise fell upon his ear. He was all attention in an instant. The
alley door closed softly. He sprang to the corner of the brick store.
The next moment two men brushed by him, and one seemed to have
something under his arm. It must be that box! So they were going to
remove the treasure. Why call Tom now? It would be absurd -- the

-265-

men would get away with the box and never be found again. No, he would
stick to their wake and follow them; he would trust to the darkness for
security from discovery. So communing with himself, Huck stepped out
and glided along behind the men, cat-like, with bare feet, allowing
them to keep just far enough ahead not to be invisible.

They moved up the river street three blocks, then turned to the left
up a cross-street. They went straight ahead, then, until they came to
the path that led up Cardiff Hill; this they took. They passed by the
old Welshman's house, half-way up the hill, without hesitating, and
still climbed upward. Good, thought Huck, they will bury it in the old
quarry. But they never stopped at the quarry. They passed on, up the
summit. They plunged into the narrow path between the tall sumach
bushes, and were at once hidden in the gloom. Huck closed up and
shortened his distance, now, for they would never be able to see him.
He trotted along awhile; then slackened his pace, fearing he was
gaining too fast; moved on a piece, then stopped altogether; listened;
no sound; none, save that he seemed to hear the beating of his own
heart. The hooting of an owl came over the hill -- ominous sound! But
no footsteps. Heavens, was everything lost! He was about to spring with
winged feet, when a man cleared his throat not four feet from him!
Huck's heart shot into his throat, but he swallowed it again; and then
he stood there

-266-

shaking as if a dozen agues had taken charge of him at once, and so
weak that he thought he must surely fall to the ground. He knew where
he was. He knew he was within five steps of the stile leading into
Widow Douglas' grounds. Very well, he thought, let them bury it there;
it won't be hard to find.

Now there was a voice -- a very low voice -- Injun Joe's:

"Damn her, maybe she's got company -- there's lights, late as it
is."

"I can't see any."

This was that stranger's voice -- the stranger of the haunted house.
A deadly chill went to Huck's heart -- this, then, was the "revenge"
job! His thought was, to fly. Then he remembered that the Widow Douglas
had been kind to him more than once, and maybe these men were going to
murder her. He wished he dared venture to warn her; but he knew he
didn't dare -- they might come and catch him. He thought all this and
more in the moment that elapsed between the stranger's remark and Injun
Joe's next -- which was --

"Because the bush is in your way. Now -- this way -- now you see,
don't you?"

"Yes. Well, there is
company there, I reckon. Better give it up."

"Give it up, and I just leaving this country forever! Give it up and
maybe never have another chance. I tell you again, as I've told you
before, I

-267-

don't care for her swag -- you may have it. But her husband was rough
on me -- many times he was rough on me -- and mainly he was the justice
of the peace that jugged me for a vagrant. And that ain't all. It ain't
a millionth part of it! He had me horsewhipped! -- horsewhipped in
front of the jail, like a nigger! -- with all the town looking on!
HORSEWHIPPED! -- do you understand? He took advantage of me and died.
But I'll take it out of her."

"Oh, don't kill her! Don't do that!"

"Kill? Who said anything about killing? I would kill him
if he was here; but not her. When you want to get revenge on a woman
you don't kill her -- bosh! you go for her looks. You slit her nostrils
-- you notch her ears like a sow!"

"By God, that's -- "

"Keep your opinion to yourself! It will be safest for you. I'll tie
her to the bed. If she bleeds to death, is that my fault? I'll not cry,
if she does. My friend, you'll help me in this thing -- for MY sake --
that's why you're here -- I mightn't be able alone. If you flinch, I'll
kill you. Do you understand that? And if I have to kill you, I'll kill
her -- and then I reckon nobody'll ever know much about who done this
business."

"Well, if it's got to be done, let's get at it. The quicker the
better -- I'm all in a shiver."

"Do it now?
And company there? Look here -- I'll get suspicious of you, first thing
you know.

-268-

No -- we'll wait till the lights are out -- there's no hurry."

Huck felt that a silence was going to ensue -- a thing still more
awful than any amount of murderous talk; so he held his breath and
stepped gingerly back; planted his foot carefully and firmly, after
balancing, one-legged, in a precarious way and almost toppling over,
first on one side and then on the other. He took another step back,
with the same elaboration and the same risks; then another and another,
and -- a twig snapped under his foot! His breath stopped and he
listened. There was no sound -- the stillness was perfect. His
gratitude was measureless. Now he turned in his tracks, between the
walls of sumach bushes -- turned himself as carefully as if he were a
ship -- and then stepped quickly but cautiously along. When he emerged
at the quarry he felt secure, and so he picked up his nimble heels and
flew. Down, down he sped, till he reached the Welshman's. He banged at
the door, and presently the heads of the old man and his two stalwart
sons were thrust from windows.

"What's the row there? Who's banging? What do you want?"

"Let me in -- quick! I'll tell everything."

"Why, who are you?"

"Huckleberry Finn -- quick, let me in!"

"Huckleberry Finn, indeed! It ain't a name to open many doors, I
judge! But let him in, lads, and let's see what's the trouble."

-269-

"Please don't ever tell I
told you," were Huck's first words when he got in. "Please don't -- I'd
be killed, sure -- but the widow's been good friends to me sometimes,
and I want to tell -- I will tell if you'll promise you won't ever say
it was me."

"By George, he has
got something to tell, or he wouldn't act so!" exclaimed the old man;
"out with it and nobody here'll ever tell, lad."

Three minutes later the old man and his sons, well armed, were up
the hill, and just entering the sumach path on tiptoe, their weapons in
their hands. Huck accompanied them no further. He hid behind a great
bowlder and fell to listening. There was a lagging, anxious silence,
and then all of a sudden there was an explosion of firearms and a cry.

Huck waited for no particulars. He sprang away and sped down the
hill as fast as his legs could carry him.

-270-

Chapter XXX

AS the earliest suspicion of dawn appeared on Sunday morning, Huck
came groping up the hill and rapped gently at the old Welshman's door.
The inmates were asleep, but it was a sleep that was set on a
hair-trigger, on account of the exciting episode of the night. A call
came from a window:

"Who's there!"

Huck's scared voice answered in a low tone:

"Please let me in! It's only Huck Finn!"

"It's a name that can open this door night or day, lad! -- and
welcome!"

These were strange words to the vagabond boy's ears, and the
pleasantest he had ever heard. He could not recollect that the closing
word had ever been applied in his case before. The door was quickly
unlocked, and he entered. Huck was given a seat and the old man and his
brace of tall sons speedily dressed themselves.

"Now, my boy, I hope you're good and hungry, because breakfast will
be ready as soon as the sun's up, and we'll have a piping hot one, too
-- make yourself easy about that! I and the boys hoped you'd turn up
and stop here last night."

-271-

"I was awful scared," said Huck, "and I run. I took out when the
pistols went off, and I didn't stop for three mile. I've come now becuz
I wanted to know about it, you know; and I come before daylight becuz I
didn't want to run across them devils, even if they was dead."

"Well, poor chap, you do look as if you'd had a hard night of it --
but there's a bed here for you when you've had your breakfast. No, they
ain't dead, lad -- we are sorry enough for that. You see we knew right
where to put our hands on them, by your description; so we crept along
on tiptoe till we got within fifteen feet of them -- dark as a cellar
that sumach path was -- and just then I found I was going to sneeze. It
was the meanest kind of luck! I tried to keep it back, but no use --
'twas bound to come, and it did come! I was in the lead with my pistol
raised, and when the sneeze started those scoundrels a-rustling to get
out of the path, I sung out, 'Fire boys!' and blazed away at the place
where the rustling was. So did the boys. But they were off in a jiffy,
those villains, and we after them, down through the woods. I judge we
never touched them. They fired a shot apiece as they started, but their
bullets whizzed by and didn't do us any harm. As soon as we lost the
sound of their feet we quit chasing, and went down and stirred up the
constables. They got a posse together, and went off to guard the river
bank, and as soon as it is light the sheriff and a gang are going to
beat up the

-272-

woods. My boys will be with them presently. I wish we had some sort of
description of those rascals -- 'twould help a good deal. But you
couldn't see what they were like, in the dark, lad, I suppose?"

"Oh yes; I saw them down-town and follered them."

"Splendid! Describe them -- describe them, my boy!"

"One's the old deaf and dumb Spaniard that's ben around here once or
twice, and t'other's a mean-looking, ragged -- "

"That's enough, lad, we know the men! Happened on them in the woods
back of the widow's one day, and they slunk away. Off with you, boys,
and tell the sheriff -- get your breakfast to-morrow morning!"

The Welshman's sons departed at once. As they were leaving the room
Huck sprang up and exclaimed:

"Oh, please don't tell any
body it was me that blowed on them! Oh, please!"

