哈克到处找了找，没找到什么。汤姆很神气地迈着大步走到一大堆绿树丛旁说：
“找到了！哈克，你瞧洞在这里；这是最隐蔽的洞口，别对外人说。我早就想当强盗，知道需要这样一个洞好藏身，可是到哪里能碰到这样理想的洞确实烦神，现在有了，但得保密，只能让乔·哈帕和本·罗杰斯进洞，因为我们得结帮成伙，要不然就没有派头。汤姆·索亚这名子挺响的，是不是，哈克？”
“嗯，是挺响的，汤姆，抢谁呢？”
“遇谁抢谁吧，拦路抢劫——都是这样干的。”
“还杀人吗？”
“不，不总是杀人，把他们撵到洞里，让他们拿钱来赎？”
“什么叫赎？”
“就是用钱来换人，叫他们把所有的钱统统拿出来。连朋友的钱也要弄来，若一年内不送上赎金，就放他们的血，通常就这么干。不过不要杀女人，只是把她们关起来就够了。她们长得总是很漂亮，也有钱，但一被抓住就吓得不行。你可以下她们的手表，拿别的东西，但对待她们，你要摘帽以示有礼，不管读什么书，你都会知道强盗是最有礼貌的人。接下来就是女人渐渐地对你产生好感，在洞里呆上一两周后，她们也就不哭了，随后你就是让她们走，她们也不走。要是你把她们带出去，她们会折回身，径直返回来。所有的书上都是这么描写的。”
“哇，太棒了，汤姆，当强盗是比做海盗好。”
“的确有些好处，因为这样离家近，看马戏什么的也方便。”
此刻，一切准备就绪，两个孩子就开始钻山洞。汤姆打头里走，他们好不容易走到通道的另一头，然后系紧捻好的风筝线，又继续往前走。没有几步路，他们来到泉水处，汤姆浑身一阵冷颤，他让哈克看墙边泥块上的那截蜡烛芯，讲述了他和贝基两人当时看着蜡烛火光摇曳，直至最后熄灭时的心情。
洞里死气沉沉，静得吓人。两个孩子开始压低嗓门，低声说话。他们再往前走，很快就钻进了另一个道，一直来到那个低凹的地方，借着烛光发现，这个地方不是悬崖，只是个二十英尺高的陡山坡，汤姆悄悄说：
“哈克，现在让你瞧件东西。”
他高高举起蜡烛说：
“尽量朝拐角处看，看见了吗？那边——那边的大石头上——有蜡烛烟熏出来的记号。”
“汤姆，我看那是十字！”
“那么你的二号呢？在十字架下，对吗？哈克，我就是在那看见印第安·乔伸出蜡烛的！”
哈克盯着那神秘的记号看了一阵，然后声音颤抖地说：
“汤姆，咱们出去吧！”
“什么？出去？不要财宝啦。”
“对，不要财宝啦。印第安·乔的鬼魂就在附近，肯定在。”
“不在这里，哈克，一定不在这里。在他死的地方，那洞口离这还有五英里远。”
“不，汤姆，它不在那里，它就在钱附近，我晓得鬼的特性，这你也是知道的。”
汤姆也动摇了，他担心也许哈克说得对，他也满脑的怀疑，但很快他有了个主意：
“喂，哈克，我俩真是十足的大傻瓜。印第安·乔的鬼魂怎么可能在有十字的地方游荡呢！”
汤姆这下说到点子上啦，他的话果真起了作用。
“汤姆，我怎么没想到十字能避邪呢。我们真幸运，我们的好十字。我觉得我们该从那里爬下去找那箱财宝。”
汤姆先下，边往下走，边打一些粗糙的脚蹬儿。哈克跟在后面，有大岩石的那个石洞分出四个叉道口。孩子查看了三个道口，结果一无所获，在最靠近大石头的道口里，他们找到了一个小窝，里边有个铺着毯子的地铺，还有个旧吊篮，一块熏肉皮，两三块啃得干干净净的鸡骨头，可就是没钱箱。两个小家伙一遍又一遍地到处找，可还是没找到钱箱，于是汤姆说：
“他说是在十字下，你瞧，这不就是最靠近十字底下的地方吗？不可能藏在石头底下面吧，这下面一点缝隙也没有。”
他们又到四处找了一遍便灰心丧气地坐下来。哈克一个主意也说不出来，最后还是汤姆开了口：
“喂，哈克，这块石头的一面泥土上有脚印和蜡烛油，另一面却什么也没有。你想想，这是为什么呢？我跟你打赌钱就在石头下面，我要把它挖出来。”
“想法不错，汤姆！”哈克兴奋地说道。
汤姆立刻掏出正宗的巴罗刀，没挖到四英寸深就碰到了木头。
“嘿，哈克，听到木头的声音了吗？”
哈克也开始挖，不一会工夫，他们把露出的木板移走，这时出现了一个通往岩石下的天然裂口。汤姆举着蜡烛钻了进去。汤姆说他看不到裂口尽头处，想进去看看，于是弯着腰穿过裂口。路越来越窄，渐渐地往下通去。他先是右，然后是左，曲曲弯弯地沿着通道往前走，哈克跟在汤姆后面。后来汤姆进了一段弧形通道，不久就大声叫道：“老天爷啊，哈克，你看这是什么？”
是宝箱，千真万确，它藏在一个小石窟里，旁边有个空弹药桶，两只装在皮套里的枪，两三双旧皮鞋，一条皮带，另外还有些被水浸得湿漉漉的破烂东西。
“财宝终于找到了！”哈克边说，边用手抓起一把变色的钱币。“汤姆，这下我们发财了。”
“哈克，我总觉得我们会找到的，真难以令人相信，不过财宝确实到手了！喂，别傻呆在这儿，把它拖出去，我来试试看，能不能搬动。”
箱子重有五十磅。汤姆费了好大的劲才把它提起来，可提着走却很吃力。
“我早就猜对了，”他说，“那天在闹鬼的房间里，他们拿箱子时，样子也是十分吃力，我看出来了，带来的这些小布袋子正好用上。”
钱很快被装进小袋子里，孩子们把它搬上去拿到十字岩石旁。
“我现在去拿枪和别的东西，”哈克说。
“别去拿，别动那些东西，我们以后当强盗会用得着那些东西，现在就放在那里。我们还要在那里聚会，痛饮一番，那可是个难得的好地方。”
“什么叫痛饮一番？”
“我也不知道，不过强盗们总是聚会痛饮，我们当然也要这样做。快走，哈克，我们在这里呆的时间太长了，现在不早了，我也饿了，等到船上就可以吃东西，抽香烟。”
不久他俩出来后钻进了绿树林，警惕地观察四周，发现岸边没人，就开始上船吃起饭，抽起烟来。
太阳快接近地平线时，他们撑起船离岸而去，黄昏中汤姆沿岸边划了很长时间，边划边兴高采烈地和哈克聊天，天刚黑他俩就上了岸。
“哈克，”汤姆说，“我们把钱藏到寡妇家柴火棚的阁楼上，早上我就回来把钱过过数，然后两人分掉，再到林子里找个安全的地方把它放好。你呆在这儿别动，看着钱，我去把本尼·泰勒的小车子偷来，一会儿就回来。”
