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                                      1876

                          THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER

                                 by Mark Twain
DEDICATION

                                   Dedication

                To my wife this book is affectionately dedicated
PREFACE

                           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 1

                  Tom Plays, Fights, and Hides


  "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 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 lappels 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. Consound 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
practice 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. Peterburg. 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 yet 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."

  "O, 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."

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

  "Smarty! You think you're some, now, don't you? O 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 gimme much more of your sass I'll take and bounce a
rock off'n your head."

  "O, 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 eyeing 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 a 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 noses,
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 2

                  A The Glorious Whitewasher


  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, quarreling, 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' she tole me go 'long an' 'tend to
my own business- she 'lowed she'd 'tend to de whitewashin'."

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

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

  "She! She never licks anybody- whacks 'em over the head with her
thimble- and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful,
but talk don't hurt- anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give
you a marvel. I'll give you a white alley!"

  Jim began to waver.

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

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

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

  Jim was only human- this attraction was too much for him. He put
down his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with
absorbing interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another
moment he was flying down the street with his pail and a tingling
rear, Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring
from the field with a slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye.

  But Tom's energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had
planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys
would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and
they would make a world of fun of him for having to work- the very
thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and
examined it- bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an
exchange of work, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an
hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his
pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark
and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a
great, magnificent inspiration!

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

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

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

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

  "Let her go back on the labbord! Ting-a-ling-ling!
Chow-ch-chow-chow!" The left hand began to describe circles.

  "Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labbord! 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."

  "O, 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-"

  "O, 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 beside 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 firecrackers, 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 treadmill 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 a while over the substantial change which had taken
place in his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward
headquarters to report.

                           Chapter 3

                     Busy at War and Love


  TOM PRESENTED HIMSELF before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an
open window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bed-room,
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 sometime 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 hasted 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 a
while 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 rode 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 well-nigh 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 brim-full 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 owdacious 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 poor hands still
forever, 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 O! 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 4

                  Showing off in Sunday School


  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,- O I don't know what it is!"

  "Shall!"

  "O, 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?"

  "O, 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,
present, 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 breast 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's voice, and the conclusion of the speech was received with
a burst of silent gratitude.

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

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

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

  Mr. Walters fell to "showing off", with all sorts of official
bustlings and activities, giving orders, delivering judgments,
discharging directions here, there, everywhere that he could find a
target. The librarian "showed off"- running hither and thither with
his arms full of books and making a deal of the splutter and fuss that
insect authority delights in. The young lady teachers "showed off"-
bending sweetly over pupils that were lately being boxed, lifting
pretty warning fingers at bad little boys and patting good ones
lovingly. The young gentlemen teachers "showed off" with small
scoldings and other little displays of authority and fine attention to
discipline- and most of the teachers, of both sexes, found business up
at the library, by the pulpit; and it was business that frequently had
to be done over again two or three times, (with much seeming
vexation.) The little girls "showed off" in various ways, and the
little boys "showed off" with such diligence that the air was thick
with paper wads and the murmur of scufflings. And above it all the
great man sat and beamed a majestic judicial smile upon all the house,
and warmed himself in the sun of his own grandeur- for he was "showing
off," too.

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

  And now at this moment, when hope was dead, Tom Sawyer came
forward with nine yellow tickets, nine red tickets, and ten blue ones,
and demanded a Bible. This was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
Walters was not expecting an application from this source for the next
ten years. But there was no getting around it- here were the certified
checks, and they were good for their face. Tom was therefore
elevated to a place with the judge and the other elect, and the
great news was announced from 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 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."

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

  "Thomas."

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

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

  "Thomas Sawyer- sir."

  "That's it! That's a good boy. Fine boy. Fine, manly little
fellow. Two thousand verses is a great many- very, very great many.
And you never can be sorry for the trouble you took to learn them; for
knowledge is worth more than anything there is in the world; it's what
makes great men and good men; you'll be a great man and a good man
yourself, someday, 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 then- 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 and looking sheepish. He blushed, now,
and his eyes fell. Mr. Walters's 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 GOLIATH!"