"All right if you say it, Huck, but you ought to have the credit of
what you did."

"Oh no, no! Please don't tell!"

When the young men were gone, the old Welshman said:

"They won't tell -- and I won't. But why don't you want it known?"

Huck would not explain, further than to say that

-273-

he already knew too much about one of those men and would not have the
man know that he knew anything against him for the whole world -- he
would be killed for knowing it, sure.

The old man promised secrecy once more, and said:

"How did you come to follow these fellows, lad? Were they looking
suspicious?"

Huck was silent while he framed a duly cautious reply. Then he said:

"Well, you see, I'm a kind of a hard lot, -- least everybody says
so, and I don't see nothing agin it -- and sometimes I can't sleep
much, on account of thinking about it and sort of trying to strike out
a new way of doing. That was the way of it last night. I couldn't
sleep, and so I come along up-street 'bout midnight, a-turning it all
over, and when I got to that old shackly brick store by the Temperance
Tavern, I backed up agin the wall to have another think. Well, just
then along comes these two chaps slipping along close by me, with
something under their arm, and I reckoned they'd stole it. One was
a-smoking, and t'other one wanted a light; so they stopped right before
me and the cigars lit up their faces and I see that the big one was the
deaf and dumb Spaniard, by his white whiskers and the patch on his eye,
and t'other one was a rusty, ragged-looking devil."

"Could you see the rags by the light of the cigars?"

-274-

This staggered Huck for a moment. Then he said:

"Well, I don't know -- but somehow it seems as if I did."

"Then they went on, and you -- "

"Follered 'em -- yes. That was it. I wanted to see what was up --
they sneaked along so. I dogged 'em to the widder's stile, and stood in
the dark and heard the ragged one beg for the widder, and the Spaniard
swear he'd spile her looks just as I told you and your two -- "

"What! The deaf and dumb
man said all that!"

Huck had made another terrible mistake! He was trying his best to
keep the old man from getting the faintest hint of who the Spaniard
might be, and yet his tongue seemed determined to get him into trouble
in spite of all he could do. He made several efforts to creep out of
his scrape, but the old man's eye was upon him and he made blunder
after blunder. Presently the Welshman said:

"My boy, don't be afraid of me. I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head
for all the world. No -- I'd protect you -- I'd protect you. This
Spaniard is not deaf and dumb; you've let that slip without intending
it; you can't cover that up now. You know something about that Spaniard
that you want to keep dark. Now trust me -- tell me what it is, and
trust me -- I won't betray you."

Huck looked into the old man's honest eyes a moment, then bent over
and whispered in his ear:

-275-

"'Tain't a Spaniard -- it's Injun Joe!"

The Welshman almost jumped out of his chair. In a moment he said:

"It's all plain enough, now. When you talked about notching ears and
slitting noses I judged that that was your own embellishment, because
white men don't take that sort of revenge. But an Injun! That's a
different matter altogether."

During breakfast the talk went on, and in the course of it the old
man said that the last thing which he and his sons had done, before
going to bed, was to get a lantern and examine the stile and its
vicinity for marks of blood. They found none, but captured a bulky
bundle of --

"Of WHAT?"

If the words had been lightning they could not have leaped with a
more stunning suddenness from Huck's blanched lips. His eyes were
staring wide, now, and his breath suspended -- waiting for the answer.
The Welshman started -- stared in return -- three seconds -- five
seconds -- ten -- then replied:

"Of burglar's tools. Why, what's the matter
with you?"

Huck sank back, panting gently, but deeply, unutterably grateful.
The Welshman eyed him gravely, curiously -- and presently said:

"Yes, burglar's tools. That appears to relieve you a good deal. But
what did give you that turn? What were you
expecting we'd found?"

-276-

Huck was in a close place -- the inquiring eye was upon him -- he
would have given anything for material for a plausible answer --
nothing suggested itself -- the inquiring eye was boring deeper and
deeper -- a senseless reply offered -- there was no time to weigh it,
so at a venture he uttered it -- feebly:

"Sunday-school books, maybe."

Poor Huck was too distressed to smile, but the old man laughed loud
and joyously, shook up the details of his anatomy from head to foot,
and ended by saying that such a laugh was money in a-man's pocket,
because it cut down the doctor's bill like everything. Then he added:

"Poor old chap, you're white and jaded -- you ain't well a bit -- no
wonder you're a little flighty and off your balance. But you'll come
out of it. Rest and sleep will fetch you out all right, I hope."

Huck was irritated to think he had been such a goose and betrayed
such a suspicious excitement, for he had dropped the idea that the
parcel brought from the tavern was the treasure, as soon as he had
heard the talk at the widow's stile. He had only thought
it was not the treasure, however -- he had not known that it wasn't --
and so the suggestion of a captured bundle was too much for his
self-possession. But on the whole he felt glad the little episode had
happened, for now he knew beyond all question that that bundle was not
the bundle, and so his mind was at rest and exceedingly comfortable.

-277-

In fact, everything seemed to be drifting just in the right direction,
now; the treasure must be still in No. 2, the men would be captured and
jailed that day, and he and Tom could seize the gold that night without
any trouble or any fear of interruption.

Just as breakfast was completed there was a knock at the door. Huck
jumped for a hiding-place, for he had no mind to be connected even
remotely with the late event. The Welshman admitted several ladies and
gentlemen, among them the Widow Douglas, and noticed that groups of
citizens were climbing up the hill -- to stare at the stile. So the
news had spread. The Welshman had to tell the story of the night to the
visitors. The widow's gratitude for her preservation was outspoken.

"Don't say a word about it, madam. There's another that you're more
beholden to than you are to me and my boys, maybe, but he don't allow
me to tell his name. We wouldn't have been there but for him."

Of course this excited a curiosity so vast that it almost belittled
the main matter -- but the Welshman allowed it to eat into the vitals
of his visitors, and through them be transmitted to the whole town, for
he refused to part with his secret. When all else had been learned, the
widow said:

"I went to sleep reading in bed and slept straight through all that
noise. Why didn't you come and wake me?"

-278-

"We judged it warn't worth while. Those fellows warn't likely to
come again -- they hadn't any tools left to work with, and what was the
use of waking you up and scaring you to death? My three negro men stood
guard at your house all the rest of the night. They've just come back."

More visitors came, and the story had to be told and retold for a
couple of hours more.

There was no Sabbath-school during day-school vacation, but
everybody was early at church. The stirring event was well canvassed.
News came that not a sign of the two villains had been yet discovered.
When the sermon was finished, Judge Thatcher's wife dropped alongside
of Mrs. Harper as she moved down the aisle with the crowd and said:

"Is my Becky going to sleep all day? I just expected she would be
tired to death."

"Your Becky?"

"Yes," with a startled look -- "didn't she stay with you last
night?"

"Why, no."

Mrs. Thatcher turned pale, and sank into a pew, just as Aunt Polly,
talking briskly with a friend, passed by. Aunt Polly said:

"Good-morning, Mrs. Thatcher. Good-morning, Mrs. Harper. I've got a
boy that's turned up missing. I reckon my Tom stayed at your house last
night -- one of you. And now he's afraid to come to church. I've got to
settle with him."

-279-

Mrs. Thatcher shook her head feebly and turned paler than ever.

"He didn't stay with us," said Mrs. Harper, beginning to look
uneasy. A marked anxiety came into Aunt Polly's face.

"Joe Harper, have you seen my Tom this morning?"

"No'm."

"When did you see him last?"

Joe tried to remember, but was not sure he could say. The people had
stopped moving out of church. Whispers passed along, and a boding
uneasiness took possession of every countenance. Children were
anxiously questioned, and young teachers. They all said they had not
noticed whether Tom and Becky were on board the ferryboat on the
homeward trip; it was dark; no one thought of inquiring if any one was
missing. One young man finally blurted out his fear that they were
still in the cave! Mrs. Thatcher swooned away. Aunt Polly fell to
crying and wringing her hands.

The alarm swept from lip to lip, from group to group, from street to
street, and within five minutes the bells were wildly clanging and the
whole town was up! The Cardiff Hill episode sank into instant
insignificance, the burglars were forgotten, horses were saddled,
skiffs were manned, the ferryboat ordered out, and before the horror
was half an hour old, two hundred men were pouring down highroad and
river toward the cave.

-280-

All the long afternoon the village seemed empty and dead. Many women
visited Aunt Polly and Mrs. Thatcher and tried to comfort them. They
cried with them, too, and that was still better than words. All the
tedious night the town waited for news; but when the morning dawned at
last, all the word that came was, "Send more candles -- and send food."
Mrs. Thatcher was almost crazed; and Aunt Polly, also. Judge Thatcher
sent messages of hope and encouragement from the cave, but they
conveyed no real cheer.