说完，他就消失了，不一会工夫他带着小车子回来，把两个小袋子先扔上车，然后再盖上些烂布，拖着“货物”就出发了。来到威尔斯曼家时，他俩停下来休息，之后正要动身时，威尔斯曼走出来说：
“喂，那是谁呀？”
“是我俩，哈克和汤姆·索亚。”
“好极了！孩子们跟我来，大家都在等你俩呢。快点，头里小跑，我来拉车，咦，怎么不像看上去的轻？装了砖头？还是什么破铜烂铁？”
“烂铁。”汤姆说
“我也觉得像，镇上的孩子就是喜欢东找西翻弄些破铜烂铁卖给翻砂厂，最多不过换六个子。要是干活的话，一般都能挣双倍的钱，可人就是这样的，不说了，快走吧，快点！”
两个孩子想知道为什么催他们快走。
“别问了，等到了寡妇家就知道了。”
哈克由于常被人诬陷，所以心有余悸地问道：
“琼斯先生，我们什么事也没干呀！”
威尔斯曼笑了。
“噢，我不知道，我的好孩子，哈克，我也不知道是什么事，你跟寡妇不是好朋友吗？”
“是的，不管怎么说，她一直待我很好。”
“这就行了，那么你还有什么可怕的呢？
哈克反应慢，还没转过脑筋来就和汤姆一起被推进道格拉斯夫人家的客厅。琼斯先生把车停在门边后，也跟了进来。
客厅里灯火辉煌，村里有头有面的人物全都聚在这儿。他们是撒切尔一家、哈帕一家、罗杰斯一家、波莉姨妈、希德、玛丽、牧师、报馆撰稿人，还有很多别的人，大家全都衣着考究。寡妇热情地接待这两个孩子，这样的孩子谁见了都会伸出热情之手。他俩浑身是泥土和蜡烛油。波莉姨妈臊得满脸通红，皱着眉朝汤姆直摇头。这两个孩子可受了大罪。琼斯先生说：
“当时汤姆不在家，所以我就没再找他了，可偏巧在门口让我给碰上了。他和哈克在一起，这不，我就急急忙忙把他俩弄到这里。”
“你做得对，”寡妇说，“孩子们跟我来吧。”
她把两个孩子领到一间卧室，然后对他们说：
“你们洗个澡，换件衣服。这是两套新衣服，衬衣、袜子样样齐备。这是哈克的——不，用不着道谢，哈克，一套是琼斯先生拿来的，另一套是我拿来的。不过你们穿上会觉得合身的。穿上吧，我们等着——穿好就下来。”她说完走了出去。
正文 第三十四章　黄金如山，富了汤姆与哈克
哈克说：“汤姆，要是弄到绳子，我们就可以滑下去，窗户离地面没有多高。”
“胡说，干吗要溜走呢？”
“是这样的，跟一大群人在一起怪不习惯的，受不了。汤姆，反正我不下去。”
“真是的，讨厌！其实下去没什么大不了的事，我根本不在乎，我会照应你的。”
希德来了。
“汤姆，”他说，“波莉姨妈一下午都在等你呐。玛丽为你准备好了礼服。大家都为你担心。喂，这不是蜡烛油和粘土吗？在你衣服上。”
“得了，希德先生，你少管闲事。他们今天为什么在这里大吃大喝呢？”
“这是寡妇家的宴会，她经常请客。这次是为了威尔斯曼和他儿子举行的，感谢他们的救命之恩。喂，还想知道得更多吗？我可以告诉你。”
“嗯，是什么事？”
“什么事？老琼斯先生今晚有惊人的消息要告诉这里的人们。他在和姨妈谈这事时，被我听到了这个秘密，不过我想，现在这已算不上什么秘密了，人人都知道，寡妇也知道，但她却尽力掩饰。琼斯先生一定要哈克出席。你瞧，哈克不在场，他怎么能说出那个大秘密呢！”
“希德，是哪方面的秘密？”
“就是哈克跟踪强盗到寡妇家的那件事情。我想琼斯想利用此事来个一鸣惊人的举动，不过我敢打赌，他不会成功。”
希德笑了，心满意足地笑了。
“希德，是你把秘密泄露出去的吧！”
“得了，别管是谁干的，反正有人已说出了那个秘密，这就够了。”
“希德，全镇只有一个下流家伙会这么干，那就是你。你要是处在哈克的位置，你早就溜之大吉，根本不会向人报告强盗的消息。你只会干些卑鄙龌龊的事情，见不得干好事的人受表扬。好，赏你这个——‘不用道谢’，照寡妇的说法。”
汤姆一边说，一边打他耳光，连踢带推把他撵出门外。“好，赶快去向姨妈告状吧，只要你敢，明天就有你好受的。”
几分钟过后，寡妇家的客人都坐在了晚餐桌旁，十几个小孩也被安排在同一间房里的小餐桌旁规规矩矩地坐着，那时的习俗就是这样。过了一会后，琼斯先生作了简短的发言，他感谢寡妇为他和儿子举办此次宴请，但他又说还有个很谦虚的人——
他说了很多后，突然戏剧性地宣布这次历险中哈克也在场。人们显得很惊讶的样子，实际上是故作的。要是在平常遇上这样欢快的场面，人们听到秘密后会显得更加热闹的。
可是只有寡妇一人却表现出相当吃惊的样子。她一个劲地赞扬和感激哈克的所作所为，结果哈克几乎忘却了众目睽睽下穿新衣不自在的感觉。
寡妇说她打算收养哈克，让他上学受教育，一旦有钱就让他做点小买卖。汤姆终于有机会搭上了腔，他说：
“哈克不需要那个，他富了。”
听了这句可笑的话，在座的来宾为了面子都忍着没有笑出来，但场面却让人尴尬。汤姆打破了沉默。
“哈克有钱了，你们或许不相信，不过他真有了很多的钱。喂，你们别笑，我会让你们看到的，请稍等片刻吧。”
汤姆跑到门外，那些人彼此迷惑不解，好奇地看着，再问哈克，他此时却张口结舌。
“希德，汤姆得了什么病？”波莉姨妈问道，“他呀——真是的，从来猜不透他，我从来没有——”
她还没说完，只见汤姆吃力地背着口袋走进来。他把黄色金币倒在桌上说：
“你们看呀！我刚才怎么说的？一半是哈克的，一半是我的！”
这一下使在座的人全都大吃一惊。大家只是瞪眼盯着桌上，一时没有人说话。接着大家一致要求汤姆说出原委。汤姆满口答应，于是就把事情的来龙去脉说了一遍，虽然话很长，但大家却听得津津有味，没有一个人插话打断他的叙述。
汤姆讲完后，琼斯先生说：
“我原以为今天我会让大家大吃一惊，可是听了汤姆的叙述，我承认我的根本不算什么了。”
钱被过了数，总共有一万二千块美元。尽管在座的人当中，有的家产不止这个数，可是一次见过这么多钱却还是头一回。
正文 第三十五章　受人尊敬的哈克与“强盗”为伍