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

                           Chapter 5

                  The Pinch Bug and His Prey


  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 Douglas, fair, smart and forty, a generous, goodhearted soul and
well-to-do, her hill mansion the only palace in the town, and the most
hospitable and much the most lavish in the matter of festivities
that St. Petersburg could boast; the bent and venerable Major and Mrs.
Ward; lawyer Riverson, the new notable from a distance; next the belle
of the village, followed by a troop of lawn-clad and ribbon-decked
young heart-breakers; then all the young clerks in town in a body- for
they had stood in the vestibule sucking their cane-heads, a circling
wall of oiled and simpering admirers, till the last girl had run their
gauntlet; and last of all came the Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking
as heedful care of his mother as if she were cut glass. He always
brought his mother to church, and was the pride of all the matrons.
The boys all hated him, he was so good. And besides, he had been
"thrown up to them" so much. His white handkerchief was hanging out of
his pocket behind, as usual on Sundays- accidentally. Tom had no
handkerchief, and he looked upon boys who had, as snobs.

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

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


        Shall I be car-ri-ed to the skies, on flow'ry beds

                                                           of ease,

        Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' blood

                                                            -y seas?


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

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

  And now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer, it was, and
went into details: it pleaded for the church, and the little
children of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the
village itself; for the county; for the State; for the State officers;
for the United States; for the churches of the United States; for
Congress; for the President; for the officers of the Government; for
poor sailors, tossed by stormy seas; for the oppressed millions
groaning under the heel of European monarchies and Oriental
despotisms; for such as have the light and the good tidings, and yet
have not eyes to see nor ears to hear withal; for the heathen in the
far islands of the sea; and closed with a supplication that the
words he was about to speak might find grace and favor, and be as seed
sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of good.
Amen.

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

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

  Now he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed.
Presently he bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out. It was
a large black beetle with formidable jaws- a "pinch-bug," he called
it. It was in a percussion-cap box. The first thing the beetle did was
to take him by the finger. A natural fillip followed, the beetle
went floundering into the aisle and lit on its back, and the hurt
finger went into the boy's mouth. The beetle lay there working its
helpless legs, unable to turn over. Tom eyed it, and longed for it;
but it was safe out of his reach. Other people uninterested in the
sermon, found relief in the beetle, and they eyed it too. Presently
a vagrant poodle dog came idling along, sad at heart, lazy with the
summer softness and the quiet, weary of captivity, sighing for change.
He spied the beetle; the drooping tail lifted and wagged. He
surveyed the prize; walked around it; smelt at it from a safe
distance; walked around it again; grew bolder, and took a closer
smell; then lifted his lip and made a gingerly snatch at it, just
missing it; made another, and another; began to enjoy the diversion;
subsided to his stomach with the beetle between his paws, and
continued his experiments; grew weary at last, and then indifferent
and absent-minded. His head nodded, and little by little his chin
descended and touched the enemy, who seized it. There was a sharp
yelp, a flirt of the poodle's head, and the beetle fell a couple of
yards away, and lit on its back once more. The neighboring
spectators shook with a gentle inward joy, several faces went behind
fans and handkerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy. The dog looked
foolish, and probably felt so; but there was resentment in his
heart, too, and a craving for revenge. So he went to the beetle and
began a wary attack on it again; jumping at it from every point of a
circle, lighting with his forepaws 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 stand-still.
The discourse was resumed presently, but it went lame and halting, all
possibility of impressiveness being at an end; for even the gravest
sentiments were constantly being received with a smothered burst of
unholy mirth, under cover of some remote pew-back, as if the poor
parson had said a rarely facetious thing. It was a genuine relief to
the whole congregation when the ordeal was over and the benediction
pronounced.

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

                           Chapter 6

                        Tom Meets Becky


  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 occured to him that if he came
into court with that argument, his aunt would pull it out, and that
would hurt. So he thought he would hold the tooth in reserve for the
present, and seek further. Nothing offered for some little time, and
then he remembered hearing the doctor tell about a certain thing
that laid up a patient for two or three weeks and threatened to make
him lose a finger. So the boy eagerly drew his sore toe from under the
sheet and held it up for inspection. But now he did not know the
necessary symptoms. However, it seemed well worth while to chance
it, so he fell to groaning with considerable spirit.

  But Sid slept on unconscious.

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

  No result from Sid.

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

  Sid snored on.

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

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

  Tom moaned out:

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

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

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

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

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

  "Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner? O, 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-"

  "O, Tom, you ain't dying, are you? Don't, Tom- O, 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:

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

  "Dying."

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

  "Rubbage! I don't believe it!"

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

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

  "O, auntie, I'm-"

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

  "O, 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:

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

  "Oh, you don't, don't you? So all this row was because you thought
you'd get to stay home from school and go a-fishing? Tom, Tom, I
love you so, and you seem to try every way you can to break my old
heart with your outrageousness."