The old Welshman came home toward daylight, spattered with
candle-grease, smeared with clay, and almost worn out. He found Huck
still in the bed that had been provided for him, and delirious with
fever. The physicians were all at the cave, so the Widow Douglas came
and took charge of the patient. She said she would do her best by him,
because, whether he was good, bad, or indifferent, he was the Lord's,
and nothing that was the Lord's was a thing to be neglected. The
Welshman said Huck had good spots in him, and the widow said:

"You can depend on it. That's the Lord's mark. He don't leave it
off. He never does. Puts it somewhere on every creature that comes from
his hands."

Early in the forenoon parties of jaded men began to straggle into
the village, but the strongest of the citizens continued searching. All
the news that could be gained was that remotenesses of the cavern

-281-

were being ransacked that had never been visited before; that every
corner and crevice was going to be thoroughly searched; that wherever
one wandered through the maze of passages, lights were to be seen
flitting hither and thither in the distance, and shoutings and
pistol-shots sent their hollow reverberations to the ear down the
sombre aisles. In one place, far from the section usually traversed by
tourists, the names "BECKY & TOM" had been found traced upon the rocky
wall with candle-smoke, and near at hand a grease-soiled bit of ribbon.
Mrs. Thatcher recognized the ribbon and cried over it. She said it was
the last relic she should ever have of her child; and that no other
memorial of her could ever be so precious, because this one parted
latest from the living body before the awful death came. Some said that
now and then, in the cave, a far-away speck of light would glimmer, and
then a glorious shout would burst forth and a score of men go trooping
down the echoing aisle -- and then a sickening disappointment always
followed; the children were not there; it was only a searcher's light.

Three dreadful days and nights dragged their tedious hours along,
and the village sank into a hopeless stupor. No one had heart for
anything. The accidental discovery, just made, that the proprietor of
the Temperance Tavern kept liquor on his premises, scarcely fluttered
the public pulse, tremendous as the fact was. In a lucid interval, Huck
feebly led up to the subject of taverns, and finally

-282-

asked -- dimly dreading the worst -- if anything had been discovered at
the Temperance Tavern since he had been ill.

"Yes," said the widow.

Huck started up in bed, wild-eyed:

"What? What was it?"

"Liquor! -- and the place has been shut up. Lie down, child -- what
a turn you did give me!"

"Only tell me just one thing -- only just one -- please! Was it Tom
Sawyer that found it?"

The widow burst into tears. "Hush, hush, child, hush! I've told you
before, you must not
talk. You are very, very sick!"

Then nothing but liquor had been found; there would have been a
great powwow if it had been the gold. So the treasure was gone forever
-- gone forever! But what could she be crying about? Curious that she
should cry.

These thoughts worked their dim way through Huck's mind, and under
the weariness they gave him he fell asleep. The widow said to herself:

"There -- he's asleep, poor wreck. Tom Sawyer find it! Pity but
somebody could find Tom Sawyer! Ah, there ain't many left, now, that's
got hope enough, or strength enough, either, to go on searching."

-283-

Chapter XXXI

NOW to return to Tom and Becky's share in the picnic. They tripped
along the murky aisles with the rest of the company, visiting the
familiar wonders of the cave -- wonders dubbed with rather
over-descriptive names, such as "The Drawing-Room," "The Cathedral,"
"Aladdin's Palace," and so on. Presently the hide-and-seek frolicking
began, and Tom and Becky engaged in it with zeal until the exertion
began to grow a trifle wearisome; then they wandered down a sinuous
avenue holding their candles aloft and reading the tangled web-work of
names, dates, post-office addresses, and mottoes with which the rocky
walls had been frescoed (in candle-smoke). Still drifting along and
talking, they scarcely noticed that they were now in a part of the cave
whose walls were not frescoed. They smoked their own names under an
overhanging shelf and moved on. Presently they came to a place where a
little stream of water, trickling over a ledge and carrying a limestone
sediment with it, had, in the slow-dragging ages, formed a laced and
ruffled Niagara in gleaming and imperishable stone. Tom squeezed his
small body behind it in order toillumi-

-284-

nate it for Becky's gratification. He found that it curtained a sort of
steep natural stairway which was enclosed between narrow walls, and at
once the ambition to be a discoverer seized him. Becky responded to his
call, and they made a smoke-mark for future guidance, and started upon
their quest. They wound this way and that, far down into the secret
depths of the cave, made another mark, and branched off in search of
novelties to tell the upper world about. In one place they found a
spacious cavern, from whose ceiling depended a multitude of shining
stalactites of the length and circumference of a man's leg; they walked
all about it, wondering and admiring, and presently left it by one of
the numerous passages that opened into it. This shortly brought them to
a bewitching spring, whose basin was incrusted with a frostwork of
glittering crystals; it was in the midst of a cavern whose walls were
supported by many fantastic pillars which had been formed by the
joining of great stalactites and stalagmites together, the result of
the ceaseless water-drip of centuries. Under the roof vast knots of
bats had packed themselves together, thousands in a bunch; the lights
disturbed the creatures and they came flocking down by hundreds,
squeaking and darting furiously at the candles. Tom knew their ways and
the danger of this sort of conduct. He seized Becky's hand and hurried
her into the first corridor that offered; and none too soon, for a bat
struck Becky's light out with its wing while she was passing

-285-

out of the cavern. The bats chased the children a good distance; but
the fugitives plunged into every new passage that offered, and at last
got rid of the perilous things. Tom found a subterranean lake, shortly,
which stretched its dim length away until its shape was lost in the
shadows. He wanted to explore its borders, but concluded that it would
be best to sit down and rest awhile, first. Now, for the first time,
the deep stillness of the place laid a clammy hand upon the spirits of
the children. Becky said:

"Why, I didn't notice, but it seems ever so long since I heard any
of the others."

"Come to think, Becky, we are away down below them -- and I don't
know how far away north, or south, or east, or whichever it is. We
couldn't hear them here."

Becky grew apprehensive.

"I wonder how long we've been down here, Tom? We better start back."

"Yes, I reckon we better. P'raps we better."

"Can you find the way, Tom? It's all a mixed-up crookedness to me."

"I reckon I could find it -- but then the bats. If they put our
candles out it will be an awful fix. Let's try some other way, so as
not to go through there."

"Well. But I hope we won't get lost. It would be so awful!" and the
girl shuddered at the thought of the dreadful possibilities.

-286-

They started through a corridor, and traversed it in silence a long
way, glancing at each new opening, to see if there was anything
familiar about the look of it; but they were all strange. Every time
Tom made an examination, Becky would watch his face for an encouraging
sign, and he would say cheerily:

"Oh, it's all right. This ain't the one, but we'll come to it right
away!"

But he felt less and less hopeful with each failure, and presently
began to turn off into diverging avenues at sheer random, in desperate
hope of finding the one that was wanted. He still said it was "all
right," but there was such a leaden dread at his heart that the words
had lost their ring and sounded just as if he had said, "All is lost!"
Becky clung to his side in an anguish of fear, and tried hard to keep
back the tears, but they would come. At last she said:

"Oh, Tom, never mind the bats, let's go back that way! We seem to
get worse and worse off all the time."

"Listen!" said he.

Profound silence; silence so deep that even their breathings were
conspicuous in the hush. Tom shouted. The call went echoing down the
empty aisles and died out in the distance in a faint sound that
resembled a ripple of mocking laughter.

"Oh, don't do it again, Tom, it is too horrid," said Becky.

-287-

"It is horrid, but I better, Becky; they might hear us, you know,"
and he shouted again.

The "might" was even a chillier horror than the ghostly laughter, it
so confessed a perishing hope. The children stood still and listened;
but there was no result. Tom turned upon the back track at once, and
hurried his steps. It was but a little while before a certain
indecision in his manner revealed another fearful fact to Becky -- he
could not find his way back!

"Oh, Tom, you didn't make any marks!"

"Becky, I was such a fool! Such a fool! I never thought we might
want to come back! No -- I can't find the way. It's all mixed up."

"Tom, Tom, we're lost! we're lost! We never can get out of this
awful place! Oh, why did
we ever leave the others!"

She sank to the ground and burst into such a frenzy of crying that
Tom was appalled with the idea that she might die, or lose her reason.
He sat down by her and put his arms around her; she buried her face in
his bosom, she clung to him, she poured out her terrors, her unavailing
regrets, and the far echoes turned them all to jeering laughter. Tom
begged her to pluck up hope again, and she said she could not. He fell
to blaming and abusing himself for getting her into this miserable
situation; this had a better effect. She said she would try to hope
again, she would get up and follow wherever he might lead if only he
would not talk like that any

-288-

more. For he was no more to blame than she, she said.

So they moved on again -- aimlessly -- simply at random -- all they
could do was to move, keep moving. For a little while, hope made a show
of reviving -- not with any reason to back it, but only because it is
its nature to revive when the spring has not been taken out of it by
age and familiarity with failure.