汤姆和哈克两人意外地发了横财，这下轰动了圣彼得堡这个穷乡僻壤的小村镇。读者读到这里可以松口气了。钱数多不说，又全是现金，真让人难以置信。到处的人们都在谈论此事，对他表示羡慕，称赞不已，后来有人因为过份激动，结果被弄得神魂颠倒。现在，圣彼得堡镇上每间闹鬼的屋子都被掘地三尺，木板被一块块拆掉，为的是找财宝——而且这一切全是大人们的所为，其中一部分人干得十分起劲和认真。汤姆和哈克两人无论走到哪里，人们都巴结他俩，有的表示羡慕，有的睁大眼睛观看。两个孩子记不得以前他们说话在人们心目中是否有份量，再现在大不一样。他们无论说什么，人们都看得很宝贵，到处重复他俩的话。就连他们的一举一动都被认为意义重大。显然，他俩已失去了作为普通人的资格，更有甚者，有人收集了他俩过去的资料，说以前他俩就超凡不俗。村里的报纸还刊登了两个小孩的小传。
道格拉斯寡妇把哈克的钱拿出去按六分利息放债，波莉姨妈委托撒切尔法官以同样利息把汤姆的钱也拿出去放债。现在每个孩子都有一笔数目惊人的收入。平常日子以及半数的星期日，他俩每天都有一块大洋的收入。这笔钱相当一个牧师的全年收入——不，准确地说，牧师拿不到那些，只是上面先给他们开张空头支票而已。那时，生活费用低，１元２角５分钱就够一个孩子上学、膳宿的费用，连穿衣、洗澡等都包括在内。
撒切尔法官十分器重汤姆，他说汤姆绝不是个平庸的孩子，否则他不会救出他的女儿。听到贝基悄悄地告诉他，汤姆在校曾替她受过，挨过鞭笞时，法官显然被感动了。她请求父亲原谅汤姆。汤姆撒了个大谎主要是为了替她挨鞭笞，法官情绪激动，大声说，那个谎是高尚的，它是慷慨、宽宏大量的谎话。它完全有资格，昂首阔步，永垂青史，与华盛顿那句曾大受赞扬的关于斧头的老实话①争光！贝基见父亲踏着地板，跺着脚说这句话时显得十分伟大了不起，她以前从没见过父亲是这个样子。她直接跑去找到汤姆，把这事告诉了他。
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①据说华盛顿总统小时候用父亲给他的小斧子曾把一棵樱桃树砍掉，当父亲追问时，他不怕受罚，诚实地承认了自己的过错。
撒切尔法官希望汤姆以后成为一名大律师或是著名的军人。他说他打算安排汤姆进国家军事学院，然后再到最好的法学院接受教育，这样将来随便当律师、做军人或是身兼两职都行。
哈克·费恩有了钱，又归道格拉斯寡妇监护，这样他踏入了社交圈子——不对，他是被拖进去，被扔进去的——于是他苦不堪言。寡妇的佣人帮他又梳又刷，把他收拾得干干净净，每晚又为他换上冷冰冰的床单。哈克想在上面找个小黑点按在心口做朋友都找不到。他吃饭得用刀叉，还要使餐巾、杯子和碟子；他又得念书，上教堂。说话枯燥无味没关系，但谈吐要斯文，他无论走到那里，文明都束缚着他的手脚。
就这样，他硬着头皮忍受着，过了三个星期。突然有一天他不见了。寡妇急得要命，四处去找他，找了整整有两天两夜。众人们也十分关注此事，他们到处搜索，有的还到河里去打捞。第三天一大早，汤姆挺聪明，在破旧的屠宰场后面的几只旧空桶中找人，结果在一只空桶中发现了哈克，他就在这过夜。哈克刚吃完早饭，吃的全是偷来的剩饭菜。他抽着烟斗，正舒服地躺在那里休息。他邋遢不堪，蓬头垢面，穿着往日快快活活时那套有趣的烂衣服。汤姆把他撵出来，告诉他已惹了麻烦，要他快回家。哈克脸上悠然自得的神情消失了，马上呈现出一脸的愁相。他说：
“汤姆，别提那事了，我已经试过了，那没有用，没用，汤姆。那种生活不适合我过，我不习惯。寡妇待我好，够处，可是我受不了那一套。她每天早晨叫我按时起床；她叫我洗脸；他们还给我使劲地梳；她不让我在柴棚里睡觉。汤姆，我得穿那种倒霉的衣服，紧绷绷的，有点不透气。衣服很漂亮，弄得我站也不是，坐也不行，更不能到处打滚。我已经很长时间没有到过别人家的地窖里，也许有许多年了。我还得去做礼拜，弄得浑身是汗——我恨那些一文不值的布道辞！在那里我既不能捉苍蝇，也不能嚼口香糖，星期日整天不能赤脚。吃饭、上床睡觉、起床等寡妇都要按铃，总而言之，一切都井然有序，真让人受不了。”
“不过，哈克，大家都是这样的。”
“汤姆，你说得没错，不过我不是大家，我受不了，捆得那样紧真让人受不了。还有，不费劲就能搞到吃的东西，我不喜欢这种吃法，就是要钓鱼也得先征求寡妇的同意，去游个泳也得先问问她，真***，干什么事都要先问她才行。说话也得斯文，真不习惯——我只好跑到阁楼顶上胡乱放它一通，这样嘴里才有滋味，否则真不如死了算，汤姆。寡妇不让我抽烟，不让我在人前大声讲话，或大喊大叫，还不许我伸懒腰，抓痒痒——”（接着他显得十分烦躁和委屈的样子。）
“还有呢，她整天祈祷个没完！我从来也没见过她这样的女人。
我得溜走，汤姆——不溜不行呀，况且，学校快要开学了，不跑就得上学，那怎么能受得了呢。汤姆？喂，汤姆，发了横财并不像人们说得那样是个非常愉快的事情。发财简直就是发愁，受罪，最后弄得你真希望不如一死了之。这儿的衣服我穿合适，在桶里睡觉也不错，我再不打算离开这儿。汤姆，要不是那些钱，我根本不会有这么多的麻烦事情，现在，你把我那份钱也拿去，偶尔给我毛把钱用就行了，不要常给，因为我觉得容易得到的东西并没有什么大价值。请你到寡妇那儿为我告辞吧。”
“噢，哈克，你知道，我不能这样做，这不太好。你如果稍微多试几天，就会喜欢那种生活的。”
“喜欢那种生活——就像喜欢很长时间坐在热炉子上一样。我不干，汤姆，我不要当富人，也不想住在那闷热倒霉的房子里。我喜欢森林、河流、那些大桶，我决不离开这些东西。真是倒霉，刚弄了几条枪，找到了山洞，准备去当强盗，却偏偏碰上了这种事情，真让人扫兴。”
汤姆瞅到了机会——
“喂，哈克，富了也能当强盗啊。”
“真的吗？你说话当真，汤姆？”