  By this time the dental instruments were ready. The old lady made
one end of the silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a loop and tied
the other to the bedpost. Then she seized the chunk of fire and
suddenly thrust it almost into the boy's face. The tooth hung dangling
by the bedpost, now.

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

  Shortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village,
Huckleberry Finn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was
cordially hated and dreaded by all the mothers of the town because
he was idle, and lawless, and vulgar and bad- and because all their
children admired him so, and delighted in his forbidden society, and
wished they dared to be like him. Tom was like the rest of the
respectable boys, in that he envied Huckleberry his gaudy outcast
condition, and was under strict orders not to play with him. So he
played with him every time he got a chance. Huckleberry was always
dressed in the cast-off clothes of full-grown men, and they were in
perennial bloom and fluttering with rags. His hat was a vast ruin with
a wide crescent lopped out of its brim; his coat, when he wore one,
hung nearly to his heels and had the rearward buttons far down the
back; but one suspender supported his trousers; the seat of the
trousers bagged low and contained nothing; the fringed legs dragged in
the dirt when not rolled up.

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

  Tom hailed the romantic outcast:

  "Hello, Huckleberry!"

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

  "What's that you got?"

  "Dead cat."

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

  "Bought him off'n a boy."

  "What did you give?"

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

  "Where'd you get the blue ticket?"

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

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

  "Good for? Cure warts with."

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

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

  "Why, spunk-water."

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

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

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

  "Who told you so!"

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

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

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

  "In the daytime?"

  "Cert'nly."

  "With his face to the stump?"

  "Yes. Least I reckon so."

  "Did he say anything?"

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

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


        "Barley-corn, Barley-corn, injun-meal shorts,

         Spunk-water, spunk-water, swaller these warts;"

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

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

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

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

  "Have you? What's your way?"

  "You take and split the bean, and cut the wart so as to get some
blood, and then you put the blood on one piece of the bean and take
and dig a hole and bury it 'bout midnight at the cross-roads 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
Constantinople and most everywheres. But say- how do you cure 'em with
dead cats?"

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

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

  "No, but old Mother Hopkins told me."

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

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

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

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

  "Say, Huck, 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, Huck. Didn't they get him Saturday
night?"

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

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

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

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

  "Yes- and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kep' me
a-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says
'Dem 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, Huck, 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."

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

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

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

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

  "Less see it."

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

  "Is it genuwyne?"

  Tom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.

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

  Tom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been
the pinch-bug'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
girl's 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 fool-hardy boy had lost
his mind. The master said:

  "You- you did what?"

  "Stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn."

  There was no mistaking the words.

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

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

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

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

  By and by attention ceased from him, and the accustomed school
murmur rose upon the dull air once more. Presently the boy began to
steal furtive glances at the girl. She observed it, "made a mouth"
at him and gave him the back of her head for the space of a minute.
When she cautiously faced around again, a peach lay before her. She
thrust it away. Tom gently put it back. She thrust it away, again, but
with less animosity. Tom patiently returned it to its place. Then
she let it remain. Tom scrawled on his slate, "Please take it- I got
more." The girl glanced at the words, but made no sign. Now the boy
began to draw something on the slate, hiding his work with his left
hand. For a time the girl refused to notice; but her human curiosity
presently began to manifest itself by hardly perceptible signs. The
boy worked on, apparently unconscious. The girl made a sort of
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 cork-screw of smoke issuing from the chimneys. 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."

  "O, will you? When?"

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

  "I'll stay, if you will."

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

  "Becky Thatcher. What's yours? Oh, 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 I won't."

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

  "No I won't ever tell anybody. Now let me."

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

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

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

  Just at this juncture the boy felt a slow, fateful grip closing on
his ear, and a steady, lifting impulse. In that 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.

                           Chapter 7

                  Tick-Running and Heartbreak


  THE HARDER Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book, the more his
ideas wandered. So at last, with a sigh and a yawn, he gave it up.
It seemed to him that the noon recess would never come. The air was
utterly dead. There was not a breath stirring. It was the sleepiest of
sleepy days. The drowsing murmur of the five and twenty studying
scholars soothed the soul like the spell that is in the murmur of
bees. Away off in the flaming sunshine, Cardiff Hill lifted its soft
green sides through a shimmering veil of heat, tinted with the
purple of distance; a few birds floated on lazy wing high in the
air; no other living thing was visible but some cows, and they were
asleep.