By-and-by Tom took Becky's candle and blew it out. This economy
meant so much! Words were not needed. Becky understood, and her hope
died again. She knew that Tom had a whole candle and three or four
pieces in his pockets -- yet he must economize.

By-and-by, fatigue began to assert its claims; the children tried to
pay attention, for it was dreadful to think of sitting down when time
was grown to be so precious, moving, in some direction, in any
direction, was at least progress and might bear fruit; but to sit down
was to invite death and shorten its pursuit.

At last Becky's frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat
down. Tom rested with her, and they talked of home, and the friends
there, and the comfortable beds and, above all, the light! Becky cried,
and Tom tried to think of some way of comforting her, but all his
encouragements were grown threadbare with use, and sounded like
sarcasms. Fatigue bore so heavily upon Becky that she drowsed

-289-

off to sleep. Tom was grateful. He sat looking into her drawn face and
saw it grow smooth and natural under the influence of pleasant dreams;
and by-and-by a smile dawned and rested there. The peaceful face
reflected somewhat of peace and healing into his own spirit, and his
thoughts wandered away to bygone times and dreamy memories. While he
was deep in his musings, Becky woke up with a breezy little laugh --
but it was stricken dead upon her lips, and a groan followed it.

"Oh, how could
I sleep! I wish I never, never had waked! No! No, I don't, Tom! Don't
look so! I won't say it again."

"I'm glad you've slept, Becky; you'll feel rested, now, and we'll
find the way out."

"We can try, Tom; but I've seen such a beautiful country in my
dream. I reckon we are going there."

"Maybe not, maybe not. Cheer up, Becky, and let's go on trying."

They rose up and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They
tried to estimate how long they had been in the cave, but all they knew
was that it seemed days and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could
not be, for their candles were not gone yet. A long time after this --
they could not tell how long -- Tom said they must go softly and listen
for dripping water -- they must find a spring. They found one
presently, and Tom said it was time to rest again. Both were cruelly
tired, yet Becky said

-290-

she thought she could go a little farther. She was surprised to hear
Tom dissent. She could not understand it. They sat down, and Tom
fastened his candle to the wall in front of them with some clay.
Thought was soon busy; nothing was said for some time. Then Becky broke
the silence:

"Tom, I am so hungry!"

Tom took something out of his pocket.

"Do you remember this?" said he.

Becky almost smiled.

"It's our wedding-cake, Tom."

"Yes -- I wish it was as big as a barrel, for it's all we've got."

"I saved it from the picnic for us to dream on, Tom, the way
grown-up people do with wedding-cake -- but it'll be our -- "

She dropped the sentence where it was. Tom divided the cake and
Becky ate with good appetite, while Tom nibbled at his moiety. There
was abundance of cold water to finish the feast with. By-and-by Becky
suggested that they move on again. Tom was silent a moment. Then he
said:

"Becky, can you bear it if I tell you something?"

Becky's face paled, but she thought she could.

"Well, then, Becky, we must stay here, where there's water to drink.
That little piece is our last candle!"

Becky gave loose to tears and wailings. Tom did what he could to
comfort her, but with little effect. At length Becky said:

-291-

"Tom!"

"Well, Becky?"

"They'll miss us and hunt for us!"

"Yes, they will! Certainly they will!"

"Maybe they're hunting for us now, Tom."

"Why, I reckon maybe they are. I hope they are."

"When would they miss us, Tom?"

"When they get back to the boat, I reckon."

"Tom, it might be dark then -- would they notice we hadn't come?"

"I don't know. But anyway, your mother would miss you as soon as
they got home."

A frightened look in Becky's face brought Tom to his senses and he
saw that he had made a blunder. Becky was not to have gone home that
night! The children became silent and thoughtful. In a moment a new
burst of grief from Becky showed Tom that the thing in his mind had
struck hers also -- that the Sabbath morning might be half spent before
Mrs. Thatcher discovered that Becky was not at Mrs. Harper's.

The children fastened their eyes upon their bit of candle and
watched it melt slowly and pitilessly away; saw the half inch of wick
stand alone at last; saw the feeble flame rise and fall, climb the thin
column of smoke, linger at its top a moment, and then -- the horror of
utter darkness reigned!

How long afterward it was that Becky came to a slow consciousness
that she was crying in Tom's

-292-

arms, neither could tell. All that they knew was, that after what
seemed a mighty stretch of time, both awoke out of a dead stupor of
sleep and resumed their miseries once more. Tom said it might be
Sunday, now -- maybe Monday. He tried to get Becky to talk, but her
sorrows were too oppressive, all her hopes were gone. Tom said that
they must have been missed long ago, and no doubt the search was going
on. He would shout and maybe some one would come. He tried it; but in
the darkness the distant echoes sounded so hideously that he tried it
no more.

The hours wasted away, and hunger came to torment the captives
again. A portion of Tom's half of the cake was left; they divided and
ate it. But they seemed hungrier than before. The poor morsel of food
only whetted desire.

By-and-by Tom said:

" Sh!
Did you hear that?"

Both held their breath and listened. There was a sound like the
faintest, far-off shout. Instantly Tom answered it, and leading Becky
by the hand, started groping down the corridor in its direction.
Presently he listened again; again the sound was heard, and apparently
a little nearer.

"It's them!" said Tom; "they're coming! Come along, Becky -- we're
all right now!"

The joy of the prisoners was almost overwhelming. Their speed was
slow, however, because pitfalls were somewhat common, and had to be
guarded

-293-

against. They shortly came to one and had to stop. It might be three
feet deep, it might be a hundred -- there was no passing it at any
rate. Tom got down on his breast and reached as far down as he could.
No bottom. They must stay there and wait until the searchers came. They
listened; evidently the distant shoutings were growing more distant! a
moment or two more and they had gone altogether. The heart-sinking
misery of it! Tom whooped until he was hoarse, but it was of no use. He
talked hopefully to Becky; but an age of anxious waiting passed and no
sounds came again.

The children groped their way back to the spring. The weary time
dragged on; they slept again, and awoke famished and woe-stricken. Tom
believed it must be Tuesday by this time.

Now an idea struck him. There were some side passages near at hand.
It would be better to explore some of these than bear the weight of the
heavy time in idleness. He took a kite-line from his pocket, tied it to
a projection, and he and Becky started, Tom in the lead, unwinding the
line as he groped along. At the end of twenty steps the corridor ended
in a "jumping-off place." Tom got down on his knees and felt below, and
then as far around the corner as he could reach with his hands
conveniently; he made an effort to stretch yet a little farther to the
right, and at that moment, not twenty yards away, a human hand, holding
a candle, appeared from behind a rock! Tom lifted up a

-294-

glorious shout, and instantly that hand was followed by the body it
belonged to -- Injun Joe's! Tom was paralyzed; he could not move. He
was vastly gratified the next moment, to see the "Spaniard" take to his
heels and get himself out of sight. Tom wondered that Joe had not
recognized his voice and come over and killed him for testifying in
court. But the echoes must have disguised the voice. Without doubt,
that was it, he reasoned. Tom's fright weakened every muscle in his
body. He said to himself that if he had strength enough to get back to
the spring he would stay there, and nothing should tempt him to run the
risk of meeting Injun Joe again. He was careful to keep from Becky what
it was he had seen. He told her he had only shouted "for luck."

But hunger and wretchedness rise superior to fears in the long run.
Another tedious wait at the spring and another long sleep brought
changes. The children awoke tortured with a raging hunger. Tom believed
that it must be Wednesday or Thursday or even Friday or Saturday, now,
and that the search had been given over. He proposed to explore another
passage. He felt willing to risk Injun Joe and all other terrors. But
Becky was very weak. She had sunk into a dreary apathy and would not be
roused. She said she would wait, now, where she was, and die -- it
would not be long. She told Tom to go with the kite-line and explore if
he chose; but she implored him to come back every

-295-

little while and speak to her; and she made him promise that when the
awful time came, he would stay by her and hold her hand until all was
over.

Tom kissed her, with a choking sensation in his throat, and made a
show of being confident of finding the searchers or an escape from the
cave; then he took the kite-line in his hand and went groping down one
of the passages on his hands and knees, distressed with hunger and sick
with bodings of coming doom.

-296-

Chapter XXXII

TUESDAY afternoon came, and waned to the twilight. The village of
St. Petersburg still mourned. The lost children had not been found.
Public prayers had been offered up for them, and many and many a
private prayer that had the petitioner's whole heart in it; but still
no good news came from the cave. The majority of the searchers had
given up the quest and gone back to their daily avocations, saying that
it was plain the children could never be found. Mrs. Thatcher was very
ill, and a great part of the time delirious. People said it was
heartbreaking to hear her call her child, and raise her head and listen
a whole minute at a time, then lay it wearily down again with a moan.
Aunt Polly had drooped into a settled melancholy, and her gray hair had
grown almost white. The village went to its rest on Tuesday night, sad
and forlorn.