“当然当真，就像我人坐在这儿一样，千真万确。不过，我们不接受不体面的人入伙，哈克。”
哈克的高兴劲被一下子打消了。
“不让我入伙，汤姆？你不是让我当过海盗吗？”
“是让你当过，不过这跟入伙没什么关系，总的说来，强盗比海盗格调要高。在许多国家，强盗算是上流人当中的上流人，都是些公爵之类的人。”
“汤姆，你一直对我很好，不是吗？你不会不让我入伍，对吧，汤姆？不会不让我入伍吧，汤姆，是不是？”
“哈克，我不愿不让你入伍，也不想那么干，不过要是让你进来，别人会怎么说呢？他们会不屑一顾地说：瞧汤姆·索亚那帮乌合之众，全是些低贱的人。这是指你的，哈克。你不会喜欢他们这么说你，我也不喜欢。”
哈克沉默了一会，思想上在作激烈的斗争。最后他开了腔：
“得，我再回到寡妇家里应付上一个月，看能不能适应那种生活，不过汤姆，你会让我入伍，对吧？”
“好吧，哈克，一言为定！走，老伙计，我去跟寡妇讲，让她对你要求松一些。”
“你答应了，汤姆？你答应了，这太好了。在些难事上，她要是能宽容一些，我就可以背地里抽烟、诅咒。要么挺过去，要么完蛋拉倒。你打算什么时候结伙当强盗？”
“噢，这就干。把孩子们集中起来，也许今晚就举行入伙仪式。”
“举行什么？”
“举行入伙仪式。”
“什么叫入伙仪式？”
“就是发誓互相帮忙，永不泄密。就是被剁成肉酱也不能泄密。如果有人伤害了你，就把他和他全家统统干掉，一个不留。”
“这真好玩，真有意思，汤姆。”
“对，我想是好玩。发誓仪式得在半夜举行，要选在最偏僻、最恐怖的地方干。闹鬼的房子最好，可现在全被拆了。”
“半夜时分干还是不错的，汤姆。”
“对。还要对棺材发誓，咬破指头签名呐。”
“这才真有点像样呢！这比当海盗要强一万倍。汤姆，我到死都跟着寡妇在一起了。我要是始终能成为一名响当当的强盗，人人都会谈到我，那么，我想，她会为自己把我从困境中解救出来而自豪。”
结束语
故事至此结束。因为这确实是个儿童的故事，所以写到这里必须搁笔，再写下去就得涉及到成人时期。写成人的故事，作者很清楚写到结婚成家就算了事，但是写青少年则得见好就收。
本书中的人物有许多仍然健在，过着富裕快乐的生活。有朝一日再来续写这个故事，看看原来书中的小孩子们长大后做什么，这也许是件值得做的事情。正因为如此，明智的做法就是现在不要越俎代庖。
英文版
Mark Twain
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
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 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.
CHAPTER I
"TOM!"
No answer.
"TOM!"
No answer.
"What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!"
No answer.
The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never looked through them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for "style," not service -- she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear:
"Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll --"
She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.
"I never did see the beat of that boy!"
She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato vines and "jimpson" weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:
"Y-o-u-u Tom!"
There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.
"There! I might 'a thought of that closet. What you been doing in there?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What is that truck?"
"I don't know, aunt."
"Well, I know. It's jam -- that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you didn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch."
The switch hovered in the air -- the peril was desperate --
"My! Look behind you, aunt!"
The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and disappeared over it.
His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle laugh.
"Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything? Ain't he played me tricks enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time? But old fools is the biggest fools there is. Can't learn an old dog new tricks, as the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days, and how is a body to know what's coming? He 'pears to know just how long he can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make out to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down again and I can't hit him a lick. I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and that's the Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child, as the Good Book says. I'm a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know. He's full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he's my own dead sister's boy, poor thing, and I ain't got the heart to lash him, somehow. Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and every time I hit him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is born of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says, and I reckon it's so. He'll play hookey this evening,* and [* Southwestern for "afternoon"] I'll just be obleeged to make him work, to-morrow, to punish him. It's mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else, and I've got to do some of my duty by him, or I'll be the ruination of the child."
Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day's wood and split the kindlings before supper -- at least he was there in time to tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work. Tom's younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through with his part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy, and had no adventurous, troublesome ways.
While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity offered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and very deep -- for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like many other simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she was endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she loved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low cunning. Said she:
"Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn't it?"
"Yes'm."
"Powerful warm, warn't it?"
"Yes'm."
"Didn't you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?"
A bit of a scare shot through Tom -- a touch of uncomfortable suspicion. He searched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. So he said:
"No'm -- well, not very much."
The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said:
"But you ain't too warm now, though." And it flattered her to reflect that she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing that that was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew where the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:
"Some of us pumped on our heads -- mine's damp yet. See?"
Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of circumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new inspiration:
"Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to pump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!"
The trouble vanished out of Tom's face. He opened his jacket. His shirt collar was securely sewed.
"Bother! Well, go 'long with you. I'd made sure you'd played hookey and been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you're a kind of a singed cat, as the saying is -- better'n you look. This time."
She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.
But Sidney said:
"Well, now, if I didn't think you sewed his collar with white thread, but it's black."
"Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!"
But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:
"Siddy, I'll lick you for that."
In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into the lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them -- one needle carried white thread and the other black. He said:
"She'd never noticed if it hadn't been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to geeminy she'd stick to one or t'other -- I can't keep the run of 'em. But I bet you I'll lam Sid for that. I'll learn him!"
He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well though -- and loathed him.
Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles. Not because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a man's are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore them down and drove them out of his mind for the time -- just as men's misfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new interest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired from a negro, and he was suffering to practise it undisturbed. It consisted in a peculiar bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble, produced by touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short intervals in the midst of the music -- the reader probably remembers how to do it, if he has ever been a boy. Diligence and attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he strode down the street with his mouth full of harmony and his soul full of gratitude. He felt much as an astronomer feels who has discovered a new planet -- no doubt, as far as strong, deep, unalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with the boy, not the astronomer.
The summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom checked his whistle. A stranger was before him -- a boy a shade larger than himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive curiosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy was well dressed, too -- well dressed on a week-day. This was simply astounding. His cap was a dainty thing, his closebuttoned blue cloth roundabout was new and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes on -- and it was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon. He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom's vitals. The more Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose at his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to him to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other moved -- but only sidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all the time. Finally Tom said:
"I can lick you!"
"I'd like to see you try it."
"Well, I can do it."
"No you can't, either."
"Yes I can."
"No you can't."
"I can."
"You can't."
"Can!"
"Can't!"
An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:
"What's your name?"
"'Tisn't any of your business, maybe."
"Well I 'low I'll make it my business."
"Well why don't you?"
"If you say much, I will."
"Much -- much -- MUCH. There now."
"Oh, you think you're mighty smart, don't you? I could lick you with one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to."
"Well why don't you do it? You say you can do it."
"Well I will, if you fool with me."
"Oh yes -- I've seen whole families in the same fix."
"Smarty! You think you're some, now, don't you? Oh, what a hat!"
"You can lump that hat if you don't like it. I dare you to knock it off -- and anybody that'll take a dare will suck eggs."
"You're a liar!"
"You're another."
"You're a fighting liar and dasn't take it up."
"Aw -- take a walk!"
"Say -- if you give me much more of your sass I'll take and bounce a rock off'n your head."
"Oh, of course you will."
"Well I will."
"Well why don't you do it then? What do you keep saying you will for? Why don't you do it? It's because you're afraid."
"I ain't afraid."
"You are."
"I ain't."
"You are."
Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:
"Get away from here!"
"Go away yourself!"
"I won't."
"I won't either."
So they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and both shoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with hate. But neither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and flushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:
"You're a coward and a pup. I'll tell my big brother on you, and he can thrash you with his little finger, and I'll make him do it, too."
"What do I care for your big brother? I've got a brother that's bigger than he is -- and what's more, he can throw him over that fence, too." [Both brothers were imaginary.]
"That's a lie."
"Your saying so don't make it so."
Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:
"I dare you to step over that, and I'll lick you till you can't stand up. Anybody that'll take a dare will steal sheep."
The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:
"Now you said you'd do it, now let's see you do it."
"Don't you crowd me now; you better look out."
"Well, you said you'd do it -- why don't you do it?"
"By jingo! for two cents I will do it."
The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out with derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair and clothes, punched and scratched each other's nose, and covered themselves with dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his fists. "Holler 'nuff!" said he.
The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying -- mainly from rage.
"Holler 'nuff!" -- and the pounding went on.
At last the stranger got out a smothered "'Nuff!" and Tom let him up and said:
"Now that'll learn you. Better look out who you're fooling with next time."
The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing, snuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and threatening what he would do to Tom the "next time he caught him out." To which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and as soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it and hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like an antelope. Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he lived. He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the enemy to come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the window and declined. At last the enemy's mother appeared, and called Tom a bad, vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went away; but he said he "'lowed" to "lay" for that boy.
He got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in at the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and when she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn his Saturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its firmness.
CHAPTER II
SATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.
Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the gate with a tin pail, and singing ~Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from the town pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at the pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour -- and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:
"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some."
Jim shook his head and said:
"Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis water an' not stop foolin' roun' wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars Tom gwine to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long an' 'tend to my own business -- she 'lowed she'd 'tend to de whitewashin'."
"Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's the way she always talks. Gimme the bucket -- I won't be gone only a a minute. SHE won't ever know."
"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n me. 'Deed she would."
"She! She never licks anybody -- whacks 'em over the head with her thimble -- and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but talk don't hurt -- anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give you a marvel. I'll give you a white alley!"
Jim began to waver.
"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw."
"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful 'fraid ole missis --"
"And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe."