  Tom's heart ached to be free, or else to have something of
interest to do to pass the dreary time. His hand wandered into his
pocket and his face lit up with a glow of gratitude that was prayer,
though he did not know it. Then furtively the percussion-cap box
came out. He released the tick and put him on the long flat desk.
The creature probably glowed with a gratitude that amounted to prayer,
too, at this moment, but it was premature: for when he started
thankfully to travel off, Tom turned him aside with a pin and made him
take a new direction.

  Tom's bosom friend sat next him, suffering just as Tom had been, and
now he was deeply and gratefully interested in this entertainment in
an instant. This bosom friend was Joe Harper. The two boys were
sworn friends all the week, and embattled enemies on Saturdays. Joe
took a pin out of his lappel 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 a while, and then he got away and crossed back again.
This change of base occurred often. While one boy was worrying the
tick with absorbing interest, the other would look on with interest as
strong, the two heads bowed together over the slate, and the two souls
dead to all things else. At last luck seemed to settle and abide
with Joe. The tick tried this, that, and the other course, and got
as excited and as anxious as the boys themselves, but time and again
just as he would have victory in his very grasp, so to speak, and
Tom's fingers would be twitching to begin, Joe's pin would deftly head
him off, and keep possession. At last Tom could stand it no longer.
The temptation was too strong. So he reached out and lent a hand
with his pin. Joe was angry in a moment. Said he:

  "Tom, you let him alone."

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

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

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

  "Let him alone, I tell you!"

  "I won't!"

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

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

  "I don't care whose tick he is- he's on my side of the line, and
you shan'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 a
while before when the master came tip-toeing down the room and stood
over them. He had contemplated a good part of the performance before
he contributed his bit of variety to it.

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

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

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

  "Do you love rats?"

  "No! I hate them!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "What's that?"

  "Why, engaged to be married."

  "No."

  "Would you like to?"

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

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

  "Kiss? What do you kiss for?"

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

  "Everybody."

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

  "Ye- yes."

  "What was it?"

  "I shan't tell you."

  "Shall I tell you?"

  "Ye- yes- but some other time."

  "No, now."

  "No, not now- to-morrow."

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

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

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

  She resisted, for a while, and then said:

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

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

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

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

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

  By and by she gave up, and let her hands drop; her face, all glowing
with the struggle, came up and submitted. Tom kissed the red lips
and said:

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

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

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

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

  The child began to cry. Tom said:

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

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

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

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

  No reply- but sobs.

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

  More sobs.

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

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

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

  "Tom! Come back, Tom!"

  She listened intently, but there was no answer. She had no
companions but silence and loneliness. So she sat down to cry again
and upbraid herself; and by this time the scholars began to gather
again, and she had to hide her griefs and still her broken heart and
take up the cross of a long, dreary, aching afternoon, with none among
the strangers about her to exchange sorrows with.

                           Chapter 8

                      A Pirate Bold To Be


  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 woodpecker, and this seemed to
render the pervading silence and sense of loneliness the more
profound. The boy's soul was steeped in melancholy; his feelings
were in happy accord with his surroundings. He sat long with his
elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, meditating. It seemed
to him that life was but a trouble, at best, and he more than half
envied Jimmy Hodges, so lately released; it must be very peaceful,
he thought, to lie and slumber and dream forever and ever, with the
wind whispering through the trees and caressing the grass and the
flowers over the grave, and nothing to bother and grieve about, ever
any more. If he only had a clean Sunday-school record he could be
willing to go, and be done with it all. Now as to this girl. What
had he done? Nothing. He had meant the best in the world, and been
treated like a dog- like a very dog. She would be sorry some day-
maybe when it was too late. Ah, if he could only die temporarily!

  But the elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into one
constrained shape long at a time. Tom presently began to drift
insensibly back into the concerns of this life again. What if he
turned his back, now, and disappeared mysteriously? What if he went
away- ever so far away, into unknown countries beyond the seas- and
never came back any more! How would she feel then! The idea of being a
clown recurred to him now, only to fill him with disgust. For
frivolity, and jokes, and spotted tights were an offense, when they
intruded themselves upon a spirit that was exalted into the vague
august realm of the romantic. No, he would be a soldier, and return,
after long years, all war-worn and illustrious. No- better still, he
would join the Indians, and hunt buffaloes and go on the war-path in
the mountain ranges and the trackless great plains of the Far West,
and away in the future come back a great chief, bristling with
feathers, hideous with paint, and prance into Sunday-school, some
drowsy summer morning, with a blood-curdling war-whoop, and sear the
eye-balls 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, all 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
cross-bones on it, and hear with swelling ecstasy the whisperings,
"It's Tom Sawyer the Pirate!- the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main!"