Away in the middle of the night a wild peal burst from the village
bells, and in a moment the streets were swarming with frantic half-clad
people, who shouted, "Turn out! turn out! they're found! they're
found!" Tin pans and horns were added

-297-

to the din, the population massed itself and moved toward the river,
met the children coming in an open carriage drawn by shouting citizens,
thronged around it, joined its homeward march, and swept magnificently
up the main street roaring huzzah after huzzah!

The village was illuminated; nobody went to bed again; it was the
greatest night the little town had ever seen. During the first
half-hour a procession of villagers filed through Judge Thatcher's
house, seized the saved ones and kissed them, squeezed Mrs. Thatcher's
hand, tried to speak but couldn't -- and drifted out raining tears all
over the place.

Aunt Polly's happiness was complete, and Mrs. Thatcher's nearly so.
It would be complete, however, as soon as the messenger dispatched with
the great news to the cave should get the word to her husband. Tom lay
upon a sofa with an eager auditory about him and told the history of
the wonderful adventure, putting in many striking additions to adorn it
withal; and closed with a description of how he left Becky and went on
an exploring expedition; how he followed two avenues as far as his
kite-line would reach; how he followed a third to the fullest stretch
of the kite-line, and was about to turn back when he glimpsed a far-off
speck that looked like daylight; dropped the line and groped toward it,
pushed his head and shoulders through a small hole, and saw the broad
Mississippi rolling by! And if it had only happened to be

-298-

night he would not have seen that speck of daylight and would not have
explored that passage any more! He told how he went back for Becky and
broke the good news and she told him not to fret her with such stuff,
for she was tired, and knew she was going to die, and wanted to. He
described how he labored with her and convinced her; and how she almost
died for joy when she had groped to where she actually saw the blue
speck of daylight; how he pushed his way out at the hole and then
helped her out; how they sat there and cried for gladness; how some men
came along in a skiff and Tom hailed them and told them their situation
and their famished condition; how the men didn't believe the wild tale
at first, "because," said they, "you are five miles down the river
below the valley the cave is in" -- then took them aboard, rowed to a
house, gave them supper, made them rest till two or three hours after
dark and then brought them home.

Before day-dawn, Judge Thatcher and the handful of searchers with
him were tracked out, in the cave, by the twine clews they had strung
behind them, and informed of the great news.

Three days and nights of toil and hunger in the cave were not to be
shaken off at once, as Tom and Becky soon discovered. They were
bedridden all of Wednesday and Thursday, and seemed to grow more and
more tired and worn, all the time. Tom got about, a little, on
Thursday, was down-town Friday,

-299-

and nearly as whole as ever Saturday; but Becky did not leave her room
until Sunday, and then she looked as if she had passed through a
wasting illness.

Tom learned of Huck's sickness and went to see him on Friday, but
could not be admitted to the bedroom; neither could he on Saturday or
Sunday. He was admitted daily after that, but was warned to keep still
about his adventure and introduce no exciting topic. The Widow Douglas
stayed by to see that he obeyed. At home Tom learned of the Cardiff
Hill event; also that the "ragged man's" body had eventually been found
in the river near the ferry-landing; he had been drowned while trying
to escape, perhaps.

About a fortnight after Tom's rescue from the cave, he started off
to visit Huck, who had grown plenty strong enough, now, to hear
exciting talk, and Tom had some that would interest him, he thought.
Judge Thatcher's house was on Tom's way, and he stopped to see Becky.
The Judge and some friends set Tom to talking, and some one asked him
ironically if he wouldn't like to go to the cave again. Tom said he
thought he wouldn't mind it. The Judge said:

"Well, there are others just like you, Tom, I've not the least
doubt. But we have taken care of that. Nobody will get lost in that
cave any more."

"Why?"

"Because I had its big door sheathed with boiler

-300-

iron two weeks ago, and triple-locked -- and I've got the keys."

Tom turned as white as a sheet.

"What's the matter, boy! Here, run, somebody! Fetch a glass of
water!"

The water was brought and thrown into Tom's face.

"Ah, now you're all right. What was the matter with you, Tom?"

"Oh, Judge, Injun Joe's in the cave!"

-301-

Chapter XXXIII

WITHIN a few minutes the news had spread, and a dozen skiff-loads of
men were on their way to McDougal's cave, and the ferryboat, well
filled with passengers, soon followed. Tom Sawyer was in the skiff that
bore Judge Thatcher.

When the cave door was unlocked, a sorrowful sight presented itself
in the dim twilight of the place. Injun Joe lay stretched upon the
ground, dead, with his face close to the crack of the door, as if his
longing eyes had been fixed, to the latest moment, upon the light and
the cheer of the free world outside. Tom was touched, for he knew by
his own experience how this wretch had suffered. His pity was moved,
but nevertheless he felt an abounding sense of relief and security,
now, which revealed to him in a degree which he had not fully
appreciated before how vast a weight of dread had been lying upon him
since the day he lifted his voice against this bloody-minded outcast.

Injun Joe's bowie-knife lay close by, its blade broken in two. The
great foundation-beam of the door had been chipped and hacked through,
with

-302-

tedious labor; useless labor, too, it was, for the native rock formed a
sill outside it, and upon that stubborn material the knife had wrought
no effect; the only damage done was to the knife itself. But if there
had been no stony obstruction there the labor would have been useless
still, for if the beam had been wholly cut away Injun Joe could not
have squeezed his body under the door, and he knew it. So he had only
hacked that place in order to be doing something -- in order to pass
the weary time -- in order to employ his tortured faculties. Ordinarily
one could find half a dozen bits of candle stuck around in the crevices
of this vestibule, left there by tourists; but there were none now. The
prisoner had searched them out and eaten them. He had also contrived to
catch a few bats, and these, also, he had eaten, leaving only their
claws. The poor unfortunate had starved to death. In one place, near at
hand, a stalagmite had been slowly growing up from the ground for ages,
builded by the water-drip from a stalactite overhead. The captive had
broken off the stalagmite, and upon the stump had placed a stone,
wherein he had scooped a shallow hollow to catch the precious drop that
fell once in every three minutes with the dreary regularity of a
clock-tick -- a dessertspoonful once in four and twenty hours. That
drop was falling when the Pyramids were new; when Troy fell; when the
foundations of Rome were laid when Christ was crucified; when the
Conqueror created

-303-

the British empire; when Columbus sailed; when the massacre at
Lexington was "news." It is falling now; it will still be falling when
all these things shall have sunk down the afternoon of history, and the
twilight of tradition, and been swallowed up in the thick night of
oblivion. Has everything a purpose and a mission? Did this drop fall
patiently during five thousand years to be ready for this flitting
human insect's need? and has it another important object to accomplish
ten thousand years to come? No matter. It is many and many a year since
the hapless half-breed scooped out the stone to catch the priceless
drops, but to this day the tourist stares longest at that pathetic
stone and that slow-dropping water when he comes to see the wonders of
McDougal's cave. Injun Joe's cup stands first in the list of the
cavern's marvels; even "Aladdin's Palace" cannot rival it.

Injun Joe was buried near the mouth of the cave; and people flocked
there in boats and wagons from the towns and from all the farms and
hamlets for seven miles around; they brought their children, and all
sorts of provisions, and confessed that they had had almost as
satisfactory a time at the funeral as they could have had at the
hanging.

This funeral stopped the further growth of one thing -- the petition
to the governor for Injun Joe's pardon. The petition had been largely
signed; many tearful and eloquent meetings had been held, and a
committee of sappy women been appointed to

-304-

go in deep mourning and wail around the governor, and implore him to be
a merciful ass and trample his duty under foot. Injun Joe was believed
to have killed five citizens of the village, but what of that? If he
had been Satan himself there would have been plenty of weaklings ready
to scribble their names to a pardon-petition, and drip a tear on it
from their permanently impaired and leaky water-works.

The morning after the funeral Tom took Huck to a private place to
have an important talk. Huck had learned all about Tom's adventure from
the Welshman and the Widow Douglas, by this time, but Tom said he
reckoned there was one thing they had not told him; that thing was what
he wanted to talk about now. Huck's face saddened. He said:

"I know what it is. You got into No. 2 and never found anything but
whiskey. Nobody told me it was you; but I just knowed it must 'a' ben
you, soon as I heard 'bout that whiskey business; and I knowed you
hadn't got the money becuz you'd 'a' got at me some way or other and
told me even if you was mum to everybody else. Tom, something's always
told me we'd never get holt of that swag."

"Why, Huck, I
never told on that tavern-keeper. You know his tavern was all right the
Saturday I went to the picnic. Don't you remember you was to watch
there that night?"