Jim was only human -- this attraction was too much for him. He put down his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he was flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with a slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye. But Tom's energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for having to work -- the very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and examined it -- bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange of WORK, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great, magnificent inspiration.
He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in sight presently -- the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump -- proof enough that his heart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far over to 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-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?"
Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:
"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer."
"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?"
The brush continued to move.
"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?"
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth -- stepped back to note the effect -- added a touch here and there -- criticised the effect again -- Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed. Presently he said:
"Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little."
Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:
"No -- no -- I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about this fence -- right here on the street, you know -- but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and she wouldn't. Yes, she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done."
"No -- is that so? Oh come, now -- lemme just try. Only just a little -- I'd let you, if you was me, Tom."
"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly -- well, Jim wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen to it --"
"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say -- I'll give you the core of my apple."
"Well, here -- No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard --"
"I'll give you all of it!"
Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite, in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with -- and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass doorknob, a dog-collar -- but no dog -- the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.
He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while -- plenty of company -- and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.
Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it -- namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great and wise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have comprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do, and that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And this would help him to understand why constructing artificial flowers or performing on a tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing Mont Blanc is only amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England who drive four-horse passenger-coaches twenty or thirty miles on a daily line, in the summer, because the privilege costs them considerable money; but if they were offered wages for the service, that would turn it into work and then they would resign.
The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place in his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to report.
CHAPTER III
TOM presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an open window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom, breakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined. The balmy summer air, the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing murmur of the bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her knitting -- for she had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in her lap. Her spectacles were propped up on her gray head for safety. She had thought that of course Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered at seeing him place himself in her power again in this intrepid way. He said: "Mayn't I go and play now, aunt?"
"What, a'ready? How much have you done?"
"It's all done, aunt."
"Tom, don't lie to me -- I can't bear it."
"I ain't, aunt; it is all done."
Aunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence. She went out to see for herself; and she would have been content to find twenty per cent. of Tom's statement true. When she found the entire fence whitewashed, and not only whitewashed but elaborately coated and recoated, and even a streak added to the ground, her astonishment was almost unspeakable. She said:
"Well, I never! There's no getting round it, you can work when you're a mind to, Tom." And then she diluted the compliment by adding, "But it's powerful seldom you're a mind to, I'm bound to say. Well, go 'long and play; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I'll tan you."
She was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took him into the closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to him, along with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor a treat took to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort. And while she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he "hooked" a doughnut.
Then he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway that led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were handy and the air was full of them in a twinkling. They raged around Sid like a hail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her surprised faculties and sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken personal effect, and Tom was over the fence and gone. There was a gate, but as a general thing he was too crowded for time to make use of it. His soul was at peace, now that he had settled with Sid for calling attention to his black thread and getting him into trouble.
Tom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by the back of his aunt's cow-stable. He presently got safely beyond the reach of capture and punishment, and hastened toward the public square of the village, where two "military" companies of boys had met for conflict, according to previous appointment. Tom was General of one of these armies, Joe Harper (a bosom friend) General of the other. These two great commanders did not condescend to fight in person -- that being better suited to the still smaller fry -- but sat together on an eminence and conducted the field operations by orders delivered through aides-de-camp. Tom's army won a great victory, after a long and hard-fought battle. Then the dead were counted, prisoners exchanged, the terms of the next disagreement agreed upon, and the day for the necessary battle appointed; after which the armies fell into line and marched away, and Tom turned homeward alone.
As he was passing by the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a new girl in the garden -- a lovely little blue-eyed creature with yellow hair plaited into two long-tails, white summer frock and embroidered pantalettes. The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a shot. A certain Amy Lawrence vanished out of his heart and left not even a memory of herself behind. He had thought he loved her to distraction; he had regarded his passion as adoration; and behold it was only a poor little evanescent partiality. He had been months winning her; she had confessed hardly a week ago; he had been the happiest and the proudest boy in the world only seven short days, and here in one instant of time she had gone out of his heart like a casual stranger whose visit is done.
He worshipped this new angel with furtive eye, till he saw that she had discovered him; then he pretended he did not know she was present, and began to "show off" in all sorts of absurd boyish ways, in order to win her admiration. He kept up this grotesque foolishness for some time; but by-and-by, while he was in the midst of some dangerous gymnastic performances, he glanced aside and saw that the little girl was wending her way toward the house. Tom came up to the fence and leaned on it, grieving, and hoping she would tarry yet awhile longer. She halted a moment on the steps and then moved toward the door. Tom heaved a great sigh as she put her foot on the threshold. But his face lit up, right away, for she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment before she disappeared.
The boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower, and then shaded his eyes with his hand and began to look down street as if he had discovered something of interest going on in that direction. Presently he picked up a straw and began trying to balance it on his nose, with his head tilted far back; and as he moved from side to side, in his efforts, he edged nearer and nearer toward the pansy; finally his bare foot rested upon it, his pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped away with the treasure and disappeared round the corner. But only for a minute -- only while he could button the flower inside his jacket, next his heart -- or next his stomach, possibly, for he was not much posted in anatomy, and not hypercritical, anyway.
He returned, now, and hung about the fence till nightfall, "showing off," as before; but the girl never exhibited herself again, though Tom comforted himself a little with the hope that she had been near some window, meantime, and been aware of his attentions. Finally he strode home reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.
All through supper his spirits were so high that his aunt wondered "what had got into the child." He took a good scolding about clodding Sid, and did not seem to mind it in the least. He tried to steal sugar under his aunt's very nose, and got his knuckles rapped for it. He said:
"Aunt, you don't whack Sid when he takes it."
"Well, Sid don't torment a body the way you do. You'd be always into that sugar if I warn't watching you."
Presently she stepped into the kitchen, and Sid, happy in his immunity, reached for the sugar-bowl -- a sort of glorying over Tom which was wellnigh unbearable. But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl dropped and broke. Tom was in ecstasies. In such ecstasies that he even controlled his tongue and was silent. He said to himself that he would not speak a word, even when his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly still till she asked who did the mischief; and then he would tell, and there would be nothing so good in the world as to see that pet model "catch it." He was so brimful of exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old lady came back and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath from over her spectacles. He said to himself, "Now it's coming!" And the next instant he was sprawling on the floor! The potent palm was uplifted to strike again when Tom cried out:
"Hold on, now, what 'er you belting me for? -- Sid broke it!"
Aunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity. But when she got her tongue again, she only said:
"Umf! Well, you didn't get a lick amiss, I reckon. You been into some other audacious mischief when I wasn't around, like enough."
Then her conscience reproached her, and she yearned to say something kind and loving; but she judged that this would be construed into a confession that she had been in the wrong, and discipline forbade that. So she kept silence, and went about her affairs with a troubled heart. Tom sulked in a corner and exalted his woes. He knew that in her heart his aunt was on her knees to him, and he was morosely gratified by the consciousness of it. He would hang out no signals, he would take notice of none. He knew that a yearning glance fell upon him, now and then, through a film of tears, but he refused recognition of it. He pictured himself lying sick unto death and his aunt bending over him beseeching one little forgiving word, but he would turn his face to the wall, and die with that word unsaid. Ah, how would she feel then? And he pictured himself brought home from the river, dead, with his curls all wet, and his sore heart at rest. How she would throw herself upon him, and how her tears would fall like rain, and her lips pray God to give her back her boy and she would never, never abuse him any more! But he would lie there cold and white and make no sign -- a poor little sufferer, whose griefs were at an end. He so worked upon his feelings with the pathos of these dreams, that he had to keep swallowing, he was so like to choke; and his eyes swam in a blur of water, which overflowed when he winked, and ran down and trickled from the end of his nose. And such a luxury to him was this petting of his sorrows, that he could not bear to have any worldly cheeriness or any grating delight intrude upon it; it was too sacred for such contact; and so, presently, when his cousin Mary danced in, all alive with the joy of seeing home again after an age-long visit of one week to the country, he got up and moved in clouds and darkness out at one door as she brought song and sunshine in at the other.
He wandered far from the accustomed haunts of boys, and sought desolate places that were in harmony with his spirit. A log raft in the river invited him, and he seated himself on its outer edge and contemplated the dreary vastness of the stream, wishing, the while, that he could only be drowned, all at once and unconsciously, without undergoing the uncomfortable routine devised by nature. Then he thought of his flower. He got it out, rumpled and wilted, and it mightily increased his dismal felicity. He wondered if she would pity him if she knew? Would she cry, and wish that she had a right to put her arms around his neck and comfort him? Or would she turn coldly away like all the hollow world? This picture brought such an agony of pleasurable suffering that he worked it over and over again in his mind and set it up in new and varied lights, till he wore it threadbare. At last he rose up sighing and departed in the darkness.
About half-past nine or ten o'clock he came along the deserted street to where the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; no sound fell upon his listening ear; a candle was casting a dull glow upon the curtain of a second-story window. Was the sacred presence there? He climbed the fence, threaded his stealthy way through the plants, till he stood under that window; he looked up at it long, and with emotion; then he laid him down on the ground under it, disposing himself upon his back, with his hands clasped upon his breast and holding his poor wilted flower. And thus he would die -- out in the cold world, with no shelter over his homeless head, no friendly hand to wipe the death-damps from his brow, no loving face to bend pityingly over him when the great agony came. And thus she would see him when she looked out upon the glad morning, and oh! would she drop one little tear upon his poor, lifeless form, would she heave one little sigh to see a bright young life so rudely blighted, so untimely cut down?
The window went up, a maid-servant's discordant voice profaned the holy calm, and a deluge of water drenched the prone martyr's remains!
The strangling hero sprang up with a relieving snort. There was a whiz as of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, a sound as of shivering glass followed, and a small, vague form went over the fence and shot away in the gloom.
Not long after, as Tom, all undressed for bed, was surveying his drenched garments by the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up; but if he had any dim idea of making any "references to allusions," he thought better of it and held his peace, for there was danger in Tom's eye.
Tom turned in without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid made mental note of the omission.
CHAPTER IV
THE sun rose upon a tranquil world, and beamed down upon the peaceful village like a benediction. Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had family worship: it began with a prayer built from the ground up of solid courses of Scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin mortar of originality; and from the summit of this she delivered a grim chapter of the Mosaic Law, as from Sinai.
Then Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and went to work to "get his verses." Sid had learned his lesson days before. Tom bent all his energies to the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the Sermon on the Mount, because he could find no verses that were shorter. At the end of half an hour Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson, but no more, for his mind was traversing the whole field of human thought, and his hands were busy with distracting recreations. Mary took his book to hear him recite, and he tried to find his way through the fog:
"Blessed are the -- a -- a --"
"Poor" --
"Yes -- poor; blessed are the poor -- a -- a --"
"In spirit --"
"In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they -- they --"
"Theirs --"
"For theirs. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they -- they --"
"Sh --"
"For they -- a --"
"S, H, A --"
"For they S, H -- Oh, I don't know what it is!"
"Shall!"
"Oh, shall! for they shall -- for they shall -- a -- a -- shall mourn -- a-- a -- blessed are they that shall -- they that -- a -- they that shall mourn, for they shall -- a -- shall what? Why don't you tell me, Mary? -- what do you want to be so mean for?"
"Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not teasing you. I wouldn't do that. You must go and learn it again. Don't you be discouraged, Tom, you'll manage it -- and if you do, I'll give you something ever so nice. There, now, that's a good boy."
"All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is."
"Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it's nice, it is nice."
"You bet you that's so, Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again."
And he did "tackle it again" -- and under the double pressure of curiosity and prospective gain he did it with such spirit that he accomplished a shining success. Mary gave him a brand-new "Barlow" knife worth twelve and a half cents; and the convulsion of delight that swept his system shook him to his foundations. True, the knife would not cut anything, but it was a "sure-enough" Barlow, and there was inconceivable grandeur in that -- though where the Western boys ever got the idea that such a weapon could possibly be counterfeited to its injury is an imposing mystery and will always remain so, perhaps. Tom contrived to scarify the cupboard with it, and was arranging to begin on the bureau, when he was called off to dress for Sunday-school.
Mary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went outside the door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he dipped the soap in the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves; poured out the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the kitchen and began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the door. But Mary removed the towel and said:
"Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be so bad. Water won't hurt you."