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

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

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

  "Well, that beats anything!"

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

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

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

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

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

  "Brother go find your brother!"

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

  Just here the blast of a toy tin trumpet came faintly down the green
aisles of the forest. Tom flung off his jacket and trousers, turned
a suspender into a belt, raked away some brush behind the rotten
log, disclosing a rude bow and arrow, a lath sword and a tin
trumpet, and in a moment had seized these things and bounded away,
bare-legged, with fluttering shirt. He presently halted under a
great elm, blew an answering blast, and then began to tip-toe 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 carcass soon shall
know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                           Chapter 9

                   Tragedy in the Grave Yard


  AT HALF PAST NINE, that night, Tom and Sid were sent to bed, as
usual. They said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay awake
and waited, in restless impatience. When it seemed to him that it must
be nearly daylight, he heard the clock strike ten! This was despair.
He would have tossed and fidgeted, as his nerves demanded, but he
was afraid he might wake Sid. So he lay still, and stared up into
the dark. Everything was dismally still. By and by, out of the
stillness little scarcely perceptible noises began to emphasize
themselves. The ticking of the clock began to bring itself into
notice. Old beams began to crack mysteriously. The stairs creaked
faintly. Evidently spirits were abroad. A measured, muffled snore
issued from Aunt Polly's chamber. And now the tiresome chirping of a
cricket that no human ingenuity could locate, began. Next the
ghastly ticking of a 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 night air and was answered by a
fainter howl from a remoter distance. Tom was in an agony. At last
he was satisfied that time had ceased and eternity begun; he began
to doze, in spite of himself, the clock chimed eleven but he did not
hear it. And then there came mingling with his half-formed dreams, a
most melancholy caterwauling. The raising of a neighboring window
disturbed him. A cry of "Scat! you devil!" and the crash of an empty
bottle against the back of his aunt's woodshed brought him wide awake,
and a single minute later he was dressed and out of the window and
creeping along the roof of the "ell" on all fours. He "meow'd" with
caution once or twice, as he went; then jumped to the roof of the
woodshed and thence to the ground. Huckleberry Finn was there, with
his dead cat. The boys moved off and disappeared in the gloom. At
the end of half an hour they were wading through the tall grass of the
graveyard.

  It was a graveyard of the old-fashioned western kind. It was on a
hill, about a mile and a half from the village. It had a crazy board
fence around it, which leaned inward in places, and outward the rest
of the time, but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over
the whole cemetery. All the old graves were sunken in. There was not a
tombstone on the place; round-topped, worm-eaten boards staggered over
the graves, leaning for support and finding none. "Sacred to the
Memory of" So-and-So had been painted on them once, but it could no
longer have been read, on the most of them, now, even if there had
been light.

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

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

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

  Huckleberry whispered:

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

  "I bet it is."

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

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

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

  Tom, after a pause:

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

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

  This was a damper, and conversation died again, Presently Tom seized
his comrade's arm and said:

  "Sh!"

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

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

  "I-"

  "There! Now you hear it."

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

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

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

  "O, 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. O, Tom, this is awful."

  Some vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging an
old-fashioned tin lantern that freckled the ground with innumerable
little spangles of light. Presently Huckleberry whispered with a
shudder:

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

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

  "Sh!"

  "What is it, Huck?"

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

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

  "I bet I know it. Don't you stir nor budge. He ain't sharp enough to
notice us. Drunk, 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 dem sight. What kin they be up to?"

  The whispers 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 Dr. Robinson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Yes, and you done more than that," said Injun joe, approaching
the doctor, who was now standing. "Five year 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 head-board of
Williams' grave and felled Potter to the earth with it- and in the
same instant the half-breed saw his chance and drove the knife to
the hilt in the young man's breast. He reeled and fell partly upon
Potter, flooding him with his blood, and in the same moment the clouds
blotted out the dreadful spectacle and the two frightened boys went
speeding away in the dark.

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

  "That score is settled- damn you."

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

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

  "It's a dirty business," said Joe, without moving. "What did you
do it for?"

  "I! I never done it!"

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

  Potter trembled and grew white.

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

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

  "O, 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 whisky; 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."

  "O, 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
halfbreed stood looking after him. He muttered:

  "If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as
he had the look of being, he won't think of the knife till he's gone
so far he'll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by
himself- chicken-heart!"

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