"Oh yes! Why, it seems 'bout a year ago. It

-305-

was that very night that I follered Injun Joe to the widder's."

"You
followed him?"

"Yes -- but you keep mum. I reckon Injun Joe's left friends behind
him, and I don't want 'em souring on me and doing me mean tricks. If it
hadn't ben for me he'd be down in Texas now, all right."

Then Huck told his entire adventure in confidence to Tom, who had
only heard of the Welshman's part of it before.

"Well," said Huck, presently, coming back to the main question,
"whoever nipped the whiskey in No. 2, nipped the money, too, I reckon
-- anyways it's a goner for us, Tom."

"Huck, that money wasn't ever in No. 2!"

"What!" Huck searched his comrade's face keenly. "Tom, have you got
on the track of that money again?"

"Huck, it's in the cave!"

Huck's eyes blazed.

"Say it again, Tom."

"The money's in the cave!"

"Tom -- honest injun, now -- is it fun, or earnest?"

"Earnest, Huck -- just as earnest as ever I was in my life. Will you
go in there with me and help get it out?"

"I bet I will! I will if it's where we can blaze our way to it and
not get lost."

-306-

"Huck, we can do that without the least little bit of trouble in the
world."

"Good as wheat! What makes you think the money's -- "

"Huck, you just wait till we get in there. If we don't find it I'll
agree to give you my drum and every thing I've got in the world. I
will, by jings."

"All right -- it's a whiz. When do you say?"

"Right now, if you say it. Are you strong enough?"

"Is it far in the cave? I ben on my pins a little, three or four
days, now, but I can't walk more'n a mile, Tom -- least I don't think I
could."

"It's about five mile into there the way anybody but me would go,
Huck, but there's a mighty short cut that they don't anybody but me
know about. Huck, I'll take you right to it in a skiff. I'll float the
skiff down there, and I'll pull it back again all by myself. You
needn't ever turn your hand over."

"Less start right off, Tom."

"All right. We want some bread and meat, and our pipes, and a little
bag or two, and two or three kite-strings, and some of these
new-fangled things they call lucifer matches. I tell you, many's the
time I wished I had some when I was in there before."

A trifle after noon the boys borrowed a small skiff from a citizen
who was absent, and got under way at once. When they were several miles
below "Cave Hollow," Tom said:

-307-

"Now you see this bluff here looks all alike all the way down from
the cave hollow -- no houses, no wood-yards, bushes all alike. But do
you see that white place up yonder where there's been a landslide?
Well, that's one of my marks. We'll get ashore, now."

They landed.

"Now, Huck, where we're a-standing you could touch that hole I got
out of with a fishing-pole. See if you can find it."

Huck searched all the place about, and found nothing. Tom proudly
marched into a thick clump of sumach bushes and said:

"Here you are! Look at it, Huck; it's the snuggest hole in this
country. You just keep mum about it. All along I've been wanting to be
a robber, but I knew I'd got to have a thing like this, and where to
run across it was the bother. We've got it now, and we'll keep it
quiet, only we'll let Joe Harper and Ben Rogers in -- because of course
there's got to be a Gang, or else there wouldn't be any style about it.
Tom Sawyer's Gang -- it sounds splendid, don't it, Huck?"

"Well, it just does, Tom. And who'll we rob?"

"Oh, most anybody. Waylay people -- that's mostly the way."

"And kill them?"

"No, not always. Hive them in the cave till they raise a ransom."

"What's a ransom?"

-308-

"Money. You make them raise all they can, off'n their friends; and
after you've kept them a year, if it ain't raised then you kill them.
That's the general way. Only you don't kill the women. You shut up the
women, but you don't kill them. They're always beautiful and rich, and
awfully scared. You take their watches and things, but you always take
your hat off and talk polite. They ain't anybody as polite as robbers
-- you'll see that in any book. Well, the women get to loving you, and
after they've been in the cave a week or two weeks they stop crying and
after that you couldn't get them to leave. If you drove them out they'd
turn right around and come back. It's so in all the books."

"Why, it's real bully, Tom. I believe it's better'n to be a pirate."

"Yes, it's better in some ways, because it's close to home and
circuses and all that."

By this time everything was ready and the boys entered the hole, Tom
in the lead. They toiled their way to the farther end of the tunnel,
then made their spliced kite-strings fast and moved on. A few steps
brought them to the spring, and Tom felt a shudder quiver all through
him. He showed Huck the fragment of candle-wick perched on a lump of
clay against the wall, and described how he and Becky had watched the
flame struggle and expire.

The boys began to quiet down to whispers, now, for the stillness and
gloom of the place oppressed

-309-

their spirits. They went on, and presently entered and followed Tom's
other corridor until they reached the "jumping-off place." The candles
revealed the fact that it was not really a precipice, but only a steep
clay hill twenty or thirty feet high. Tom whispered:

"Now I'll show you something, Huck."

He held his candle aloft and said:

"Look as far around the corner as you can. Do you see that? There --
on the big rock over yonder -- done with candle-smoke."

"Tom, it's a cross
!"

"NOW where's your Number Two? 'Under the cross,'
hey? Right yonder'swhere I saw Injun Joe poke up his candle, Huck!"

Huck stared at the mystic sign awhile, and then said with a shaky
voice:

"Tom, less git out of here!"

"What! and leave the treasure?"

"Yes -- leave it. Injun Joe's ghost is round about there, certain."

"No it ain't, Huck, no it ain't. It would ha'nt the place where he
died -- away out at the mouth of the cave -- five mile from here."

"No, Tom, it wouldn't. It would hang round the money. I know the
ways of ghosts, and so do you."

Tom began to fear that Huck was right. Misgivings gathered in his
mind. But presently an idea occurred to him --

-310-

"Lookyhere, Huck, what fools we're making of ourselves! Injun Joe's
ghost ain't a going to come around where there's a cross!"

The point was well taken. It had its effect.

"Tom, I didn't think of that. But that's so. It's luck for us, that
cross is. I reckon we'll climb down there and have a hunt for that
box."

Tom went first, cutting rude steps in the clay hill as he descended.
Huck followed. Four avenues opened out of the small cavern which the
great rock stood in. The boys examined three of them with no result.
They found a small recess in the one nearest the base of the rock, with
a pallet of blankets spread down in it; also an old suspender, some
bacon rind, and the well-gnawed bones of two or three fowls. But there
was no money-box. The lads searched and researched this place, but in
vain. Tom said:

"He said under
the cross. Well, this comes nearest to being under the cross. It can't
be under the rock itself, because that sets solid on the ground."

They searched everywhere once more, and then sat down discouraged.
Huck could suggest nothing. By-and-by Tom said:

"Lookyhere, Huck, there's footprints and some candle-grease on the
clay about one side of this rock, but not on the other sides. Now,
what's that for? I bet you the money is
under the rock. I'm going to dig in the clay."

-311-

"That ain't no bad notion, Tom!" said Huck with animation.

Tom's "real Barlow" was out at once, and he had not dug four inches
before he struck wood.

"Hey, Huck! -- you hear that?"

Huck began to dig and scratch now. Some boards were soon uncovered
and removed. They had concealed a natural chasm which led under the
rock. Tom got into this and held his candle as far under the rock as he
could, but said he could not see to the end of the rift. He proposed to
explore. He stooped and passed under; the narrow way descended
gradually. He followed its winding course, first to the right, then to
the left, Huck at his heels. Tom turned a short curve, by-and-by, and
exclaimed:

"My goodness, Huck, lookyhere!"

It was the treasure-box, sure enough, occupying a snug little
cavern, along with an empty powder-keg, a couple of guns in leather
cases, two or three pairs of old moccasins, a leather belt, and some
other rubbish well soaked with the water-drip.

"Got it at last!" said Huck, ploughing among the tarnished coins
with his hand. "My, but we're rich, Tom!"

"Huck, I always reckoned we'd get it. It's just too good to believe,
but we have
got it, sure! Say -- let's not fool around here. Let's snake it out.
Lemme see if I can lift the box."

It weighed about fifty pounds. Tom could lift

-312-

it, after an awkward fashion, but could not carry it conveniently.

"I thought so," he said; "they
carried it like it was heavy, that day at the ha'nted house. I noticed
that. I reckon I was right to think of fetching the little bags along."

The money was soon in the bags and the boys took it up to the cross
rock.

"Now less fetch the guns and things," said Huck.

"No, Huck -- leave them there. They're just the tricks to have when
we go to robbing. We'll keep them there all the time, and we'll hold
our orgies there, too. It's an awful snug place for orgies."

"What orgies?"

"I
dono. But robbers always have orgies, and of course we've got to have
them, too. Come along, Huck, we've been in here a long time. It's
getting late, I reckon. I'm hungry, too. We'll eat and smoke when we
get to the skiff."