Tom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time he stood over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big breath and began. When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes shut and groping for the towel with his hands, an honorable testimony of suds and water was dripping from his face. But when he emerged from the towel, he was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped short at his chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and beyond this line there was a dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread downward in front and backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand, and when she was done with him he was a man and a brother, without distinction of color, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls wrought into a dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He privately smoothed out the curls, with labor and difficulty, and plastered his hair close down to his head; for he held curls to be effeminate, and his own filled his life with bitterness.] Then Mary got out a suit of his clothing that had been used only on Sundays during two years -- they were simply called his "other clothes" -- and so by that we know the size of his wardrobe. The girl "put him to rights" after he had dressed himself; she buttoned his neat roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt collar down over his shoulders, brushed him off and crowned him with his speckled straw hat. He now looked exceedingly improved and uncomfortable. He was fully as uncomfortable as he looked; for there was a restraint about whole clothes and cleanliness that galled him. He hoped that Mary would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted; she coated them thoroughly with tallow, as was the custom, and brought them out. He lost his temper and said he was always being made to do everything he didn't want to do. But Mary said, persuasively:
"Please, Tom -- that's a good boy."
So he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three children set out for Sunday-school -- a place that Tom hated with his whole heart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.
Sabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past ten; and then church service. Two of the children always remained for the sermon voluntarily, and the other always remained too -- for stronger reasons. The church's high-backed, uncushioned pews would seat about three hundred persons; the edifice was but a small, plain affair, with a sort of pine board tree-box on top of it for a steeple. At the door Tom dropped back a step and accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:
"Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?"
"Yes."
"What'll you take for her?"
"What'll you give?"
"Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook."
"Less see 'em."
Tom exhibited. They were satisfactory, and the property changed hands. Then Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets, and some small trifle or other for a couple of blue ones. He waylaid other boys as they came, and went on buying tickets of various colors ten or fifteen minutes longer. He entered the church, now, with a swarm of clean and noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started a quarrel with the first boy that came handy. The teacher, a grave, elderly man, interfered; then turned his back a moment and Tom pulled a boy's hair in the next bench, and was absorbed in his book when the boy turned around; stuck a pin in another boy, presently, in order to hear him say "Ouch!" and got a new reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole class were of a pattern -- restless, noisy, and troublesome. When they came to recite their lessons, not one of them knew his verses perfectly, but had to be prompted all along. However, they worried through, and each got his reward -- in small blue tickets, each with a passage of Scripture on it; each blue ticket was pay for two verses of the recitation. Ten blue tickets equalled a red one, and could be exchanged for it; ten red tickets equalled a yellow one; for ten yellow tickets the superintendent gave a very plainly bound Bible (worth forty cents in those easy times) to the pupil. How many of my readers would have the industry and application to memorize two thousand verses, even for a Dore Bible? And yet Mary had acquired two Bibles in this way -- it was the patient work of two years -- and a boy of German parentage had won four or five. He once recited three thousand verses without stopping; but the strain upon his mental faculties was too great, and he was little better than an idiot from that day forth -- a grievous misfortune for the school, for on great occasions, before company, the superintendent (as Tom expressed it) had always made this boy come out and "spread himself." Only the older pupils managed to keep their tickets and stick to their tedious work long enough to get a Bible, and so the delivery of one of these prizes was a rare and noteworthy circumstance; the successful pupil was so great and conspicuous for that day that on the spot every scholar's heart was fired with a fresh ambition that often lasted a couple of weeks. It is possible that Tom's mental stomach had never really hungered for one of those prizes, but unquestionably his entire being had for many a day longed for the glory and the eclat that came with it.
In due course the superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit, with a closed hymn-book in his hand and his forefinger inserted between its leaves, and commanded attention. When a Sunday-school superintendent makes his customary little speech, a hymn-book in the hand is as necessary as is the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of a singer who stands forward on the platform and sings a solo at a concert -- though why, is a mystery: for neither the hymn-book nor the sheet of music is ever referred to by the sufferer. This superintendent was a slim creature of thirty-five, with a sandy goatee and short sandy hair; he wore a stiff standing-collar whose upper edge almost reached his ears and whose sharp points curved forward abreast the corners of his mouth -- a fence that compelled a straight lookout ahead, and a turning of the whole body when a side view was required; his chin was propped on a spreading cravat which was as broad and as long as a bank-note, and had fringed ends; his boot toes were turned sharply up, in the fashion of the day, like sleigh-runners -- an effect patiently and laboriously produced by the young men by sitting with their toes pressed against a wall for hours together. Mr. Walters was very earnest of mien, and very sincere and honest at heart; and he held sacred things and places in such reverence, and so separated them from worldly matters, that unconsciously to himself his Sunday-school voice had acquired a peculiar intonation which was wholly absent on week-days. He began after this fashion:
"Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty as you can and give me all your attention for a minute or two. There -- that is it. That is the way good little boys and girls should do. I see one little girl who is looking out of the window -- I am afraid she thinks I am out there somewhere -- perhaps up in one of the trees making a speech to the little birds. [Applausive titter.] I want to tell you how good it makes me feel to see so many bright, clean little faces assembled in a place like this, learning to do right and be good." And so forth and so on. It is not necessary to set down the rest of the oration. It was of a pattern which does not vary, and so it is familiar to us all.
The latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of fights and other recreations among certain of the bad boys, and by fidgetings and whisperings that extended far and wide, washing even to the bases of isolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary. But now every sound ceased suddenly, with the subsidence of Mr. Walters' voice, and the conclusion of the speech was received with a burst of silent gratitude.
A good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which was more or less rare -- the entrance of visitors: lawyer Thatcher, accompanied by a very feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged gentleman with iron-gray hair; and a dignified lady who was doubtless the latter's wife. The lady was leading a child. Tom had been restless and full of chafings and repinings; conscience-smitten, too -- he could not meet Amy Lawrence's eye, he could not brook her loving gaze. But when he saw this small new-comer his soul was all ablaze with bliss in a moment. The next moment he was "showing off" with all his might -- cuffing boys, pulling hair, making faces -- in a word, using every art that seemed likely to fascinate a girl and win her applause. His exaltation had but one alloy -- the memory of his humiliation in this angel's garden -- and that record in sand was fast washing out, under the waves of happiness that were sweeping over it now.

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