They presently emerged into the clump of sumach bushes, looked
warily out, found the coast clear, and were soon lunching and smoking
in the skiff. As the sun dipped toward the horizon they pushed out and
got under way. Tom skimmed up the shore through the long twilight,
chatting cheerily with Huck, and landed shortly after dark.

"Now, Huck," said Tom, "we'll hide the money in the loft of the
widow's woodshed, and I'll come

-313-

up in the morning and we'll count it and divide, and then we'll hunt up
a place out in the woods for it where it will be safe. Just you lay
quiet here and watch the stuff till I run and hook Benny Taylor's
little wagon; I won't be gone a minute."

He disappeared, and presently returned with the wagon, put the two
small sacks into it, threw some old rags on top of them, and started
off, dragging his cargo behind him. When the boys reached the
Welshman's house, they stopped to rest. Just as they were about to move
on, the Welshman stepped out and said:

"Hallo, who's that?"

"Huck and Tom Sawyer."

"Good! Come along with me, boys, you are keeping everybody waiting.
Here -- hurry up, trot ahead -- I'll haul the wagon for you. Why, it's
not as light as it might be. Got bricks in it? -- or old metal?"

"Old metal," said Tom.

"I judged so; the boys in this town will take more trouble and fool
away more time hunting up six bits' worth of old iron to sell to the
foundry than they would to make twice the money at regular work. But
that's human nature -- hurry along, hurry along!"

The boys wanted to know what the hurry was about.

"Never mind; you'll see, when we get to the Widow Douglas'."

-314-

Huck said with some apprehension -- for he was long used to being
falsely accused:

"Mr. Jones, we
haven't been doing nothing."

The Welshman laughed.

"Well, I don't know, Huck, my boy. I don't know about that. Ain't
you and the widow good friends?"

"Yes. Well, she's ben good friends to me, anyway."

"All right, then. What do you want to be afraid for?"

This question was not entirely answered in Huck's slow mind before
he found himself pushed, along with Tom, into Mrs. Douglas'
drawing-room. Mr. Jones left the wagon near the door and followed.

The place was grandly lighted, and everybody that was of any
consequence in the village was there. The Thatchers were there, the
Harpers, the Rogerses, Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, the minister, the editor,
and a great many more, and all dressed in their best. The widow
received the boys as heartily as any one could well receive two such
looking beings. They were covered with clay and candle-grease. Aunt
Polly blushed crimson with humiliation, and frowned and shook her head
at Tom. Nobody suffered half as much as the two boys did, however. Mr.
Jones said:

"Tom wasn't at home, yet, so I gave him up; but I stumbled on him
and Huck right at my door, and so I just brought them along in a
hurry."

-315-

"And you did just right," said the widow. "Come with me, boys."

She took them to a bedchamber and said:

"Now wash and dress yourselves. Here are two new suits of clothes --
shirts, socks, everything complete. They're Huck's -- no, no thanks,
Huck -- Mr. Jones bought one and I the other. But they'll fit both of
you. Get into them. We'll wait -- come down when you are slicked up
enough."

Then she left.

-316-

Chapter XXXIV

HUCK said: "Tom, we can slope, if we can find a rope. The window
ain't high from the ground."

"Shucks! what do you want to slope for?"

"Well, I ain't used to that kind of a crowd. I can't stand it. I
ain't going down there, Tom."

"Oh, bother! It ain't anything. I don't mind it a bit. I'll take
care of you."

Sid appeared.

"Tom," said he, "auntie has been waiting for you all the afternoon.
Mary got your Sunday clothes ready, and everybody's been fretting about
you. Say -- ain't this grease and clay, on your clothes?"

"Now, Mr. Siddy, you jist 'tend to your own business. What's all
this blow-out about, anyway?"

"It's one of the widow's parties that she's always having. This time
it's for the Welshman and his sons, on account of that scrape they
helped her out of the other night. And say -- I can tell you something,
if you want to know."

"Well, what?"

-317-

"Why, old Mr. Jones is going to try to spring something on the
people here to-night, but I overheard him tell auntie to-day about it,
as a secret, but I reckon it's not much of a secret now.
Everybody knows -- the widow, too, for all she tries to let on she
don't. Mr. Jones was bound Huck should be here -- couldn't get along
with his grand secret without Huck, you know!"

"Secret about what, Sid?"

"About Huck tracking the robbers to the widow's. I reckon Mr. Jones
was going to make a grand time over his surprise, but I bet you it will
drop pretty flat."

Sid chuckled in a very contented and satisfied way.

"Sid, was it you that told?"

"Oh, never mind who it was. Somebody
told -- that's enough."

"Sid, there's only one person in this town mean enough to do that,
and that's you. If you had been in Huck's place you'd 'a' sneaked down
the hill and never told anybody on the robbers. You can't do any but
mean things, and you can't bear to see anybody praised for doing good
ones. There -- no thanks, as the widow says" -- and Tom cuffed Sid's
ears and helped him to the door with several kicks. "Now go and tell
auntie if you dare -- and to-morrow you'll catch it!"

Some minutes later the widow's guests were at the supper-table, and
a dozen children were propped up

-318-

at little side-tables in the same room, after the fashion of that
country and that day. At the proper time Mr. Jones made his little
speech, in which he thanked the widow for the honor she was doing
himself and his sons, but said that there was another person whose
modesty --

And so forth and so on. He sprung his secret about Huck's share in
the adventure in the finest dramatic manner he was master of, but the
surprise it occasioned was largely counterfeit and not as clamorous and
effusive as it might have been under happier circumstances. However,
the widow made a pretty fair show of astonishment, and heaped so many
compliments and so much gratitude upon Huck that he almost forgot the
nearly intolerable discomfort of his new clothes in the entirely
intolerable discomfort of being set up as a target for everybody's gaze
and everybody's laudations.

The widow said she meant to give Huck a home under her roof and have
him educated; and that when she could spare the money she would start
him in business in a modest way. Tom's chance was come. He said:

"Huck don't need it. Huck's rich."

Nothing but a heavy strain upon the good manners of the company kept
back the due and proper complimentary laugh at this pleasant joke. But
the silence was a little awkward. Tom broke it:

"Huck's got money. Maybe you don't believe it, but he's got lots of
it. Oh, you needn't smile

-319-

-- I reckon I can show you. You just wait a minute."

Tom ran out of doors. The company looked at each other with a
perplexed interest -- and inquiringly at Huck, who was tongue-tied.

"Sid, what ails Tom?" said Aunt Polly. "He -- well, there ain't ever
any making of that boy out. I never -- "

Tom entered, struggling with the weight of his sacks, and Aunt Polly
did not finish her sentence. Tom poured the mass of yellow coin upon
the table and said:

"There -- what did I tell you? Half of it's Huck's and half of it's
mine!"

The spectacle took the general breath away. All gazed, nobody spoke
for a moment. Then there was a unanimous call for an explanation. Tom
said he could furnish it, and he did. The tale was long, but brimful of
interest. There was scarcely an interruption from any one to break the
charm of its flow. When he had finished, Mr. Jones said:

"I thought I had fixed up a little surprise for this occasion, but
it don't amount to anything now. This one makes it sing mighty small,
I'm willing to allow."

The money was counted. The sum amounted to a little over twelve
thousand dollars. It was more than any one present had ever seen at one
time before, though several persons were there who were worth
considerably more than that in property.

-320-

Chapter XXXV

THE reader may rest satisfied that Tom's and Huck's windfall made a
mighty stir in the poor little village of St. Petersburg. So vast a
sum, all in actual cash, seemed next to incredible. It was talked
about, gloated over, glorified, until the reason of many of the
citizens tottered under the strain of the unhealthy excitement. Every
"haunted" house in St. Petersburg and the neighboring villages was
dissected, plank by plank, and its foundations dug up and ransacked for
hidden treasure -- and not by boys, but men -- pretty grave, unromantic
men, too, some of them. Wherever Tom and Huck appeared they were
courted, admired, stared at. The boys were not able to remember that
their remarks had possessed weight before; but now their sayings were
treasured and repeated; everything they did seemed somehow to be
regarded as remarkable; they had evidently lost the power of doing and
saying commonplace things; moreover, their past history was raked up
and discovered to bear marks of conspicuous originality. The village
paper published biographical sketches of the boys.

-321-

The Widow Douglas put Huck's money out at six per cent., and Judge
Thatcher did the same with Tom's at Aunt Polly's request. Each lad had
an income, now, that was simply prodigious -- a dollar for every
week-day in the year and half of the Sundays. It was just what the
minister got -- no, it was what he was promised -- he generally
couldn't collect it. A dollar and a quarter a week would board, lodge,
and school a boy in those old simple days -- and clothe him and wash
him, too, for that matter.

Judge Thatcher had conceived a great opinion of Tom. He said that no
commonplace boy would ever have got his daughter out of the cave. When
Becky told her father, in strict confidence, how Tom had taken her
whipping at school, the Judge was visibly moved; and when she pleaded
grace for the mighty lie which Tom had told in order to shift that
whipping from her shoulders to his own, the Judge said with a fine
outburst that it was a noble, a generous, a magnanimous lie -- a lie
that was worthy to hold up its head and march down through history
breast to breast with George Washington's lauded Truth about the
hatchet! Becky thought her father had never looked so tall and so
superb as when he walked the floor and stamped his foot and said that.
She went straight off and told Tom about it.

Judge Thatcher hoped to see Tom a great lawyer or a great soldier
some day. He said he meant to look to it that Tom should be admitted to
the

-322-

National Military Academy and afterward trained in the best law school
in the country, in order that he might be ready for either career or
both.

Huck Finn's wealth and the fact that he was now under the Widow
Douglas' protection introduced him into society -- no, dragged him into
it, hurled him into it -- and his sufferings were almost more than he
could bear. The widow's servants kept him clean and neat, combed and
brushed, and they bedded him nightly in unsympathetic sheets that had
not one little spot or stain which he could press to his heart and know
for a friend. He had to eat with a knife and fork; he had to use
napkin, cup, and plate; he had to learn his book, he had to go to
church; he had to talk so properly that speech was become insipid in
his mouth; whithersoever he turned, the bars and shackles of
civilization shut him in and bound him hand and foot.

He bravely bore his miseries three weeks, and then one day turned up
missing. For forty-eight hours the widow hunted for him everywhere in
great distress. The public were profoundly concerned; they searched
high and low, they dragged the river for his body. Early the third
morning Tom Sawyer wisely went poking among some old empty hogsheads
down behind the abandoned slaughter-house, and in one of them he found
the refugee. Huck had slept there; he had just breakfasted upon some
stolen odds and ends of food, and was lying off, now, in comfort, with
his pipe. He was unkempt,

-323-

uncombed, and clad in the same old ruin of rags that had made him
picturesque in the days when he was free and happy. Tom routed him out,
told him the trouble he had been causing, and urged him to go home.
Huck's face lost its tranquil content, and took a melancholy cast. He
said:

"Don't talk about it, Tom. I've tried it, and it don't work; it
don't work, Tom. It ain't for me; I ain't used to it. The widder's good
to me, and friendly; but I can't stand them ways. She makes me get up
just at the same time every morning; she makes me wash, they comb me
all to thunder; she won't let me sleep in the woodshed; I got to wear
them blamed clothes that just smothers me, Tom; they don't seem to any
air git through 'em, somehow; and they're so rotten nice that I can't
set down, nor lay down, nor roll around anywher's; I hain't slid on a
cellar-door for -- well, it 'pears to be years; I got to go to church
and sweat and sweat -- I hate them ornery sermons! I can't ketch a fly
in there, I can't chaw. I got to wear shoes all Sunday. The widder eats
by a bell; she goes to bed by a bell; she gits up by a bell --
everything's so awful reg'lar a body can't stand it."

"Well, everybody does that way, Huck."

"Tom, it don't make no difference. I ain't everybody, and I can't
stand
it. It's awful to be tied up so. And grub comes too easy -- I don't
take no interest in vittles, that way. I got to ask to go a-fishing; I
got to ask to go in a-swimming --

-324-

dern'd if I hain't got to ask to do everything. Well, I'd got to talk
so nice it wasn't no comfort -- I'd got to go up in the attic and rip
out awhile, every day, to git a taste in my mouth, or I'd a died, Tom.
The widder wouldn't let me smoke; she wouldn't let me yell, she
wouldn't let me gape, nor stretch, nor scratch, before folks -- " [Then
with a spasm of special irritation and injury] -- "And dad fetch it,
she prayed all the time! I never see such a woman! I had to shove, Tom
-- I just had to. And besides, that school's going to open, and I'd a
had to go to it -- well, I wouldn't stand that, Tom. Looky-here, Tom,
being rich ain't what it's cracked up to be. It's just worry and worry,
and sweat and sweat, and a-wishing you was dead all the time. Now these
clothes suits me, and this bar'l suits me, and I ain't ever going to
shake 'em any more. Tom, I wouldn't ever got into all this trouble if
it hadn't 'a' ben for that money; now you just take my sheer of it
along with your'n, and gimme a ten-center sometimes -- not many times,
becuz I don't give a dern for a thing 'thout it's tollable hard to git
-- and you go and beg off for me with the widder."

"Oh, Huck, you know I can't do that. 'Tain't fair; and besides if
you'll try this thing just a while longer you'll come to like it."

"Like it! Yes -- the way I'd like a hot stove if I was to set on it
long enough. No, Tom, I won't be rich, and I won't live in them cussed
smothery houses

-325-

. I like the woods, and the river, and hogsheads, and I'll stick to
'em, too. Blame it all! just as we'd got guns, and a cave, and all just
fixed to rob, here this dern foolishness has got to come up and spile
it all!"

Tom saw his opportunity --

"Lookyhere, Huck, being rich ain't going to keep me back from
turning robber."

"No! Oh, good-licks; are you in real dead-wood earnest, Tom?"

"Just as dead earnest as I'm sitting here. But Huck, we can't let
you into the gang if you ain't respectable, you know."

Huck's joy was quenched.

"Can't let me in, Tom? Didn't you let me go for a pirate?"

"Yes, but that's different. A robber is more high-toned than what a
pirate is -- as a general thing. In most countries they're awful high
up in the nobility -- dukes and such."

"Now, Tom, hain't you always ben friendly to me? You wouldn't shet
me out, would you, Tom? You wouldn't do that, now, would
you, Tom?"

"Huck, I wouldn't want to, and I don't
want to -- but what would people say? Why, they'd say, 'Mph! Tom
Sawyer's Gang! pretty low characters in it!' They'd mean you, Huck. You
wouldn't like that, and I wouldn't."

Huck was silent for some time, engaged in a mental struggle. Finally
he said:

-326-

"Well, I'll go back to the widder for a month and tackle it and see
if I can come to stand it, if you'll let me b'long to the gang, Tom."

"All right, Huck, it's a whiz! Come along, old chap, and I'll ask
the widow to let up on you a little, Huck."

"Will you, Tom -- now will you? That's good. If she'll let up on
some of the roughest things, I'll smoke private and cuss private, and
crowd through or bust. When you going to start the gang and turn
robbers?"

"Oh, right off. We'll get the boys together and have the initiation
to-night, maybe."

"Have the which?"

"Have the initiation."

"What's that?"

"It's to swear to stand by one another, and never tell the gang's
secrets, even if you're chopped all to flinders, and kill anybody and
all his family that hurts one of the gang."

"That's gay -- that's mighty gay, Tom, I tell you."

"Well, I bet it is. And all that swearing's got to be done at
midnight, in the lonesomest, awfulest place you can find -- a ha'nted
house is the best, but they're all ripped up now."

"Well, midnight's good, anyway, Tom."

"Yes, so it is. And you've got to swear on a coffin, and sign it
with blood."

"Now, that's something like
! Why, it's a

-327-

million times bullier than pirating. I'll stick to the widder till I
rot, Tom; and if I git to be a reg'lar ripper of a robber, and
everybody talking 'bout it, I reckon she'll be proud she snaked me in
out of the wet."

-328-

CONCLUSION

SO endeth this chronicle. It being strictly a history of a boy
, it must stop here; the story could not go much further without
becoming the history of a man. When one writes a novel about grown
people, he knows exactly where to stop -- that is, with a marriage; but
when he writes of juveniles, he must stop where he best can.

Most of the characters that perform in this book still live, and are
prosperous and happy. Some day it may seem worth while to take up the
story of the younger ones again and see what sort of men and women they
turned out to be; therefore it will be wisest not to reveal any of that
part of their lives at present.

References

1. file://localhost/home/tmb/teaching/nlpa/tomsawyer.html
2. file://localhost/uvaonline.html
3. file://localhost/
4. http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/modeng/modeng0.browse.html
5. file://localhost/conditions.html
6. file://localhost/images/modeng/public/Twa2Tom/Twa2Tom01.jpg
7. file://localhost/images/modeng/public/Twa2Tom/Twa2Tom02.jpg
8. file://localhost/images/modeng/public/Twa2Tom/Twa2Tom1.jpg
9. file://localhost/images/modeng/public/Twa2Tom/Twa2Tom32.jpg
10. file://localhost/images/modeng/public/Twa2Tom/Twa2Tom60.jpg
11. file://localhost/images/modeng/public/Twa2Tom/Twa2Tom87.jpg
12. file://localhost/images/modeng/public/Twa2Tom/Twa2t112.jpg
